#yes I completely re did this because I chose the wrong canvas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jamiemackenziefraser · 3 years

Text

All That Was Fair

Chapter 13: A Good Touch

Chapter Summary: Claire learns one of Jamie’s secrets.

Read on AO3

Read chapter 13 on tumblr below the cut

Previous, masterlist , next

a/n: We take another foray into Claire’s brain!! The last Claire POV chapter was Chapter 7 (if you want a refresher on where she's at, maybe take a glance back there). I'll just remind you that it ended with "In that moment, she knew she loved him." :))

Chapter 13: A Good Touch

***

Claire was lost in the heavenly feeling of water rushing over her skin— hot and soothing to her muscles, easing all the tension out of her. It wasn’t often that she felt truly warm these days. The few occasions included being wrapped in the soft (what was it called… blankit?) and sitting in front of the “space heater.” Or being wrapped in Jamie’s arms...

As much as she loved all the human conveniences for warmth, nothing compared to the feeling of Jamie’s ever-present heat seeping into her as he clasped her securely to his body. Just the thought of his arms— unreasonably big but still soft, making them the perfect place on which to rest her head— twisted her belly and made her flush a bit.

She tangled her fingers through her curls, letting the water flow down to her scalp. Her head fell forward in pleasure and a sigh escaped her lips.

But her luxuriating was interrupted by a woody bang from outside and Jamie’s voice calling, “are ye doin’ alright, lass?”

She startled a little and then nodded before remembering that of course he couldn’t see that.

“Better than alright. I’ll be out in a second,” she replied cheerily.

Feeling a sudden haste (that may or may not have had anything to do with her human), she stepped out of the shower and grabbed the soft (also a blankit?-) thing... and used it to dry herself off. She wrapped it around her middle and then made to open the door.

A bit of disappointment tugged at her when she saw that Jamie was nowhere in sight. Figuring he was taking care of whatever it was that he needed to, she padded down to her room to change.

The collection of dresses they had gotten were delightful. She hadn’t had a chance to put them all on yet (especially after their hasty departure from Mrs. Fitz’ place), but just looking at them made her feel excited. Her favorite was by far the white one— it was most reminiscent of what the fair folk of the seelie court wore— but seeing the darker colors piqued her interest. She chose a dark blue one for now and quickly pulled it over her head. Her curls were still drying, but she didn’t think it’d be a problem. Peeking behind her to make sure her wings were covered (though it probably didn’t matter if Jamie was the only one seeing her), she decided it would do.

As she wandered back into the hallway, meaning to go down and maybe find Adso, she suddenly caught sight of Jamie and her jaw dropped.

He must have just finished with the shower because he was bare save the blankit wrapped around his hips and there were drops of water smattered over his chest and shoulders. There was no indication that he’d seen her, busy as he was doing… whatever it was that he was doing— but she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. When she had told him he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, she hadn’t been exaggerating. Looking at his smooth, tanned skin— dotted with occasional freckles that gave Claire the sudden urge to run to him and kiss every last one— she felt a heat rise in her cheeks. If only she could run her hands along every inch, to feel how smooth and soft it was under her fingertips...

But then he turned a little, getting ready to head toward his room, and she caught sight of his back.

All the air was punched out of her.

The skin of his back was marred terribly, the flesh criss-crossed by silvery-white lines that stretched all across it, healed laboriously from being brutally torn some time ago. Some indents were deeper than others, making divots in the skin, but others were barely visible other than faint lines. The scars made a terrible spider’s web across what should have been a perfect canvas.

“Jamie.”

It was completely inadvertent as she suddenly found herself rushing toward him and a sigh of his name tumbling from her lips.

He turned and saw her, his eyes widening, and then he hastily angled himself to make sure she couldn’t see his back. His cheeks flamed red— not with the sweet color of embarrassment, but rather the hue of shame that sent Claire’s insides twisting all the more.

“I didna ken ye were there,” he forced out.

Claire couldn’t be bothered with words at the moment. She reached out for him, feeling her heart break at the expression on his face and the thought of his old wounds. First, she gently cupped his face, feeling the stubble rough against her palm.

“Let me see?” she entreated in a whisper.

He looked reluctant for a second, but then nodded against her hand.

With as much gentleness as she could possibly convey, Claire took him by the shoulders and turned him. He went willingly, and then his entire back was on display for her. All the trauma. The evidence of raw pain now healed but forever etched into his skin.

As if drawn by a magnet, her hand raised and just barely brushed over the marred skin. He tensed at first, which almost made her draw back. But in the next second, he was relaxing to her touch. Her fingertips brushed across shoulder blades and down the plane of his back, hardly any contact. She could feel— not just sense, but actually feel in her body— the echoes of his pain.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“Dinna fash, it was a long time ago—” he started, but she wouldn’t let him get away with dismissing this as if it didn’t matter.

“Tell me,” she pleaded.

She placed her whole hand over his back and pressed gently in reassurance that she was here. He wasn’t alone.

“It was a car accident,” he began, a slight tremor in his voice, “ye ken, what we rode in the other day? Sometimes they crash. I dinna mean tae scare ye, lass—“ Claire almost laughed aloud at this. Even in re-living his trauma, he still was so concerned about her. “—but sometimes things happen. Infrequently, mind ye. They’re verra safe. But this time it wasna. Another car hit mine. I was jes’ a foolish lad of 19, and I wasna strapped in properly. I flew through the front window and went skidding on my back across the ground wi’ all the shards of glass and pavement tearing up my back.”

Claire wasn’t sure what half of those words meant, but she could imagine well enough. She felt sick to her stomach with how well she did understand. It took great willpower to keep her hand steady where it lay on his back.

“I lay in agony for weeks. It took me so long to recover that sometimes I thought I couldna bear to live.”

Tears were beading at her eyes and she had to swallow the lump in her throat. The force of the pain she felt for his suffering hit her like a wave. As much as she didn’t want to add to Jamie’s discomfort, she found she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“I wish I had been there,” she choked as she resumed gently tracing over his scars, “I wish desperately I could have healed you. Eased your suffering. I wish—” the tremor in her voice halted all words.

Her vision was so blurred that all she saw was a flash of skin as Jamie turned toward her so he was facing her again.

“Ye’ve the kindest heart, mo nighean donn,” he said quietly.

She felt his hands gently cupping her face, and his thumbs swiped over her falling tears. She cursed herself for making him comfort her in a moment like this, but the onslaught of emotion radiating from him had overtaken her. But if she was being honest with herself, it was far more than her sensing his suffering and emotions. It went beyond empathy— the thought of him in agony hurt her directly because of the force of her love for him.

Looking up at his face through the gathered tears in her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry you went through that, Jamie.”

“It only made me who I am today,” he answered.

There was such strength in his voice. A man wise beyond his years.

There was a strength in his heart as well— one that soothed the surge of emotions and brought calm to Claire’s reeling mind.

“Are you ashamed of them?” she suddenly burst out, “You turned away from me when I saw...”

“I dinna-” he swallowed, “I dinna show them to anyone. I have no use for pity. I hate it when people look at me differently when they find out. It’s jes’ no’ somethin’ I talk about anymore.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” she breathed, understanding the gravity of his trust, “I could never pity you, and you should never feel ashamed. They’re a part of you, Jamie. And everything about you is perfect.”

The air had never returned to her lungs during this whole conversation. Her insides were still knotted up with the strength of her emotion for him, making it hard to force words out. But she needed him to know. She loved every part of him. And she wanted his heart— complete with all the wounds and scars.

“Ye have a good touch,” he commented softly as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, “I’ve never let anyone touch the scars before, save the doctors and nurses or my family. But— I didna mind when you did...”

The force of the last statement made it quite clear that he more than didn’t mind, he’d liked it, and Claire made a note to touch him as often as she could until he no longer thought of the scars as something ugly.

“I like when you touch me too,” she suddenly found herself saying. She didn’t remember the words leaving her mouth, let alone deciding to say them, but she heard the echo of them in the air and saw quite clearly his reaction.

Jamie’s whole body seemed to tense. He withdrew from her as if he suddenly couldn’t be near her, and her hand on him fell away to hang limply at her side. His downward glance as he avoided her eyes made her wonder if it had been wrong to say. The distance between them was like a blow, and the absence of his touch ached inside her. Perhaps she’d crossed a line with him? But for the life of her, she didn’t know what she’d done that was wrong. His energy had changed in an instant— one second they were sharing a connection, and the next, he was pulling away from her.

“I’m sorry, I’ll— leave you to get dressed,” she stuttered out a bit helplessly.

“Aye,” came his awkward response.

When she gave him one last look before departing, she found his ears were red and he couldn’t seem to meet her eye.

She went downstairs with a stone in the pit of her stomach, hoping desperately that she hadn’t inadvertently created a distance between them.

***

The rest of the night passed with a soothing easiness. Jamie came down from his shower seeming quite his usual self again. She’d watched him make food while trying not to get entranced by the shapes of his muscles shifting underneath his shirt. They sat and talked for a while as he ate— him telling stories of his childhood and family. Jamie was quite the storyteller, and Claire found herself getting lost in his enthusiasm. His face lit up as he told her animatedly about his parents meeting, about his awkward years as a boy, and about an incident involving him, Ian, and an owl (at which she couldn’t stop laughing until her sides ached). Claire thought she would never tire of listening to him talk about his passions. She could tell he loved fiercely and felt things deeply, and that brought such a well of affection bubbling up in her chest that she had to get up and give him a hug.

They sat on the odd, tall stumps, so she slipped off a little clumsily before bridging the distance between them, Jamie’s eyes wide as he watched her while he attempted to finish speaking.

He chuckled as she looped her arms around his neck and squeezed— right at the end of his story.

“What was that for, lass?” he asked, adorably breathless.

His big hands came up to rest on her back, smoothing down it in response.

She ran her fingers through his curls, enjoying their softness, and then answered without letting go, “you’re just so passionate, Jamie.”

He had no response for her, but she didn’t mind. With one last squeeze to the nape of his neck, she let him go. But before she withdrew completely, she ran a tender hand along the length of his back. A silent reassurance of her acceptance of the scars— just as she promised herself she would at every opportunity.

It was late. When she drew back from him, her gaze caught sight of the darkness outside, and she had to stifle a yawn. Seeing the distant stars (the familiar gleam making her bones ache with a sudden homesickness), she wandered closer to the clear square that let them view outside.

“Tired, lass?” Jamie asked, craning his head to look at her from his spot.

She nodded; there was no point in insisting otherwise (Jamie always could read her). As much as she would have loved to stay up to listen to more of his stories and look out at the stars, she was more than ready to sleep.

“Will you lay down with me?” Claire asked, feeling suddenly shy. She didn’t turn around to look at him when she asked.

There was absolutely no desire within her to spend any time away from him. She longed for the warmth and comfort of his arms— the long planes of his body against her. It was only with that safety and security that she found real rest.

“Aye, give me jes’ a moment, lass.”

Relief flooded her at his acceptance.

Jamie rose, gathering his things, and she hovered behind him as he puttered around in the kitchen. The moment his hands were free and he started to turn toward her, she slipped her hand into his. He rewarded her with a soft smile that made her feel warm inside, and then took her up with him.

Before long, she was under the blankits and waiting for Jamie to join her. She tossed and turned several times, her mind sorting through all the things that had happened that day. The argument, Jamie’s injury, learning about his past… there was so much to digest. In the unnatural quiet, her mind was racing with the assaults of too many things she didn’t wish to think about. It sometimes felt to her that life was moving so unbelievably fast. She wished it would slow down and give her a moment to breathe.

That breath came when Jamie slid in beside her. Instead of laying down flat like he usually did (giving her the perfect opportunity to rest her head on his chest) Jamie fitted himself along the length of her back and pulled her close to him. The moment his body came in contact with hers, peace descended on her. A feeling took hold of her, a sensation that was indescribable and something she had never experienced before Jamie.

“Is this alright?” Jamie asked with the sweetest sincerity that made her love him all the more.

“Perfect,” she breathed, shifting back so she was fully encapsulated in his astonishing warmth.

She drifted to sleep under the solid anchor of Jamie’s arms and the security of his presence.

***

a/n: So if you're wondering about the progress of this story... There are only 3 more chapters left in the first arc, ahh!! Things are about to ramp uppp, stick with me. But don't worry, I would very much like to continue with the arc II once we finish arc I. I prewrote all 16 chapters of the first arc, but the second arc only exists in my brain currently. I'm trying to get over some major writer's block + real life, but if you guys are interested, I hope to get working on arc II soon.

Thanks so much for your support of the story, love to you all!!

#ahh yes the OG moodboard again #all that was fair #update #claire x jamie #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic #fae claire

67 notes · View notes

reluctantwrites · 6 years

Text

One Last Chance

Part 1 - The Letter | Part 2 - Cope | Part 3 - The Arrival | Part 4 - Necessary Risks

Part 5 - Eleven Years (AO3 Link)

The final preparations take place and the infiltration begins. But first, Hanin has some things to get off his chest...

CW: mature themes re: the treatment of slaves in the Imperium (mainly physical and sexual abuse). The acts themselves are not described in any detail, but are alluded to briefly.

Hanin shifted uncomfortably, tugging down the sleeve of the black and gold uniform until it sat flat on his wrist, wishing pointlessly that there was more than just a thin layer of well-made fabric between himself and a potential blade. Grunting, he gave up trying to manipulate the uncomfortable outfit, and Cassius nodded his approval, arms folded across his chest. The man seemed far more at home in Hanin’s clothes, now that they had completed the awkward exchange. Apparently, smuggling additional sets of household uniforms might have drawn needless suspicion.

Hanin suspected Launcet just thought it would be amusing to make them swap outfits.

“Well, that was fun.” Lyrene, now clad in a matching servant uniform, sighed and twisted, glancing behind her. “Does this make by butt look as good as I think it does?”

Hanin chose not to dignify that with a response. But Daimon, who was currently sliding into Ralon’s shirt across the room, grinned and gave her an encouraging thumbs up.

“Probably the point, really,” Launcet remarked with a shrug. “Not to dampen your spirits or anything, but there’s more to it than just serving food. Talveron isn’t the worst dominus out there, but he’s far from a saint.”

The flippancy with which Launcet said those words sent a chill up Hanin’s spine. He turned to the man, gaze dark with warning. “What, exactly, are you saying?”

For the first time since they met, Launcet’s easy confidence seemed to waver. “I, ah… well, this is the Imperium. Slaves often serve… multiple purposes.” He moved, crossing the room to check the map, placing the table strategically between himself and Hanin before continuing. “I am simply saying that there are motives for almost everything. A flattering uniform is no accident, I’m afraid.”

Still scowling, Hanin glanced over at Lyrene, who took a moment to process the new information before releasing a heavy sigh.

“Well, thanks for ruining that for me.”

Shaking her head, she moved over to the table, Hanin falling into step, the rest of the Dawn Squad joining them. Cyrus, Ralon, Darren and Connors now wore the uniforms of guards, although for that night, it was unlikely they would be needed. It was simply a precaution, in case Hanin and Lyrene needed an out. As Launcet had said, it was better to be overprepared than underprepared.

For once, Hanin agreed with the man.

“Alright. Their little party should be winding down soon. Once it’s over, we’ll give it a quarter-hour, then send you two to the kitchen entrance.” Launcet, again, indicated the back area of the manor. Thankfully, it was not too far from their current building. If they were careful, they shouldn’t be spotted coming and going. “Everyone in the kitchens will be busy cleaning up and preparing for the morning banquet. It will be a special kind of chaos, so you shouldn’t have any problem slipping in.”

“Yeah, great, but what if they do?” Cyrus demanded, his brow knitted so tight it might be permanently stuck in a frown. “You got a plan for that?”

Launcet drew in a slow, patient breath. “Yes , I do, but thank you for your confidence. That, my prickly friend, is where you come in. Just in case there’s a problem, you’ll walk with them and be ready to give the excuse that they were tossing scraps to the chickens.” He leveled a pointed stare in Cyrus’ direction. “Happy?”

The Orlesian’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing, biting back a series of undoubtedly colourful suggestions about where Launcet could shove his happiness. Thankfully, the tone of the conversation changed as Launcet pulled a pouch from his belt and set it down on the table, opening it to reveal two silver discs, about an inch in height. After brief inspection, he tossed one to Lyrene and the other to Hanin. “Step two is covering up those markings of yours. Get it done. There isn’t much time.”

Lyrene groaned and wandered over to a window, plopping herself down in front of it and squinting into the glass. However, barely a moment passed before Darren sat down beside her and held out his hand, smiling as she tilted her head back and let him get to work on the markings that framed her face.

As for Hanin, he stood dumbly for a moment with the tin in hand until he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Hey, Captain, why don’t you give me that? Seems our genius planner didn't think to pack a mirror.”

Launcet rolled his eyes at Ralon. “You try stuffing a mirror into your pants, Prince Charming. There was only so much I could smuggle.”

Settling into a chair and motioning for Hanin to sit across from him, Ralon just snorted. “Reckon I could do it just fine.” He flashed a grin at Hanin, popping the lid off the tin to reveal a thick looking tinted paste. Curious, he sniffed it, then crinkled his nose. “Phew. Alright, then, wish me luck! I’ll try not to make it look like you have some kind of skin disease.”

Hanin raised a brow at him, but Ralon just tutted playfully. “Nuh-uh, none of those looks tonight, Captain. You’ve gotta hold still.”

Deftly, the Antivan got to work, running his fingertip carefully along the lines of Hanin’s vallaslin, following the intricate curves that marked his dedication to Mythal. As he worked, the rest of the room dispersed, settling to speak in soft tones or otherwise preoccupy themselves. It left the two of them with a sense of privacy for which Hanin was grateful. It was odd, letting someone cover his vallaslin. A part of him felt silly for it, but it just seemed… wrong.

“These are important, right?” Ralon asked, dipping his fingertip into the pan and tilting Hanin’s head slightly up. “Like, a cultural thing?”

“Yes.” Hanin tried his best not to move as Ralon worked on the lines curving beneath his eye. “We receive them when we become an adult in the clan. There is ceremony behind it. Tradition.”

“Huh.” Ralon paused to inspect his work, then used this thumb to clean up some of the edges. “I don’t suppose you cover it for anything, normally?”

Hanin almost shook his head, but stopped himself just in time. “No. The vallaslin is something to be worn proudly.” He paused, then added, “It is a part of who I am. To hide it would be to hide my own face.”

The Antivan’s brown eyes shifted slightly, meeting Hanin’s for a moment before returning to their task. “Shit. This guy must mean a lot to you, huh?” When Hanin didn’t respond for a moment, Ralon gave a sheepish laugh. “I mean, not that the rest of this is child’s play or anything, but… I don’t know. This part just seems worse, somehow.”

Dipping a fingertip back into the pan, Hanin moved his head accordingly to Ralon’s silent guidance. So far, his squad had been kind to him. They had not pushed for answers, or even for more than what was already detailed in the plan. Despite the lengths they were going to, none of them had demanded anything personal from him to justify the risk. Without hesitation, they had just accepted it as something that needed to be done. They had just trusted that it was important enough to be worth it.

Sitting there, with Ralon carefully concealing his vallaslin, Hanin realised with a pang of regret that they all deserved so much better from him.

Perhaps it was his turn to trust.

“We were… together, for a time. Athran and I. When we were younger.” He closed his eyes as Ralon began working near them, the scent of the tinted mixture something akin to wet clay and stone. “Over eleven years ago.”

He felt Ralon’s hands pause, just for a moment. Then, as gently and calmly as before, they kept going, carefully brushing across Hanin’s skin. “Well... that explains a lot. I mean, some of us had a feeling, but it didn’t seem like a good time to go prying into your personal life.”

The corner of Hanin’s mouth twitched up slightly at that. “Impressive restraint.”

Ralon’s chuckle was quiet and fond as he patted over a couple more spots on Hanin’s forehead. “Yeah, well... we learned from the king of bottling things up. What did you expect?”

As usual, he showed a remarkable talent for delivering a compliment and an insult simultaneously, but Hanin was not one to hold such a skill against him. But before Hanin had to think of something to say, Ralon continued softly. "But seriously... thanks. For telling me. Or us, because you know I'm going to go tell the others the second you leave." Hanin just huffed softly at that. He knew. Ralon smirked slightly and continued. "I know you don't like talking about your clan, after everything that happened, and shit, that's fair. It can't have been easy to ask us for help in the first place, but it means a lot. Even more, now that we know what you're going through a bit better."

Guilt twisted like a knife in Hanin's gut. "I shouldn't have kept it from all of you. I'm sorry."

"Hey, your business is your business. We were going to give it everything we had anyway. Fact of the matter is you didn't have to, but you did. It's just... nice." A soft smile replaced the smirk on Ralon's lips. "We trust you too, Captain."

Hanin didn't know what to say to that, and in truth, there was really nothing more to add. Instead, he just remained still until Ralon finished his task, an instruction that he open his eyes and face the lantern marking the end of the arduous process. “Hm... doesn’t look like I missed anything,” Ralon murmured, inspecting Hanin’s face like a painter before a canvas. He raised his voice. “What do you guys think? Look alright?”

The next thing Hanin knew, he had twelve sets of eyes trained intensely on his face. He swore he’d had nightmares that were similar.

“Looks good to me,” said Cyrus. “I mean, weird as fuck, but you can’t see any of it.”

“Don’t touch your face,” Connors instructed sternly. “It will rub off if you’re not careful.”

Glancing across to catch Lyrene’s eye, she and Hanin nodded. It was strange, seeing the woman without the mark of June. In that moment, Hanin was almost grateful no one had brought a mirror. He had not seen his bare face since he was fifteen years old, and he had no desire to.

“Alright, if we’re done playing salon, it’s time to get moving.” Launcet was at the open door, peering through the crack. “Looks like the kitchens are coming to life. Means the fun’s over and it’s time to get to work.” Glancing over his shoulder at the group, he tossed them a wink. “Same goes for you lot.”

Breathing out a long, steady breath, Hanin stood, Lyrene and Cyrus moving to his side. He was about to leave when Ralon cleared his throat, catching his attention.

“Hey, be careful, alright? Both of you.” Ralon’s gaze passed over Cyrus to focus on Lyrene, and ended on Hanin. “We’ll get him back. Just play it safe.”

With that, the trio exited the building, Launcet joining them for a time before breaking away to head to the guard’s barracks and find a copy of the roster. Heart thrumming, Hanin and Lyrene made their way across to the manor, the once inviting cobbled path now feeling ominous and exposed; a dead giveaway. But Cyrus strode beside them, the uniform well-tailored and neat, a blade belted securely to his side, a scowl dark on his face. Hanin had a feeling his presence alone would be enough to see them wherever they needed to go.

They arrived at the kitchen entrance just as an older servant was pushing her way out with her hip, a heavy sack burdening her arms. Without thinking, Hanin reached out, quickly catching the door and holding it open. Flustered and red-cheeked, the woman glanced up, brown eyes confused for a moment as they came to rest on his face. A tense moment passed. Out of the corner of his eye, Hanin could see Cyrus shifting slightly, about to intervene.

“Ah, you must be one of the new ones!” The woman grinned, wrinkles drawing aside like curtains to frame her face. “So polite. Strong, too. Maker, it's about time we got someone with a little meat on his bones.” She shuffled past, taking care to navigate the single step that led down to the cobbled path. “You just head on inside. Plenty of work for a big pair of hands.” She glanced up, catching sight of Lyrene. “Ah, good, more of you! Go on inside, too. As for you...” She winced and shifted, holding out the heavy sack to Cyrus. “Be a dear and help an old serving woman. That’s it.”

Uncertain of how to back out of the rapidly unfolding situation, Cyrus just grunted in surprise as the old woman dumped the sack into his arms. He glanced across at Lyrene, who shrugged helplessly, and gave a terse sigh. “Fine. Where are we taking this thing?”

“Out to the chickens, dear. My turn to feed the poor things tonight. Come along.”

Lyrene’s eyes widened like saucepans. She turned to Hanin as Cyrus and the old woman shuffled out of hearing distance, the lady practically gluing herself to Cyrus’ side, chattering away as they walked. “Shit… good thing he kept quiet, huh?”

Nodding, Hanin opened the door wider. “It was. Come on.” Hurrying forward, Lyrene darted into the kitchens, Hanin following close behind. Almost immediately, Hanin was nearly crashed into by a harried looking servant, his hands full of vegetable scraps, a demand for them to be brought to a bin halfway past his lips until he took in the height and bulk of Hanin’s form. There was the briefest moment of calculation, during which he clearly thought better of the request and moved on. The entire interaction was over before Hanin even had a chance to mutter an apology.

It was difficult, getting through the warzone that was the kitchen. Hanin swore he had been on battlefields that possessed more order; more structure. Cooks and assistants shouted back and forth over the clamor of pots and utensils, boiling water throwing steam into the air, the floor gritty with salt and flour as Hanin tried his best to navigate the chaos without drawing too much attention to himself. That proved to be a nearly impossible task, and as he moved he found himself mechanically grabbing pots and bottles from high shelves on command, passing them down to impatiently waiting servants who would have made admirable drill sergeants in another life.

Lyrene, however, managed to slip by relatively unscathed, the woman soon finding her way to a doorway at the far side of the room. She lingered there awkwardly until Hanin was spat out by the crowd a few feet away, his dark uniform askew and dusted with flour, a bottle of salt, for some reason, clutched tightly in his hand. Before he even turned to look at it, it was snatched away by a passing cook.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad.” Lyrene grinned as Hanin fired her a deadly look. “C’mon, cranky. This way.” She opened the door and slipped through. Hanin followed, tugging his uniform straight, determined to escape the broiling havoc of the kitchens. Soon, he found himself swiftly submerged in near total silence. The bright lights of ovens and lanterns disappeared behind the closing door, leaving Hanin and Lyrene in a grey-stone corridor, only the muted hum of arguments and barked instructions making it through the thick wooden barrier. “Creepy,” Lyrene whispered, then slowly set off, her footsteps softly echoing as she moved. “Kind of like dipping your head underwater, huh?”

According to the floor plan, the cellar entrance was halfway down the hall. Sure enough, Lyrene halted before a second door, less sturdy than the one they had just fled through. Its hinges creaked in bitter protest as she pushed it open to reveal a smaller room with a large trapdoor built into the floor. The entrance to the cellar.

And a guard, sitting a few feet behind it.

Lyrene froze as the guard looked up from his book and grunted, his face pulling into a scowl beneath his thick, unkempt moustache. “What’s this, then? You lot done with duties?”

Some part of Hanin immediately screamed kill him. Luckily, and possibly for that precise reason, he had not been sent alone.

Dropping into a curtsy, Lyrene bowed her head. “Yes, Ser. Apologies for interrupting.”

He grunted again, shifting, the chair squeaking beneath his bulk. “What about the kitchens, eh? Got a lot of busy-work in there.”

“Of course, Ser.” Lyrene did not hesitate. “We offered our services, but they preferred us away from the food.”

There was a long, heavy pause as the guard seemed to chew over her answer. Then his eyes slid across to Hanin, standing directly behind Lyrene, his uniform a dishevelled mess. That fact likely helped prove Lyrene's point, and slowly the guard nodded. Leaning to his right, he grabbed a key from a hook on the wall beside the chair. “Right. Fair enough.” His heavy boots scraped across the stone floor as he stood and crouched down by the cellar entrance. He slipped it into the thick padlock, turning it until the metal snapped open, freeing the doors. “Go on, then. Off with you.” Glancing up, his gaze lingered for a moment on Lyrene. “Unless you want to spend a little time with me, that is...”

Immediately, Hanin moved past Lyrene and stooped, throwing open one side of the trapdoor, revealing a flight of steep, unlit stairs. “We are under orders,” he stated flatly, nodding for Lyrene to move past him as he stood between her and the guard. “No fraternising.”

As Lyrene scampered past, the guard glowered up at Hanin. “That so? Wasn’t made aware of any orders like that, slave.”

Sensing he was racing towards dangerous waters, Hanin tensed his jaw and took a gamble. “It is a household rule, for when there are important guests.” Thinking back to what Launcet had said earlier, Hanin grit his teeth. “We are to remain... available.”

Understanding seemed to flash in the guard’s eyes, and he huffed, waving a dismissive hand towards the cellar steps. “Fuckin' perfect. Take a job like this, and for what? No perks at all.” Grumbling, he returned to his seat. “Last time I volunteer for any of this shit…”

Leaving the man to his bitter reading, Hanin took his leave, moving down the steps, trying his best to hide the visceral relief that his gamble had paid off. From what he’d seen of Talveron’s personal guards, they all took their duties very seriously, particularly with such important visitors at the estate. A rough looking man reading a book in a side room? Just because he was dressed like one of them didn’t mean he was cut from the same cloth. More than likely he was a mercenary, or a guard from a lesser noble, who had been sent to bolster Talveron’s forces for the duration of the event.

The cellar door slammed shut after a few moments, and Hanin heard the sound of a lock snapping in place.

Well… that was something new to account for.

Letting that issue drift to the back of his mind for the time being, Hanin reached the bottom of the stairs where Lyrene was waiting, shifting back and forth from foot to foot, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Oh thank the Creators,” she breathed when Hanin appeared. “What were you thinking? Don’t you remember what Launcet said? What Ralon said? We need to play it safe!”

“Are you safe?”

Lyrene hesitated, mouth still open mid-reprimand. “I… yeah. I suppose.”

“Then we played it well.” He paused, then reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You are already doing more than you should, Lyrene. Just because we are not in uniform does not make you any less of my responsibility.”

Slowly, seeming almost reluctant, Lyrene nodded. “Yeah. I’m getting that, alright? Just… don’t go throwing punches or anything. I’m drawing a line there.”

A faint smile played across Hanin’s face as he released her shoulder. “Understood.”

The cellar was about what Hanin had expected, although admittedly not quite as terrible. Stone made up the walls, floor, and ceiling, the surprisingly large space interspersed by wooden support beams to maintain the integrity of the structure. On the right side of the room, cots were crammed in tight rows, only about three feet of space between each bed. None possessed more than a blanket over a thin mattress, and while a healthy number were occupied, a significant amount remained empty. A wooden barrier split the room down the center, the other side of which Hanin glimpsed a makeshift living area with chairs, tables, and benches that, while plain, could at least be considered usable.

“It’s like a prison,” Hanin murmured. The word left a bad taste in his mouth, but there was no other way he could think to describe it. “It functions, but…”

“What gave it away? Was it the guard? The locked door? The miserable grey walls?” Lyrene’s face had twisted into a scowl. She clearly enjoyed being there as much as Hanin did. “Come on. Let’s look around. If your clanmate is anywhere, it’d be down here.”

Nodding grimly, Hanin and Lyrene split off to cover more ground. There were no guards in the cellar, so Hanin felt less worried about letting his subordinate out of his sight, especially considering majority of Talveron’s slaves appeared too exhausted to even raise their heads, let alone pick a fight. Moving about the space, Hanin was grateful for the dim light. It meant that, even though there were no more than fifty beds in the cellar, no one really took the time to scrutinise him as he passed. In fact, majority seemed more interested in picking their way through meagre meals, or engaging in soft conversations with their neighbours. At a glance, most were humans of varying ages, majority of whom appeared to be native to Tevinter. Briefly, he recalled Varlen mentioning the Imperium practice of selling oneself into slavery. Hanin could only imagine how dire their situation must have been, for anyone to even consider trading away their freedom.

With Lyrene prowling the rows of cots, Hanin found himself moving towards the left side of the room, a break in the wooden partition allowing passage at its centre. However, as he approached, the sound of a sharp conversation stopped in him place.

“...t were you thinking? Have you finally gone mad?”

“No. I haven’t.”

“Then what the fuck were you doing there? That wasn’t even your area.”

“I just wanted to see them, Tellene.”

“Did you get a good look? Well, did you? Was it worth all… all of this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I had to try something. Is that so wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you pulling a stupid stunt like that, and then what? You come crawling over to me to coddle you like a damn child, that’s what. Every bloody time.”

“I’m sorry. You can go sleep. I don’t need your help.”

“... Oh Maker’s breath. Piss off with that and hold still.” A pause followed. “I swear, you’ll send me to my grave good and early. Just what exactly did you think would happen? That they’d whisk you away on the spot?”

“I--”

-- “That they’d drop everything and buy you from the dominus?”

“No, I just--”

-- “Then what?” The woman’s frustration had clearly reached its peak, her tone as sharp as a freshly honed blade as it cut the man off. “I don’t know what you’ve been thinking lately, but you’re living in a fantasy. I’ll tell you what will happen. They’ll come here, have their little meeting, and then they’ll leave. Just like all the rest. And guess who’s going to be left picking up the pieces again?”

Hanin could feel that thrum pulsing in the back of his mind, his heart hammering against his ribs as the conversation gave way to a tense, heavy silence.

“... I said I was sorry.”

The woman released a long, exasperated sigh. “I told you, Athran. I told you not to go getting your hopes up. Now… Maker, look at you.”

Athran.

Even before hearing the name, Hanin had known. Deep down, he had known. That voice, the way he spoke, the cadence of each sentence, was like a piece of shattered memory pressed into his palm, cutting deep, drawing blood. And all he wanted to do was close his hand around it. Hold it close.

Breathless, unthinking, uncaring, Hanin stepped around the barrier into the room.

Mismatched furniture littered the area, some grouped, others standing alone by the cold stone walls. It was mostly empty save for two figures sitting at one of the tables in the back corner, although Hanin could only see the face of one. The woman was an old elf, likely in her sixth or seventh decade, her shrewd green eyes narrowed into disapproving slits as she peered at the face of the man sitting across from her. An elven man with long blond hair.

Hanin's stomach dropped to its knees.

“It’s nothing a little makeup can’t cover, Tel.” That voice. Hanin took a step slow step forward, mind reeling, his throat so tight it felt like he was being choked by an unseen hand.

Tellene rolled her eyes, scoffing. “Well, doesn’t that just make it all better. You really--” She cut off suddenly, her gaze snapping across, honing in on Hanin like a hawk on a rat. “Are you lost or something?”

There was venom to the words, but also a kind of instinctive protectiveness. Like a single puzzle piece slotting into place, it set some small part of Hanin at ease to know she was there, fussing over Athran. “No. I’m not.”

Her expression darkened, jaw tensing as she lowered her hands, a cloth clutched in one, a small tub of salve in the other. “Then get lost. If you’re new, go find someone else to hold your hand. Mine are full.”

“Tellene. Don’t be cruel.” Athran rested a staying hand on the woman’s wrist, everything about him strangely slow. Strangely calm. Or perhaps defeated was the better word for the way in which he moved, like the air was thick and his heart just wasn’t quite in it. Even as he turned, it was not without difficulty, a pained tremor wracking his frame as he twisted in the seat. “I’m sorry about her. She’s just…”

Athran’s gaze came to rest on Hanin, and the rest of the world seemed to crumble to ash at his feet. Flooding in to fill the space came a deep and impenetrable nothingness so fathomless and dark Hanin feared for a moment that he might drown in it.

A beat passed.

Another.

Then, slowly, those brown eyes widened.

Athran’s expression shifted, his familiar face falling slack. The chair grated across the floor as he rose unsteadily to his feet, the sound impossibly loud, impossibly slow, as though it had been dragged out for minutes instead of seconds. That thrum in the back of Hanin’s mind slowed as well, quieting until it was nothing more than a dull, rhythmic thump, the sensation pulsing through his body until it lost its shape, melting into another rhythm. Another sensation.

The beating of his heart.

“I’m here.”

The words sounded so laughably inadequate, even as Hanin said them. Athran just stood there, his breathing short and stiff, the space between them seeming too far, too distant, even though it wasn’t. Even though they finally, finally, shared the same room.

“You’re late.” There was something odd about Athran’s voice, like in the process of speaking it had been drawn too tight. Pulled too thin. Stiffly, Hanin swallowed.

“I know.”

Athran exhaled in a sudden, shivering rush. The breaths started coming deeper, his lower lip beginning to tremble even as he fought against it, hands curling into fists at his side.

“It’s been eleven years.”

That impossible pressure rose back up, coiling at the back of Hanin’s throat, threatening to choke him.

“I know.”

He didn’t have the words. Even after two weeks of planning, of agonising, of sleepless nights building up to that precise moment, Hanin had never found them. He’d played it out over and over in his head, but none of them were right. None of them were enough . None of them could ever give shape to all the things that needed to be said.

So, he said the truth.

“Ir abelas.” Shaking his head, wishing he was better - wishing he was more - Hanin took a single step forward. “Lethallin, I...”

Hanin never had a chance to finish his sentence. He never even had a chance to finish the thought behind it because the second the first word left his lips Athran was moving. In the space of a few frantic heartbeats he crossed the distance and was in Hanin’s arms, head buried against his chest, his grip so tight it was like he was terrified Hanin would vanish from between his fingers. For once, it was nothing for Hanin to hug the man back. He held Athran so firmly that when the man's legs almost gave way beneath him he didn’t fall. Instead, Athran was caught and held by Hanin as they both stood in shock, in disbelief, in relief of eleven years of distance closed in the span of seconds. With Athran finally safe in his embrace, the pair locked together so tightly, Hanin dared the Creators, the Maker, anyone to try to tear them apart again.

Let them try.

Let anyone try.

#dragon age fanfiction #hanin lavellan #athran lavellan #the dawn squad #lyrene #cyrus #ralon #hanin angst #grand theft athran #part 5 #cw: implied/mentions of abuse

41 notes · View notes

missconduct · 7 years

Text

As Strong as Darth Vader

<p>“Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny.” (Yoda, 1980, The Empire Strikes Back). I usually don’t begin an essay with a quote but in this case I feel it’s important. My theory here is just a theory based on how I’ve viewed this story for 35 years. If you don’t agree it’s ok take it with a grain of salt, my friends in Star Wars fandom, because it’s not canon lol this is all in my head. I’m speculating how the story could go, and that’s part of the fun in this saga is speculation.<br>

The first time I heard they were making a new trilogy I cringed as a lot of people did fearing the worst for a story I love so much. I didn’t read spoilers, or cruise YouTube looking for theory videos. I barely watched the trailer. In fact all I saw of the trailer was a few glimpses of Finn wielding the blue saber (only because I was already a huge fan of John’s because of his character in Attack the Block). I stepped into this new world not knowing anything. I didn’t even know who Adam Driver was. I didn’t even know there was a girl protagonist in the movie. My canvas of TFA was blank.

As I watched the movie quite a few things caught me by surprise. I’ll quickly list them; Kylo as a villain, the interactions between Rey and Kylo (that’s a huge ass one), where the hell is Luke? The symbolism in the story as a whole, and my deepest one is Kylo’s obsession with his grandfather. As I watched the movie these things caught my attention because the rest of the story is (and I saw it admittedly) a re-play of the original trilogy (which I think was a strategy to play on the nostalgia of the original). It intrigued me intensely though because there were all these twists in it that were obviously not a copy cat of the original trilogy.

As I sat in the theater watching it for the first time the scene when Kylo is speaking to Darth Vader’s helmet began. I watched this clearly conflicted, confused, lost villain pleading with a dead man’s helmet to, “show him again, the power of the darkness.” I literally said in a whisper under my breath, “this doesn’t make any sense to me??? Vader’s greatest moment of triumph, his greatest strength was his ability to turn back to the light side. He chose to be good again, to do the right thing, to save his son, his family, from the darkness. Why would this mask show him anything dark???” I didn’t like it at first. The scene made me feel so sad. It was as if Vader’s sacrifice meant nothing at the end of ROTJ. Like his greatest moment was forgotten in this new world.

Then I saw this girl who I viewed as confused and lost as much as the villain was. Trying to come to grips with where her life was going. Should she stay and wait for her family? Should she finally accept whatever the truth was and move on? Then she hears a call. I thought it was interesting that the call was a little girls cries, almost as if her own loneliness were calling to her. She touches this long lost relic that once belonged to Anakin Skywalker, and her life takes a turn that is going to forever change her destiny.

I’ve watched Rey’s force vision way too many times to count and the 2 things that are consistent in them that stood out to me were 1: Kylo Ren, and 2: various voices from the past echoing through the force. Now a lot of people think that these past voices are the individuals speaking directly to her, but I didn’t see it like that. Even though Obi-Wan says her name, it’s more like the force is speaking to her through the echo of past force users. This is important because I’ll bring it up again later.

Through my journey with Rey, I saw her frightened and alone after the vision. I know Maz is trying to help her, but it might freak me out if someone had just made me come to the realization that my deepest fear was true. That I had to accept the people who were supposed to care about me and come back for me were never coming back. She’s afraid, she’s alone (Finn just abandoned her also. He’s leaving her to go to the outer rim territory.) She runs, and who does she run right into? Our strange lost Villain. At this point, I was really wanting to know who and what was under that mask. Remember spoiler free, didn’t even know who Adam Driver was.

Then he sweeps her away “Bridal carry” style onto his ship, abducting her! That had me on the edge is my seat because that whole scene had me trying to figure out where this was going. Was he a man under that mask ? Or a monster? Was this an endgame romance or a creepy stalker crush?

Then I witnessed the “interrogation scene.” This is the most important scene in the movie for me, and not for the reasons you might think. Yes, my jaw dropped and (despite my very good looking husband sitting right next to me ) I almost wet my pants when Kylo took off his mask. I turned to my daughter and whispered in an awestruck voice, “I think he’s the leading man. How about you?” My 13-year-old daughter’s reply, “omg mom, damn” and we laughed. Yes, there is a lot of incredibly hot, passionate, sexually charged shit going down in that scene! That’s not why it’s the most important scene for me. As I watched, this girl rise to the occasion and step up onto the equal ground with this boy, she said those famous words that helped me piece my headcanon puzzle together, “you, you’re afraid, that you’ll never be as strong as Darth Vader!”

Now a lot of people don’t pay much attention to this line. They simply think it’s just her calling him out on being a Darth Vader fanboy. Maybe the writers were going that direction, but I don’t think so. When I first heard that line I whispered under my breath “oooooooo that was deep.” And in my head it made sense. That was a huge foreshadowing of Ben solos redemption, and the part this girl is going to play in it. This part of the movie is what drew me deep into the story.

So I went back and saw the film 5 more times after that, in the theater. Then immediately pre- ordered my iTunes copy to be available for download as soon as it was available. I watched, and watched, and watched it again, and again. I could even watch it again today lol. It wasn’t enough. I kept wanting to know more. I started cruising and just looking through fan bases, but it looked like the things I wanted to talk about weren’t subjects that were well received, so I didn’t venture into joining or posting in any fan sites. Then I started cruising YouTube and came across this channel called Star Wars Connection and found a video titled, “Visual Storytelling in The Force Awakens.” Omg, these ladies understood me !!!! They understood everything I understood in the movie!!! And listening to them helped me develop my theory about Kylo’s redemption and the connection between Rey and Kylo-Ben.

During the second part of this outstanding podcast, they briefly talked about Luke’s journey into the cave on Dagobah. In that scene, Luke is confronted by Vader when he cuts his head off, and the helmet explodes revealing Luke’s own face within the mask. It got me thinking about Luke’s greatest fear and how it related to Kylo. They are similar but different. Luke’s greatest fear was falling to the Dark side and becoming just like his father. Kylo’s greatest fear is the (I hope this is the correct term) subverted version of Luke’s, that he will never be as Strong as Darth Vader, that he will never be like him. Is it possible that part of what went down between Luke and Kylo has something to do with this fact? This is all speculation but it got me thinking that if there are similarities between Anakin and Kylo, then wouldn’t there be similarities between Luke and Kylo also? When Luke sees his face in the mask it scares him. Kylo wants to see his face in the mask.

While thinking about Luke and Kylo it leads me to Rey. These three individuals are key to what this story really is about. It’s not about who Rey’s parents are or aren’t that is irrelevant. I’m sorry to all those anti-Reylo’s out there who are gunning for her to be a Skywalker or Solo but in my headcanon, she’s not. Her part in this story in my mind is clear. It was a passionately romantic love that started all this, and it will be a passionately romantic love that will end all of this.

Rey and Kylo have collided. I have seen a lot of speculation about whether or not they knew each other prior to their meeting on Takodana. Through all the speculation I’ve seen the only one that makes sense to me is that they have seen each other in dreams and visions. In the novelization, it even says that Rey knows this man from a dream or a nightmare. I believe she has had dreams of him her whole life. Which is why I think he smiles when he sees her image of an island. Anakin had dreams of people and future events, why can’t Rey. I believe Kylo has had dreams of her as well. In my headcanon dreams and visions are two different entities. A dream coming to you in your sleeping state, a vision coming to you through a waking moment through something else. Rey has visions of Kylo when she touches Anakin’s lightsaber in the castle. Is it possible that Kylo has had a similar vision of Rey? Someone speculated that maybe Kylo had Obi-Wan’s lightsaber somehow. (Thank you Rebel Scum Podcast for twisting my idea lol to present it as yours, but you got it all wrong) Kylo doesn’t need anyone’s light saber to have a vision of Rey. He has Anakin’s mask. Part of my speculation is that Vader/Anakin’s mask is Kylo’s transmitter for his force vision.

Now I know a lot of people probably think of Vader’s mask as a Completely Dark side relic. I’m sorry though I don’t see it that way. Remember I told you that the first time I saw the movie while watching this scene I kept thinking that the mask was more a representation and symbol of Vader’s greatest strength and triumph. Think about Vader’s last moments while wearing the mask. The moment Luke told him he could feel the conflict in him, and he knew there was still good in him. His sadness feeling torn, watching the emperor torture his son, Padme’s son! almost to death. The pain he must have felt being torn apart between the dark and the light at that moment. Vader chucking the old guy over the railing into the abyss to save his family, to do the impossible, something that Yoda said couldn’t be done. He came back to the light. Even the walk with Luke carrying him to the shuttle. Still trying to save his father. Removing his mask peeling it off of his face so he could look at his son one last time with his own eyes. That mask in my opinion saw a lifetime of light before Vader/ Anakin passed away and became one with the force again. I view that mask as potentially being a grey instrument of the force. If the mask has given him visions both light and dark it would make sense that he would ask it to show him again the power of the darkness. A lot of people think that individual characters from the past are directly speaking to both characters, as I pointed out earlier. Could Kylo think that Vader speaks to him through the mask. Is it possible that this is just purely THE FORCE itself using voices of powerful Jedi of the past? The force is just using these voices as an echo to bring these two very powerful force, sensitive individuals, together. Why would the force will this?

I try to clear my mind and recognize what Yoda says over and over numerous times in the saga. It is this entity that binds everything together. It has a will all its own. It calls those bound to it, it is a force sensitive beings choice if they will answer the call. If they will choose the light path or the dark. Perhaps there is a medium ground.

No matter which religion it is there are light and dark sides to it. Without one the other cannot exist. In my theory the force is trying to bind Rey and Ben together, and yes I do believe it is trying to bind them together using a romantic passionate love. The evidence of this is clear in TFA. Kylo is already addicted to her presence. He can’t just hand her over to Stormtroopers like he did Poe, he has to carry her. He’s not trying to intimidate or frighten her. He takes off his mask for her. He speaks softly and calmly. I’m sorry but when I was growing up if my brother was interrogating me for any reason (Like where I hid the remote to keep him from changing the channel.) he was never nice, never calm, and it usually ended with blows aiming for the head or the gut, and furniture flying across the room, and the last person we wanted around was the other one. Kylo is not her brother or cousin. Sorry folks it’s not in the story. He wants her in his life! He pretty much begs her to let him teach her, he needs her in his life. Which is a big reason Otze’s essay about force bonds is now my favorite Star Wars Reylo essay. If they are related, I will still love it, because it’s Star Wars.The story can still be explored through different characters in a future trilogy, but I will be reading and writing tons of Reylo fan fiction to get over it lol!

While I believe that Kylo will be redeemed through this love he has for Rey I do not know how it will end for him in my head. I do not think it’s going to end well for him. I see them both being bound together through the force and I think it’s very foretelling that each one has a connection to a relic that once belonged to Anakin Skywalker. The lightsaber was Anakin’s. He was the first to wield it. The mask also belonged to Anakin. Anakin is still being chosen by the force to achieve balance. Using relics of both sides of his life To bring these 2 people who share this connection in the force together. I think this could foreshadow one of them (probably Ben) making a self-sacrifice to save the other. I really don’t want that to happen though, I want Kylo to survive. Maybe going on a journey of penance, wandering the galaxy trying to help others to pay for his past. IDK if that will happen either but I’d love that, and it could spark an animated series. (lol)

I believe it’s possible. As many have said in fandom his character still has a lot of growing up to do. I’m so on the edge of my seat to watch that unfold. I want to know if in the end, he will fulfill his ambition and his destiny and truly become “As Strong as Darth Vader!”

I went on for a long while now and I hope my day dream about this awesome passionate story made people think, maybe even daydream a bit themselves. I’m sure I’m probably completely wrong about this whole headcanon of mine lol (@Scavengershoard ) Like Rachel and Kirsty are always saying though it’s always fun to speculate. Have a great rest of your weekend everyone and thanks for reading

Feel free to leave comments and let me know what you think(Please be kind though, do unto others right!) ❤️⭐️

#reylo #reylo trash #reylo meta

54 notes · View notes