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car1no-xx · 1 year

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Pedri fluff where the reader is a player for Real Madrid womens team? 😈

Amor Fati (Pedri x RM fem!reader)

On a weekend trip to Madrid, Pedri runs into someone he rather wouldn't. Little did you two know fate had other plans.

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi beautiful anon, thank you for the request! I made this into a little enemies-to-lovers thing, hope you don't mind. Just a reminder my requests are open, and to submit any requests you'd like before I start studying for final exams for the next 3-ish weeks yuck

The morning was gloomy and foggy, much to your dismay. You loathed training in this weather, preferring the sun to keep your energy up and keep you motivated during the long hours of practice. It was a Friday, and to lighten your mood given the abysmal weather, you decided to treat yourself to a cappuccino before practice, hoping it would get you through the next few hours before the weekend officially commenced. You didn't mind showing up to the coffee shop in your training uniform - the baristas knew who you were, and so did the regular customers. You were grateful to them for never asking for your signature or pictures, especially in the mornings when you were still groggy, the bags under your eyes much too dark for your liking.

You grabbed a seat by the window, looking outside at the lush trees that decorated the Madrid streets. You mindlessly touched the embroidered badge on your jacket; you couldn't believe this was your life. A fan of Los Blancos since you were ten, you jumped through hoops and hurdles to get to the women's team. Being a woman in football was already hard enough - to play for Madrid, even harder. Then, a rough voice interrupted your daydreaming. "Sí, con leche, porfa." Yes, with milk, please. What was that accent? Definitely not from Madrid, you thought to yourself.

"Didn't expect to find you here," the voice said to you. You turned your head, your eyes going dark with the realization of who was standing in front of you. La madre que me parió, you quietly cursed to yourself. The mother who bore me.

Pedri. Barca's gifted, almost coddled midfielder. If your eyes could roll any farther back in your head, they'd likely fall out. Couldn't you just drink your coffee in peace? The thought of speaking to anyone, not to mention Madrid's rival, soured your mood even more.

"I literally live here. The question is what you are doing here," you spat.

You couldn't deny he was objectively attractive - his neatly trimmed eyebrows complimenting his almost raven-colored dark hair. His dark brown eyes that had a little sparkle in them when he spoke. One problem: you knew he hated you. Found you arrogant, too smart-mouthed for your own good. The feeling was mutual.

"Oh, you live here, in the coffee shop?" He was mocking you. "I'm here for the weekend, for no reason in particular but wanted to see how this precious city of yours is faring after all those losses," he said nonchalantly, shrugging.

That cappuccino you held in your hand was about three seconds away from landing on the hair he probably spent hours carefully combing this morning. Incorrigible prick, you thought to yourself. "If you expect me to fall over my chair laughing, you're sorely mistaken," you said, waving a dismissive hand towards him, hoping he'd get the message. Instead, he pulled up a wooden chair and sat across from you.

Would it really be a waste of my four euros if this coffee ended up on his head right now?

"I don't expect anything from you. Well, actually, maybe just a bit more pep in your voice. Thought you'd be happy to see me, bonita," he smirked. "We had fun at that party, didn't we?" That party. The one where you drunkenly ended up making out with Pedri for a total of twenty seconds a year and a half ago, only to quickly leave without saying anything else to him. It meant nothing. Less than nothing.

"That was fun for you? That was just me drunkenly making stupid decisions."

"Nevertheless," he winked.

"Don't flatter yourself. I don't doubt you took another lady friend home that night."

"Jealous?" That smirk, you thought. Slapping him would definitely take that smirk off his face, but you weren't keen on being charged with battery today.

"Enjoy Madrid," you said, rolling your eyes. And with that, you got up and left the coffee shop.

"What do you mean I'm still out for the next game?" You quietly raged at your coach the next day. Friday sucked, running into Pedri and all. Today was apparently even suckier.

"I'm sorry, y/n, but the physiotherapist still thinks you need time to recuperate."

One month you were out with a knee injury. One month too long. You understood it was normal for athletes to succumb to injuries now and then, especially with the demanding pressure put on your bodies, yet you couldn't help but feel terrible and utterly useless. More than anything, you wanted to play - even being benched was borderline an insult to you, your competitive nature always coming through and wanting to deliver your best with every match, every practice.

"I'm ready to play. I've been finishing the full practices, doing my exercises regularly. I'm ready," you said through gritted teeth, trying to keep your tears from seeping out. Don't let them see you cry. Don't show them any signs of weakness. No one wants a weepy player on their team with no bite, you thought to yourself. Perhaps a not-too-healthy way of thinking, but you knew the cutthroat nature of this sport, the constant comparing of female football players to the male ones. Miraculously, you managed to keep your forming tears at bay.

"I'm almost certain you will be ready to play the next game," your coach explained. Slowly nodding, you walked off the training pitch. If you were a cartoon character, you were sure steam would be coming out of your ears.

That night, you wanted to let loose, to drink away your anger and sadness. You told yourself a trip to the local bar with your girlfriends wasn't a bad idea, and so off you went. Despite your foul mood, you put on a navy blue high neck silk dress and strappy heels. The cut-outs on the side of the dress made your toned abs peek through. You felt confident, felt unstoppable.

Strutting up to the bar, you ordered tequila for yourself and your friends, looking forward to letting the alcohol take your mind someplace else other than the fact that you still couldn't play. Then, a light tap on your shoulder.

"Didn't think someone so cold could look so...inviting," the voice said close to the shell of your ear. Pedri. It was almost alarming how you managed to recognize his voice so quickly. You tried to ignore the tiny little butterflies his voice so close to you made you feel, how your stomach felt the same a year and a half ago when he kissed you in a drunken state. Feeling butterflies towards a Barcelona player? And such a cocky, smug one at that? Blasphemy.

"Pedri, por favor. Are you resorting to stalking me now?" You snarled.

"Bold of you to think you'd even be worth my time," he retorted. "Just funny how we keep bumping into each other, no? Fate trying to tell us something? Although fate doesn't know I'd never be with someone with that much arrogance."

"I'm the arrogant one? Please - you make some goals here and there and suddenly you're Barcelona's shining star and now you think you're God's greatest gift to mankind. Do me a favor, Pedri, eh? Go hit on someone else," you said as you turned around, pushing him away from you and wandering off back to your friends.

A shot of tequila in one hand, your friend's hand in the other, you stormed to the dance floor to try and salvage the night and your mood. Yet, you couldn't help but feel that Pedri's eyes were glued on you as you started moving on the dance floor, the alcohol overtaking your body. Although instead of dulling your emotions, the alcohol and music only heightened them. You started thinking - no, overthinking - about your work, your health, everything, on the dance floor. "I need some air," you called out to your friend.

Sitting on the sidewalk outside of the bar, your emotions started to overtake you. You couldn't hold back your tears, and yet you didn't fully understand why.

"Pasa algo?" Did something happen?

You didn't need a second glance to know who was speaking. You only shook your head. Pedri sat down next to you on the sidewalk, silent, and handed you a napkin he had in his pocket. Then, "Ordinarily, I'd say something to rile you up. But I don't like seeing anyone like this."

You were a bit shocked at his cordiality. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

He paused, then slowly moved his right hand to lightly rest on yours. His touch was soft, gentle. You hardly expected it from him, given your constant bickering and slight animosity anytime you saw each other, save for the one takeout session. You turned your face to look at him, and instead of the usual mockery in his brown eyes, you saw...was it understanding? Yearning? Empathy? You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

"It's obviously something if you're on the sidewalk crying. Dime." Tell me.

"I just...sometimes I don't know why I play. What I do this for. This goddamned injury, it just makes me feel so useless, so helpless," you sighed, your fingers running through your hair. He nodded.

He chose his words carefully before proceeding. "I know the feeling. The uselessness, the anger, the eagerness to get back on the pitch. But maybe these things happen for a reason. To make us...stronger? Although I know it doesn't feel like it now." He paused, then said, "If you need someone to talk to-"

"I'm surprised at your offer, given that you've made it clear that you hate me."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He gently rested his hand on your knee and looked into your eyes. It felt like a lifetime before he said, "Maybe I don't hate you, after all. Maybe I've enjoyed our banter, but really all I've wanted to do was kiss you again. And I haven't admitted it to myself until now." His hand carefully moved from your knee, gently cupping your face, seeking your approval. For the first time, you didn't want to swat his hand away. Carefully, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips softly meeting each other before deepening the kiss just a bit.

As you slowly pulled away, you said, "You know, instead of sassy remarks, you could just ask me out."

"You've got yourself a deal," he smiled as he put his arm around you and pulled you in, your head resting on his shoulder.

You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that. You thought to yourself that maybe coincidentally running into each other wasn't too bad. And that maybe, just maybe, fate wasn't such a bad thing, either, after all.

#pedri x reader #pedri fluff #pedri fanfic #football fanfic #pedri #pedri imagine #pedri x y/n #enemies to lovers #pedri x you #pedro gonzalez #footballer fanfiction

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aircd · 3 months

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Stones ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

(Lesbian/wlw (romance?) fem reader¡¡

Includes/Warnings: yandere, manipulation/gaslighting, mentions of stalking, small threats, physical force, touch deprivation, first kiss, praise, cursing, (no sex).

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A new student had enrolled last fall, you can remember the first day you saw her; black raven like hair, pale skin, eye bags, that navy hoodie she always had up and her black ripped jeans. She was quiet but kind when introducing herself; the way she slowly glanced over at you made your spine shiver, was this excitement or fear.? She sat in the back with you three desks away, you always felt her presence deeply in the classroom as if she was the only one with an aura, something was off. You never got any paranormal vibes from her but you knew- somehow she’d be in your life, either you know it or not.

Gradually you worked your way up to talking to her, you felt a bit like a stalker keeping track of her classes and where she usually hung out, but you desperately wanted to give into this strong feeling of curiosity so it was necessary. You noticed she never really talked to anyone, she was always alone drawing or staring off into the distance, sometimes at others and at you. One day you decided to follow her to where she usually goes after spare time when she was done with lunch. She sat on the stairs at the back of the school listening to music as always. You waited awhile before going out there as to not seem creepy, you casually walk out and say “oh— I didn’t know anyone was out here..” she glances over and smiles softly. “You’re y/n right? Yeah! I have 3rd and fourth period with you!” You laugh awkwardly “Oh yeahh.! Jade-!” “the one and only.” She jokes “You mind if I sit out here with you.?” “Nahh!! Sit! sit!.”

That was the first time you two ever talked, it was awkward at first but you soon quickly became good friends, having inside jokes, hanging out after school at each others houses and exploring various places together. But.. sometimes you noticed odd things about jade; she would occasionally stare at you silently, you would find her peaking around a corner while you’re walking alone, waking up at sleepovers to her just staring at you or searching in your room, and sometimes your things would go missing.. but when you confronted her quickly in all these incidents she always had a good excuse and played it off. “Oh I was just spacing out.!” “I was looking for a notebook to sketch in.!” “I was trying to scare you as a joke by following you!!” Somehow you always believed her. Jade knew very personal things about you, you liked to talk a lot and oversharing was one of your bad habits, so when she’d mention very deep secrets you don’t remember telling her she’d just say you forgot. She was always a good shoulder to lean on and you’d try to comfort her too but she never seemed to have any problems? She told you the last school she had to leave because a girl she was friends with for a long time made rumors about her, like she was a stalker and gaslighted the hell out of her. You shrugged it off again because you were practically in love with this woman, she was your best friend and never ever hurt you.

One night before going to bed at 11:30pm you get a text from jade. (“Meet me at our spot. Urgent.”) obviously you shove some sweatpants on and a loose t shirt and your converse on and walk as fast as you can the whole way there, since “your spot” was a large rock in a nearby forest surrounded by tall trees and river. As soon as you get there you see jade wearing her navy hoody she never seems to take off and a nervous look on her face as if she’s scared you won’t come. “Jade!!” “Y/n! I’m so glad you came.!!” “Come come sit with me..!” “okay.!” you both sit on the rock and stare at the river reflecting the moonlight in the sky. “So.. we’ve known eachother for what feels like forever.. and i- I have something I need to say..” you gulp and turn your head as she puts her hand on yours. “Y/n I.. I love you..and—! And not as a friend..” “I— I love you too Jade.. but- why’d you decide to say that to me tonight..?” “I don’t know.. maybe because after watching you for so long I knew it was finally time..” “watching me.?!” “Y/n.. you could never understand how much I love you..” Jade leans in further putting her hands on the sides of your head staring at you with wide eyes and dilated pupils as if she was on drugs or had some psychological condition. You start to get nervous and your breathing is uneven. “Jade—“ she cuts you off. “baby~…” her voice gets shakey as she stares into your soul. “I’ve wanted you so bad.. for so long.. your heart, your body, your mind and your soul, your very being consumes me to my inner core.” She starts to breathe heavier as you’re in shock. “I’ve— I think I’d kill myself if you ever left me.. you— you won’t right..?!” “No!! No.!! I would never leave you like that, but— but why are you saying such things Jade..? This- this isn’t like you.” “Oh.. sweetie.. honey bear.. angel~.. you haven’t even begun to understand what I’m like.” “I— Jade.. what.. what do you mean..?!” “Everything I do is for you. I’ve known ever since I layed eyes on you that you were my everything..” you start to pull away slightly as one of her hands moves down to your waist gripping it tightly. “Jade.. just— just calm down okay..! I- I like you too but—“ “don’t.” She says sternly as she grips your waist once again pulling you back in. “Jade I— already.. I told you I loved you—“ Jade groans, “oh god say it again~..” she grips you even harsher and it starts to hurt. “Jade you’re hurting me.. please just— let go a little bit.” She squeezes your waist harder and pulls you in more. “I just wanna see you happy baby~.. I wanna give you the world.. I hate seeing you cry.. you- you know why all those girls that made you cry left..?! I did that. I did everything for you..!” her voice starts to shake as she’s practically an inch away from your face still keeping a tight grip on your waist she suddenly lets go and wraps both of her arms around you shoving you on her Lap. “Woah—! What the hell dude..?!” “oh shh.. shh.. I- I- know how much you need this.. yknow I’ve read your diaries over and over again..” she laughs creepily. Your legs are wrapped around her waist in the way you’re sitting you’re confused as to how she hasn’t lost her balance on the rock you’re both sitting on. “What—?! I didn’t even tell you about that.!! What the fuck Jade I trusted you.—“ She covers you mouth. “I’m the only one that truly knows you sweetheart.. I would never tell anyone anything.. I know you haven’t been touched in sooo~ long.. you poor baby.! all touch deprived and needy~..! why didn’t you come to me sooner.!” Your eyes widen further as she lets go of your mouth and starts to caress your cheek and hair. “j-jade..” you say breathy. “Ohh.. there it is.. you’re already blushing~ baby..! If I knew you needed this so bad I wouldn’t have hesitated for so long..” she then begins to lean in as she holds your cheeks. “Wait— Jade! I haven’t ever kis—“

she suddenly kisses you making you feel butterflies in your stomach and you moan softly, while feeling dizzy. She pulls back to see your red cheeks and heavy eyes. “I knew it~.. you can’t resist me.. can you.?” She whispers in Your ears. you can’t shake the overwhelming feelings you have at the moment, you know you should run away but you can’t. you stare at her in a state of bliss and panting. “awwh” she breaks into a small chuckle. “you’re so cute..! my poor poor baby~..” she holds the back of your neck firmly and starts kissing it gently licking causing you to gasp and whimper, you try to keep quiet out of embarrassment but the sensations are too much, you grip onto her arm. She chuckles “too much..~?” “Just— I- I- wh..” you stutter. “Shh.. shh.. don’t talk y/n.. it’s okay sweetheart.. I’m here..” “oh- okay..” she puts her hand on your back and leans you down to lay on her shoulder as she caresses the back of your head. “You really have to stop writing so much down in your diary.. you know some sicko like me could read it and use it against you..” you wrap you arms around her hesitantly knowing it’s wrong, but you still love her. She smiles and hugs you back harder. “mm.. just like that..” . She rubs your back and squeezes you tightly.

———//———//———//———//———//———//——

(Made some recent adjustment’s)

Thoughts? Should I make this a series.?

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kiritella · 7 months

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Series: Sehnsucht, Chapter Three: Within Arm's Reach

Pairings: Geralt x Teen!Reader, Yennefer x Teen!Reader

Warnings: near death experience, very cold temperatures, mentions of severe child abuse, intense loneliness

Words: 3.5k

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—Five Years Ago—

The strange woman appeared suddenly. She dropped out of a circle of twisted light—an ocean of condensed air and smoke. Old, vibrant runes curled along its outer edge when she fell, panting, her raven hair loose and damp. A potent stench wafted through the air before the portal closed behind her. The woman knelt on her knees, catching her breath as she held her side.

The little girl grimaced from her hiding place as a small line of blood seeped out from between the woman’s fingers. Pressing her lips into a thin line, her brows furrowed and she shifted from foot to foot, a war amongst her thoughts. She should run. She should place as much distance between herself and this new woman. It wouldn’t have been any different than what she had been doing for quite some time now. But more blood pressed out from beneath the woman’s hand as she sat up and groaned. Her breaths were sharp and heavy as if she had been running from someone, ans sweat beaded along her hairline. Carefully, the child emerged from behind the tree and crept closer, one hand on the dagger at her waist as the other reached out to tap the woman’s shoulder.

The woman’s head snapped up, eyes piercing her with a glare, but the girl was too fond of their color to pay any mind to the harshness behind them. That same harshness extinguished just as quickly as it had formed. The woman groaned as the child knelt beside her and touched the woman’s ribs.

“What are you doing here?” the woman asked, her voice soft if filled with a terseness of exhaustion. Her black hair framed her face perfectly, drawing even more attention to her purple eyes. She was really pretty.

The girl shrugged, and instead of answering, whispered beneath her breath the start of a spell and laid a hand over the woman’s ribs.

“Use another source, child,” D’ao reminded her, a whisper in her thoughts so familiar and close. She smiled weakly as she continued the spell, dipping her hand into the grass beneath her. The soft blades around her palm grew dark, the shadow stretching from between her knees and out around the both of them. They shriveled and twisted, turning brown as they died and finally, crumbled into dust.

It wasn’t a bad injury, she realized.

The woman took a deep breath and her eyes were wide as she stared at the child. Checking beneath her palm where her skin had once been cut open, she found her side completely healed with only a small, nearly imperceptible scar to show for it.

“Where did you learn to do that?” she asked with a soft voice. The girl only shrugged. “Where are your parents?”

At this, the girl offered a distasteful grimace, and the woman softened. Sighing, the woman motioned her to come closer. “I’m Yennefer. What is your name?”

The girl crept closer, as if asked to approach a coiled snake in a bed of flowers. Slowly, Yennefer reached out and caressed the girl’s cheek, and her purple eyes wandered over the child’s features. She remained stiff as a board and silent, to Yennefer’s wonder, and only when Yennefer’s hand sank into the girl’s hair did she flinch. Her fingers caught on the growing matts and caked mud as they tried to brush thorough the strands. The heat of embarrassment crawled up the girl’s neck and into her cheeks. She was dirty, and she didn’t want the woman to be dirty too. She backed away.

Frowning, the woman stood to her feet and held out her hand. “Will you come with me?” she asked, and the child hesitated. “I hear a river nearby. I’d like to wash the sweat and stench off my skin. Do you know where it is?”

She nodded and slowly grasped the woman’s pointer finger. Yennefer smiled and started them along their way toward the sound of the river. “How long have you been out here?” she asked and was offered a shrug. “You don’t talk very much, do you?”

She shook her head.

“Is there anyone I can take you home to?”

Again, she shook her head. Glancing up at the woman, she bit the corner of her lip before she pointed to the small tear in Yenn’s dress, the healed scar beneath it. Yenn smiled softly.

“I was running from a horde of Drowners, almost got out unscathed, but one nicked me before I could get the portal open. I got what I needed from them though, so it is no matter.”

The girl hummed and scrunched her nose, making a dramatic shiver shake her spine. Yenn chuckled.

“Yes, it was frightening, I suppose,” she said, mindful of the girl’s young age. “Where have you been living?”

The girl raised her hand and waved it about the forest surrounding them.

“Out here in the woods?”

She nodded.

“I bet you’ve come across a monster of your own,” Yennefer commented and the girl laughed, shaking her head, but in the end, she shrugged. “A beautiful dagger you have. Catch rabbits with it easy enough?”

She nodded, then pointed up at the sky, but Yen raised a brow in confusion. The girl whistled, mimicking the sound of a swallow, and Yennefer smiled. “Birds?” she asked, and the girl nodded.

“Do you like it here?” she asked, and the girl shrugged. “If you’d like, I can take you to the nearest town—” she was cut off when the girl tore her hand from hers, small vibrant blue eyes widening with terror as she shook her head violently. “Hey–no, it’s alright, it’s alright,” Yennefer rushed, kneeling down to be level with the girl’s height. “I won’t take you there if you don’t want to go,” she said, reaching out her hand again. A sad frown dipped her lips when she wouldn’t take it, watching her with such trepidation.

“Do you not like people?” she asked and the girl nodded. “Did they hurt you?”

Biting her lip, the girl hesitated, then nodded.

“Was it because of your magic?”

The girl stepped further away as her hands began to tremble and grief overtook the older woman. Yenn swallowed the knot in her throat. “You know…I understand a little bit about that too,” she said and the girl narrowed her eyes. “I am not welcome in some places either.”

Softly, Yennefer whispered beneath her breath, and the budding flowers of spring began to bloom. The girl’s eyes widened in wonder as she whipped her head about, watching small blossoms pop open all around them. A smile grew on her face and Yennefer softened, reaching out to pluck one of the flowers and offered it to the girl.

“They see it in our eyes,” she said after a long moment as the girl came closer, taking the flower and holding it against her chest. Once more, she let Yen take her hand. “Can I teach you something? A little magic?”

The girl nodded.

“Alright. You’ll have to talk again, like you did earlier. This is an illusion spell,” she said, and reciting the words slowly, her appearance changed. Her purple eyes shifted into a beautiful dark brown, like soil turning over after a rain. “Do you think you can do that one?”

The girl shifted, hesitant, but after Yennefer spoke the words to her again, she attempted. Then again, because it didn’t work, and again, until finally, the girl’s eyes shifted. Yenn’s breath caught when she saw the purple enveloping them, so similar to her own, and her head fell to the side with a smile, though the girl frowned at the dead flower in her hand.

“Well, you’ve certainly gotten the spell,” she said, standing up once more. “Why don’t we try and find that river now, and maybe while we clean up we can try to find a color for you that…” Yenn trailed off and hesitated, looking down at the small child clinging on to her pointer finger, her big purple eyes staring up at her with such wonder. “One that can hide the fact you have magic, yeah?”

The girl nodded, and led Yennefer to the river. Unprepared as she was to see Yenn remove her arms from her dress to wash her back, she was still more surprised when she asked her to do the same. The light brush of this woman’s fingers over her skin left behind a sensation so strong it overcame her. It left something within her and edged her to tears.

Yennefer washed the mud and grime from off the girl’s cheeks, from her clothes, the woman’s breath catching as she washed the child’s neck, finding markings along her shoulders. More still, when she helped her peel out of her dress. Her fingers trailed over the marred, butchered skin of the girl’s back—the welted ring over her left shoulder. Yenn was awfully quiet after that, but as her fingers sank into the girl’s hair, combing out the knots and mats, the girl couldn’t find it in her to care. She cried as an ache overtook her chest and melted into the woman’s hands, unsure of why or what had come over her—as if something in her heart was trying to reach out and hold the woman, cling to her. She didn’t see the unshed tears hidden behind Yenn’s eyes as she hugged her.

The feeling remained when Yennefer stayed with her that night, telling her about magic and teaching her the spell she’d used on the flowers, and though she could not perform it, the child held on to each Elder word with wonder. She left only in the morning after they had eaten, and even still, there was something in the woman’s eyes that lingered in the girl’s mind— sadness, and–and something, well, she didn’t know what it was. She disappeared in a portal of milky air and smoke, and no matter how much time passed, the sensation of warmth remained imprinted on her bones like a tattoo, leaving her craving more.

—Currently—

“Hurry, child,” D’ao said with urgency. “The storm is growing.”

The pit in her stomach grew as she kept Roach at a gallop. Her eyes were burning, begging to close, and she could hardly find the strength to keep Geralt on the horse. D’ao had led her up the Gwenllech, through the gap in the granite rock—which she never would have found without him—and passed the gorge and now, as the sun began to lower in the horizon, she came into the valley. A path circled the outside of the valley, almost bowl shaped, but turning, she followed the small stream into the forest. It barely trickled, and ice covered the outlines of it. The path was exceedingly difficult, clearly not meant to be taken by many, and certainly not by those who did not know it.

Her head nodded against her chest as Roach carried them around corners and massive boulders, and over fallen trees. The stead, at the least, seemed comfortable with the landscape and sure of her footing. After hours, the sun began to set, and the sky grew even darker than it had been by the thick layers of clouds, but alas, there it was. The sight of Kaer Morhen’s stone walls peeking through the thick, monstrous trees sent relief shooting through her like fisstech.

Struggling to remain awake, she pushed on, trying her damndest to stay ahead of the growing snowstorm. Snow had already begun to fall, numbing her fingers and legs. She could hardly even feel the reins in her hands, and Roach was left to do much of the leading. Even the red scarf bundled around her head as a hood couldn’t keep her cheeks from the bitter cold. Winter was well enough here, especially so high up in the mountains.

At last, the sound of hooves beating against stone blessed her ears, and opening her eyes, blinked away the blurriness of her vision so see an old road leading to the main entrance of the castle. It was much larger now, up close, and the heavy wooden gate towered over her head as she approached. She did not have time or energy to pay for the disarray of the castle walls. The arches and towers slowly crumbled high above her head, and wooden beams from old bridges or gateways rotted through. She rather took the time to shove on the wooden gate, praying it would open as Geralt’s breath against her back came out heavy and tortured. Its iron lock clanked against her efforts. Her heart sank.

What if it was a trick?

“That is nonsense,” D’ao assured.

What if it was all made up by a ghoul-bitten Witcher struggling to maintain his consciousness?

“He wasn’t that far gone, child.”

What if Vesemir isn’t actually here?

“That…is more realistic…”

“What if no one is here?” she asked D’ao, and the following silence was bone chilling.

“Oh God,” she whispered, looking back and forth about the wall for some sort of entry way. The wind blew in harshly as the snow grew heavier. Thick snowflakes touched her eyelashes, and she blinked them away quickly. Her chest seized as she whispered, and the vines about her body and Geralt’s slowly let him onto the ground. She jumped off the horse, feet landing beside Geralt’s unconscious body, his pained face and struggling breaths. He groaned.

Roach became antsy, shifting from side to side as she tried to press further into the doors. Whether it was from the storm or something approaching behind them, she didn’t know. Her legs strained with each step as she limped up to the gate, a hand on the hilt of her sword, though she doubted she would be able to wield it properly. Shoving the door again, the lock clanked in the courtyard behind. Fuck.

Her breaths came in sharp as panic crawled out of her chest. Geralt had quit coming back into consciousness yesterday eve, and his mumblings had grown incoherent to stopping entirely. All that remained was his breath and she didn’t know how to save even that for him. She had taken too long to get there.

If Geralt died—

If she had just—

Her head spun as she crouched down, her hands tangling with her hair as she tugged on the strands. Her chest grew tight. She didn’t know what to do.

—[Flashback]—

“What’s your name?” she asked, wide eyed and wondered as the white-haired man carried her.

“Geralt.”

“Are you a Witcher?”

He sighed. “I am.”

She smiled and her small hands held onto him a little tighter. “You have really pretty eyes, Witcher Geralt.”

“...” he hesitated, looking at her strangely and adjusting her in his arms. “So do you.”

“Really?” she asked, lighting up, “Do I?”

He grunted with a short nod and she giggled, resting her small head against his shoulder.

“Witcher Geralt?” she said after several minutes of walking in silence.

“What is it?”

“...thank you for saving me.”

“......you’re welcome….”

“Did…” she stopped, trailing off.

“What is it?”

“Did it…did the monster suffer?”

“....” the witcher fell silent for a moment. “No.”

“Good.”

—[End]—

Her hands trembled as she grit her teeth. Launching herself to her feet again she banged on the door until the sound of the lock echoed in the valley. She was numb, tired, her leg was hurting, and she could barely keep on her feet anymore. A pit hollowed out her stomach and crawled out like spiders through her limbs. There wasn’t anywhere else she could take him. This was it. This was the most she could do. And if no one was here, then Geralt was going to die—

“Vesemir!” she shouted, it tore through her lungs so loudly it shook the air and trembled the ground beneath her feet as she beat on the door incessantly. It echoed in the valley with such desperation that even the trees were swayed by it and reached out as if to help her. It carried through the walls of the fortress, into the mountain until it gripped the stones at their very core.

“Somebody, please!” she cried again, and this time, it was followed by a metal shift of the lock. The gate opened.

“Who in the goddamn—” started the ginger-haired man now standing before her. She was focused more on the second of the three men, his one eye blue and the other brown. She melted into her red scarf. Wolf medallions hung around each of their necks and something warm spilled down her bones and settled the panic.

“Is that Roach—”

“He needs help,” she whispered, pulling Roach to the side to reveal Geralt lying motionless on the ground.

“Geralt—” started the third as all three of them rushed forward. She was unceremoniously pressed out of the way by Sir Ginger, but it was more in urgency than dispute.

“What happened?” the third man, older with silver hair, asked as Ginger and Two-eyes hauled Geralt into the courtyard, each arm tossed over one of their shoulders.

“Ghoul,” she answered, “Wrist.”

“How long?”

“Three days.”

“Fuck.”

“Potions?”

She shook her head. “Broken.”

Sir Silver shoved open the set of doors leading into the castle, and before them came a great hall. Tables were set up and a large fire pit sat in the back. Geralt was lifted and rested onto one of the tables near the fire.

“Damn he’s cold as ice,” Two-eyes said.

“It’s about to come down as a blizzard,” Sir Ginger said. He then glanced at her, “And who the hell are you? A Mage?”

She flinched.

“Not important right now,” Two eyes said sharply, then glanced at her as he removed the bandages she had wrapped around Geralt’s wrist. “No offense.”

She shook her head and shrugged, anxiously watching Geralt’s chest quake up and down. “None to be taken.”

Sir Silver checked Geralt’s eyes, and his face grew pale. “Coen, the Golden Oriole,” he said and Sir Two-eyes left, “Lambert, she brought Geralt home. Try not to insult the child.”

Lambert huffed, wiping away the poultice she had made, grumbling something about healers. Sir Silver handed him a cup of what she assumed was either water or alcohol before he turned to her. She swallowed thickly as her stomach twisted.

“Was he already unconscious when you found him?”

She shook her head quickly. His eyes trailed over her figure carefully, seemingly searching for something, when they jumped back to hers.

“You’re hurt too,” he said, reaching out toward her, but she jerked out of his reach, limping away. “Ghoul?” he asked with a furrowed brow, slowly retracting his hand and taking a step back.

She shook her head.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded as Coen rushed back into the room, two vials in his hand. Sir Silver turned back to Geralt, holding his head as Coen poured the vial of golden Oriole into his mouth. Lambert snatched the other vial and poured it over the bite. White foam erupted over it as the skin crawled with red tendrils up to his elbow. His whole arm seized and a groan slipped past his lips. The scent of spoiled meat grew pungent in the air and she tried not to gag as she crept closer, only an arm’s length from him.

She hovered despite the looks, her breath stilling as she waited. Slowly, after what she felt to be hours, though it was only a few minutes, his skin morphed back into its natural hue. It grew on him like a sunrise and she exhaled sharply.

“What are you thinking Vesemir?” Coen asked, and Sir Silver hummed. Vesemir.

“I think it was close,” Vesemir said. “And he needs rest.”

A soft laugh fell so unexpectedly from her even she was surprised, but her knees gave out and she collapsed onto the seat beside Geralt. Three days of no sleep had caught up to her, and there was nothing left to keep her going.

“Woah—hey,” Coen started, his arm leaping out to catch her, but she was far too gone to be able to recognize it. Geralt was safe. He had the help of people who knew what they were doing. Now, she watched Geralt’s chest as his breaths began to even out, no longer short and choked, gurgling in her ear as his lungs filled with fluid. He may not have opened his eyes like she had hoped, but his features had relaxed. He no longer seemed pained.

The relief flooded her so intensely she trembled, and she drowned in the sensation as her eyes fell closed. She was done.

“What the hell?” Lambert asked as Vesemir laid a gentle, hesitant hand on the girl’s shoulder. Shaking her softly, they realized quickly she was asleep, completely succumbed to the warm room beside Geralt. Questions, Vesemir decided, could wait until she had woken up.

“Let’s get them to proper beds,” he said quietly, fully taking in the child’s appearance with a frown. “And someone tell Yennefer and Ciri when they get back from their lessons.”

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

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moris-auri · 10 months

Text

An epitome of grace

Aemond Targaryen x OC

Chapter one: A thread of silver

warnings; adult content, etc, 18+

Growing up as a bastard daughter of House Stark in the north was not easy. Something Ylva had learned very quickly as a child, her Snow name a stain on the honor of Rickon Stark.

While he'd had been kind to her yes, as she was his eldest daughter, others were not so, cruel looks and even crueller words spoken in hushed tones behind his back. Her birth in their eyes an insult to the memory of his lady wife.

Despite that, he'd had cared little what they thought. Cregan was the same, doing whatever he could to make her laugh or smile after one of the maids or servants said something or one of her cousins taunted her for being weak and a girl, to boot.

She'd been a child when Cregan had found her curled against the bone white roots of the ancient weirwood, sniffling back tears as she sat between the roots. He did not bother asking her what happened, tthe glistening tracks on her face telling enough.

"I don't know why you even bother listening to them, Ylva." He snorted, standing over her, the edges of his heavy fur cloak brushing against the tops of his boots.

"You're my sister. That's all that matters." She'd wiped her face with her sleeve as she stared up at him, eyes wide. "A thousand years of Stark blood runs through you, as Father likes to say often."

"Do you mean it, Cregan?" he grinned this time, the look strange on his face as he changed from boy to man.

He extended his hand to pull her up. "Course I do, little sister. They're just jealous of you. You're the Lord's daughter." He tugged mischievously at her thick braid of black hair before he slung an arm across her slight shoulders, guiding her away from the tree and back to the keep. They walked back in silence, only separating when they entered the courtyard.

He grinned again, pushing her lightly towards the stairs that led to the main wing and to Rickon Stark's study. "Father?" Ylva's small hand was white against the dark oak door, thumping her bony knuckles against it.

She edged her body to hover indecisively in the doorframe, shifting from foot to foot until he noticed her. "Little wolf." Father exhaled a heavy breath and set his quill down, steeping his hands together. His grey eyes were warm in his weathered face.

"Will you tell me what happened? Half the keep was in an uproar searching for you, child."

"One of the kitchen maids called me a bastard. She said that you and my mother-" he patted his leg, a silent command for her to come closer.

"I admit I may not have loved your mother, aye." He said after she had settled. "But I will not say I did not care for her in some way." He said, his hand warm against her head. "You are my daughter. My blood. Your name does not matter here." For all his failings, Rickon Stark had still been her father. She had been cast adrift when he died, grief turning her world bleak, having been closer to him than her siblings were, her sadness buoyed somewhat by the efforts Sara and Cregan made.

The ache of his death had faded slightly as the years flew by, and life went on as if he'd never been there at all.

As Cregan was still a boy, their Uncle took to governing Winterfell in his stead. Until he didn't. News from other parts of the kingdom came sparsely in the isolated North. Until one day a raven came from King's Landing bearing the three headed dragon sigil of House Targaryen. "What does it say, Cregan?" Ylva flicked her fingers at the letter that lay on the table between them as they broke their fast in the dark room.

“King Viserys is dead, and the new King’s brother is coming here.” Ylva spat out the diluted wine she’d barely taken a mouthful of when her trueborn half-brother spoke.

“What?” A brief smile slid across Cregan Stark’s lips at her shock before his familiar somber expression returned.

“King Aegon needs loyal lords if he means to keep his throne out of the hands of his sister.” He said around a mouthful of dark bread. “Didn't Father swear an oath to Princess Rhaenyra?" He nodded.

"Aye. But that was nigh on twenty years past, sister. Aegon is his firstborn son. The realm will never suffer a woman on the Iron Throne, sister." She went quiet at that.

“I’ve not heard pleasant things about Prince Aemond,” she said instead. Cregan grimaced at her lack of manners when she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “Rumors from the smallfolk say that he is a bold, willful, hot-tempered and unforgiving boy.”

“Naysayers’ words. He is grown now. You would do well to not repeat them when he comes, Ylva." He said gruffly, a haunting echo of their father. "The last thing we need here is an angry House raining dragonfire on our heads." He shot her a look.

"As if I'd dare. I like my head where it is, thank you." Cregan barked a laugh when she wasn't as quiet as she thought she was.

Ylva tore off another hunk of bread and smeared honey on it before stuffing it in her mouth. “He will be here in a moon's turn nonetheless, and we will see what type of man he truly is.” He swallowed another mouthful of the ale in his cup before setting it down again and rising to his feet.

The preparations for the Prince's impending arrival had all the servants and workers flitting around the keep as they prepared. Ylva tried to help them, but more often than not was chasing her sister all over the keep. "Sara! Come back here, now!" Her sister’s giggles floated down from the thick branches of one of the many trees in the godswood. Ylva scowled furiously up at her younger sister, seeing her grey eyes through a gap.

"Sara... come down, please!"

"No!" Sara Snow's high voice chirped from above her, followed by another giggle.

"Yes! The prince will be here any time and you are still filthy, little one." Ylva gestured impatiently towards Winterfell behind her back. "Come down at once." Sara didn't budge, ignoring her as she climbed higher. Sighing, Ylva tried another trick that was a tried and true method the younger girl couldn't resist. "If you come down, I'll have the cook make you honey cakes-"

True enough, Sara tumbled quick as a cat out of the tree several seconds later, skidding to a stop in front of her sister. "Please, please!" she cried, her grey eyes staring up at Ylva as she tugged insistently at Ylva's skirts.

"A bath first. Then all the honey cakes you wish for." she said, tapping Sara's nose.

Ylva rubbed her hands together, the chill creeping past the fur lined gloves and into her fingertips, numbing them a little. She shivered. Even having Stark blood wasn't enough to keep the cold away, it seemed.

Her head shot up when a roar sounded overhead and the massive shadow of the old dragon casting a shadow that stretched for miles. Vhagar’s wings beat flurries of snow off the ground as she landed a little ways outside Winterfell’s walls. Ylva’s breath froze in her lungs when the Prince stepped into the courtyard of Winterfell, his boots soundless against the fine snow.

Aemond Targaryen had to be the loveliest thing she had ever laid eyes on. His face was all chiseled angles and sharp as glass lines, all pale hair and light skin and violet eye, nothing like the roughened stone and iron of the men of the North she had grown up around. There was a certain prowling feral predatory grace to his movements, a calculated surety and a fluidity that belied his royal birth as the second son of Viserys I.

If only she’d been trueborn. The forlorn thought was a knife twisting deep in her belly, sinking deep into her bones. A futile wish buried deep in her heart.

The prince stilled directly in front of Cregan. "Lord Stark," he said lowly, inclining his head. "I come as an envoy for my brother the King." Ylva could barely see him over her brother’s wide set frame.

“Winterfell welcomes you, my Prince.” Cregan dipped his head as he returned the Prince's greeting.

"My thanks, Lord Stark. There is much we must discuss." Aemond said, lowering his voice so whatever he said was heard by her brother's ears alone. Growing bored quickly, Ylva began to fidget before turning and slipping past the other people who'd gathered to see the Prince. The last time a Targaryen had stepped foot within Winterfell's walls was when Brandon Stark bent the knee to Aegon I.

She was unaware her escape had caught the prince's attention.

A quicksilver flash of midnight dark hair behind Lord Stark caught his attention, his hushed words trailing off. Sensing the Prince's distraction, Cregan Stark's gaze followed Aemond's eye to where he stared at the nameless beauty in a dark blue dress as she slid through the line of people. Ylva. Cregan sighed, a grumbled curse building on his tongue at her inability to stay still. "Who-"

"My sister." Before he could reply further, the steward of Winterfell leaned closer to speak lowly in his ear, causing his brow to furrow and a frown to appear on his mouth. "Forgive me, Prince Aemond. It seems there is a matter I must attend to."

"Of course, my Lord." Aemond's eye watched the girl in the dark blue dress as she disappeared around a corner.

She had only seen glimpses of the pretty Prince here and there, when he was not locked with her brother in his solar. Boredom became a constant companion when they were, that and causing the types of trouble Father and Uncle Bennard would not have put up with.

"Come back here! Ylva!" the shout from her enraged brother only made her laugh harder as she flew past him on the white warhorse father had given her for her fifteenth name-day. A cloud of dirt flying up into the air in the wake of her stallion's hooves.

Aemond watched on in silent amusement, a slight curve to his lips. "Allow me, Lord Stark." He spoke up sharply when the girl and the horse went farther and farther away, moving to mount one of the horses a stable hand had led out from Winterfell’s stables. He tore off after her, the horse under him eating the ground as he pushed her faster and faster.

The Prince caught up to her soon enough, his fingers closing around the reins and pulling them up short, his face hovering inches away from hers. He was even prettier close up, his eye a myriad of different shades of purple. She glared at him.

"You've ruined my fun, silver Prince." She said mutinously, tearing her eyes from his as she slid down from the saddle and walked away. He followed behind her.

"My lady Stark-" he darted forward when she showed no signs of slowing, lunging forward slightly as he caught her wrist in his grip. Ylva stilled, back to him. Tingles spreading like static or sparks or some indescribable feeling hovered just under the surface of her skin, the touch of his hand was as hot as hers was the icy cold of the stones of Winterfell.

A rasping laugh came from between her lips. "I am no lady, my Prince. I am a Snow."

"What's your name?" he demanded, a desperate plea to know the name of the girl with the raven winged hair.

Her mouth twitched, her eyes glittering like chips of blue ice in the light. She turned to look at him over her shoulder. "Lord Stark named me Ylva. After some long dead Stark lady." She turned away from him again, missing the way her name rolled off his tongue as smooth as water when he repeated it, a faint smile hovering in the corners of his lips.

Her dark skirts twirled around her ankles in a circle as she spun away from him, light and carefree on her toes as she danced under the great weirwood tree in the godswood, laughter ringing out clear amidst the bloody red leaves. She didn't see the expression on the Prince's face as he watched her, all but practically enthralled, drawn further into her orbit. She stopped spinning when a wave of dizziness came over her, steadying herself against a tree.

"Are you not cold?" she asked curiously after she had straightened, eyes on the coat that covered his slim shoulders, the thin leather not made for the frigid cold of the North.

He laughed, his shoulders shaking from the force of his mirth as he threw his head back, tilting his head down and to the side as he looked at her. "I am a Targaryen, my Lady. A dragon. Our blood burns hotter than others."

"I am not a lady." She repeated, snorting to prove her point.

"No," he agreed, mouth curving upwards. A clarity sparked in his eye as he looked at her anew. "You are different, Ylva Snow. Freer. Lighter."

The way he said her name had her face flushing as she turned her head to hide it, smoothing the palms of her hands down the fabric over her thighs. "Unafraid to speak your mind."

A week turned into a month, and Prince Aemond seemed to be everywhere she was now, a wraith of all black leather. He seemed to like cornering her in the keep's library the most, talking to her about everything and nothing, about history and philosophy. All the topics his brother cared naught for, he told her.

More often than not, red stained her cheeks when she'd caught him staring at her openly.

"You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen." Aemond admitted unashamedly one time when she had, his eye on her face. Fighting against the blush that threatened to cover her cheeks in bright tones of red, Ylva placed the tome down and stepped toe to toe with him yet again.

"Careful, silver Prince-" she said, eyes gleaming silver as she pressed against his front. He swallowed, lips parting slightly. "I am not one of those flowery southern maidens you can woo with pretty songs and pretty words." Something hot and unfamiliar to her grew in his eye.

Another fortnight passed and he still had not left, his presence seemingly become a fixture and a shadow at her back.

It was rather irritating at times.

She'd been in the godswood again, aiming a bow at a rabbit that tried to blend in with the snow. She cursed when it fled from the crunch of snow behind her. Ylva half turned, bow slack in her hand now. "You again." She said, nose flaring.

"Mmm." His hands were clasped elegantly behind him. He dipped his head, amused by her words. "Your brother requests you for something back at the keep, my lady Snow. " Ylva kicked at the snow as her irritation grew.

"He can wait. I promised the cooks I would bring them a rabbit. Or two." Her pale eyes lifted to his, her gaze as sharp as Cregan's broadsword. "Do you know how to shoot a bow, my Prince?" his eye followed her movements as she went in a circle around him before stopping and stepping back.

The snow crunched under her boots as she edged closer, holding the bow aloft. His hand brushed hers when he took it from her. A brief, painfully sharp spark raced through her from his touch. Father would've scolded her if he'd been here, if he could've seen her now, lusting after a prince.

Another rabbit appeared, this one several yards in front of them, still as if it was waiting for any sign of movement.

"Mm. I do, though not as well as I do the sword, I admit." her hand closed over top of his, guiding his arm and the bow to center on the frozen animal. The arrow missed, despite her guidance. He dropped the bow, letting out a brief irritated huff from his mouth. "I'd like to kiss you." he said out of the blue, watching the rabbit flee.

"What?" Ylva blinked in shock.

"I want to kiss you." he said again.

She hid a smile behind her fingers at the plea in his voice. "If I let you... what do I get in return?"

"I'll give you anything you desire." he said instantly, the tips of their boots touching as he towered over her. Ylva laughed, lowering her gaze to hide the effect the request had on her.

"You're a prince. The brother of the King. You can have anything you want. Anyone you want."

His eye went half-lidded as he looked down at her. "And If I want you? All of you?" her laughs died in her throat as her heart hammered loudly behind her ribs.

His throat bobbed when she leaned closer to him. "Me?" her hand lifted, fingers hovering hesitantly inches away from his face. Her gaze was guarded, eyes wary as she stared at him.

"I cannot get you out of my thoughts." He said, his voice a throaty rasp as she traced the edges of his mouth and the sharp lines of his jaw delicately with the tips of her fingers. An unfamiliar sensation pooled deep in her belly, desire sparking fever bright in her eyes.

Aemond's hands flexed at his sides, visibly holding himself back as he waited impatiently for her to make the first move. Her mouth parted, a split second passing as she stared at him before her mouth met his. His back curved as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him.

She dug the tips of her fingers into his shoulders, pulling him as close as she could. "Will you give yourself to me?" Ylva bit back a cry when his mouth fell to her neck.

"It's rather too late for that-" another gasp came tumbling out of her throat, this one higher pitched than the last. She shuddered when goosebumps erupted on her skin as his hands pushed her skirts up. "Aemond-" She held him against her tighter, gasping.

"Say it again-" the fingers he had dipped between her thighs came away wet and slick. He jerked back when he felt her flinch, the pupil of his eye contracting then expanding to all black with no violet visible. "You are a maiden." He backed up, aloof once more. "Forgive me, my lady Snow." He said, eye wide and looking half ready to turn his back and flee.

A hoarse sound built in her throat, legs unsteady beneath her. "I might be a maiden, but I know enough from the maids and other older women in this keep-" she growled, baring her teeth at him. Strands of her black hair hung half undone from the confines of the tight braids Sara had woven after his slim fingers tangled and yanked at it. "Better a beautiful dragon prince than no one at all." Her thighs slid together under her shift, skirts having fallen when he'd backed off.

Ylva clenched her fists in them again. "You will not leave me like this." An order, and a demand.

Aemond relented, coming closer to her, his arms twining around her waist. The touch of his fingertips against her waist was gentler than before as he bent over her, his kiss soft as he caught her mouth with his. Ylva didn't want tender, not now. Not when his touch left her wet and panting with desire. The Stark blood, the wolf's blood in her veins roared and thundered in her ears.

Aemond shuddered when her mouth touched the underside of his jaw, her teeth nipping the skin of his throat, her fingers tugging insistently at the laces of his breeches.

She barely felt the rough bark of the wide oak tree he pressed her against, her skirts riding up more as her legs slid around his waist and her arms locked around his shoulders. She fought another flinch, biting her lip between sharp teeth when she felt him slide into her.

"Let go, my lady Snow-" he said breathlessly, loosening his grip on her slightly only to clasp her bruisingly tight when she let out a whimper, twisting her fingers in his silver hair again as a tidal wave of pleasure crashed over her, clenching around him as he muffled his groans against her skin, where her neck met her shoulder.

More time went by. Ylva had never felt freer than she did during the three turns of the moon it had been since Aemond One-Eye had arrived in Winterfell.

Days she would spend hawking and astride her horse in the forests skirting Winterfell, hair flying free as laughs bubbled up in her throat as the echoing hoofbeats of the horse Aemond rode sounded behind her. Days spent kissing him in the darkened stairwell of the Broken Tower. Baring the deepest parts of himself to her in the shadows of the tower, as he pressed kisses to her mouth, to her throat, kisses that made her insides turn to fire.

"Does it hurt?" Ylva's fingers were gentle as she pulled the eyepatch over his head. She'd barely touched the long since healed wound of the angry red scar that went halfway down his face and the sapphire that had been set in the hole where his eye used to be before she was yanking them away when he suddenly flinched, his lips going bloodless when he pressed them together tightly.

"Mmm. Feels like needles and knives at times, Ylva." He said softly, his fingers combing through her dark hair. She knew better than to ask him more when his face became closed off and cold as he became lost in the memory of that day.

His secrets were his own.

"Will you teach me High Valyrian?" Ylva asked, twining strands of his hair between her fingers as she lay against him after he'd cornered her again in the tower, head resting on his chest at the top of the tower after he'd had her wrapped around his tall figure, quivering and boneless. Her body ached, pleasantly so, bruises and marks from his hands and mouth covering her ivory skin.

Warmth blossomed in her belly at the noise he made. "Hmm. If you've the patience for it." he lifted her again, his hands rasping and sliding against her still sweat slicked skin as he breathed words in the half-deadened language like a prayer against her, from her neck, to her breasts and down to her thighs, knowing nothing for hours but the pleasure his fingers and his mouth gave her. It had been painful the first time, that day he'd chased after her and she'd given herself to him pressed against the oak tree. So much so that she had felt like she would break into pieces.

"Let go-" Aemond had breathed against her black hair as he'd bowed his body over hers like a taut bowstring, his arms trapping her between his lean form and the tree. Blood pumping through her veins, Ylva lay supine underneath him, her nails scrabbling against his back and her legs clenching around his hips. His movements grew sluggish as he slowed, his hips jerking desperately as he spilled inside her, her fingers sliding over his hair.

Neither of them came away unscathed every time they were together. Wounds littered their bodies in the form of bloody bitemarks, scratches and a cacophony of bruises that painted their pale skin in violent tones of black and blue. Aemond winced every time he moved, the scratches on his back from Ylva's nails red and raw on his pale skin. A wolf should never tangle with a dragon, lest they wish to burn.

"What's the word for love?" Ylva pressed her face against his back, wrapping her arms around him from behind, the skin hot against her cheek. His whole body went still.

Ylva exhaled, the weight of her words heavy on her chest. "I know there is nothing-" Ylva began to ramble listlessly when no sound came from him. Snow went flying beneath his heel when he spun around so rapidly it made her dizzy just watching him, his fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her.

"Will you not stay longer?" Ylva had asked anyway, already knowing the answer when five turns of the moon passed and the blue and copper body of Prince Daeron's dragon landed near where Vhagar slumbered. The King had sent his other brother, Prince Daeron to Winterfell to demand Aemond return to the capitol.

"I have been gone too long for my brother's liking." Was all he said as she stood close, watching his brother get nearer. "Aemond!" Prince Daeron called out pleasantly, clasping his brother's arm in greeting. Ylva could see the resemblance between Aemond and his younger brother, in the shape of his eyes and in the curl to his mouth. His eyes fell on Ylva, who watched him warily, saying nothing.

"So this is why you've been absent so long, brother." His eyes darted to Aemond again. "Aegon's been a menace with you gone."

A feast and a fortnight later Ylva watched from the courtyard of the keep as both Vhagar and Tessarion lifted from the ground. Aemond touched his fingers to her wrist in a silent promise before he was stalking through the gates and becoming nothing more than a faint pale haired blur as he climbed up the ropes of Vhagar' saddle, casting one glance her way as his massive verdant dragon lifted into the skies.

She turned, not bearing to watch as she listened to the sound of the steady beats of Vhagar’s wings grow fainter and fainter.

"When was the last time you bled, Ylva?" One of the sweeter maids had asked her, after Aemond had been gone for a month and Ylva began to spend more time in her chambers, ill and nauseous. Hope flared in her heart. Her hands settling gently on her still flat stomach that carried the gift he had left her.

She should've known better than to trust the maester who had examined her, loyal to her brother more. Cregan's face was made of stone as he stared at her, the look in his pale eyes leaving her shamed. "He takes advantage of you, your Prince, leaving you with a child in your belly as he did." His hand scraped over the beard covering his face.

"He said he'd come back-" Ylva said feebly, the creeping spider silk fine weaving strands of doubt in her mind and in her heart. Cregan was right, though. What could a bastard ever hope to be to a King's son?

"And you believed him? He is a man, Ylva, and men lie." He exhaled, eyes scrutinizing. "I will not force you to drink moon tea. You deserve some semblance of happiness here." Ylva tasted salt as she swallowed, the smile on her mouth more of a grimace than anything. "I do not mean to be cruel, sister. You might be of noble birth, and my sister, but you are still a bastard. And he is a Prince."

#aemond x oc #house of the dragon #my fics #a song of ice and fire

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sapphire-writes · 1 year

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Read more on AO3

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Elyse & Aemond are wed.

Warnings: language, smut at the end of chapter, mentions of blood, losing v-card, f-receiving 🥵

Word count: 4316

previous chapter ~~ next chapter

A wedding was surely a sign that the realm was headed toward prosperity. The Dowager Queen Alicent was convinced that three weddings must be a blessing from the Mother and Maiden.

She journeyed to the Sept often to pray for good fortune to all parties involved, as whispers of Septa Alicent spread throughout the Keep.

She did not mind. Alicent found comfort through her prayers. The Sept seemed to be the only place she could think freely, without someone grappling for her attention.

She prayed often for the health and wellness of her children. For the prosperity of the seven kingdoms. For peace throughout the realm.

She often found herself praying for Princess Rhaenyra.

Within the same moon, Baela Targaryen would wed her cousin Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaena Targaryen would wed her cousin Lucerys Velaryon, and Aemond Targaryen would wed Elyse Baratheon.

Alicent sat within the Sept, eyes shut, head bowed in prayer. Her auburn curls obscured her face as her lips moved in silent prayer. The light of several hundred candles cast shadows around the room. Alicent’s hands were laced together, the skin around her nails just starting to heal. She rubbed her finger across the jagged healing skin of her opposite hand.

Tensions were still high between the blacks and the greens. The opponents stood facing each other as though matched against one another on a chess board. Flittering about the realm, waiting for the other to strike first. Alicent had heard rumors of Prince Daemon camping at Harrenhaal, something that would need to be dealt with sooner or later, regardless of Rhaenyra’s answer.

Princess Rhaenyra had complications from her labors and was still contemplating the terms delivered by Otto Hightower, nearly a month prior. Alicent had petitioned for the Princess at court, allowing her all the time she deemed necessary for her health. Another day without an answer was another day without the threat of war. And for now, that was enough.

Alicent thought often of Rhaenyra.

When Rhaenyra departed King’s Landing Alicent urged her to return. Though Rhaenyra had agreed, something had kept her at Dragonstone. Alicent had not received a raven stating why the Princess had been delayed returning.

Perhaps she had misunderstood Rhaenyra’s intentions to return. She tried to disguise her hurt feelings.

Rhaenyra had a habit of breaking Alicent’s heart, whether she understood that was what she was doing so or not.

Alicent reopened her eyes as she ended her prayer. Glancing up at the statue of the Mother, a soft smile danced across her lovely face.

Her second son would be marrying and for that she was grateful. Everything was appearing to be going as planned. Aegon was king, and Rhaenyra would accept the terms the crown provided. She had to accept the terms.

Alicent rose from her knees and turned to leave. She would return to the Sept again asking the gods for their good fortune.

The wedding was a small affair, in the royal Sept.

Helaena had helped Elyse prepare, along with Jeyne and Tasha. Her dark curls had been pulled from her face, some hanging loosely down her back held by a braided crown. Several silver pins adorned her hair, as though stars in the night sky.

The wedding gown was lovely, Elyse had seen it nearly a week prior for a fitting. The color of a shimmering pearl, with Myrish lace designs of a forest at the hem. A lonely doe stood out between the lace pine trees that trailed up towards her waist.

Elyse only wished she had some kin present. She yearned for her mother’s touch, for her father to give her away. Though she was thankful for the Targaryen family she loved, Elyse couldn’t help but feel something missing. It made her happy remembering Aemond’s promise to journey to Storm’s End.

Helaena had kissed both her cheeks, eyes wet with tears as she admired her companion. She now stood next to her mother as the ceremony progressed.

Aegon had escorted Elyse into the Sept, presenting her to his younger brother. Aemond stood, clad in green so dark it could be mistaken for black. His long hair flowed freely down his shoulders.

“You may now cloak the bride, and bring her under your protection,” the Septon announced.

Elyse stiffened as Aegon removed the gold cloak decorated with a black stag. In normal circumstances, her father would be the one to remove her cloak, but Lord Borros was not in attendance at the small affair. The King was the only suitable other option.

Elyse felt suddenly cold without the weight of the cloak and she gazed up at Aemond. The Septon ushered her to turn.

Elyse turned her back towards Aemond kneeling slightly, as he draped the green and gold cloak on her shoulders; the emblem of House Targaryen gleamed proudly on her back. She could feel his hands upon her, lingering a moment before pulling away.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” Elyse spoke softly, “and take you for my lord and husband.”

“With this kiss, I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife,” Aemond said, his eye never leaving Elyse’s face.

“Let it be known that Lady Elyse, of House Baratheon and Prince Aemond of House Targaryen, are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who dare tear them asunder.” the maester finished. Aemond’s eye met Elyse’s gaze.

He placed his hands in hers before capturing her lips in a sweet kiss. As he pulled away, a blush crept onto her cheeks.

The feast afterward was small as well, but lively with dancing and merriment. Aemond and Elyse sat together between members of the royal family.

“I only wish Daeron was able to make it,” Helaena lamented, “you know how fond he is of feasts.”

Elyse smiled, taking a sip from the wine in front of her. She had been slowly sipping her wine all evening and had yet to dance, her nerves getting the best of her.

“Daeron is fond of everything,” Aegon told his sister, causing her to frown.

“I do not think he is fond of caterpillars,” Helaena retorted, causing Aegon's eyebrows to raise. Elyse heard Aemond chuckle beside her.

“You see when we were children,” Helaena began before pressing her lips together, “oh never mind.”

“No no, go on,” Aegon said, curiosity written on his face. It was Elyse’s turn to suppress a chuckle.

“Well,” Helaena began, cheeks reddening, “I didn’t know he did not like them, and so I thought he would look lovely with some atop his shoulder. They complimented his outfit greatly.”

Aegon’s mouth dropped open as he laughed.

“Who in this family have you not tormented with your creatures?” he accused, and Helaena laughed.

“She used to make me reach spiders for her in the garden, I assume that counts,” Aemond said, though his smile was kind.

Elyse hummed in agreement before a laugh escaped her lips. She felt warm with the conversation, and the unity she felt with officially joining the family. Elyse caught Helaena’s eye then and the girls smiled at one another.

Elyse did not notice Helaena’s smile falter as she turned to converse with Alicent, who informed her there would be no official wedding ceremony. Elyse felt relief course through her.

“Come,” Aegon said suddenly rising from his chair, “honor your king with a dance, my lady.”

Elyse was not sure how her relationship with Aegon would be from here on out. Though sometimes he was vile, sometimes he was kind. And he was her king after all. She glanced at Aemond before taking Aegon’s hand.

“You honor me, your grace,” she said, as he led her to the dance floor.

Aemond watched every move Aegon made as the dance began, ready to rise from his seat at a moment’s notice.

“Congratulations, brother,” Helaena spoke softly, Elyse and Aegon in her line of sight.

“Thank you, sister,” Aemond murmured.

Helaena looked at him then, a small smile on her face.

“Take care of her,” she told him, causing him to turn. Aemond’s brow furrowed at Helaena’s dreamlike expression.

“Hel?” Aemond said, bringing his hand to hers.

“As storms end, storms begin,” she told him, returning her gaze to the dancefloor.

As the feast wound down, the newlyweds were escorted to their shared apartments. Elyse felt strange about saying goodbye to the chambers she had grown in.

These new apartments seemed almost too grand. A large antechamber opened up to a grand room, with high ceilings. A great fireplace roared with a recently lit fire, casting a warm glow around the room. Towards the rear was an enormous four-poster bed, big enough to comfortably sleep four or five people.

A chaise and some other seating were placed near the fire, along with a table full of bread, cheeses, and fruit. A pitcher of wine accompanied the food, with two goblets waiting to be filled.

Elyse walked around the room, admiring it. She turned to face Aemond, who was watching her carefully, drinking in her flushed expression.

“I once told you, that you would be much happier with Lord Maceon,” he said suddenly, unable to contain himself now that they were in the privacy of their own chambers.

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace and the beating of Elyse’s heart. Though she hoped Aemond was unable to hear it from where he stood across the room.

“I remember,” she told him, eyes wide.

Aemond’s face softened. He walked towards her, taking her hands in his. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. Elyse felt her chest warm at the comforting gesture.

“There was truth in that. But I wish to try; to make you happy,” he murmured, eyes downcast.

Elyse tilted her head to the side. Dropping one of his hands she brought her hand to the scarred side of his face. Aemond suppressed a flinch as she pressed her soft hand to his face. Elyse was silent a moment, waiting for him to meet her eyes.

Aemond felt his heart hammering within his chest, but forced himself to look upon her. Her blue eyes were wide, full of adoration.

“I just want you,” Elyse breathed, Aemond’s eye closing at her words. She could feel him leaning into her hand, his resistance shattering.

Elyse felt herself smile at his vulnerability. She had never seen Aemond like this before. He opened his eye as though reading her mind. Aemond had an alarming habit of knowing her thoughts.

He placed a kiss on her hand before walking back to the door. Elyse’s brow furrowed, worried for a moment he was going to leave. He instead moved to throw the lock across the door, before turning back to face her.

“Are you going to be good for me?” Aemond asked, a dark look in his eye. Elyse swallowed, anticipation tingling beneath her skin.

Aemond sauntered towards her. Elyse stuck her chin up as he came to face her. He brought his hand up to caress the face of the woman he adored.

“Aren’t I always?” Elyse teased and Aemond tutted.

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking?” Aemond asked, his voice dangerously calm.

Elyse shook her head not trusting her voice.

“About that night after the coronation. How you knew what you wanted from me,” he said, flexing his long fingers for good measure.

“Have you touched yourself before sweet Elyse?”

Elyse's breath hitched in her chest.

“Yes,” she admitted, cheeks darkening.

“Did you think of me?” He asked, violet eye wide.

Elyse said nothing, confirming what he already assumed to be true. Aemonds face broke out in a ravenous grin.

“Turn for me,” he commanded and Elyse obeyed. She could feel Aemond’s hands at the laces of her gown, nimble fingers undoing the restraints of her corset. Not a moment later, the gown pooled to the floor, leaving Elyse in her shift.

Helaena had chosen the shift she wore, smooth silk trimmed with Myish lace. Much fancier than she was used to.

She could feel her breath turning into pants, her face burning red, as she turned to face her husband once more. Elyse chewed her lip, stomach flipping with nerves. It was as though she was on dragonback yet again.

Aemond’s eye never left her face as he sunk to his knees before her.

“Which do you prefer?” He asked, beginning to play with the hem of her silk shift.

“What?” She asked. He had a terrible habit of distracting her. He cocked his head, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on her.

“I simply wish to know if my lady prefers. My fingers or yours?” he asked her.

Elyse felt her lips part with the question, gaze dropping to his long, slender fingers. Her toes curled remembering the feeling of those digits inside of her. Pressing against her most secretive place.

“My lady?” He inquired at her silence.

“Yours. Always yours.” She admitted, face flushed. Aemond hummed in approval.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice rough, disappearing beneath her skirts. She felt his hands pull down her small clothes, before hitching one of her legs over his shoulder. She wobbled momentarily, regaining her balance with the new position.

Elyse felt the sharp curve of his nose press against her most intimate spot, and inhale deeply. Elyse blushed furiously, feeling embarrassed at his action.

“Aemond-” she began, but he only growled.

“Do you have any idea what this does to me?” he purred. Elyse shook her head, forgetting Aemond could not see her. He nipped her inner thigh with his teeth causing her to gasp.

“No” she breathed and she could feel him humming against her.

“I think about this cunt always. For years I’ve dreamt only of this.” Elyse whimpered at his confession, feeling herself growing wetter with his words. Aemond’s fingers dug into the meat of her thighs.

“I am a gentleman. I was forced to restrain myself far too long against your temptation.” He murmured against her.

“I’ve dreamt of you,” she said, through her whimpers. Aemond smiled beneath her skirts. “Always of you…oh!” Aemond licked her then, from the bottom of her slit to the top, his tongue exploring every inch of her. His lips circled her clit, the tip of his tongue teasing the sensitive pearl.

“Aemond…oh gods,” Elyse moaned as he thrust his tongue up inside her. He brought a hand to her buttock, spanking it harshly. Elyse yelped at the smack before his hand squeezed relief into her cheek.

“My prince,” Elyse corrected feeling the warmth spread through her at the memory.

There are no gods here, only me.

Only him beneath her skirts. Only his tongue, gods that tongue that curled into her in a way that made her forget all sense of dignity as she cried out continuously.

Elyse felt the hand on her buttock push her more into his face. She worried momentarily about how Aemond was supposed to breathe with her so entangled around his head, but the thought left her mind as the pleasure built within her.

Her release began to build, a wave creating over her ready to crash against the shore. She cried out as his tongue thrust into her, probing the spot he discovered that first night together. The spot Aemond knew could have her sobbing his name.

“Aemond!” She cried and he nearly came himself at the sound of his name bubbling from her lips, in a pleasurable cry.

He removed himself from beneath her skirts, letting her hooked leg slide down to the floor.

“Bed,” he commanded and Elyse eagerly obliged. Aemond discarded his boots before climbing on top of her, ridding Elyse of her shift. Naked as her nameday, gooseflesh began to blossom on her flesh in the cool air.

Elyse’s hands found the hem of his shirt and he assisted her in ridding it from his body. Elyse felt her eyes widen as she admired the smooth planes of his chest, the muscles that roped his arms. She brought her hands to the waistband of his trousers, and though they shook with nervous excitement, she was able to undo the ties.

Aemond’s cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach causing Elyse’s lips to part. She wet her lips then, looking up at Aemond for instructions on what to do next.

A groan escaped Aemond as he latched his mouth to her breast. Elyse squealed with delight as he circled her nipple with his tongue. He lavished the sizable mound with hot licks of his tongue, nipping the sensitive skin with his teeth sure to leave her chest littered with lovebites. Leaving a trail of kisses on her breastbone he made his way to her other breast to give it the same attention.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her, “you have no idea how long I have wanted this.”

“Aemond,” Elyse cried, as her thighs clenched together. She could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh, and she ached to sheath him inside of her. Aemond simply hummed against her, content with taking his time, as she ran her hand over his silky hair reaching the strap of his eyepatch. Aemond froze then, every muscle in his body at attention. Elyse noticed his shoulders tense.

“Let me see you,” she begged. Aemond’s violet eye met hers before giving Elyse a curt nod.

Gently, Elyse removed the strap revealing the sapphire underneath. Aemond kept his eye locked on her, reading her reaction. Though he felt his shame course through him, he refused to look away. Elyse traced her fingers over the scar, before feeling the cold gem.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

Aemond kissed her, long and hard, using the hand that did not hold him above her to move her thighs apart. Elyse was slick and dripping from her earlier release and his continued attention, as she felt him press against her center.

“This may hurt, only briefly,” he warned between kisses and she nodded, pressing her forehead to his.

“It’s alright,” she told him. Elyse was ready to become a woman. To truly become Aemond’s wife.

Aemond slowly pushed his length into her, the stretch causing her mouth to fall open. There was a moment of sharp pain causing her to whimper as Aemond split her in two. Aemond brought his mouth to her neck, meaning to distract her from the pain with the pleasure she enjoyed.

He pressed into her slowly, stretching her out, until he bottomed out in her cunt. He clenched his teeth at the feeling of her tight, wet, heat pulsating around him.

Elyse dug her fingernails into his shoulders leaving crescent-shaped marks. There was a moment of fire deep within her womb as their bodies fully connected for the first time.

Aemond allowed her a moment to adjust, before pulling his hips back and snapping them forward sending a wave of pleasure through Elyse's body. She dug her nails harder into his shoulder, gritting her teeth together at the enticing sensation of pleasure and pain.

Aemond brought his hands around Elyse’s head as he plunged himself into her, their bodies flush against one another. Elyse wrapped her legs around his waist desperate to aid him in his passionate thrusts, as the pain ebbed completely. Elyse moaned beneath him as he placed a kiss on her jaw.

“Aemond,” she whined and the prince smiled into her.

Aemond swore he could live off of Elyse’s moans and nothing more.

“Yes, my sweet girl?” he purred, causing Elyse to whimper.

Elyse felt her pleasure creeping up her back once more, the pressure in her abdomen twisting and turning, wound so incredibly tight. A dam soon to burst open.

Tears leaked from her eyes as Aemond continued his even, long thrusts into her. His teeth scraped her neck and she dug her fingers deeper into his shoulders.

“Please,” she begged and Aemond’s cock twitched within her. How Aemond adored when she begged.

“Fuck,” Aemond moaned into her shoulder and he pounded into her, his strokes slow and relentless. “You’re doing so well, so good for me.”

Elyse could only moan in response as Aemond pulled her pleasure from her. As Aemond stared into her eyes Elyse felt an immense pressure well in her chest. Aemond grinned at her expression.

“Does this feel good?” he crooned, as she whimpered below him. His voice sent a wave of pleasure rippling down her spine.

“Yes,” she breathed.

Elyse’s walls began to flutter as the peak of her pleasure washed over her. As Aemond felt her cunt clamp around him his thrusts became sloppier as found his own release, emptying his seed into her warm cunt.

He stayed seated within her as her cunt milked him for all he was worth. He swore that it was paradise, the feeling of Elyse’s silky walls constructing around him. The two lay together still conjoined, pants turning back into slow breaths.

As he pulled himself from her warm sheath, he watched as their mingled releases spilled from her opening. The blood of her maidenhead pooled on the sheets below her.

Elyse tangled her fingers in his hair as he lay beside her, feeling suddenly very tired.

Aemond allowed himself a moment, basking in the post-coital haze, placing kisses on every inch of skin his lips could reach, before he rose from the bed. He placed his arms under Elyse, lifting her from the bed with several furs.

“What are you doing?” She asked sleepily, as he laid her on the chaise.

“My lady wife shall not sleep on bloodied sheets,” he told her as he tore the sheets from the marriage bed. Elyse had wondered whether or not she would bleed, she had enjoyed riding horses throughout the years of her youth.

Elyse sat up and watched him, the dull ache between her legs reminded her that she had become a woman. A wife. Aemond’s wife. She smiled softly as he discarded the sheets.

Aemond turned to her and Elyse’s lips parted with her gasp. He was so beautiful; lean, taught muscles everywhere, long silver hair, and sharp features. And that blue sapphire eye of his that sparkled in the candlelight, as though winking at her.

Elyse let herself admire him, even as her face flushed while he watched her.

Aemond felt himself growing hard again as she gazed at him, her eyes falling toward his waist.

A hungry look clouded his eyes and Elyse smiled coyly at him.

“My prince?” she asked him, as he prowled over to her.

“Fuck the sheets,” he murmured capturing her lips in a kiss.

“Fuck the bed,” he breathed between his kisses, hands gripping her thighs pulling her towards him once more.

After several rounds of lovemaking, Elyse lay draped over Aemond’s chest, her fingers entangled in his strands of silver hair. She could feel the tips of his fingers tracing shapes on her upper arms.

The sky was a startling shade of violet, golden light beginning to bathe the room. Though her mind was foggy with the pleasure she experienced, a question played in her mind.

“Why a sapphire?” she murmured, feeling Aemond’s head turn at the sound of her voice. She looked up at him between her lashes.

“Why do you ask?” he said, in a voice rough from the late hour.

“I once heard it was a ruby,” she told him, causing him to chuckle at the gossip. Elyse smiled at his amused expression.

“Why not an amethyst?” she questioned, fingers dancing over his pectoral muscle, watching as it flexed beneath her touch. She wondered why he had not chosen the gemstone that matched his eye. Aemond hummed at her question.

“I’m rather fond of this shade of blue,” he told her, before rolling until he was atop her again, nudging apart her thighs. Elyse let out a soft whine; she could feel his hardness pressing at her entrance, desperate to be buried within her again. She happily obliged.

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed it 💚

#aemond fic #aemond x original character #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond fanfiction #house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #aemond targaryen fic #oc: elyse baratheon #aemond x original female character #original character #hotd smut #hotd fanfic

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alder-saan · 1 year

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I'll keep you safe (part 3)

Brienne & reader

This is the third part (here a link for the first part, and here for the second part)

Warnings : loss, death.

Full angst

Word count : ~2200

Don't kill me plz...

The man fell. Dead. You had gutted him. You cleaned your sword, catching your breath. Travelling with Brienne, you had learnt what it felt like to kill a human being. That wasn’t the best feeling in the world. But sometimes, it was necessary. When four men attacked you in the middle of the night, it was necessary. You sat on a tree stump. You had no armour, and he almost killed you many times. But you only had small wounds on your legs and arms. You would need some bandages, but that was okay, you loved thinking about the scars you would have, and the stories you could tell... But you also would need training lessons… And before, you had to find Brienne.

Where was she? The darkness of the woods at night made it difficult to see properly. While you were fighting, you strayed a bit from the camp. You whistled, calling your owl. Banshee emerged from the night, as silent as Death. She landed on your arm. You caressed her white belly, and she made this sort of purring sound she always made when you pet her.

“Help me find Brienne, will you?”

She opened her big black eyes and flew away, disappearing again between the shadows. You double checked that the man was dead and walked towards what you thought was the way to the camp. You couldn't have gone far anyway.

The night was quiet. It was almost strange. Usually it was full of noises, from animals, from the wind in the leaves. Tonight there was no sound at all. No night-time crickets, no nightjar, no woodlark. It was as if everyone had fallen silent. The wind was soft, but still cold. You shivered. A wolf lamented in the distance.

It was the heavy sound of mourning.

Was it because you had killed some men?

A long screech tore through the silence. You recognized the barn owl screech. Banshee had found Brienne. You walked towards the cry. You imagined her, being worried because the man was tall and strong, and you had no armour. You were so proud because you had managed not to get killed. You almost ran through some bushes. She was there, lying on the floor, Banshee on her shoulder. Near her, three men were dead, bathing in their own blood. Banshee rubbed her head against her cheek. On a branch, a raven was looking at her. You smiled and approached. She was there, alright, you had found her.

You froze.

Was it… blood? Was it blood, dripping from her neck? You immediately sat next to her.

“Brienne! Are you okay?”

She turned her head to you.

“Y/N, is that you?”

“Yes, yes, that’s me, I… I’m gonna help you stand up, okay? Just gimme your hand.”

“Help me lift my sword…”

You helped her lift her sword, following the movement of her arm. You didn't quite understand what she was getting at, but you had learnt not to argue with her orders. Carefully, she moved her swords towards you. You didn’t realise what was happening until the blade was on your shoulder. Was she knighting you? But you weren’t ready! Why would she do that now? That was so strange, all the atmosphere, the lack of sounds, Brienne lying on the floor, wounded, and now she wanted to knight you? That seemed unreal. You suddenly couldn’t move, couldn’t ask her what was going on. Fear had paralysed you.

“Y/N June, do you promise to fight against wrong-doers and to protect widows, orphans and the poor”

You tried to tell something, but no sound came out your throat.

“Y/N?”

“I-I promise.”

“I, Ser Brienne of Tarth, do hereby dub thee Ser Y/N June, may your courage and devotion become a shining example to the people of the Seven Kingdoms.”

That was it. You were a knight. She just knighted you. But you couldn’t be happy. Brienne was dying, she was getting weaker and weaker. You ripped a piece of cloth from your cape and applied it to the wound. It wasn't that deep, you were hopeful she would pull through. That wasn’t the first time you would heal injuries. But the haemorrhage was too severe and the piece of fabric soon went blood red. Now the thick liquid was flowing through your fingers, which you held against her skin in a desperate attempt to block it.

“I’m so proud of you, Y/N…”

“Shhh, don’t talk. You’ll be alright, I prom-.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, now you’re a knight.”

“I will keep it!”

“Y/N.”

You shook your head fiercely. You didn't want to hear her say that.

“I WILL KEEP IT!”

She simply couldn’t die. She was your hero. She saved your life. She was the strongest knight you ever knew. She was like your mother. You always saw her as an immortal goddess. She couldn’t die now, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the woods. You tried to take off her armour, without moving her body so that she wouldn’t lose any more blood. She had to live. You would do anything.

“Y/N, please. Listen to me.”

You looked at her face. Her cheeks were drenched in tears. And so were yours.

“I love you so much. I’m so sorry for leaving you now…”

“You won’t, you will live. You can’t die!”

“Oathkee-” she coughed, blood trickled down her chin “Oathpeeper’s yours now. Make good use of it.”

“No, no, no, shut up, don’t talk like you are about to die.”

“I am, Y/N. I’m sorry.” She gave you a bittersweet smile “I want to live… That’s so stupid how a single mistake can lead me to that.” She chuckled but a new cough stopped her. “I just took one step too close to him, he was able to throw me out of balance. Can you believe it? One fucking step. I’m dying because of one fucking step…”

You took her hand, she squeezed yours.

“I’m pathetic, Y/N… A proper knight doesn't die in front of their squire.”

“You’re not, you’re-” A sob covered the end of your sentence.

“Please, I want to be buried on the Island of Tarth…”

You nodded. You took Oathkeeper, her sword, your sword now. You didn’t know why, it comforted you. It was… a part of her. She had never separated from it.

“I don’t know where I’m going to, but remember, I’ll always be proud of you..”

“Please don’t leave me… Please. I beg you. I need you. You can’t abandon me like that. I can’t live without you by my side. I can’t…”

She gasped, you looked at her again. Her eyes were wide open, as if she just understood everything in the world. But she couldn’t see anything.

“Please, Brienne. Please, wake up.”

She didn’t.

“Please…”

She was dead. You were alone, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night. You shouted, screamed her name. You cried, snuggled up to her still warm body. You knew, even if she had had no armour, you couldn’t have heard her heartbeat anymore. She was dead. She was…

That couldn’t be true. She couldn’t be gone, just like that. She couldn’t. That was not possible. That was a nightmare. Just a damn nightmare. Maybe if you tried to sleep, she would be here again… You laid down against her and closed your eyes. You just had to sleep…

But when you woke up, she was still dead, next to you. After crying all morning long, you knew it was time to bring her back to her home. She had asked you one last thing. You had to do it. You slowly removed his armour, trying not to cry too much. You wanted to be strong. You wanted to show her, wherever she was, that you could handle it. You were a knight, now. Her body was heavy, she was so tall, and the more you failed to mount her dead body on her horse, the harder it became mentally. But you managed to do it. You put a blanket over her, to protect her a little from the eyes and the animals.

Gladly, you were not far from the Sapphire Isle. You made your way to Storm’s End, and found a boat going to her home. The captain of the ship was not very happy about carrying a corpse on board, but when he learnt that it was the heiress of Tarth, he asked no more questions and let you pass. While the boat crossed the sea, you stayed locked up with her. You didn't want to leave her. It was stupid, but you hoped she would wake up. You couldn't look at her, it was too difficult, but you stayed next to her, letting the cloth cover her completely, and clutching the handle of Oathkeeper.

When you entered Evenfall Hall, Lord Selwyn of Tarth was confused. He never saw you. He didn’t know who you were. All he knew was that you arrived with two horses and one of them looked like Brienne’s. You simply couldn’t look at him, you couldn’t face him. You bowed down, eyes fixed on the paving stones.

“Who are you, traveller?”

“I am Ser Y/N June, my Lord.”

He seemed surprised. Brienne already told him about you. But why wasn’t she there? Were you THE Y/N June?

“What brought you to the Sapphire Isle?”

“Brienne of Tarth.”

So you really did know her… You were THE Y/N June.

“How is she? I haven't seen her for a while.”

“She’s… she’s gone, my Lord.” You had been preparing these words the whole way. And you managed to say them.

He took a few seconds. His grey brows furrowed.

“What do you mean by “she’s gone”?”

“I mean she’s… She’s…” You couldn’t say this word. You didn’t want to. Lord Selwyn saw the tears on your cheeks. His eyes turned sad.

“How?”

“Four men attacked us.”

“Where is she? Where did you bury her?”

“She wanted to be buried here. I brought her.”

“Thank you. You can stay here as long as you want to. We’ll have to talk about something. But later. I need to… go somewhere. I'll have a funeral prepared for her. You will be invited, of course.”

And he left the room.

On the following days, it was her funeral. It was the end. She would never wake up. She was in her coffin, with her armour. With some of her belongings. With a bolt of your shackles you always kept. She looked so peaceful, she had a kind of smile. You wondered if she was happy, wherever she was now. You wondered if she could look at you right now, putting flowers in her coffin. You wanted to jump in it, to shake her until she would open her eyes. Or just to lay there with her, and to die in her arms. Without her, all was so cold even the sunshines couldn’t warm you. She had saved you. She had given her life for you. If you had been stronger, she wouldn’t have to fight these three men. This was all your fault. It should have been you, the person lying at the bottom of the grave. This was unfair…

Lord Selwyn put his hand on your shoulder, this made you come back to reality.

“We need to talk about something, Ser June.”

You nodded and followed him to a big room with a desk, some books that looked like records and writing material.

“Ser June, Brienne told me about you. She said when she died she wanted you to have all she had. Including the land she would have inherited from me.”

“Is… Is that even possible?”

“Yes. She officially adopted you two months ago.I couldn’t send her a letter to let her know all was done. She didn’t tell you she wanted to do that?”

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” You turned your head towards her.

She had this look in her eyes, the one when she wanted to ask something but was unsure of the answer.

“If it was possible, would you want me to adopt you?”

“Of course! What made you think I could possibly say no?”

“I don’t know…”

“I… She didn’t.”

How did she manage to do that?

“I’m really happy she finally had a family. And now you're also my family. You can take our name and become Y/N of Tarth, if you want to.”

“Yes, yes, I want to be Y/N of Tarth.” Like that, she was kind of living in your name, wasn’t she?

You put a white rose on her grave, on which was written “Here lies Brienne of Tarth, fearless knight of the Seven Kingdom, beloved daughter and friend.”

“Thank you… Mom. Thank you. I love you.”

The wind blew.

_____________________________________________

A/N : The way I cried writing it...

You can continue to ask me some more chapter, they will be before this one, that's all. (unless you want the next part of the story)

#brienne of tarth #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #brienne & reader #game of thrones #gwendoline christie

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rj-drive-in · 3 months

Text

Surcease of Sorrow Department:

There may be new solutions to old problems.

Before my Raven came, I thought that Poe wrote fiction. After it came, I thought I was all alone in the world.

It was bad enough in the weeks and months after Siobhan left and my existence had become such a silent vacuum of despair that I had to sometimes force myself to breathe. Somehow I managed to rent a small apartment after the house went up for sale, but I couldn’t muster the energy to furnish it. Thank god it came with a refrigerator. But there I sat and slept and brooded, on the bare floor, kept company only by the three cardboard boxes of my belongings. All of our friends had apparently been her friends only. No one ever came to offer me comfort or sympathy, or even a tuna casserole. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling of abandonment that was the sum total of my life in those dark days.

What could be worse than that?

The answer to that question came in the middle of the night, in the late autumn after the divorce, as I sat against the wall, replaying conversations in my head for the millionth time. There was a lamp on the floor to my left and an empty pizza box on the floor to my right. The shadows cast by the yellow oval of light from the lamp were like looming gargoyles in an old silent movie. The sliding glass doors of the balcony on the other side of the room were like a gray mirror in which I could see my motionless body propped up like a hobo in the park. When I think of what I was like back then, it scares the hell out of me.

Then something hit the outside of the sliders, making me jump, probably the first time I had moved in hours. I squinted, but I couldn’t see anything beyond my own colorless reflection. Now that I was paying attention, I could hear the wind outside, shifting the trees out back and blowing the dead leaves around. Something had blown against the glass, that was all. An empty pack of cigarettes or juice box.

I settled back with a sigh.

And then it happened again. It almost sounded like somebody was knocking on the glass. A feeling of fear welled up inside my chest and it was almost euphoric in its intensity. It had been so long since I had felt anything, I don’t think I could differentiate between dismay and joy, happiness and sadness, pleasure and pain. Or maybe I welcomed the threat. Maybe I hoped to end up as a story on the morning news, a shocking topic of conversation around the water cooler. That could my way out. That would show her.

Slowly, I stood up and carefully stretched the hours of stiffness out of my arms and legs. If I had been smart, I would have turned off the lamp so that I could have seen through the glass doors. But if I had been smart, I wouldn’t have been sitting alone in a bleak room without a wife or a future. For certain, if I had an ounce of brains in my skull, I would not have walked across that bleak room and slid the balcony door open wide.

But that’s exactly what I did.

Instantly, as the door opened, there was something large and black slapping at my face and I threw up my arms and fell backward onto the floor. A pitiful sob of horror swelled from deep in the pit of my stomach and before I had even hit the boards I had changed my mind about becoming a sad story on the news. I wanted this to not be happening. I curled up into a ball and prepared to beg for my life like the coward I was.

It wasn’t necessary. Whatever had hit me blew on past me and into the room. I heard it hit one of the cardboard boxes that I had never bothered to unpack. My knees and elbows were like jelly, but the animal instinct for self preservation grabbed me and spun me around in a crouch to see what it the hell it was. After weeks of not functioning at all, my mind was going a mile a minute. Maybe somebody’s black satin sheet had blown off their clothesline. Maybe there had been a blanket or a curtain out there on the railing that I had never noticed in my stupor. Maybe a dead branch, still festooned with brittle leaves, had chosen that moment to break off and fly across the yard through my balcony door.

But there it was, right on top of the cardboard box. I stared at it. It took me a minute to fully register what I was seeing. It was a crow, black as night and big as a breadbox, staring right back at me.

I rose slowly and shakily to my feet like an old man. “No way,” I said. “I can’t deal with this shit right now. Please just fly the hell back out of here.”

Then its beak opened and the goddamn thing said, “Nevermore.”

*****

It wasn’t a crow, of course. It was a Raven. Just like in that old poem by Edgar Allan Poe that we all loved when we were kids. The first time I ever heard it was on some Halloween TV special, recited by Vincent Price. Then my mother gave me a book of Poe’s collected works for my birthday. I memorized it for a talent show when I was in junior high school. It even turned up in a Bugs Bunny cartoon.

And now it was perched on a cardboard box in my living room.

It wouldn’t move no matter how hard I tried to shoo it back out into the darkness, so we ended up sitting and staring at each other all night. It was cold, but there was no way I was going to close that sliding door and cut off the bird’s one exit. In fact, I opened it as far as it would go, to give the thing all the encouragement and room I could.

The next morning, I went downstairs to get some help from my landlord. The apartment I was renting was the converted attic of a three-story house dating back to the 1890s when this area was well to do. The landlord, a middle-aged guy named George Damopoulos, lived on the first floor with his wife. I have no idea who lived on the second floor. I sat on the stairs till I smelled coffee coming from the first floor and then tiptoed down and knocked quietly on his door.

“A crow?” he asked. “No kidding?”

“Or a blackbird,” I shrugged. “Or a raven maybe.”

He grabbed his bathrobe and trudged up the stairs and into my apartment, me following close behind him. There were my three shipping cartons, my lamp, and the empty pizza box, and the open balcony door. But no Raven.

“No bird here, kid,” said Damopoulos with a chuckle. “Guess he flew the coop.” He gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Maybe he’s one of them early birds and he went out for a worm, huh?”

“As long as he’s gone,” I said.

“You really should buy some furniture, kid,” he said as he left. “Time to get a life. I know about the divorce and all, but really.”

“I just need some time,” I said, closing the door.

The Raven swooped back in before I made it halfway to the balcony.

That’s how it went. Nobody saw the Raven but me. I contrived a couple of dozen ways to get people into my apartment so that somebody would see him, just to prove to myself that I hadn’t completely lost my mind. I ordered pizza delivery and Chinese food. I used Peapod for my groceries. I even bought a new refrigerator and a chair, just for the sake of getting some delivery men in there. But whenever anybody else was in the room, the Raven would disappear. And I mean disappear. I quickly found out that it didn’t matter whether the balcony door was open or not, which really scared the hell out of me.

And it was incessant with “Nevermore.”

Whenever I even thought about Siobhan, it would squawk, “Nevermore.” And it wasn’t just that. It would react to any depressing thought, and I had a lot of them. How my friends had abandoned me, how the firm let me go when I said I wasn’t ready to come back from personal leave, how my parents were both dead, how I had nobody in the whole wide world to turn to. “Nevermore.”

The thing was a vampire of self pity.

But the worst part was that I knew it had to be a figment of my imagination. Several times I tried to take a picture of it with my phone, but it wouldn’t photograph-- it wasn’t that I got a picture minus the Raven, I just didn’t get a picture. Before all this happened, I had worked as a family law attorney and I had seen more than my share of mental illness, but I had never heard of a case of Edgar Allan Poe Raven Syndrome. How could I get help for a diagnosis that didn’t exist? As a human being and as a mental case, I was truly all alone in the world.

*****

One of those cardboard shipping boxes contained my computer, which had gone unused in the months since I had moved in. I unpacked it and set it up on a small table that I bought at a used furniture store and began to Google desperately all through the day and night. Just as I thought: There was no information on cases of mental patients who hallucinated Poe’s Raven. There was plenty of information on Poe himself, of course, and his battles with depression and bipolar disorder and substance abuse, but no evidence that he had actually seen the Raven that he wrote about.

Where did you get your ideas, Mister Poe?

Like anybody who badly needed mental health care, the last thing I wanted to do was seek out mental health care. I was on the verge of breaking down and doing it when I finally found something. It must have been an old archived reference in Google’s database or whatever, because I got a 404 Page Not Found error when I clicked on the link, but the fragment that was visible on the search results page was the first thing that had given me hope.

It was a reference to a forum called The Plutonian Shore and the title of the link was “Anybody Else Out There Got A Raven?”

*****

I’m no expert on the Internet and I have only a vague idea of what the Dark Web or Deep Web is, but I know that there’s a lot of competition for attention. There’s thousands of petabytes of data out there with more being generated by the minute and if your site isn’t properly indexed it will sink under the radar like a lead balloon. Especially if it’s on a private server, and pretty much anybody can set up one of those these days. Still, if it’s out there, it can be found; all it takes is time and perseverance and YouTube self-help videos.

And, finally, after days of searching, I did find it. The forum’s web address was a series of sixteen apparently random characters, not something nice and easy like PlutonianShore.com, so it was clear that they weren’t seeking attention. But they weren’t completely dark. They were there to be found for someone who looked hard enough.

At first glance, it was a perfectly standard forum. The color scheme was gray and twilight blue, and the logo incorporated a stylized raven in the design. It was organized in the standard fashion, with sections for the discussion of movies, books, politics, sports, and science, among other sub-topics. But down at the very bottom of the main index page was a section called simply “Raven Research.” The threads inside were accessible only to board members, but the sub-heading said “Studying The Personal Raven Phenomenon.”

Suddenly I felt just like the guy who discovered King Tut’s tomb or the DNA double helix or the first exoplanet. This was a forum for people who had Ravens just like me. They were just like me!

*****

Registration was open, proving that they were keeping a low profile but not completely off the grid. It took me a few minutes to come up with a valid username, since all of the obvious Poe-related ones were taken– for example, a guy named Nevermore was the site administrator– and I finally settled on Mr Scream, because that really suited my state of mind. I used a cropped graphic of the Munch painting for my avatar. I submitted my registration profile, entered the CAPTCHA code, and got a message saying that my request would be reviewed by an administrator.

Then I waited.

I don’t know what I expected– that an administrator would be just sitting there, waiting to approve new members immediately? But it wasn’t long before I began to feel anxious. Maybe they wouldn’t let me in. Maybe it was one of those deals where you had to be invited by an existing member and they wouldn’t approve anyone who wasn’t on their list.

Behind my back, the Raven said, “Nevermore.”

Maybe they had procedures for vetting applicants. Maybe they had ways of checking my Facebook and LinkedIn profiles, and would reject me based on that.

“Nevermore.”

Maybe Siobhan was posting about me somewhere out there on the Internet and I didn’t even know about it. Maybe she was telling everyone what a bad husband I had been, how I never wanted to take a vacation, how I avoided socializing with her brothers, how I bought her the same Christmas present two years in a row.

“Nevermore.”

Maybe Siobhan was already a member of the forum.

“Nevermore.”

Okay, now I was just getting paranoid. I stood up and stepped away from the computer, taking a deep breath. This Nevermore guy was a real person out there somewhere. He probably had a day job, very likely a wife and family, some friends, some kind of life. He could be in a different time zone. He might not even check the registrations every day. Maybe he only did his administrator duties on the weekend.

The site was probably just a big joke, anyway.

“Nevermore.”

Please, stop, I thought. My head was aching and I realized that the heels of my hands were pressed against my temples like a vise. Please let me in. Please help me.

“Nevermore.”

Shutting down the computer, I crawled under the blanket I used for a bed and turned off the lamp.

*****

The next morning when I got up, I had no emails. Nor were there any after I made a cup of instant coffee or after I took a shower. Suddenly, I had a terrible thought: They had received my registration request, realized that they had been found, and changed the address of the site so that I could never find them again. In a panic, I brought up Firefox and clicked on the link I had bookmarked.

It was there, just as it had been yesterday. I breathed a sigh of relief.

The Raven said, “Nevermore.”

For the first time, I noticed an email link at the bottom the forum’s main index page. If you need to contact the administrator, it said. I could send them an email, check on the status of my application, make sure that it had been received and was complete.

But I stopped myself. I didn’t want to appear desperate. I didn’t want to seem crazy.

“Nevermore.”

*****

Finally, on the third day, an email from the site’s autoadmin address appeared in my inbox and confirmed my membership. The email welcomed me to the community and directed me to a thread in the social sub-forum where I could introduce myself and meet the other members. It outlined the structure of the board and gave me some tips on where to find certain topics and how to start my own.

My hands trembled as I brought up the Plutonian Shore main page and entered my login information. The page refreshed and there was my avatar and username at the top of the index-- Welcome, Mr Scream-- next to newly visible links to my account control panel and the member directory.

Now that I was logged in, the “Raven Research” sub-forum name had expanded to “This Ungainly Fowl– Raven Research.” I wanted to go straight there and immerse myself in whatever knowledge they had accumulated, but I didn’t want to be rude. The social sub-forum, which was called “Bird And Bust And Door– Sit Down And Relax,” was at the top of the menu, so I clicked there first to follow the instructions in the email. When I entered the “Welcome, New Members” thread, there was an announcement of my arrival, and already there were three welcoming posts from members called Monty Ado, Messier One, and Usherette. I answered each individually. Over the next few days, these greetings would expand to over thirty. Everybody was very nice. Maybe they really could help me.

*****

With my social obligations met, I dove head first into the research forum and didn’t come up for air until the sun was rising and I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I was like a kid let loose in a candy store, excited and greedy and insatiable. There were dozens of threads, some currently active, some dormant for years, covering topics that ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous.

Theories about the origin and purpose of the Ravens ran the gamut from Christian theology-- they are manifestations of the Holy Spirit-- to Norse mythology-- they are the myriad offspring of Odin’s Huginn and Muninn-- to the Heinleinian World-as-Myth notion that a critical mass of Poe devotees actually made real the Ravens.

Of course, this was in contradiction to one of the most popular ideas, that Poe actually had a Raven of his own and his poem was no work of fiction.

There were many threads purporting to find evidence of Ravens throughout history, even in the ruins of ancient civilizations. Some, in the vein of von Daniken, included enhanced scans or tracings of hieroglyphs and bas reliefs from archaeological sites in Greece and Egypt and South America, among others. There were those who believed that the oral traditions of American Indian tribes included plentiful references to Raven hauntings. Others found a multitude of veiled or cryptic references to Ravens in more modern literature, from the Victorian Era to the Boomer years, in the works of everyone from Hemingway to Kerouac.

In a similar, but more sensationalistic vein, there was much speculation about which popular celebrities were in the closet about their Ravens, and which celebrity deaths were the result of Raven hauntings.

And I came across one odd thread, dated a couple of years before, from a newbie poster named Alcatraz, who claimed to be haunted by a pigeon rather than a Raven, and that his bird said “Kiss my ass” rather than “Nevermore.” It started off amiably enough, with the regular posters joining in on the gag, but it soon became evident that Alcatraz was a troll. When he didn’t get the reaction that he wanted, he became increasingly nasty. Eventually he was banned from the forum and the thread was locked.

Following this night-long binge, I was exhausted and my head felt full of mud, and I fell into a deep sleep, troubled by dreams of murmuring voices and sepia imagery. But when I finally awoke in the late afternoon-- my Raven staring at me, as usual-- I actually felt refreshed and ready to tackle the research forum again. After some coffee and a Hungry Man microwave dinner, I logged back in and began a more measured review of the threads.

*****

Over the course of the next few days, I studied the research sub-forum in detail, taking notes and using a feature of the board software to create a list of especially interesting topics (and, I admit, a few especially humorous ones). Each topic, of course, had replies and responses, not a few rebuttals, and sometimes very long discussions. But I still had occasional questions, and I posted them. The other members of Plutonian Shore were very generous in their responses, always quick to help a fellow Ravenite (as they called themselves), and never shy about voicing their opinions.

This was how I first met the Bird Sisters.

Everybody referred to them collectively as the Bird Sisters, but their real usernames were Bird One and Bird Two. They were a pair of elderly twins who lived alone together somewhere in Oregon and had been members of Plutonian Shore since its inception. They were very close and were always online together. It was very rare not to see their posts come in pairs. Any time I asked a question, no matter how trivial, they would always answer, even if it was to tell me they didn’t know, or to tease me about asking something silly. Other members would answer my questions, too, of course, lots of them, when they had something to say, but the Bird Sisters were online every day and they answered every single question I had. They were the unofficial and beloved hostesses of Plutonian Shore.

And, as I soon discovered, they were very active in the Bird And Bust And Door social section of the forum.

One day I logged in to find a flashing envelope icon next to my name at the top of the main index page. I clicked on it, remembering reading something about the board having an internal email system, and found that I had received my first private message, and it had come from Bird One.

It said, “You’ve neglected to post in the Tell Us Your Raven Story thread, my boy.” There was a winking smiley at the end of the sentence.

If Bird One said I was supposed to do something, I would attend to it immediately, for the sake of the affection that I had developed for the old lady. I went straight to Bird And Bust And Door and found the thread that she was talking about, pinned at the very top of the page. It was a very long thread, in which every new member had told their personal story of how they had gotten their Raven.

Now I was expected to do the same.

Reading through that thread took hours, and it was a grim and depressing task. No two ways about it, Ravens came in the wake of tragedy.

Most of the time, it was the death of someone close. Our administrator, Nevermore, who had created the board, had been serving in Afghanistan, talking to his commanding officer, when a bullet went through the man’s head. A member named Husky Hound had a newborn infant that seemed to be in perfect health, but developed a fever and had to be taken to the emergency room, where he died for no reason that anybody could ever pinpoint. Baker Mom had a teenage daughter who was in a car accident and bled out in the air ambulance two minutes before it landed. Weeping Guitar’s husband suffered a long and painful death from prostate cancer, living six terrible months longer than predicted. The Bird Sisters had an older brother who had burned to death in a fire more than forty years ago.

Estrangements were common, as well. There was no shortage of members who had suffered through nasty divorces, which was something I could certainly relate to. Many of our members were parents who were out of touch with their kids because of politics or religion or lifestyle choices. Jennifer Juniper’s daughter was part of a millennial UFO cult. Sunflower’s kid had joined an anti-government militia. Cat Lover’s daughter had literally run off to join the circus. Sometimes it worked the other way around, too. Borealis had lost touch with his dad when the old man flew to the Middle East to join al-Qaeda.

Then there were the attempted suicides. Only two board members fell into that category. Zero Sum had not gotten a Raven when her husband died, nor when her daughter disowned her for remarrying to a Black man, nor when her second husband divorced her. But then she sat down in the shower and slit her wrists. When she got home from the hospital a week later, there was a Raven in the bathroom.

The other attempted suicide had gone ominously silent five years earlier.

I really didn’t want to tell my story, but how could I not? So I opened a reply box and began to type, figuring I could get away with a brief, sarcastic summary. After all, it was a story as old as time, right? But in the end it all just flowed out of my fingers, the whole thing, in painful detail: How Siobhan and I had met at a Fourth of July cookout, lived together while I went to law school, got married when I graduated, bought a house when I got a job, and got divorced when I let the job take over my life. How I was great at working toward goals, but not so great at knowing what to do when I got there.

As usual, the Bird Sisters were the first to respond, offering words of understanding and comfort and advice. Other members posted their support, too. Most of them, in fact, if not all of them. To be honest, it felt good to finally get things off my chest. I had been keeping a lot bottled up inside me all those months.

*****

After that, I became much more aware of how active the other sections of the board were. Aside from the social sub-forum, there were sub-forums on Entertainment, Sports, Politics, Science, Philosophy, and Creativity. Despite everything that these people had gone through in their personal lives, there were endless lively discussions about the latest movies and TV shows, contemporary music, elections and ideology, new discoveries in space, and current social trends. Many members delighted in posting their poetry and short stories and art and photography. There were even games where members had to answer trivia questions or figure out puzzles, or even create captions for specific photographs (usually of celebrities and other public figures). I had hunted down and joined Plutonian Shore for the Raven Research section, but that turned out to be the least active section of the board.

One rainy spring afternoon when I got home from yet another botched job interview, I logged in as I did every day and went straight to Bird and Bust and Door. This was where most members checked in on arrival and I had gotten in the habit of doing the same, just to say hello and to see what everyone was up to.

That day brought some bad news, however. Bird Two posted that Bird One had had a severe asthma attack and had been taken to the hospital by ambulance. She was going to be kept overnight for observation and hopefully released the next day. I added my sympathy and well wishes to all the responses already there and, sure enough, by the next afternoon Bird One was resting comfortably at home.

Unfortunately, she continued to have trouble breathing and was back in the hospital two days later. This time she was diagnosed with pneumonia. I learned that, in spite of being twins, Bird One and Bird Two were very different. Bird One was overweight and suffered from a number of allergies, while Bird Two was lean and athletic and apparently immune to just about everything (including, she strongly hinted with a sly wink, venereal diseases). But this had all happened before and Bird One was expected to be fine after two or three days of bed rest and antibiotic therapy.

The next morning, I checked in over coffee, anxious to confirm that Bird One was feeling better and to send along my daily greetings. But her sister had posted just a few minutes before I got there. She said that Bird One had responded well to the antibiotic infusion at first, but then had taken a sudden turn for the worse, and had died shortly after midnight. She said that Bird One had died.

It was shocking, and I was deeply affected. I had to read the post ten times before I was ready to believe it. That nice old lady who had been so helpful and kind to me was dead for no good goddamn reason. Part of me was overwhelmed with grief, while part of me was amazed that I was so affected by the death of someone I had never met face to face. Yet there I was with my forehead resting on my keyboard, crying.

It was the first time in forever that I had cried for someone besides myself.

*****

Needless to say, everyone at Plutonian Shore rallied in support of Bird Two. It was impossible for any of us to attend the funeral, of course, so we held one online in the social forum. We all expressed our condolences and our respects and shared our favorite stories about Bird One-- all the times that she had said something or done something that seemed so simple, yet had such a big impact on our lives. It must have been repeated a million times how much we would miss her.

Bird Two was now all alone in the world and we were all determined to be there for her like she had always been there for us. We got her telephone number and took turns calling her, so that she wouldn’t feel so isolated. Several people who had been through a death in the family before helped her with the arrangements and all of the endless details that had to be dealt with afterwards. A couple of us figured out where her nearest supermarket was and made sure that she always had groceries delivered when she needed them. Someone had the bright idea to set up a GoFundMe page to help her with expenses. Without Bird One’s social security check, her income was essentially cut in half and she was going to have a hard time making ends meet. Eventually she was going to need to move to a smaller place.

It was a bad time, a very bad time. But we managed to get through it.

*****

And that’s pretty much how it’s been in our little community. Things got better, then things got worse, then things got better again-- just like real life. A couple of members from Wisconsin, Nathanial and Kathryn-- some people actually used their real names on the board, which had never even occurred to me when I signed up-- had grown pretty fond of each other and decided to meet up in person. Soon after that they were married, and soon after that they had a kid. Their Ravens now perch side by side. 13th Apostle was officially ordained, but he still posts every damned day. Yaz’s short film about Cthulhu on Jupiter won a Rondo award.

The bad? Samhain was diagnosed with breast cancer. She had to have a double mastectomy and reconstruction, and months and months of painful chemo. It was a miserable stretch, but she made a full recovery and is now having a second childhood to make up for lost time. And poor Greensleeves had a stroke and spent most of a year in the hospital and a very bad nursing home. But she’s home again now and doing well, although she still can’t drive. No more members have died, thank god, but several have lost their parents. We’re all getting older.

Yeah, we’re all getting older. Sometimes I think about how long I’ve been at Plutonian Shore and I just can’t believe it.

Personally, things have improved for me a lot. I got a nice job at a small family law practice in Braintree, which earned me a lot of pats on the back from everybody on the board. I moved to a bigger apartment closer to work, and the Raven followed, still chiming in with the occasional “Nevermore” when my thoughts turn dark. I decided to buy it a perch, which everybody thought was hilarious. A couple of them followed my lead.

One time around Christmas, I ran into Siobhan down at the plaza. We talked for a minute, asked how each other was doing, but we really had nothing to say. I felt like I was talking to somebody from another life and it didn’t hurt me at all.

In the meanwhile, research into the whys and wherefores of the Raven hauntings has continued without interruption. Some new members have joined, each with a new theory that is just as crazy as the old ones: Ravens are the manifestations of Dark Matter. The world is really a massive computer simulation and the Ravens are some programmer’s idea of a joke. Oh, and the veiled references to Ravens in the media keep piling up: The Maltese Falcon was no falcon-- it was Dashiell Hammett’s way of telling the world about his Raven. And does Uncle Billy have a Raven in It’s A Wonderful Life, or what? The celebrity gossip is endless and hilarious. There is an ongoing twenty-page discussion about whether presidents get their Ravens when they leave office or when they’re sworn in.

But the truth of the matter is that after all this time, and all the theorizing, and all the research, we are not one inch closer to solving the mystery of the Ravens. Funny thing about that, it just doesn’t seem to matter so much anymore.

#short story #short fiction #fantasy #horror #edgar allan poe #the raven #rjdiogenes #rick hutchins

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snaillamp · 2 months

Text

Tea-saster

Cody turned into the driveway of the small property, looking at the tall, moss covered trees as they swayed. His aunt’s house was away from the road, cast in shadow as the trees swayed and creaked around him. Getting out of his car, he walked up to the silent house, his boots crunching one the gravel as he got to the house.His mother had called him, concerned about Rex, his cousin.

She had tried calling him and couldn’t get through, so she tried her sister, Rex’s mother Janey, but couldn’t reach her either. Knowing Cody lived close by, she had asked him to take a look, see of they were okay. Going up to the door, he knocked loudly, listening for a reply. “Rex? Aunty? You there?”

He heard their dog, Raven bark inside the house, so he tried the door. It creaked open into the dark house, that smelt strange, like burning herbs. “Aunty?” He called out, entering the house. The more usual stale smell of cigarette smoke began to dance around from under the smell of the burnt herbs as he made his way through the house.

“Aunty? Rex?”

“Cody? Come here baby!”

He heard the rough sound of his aunt’s voice grew louder as she came out of a nearby room, running over to him and wrapping him in a hug. “Aww, look at you, my little guy.” Cody laughed, moving his nose out of the way of her cigarette scented hair. “Aunty.” He grimaced, trying to avoid the harsh smell. “Hey, where’s Rexxy?” Janey looked up at Cody, messing with his hair. “Cody baby? How long have you growing your hair out? It’s so long. Awww, here let me braid it up for you, eh?”

Cody sighed, letting Janey drag him over to the sofa nearby. It was soft, but sagging slightly. Janey sat him down, before leaving for a second and coming back with a hairbrush. “You always had nice hair Cody. Shame you let your mother cut it when you were a kid.” Cody smirked, “Eh, I didn’t really have a choice. You know what she’s like.”

Janey scoffed, “Renee never cared about the body’s natural mechanisms, she always cut hers short too. She got Gramma’s shit hair though, you definitely inherited your father’s. His was always so shiny and thick.” Cody grimaced as Janey pulled the knots from his former ponytail, smirking when he grunted pain every time she yanked one out.

“Start from the bottom, hurts less.” He begged, listening to her click her tongue. “Quiet, I know what I’m doing.” ‘Yeah, you always do, don’t you…’ He thought as her fingers divided his hair into three pieces. “Aww, you’ll look so nice.” Janey cooed, pulling the strands of hair tightly together. “You know before stupid modern culture happened, everyone was more connected to the earth. Every culture in history had long hair, but then the modern, western society colonists came and cut it all, but even they had long hair. So they cut it to lose their connection to their mother, their land, their earth so they didn't feel the pain of hurting her.” Cody frowned at that sentiment, he wasn’t sure that historical anecdote what entirely correct.

“There, you’re lookin’ all natural and good now.” Janey said, patting Cody’s shoulders as she tucked the braid over his shoulder. “Thanks, Aunty.” “Hey, want some tea?” She asked quickly, standing up and going to the kitchen across the room. Cody knew she wasn’t gonna take no for an answer. “Yes?” He answered, apprehensively, watching her grab the tea leaves.

“You know you should drink more tea, it strengthens your connection to nature, and is like… full of detoxifying stuff.” She opened a drawer, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one. ‘She says as she lights a cancer stick…’ Cody groaned mentally. “Aunty, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

“Kay, baby.”

Cody sighed, grateful to escape the dim main room, slowly filling with smoke. He threw his braid over his shoulder and looked in the mirror. Janey had done a good job, but it scared Cody how much he looked like his dad with his hair like this.Leaving the bathroom, he walked past the door Janey had come out of, Rex’s room. He knew it was Rex, cause Rex was the only one in the family who would dare to have a Vancouver Grizzlies poster taped to the front of his door.

“Cody?! Ya done pissing?” Janey’s voice broke his thoughts, right as he was reaching for the door. “Yeah, yeah… I’m coming.” He mumbled, loud enough the Rex might hear him from behind the door.

When he re-entered the room, Janey was already lighting another cigarette. “So, how’s my baby?” She asked, looking at him with tired eyes.

“Good.” Cody answered, sipping his tea. It tasted strange… like there was something in it. “Your mother said you collapsed at work a couple months ago. Some doctor you are.” Her voice was still concerned, but there was a masked bite to it.

Janey had never agreed with Cody becoming a doctor, leaving home and finding his own way. She had always said it would come back to bite him and he should learn real medicine: natural and traditional remedies.“Yeah, well that was different.” Cody blushed, looking back down at his tea. He really shouldn’t have gone to work with appendicitis, but that was his business.

“Nah. You’ve always put others before yourself.” Janey smiled, grabbing his hand and stroking it. “What’s that saying I heard some TV show say? We ruin our bodies so we can look after yours.” Cody laughed, pulling his hand back and sipping more tea. “Yeah, something like that. I like being a doctor though, it’s a big achievement for me.” Janey laughed, a low, rasping laugh, her teeth stained from decades of smoking. She took a drag of her cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke into the air.

“Yeah, ‘specially when you were such a menace in high school, eh?” Cody pulled his lips tight. “Don’t remind me.” They chatted, Cody finishing his tea. “Hey, so mum wanted to know where Rex was. She called him to come and fix her sink and couldn’t reach him.” Janey looked at Cody pulling her lips into a thin line. “My baby boy’s fine.” Cody smiled, nodding. “Good.” Janey looked suspiciously at him, as he cleared his throat of the strange tasting tea.

“Codes?”

A sick sounding voice appeared behind him. Turning a round, Cody looked at his cousin, traipsing down the hall slowly, looking far from well. “Oh, honeybun… Come here, have some tea.” Janey cooed, looking over at her sick son. “Sit, sit, let me get you a cup.” She offered him her seat and rushed back to the kitchen to make him some tea. “What is it this time?” Rex asked, looking apprehensive. “Peppermint tea isn’t doing anything.”

Janey shot him a look, “Sush, I got different tea this time. Try this, it’ll help with your breathing.” She tottered around the kitchen, throwing her cigarette in the sink whilst she did it. “Help me.” Rex mouthed at Cody, who nodded. “Hey Rex, how about I give you a quick checkover.” Cody said loudly. Rex nodded eagerly as Janey shot him a glare from the kitchen. “I told you, he’s fine. I’ve done all my research, trust me.” Rex groaned, causing Cody to smirk. “Well, I’m the one with a PhD so…”

Janey rolled her eyes. “Lording over me with your fancy piece of paper, hey?” Cody frowned as he began to take Rex’s pulse. “No, I just know what I’m doing.” “Oh, so I don’t?” Janey snapped. “You doctors are all the same never trusting the people who’ve done their research.” Cody sighed, “No, I never said you didn’t know what you were doing, all I said is I knew what I was doing.”

Janey huffed, rolling her eyes and brought the tea over. “There you go baby.” She murmured in Rex’s ear, kissing his cheek. “You know, the knowledge you have is just the propaganda pushed on you by Big Pharma, they made your textbooks you know."

Cody ignored her as he checked Rex out, his pulse was a little elevated, as was his breathing, plus he felt kind of warm. “You have a nasty cold by the looks of things.” He muttered, taking his seat again. “What’s been helping?” He asked, looking at Rex, who was flushed and sweaty. “Everything, been putting lavender and peppermint oil in his diffuser and it really helped his stuffy nose.” Rex rolled his eyes. “You also put potato peels in my socks mum. That didn’t do anything.” Cody frowned, looking at Janey confused. “Potatoes? In his socks?”

Janey shrugged, “My friend on Facebook recommended it. It did get rid of your watery eyes.” She poked Rex. “Yeah, that’s cause I begged you to stop burning sage all over the place. You shouldn’t even be buying that, white sage is endangered, its not even native to this part of the country.” Janey rolled her eyes. “It’s tradition though.” Rex shook his head, as if he’d had this argument a lot. “Not for us. Leave it to the people who’s practice it is mum.”

Raven suddenly came flying out of the other end of the house, barking and pawing at Rex. “Hey Raven… My baby girl, yes, you’re a good girl. Mhmm. Sit. Good girl.” He scratched the black lab behind the ears, as she groaned, flopping to the floor and exposing her tummy for rubs. Cody laughed as she stuck her tongue out, lapping up the attention from Rex.

“What’s your opinion on sage, Dr Hill?” Janey asked, emphasising the title of doctor and holding out her hand as if she were thrusting a microphone in Cody’s face. “Uhh, Rex is right. It’s not native to the Pacific Northwest, and it’s not our practice. Besides white sage is at risk because of over harvesting, it’s not something you should really be buying.”

Janey glowered at them both. “Of course you know everything.” She sighed, pushing the mug closer to Rex, who had begun coughing. “Drink up.” She pushed the tea closer again, and Rex grabbed it, sipping it a little. “Oh god. Mum what is that?” He asked, spitting the tea out into the cup. “Herbal tea. New one, not the peppermint.” Rex stuck his tongue out, before pushing it away.

“Please, baby, drink it for me.” Rex groaned, “Mother, I love you, but I am 24, I don’t need to be babied.” He grabbed the mug, chugging the foul tea. “There, I drank your damn tea.” He slammed the mug back down on the table.

“Ugh, fine go sulk.” Janey mumbled, looking down at Raven. “Wanna go outside girly?” She asked in a fake, high-pitched voice. Raven rolled over, looking excited as Janey stood, going to the back door. “I’m gonna grab another smoke. And I don’t wanna hear a peep from you about how its bad. Tobacco is natural.” She glared at Cody how sighed, shrugging.

“Not like that it’s not…” He mumbled, easing out of his chair and going to Rex’s room. He rubbed the back of his neck as he walked, it was feeling kinda stiff.

‘My fault for slouching all the time.’

He guessed.He knocked on the door, before peaking in.

“Hey Rexxy.” Rex looked up from his bed, looking pale. “Ugh… hey Codester. She gone all mama bear on ya yet?” Cody chuckled, shaking his head. “So potatoes in socks huh? That’s a new one.” Rex nodded, “Yeah, I’m worried she’s gonna start feeding me colloidal silver next. She’s in all these Facebook groups and they tell her all this BS about natural remedies… I don’t know man… I’m just sick of her bullshit. If she didn’t need so much help around the house, I really need to move out, but I can’t afford it right now…” He groaned, holding his stomach.

“You good?” Cody asked, taking a seat on a nearby desk chair in front of an impressive gaming setup. ‘Can’t afford or not saving up?’ Cody wondered.

Rex sighed, sitting up and looking at him. “Honestly, no. She’s been feeding me nothing but juice, vitamin tablets and natural, de-fluoridated, artesian spring water she bought from some online forum. She even took away my toothpaste and deodorant, now I have some activated charcoal bullshit and a weird putty to rub in my pits.”

Cody raised his eyebrows. “She’s gotten worse then?” Rex nodded, “Ever since dad left, she’s just gone down the natural medicine rabbit hole and started “reconnecting with our culture”. Man, she even threw out the microwave, cause of the radiation…”

Cody stroked his chin, thinking about their predicament. “I’ll try talking to her…” Rex groaned, rolling over. “Good luck.”

Janey had heard her nephew enter the house and call out her name. At first she was elated, Cody never came over, but then her mind switched into gear. He was probably coming to check on her son. Her bitch of a sister had been calling him every couple days to get her taps fixed, and now she let her little shill of a son know he was sick.

She plastered on a smile, rushing out to see him, her mind already coming up with distractions. Her eyes clapped onto his long hair, pulled back into a low, sagging pony tail. He looked tired, as he gazed around the dark house. Janey ran up to him, wrapping him up in a hug and hearing a soft grunt as they collided. She was happy to see him again, he never came down to their Rez, especially now that he was a big fancy doctor. He thought he was too good for them now he had a fancy degree and stethoscope.

It’s not like she never saw him, but since she’d found the truth a few years ago, right after the divorce, her entire family had been distant. They saw each other around, but she never got a visit. Her mind was already suspicious. What if he tired to take Rex? Her son needed his medicine and healing oils, Cody would go and fill him with chemicals from dead babies and the government tracking chips.

He looked down at her, greeting her, his eyes still the same Cody he’d always been…

“Hey, where’s Rexxy?”

Janey looked up at Cody, messing with his hair as she smiled. ‘Not so fast, Mr Doctor.’ She thought, pulling his hair over his shoulders and smoothing it against his chest. “Cody baby? How long have you growing your hair out? It’s so long. Awww, here let me braid it up for you, eh?” She hauled him along and sat him down, rushing off to get Rex’s hairbrush and hair ties. She’d made sure to keep his hair as natural as possible.

As she brushed her nephew’s hair, she sighed as he winced. It was nice spending time with him, he’d always been her favourite nephew, he was just a little misguided by government propaganda. She could get through to him, show him how effective her treatments were of her son. Show him the truth.

“You know before stupid modern culture happened, everyone was more connected to the earth. Every culture in history had long hair, but then the modern, western society colonists came and cut it all, but even they had long hair. So they cut it to lose their connection to their mother, their land, their earth so they didn't feel the pain of hurting her.” It was true, she’d read it on Facebook and stuff. She could tell her doctor nephew wasn’t convinced.

“There, you’re lookin’ all natural and good now.” Janey said, patting her nephews shoulders as she tucked the braid over his shoulder.

“Thanks, Aunty.”

‘Awww, he’s still the polite one.’ She thought. Admiring him for a second, she thought about how her son was. It was about time to test her new water parsley tea.

“Hey, want some tea? She asked, excitedly rushing to the kitchen and finding the dried herbs in the cupboard she had left them. She rushed about, preparing the tea, only for Cody to get up and wander away. He said he needed to pee, so she had plenty of time. Excitedly brewing her tea, she poured out a cup for herself and Cody. She’d always test the medicine first, to make sure it worked before she gave it to her precious baby boy.

She called out for her nephew, “Cody?! Ya done pissing?” as she lit another cigarette. It filled her with a wave of euphoria, the sacred tobacco filling her lungs. Cigarettes were her answer right now, calming her nerves and getting her ready to have her medicine. As Cody re-entered the room, she found her hands opening the drawer and pulling out her other stash of cigarettes, lighting a new one to give them something to do. That other cigarette was pretty much done anyway.

“Your mother said you collapsed at work a couple months ago. Some doctor you are.” Janey probed. She had gotten the call from her sister all panicked one early morning asking if she could stay at her house that morning for a sleep before heading down the the hospital further south in Sawmill Inlet. Cody brushed it off. Janey frowned for a moment, worried that her nephew wasn’t looking after himself. She’d get Garret to send her some vitality veggie shots, get him some good nutrients to take and boost his immune system. The last thing she wanted was to see her nephew hurt.

Janey laughed, ‘You spent years being brainwashed by the corporations, that’s not an achievement.’ She thought as took a drag of her cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. “Yeah, ‘specially when you were such a menace in high school, eh?” She thought back to Cody’s childhood.

He had been a good kid, until about 14. He’d gotten into the wrong crowd at school, smoking weed and getting drunk too often. It had caused too many fights with his parents, and he’d ended up living with Janey for a few weeks at one point when he was 16. It all came to a head when he was 17, when he had a little too much to drink and turned up on his mother's front door step barely conscious at 2am.

“Don’t remind me.” Cody mumbled as he grimaced. Janey wondered if that experience is what got him into medicine. He had always been smart, but he had no direction in life, like most kids like him out this way… But after that he’d changed, turned his life around and really grown up.

They chatted, Cody finishing his tea. “Hey, so mum wanted to know where Rex was. She called him to come and fix her sink and couldn’t reach him.” Janey looked at Cody pulling her lips into a thin line. “My baby boy’s fine.”

He began checking Rex over, but she spoke up. “Hold your ground against the sheep!" Rachel had told her. Rachel knew so much, she posted it all in the Natural Life for Women and their Families group.

She was the one who had taught her about the Big Pharma medicine companies brainwashing poor doctors like her nephew. This is exactly what Janey had been warned about. She thought about how the oils Rachel had sold her were working so well in the diffuser she’d just bough from her too…

However, Rex had other plans, “Codes?” He spoke up from behind them. “Oh, honeybun… Come here, have some tea.” Janey jumped up, her spine tingling, looking over at her sick son. “Sit, sit, let me get you a cup.” She glanced at Cody a she sat her son down, he looked worried. Rex was fine. Sure, he was pale and grey looking, sweaty, with reddened cheeks. Even his eyes looked kind of dull.

“What is it this time?” Rex complained. “Peppermint tea isn’t doing anything.”

’He doesn’t know what’s good for him.’ Janey thought.Janey shot him a look as she made up the tea, “Sush, I got different tea this time. Try this, it’ll help with your breathing.”

“Hey Rex, how about I give you a quick checkover.” Cody said loudly. Janey’s back straightened and she shot her nephew a glare from the kitchen. “I told you, he’s fine. I’ve done all my research, trust me.” Rex groaned, causing Cody to smirk. “Well, I’m the one with a PhD so…” Janey rolled her eyes. ’He thinks he’s so fucking good… He’s just like every other shill doctor.’

“Lording over me with your fancy piece of paper, hey?” She shot back as Cody frowned, replying quietly as he focused. “No, I just know what I’m doing.” Janey scoffed. “Oh, so I don’t?” Janey snapped. “You doctors are all the same never trusting the people who’ve done their research.”

Cody sighed, “No, I never said you didn’t know what you were doing, all I said is I knew what I was doing.”

Janey huffed, her voice changing to sweet and loving as she approached her son. “There you go, baby.” She murmured in Rex’s ear, kissing his cheek. “You know, the knowledge you have is just the propaganda pushed on you by Big Pharma, they made your textbooks you know.” Janey pointed out.

Cody ignored her, which was typical of doctors, because they thought they knew everything. They didn't know how mind controlled they were.

“You have a nasty cold by the looks of things.” He muttered, taking his seat again. “What’s been helping?” He asked, looking at Rex, who was flushed and sweaty. “Everything, been putting lavender and peppermint oil in his diffuser and it really helped his stuffy nose.” Janey explained proudly. She’d researched it all herself and figured so much out.

Rex rolled his eyes, but boys will be boys, of course, and he was her son after all… He was just going through his moody phase. “You also put potato peels in my socks mum. That didn’t do anything.” Cody looked at Janey, slightly shocked. “Potatoes? In his socks?”

Janey shrugged, “My friend on Facebook recommended it. It did get rid of your watery eyes.” She poked Rex, who fired back about her white sage. He’d been complaining about it for ages, but he wasn’t ass connected to tradition as her. She would educate him. And Cody. Both of them…

“It’s tradition though.” She shook her head at Rex as she took his hand. “What’s your opinion on sage, Dr Hill?” Janey asked, as Rex played with Raven, who had come bounding out of her room. She was a slightly fat, old black Labrador, and an absolute angel. She made their lives infinitely better.

“Uhh, Rex is right. It’s not native to the Pacific Northwest, and it’s not our practice. Besides white sage is at risk because of over harvesting, it’s not something you should really be buying.” Janey clicked her tongue at them both.

“Of course you know everything.” She sighed, pushing the mug closer to Rex, he had to drink and stop his coughing soon. The tea would work, she’d done it all right so far… “Drink up.”

Rex sighed in annoyance, grabbed the tea, and drank. He was such a good boy. Janey could make him better… This would fix him. “Oh god. Mum what is that?” He asked, spitting the tea out into the cup. “Herbal tea. New one, not the peppermint.” Rex stuck his tongue out, before pushing it away.

“Please, baby, drink it for me.” Rex groaned, “Mother, I love you, but I am 24, I don’t need to be babied.” He grabbed the mug, tipping it back and swallowed the entire mug in a few gulps. He was lucky it was cooled down or he’d burn himself. Janey quizzed herself quickly on how to an internal burn… Aloe Vera juice. Rex however, slammed the mug down, glaring at her.

“There, I drank your damn tea.” Boys were so temperamental, especially when they were sick. ’Poor baby must be feeling worse today…’ Janey reasoned.

“Ugh, fine go sulk.” Janey mumbled, choosing not to have that fight again… Rex just didn’t know what was good for him. Like when he used to refuse to eat his vegetables when he was 6. She needed another smoke, Rex was stressing her out, his being sick for almost two weeks had caused her to almost triple her cigarette intake. But tobacco was sacred and natural and good and was a gift to humanity and she needed it to decompress. She deserved a cigarette for getting through that tough morning with Rex…

Raven grunted, rolling over. “Wanna go outside girly?” Janey asked asked in a fake, high-pitched voice. Raven rolled over again, looking excited as Janey stood, going to the back door. “I’m gonna grab another smoke. And I don’t wanna hear a peep from you about how its bad. Tobacco is natural.” She snapped at Cody. He was ripping her family apart right now. It was all his fault, he’d upset Rex and made him think he was seriously sick.

Cody disappeared, presumably to go and brainwash her son. She didn't even care, nothing Cody would do could help. She was doing the right thing by Rex and keeping him safe at home with her, so he couldn’t be hurt by the outside world and everyone in it…

Eventually Cody came outside, sitting down next to her. Closer up in the light, she could see he looked tired, rings under his eyes and slightly hollow cheeks. See? This doctor job was destroying his sacred body too… Her poor Cody.

Finding Janey outside, watching Raven chase her tail, Cody sidled up to her. “What do you want?” She asked, looking at him. “Nothing. Just wanna ask how you’re feeling.” Janey sucked on her cigarette, thinking. “Eh, fine.”

Cody sighed, sliding down the wall. He was feeling kinda weird. “Well I don’t think you are.” He countered. “I think you feel out of control of your own life. I think you’re afraid everyone’s gonna leave you like Henry.” Janey scoffed, flicking her cigarette to the ground and snuffing it out.

“Don’t talk to me about him. That bastard can go fuck himself.” Cody nodded, swallowing the saliva accumulating rapidly in his mouth. “I just want you to know that we all care about you, and that we can help you. The family, the community around you. You don’t have to punish yourself for that jackass leaving.” Janey sighed, sliding down the wall to join him, putting her head in his shoulder. “I hate when you do that.” She muttered.

Her hands were trembling slightly as she reached for another cigarette. “Do what…?” Cody murmured, clearing his throat again. It was starting to prickle. “Your doctor talk…” Janey had replied whilst Cody was slightly distracted with his tingling throat. Frowning, he wrapped his arm around his aunt, kissing her forehead. “You love me, and I love you, and that will never change.” He whispered. “But I want you to be happy. This isn’t it, Aunty.” Janey shook her head, getting up and going inside. “Yeah. Maybe. Sometimes you just gotta say fuck the world though, eh?”

Cody rolled his eyes, admitting defeat, until he heard Rex from inside. He was coughing badly. Janey was already in his room, switching on the diffuser again. Cody took one look at him and shook his head, barging into the room. “Come on man, we need to get you some medicine.” Janey ran over to them as Cody pulled Rex out of his bed and helped him walk down the hall.

“But he’s fine I’m managing it all by myself. I don’t need your chemicals, he needs be at home, with me!” She grabbed at Cody, who whirled around, getting dizzy. “The only place we’re going is the pharmacy. He needs medicine or he will get sicker and sicker, and then he might die. Do you want that Janey? Do you want your only son to die?” He looked at her, his hardened stare boring into her own. He didn’t want to be harsh on her, but this was getting ridiculous.

“You take him, I will never talk to you again! YOU CAN’T TAKE MY ONLY FAMILY I HAVE LEFT!” She grabbed Rex’s shaking hand, pulling him towards her. Rex groaned, dropping to the floor. “Mum… Please…” His body convulsed as he threw up at her feet.

Kneeling down, Cody leaned Rex against the wall, his own head swooning as he looked at his cousin. His eyes were weird, his pupils dilated wide. Swallowing more saliva, Cody gasped as he felt Rex’s pulse, it was way too fast. “Hey buddy, can you squeeze my hand?” He asked, concerned. Rex squeezed Cody’s hand weakly, as Janey stood still, watching with suspicion.

Cody shook his head, trying to rid it of the weird lightheaded-ness. Looking at his own hands, he realised they were trembling and everything was way too bright, even inside the dim house. Rex was groaning, holding his stomach and mumbling nonsense. Cody’s eyes widened, he had seen these symptoms before, a hippie had been rushed into his ED a few years ago, after eating wild herbs…

“Aunty… What was that tea you gave us?” He asked, his voice weak and hollow with dear. Janey looked at him, her pupils were fine “Water parsley, why?” Cody felt a chill run down his spine. “How did you get it?” Janey smiled, looking proud, she clearly hadn’t put two and two together. “Picked it myself. Dried it out and made it into tea for Rex. It supposed to help with his breathing.” Cody stood shakily, “Show me.”

He followed his aunt to the kitchen, watching as she began pulling a small bundle of dried plants out from a cupboard. Cody raced over, his vision tilting as he looked closely at it. “Shit, Aunty… This isn’t water parsley. That has flatter, whole leaves. This looks a lot like it, but this… This is hemlock.”

A chill went down Janey’s spine… ’Did I just poison my babies?’ She thought, as she watched Cody stagger over to Rex, slinging an arm around her almost unconscious son and haul him up. He was quite a bit bigger than Cody, who was already struggling to hold him up in his weakened state…

“We need to go Stoney Creek, now!” Cody grunted, as he held Rex, looking to Janey. The two men staggered towards the door, as Janey followed, dazed. “Wait, come back, please.” His vision was blurring as his ears rang. He felt so woozy, but he had to keep going. He couldn’t get Rex to his car and an ambulance would take to long… Rex was getting heavy to carry, as Janey came up behind the slowing men, watching them closely.

“Aunty, did you drink any of the tea?” Cody asked, coughing slightly. She shook her head, “I was busy with my cigarette, then forgot after the whole sage thing.” Cody sighed in relief, “Good, you gotta drive us to the hospital in Stoney, please!” He fished his keys from his pocket with clammy, shaking hands.

Janey stood frozen in shock, staring at the keys. “Aunty! Please!” Cody desperately begged, looking a strange colour as sweat covered his skin. Her mind was reeling. She had poisoned her son. He was going to die and it was all her fault…

Cody groaned in exasperation, shoving his keys into his aunt’s hand and grabbing her wrist, dragging both Rex, who was half passed out, and Janey, as fast as he could towards the front door.

He pushed it open, stumbling to his car and throwing Rex in the back, Janey climbing into the front seat and shoving the keys into the ignition after failing a few times due to shaking hands. Cody adjusted the now unconscious Rex, yelling at Janey to drive as the car rumbled to life, speeding off down the driveway and onto the main, winding road.

Cody wanted nothing more than to collapse to the floor of the car, and rest his eyes, but he had to make sure Rex was breathing. He was… His pulse… was… there… Cody was struggling to find it. His vision seemed to be two seconds behind his eye movements… He was seeing things, shadowy figures in the corner of his eyes, hearing whispers of strange words in a language he didn’t understand... But it felt familiar.... Gasping for air, he slumped in the seat, glancing around at Rex. At least he had thrown up his tea, Cody wasn’t sure he’d be able to, something was stopping him.

Cody heard Rex cough. Groaning, his eyes fluttered, reaching over to his cousin, shoving him to keep him awake. “Rex, buddy… come on… stay awake for me… Nhhh…” He felt bile thrashing in his stomach, but it wouldn’t come up. He was slumped in the back seat, next to Rex, leaning heavily against the door as he battled to stay awake. He wasn’t going to let Rex die, not on his watch.

The car took a sharp corner, it was speeding so fast, it made Cody queasy… Somewhere in the back of his mind he cringed at the idea of having to clean up puke from his car… It wasn’t nice, but puke smell was worse…

Cody felt his stomach drop, his racing heart suddenly jumping in his chest, throwing up a little. He swallowed it, his head pounding as he felt the turn throw him against Rex’s shoulder. He tried to lift his head, but Cody’s eyes rolled back as went limp in the back seat.

A car screeched into the small parking lot in front of the Stoney Creek Hospital. Dr Melanie White looked around, frowning, that car looked like Cody’s car. It was a black four wheel drive car, modded, with a deep rumbling engine… the sound was unmistakable… A slight chill went down her spine. Something told her something was wrong.

She frowned when a woman got out. She was native, short and chubby, with long hair tied back in a braid. She bolted to the passenger door and dragged out a young man. Short black hair was plastered to his skin, which looked grey and clammy. Melanie yelled for Vanessa and Dan, the two nurses on shift to come help, her feet already moving towards the door. The woman was struggling to lift the man, who was quite heavy himself. She was screaming for help, trying to pull the man over the car park towards the door.

Melanie raced up to the woman, grabbing the young man’s feet and lifting them. “Hey, I’m Melanie, can you tell me your name?” The woman looked at her with panicked eyes. “Jane Aubrey! Please help my son! He’s poisoned!” She was hysterical. Melanie looked at her eyes, her green ones meeting Jane’s brown ones. “Jane. I’m going to help him okay? Let’s get him inside.”

The sound of feet running up to behind them stopped as Dan and Vanessa both came and helped carry the unconscious man into the ER. They got him up onto the bed, as Melanie grabbed her stethoscope and listened for a heart beat. It was there… Pounding away.

“What’s his name?” She asked Jane. “Rex…” Jane murmured, her voice wobbling. She was pacing back and forth, ensuring that they were looking after him, before dashing back out to the car. Everyone glanced at her as she looked into the back seat.

“Oh no… There’s another one…” Dan murmured, going to follow her, before a devastated, heart broken howl ripped through the air. Jane dropped to her knees, screaming as Dan rushed out, freezing when he looked inside. He grabbed the unconscious person from the back of the car, slinging them over his shoulder and carrying them in fireman style.

“IT’S CODY!” He screamed, looking horrified. Everyone looked at him as he lay their colleague down on the bed, tears brimming in his eyes. Cody was a strange blue, grey colour, his body limp and chest still… He wasn’t breathing. Melanie felt her heart tear itself in two… They didn't have enough people to manage two patients, poisoned like this. “Van…Van I need you to manage that patient.” Melanie ordered with a shake in her voice, Dan already pumping Cody’s chest with his hands. Melanie forced herself to put ‘doctor’ mode on. For Cody. For Rex.

It didn’t make sense in her head though. Cody had left an hour before, happy and tired. They’d had a good day. Not many patients, all the patients they had were good. Cody had been joking around with Dan about smashing his ass in basketball this weekend, and now he was lying on a bed, basically dead…Madeline looked at Jane, who was pacing around, anxious. “Hey! Jane! What’s poisoned them?” Jane looked shocked at the yelling, shaking her head as she tried to remember.

’I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son. I killed my son.’

It was all Janey could think as she drove, glancing back and looking at Cody, who was trying to keep Rex’s head tilted back. He seemed to be struggling to stay conscious.

’What have I done…’ She asked herself as she drove.

Making it to the carpark she went back and grabbed Rex, someone running out. Her mind could only focus on her son. Was he alive? Will they be able to save him? If they worked with Cody… they were probably good at their jobs right? Cody had kept him going… She could trust him… Right?

Suddenly she remembered her nephew… They didn’t know about Cody. She had to get him! Bolting out of the ER, she ran to the open car and found Cody lying face down on the car seat. He was grey and washed out, his fingers blue and body still… He looked dead… He was dead. He wasn’t breathing… He was dead…

Dead.

She had killed her nephew.

Her sister would never forgive her.

She would never feel his warm hugs or hear his laugh again.

Someone picked him up. She didn’t know where they had come from.

Someone was wailing. Screaming, sobbing, crying for them to help in as she followed them in a daze.

Cody is dead.

A guy began CPR on Cody, whilst a lady yelled.

“What’s poisoned them?”

Janey froze, her brain not processing what she had said. The next thing she realised, the woman was in her face, looking at her squarely, arms on her shoulders. “What happened Jane?”

Janey shook her head, her mouth talking whilst her brain kept repeating the truth.

’I killed my boys… I killed my boys… I killed my boys…’

“H-H-Hem-m-mlock…” She said, somehow. The next thing she knew Rex was spewing a black liquid all over the floor, her poor baby… But he was alive. Her heart soared with joy as she rushed over to her son, turning to glance at Cody. They had cut off his clothes, his chest exposed and covered in wires and pads. He looked dead. He was dead…

The white lady, the doctor left Rex’s side and took over from the nurse compressing his chest as his body limply moved from the impact. There was a tube down his throat now… The doctor put it there…

Was she safe?

Safe to treat her nephew?

Was Janey safe to be around?

If they brought him back… Would he still love her?

Janey wanted to drink all the hemlock tea in the world right now, to take his place and give him his life back. She would do it without a second thought.

“Come on Cody… You can do it, don’t give up yet.” Melanie whispered as she continued pumping his chest. He remained still and limp as Melanie stepped back, letting Dan take over CPR. She ordered Vanessa to prepare to pump his stomach, getting the toxin out.

“There’s no cure for hemlock… We just have to pray he makes it.” She added, looking at his face… He was gone… The life was ebbing from his body as the toxin stole it from him.

The world was a blur as she ordered the tubes to be put down his throat, and medicines to be injected into Cody’s lifeless body, CPR had been carried out for only 5 minutes, but it felt like 5 years.

She kept glancing at Rex, who seems to be coming around. Focusing on Cody beneath her, she began to clean his stomach of the killer tea, CPR stopping for a few precious seconds and the contents of his stomach came out of his body and onto their feet. They couldn’t care less as they went back to pumping his chest and and.. and…

A beep.

The ECG!

Melanie glanced at the ECG. Ventricular fucking fibrillation…

After 9 minutes of CPR… Cody was still fighting.

“Okay, get ready to shock, 200 joules.” Melanie began the checklist. “Continue compressions. Oxygen away… All others clear.” Her voice caught in her throat as she neared the button that she was going to use to shock her friend, her colleague… Cody…

“Charging to 200… Vee confirm?”

“Confirming 200.”

“Clear.”

Her voice shook as she checked Cody’s exposed body, just in case anyone was touching him and could be shocked…

And pressed the button.

Cody’s body jolted violently and a strange, quiet grunt escaped from his throat. Vanessa jumped back on his bruised chest as they did more CPR. “Come on Cody…” Melanie whispered. “Come on… Come on… You can do it.”

They shocked him again. Melanie had never liked shocking people, but it was horrific when they were someone she knew, and even worse that it was Cody. His body stiffened as it jerked, a strangled gasp escaping his chest… The shock flashing through him, the lighting of life.

Everyone watched as the rhythm changed, Melanies fingers already on his neck. She cried out in relief.

“PULSE!”

She collapsed to the floor sobbing, as Vanessa continued to treat him. “Get up Mel, you gotta keep going.” She was blunt, but right.

Janey watched the doctor and nurses do CPR on her nephew in horror. The way they caved in his chest… and how his body remained limp under them, only moving as they jostled and stabbed him with needles. They had cut his shirt off seconds after he hit the bed, exposing his now purple and black chest to the light. The bruising was awful… nut the shock was worse.

Cody had jerked and stiffened awkwardly, grunting in what she assumed was pain. ’Oh fuck… can he feel this? Is he conscious for this?’ She thought as she sat beside Rex, who was only now beginning to gain consciousness. It was good he didn’t have to see Cody, a man Rex considered his brother going through this.

They shocked him again, and his limbs jerked one more, a quieter grunt escaping him… And then they got a pulse. The lady doctor collapsed to the ground, tears rolling down her face, only to set back up and immediately get to work. Janey breathed a sigh of relief… Her nephew was alive! He was alive and breathing and his heart was beating and…

A quiet cry emerged from her as she sobbed… Cody will live…

He had to…

Melanie sat with Cody watching him breathe. It was slow and laboured, but at least he was still breathing. Rex was lucky, his sickness had made him throw up the tea before it had too much of an effect on him, Cody hadn’t been as lucky. He looked terrible, his skin pale and cold as he lay there, effectively dying in front of her. Rex was sleeping off his fever, which was just as well, he probably wouldn’t have wanted to see Cody deteriorate.

“I wanna try more charcoal.” She spoke up, Vanessa nodding and bringing more over. They lay Cody on his side, inserting another tube and administering the charcoal. They observed him for a while, keeping track of his heart rate on the monitor. “It’s still fast, and he hasn’t had a seizure, so that’s a good sign.” Vanessa read off her phone.

Melanie nodded, “My journal article said the same thing. Hopefully he pulls through without any permanent damage.”

Suddenly, Cody gagged, his body convulsing as he choked on the tube. Melanie and Vanessa jumped into action, pulling the tube up and out of Cody’s stomach. He shuddered, throwing up a black, watery sludge. Gasping, he opened his eyes, trying to catch his breath, before he threw up again. Vanessa rubbed his back as he emptied his guts three or four times into Melanie’s sick bucket that she had materialised from seemingly nowhere. He began shivering, the colour returning to his face a little as he coughed up more charcoal.

“Cody… Thank God, I thought we’d lost you.” Cody sighed, his eyes rolling back as he closed them, a slight whisper dancing from his lips. “It’s gonna… take a… hell… of a lot… more… than that… to take… me out…” He looked concerned as a hand gingerly cradled his chest. “Rex?” He croaked.

Melanie looked over at Cody’s cousin. “Fine, he’s sleeping off his fever, We gave him some antibiotics that seem to have helped a bit.” Cody nodded, curling up and closing his eyes.

Cody awoke to extreme pain. His chest felt tight and bruised as he choked on something slithering out of his mouth, quickly followed by puke…

In his haze he heard someone say they’d nearly lost him…

His chest felt like he’d been crushed under a steam roller, nausea filling his mind as he gazed around, and tried to swallow. His mouth was try and acidic from puke, but all.

He could think about was Rex.

Melanie was next to him.

She said he was fine… He’d puked out the tea he was lucky he wasn’t more poisoned than he had been…

Cody was too tired to think as someone said something about a helicopter to Vancouver.He could talk about it when he had slept. He would’t mind a trip to Van… Stanley Island was always nice this time of year.

~ 5 months later ~

Rex came out of the house as Cody pulled up. “Hey brother, how was work today?” Cody smiled tiredly, “The usual. How you feeling little cuz?” Rex breathed in deeply through his nose. “Good, started working out a little today, just went for a walk, that’s all.” Cody ruffled his hair and chuckled as he walked inside, collapsing on the sofa with a tired groan. “Why do I keep signing up for 48 hour shifts?”

Rex laughed, going to the kitchen and set to work making coffee. “Oh, by the way, your kitchen sink was leaking so I tinkered around, think I fixed it.” Cody looked up from the sofa, “Wait, really? I’ve been trying to get that fixed for months, Darell kept dodging my calls.” Rex rolled his eyes, “Darrell doesn’t like working unless he absolutely has to. Call me, man, can give ya a family discount too!” Cody shook his head, his cousin had been a plumber for six years, why hadn’t he ever called him?

“Hey, so… I wanna get your opinion on something.” Cody blinked sleepily, looking at his cousin/roommate. “Shoot.” Rex sighed, looking out the nearby window. “I wanted to go see mum, ya know just to check on her. I worry about her now that I’ve moved out”

Cody lay back, thinking about it. His aunt had been living alone since Rex had moved in with him, a few months after the now infamous ‘Tea Accident.’ He didn’t really want to see her, after the whole poisoning him thing, he didn’t have any bad permanent damage, but the CPR had done a number on him for a while, as well ass the fact his muscles did feel weaker and he was getting migraines more often… He got tired faster too…

Maybe that would fade with time, but he just didn’t know if he could face her right now. He knew his aunt didn’t mean to do it, but he was just done with all the chaos she brought into his life... But he missed her too.

“That’s your call Rex. I don’t think you should or shouldn’t go, she’s your mum, but… Just keep yourself safe, hey?” Rex nodded, “I know she still believes in all that stuff, but when I called her she said she missed me and hoped I was doing well, and I… I miss her Codes.”

Cody nodded, his eyes sliding shut as he slumped a little on the sofa. “Your choice buddy. I’ll go with you if you want.” Rex looked up at his sleepy cousin, smiling gratefully. “I think that’d be a good idea…”

Cody moaned softly in reply, as Rex walked over and poked him. “Hey, let me help you up. You’re always going on about me sleeping on the couch being bad for my neck, I’m not letting you do it.” Cody smiled, cracking his eyes open a little. “Fine…”

He felt his cousin help him stand, walking him to his room and tucking him in. “I’ll wake you up for dinner, okay?” Cody nodded, rapidly falling asleep.

Somewhere deep down, he was glad that he would be woken up for dinner, because he could wake up at all.

~masterlist~

~taglist~

@i-eat-worlds

@emcscared-whumps

#whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whumpee #poison whump #sickfic #whump oc #snaillamp #original post #cody snail oc #this was originally day 10 of sicktember

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jedimaesteryoda · 8 months

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On his way to Mole's Town to bring food for the wildlings he encounters three carved trees that represent his personal journey.

The drunkard was an ash tree, twisted sideways by centuries of wind. (…) A solemn mouth, a broken branch for a nose, two eyes carved deep into the trunk, gazing north up the kingsroad, toward the castle and the wall.

The ash tree faces Castle Black and the Wall, and clearly represents Jon as he is now as Lord Snow.

Ash trees were associated by the Celts with healing and enchantment, especially transformation and empowerment in terms of destiny. In Norse mythology, Yggdrasil, the ash tree, hid the dragon, Níðhöggr, below in its roots who would be freed from the ash tree at the time of Ragnorak. A squirrel communicated between the dragon and a bird in its branches. Bran was called a squirrel by his father for his love of climbing, Bloodraven is represented by a raven (big duh, I know) and Jon himself is a dragon.

Like the ash tree, Jon's identity as Jon Snow hid his dragon identity below. The Long Night is coming again, and his Targaryen identity will eventually be freed from hiding.

A mile farther on, they came upon a second face, carved into a chestnut tree that grew beside an icy stream, where its eyes could watch the old plank bridge that spanned its flow. (…)The chestnut was leafless and skeletal, but its bare brown limbs were not empty. On a low branch overhanging the stream a raven sat hunched, its feathers ruffled up against the cold. When it spied Jon it spread its wings and gave a scream. When he raised his fist and whistled, the big black bird came flapping down, crying "Corn, corn, corn."

The chestnut tree is connected with the underworld with the chestnut's description as "leafless and skeletal" conjuring the image of death.

The chestnut tree represent Jon post-Ides of Marsh. He will appear dead, and dwelling in the realm of death. The raven sitting on its branch suggest Bloodraven's involvement.

Just north of Mole's Town they came upon the third watcher, carved into the huge oak that marked the village perimeter, its deep eyes fixed upon the kingsroad. That is not a friendly face, Jon Snow reflected. The faces that the First Men and the children of the forest had carved into the weirwoods in eons past had stern or savage visages more oft than not, but the great oak looked especially angry, as if it were about to tear its roots from the earth and come roaring after them. Its wounds are as fresh as the wounds of the men who carved it.

The oak was regarded as the "King of Trees," King Arthur's Round Table was made from oak and oak was even associated with kings of the gods like Zeus/Jupiter and Dagda the King of the Tuatha dé Danann.

The faces of the weirwoods described as "stern" fits the description of many of the faces of Stark kings in the crypts by Bran as stern. The heart tree in the Red Keep in King's Landing is an oak tree, and when Tyrion is reading and thinking about Aegon and his sisters and their dragons, he is sheltering under an oak. The tree isn't a weirwood connected with the First Men and by extension the Starks, but an oak connected with Targaryens.

There is also the story of the Oak King who is reborn during winter after the Holly King dies. As Aemon said "kill the boy and let the man be born." While he is "dead", Jon is revealed the truth of his heritage. Jon Snow, son of Eddard Stark dies so Jon, son of Rhaegar Targaryen is born.

The tree being described as angry will likely describes Jon's emotional state once he wakes up after learning this knowledge. Learning the truth that he had been lied to his whole life by the man he prided on being his father, that his identity he had grown comfortable with as Ned's bastard son is a lie and that he is heir to a disgraced house, the grandson of Mad King Aerys with his origins sparking the war of Robert's Rebellion will undoubtedly make him understandably upset and angry. It would be best described as Daenerys often put it "waking the dragon" in every sense of the term in that Jon's Targaryen identity is revealed and the anger from the revelation.

The "wounds as fresh as the men who carved it" could refer to the wounds left by Marsh and Co. with their daggers. With all the anger, and no one to confide such information to, Jon will find an outlet.

#asoiaf #house targaryen #a dance with dragons #jon snow

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aemontargaryen-bloodraven · 1 year

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Jon Snow & The Trees With Faces

In Jon V, ADWD, Jon comes across three trees, the Ash, the Chestnut and the Oak. The way those trees are described and the fact that the number three always says something significant seemed to me that these three trees indicate phases of Jon's life?

The Ash Tree

The first tree that Jon encounters is an Ash Tree,

"The drunkard was an ash tree, twisted sideways by centuries of wind. And now it had a face. A solemn mouth, a broken branch for a nose, two eyes carved deep into the trunk, gazing north up the kingsroad, toward the castle and the Wall." Jon V, ADWD

The Ash Tree on the whole symbolises Jon's duty as a Stark, to the Nights Watch or the Nights Watch itself. It is called the "drunkard", which is a nice call back to Jon's first chapter where Jon got too drunk because he was upset and blurted out that he wanted to join the Nights Watch.

Also, the fact that it is twisted sideways is intriguing because the Nights Watch is not what it was once before. Its purpose and state are twisted, it was meant to keep the Others Beyond the Wall and not the Wildlings. The same can be said about the Starks as well.

And now it has a face again - Jon's. Jon is solemn, "lord Stark's sullen bastard" is of a "broken branch" of the Starks (female line, Lyanna's son) .. "two eyes carved deep" ... He's always been presented as observant "You don't miss much, do you Jon?"

The tree is gazing up the Kingsroad toward the Castle and the Wall, which is again a throwback to when Jon realises that he had no place else to go and that Wall was where he had to be.

He had no destination in mind. He wanted only to ride. He followed the creek for a time, listening to the icy trickle of water over rock, then cut across the fields to the kingsroad. It stretched out before him, narrow and stony and pocked with weeds, a road of no particular promise, yet the sight of it filled Jon Snow with a vast longing. Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King's Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isles of Faces, the red mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road … and he was here.

Once he swore his vow, the Wall would be his home until he was old as Maester Aemon. "I have not sworn yet," he muttered. Jon V, AGOT

He ultimately does swear his vows and chooses the Wall and he has, throughout the story been focused on the North, Castle Black and the Wall.

The Chestnut

Growing.. beside an icy stream, where its eyes could watch the old plank bridge that spanned its flow. The chestnut was leafless and skeletal, but its bare brown limbs were not empty. On a low branch overhanging the stream a raven sat hunched, its feathers ruffled up against the cold. When it spied Jon it spread its wings and gave a scream. When he raised his fist and whistled, the big black bird came flapping down, crying, “Corn, corn, corn.” Jon V, ADWD

As of ADWD, he is creating a bridge between the Wildlings and South of the Wall. He is assimilating them in the North by marriage, taking hostages and making them guard the other Castles of the Nights Watch.

Though the tree is leafless and looks skeletal, it's not dead just in stasis, just like Jon is in the Nights Watch. He is leafless because till now he keeps cutting his connections from his blood/Starks/family. While in the Nights Watch, Jon has done what was within his power and more to set things to right but he is getting stagnant at the Wall.

The tree's bare brown limbs are not empty, the sap will flow, it will put out leaves. The sap flows, it did flow when blood called, his little sister, Arya was in danger. He is the blood of Winterfell.

Mormont's raven is there. The Corn King has been buried/dead. The raven saying, Corn King Jon Snow is this part of Jon's arc.

The Corn King is a sacrificed fertility figure, either a god or sacred king. Jon does die at the end of ADWD, but will return to life to play his part in the War to come, possibly with his third eye opened and bring restoration to the land somehow.

The Oak Tree

Just north of Mole’s Town they came upon the third watcher, carved into the huge oak that marked the village perimeter, its deep eyes fixed upon the kingsroad. That is not a friendly face, Jon Snow reflected. The faces that the First Men and the children of the forest had carved into the weirwoods in eons past had stern or savage visages more oft than not, but the great oak looked especially angry, as if it were about to tear its roots from the earth and come roaring after them. Its wounds are as fresh as the wounds of the men who carved it.

The oak is huge and great ..and Jon may become a huge (great) figure, and Kingsroad is again mentioned, that was when he looked at Kingsroad again this time it is what is coming from the South (Ramsay, Bolton/Politics of the Realm).

Not a friendly face, Jon won't be a friendly man when he comes back to life either. He would be especially angry considering what he has experienced.

Jon while "dead" may learn what he needs to learn about himself. And the wounds that he was given during the assassination would be fresh as well. He is not going to trust anyone easily, considering how betrayed he will feel after not only being dead and then revived but also learning that he has lived a lie and was sent to the Nights Watch with that lie.

While his wounds are still fresh, he will tear his roots from the earth, get away from the Nights Watch, down the Kingsroad again and will come roaring after his enemies.

#Jon Snow #Canonjonsnow #ASOIAF #valyrianscrolls

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araveninthedarknight · 6 months

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Christmas Magic in the air

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Christmas Magic in the air

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Warnings: Extreme fluff, Mostly out of character Roa faction, Christmas romance fluff, Oc is a trans man (because I am gonna be the representation I wanted when I first started reading fanfics, though its only mentioned once or twice in the story), hopeless romantic fluff. Shitty writing, Also, I am clearly in a Christmas mood (this was written October 16th,2023 but I am posting it November first)

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Yamaguchi Magoroku had met Sora Kenji while they were both in Suzuran together; they had secretly dated since the events of the fight against the three school alliance led by Amagai Kohei. Both men had loved each other longer than that, and when they had started their secret romance, they had not expected it to bloom the way it did. You see, Sora Kenji was transgender and he worried that he was going to lose the love of Magoroku very fast once he learned that. When the taller of the two who was 5 '11 found out though it was the opposite of what Kenji had expected. It had made his high school sweetheart even more overprotective of him, made him want to keep him on a chain attached to him so they wouldn’t have to be apart. For the longest time, they spoke of the dream to move in together once graduating from the Suzuran school, and as the day of graduation skidded upon them like a speeding car, the Roa faction member pulled out two sets of keys, a bright smile on his face as he had secured a small apartment for the two of them. Summer turned to fall, which brought the joys of a cozy and warm home that smelled of Cinnamon and spice incense and a warm dinner. There was always some type of seasonal ambient music playing through the bluetooth speaker of the shorter male’s phone. Kenji was only five foot three and hated how short he was, so he tried to make up for it by doing the cleaning and cooking if Magoroku set out the proper things for it before leaving the house to go help Roa where they now worked together. Fall soon chilled into winter, and on a chilly November night, a fire crackling on the tv while playing Christmas music, two bodies sat snuggled on their couch wrapped in a large blanket, the smaller man sitting to his tall lover’s left, head laying on his chest. He had no clue that one of the reasons the entire Roa faction had been out more was that the once bubble gum popping male had gotten a few extra shifts to buy a gold wedding band with a ruby set into its thicker band. He was just waiting to find a time that felt right to propose.

“You know, this may sound silly, but I always used to dream of being kissed under mistletoe in the snow at Christmas, and proposed to on christmas eve in the snow fall with like, a beautiful lit tree behind me and my partner. I was told that it was more ‘girly’ by most because it sounds like a romance movie, but I always just found something so romantic about Christmas.” Kenji’s voice is deep but soft, he had a naturally deeper voice than his boyfriend, but they both loved it.

“ I feel like Christmas is definitely something that I could understand as being romantic. Especially if you are with someone you love.” Magoroku looked down at his darling, the shorter male’s raven hair was styled into a messy shaggy hairstyle with curls, his honey skin was glowing in the dimly light room, the pair had been wanting to start decorating soon, so they had boxes from their second room that they used as a storage room out, getting Christmas ready slowly. He knew when he would propose and how now. The excitement that ran through Magoroku was something that he was sure his darling could hear, his heart racing as he planned away in his head. He wanted it perfect, and he wanted to film it and make it for a part of his home video. He knew he would say yes, they had been talking about wanting to get married since their last year of high school started, and now that it was over, he knew they would take the leap this Christmas.

The tree had been set up, the apartment smelled like baked Christmas cookies and warm dinner, the Christmas tree incense was lit and going in the living room, holiday music playing through the record player speaker, and a candy cane apron was perched over the top of Kenji’s clothing as he baked and cooked for the night ahead. The Roa faction was coming over for a Christmas eve celebration, to open gifts and have dinner, as a group of happy friends before they all went to do their plans for the next day. Magoroku was out getting the last minute stuff and picking up Mario, and soon the other faction members arrived, carrying gifts to be set under the beaming tree the couple had decorated. The group planned to have different people host each year and the two had volunteered. Everyone was soon gathered around the table laughing, looking back on their school years now that they had been out of it since summer, quickly approaching the one year mark. To Kenji, things felt right, they were warm, happy moments that he had always wanted with friends. Tomorrow, Christmas day, was just for him and his darling Magoroku, but tonight was friends that were like a close family, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Dinner had been a hit, and now the rather large group was huddled by the tree, the small apartment not bothering any of them as they packed in like a can of sardines. Magoroku had planned with the others to let his present to Kenji be last, it was supposed to snow around 11:30 pm and that was the perfect time to do his plan. The presents were opened, some were more gag gifts with real ones given after to make the mood light, some were very deep and meaningful, and some were just what the other needed. As Mercy gathered all the discarded gift wrapping, Binzo slipped out, supposedly to use the bathroom, but in reality, he was hanging mistletoe from a spot near a lit Christmas tree outside, the cozy neighborhood that the soon to be fiances had settled into being perfect for the occasion. Luckily for him, the spot was only a few buildings down from the duplex that the hosts lived in and he was good friends with the old lady who lived close by.

“Oh look, it is snowing! We should all take a walk in it and take a group picture.” Bizo pipes after sneaking back inside, a bright smile on his face as he sent a wink to the way of his school friend to inform him the plan was a go. He knew that Roa was hiding the ring in his pocket until the right time, which was now because Kenji was in the kitchen with a Ito and putting left overs into containers for everyone to take home.

Roa passed the ring in the black velvet box to his smaller friend and claps him on the back, “Mercy and I will be recording from different angles while Binzo stays up with the mistletoe so its perfect, though it is currently hanging from a post as a marker for where the plan goes into motion at.” The six foot three man whispers, the pride he felt for being apart of this was something that was no surprise of anyone else, because they all considered the shortest male as their brother and friend.

Soon enough, seven pairs of feet made their way to the best light display in the area, a grin laying on the face of Kenji, who held his lover’s hand as they walked in the falling snow, his heart full and his body bundled warm and cozy for this trek. He however felt confusion settle in the depths of his mind as his partner pulled his hand away and settled in a spot that Binzo was clearly perched on. Kenji raised an eyebrow as Ito nodded once, telling the short and perplexed male to go forward. Roa and Mercy pulled out cameras, Kansuke was softly playing music on his phone, just loud enough for the camera to hear, it was soft Christmas music that was all instrumental and sounded extremely romantic. Everyone had a part and suddenly, a feeling burned in the pit of Kenji’s stomach as he realized something, though currently he was unsure of what was in fact going on.

Magoroku grabbed the hands of his soon to be fiance, making sure that neither of them had gloves on for this part before doing so. He made deep eye contact and started speaking in the most love filled voice the other had ever heard. “Baby, we have been together through high and low, the worst of times, the best of times, and even the times that seemed almost like we would be bored if not for each other. We fall more in love every day and spend most nights talking about what the future holds. In November, you told me something important, something I will always remember now as we are here tonight. We planned our future out in high school, and I can’t let a moment slip away with you. I want to make sure that we will be forever one. You said that most found your cheese views on the Christmas eve proposal in the snow and locking it in with a kiss under mistletoe was cheesy, I find it to be the sweetest thing ever. And tonight I want to make that all come true for you. Sora Kenji, the love of my life, the one who brings out the best in me. I love you with all my heart and here I stand tonight to bring your wishes come true, and hopefully if you say yes to the question I am going to ask, I can promise a future of even more of your dreams come true. Will you marry me?”

By now, all seven people had teared up, even Binzo and as Kenji replied, his voice shook and cracked, a smile laced on his face as the Christmas lights cast their glow onto the group through the falling snow, “Y-yes. I will forever say yes to marrying you, Yamaguchi Magoroku.”

Binzo dropped the fishing wire that held the mistletoe down from the small tree he stood behind on a ladder while the ring slipped onto the newly engaged man’s finger. Magoroku looked up, smiled and kissed his lover’s lips, hands wrapped around the smaller’s waist as he leaned down to kiss him.

It was that night that the movie clip for their engagement would be marked off for their wedding, and Christmas dreams came true. Christmas really was a magic time of year.

#high and low the worst #high and low fanfic #christmas fanfic #h&l oneshot #yamaguchi magoroku #Brooke queues it up

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mordmortis · 7 months

Text

the three beginnings

“We’re the same, you and I. Aren’t we?”

The elf looked at their friend who sat next to them and frowned. It was a cloudy day, with weather that weighed down on one’s eyelids.

“In what way? You are human. Your life does not compare to that of mine.”

The girl smiled and closed her eyes. She tilted her head to the side, her strawberry blonde hair shifting and framing her face.

“And yet there are similarities. You think I do not know of your efforts? Your skills and experiments which you are unfairly shunned for?”

There was a pause before the other spoke again.

“My medicine is in no way comparable to the way you toy with people’s emotions.”

“So why are both things forbidden?” A red eye was cracked open, aimed at the elf together with a playful smirk.

“Ainsworth.”

The elf turned their dark green head to the woman at the call of their name. They saw swirling hearts in her eyes and immediately covered them with their hand, a move that earned them a grin.

“Ask me what you will but don’t toy with me, Erien.”

“Come live with me. You know the Academy is going to come after us sooner or later. So let’s run.”

Silence.

“Ains? What do you say?”

Suddenly, without warning, their lips were on hers. The kiss was gentle but lasting.

“You already know my answer, Erien. I’d follow you to Infernal and back. But promise me one thing.”

“Hm?”

“No hypnosis.”

“Alright then. No hypnosis.”

⊢———————————⊣

“Now, now. What do we have here?”

The love witch opened the door, only to find a disheveled woman with raven hair standing in front of it. Dark circles lined her puffy, tear-reddened eyes and purple choke bruises decorated her neck like a morbid choker.

“Please take me in,” the woman said with a raspy voice.

“Oh?” Erien glanced at the woman’s wrists covered in bloodied bandages. She hummed in thought, leaning her head on the doorframe. “So that’s how it is… You committed the greatest taboo, haven’t you?”

The disheveled woman paled and swallowed audibly.

“How did you know to come here?”

“I… met an elf in the city…”

The love witch laughed, fixing up the cardigan that was wrapped around her shoulders. “So my dearest elf has taken an interest in you! Well, why not? We’re outcasts. We might as well take in another. But first…”

The woman’s chin was lifted up in a gentle hold, gaze pointed up into the witch’s eyes. She swam in their depths, frozen in place as an overpoweringly sweet scent tied her up like a tight blanket. Erien’s form grew taller and taller, her hypnotic eyes becoming brighter against their backdrop like a lantern in the night.

And then the witch smiled and closed her eyes - and things went back to normal in the blink of an eye.

“Do you know how to put up barriers?”

⊢———————————⊣

A bloodied warrior wandered into a forest. His eyes were stained with the souls he had taken, eyes wild and lungs out of breath. The battlefield was no place for a gentle man. And so he fled like the coward he was, ran until his legs could not carry him anymore. The burn on his back stung as a constant reminder of the friends he had left to die.

“We need to do something about these stray cats. They just keep wandering into our home,” came a voice from up on the tree.

The man lifted his gaze with terror, freezing when he spotted not an assassin but rather a woman dressed in revealing clothes. She watched him with a cunning smile, her legs hanging off the branch she sat on.

“My oh my, this one is especially roughed up… It almost makes me feel bad for it.” She put her hands on the branch and pushed herself off of it, landing gracefully onto a patch of grass. She dusted off her skirt before regarding the kneeling witch.

“Although, now that I’m looking at you from up close… You are one cute kitten. Perhaps I should keep you.”

“Another one?” Ainsworth approached from behind the treeline, carrying a basket full of herbs. They sighed and put a hand on their slim waist.

Erien smiled at them, an expression that demanded obedience.

“Very well. I shall go run a bath and prepare my instruments.” They knew what came next. They refused to watch.

The man saw them disappear in the forest once more before his attention was pulled elsewhere.

He looked into the witch's eyes and fell into a swirling ocean of red, never to return.

#soulrend #original character #writing

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witchywomanrunningupthathill · 2 years

Text

Borgin & Burkes

Pairing: Regulus x reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Description: A summer job at Borgin & Burkes takes a turn when Regulus Black bustles through the door soaking wet and searching for horcruxes.

Warnings: none

A/N: Brand-spanking new tag list at the bottom! Let me know if you'd like to be added to it!

It was an unusually hot summer day in the U.K. The forty-degree weather had sequestered most people inside their homes by the nearest fan or to the closest body of water. But (un)luckily for you, the heat was no matter as you stood behind the front counter of Borgin & Burkes sorting through a chest of random artefacts that were either haunted, cursed, or both. By now, it’s half three, and like most hellishly hot days, a thunderstorm was quickly making its way over London. Although you couldn’t see the darkening sky, the telltale rumbles of thunder grew louder by the minute. Heavy rain begins to fall, drops pelting the roof of the old building.

You pull out an iron spike from the chest, followed by a small velvet box with a ruby necklace inside that couldn’t be any less than ninety-six carats. At the bottom is a small phonograph, although you decide not to try and play it because upon touching it, rage bubbles up inside you. The last item is a brown alligator skin diary that has seen better days. The center of the book is almost destroyed and shows signs of having been singed. Someone’s curse probably rebounded; you think.

Often, you found yourself questioning why exactly you had chosen to work in this dusty, old shop with your dodgy bosses and cursed magical artefacts. Perhaps it was worth the two galleons an hour, though. Plus, your flat was close, granted it was also on Knockturn Alley, right above a pub. But the older witch who owned the building was nice enough to you, and the one-bedroom was spacious enough for you to spread out on the living room floor every evening and read to your heart’s content.

As you take inventory of the items, filling in a long grid drawn on a piece of parchment, the bell at the front door rings. You look up to see a tall, raven-haired boy rush through the entrance, escaping the barrage of rain outside. He’s soaking wet and nearly out of breath. The door slams shut behind him as he attempts to comb his hair back with his fingers and wipe a few stray water droplets from his rain cloak that’s been rendered useless.

“Um, hello…”

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a…erm…magical artefact,” Regulus says, eyes traveling down to the items inside one of the glass displays.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” you deadpan.

Regulus gathers the resolve to meet your gaze again. “It’s a locket I’m trying to find…”

You’ve seen him before. Those Black family features were recognizable anywhere—obsidian locks, razor-sharp bone structure, and the grey-green eyes that beckon you to see what’s behind them but at the same time seem to whisper “stay away.”

“Do I know you?”

“I don’t know, do you?”

You let out a huffed laugh while studying him for a moment longer.“ You were the git that corrected me during that OWL revision in Ancient Runes! Always sat in the back with Crouch…”

Regulus’ eyebrows draw up. “Oh, wait I remember you. You’re Ehwaz Girl!”

You roll your eyes. “Oh Merlin, be quiet! They’re so similar – Ehwaz, Eihwaz – whatever! Do you know how much time I spent memorizing those blasted runes?” Regulus laughs as you continue your rant.

“Professor Babbling almost laughed in my face after you corrected me!”

“To be fair, there is a huge difference between partnership and yew tree. I’d expect any Ravenclaw at the top other class to know that,” Regulus challenges.

“I’m not afraid to hex you so hard that you won’t be able to cast another rune again! We’re on Knockturn, not Diagon Alley, Black” you retort.

Regulus cocks an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, is that right? You want to have a go? You’ve seen me duel—I’ve got fantastic stamina!” he goads.

You stand, shaking your head at the haughty wizard’s audacity. “Maybe after we find this locket,” you say.

“Whatever you want, Eihwaz,” Regulus replies with a smirk.

You walk to the end of the counter, opening the mini-door and locking it back with a flick of your hand then heading for the spiral staircase. You stop and turn back around when you don’t hear the boy’s footsteps. His eyes travel from artefact to artefact as he tries to hide a frown.

“You coming, Black?” He looks up, his frown relaxing into neutrality. “Oh, um…you might want to have your wand out, just personal experience…” Regulus quickly follows, pulling his wand from the inside of his cloak.

Entering the back room of Borgin & Burkes is a lot like any young witch or wizard encountering their first boggart. You might have a few ideas as to what may pop out at you, and you most definitely will be paralyzed for a moment from the sheet shock of whatever it is you see. Borgin & Burkes isn’t what one would call a “controlled” environment like that of Hogwarts or Ilvermorny. However, you might actually encounter harm in this case. Like getting attacked by a baby Manticore. Or smothered and eaten by a Lethifold. It depends on the day, really.

“We don’t usually let customers back here…but I suppose I’ll make an exception for you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re used to special treatment, aren’t you?”

Regulus briefly remembers the previous night at Malfoy, surrounded by the rest of his fellow Death Eaters. He remembers how the Dark Lord had said that he’d chosen someone to lead his next attack – a kidnapping of the Head Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries who’d taken kindly to many of the muggle-born wizards and witches working in the Ministry. He remembers how his heartrate sped up, how his chest puffed out slightly and how his chin rose just that much higher in anticipation as the Dark Lord called out the name of his best friend, Evan Rosier, not his own. He remembers how he tried to hide his embarrassment as he sat next to the Rosier wizard, nodding and shouting out yeas of approval along with everyone else. He remembers how he almost quite literally leaped at the opportunity to volunteer Kreacher as soon as the Dark Lord said he was in need of a house elf. He’d heard whispers about a locket that had belonged to Salazar Slytherin, but he had no idea of what use it would be to the Dark Lord.

“Not exactly…”

“So, what does this locket in question look like?”

“It’s…erm” Regulus pauses to clear his throat. “It’s pure gold. And it’s engraved with a serpentine “S’. The pendant is yellow…golden…pretty sure it’s citrine. I do suppose it could also be yellow diamond, though, considering its original owner…the ‘S’ engraving’s got gems on it too. Emeralds.”

“Alright…” you reply, looking along the walls of shelves packed with miscellaneous items. You opt for a series of shelves near one of the room’s back corners, carefully scanning shelf by shelf. “The jewelry and stuff is over here usually,” you explain.

“To my understanding, Burke bought the locket from Merope Guant. I’m honestly not sure if it’s here or not because I couldn’t find anything else on its whereabouts, if any, after Burke purchased it.”

You stand in silence, wand in hand, contemplating casting a spell and looking stupid, or settling for her non-magical eyesight and the one thousand-page Items Ledger logging each item stocked and sold.

“Accio locket,” you cast. Nothing happens. You shrug.

“I’d think even you would know better than to accio anything in this place…” Regulus remarks snidely.

“Do you want my help or not? Because the door is right back that way,” you say pointing back down the staircase you’d traveled up minutes ago.

Regulus reaches to one of the higher shelves, gliding his hand from left to right in midair, sorting through necklaces, bracelets, and rings. He continues like this for a while. You continue your search across the room.

Twenty minutes later, you both come up empty-handed. You sigh, knowing that the next best option is looking through the Items Ledger. It’s sitting at the opposite corner of the storage room and is about as thick as all of your Hogwarts textbooks stacked on top of each other.

“Let’s go to plan B,” you say as you walk over to the closed ledger.

It’s dusty, yet it’s impossible to know how because neither Borgin nor Burke let any item be brought into the shop without it being logged. You blow the dust from it, causing Regulus to back away, squinting his eyes and waving away particles of dust from his face. You open the front cover to a tan-paged ledger that seems to go on forever. Turning page after page, nothing seems to pop out about a locket.

Hand of Glory, Raven cane…

By page 98, realization strikes.

“Agh wait, I forgot. This book – it’s a Librovoz, it recognizes your voice so you can use it to manipulate it.” Regulus nods, looking at you expectantly. “It—erm…she…the book, her name is Janet. She likes when you refer to her properly…”

“Didn’t believe a book could be so high maintenance.” As Regulus says this, the book flips itself shut.

“Shhh! She can hear you, Black!”

Regulus raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry! Sorry…erm…Janet.”

You shake your head at the wizard then direct your attention back to the sentient ledger. “Search for locket,” you say to the book. “Please?”

The book opens, flips iits pages for a moment until it stops on page 354. Both of them scan the pages but find nothing but a “Deadly Mandrake Root Lock,” nothing about a “locket.” Your eyebrows furrow as you contemplate where to go next.

“Maybe it’s under a name?” Regulus offers. He tucks a loose piece of hair behind his ear.

“Search Slytherin,” you say. The book doesn’t budge.

“Search Guant.”

The book flips for a moment longer, stopping on page 888. Right on the second row of the ledger reads “No. (unlisted) Guant Pendant.” You and Regulus look up at one another.

“Cryptic…I guess I should’ve expected that from Burke,” you announce.

Regulus hums in agreement reading the rest of the entry. “It says it’s on Aisle 33, Shelf M,” he reads. Regulus doesn’t see any other entries with items categorized to Shelf M either. M for Marvolo, perhaps, he wonders.

As you walk to Aisle 33, the book slams shut, so as to say “you’re welcome” to the duo.

Shelf M is empty.

“Maybe Burke took it back? Kept it as his own and forgot to remove it from the book?”

Regulus shrugs, but distress flashes on his face briefly.

“It’s possible.” He lets out a huff. “Salazar, I just don’t know where else it might be if not here. I mean, it could quite literally be anywhere if you haven’t got it stocked here…” He runs a hand through his hair and looks up at the other shelves in silence. “Has anyone else worked here besides Borgin and Burke?”

“Well…me.”

“Obviously you,” he scoffs. “I mean before you, Eihwaz.”

You glare at him. “I don’t know! Um…I mean…” Then it strikes you. Merlin, how could I have forgotten that!

Borgin & Burkes prided itself on buying and selling ancient artefacts, most of which could never have any benevolent energy attributed to them. They were opportunists, procuring magical items by any means necessary and regardless of the power they possessed or danger they posed. So, it makes sense why Tom Marvolo Riddle would exploit their opportunistic proclivities by taking a job there. The place is shrouded in dark magic. Of course, the bloody Dark Lord had swept through here. Even if he hadn’t yet been the malevolent dark wizard into which he had transformed himself.

“Tom Riddle,” you say.

Regulus raises his eyebrows at your answer. He should’ve expected this. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Regulus was a clever boy, prided himself on it. How had he failed to put that together?

“What do you know about Horcruxes?”

You frown, shaking your head in confusion as you run your hand along Shelf M. “Um…nothing. Should I?”

“For your purposes, yes.”

“Our purposes? Didn’t know I was a part of your…well…what exactly are you doing?” you say as your pinky finger brushes against something small and solid. “Hold on, what’s this?” You pick up the object from the shelf, bringing it between yourself and Regulus. A smooth, tiny emerald. “You said the locket has emeralds, right?”

“Yes! It’s just…what can we do with this? It’s only one tiny piece.”

You grin mischievously. “Lucky for you, poncy rich boy, I can do psychometry. If I can sense this stone’s energy and get something from it—”

“Bloody hell, how do you work in a place like this then?”

“Anti-sensitivity charm,” you say, wiggling your fingers in the air and winking. “It’s worn off though…”

“Well, are you getting anything?”

You hear the sound of waves crashing. Darkness fills your mind’s eye for a moment until an image flashes before you.

“I hear waves…and I see um…a mountain? No…or…a cave? It’s a cave. There’s people walking…children,” another image appears, “two children lying dead. It looks like it was done with magic…corpses…hundreds of them…Merlin!” Then you see it. Him. You shudder, dropping the emerald, which Regulus swoops down to catch.

“What is it? Was it him?” he practically begs.

You nod, spooked, and let out a sigh of relief from no longer holding the gem. Regulus rolls the emerald between his thumb and middle finger as you process in silence. You have no clue how much time has gone by.

“What’s all this to you, then, hm?” you ask.

Regulus hesitates for a moment before clearing his throat. “The locket…it’s no use to me, really. It’s a bit complicated, you see.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I…well I didn’t know what exactly I’d find coming in here. A month ago, I didn’t even know what I was searching for…”

“Black, you’re not making any sense!”

“I…He…I have to find a way to destroy it. I have to.”

“Why?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. Or trust me.”

“The Wizengamot is still out on my trust in you. But, mate, I work in a shop full of dark magical artefacts. At this point, nothing would surprise me!”

“Alright, well…the locket. I believe it may contain a part of the Dark Lord’s soul." You stay silent, mouth slightly ajar, watching him hesitate. “I’m still trying to figure all of this out, and I don’t have much time to do so.”

“Merlin…”

“A copy…is it possible to make a copy of the locket here?”

“Erm…I imagine, yes. But we need the original.”

“Then help me.”

“What?”

“Help me figure this out. I’ve got loads of research on dark magic back at home—”

“Look, I get it, but I really need this job…”

Regulus reaches into the front of his cloak and throws a tiny burgundy sack your way. You pull the top open. Gold.

“You’re bribing me? That’s low…even for you, Black.”

“You need the money, right?”

“Did you have to go to your family vault for this?”

Regulus scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Fine.”

You walk back to the front of the shop, ripping a piece of paper from the Daily Prophet sitting on the counter and pulling a quill from nearby. You write your address and hand the torn piece of paper to Regulus.

“Meet me in an hour at this address. It’s a block down from here. And bring whatever research you’ve got, books, whatever.” Regulus smirks. “And you aren’t sparing any more details from me now, Black.”

“That’ll be up to me to decide…” he says before letting out a yawn. Two hours had passed since he entered the artefact emporium.

“Tired already? Thought you had, what was it, ‘fantastic stamina’?”

“One hour, Eihwaz.”

Tag List: @wysleria @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny

#regulus black x reader #regulus black x oc #regulus x reader #regulus x oc #regulus black angst #harry potter fanfiction #regulus black fanfiction #harry potter #hp #regulus black #fanfiction

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eilinelsghost · 7 months

Note

hello friend!! 3, 17 and 21 for the ask game please 💕💕

Hello friend!!

Questions 3 and 17 I covered in this post.

21. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

Oh yikes. This is so hard. Hmmmmmmm.... I think I'm going to go with the Atani burial rites for this one. They were really meaningful to work on and have ended up becoming one of the things that undergirds the whole series at this point. I'll put the except from Atandil part 5 in here, but they also show up in chapter 5 of Atanatárissë - and writing that one in particular completely wrecked me.

Balan stepped forward and knelt beside the first in the shrouded line, Thurbrand, a venerable warrior who had carried a spear since Balan’s childhood, and he folded the cloth back across the chest. He touched three fingers to each temple, to the valley between the eyes, to the chin. “Honor be upon you, my father,” he said softly, his voice intoning the practiced calm of a benediction. “Valor rest within you, my brother. Peace take you within her arms, my son.” Baran knelt in the grass above the warrior’s head, his hands extended to hold a clay bowl, intricately painted and partitioned into three shallow sections, cupped within his palms. Balan reached out as he finished the invocation and took a seed from each segment. Gently, he opened Thurbrand’s mouth and set the seeds upon the tongue, closing the lips once again. “From earth and from water were we ordered, from earth and from water were we formed. Return now to the soil that shaped us and from it grow again in life anew: grain for our sustenance, fruit for our delight, the oak tree tall for our shelter.” His hand rested for a long moment over Thurbrand’s face, then he stepped back a few paces from the prostrate form and knelt to one knee, his palms laid flat upon the ground and his head bowed. After a pause, he rose once more and moved to the next body, repeating the ritual again. “Honor be upon you, my mother. Valor rest within you, my sister. Peace take you within her arms, my daughter.” It was a custom done in scorn of death, Balan would tell Finrod later that night as they sat beside the fire in the hush of the midnight watch. He might come ever ravening among them, but they would scorn his maw. Even in their rotting they would lay claim to life. Balan moved down the line, until all seven had been tended. Then he stepped backwards, never turning his back to the line of bodies, until he stood foremost in the waiting line of warriors. Baran had moved now to stand at his side, and Finrod noted with a start that even Belen stood among them, leaning heavily upon his spear while his face was drawn with pain and determination. Then they sang. Not even Makalaurë’s voice echoing through the darkened halls of Tirion had rent Finrod’s heart with the piercing ache of this lament, rough-sung and cried out in abandon. It began quietly, first with Balan's voice alone, but soon it spread throughout the whole kindred, shifting in waves as the music passed from tongue to tongue. A rolling chant, the words layered each over the other, until the voices lifted once more in the long, wailing cry, while over them the line of warriors chanted in unison, Death the destroyer, Death the slayer. Death the coward, Death the betrayer. Dead the makers, dead the life-givers. Dead the valiant, dead the troth-keepers. Living the memory, living the honor. Living we hold you, deathless we make you.

------

Thanks so much for the ask!!

#asks and answers #my writing

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istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Bran III (Chapter 34)

This is as close as I'll ever come to copying and pasting an entire chapter.

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

The moon was fat and full.

The moon was a black hole in the sky.

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

The moon was fat and full.

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

The moon was a black hole in the sky.

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

What is that, three months?

Imagine how bored Meera, Jojen, and Hodor are. I love Bran, but I'd hate being his friend.

+.+.+

Red leaves whispered in the wind. Dark clouds filled the skies and turned to storms. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, and dead men with black hands and bright blue eyes shuffled round a cleft in the hillside but could not enter.

What's Daenerys doing in a Bran chapter?

I'm kidding, except not really. She's all over this chapter.

+.+.+

Sometimes the sound of song would drift up from someplace far below. The children of the forest, Old Nan would have called the singers, but those who sing the song of earth was their own name for themselves, in the True Tongue that no human man could speak. The ravens could speak it, though. Their small black eyes were full of secrets, and they would caw at him and peck his skin when they heard the songs.

[...]

Bran and Meera made up names for those who sang the song of earth: Ash and Leaf and Scales, Black Knife and Snowylocks and Coals.

Ash, Scales, Black Knife, Coals. . . fire/dragon imagery? Mmkay.

The ravens are cawing and pecking at Bran's skin whenever they hear the children singing their secret songs. Feels kind of hostile.

+.+.+

The last greenseer, the singers called him, but in Bran's dreams he was still a three-eyed crow. When Meera Reed had asked him his true name, he made a ghastly sound that might have been a chuckle. "I wore many names when I was quick, but even I once had a mother, and the name she gave me at her breast was Brynden."

"I have an uncle Brynden," Bran said. "He's my mother's uncle, really. Brynden Blackfish, he's called."

"Your uncle may have been named for me. Some are, still. Not so many as before. Men forget. Only the trees remember."

Gross, I hope not.

Brynden Rivers = BloodRaven. Get it, get it??

Once it's revealed he's a Targaryen we can safely label him a villain who will orchestrate his own demise.

The last greenseer, the singers called him

This makes no sense.

+.+.+

"Most of him has gone into the tree," explained the singer Meera called Leaf. "He has lived beyond his mortal span, and yet he lingers. For us, for you, for the realms of men. Only a little strength remains in his flesh. He has a thousand eyes and one, but there is much to watch. One day you will know."

The tree ate Bloodraven. Good.

Is Bloodraven an instrument of the children? Are they co-conspirators? They don't care that he's an Andal? I'm having a difficult time wrapping my head around this.

+.+.+

"What do the trees remember?"

"The secrets of the old gods," said Jojen Reed. Food and fire and rest had helped restore him after the ordeals of their journey, but he seemed sadder now, sullen, with a weary, haunted look about the eyes.

[...]

"Maybe you could be greenseers too," he said instead.

"No, Bran." Now Meera sounded sad.

"It is given to a few to drink of that green fountain whilst still in mortal flesh, to hear the whisperings of the leaves and see as the trees see, as the gods see," said Jojen. "Most are not so blessed. The gods gave me only greendreams. My task was to get you here. My part in this is done."

Jojen's watch has ended.

+.+.+

The singers made Bran a throne of his own, like the one Lord Brynden sat, white weirwood flecked with red, dead branches woven through living roots. They placed it in the great cavern by the abyss, where the black air echoed to the sound of running water far below. Of soft grey moss they made his seat. Once he had been lowered into place, they covered him with warm furs.

King Bran on a weirwood throne.

+.+.+

"Never fear the darkness, Bran." The lord's words were accompanied by a faint rustling of wood and leaf, a slight twisting of his head. "The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong."

I don't think it takes a genius to figure out we don't want Bran embracing darkness.

However, that doesn't mean Melisandre's little crusade is based in reality or morally justified.

"FREE FOLK!" cried Melisandre. "Behold the fate of those who choose the darkness!" - Jon III, ADWD

+.+.+

Flying was even better than climbing.

Slipping into Summer's skin had become as easy for him as slipping on a pair of breeches once had been, before his back was broken. Changing his own skin for a raven's night-black feathers had been harder, but not as hard as he had feared, not with these ravens. "A wild stallion will buck and kick when a man tries to mount him, and try to bite the hand that slips the bit between his teeth," Lord Brynden said, "but a horse that has known one rider will accept another. Young or old, these birds have all been ridden. Choose one now, and fly."

He chose one bird, and then another, without success, but the third raven looked at him with shrewd black eyes, tilted its head, and gave a quork, and quick as that he was not a boy looking at a raven but a raven looking at a boy. The song of the river suddenly grew louder, the torches burned a little brighter than before, and the air was full of strange smells. When he tried to speak it came out in a scream, and his first flight ended when he crashed into a wall and ended back inside his own broken body. The raven was unhurt. It flew to him and landed on his arm, and Bran stroked its feathers and slipped inside of it again. Before long he was flying around the cavern, weaving through the long stone teeth that hung down from the ceiling, even flapping out over the abyss and swooping down into its cold black depths.

My gut tells me this all leads to a confrontation with Drogon.

That may sound silly, but that is exactly what the show insinuated would happen. They were just too lazy and out of time/budget to adapt it.

+.+.+

"Someone else was in the raven," he told Lord Brynden, once he had returned to his own skin. "Some girl. I felt her."

"A woman, of those who sing the song of earth," his teacher said. "Long dead, yet a part of her remains, just as a part of you would remain in Summer if your boy's flesh were to die upon the morrow. A shadow on the soul. She will not harm you."

You couldn't escape Jon foreshadowing even if you tried.

+.+.+

"Do all the birds have singers in them?"

"All," Lord Brynden said. "It was the singers who taught the First Men to send messages by raven … but in those days, the birds would speak the words. The trees remember, but men forget, and so now they write the messages on parchment and tie them round the feet of birds who have never shared their skin."

Dot, dot, dot.

Maybe we should be paying attention to talking ravens!

+.+.+

He wished Robb were with them now. I'd tell him I could fly, but he wouldn't believe, so I'd have to show him. I bet that he could learn to fly too, him and Arya and Sansa, even baby Rickon and Jon Snow. We could all be ravens and live in Maester Luwin's rookery.

I went back and looked for suspicious ravens in Luwin's rookery. Nothing stood out other than the bloody raven that delivered the news of Ned's death.

A raven landed on the grey stone sill, opened its beak, and gave a harsh, raucous rattle of distress.

Rickon began to cry. His arrowheads fell from his hand one by one and clattered on the floor. Bran pulled him close and hugged him.

Maester Luwin stared at the black bird as if it were a scorpion with feathers. He rose, slow as a sleepwalker, and moved to the window. When he whistled, the raven hopped onto his bandaged forearm. There was dried blood on its wings. "A hawk," Luwin murmured, "perhaps an owl. Poor thing, a wonder it got through." - Bran VII, AGOT

A scorpion with feathers? Dried blood on its wings? Never noticed that. Those arrowheads continue to haunt me.

+.+.+

Some days Bran wondered if all of this wasn't just some dream. Maybe he had fallen asleep out in the snows and dreamed himself a safe, warm place. You have to wake, he would tell himself, you have to wake right now, or you'll go dreaming into death.

Yes, Bran! Fight! Don't go dreaming into death!

+.+.+

"I thought the greenseers were the wizards of the children," Bran said. "The singers, I mean."

"In a sense. Those you call the children of the forest have eyes as golden as the sun, but once in a great while one is born amongst them with eyes as red as blood, or green as the moss on a tree in the heart of the forest. By these signs do the gods mark those they have chosen to receive the gift. The chosen ones are not robust, and their quick years upon the earth are few, for every song must have its balance. But once inside the wood they linger long indeed. A thousand eyes, a hundred skins, wisdom deep as the roots of ancient trees. Greenseers."

Cue the fandom going nuts over anyone with green or red eyes.

The chosen ones are not robust, and their quick years upon the earth are few, for every song must have its balance.

He's so full of shit. This man was born in 175 AC, then disappeared in 252 AC.

for every song must have its balance.

What do you mean? Fire good, ice bad.

+.+.+

Bran did not understand, so he asked the Reeds. "Do you like to read books, Bran?" Jojen asked him.

"Some books. I like the fighting stories. My sister Sansa likes the kissing stories, but those are stupid."

+.+.+

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies," said Jojen. "The man who never reads lives only one.

I don't know why the fandom thinks George hates Sansa when she's the designated Stark Reader.

Everyone knows he favours the readers.

+.+.+

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies," said Jojen. "The man who never reads lives only one. The singers of the forest had no books. No ink, no parchment, no written language. Instead they had the trees, and the weirwoods above all. When they died, they went into the wood, into leaf and limb and root, and the trees remembered. All their songs and spells, their histories and prayers, everything they knew about this world. Maesters will tell you that the weirwoods are sacred to the old gods. The singers believe they are the old gods. When singers die they become part of that godhood."

what

The old gods are dead children of the forest?

+.+.+

Bran's eyes widened. "They're going to kill me?"

"No," Meera said. "Jojen, you're scaring him."

"He is not the one who needs to be afraid."

If you're afraid why did you bring him here? You foolish green boy.

I can't tell if Bloodraven wants to take Bran's life force or corrupt him. Littlefinger and the kindly man don't want to kill Sansa and Arya, but this is different.

+.+.+

Summer prowled through the silent woods, a long grey shadow that grew more gaunt with every hunt, for living game could not be found. The ward upon the cave mouth still held; the dead men could not enter. The snows had buried most of them again, but they were still there, hidden, frozen, waiting.

There's too much missing from this. There's no way Meera and Bran could outpace wights for weeks, it's absurd.

+.+.+

The caves were timeless, vast, silent. They were home to more than three score living singers and the bones of thousands dead, and extended far below the hollow hill. "Men should not go wandering in this place," Leaf warned them. "The river you hear is swift and black, and flows down and down to a sunless sea. And there are passages that go even deeper, bottomless pits and sudden shafts, forgotten ways that lead to the very center of the earth. Even my people have not explored them all, and we have lived here for a thousand thousand of your man-years."

Maybe the magic breaks and Hodor briefly keeps the wights out while Bran and Meera take the river back to the Wall? I don't know, I'm throwing anything out there.

Is she being honest, or does she not want him exploring for other reasons?

+.+.+

They [the children] had nut-brown skin, dappled like a deer's with paler spots, and large ears that could hear things that no man could hear. Their eyes were big too, great golden cat's eyes that could see down passages where a boy's eyes saw only blackness. Their hands had only three fingers and a thumb, with sharp black claws instead of nails.

Say a prayer for Arya Stark.

+.+.+

That was in the dawn of days, when our sun was rising. Now it sinks, and this is our long dwindling. The giants are almost gone as well, they who were our bane and our brothers. The great lions of the western hills have been slain, the unicorns are all but gone, the mammoths down to a few hundred. The direwolves will outlast us all, but their time will come as well.

That almost feels like code.

+.+.+

But after they were gone, he slipped inside Hodor's skin and followed them.

The big stableboy no longer fought him as he had the first time, back in the lake tower during the storm. Like a dog who has had all the fight whipped out of him, Hodor would curl up and hide whenever Bran reached out for him. His hiding place was somewhere deep within him, a pit where not even Bran could touch him. No one wants to hurt you, Hodor, he said silently, to the child-man whose flesh he'd taken. I just want to be strong again for a while. I'll give it back, the way I always do.

It's always incredibly loaded language.

"The world is full of horrors, Tommen. You can fight them, or laugh at them, or look without seeing . . . go away inside."

Tommen considered that. "I . . . I used to go away inside sometimes," he confessed, "when Joffy . . ." - Jaime I, AFFC

Bran yearns to be whole again, while Arya hungers for justice. It takes them both down a dark path.

Good thing Sansa only wants to be loved. Difficult to make something like that immoral. . .

+.+.+

He even crossed the slender stone bridge that arched over the abyss and discovered more passages and chambers on the far side. One was full of singers, enthroned like Brynden in nests of weirwood roots that wove under and through and around their bodies. Most of them looked dead to him, but as he crossed in front of them their eyes would open and follow the light of his torch, and one of them opened and closed a wrinkled mouth as if he were trying to speak. "Hodor," Bran said to him, and he felt the real Hodor stir down in his pit.

Explain to me how Bloodraven is the last greenseer. There's chambers filled with greenseers. Bran is a greenseer.

Anyway, this whole chapter might as well be Daenerys in the House of the Undying.

She is not breathing. Dany listened to the silence. None of them are breathing, and they do not move, and those eyes see nothing. Could it be that the Undying Ones were dead? - Daenerys IV, ACOK

Daenerys Targaryen does not have one Starkling foil, she has four. Thinking this all leads to Jon vs. Daenerys is buying into Targ Exceptionalism.

+.+.+

Seated on his throne of roots in the great cavern, half-corpse and half-tree, Lord Brynden seemed less a man than some ghastly statue made of twisted wood, old bone, and rotted wool. The only thing that looked alive in the pale ruin that was his face was his one red eye, burning like the last coal in a dead fire, surrounded by twisted roots and tatters of leathery white skin hanging off a yellowed skull.

The sight of him still frightened Bran—the weirwood roots snaking in and out of his withered flesh, the mushrooms sprouting from his cheeks, the white wooden worm that grew from the socket where one eye had been. He liked it better when the torches were put out. In the dark he could pretend that it was the three-eyed crow who whispered to him and not some grisly talking corpse.

One day I will be like him. The thought filled Bran with dread. Bad enough that he was broken, with his useless legs. Was he doomed to lose the rest too, to spend all of his years with a weirwood growing in him and through him? Lord Brynden drew his life from the tree, Leaf told them. He did not eat, he did not drink. He slept, he dreamed, he watched. I was going to be a knight, Bran remembered. I used to run and climb and fight. It seemed a thousand years ago.

Lord Brynden drew his life from the tree. Is he draining the other greenseers wired to the trees or feasting on human sacrifice? The children wouldn't let him suck the life from children greenseers, right?

Is he trying to corrupt Bran or eat Bran, someone tell me right now.

+.+.+

What was he now? Only Bran the broken boy, Brandon of House Stark, prince of a lost kingdom, lord of a burned castle, heir to ruins. He had thought the three-eyed crow would be a sorcerer, a wise old wizard who could fix his legs, but that was some stupid child's dream, he realized now. I am too old for such fancies, he told himself. A thousand eyes, a hundred skins, wisdom deep as the roots of ancient trees. That was as good as being a knight. Almost as good, anyway.

Despite it all our little Starklings never let go of their dreams.

+.+.+

Under the hill, Jojen Reed grew ever more sullen and solitary, to his sister's distress. She would often sit with Bran beside their little fire, talking of everything and nothing, petting Summer where he slept between them, whilst her brother wandered the caverns by himself. Jojen had even taken to climbing up to the cave's mouth when the day was bright. He would stand there for hours, looking out over the forest, wrapped in furs yet shivering all the same.

"He wants to go home," Meera told Bran. "He will not even try and fight his fate. He says the greendreams do not lie."

They don't lie, but they're misinterpreted? There's still hope!

+.+.+

"For the next step. For you to go beyond skinchanging and learn what it means to be a greenseer."

"The trees will teach him," said Leaf. She beckoned, and another of the singers padded forward, the white-haired one that Meera had named Snowylocks. She had a weirwood bowl in her hands, carved with a dozen faces, like the ones the heart trees wore. Inside was a white paste, thick and heavy, with dark red veins running through it. "You must eat of this," said Leaf. She handed Bran a wooden spoon.

The boy looked at the bowl uncertainly. "What is it?"

"A paste of weirwood seeds."

Something about the look of it made Bran feel ill. The red veins were only weirwood sap, he supposed, but in the torchlight they looked remarkably like blood. He dipped the spoon into the paste, then hesitated.

There's no chance that isn't human blood. The only mystery is whether it's Jojen's blood.

+.+.+

"Will this make me a greenseer?"

"Your blood makes you a greenseer," said Lord Brynden. "This will help awaken your gifts and wed you to the trees."

Bran did want to be married to a tree … but who else would wed a broken boy like him? A thousand eyes, a hundred skins, wisdom deep as the roots of ancient trees. A greenseer.

No weddings, it's your doom.

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. - Daenerys X, AGOT

mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . - Daenerys IV, ACOK

She looked at her son, watched him as he listened to the lords debate, frowning, troubled, yet wedded to his war. He had pledged himself to marry a daughter of Walder Frey, but she saw his true bride plain before her now: the sword he had laid on the table. - Catelyn XI, AGOT

Remember how dumb people believe 'bride of fire' means literal marriage to a Targaryen? Lol.

+.+.+

He ate.

It had a bitter taste, though not so bitter as acorn paste. The first spoonful was the hardest to get down. He almost retched it right back up. The second tasted better. The third was almost sweet. The rest he spooned up eagerly. Why had he thought that it was bitter? It tasted of honey, of new-fallen snow, of pepper and cinnamon and the last kiss his mother ever gave him. The empty bowl slipped from his fingers and clattered on the cavern floor. "I don't feel any different. What happens next?"

Dany raised the glass to her lips. The first sip tasted like ink and spoiled meat, foul, but when she swallowed it seemed to come to life within her. She could feel tendrils spreading through her chest, like fingers of fire coiling around her heart, and on her tongue was a taste like honey and anise and cream, like mother's milk and Drogo's seed, like red meat and hot blood and molten gold. It was all the tastes she had ever known, and none of them . . . and then the glass was empty. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

+.+.+

Bran closed his eyes and slipped free of his skin. Into the roots, he thought. Into the weirwood. Become the tree. For an instant he could see the cavern in its black mantle, could hear the river rushing by below.

Then all at once he was back home again.

Lord Eddard Stark sat upon a rock beside the deep black pool in the godswood, the pale roots of the heart tree twisting around him like an old man's gnarled arms. The greatsword Ice lay across Lord Eddard's lap, and he was cleaning the blade with an oilcloth.

"Winterfell," Bran whispered.

His father looked up. "Who's there?" he asked, turning …

… and Bran, frightened, pulled away.

See, calling it the deep black pool makes me link it to the cave river.

The visions we're about to be shown are happening in reverse chronological order. We'll place this around 298 AC.

Most important thing about this vision is that Ned 100% heard Bran.

+.+.+

Bran's throat was very dry. He swallowed. "Winterfell. I was back in Winterfell. I saw my father. He's not dead, he's not, I saw him, he's back at Winterfell, he's still alive."

"No," said Leaf. "He is gone, boy. Do not seek to call him back from death."

She says that like they're not responsible for all these living dead things walking around.

Is that something Bran could do? Call someone back from death? I'm thinking Jon here.

+.+.+

"A man must know how to look before he can hope to see," said Lord Brynden. "Those were shadows of days past that you saw, Bran. You were looking through the eyes of the heart tree in your godswood. Time is different for a tree than for a man. Sun and soil and water, these are the things a weirwood understands, not days and years and centuries. For men, time is a river. We are trapped in its flow, hurtling from past to present, always in the same direction. The lives of trees are different. They root and grow and die in one place, and that river does not move them. The oak is the acorn, the acorn is the oak. And the weirwood … a thousand human years are a moment to a weirwood, and through such gates you and I may gaze into the past."

"But," said Bran, "he heard me."

"He heard a whisper on the wind, a rustling amongst the leaves. You cannot speak to him, try as you might. I know. I have my own ghosts, Bran. A brother that I loved, a brother that I hated, a woman I desired. Through the trees, I see them still, but no word of mine has ever reached them. The past remains the past. We can learn from it, but we cannot change it."

The moment you realize baby Bran is way more powerful than this musty Targ.

He spoke to Ned.

"Winterfell," Bran whispered.

His father looked up. "Who's there?" he asked, turning …

He spoke to Jon.

Red eyes looked at him. Fierce eyes they were, yet glad to see him. The weirwood had his brother's face. Had his brother always had three eyes?

Not always, came the silent shout. Not before the crow.

[...]

Don't be afraid, I like it in the dark. No one can see you, but you can see them. But first you have to open your eyes. See? Like this. And the tree reached down and touched him. - Jon VII, ACOK

He'll speak to Theon.

The night was windless, the snow drifting straight down out of a cold black sky, yet the leaves of the heart tree were rustling his name. "Theon," they seemed to whisper, "Theon."

[...]

A leaf drifted down from above, brushed his brow, and landed in the pool. It floated on the water, red, five-fingered, like a bloody hand. "… Bran," the tree murmured. - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

And I'm almost positive he spoke to Arya without the assistance of any tree.

Calm as still water, a small voice whispered in her ear. Arya was so startled she almost dropped her bundle. She looked around wildly, but there was no one in the stable but her, and the horses, and the dead men. - Arya IV, AGOT

This is why I'm more inclined to believe the talking environment found throughout the story is always Bran. Bloodraven can't do that.

The past remains the past. We can learn from it, but we cannot change it.

If he can be heard, does that mean he can also change the past?

You probably don't want to do that though. I learned that from movies.

"A man must know how to look before he can hope to see,"

Give me 5 minutes on Reddit and I'll find someone theorizing Bloodraven was warging inside Syrio Forel.

+.+.+

Um, do I look like a Targ historian?

Pick three of the following names, and assign them wherever you want, I don't care.

Daemon I Blackfyre, Aegor Rivers, Daeron II Targaryen, Shiera Seastar.

+.+.+

"Once you have mastered your gifts, you may look where you will and see what the trees have seen, be it yesterday or last year or a thousand ages past. Men live their lives trapped in an eternal present, between the mists of memory and the sea of shadow that is all we know of the days to come. Certain moths live their whole lives in a day, yet to them that little span of time must seem as long as years and decades do to us. An oak may live three hundred years, a redwood tree three thousand. A weirwood will live forever if left undisturbed. To them seasons pass in the flutter of a moth's wing, and past, present, and future are one. Nor will your sight be limited to your godswood. The singers carved eyes into their heart trees to awaken them, and those are the first eyes a new greenseer learns to use … but in time you will see well beyond the trees themselves."

He can see well beyond trees. Like in throne rooms, and the Red Mountains of Dorne.

As his men died around him, Littlefinger slid Ned's dagger from its sheath and shoved it up under his chin. His smile was apologetic. "I did warn you not to trust me, you know." - Eddard XIV, AGOT

He could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. - Eddard I, AGOT

I understand time is not linear for Bran, but can he see the future or not? On the show he could.

+.+.+

Hodor carried Bran back to his chamber, muttering "Hodor" in a low voice as Leaf went before them with a torch. He had hoped that Meera and Jojen would be there, so he could tell them what he had seen, but their snug alcove in the rock was cold and empty.

This does not mean Jojen is dead! This doesn't make Jojen paste real!

We should be skeptical of deaths that allegedly happen off screen.

+.+.+

Watching the flames, Bran decided he would stay awake till Meera came back. Jojen would be unhappy, he knew, but Meera would be glad for him, He did not remember closing his eyes.

… but then somehow he was back at Winterfell again, in the godswood looking down upon his father. Lord Eddard seemed much younger this time. His hair was brown, with no hint of grey in it, his head bowed. "… let them grow up close as brothers, with only love between them," he prayed, "and let my lady wife find it in her heart to forgive …"

"Father." Bran's voice was a whisper in the wind, a rustle in the leaves. "Father, it's me. It's Bran. Brandon."

Eddard Stark lifted his head and looked long at the weirwood, frowning, but he did not speak. He cannot see me, Bran realized, despairing. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but all that he could do was watch and listen. I am in the tree. I am inside the heart tree, looking out of its red eyes, but the weirwood cannot talk, so I can't.

Let's place this around 284 AC.

Close as brothers? I thought they were brothers, Eddard.

Holy god, N + A = J is stupid.

+.+.+

The rest of his father's words were drowned out by a sudden clatter of wood on wood. Eddard Stark dissolved, like mist in a morning sun. Now two children danced across the godswood, hooting at one another as they dueled with broken branches. The girl was the older and taller of the two. Arya! Bran thought eagerly, as he watched her leap up onto a rock and cut at the boy. But that couldn't be right. If the girl was Arya, the boy was Bran himself, and he had never worn his hair so long. And Arya never beat me playing swords, the way that girl is beating him. She slashed the boy across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him and he fell into the pool and began to splash and shout. "You be quiet, stupid," the girl said, tossing her own branch aside. "It's just water. Do you want Old Nan to hear and run tell Father?" She knelt and pulled her brother from the pool, but before she got him out again, the two of them were gone.

This can only be Lyanna and Benjen. We'll place this around 275 AC.

"You be quiet, stupid,"

Good thing he never expands on child Lyanna. Guaranteed I'd find her as annoying as Arya. Lol

+.+.+

After that the glimpses came faster and faster, till Bran was feeling lost and dizzy. He saw no more of his father, nor the girl who looked like Arya, but a woman heavy with child emerged naked and dripping from the black pool, knelt before the tree, and begged the old gods for a son who would avenge her. Then there came a brown-haired girl slender as a spear who stood on the tips of her toes to kiss the lips of a young knight as tall as Hodor. A dark-eyed youth, pale and fierce, sliced three branches off the weirwood and shaped them into arrows. The tree itself was shrinking, growing smaller with each vision, whilst the lesser trees dwindled into saplings and vanished, only to be replaced by other trees that would dwindle and vanish in their turn. And now the lords Bran glimpsed were tall and hard, stern men in fur and chain mail. Some wore faces he remembered from the statues in the crypts, but they were gone before he could put a name to them.

Then, as he watched, a bearded man forced a captive down onto his knees before the heart tree. A white-haired woman stepped toward them through a drift of dark red leaves, a bronze sickle in her hand.

Excellent, I shine when it comes to ASoIaF history.

Sorry guys, I'm going to have to go with general consensus here. I have nothing else to offer.

He saw no more of his father, nor the girl who looked like Arya, but a woman heavy with child emerged naked and dripping from the black pool, knelt before the tree, and begged the old gods for a son who would avenge her.

Based on the timeline, best theory I've seen is it's one of the she-wolves of Winterfell.

The She-Wolves of Winterfell is the working title given to the as-yet unpublished fourth Tales of Dunk and Egg novella, once intended to be published in an anthology named Dangerous Women but now postponed. - Wiki of Ice and Fire

Then there came a brown-haired girl slender as a spear who stood on the tips of her toes to kiss the lips of a young knight as tall as Hodor.

The fourth installment of the Dunk and Egg stories takes place at Winterfell.

Is this Ser Duncan and Old Nan? Maybe. Is Ser Duncan Hodor's great-grandfather? Perhaps.

Ser Duncan was born in 191/192 AC. The Mystery Knight takes place in 212. If he's a young knight in this vision, this must happen a little bit after the events that take place in The Mystery Knight, yes?

Would that not make Old Nan older than Aemon?

A dark-eyed youth, pale and fierce, sliced three branches off the weirwood and shaped them into arrows.

Brandon Snow. :) <3

Torrhen's scouts had seen the ruins of Harrenhal, where slow, red fires still burned beneath the rubble. The King in the North had heard many accounts of the Field of Fire as well. He knew that the same fate might await him if he tried to force a crossing of the river. Some of his lords bannermen urged him to attack all the same, insisting that Northern valor would carry the day. Others urged him to fall back to Moat Cailin and make his stand there on Northern soil. The king's bastard brother Brandon Snow offered to cross the Trident alone under cover of darkness, to slay the dragons whilst they slept.

King Torrhen did send Brandon Snow across the Trident. But he crossed with three maesters by his side, not to kill but to treat. All through the night messages went back and forth. The next morning, Torrhen Stark himself crossed the Trident. There upon the south bank of the Trident, he knelt, laid the ancient crown of the Kings of Winter at Aegon's feet, and swore to be his man. He rose as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, a king no more. From that day to this day, Torrhen Stark is remembered as the King Who Knelt...but no Northman left his burned bones beside the Trident, and the swords Aegon collected from Lord Stark and his vassals were not twisted or melted or bent. - The World of Ice and Fire

Goodness, all of this feels so relevant.

The tree itself was shrinking, growing smaller with each vision, whilst the lesser trees dwindled into saplings and vanished, only to be replaced by other trees that would dwindle and vanish in their turn.

Back and back we go.

And now the lords Bran glimpsed were tall and hard, stern men in fur and chain mail. Some wore faces he remembered from the statues in the crypts, but they were gone before he could put a name to them.

Kings of Winter. We're well before Aegon's Conquest now.

A bronze sickle. First Men.

The First Men—who had brought with them strange gods, horses, cattle, and weapons of bronze—were also larger and stronger than the children, and so they were a significant threat. - The World of Ice and Fire

+.+.+

"No," said Bran, "no, don't," but they could not hear him, no more than his father had. The woman grabbed the captive by the hair, hooked the sickle round his throat, and slashed. And through the mist of centuries the broken boy could only watch as the man's feet drummed against the earth … but as his life flowed out of him in a red tide, Brandon Stark could taste the blood.

Spit it out!

This is the final (earliest) vision. The tree got its eyes after the blood sacrifice.

Final thoughts:

Goodbye Bran.

Another challenging chapter behind us. Fun! What's next, more Aegon and Illyrio discourse? Maybe Moqorro can talk nonsense to Victarion for 20 pages? When can I dive into a ghost in Winterfell? What's that Harpy up to? Betrayals, betrayals, betrayals! HOW ABOUT A LOCUST MYSTERY? LET'S BRING BACK MELISANDRE, QUAITHE, AND SEPTA LEMORE - I DIDN'T SPEND ENOUGH TIME ON THEM. WHO WROTE THAT PINK LETTER? IS IT GRAND NORTHERN CONSPIRACY TIME? BRING ME PATCHFACE PLEASE. REALLY LOVING THIS WHOLE EXPERIENCE. ADWD IS THE BEST. 10/10.

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #bran iii

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