What the Water Gave Me

I am here once again to plague you with more stuff from my and @psidontknow‘s D&D verse~

This one is set millennia before the events of The Serpent and the Hound and Oh God, Have Mercy, but it’s more like a side chapter than a true prequel - the OCs in this one will tie back in later.

(The shadowy sand monsters, Hasera, are borrowed lovingly from my bro~)

Title taken from ‘What the Water Gave Me’ by Florence + the Machine. 

(CW: none. near death experiences - no blood, no violence.)

===

He’s drowning. 

The cold water of the oasis had been deceptively deep, the night too dark for him to see just how far he’d waded from shore. He’d been stupid; going into the desert alone was something he’d been taught since childhood not to do, but he’d thought it would only be a short excursion, ducking into the cave he’d left his cloak in and then right back out and home. But he’d taken longer than he should have, had underestimated how far it actually was, and by the time he’d found the cave and found his way back to the familiar path home, the sun had begun to set. And once the light had faded enough, there’d come the Hasera. 

It was here that he’d made his second mistake. 

Rather than seeking shelter, he’d tried to power through and finish the journey back, deploying his wings to keep off the sand. He hadn’t expected one of them to jump high enough to knock him out of the air. He’d hit the sand hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs, his head smacking soundly against the ground. He'd kicked the beast away from his legs, stumbled to his feet, disoriented, and taken off running towards where he knew the smaller oasis stood at the three-quarters mark to home. 

But he hadn’t been paying attention, and he was already knee deep in the water before he’d realized how far he’d gone. 

With Hasera gathering at the shore, he’d backed further and further into the water, head still pounding and focus blurred enough that his wings wouldn’t ignite. The water had been at the top of his thighs when his foot had given way on something below him, unseen through the water. Down he’d gone then, down, down, down into the chill and the dark, lungs filling as he gasped in shock. 

He sinks now, because the heat of the day has long since left the oasis, leaving the water cold enough to lock his muscles as his head dips below the surface. The pain in his head, the heaviness of his limbs, all of it keeps him from finding his way back up, and his chest has begun to burn. He looks desperately towards where he thinks salvation might be, but he cannot see beyond the blur of rippling water; his back touches the sandy floor, and the far-away light of the stars vanishes from view.

He knows without a doubt now, as his vision fades, that he is going to die, his body either dragged out and devoured, or left to rot and pollute the water. He hopes he is devoured. 

His lungs constrict, his eyes close. 

(Faintly, he thinks he can hear the sound of something heavy splashing into the water above him, the muted rush of parting water and a weight moving through it. He didn’t know Hasera could swim.)

— — — 

He… wakes. 

It’s violent; he coughs, chest heaving, as the water is forced from his lungs. Something shoves him to the side, rolling him over to spit the water out, thumping him on the back to help it all come up. 

Exhausted, he flops back down onto his back once everything he can possibly cough out has been expelled. There is a light source - not the sun, but something just as bright - and it hurts his eyes too much to keep them open. His head still pounds with what he thinks might be a concussion, now on top of nearly dying, from how hard he’d landed after being tackled from the air before, and the light just makes everything worse. He feels nauseous, his chest is tight and it’s almost as if there is a weight upon it, pressing down on his lungs so that he can barely draw breath even on dry land. 

And then he feels lips upon his own. 

Cool, damp, slightly rough and chapped, they press gently against his like the kiss of a lover just before sleep. He feels them press down just a bit more and suddenly there is a flush of warmth, light and golden, trickling down between his lips and into his mouth, down his aching throat to his chest. As it flows into him he can feel the constriction in his lungs easing, each inhale coming easier and easier until he no longer thinks he might choke on nothing but air. The churning in his stomach subsides as well, as does the throbbing of his head and the pain behind his eyes. 

Slowly the kiss ends, the lips pulling away as the magic fades. He can still see the light through his eyelids, but it no longer causes him pain - and so, when he hears the faint rustle of fabric that means his savior has shifted fully away, he opens his eyes and squints against the spell of radiance. 

She is beautiful. 

In that moment he is blasphemous, his faith turned from the gods and Mahaviel’s stars, instead to fall upon the vision of moonlight and water that greets his weary sight. A woman, olive-skinned and elven-eared, leans over him. Her eyes are vibrant, oceanic blue, darker than the silvery pastel shade of her hair. Platinum, like his, but touched by cloudless dusk instead of stars. Her lips glimmer faintly with golden magic, and even backlit as she is with her false daylight keeping the night and Hasera at bay, she is close enough still that he can make out the relieved smile that graces them. 

“You’re awake,” she whispers, and oh, her voice is silken and soft, and he would damn his own soul a thousand times over just to hear her speak again. She does, and though his chest no longer lies heavy with water, he once more finds it difficult to breathe. “Good. You had me worried.”

 Her hand comes up to brush his sodden hair from his eyes. Unthinking, he catches it with his own and holds it against his cheek. She chuckles at him, at the face of desperate adoration and worshipful awe he must be wearing - he feels it seeping from his heart and onto his features, cannot find it in himself to care. 

“...Are you a goddess?” he rasps, and she chuckles again. 

Gently, oh so gently, she smooths the pad of her thumb along his cheekbone. “No, I’m not,” she says. “And before you ask, neither are you dead.”

He swallows, searches her face with a longing gaze, sees no hint of disdain or mockery. “Please,” he whispers. He closes his eyes and brings the palm of her hand to his lips to press a grateful kiss of his own into her skin. She lets him. “Your name…”

The question doesn’t quite make it out, but she must understand him all the same, because her laugh is a giggle this time, and though he’s never been in love before he swears to her without words that he will never love another but her until the day he truly dies. 

“Aetrin. And yours?”

‘Rainfall,’ he thinks, translates in his mind. As beautiful as the woman the name belongs to. His own now seems painfully ordinary by comparison. Unworthy, just as he is of her. 

She taps him lightly on the nose, prompting him for an answer.  “Stay awake now,” she coaxes, voice still that same soft murmur. “Tell me?”

He swallows, moves her hand to kiss her fingertips, tastes the oasis’s cool water on her skin. “...Lloyd,” he says at last. 

She giggles again.  

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For DADWC: from the Florence + The Machine Prompt List list > "And the heart is hard to translate, it speaks a language of its own". You're my favorite fenders writer 💙, so fenders fic, pretty please!

Aaaaaaaah so I got this twice and I love it SO much so thank you both! @contreparry​ - I really hope you enjoy it!

(If you’d like me to write you a dragon age fic, send me a prompt from here!)

@dadrunkwriting​

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders

Tags: canon-typical graphic depictions of violence, Anders was right, anti-chantry, fluff

Rating: Mature

“And the heart is hard to translate It has a language of it's own It talks in tongues and quiet sighs And prayers and proclamations in the grand days Of great men and the smallest of gestures In short shallow gasps” 

- All This and Heaven Too, Florence + The Machine

It started on a beach in 9:30 Dragon. It was raining, and Fenris, Hawke and the rest of their companions were hot and sticky with blood when the clouds had burst. They’d left a litter of broken slaver bodies in the sand dunes behind them, stumbling down to the grey waves of the Waking Sea beneath a cloudy sky. 

And then it had begun to rain, and the mage: a foolish, willful man utterly ignorant of his own privilege, had yelped and begun to take his clothes off. Fenris can still remember the way the sand had felt between his toes, and hear the buzz of insects in his ears as he’d stared at the tall, blonde man, and the sand between them had grown dark with water. 

Anders had stripped down to his smalls, blood streaked up his forearms in long vivid slashes, and dropped his staff carelessly into the long, stiff silver reeds. Admittedly, it was a cheap thing: clearly scavenged or stolen, and nothing that any self-respecting magister would have been seen dead with. Still. Fenris had never seen a mage just drop their staff like that before. Just to the right of Anders’ chest, half hidden by thick red-blonde hair, was a deep and jagged scar directly above his heart. His belly was almost concave, hip bones jutting in a way that could only be unhealthy. There were more scars, but Fenris barely had a chance to see them before Anders was running at the freezing sea.

From behind, Fenris saw that his long back was latticed with more scars than he had previously imagined. The mage yelped as he got into the waves, feet hopping as if the water were burning hot, not freezing cold. And then he got past the shallows, and dove in beneath the cresting waves. Behind him, somewhere between the beach and the horizon, seabirds leapt squawking into the grey sky. Anders had burst up out of the blue water, laughing, tossing his hair back from his face in a whip of antique gold, tipping his long, crooked nose back and shutting his eyes as he raised his face to the watery grey sunlight.

And then Isabela and Hawke, laughing, had pulled each other’s clothes off and followed him, and Fenris had been left standing uncertainly on the beach, watching them, unable to decipher the ache in his chest as he waited for them to rejoin him on the shore.

*

It started in the Alienage in 9:30 on Wintersend. Anders had just delivered triplets, which was a labour that was exactly as harrowing and arduous as he had worried it would be. He hadn’t slept in 48 hours, and for weeks after he’d ascribed the events of that night to a waking dream. The elvhen women whose children he’d delivered had attempted to press what silver they had into his hands, and Anders had pressed it back into the mother’s wife’s hands, dizzy with the expenditure of his magic and the sheer weight of fatigue. Then he’d taken his staff, more as a cane than anything, and slowly left the narrow confines of their home.

His knee had been blistering with pain: and he’d known before the first kiss of snow that the weather had changed. His worst scars always warned him before the sky broke. Still, the coat he’d armoured over the years with reinforced leather and what other supplies he could scavenge provided little warmth against the night, so Anders was shivering as his breath fell in white clouds into the dark. Around the Vhenadahl, candles flickered against the wind in a way that only magical fire could, and Anders sent a silent half-hearted prayer to the Maker that the templars would stay inside their barracks tonight, and not make any midnight excursions into Lowtown.

The last person he had expected to see leaving Merrill’s home was Fenris, and he certainly hadn’t expected to see the elf wrapped in a mossy green, knitted woolen scarf. For a second the pair of them stared at each other, caught like apprentices out of bed past curfew. Then Fenris had flushed, ruddy against his dark skin, and marched past him. Anders had expected it to end there, but when Fenris got to the foot of the steps to the alienage he stopped, greatsword strapped like steel lightning to his back.

He turned on the steps, and frowned at Anders. “Are you coming?”

Anders had followed. Fenris said nothing for the whole journey, but he walked Anders to the door of his clinic, and when Anders swayed as he tried to heave open the heavy doors, Fenris had caught his elbow. Anders had stared at him, more startled by the unexpected gesture than he would have been by the Darktown floor, and Fenris jerked his hand back like he’d been burned. In one of the undercity taverns, a chorus of festival goers were singing. Fenris gave him a short, sharp nod. “Good night, mage.”

Anders nodded back, speechless. Through the broken walls of Darktown, snow drifted in silent clouds and disappeared into the blue ink of the Waking Sea. Anders was convinced for years that he imagined it when Fenris stopped again, on the staircase outside the clinic, and spoke in a murmur. “Happy Wintersend.”

*

It started on Sundermount in 9:33 Dragon.  Fenris had fallen, feet slipping in the mud, right calf failing him thanks to a slice to his leg that felt like it had split a ligament. His leg was a screaming burn and the rest of him was little better. The fog on the mountain was thick and white as dragon’s breath, and much colder, seeping through his armour and into his skin, and making the lyrium sewn into his flesh numb the veins around it in a bruising ache. Fenris couldn’t see Hawke, or Isabela, and he did not trust the mage to be anywhere than at Hawke’s side, for all that she had clearly long since promised her heart to Isabela. It was with a grim certainty that Fenris had looked up into the bloody, snarling face of his would-be killer, even as his mind ran through every formal strategy and dirty tricky he could think of. His fingers scrabbled in the dirt for mud to throw into his eyes, but his fingers were weak and stiff with the cold. The slaver’s sword fell.

Which was when six feet two of mage tackled him. Fenris stared as Anders charged at the slaver who would have killed him, throwing him down into the dirt. The mage’s staff was nowhere to be seen, and his hair was almost brown with the rain. His pale face was streaked with blood, and his coat and shirt were torn and scorched in places, exposing his bare, newly healed skin. Fenris stared as Anders tackled the slaver down into the mud and then reared back and punched him, hard, breaking his nose before punching him again, and again, and then taking a dagger from his belt and slitting his throat with brutal efficiency.

When the act was done, Anders dropped the knife into the dirt and scrambled to his feet, long legs skidding in the wet mud like a newborn colt. Fenris almost laughed, but in the absence of mortal peril his injuries were attempting to set his nerve endings on fire. His efforts to sit ended in him collapsing back onto the hill and praying to a Maker he struggled to believe in that Hawke and Isabela had dealt with the rest. And then Anders was there, face covered in blood and mud, hair clinging like kelp to his newly freckled and faintly sunburned cheeks. “Oh no you don’t.”

Magic fell over Fenris’ ruined leg like holy fire, and Fenris’ pain evaporated, washing away from one heartbeat to the next until it was merely a distant, terrible memory. Slowly, stiffly, Fenris managed to sit up, and for the first time in three years, Anders gave him a warm, honest smile. “There you are.” 

Then he’d stood, and Fenris had been dizzily reminded exactly how tall he was. And then there was a long, calloused hand, red with blood, fingers crooked with breaking, thrust into the foggy air between them. Despite himself, Fenris took it.

*

It started on the Wounded Coast in 9:33 Dragon. Aveline was attempting to woo her soon to be husband, Donnic, and Anders was struggling to understand exactly why that required Hawke and her friends to put their lives on the line. But the summer was late and hot, and the days were long, and Marian’s eyes were very blue. So he’d found himself in the shifting, midge-ridden dunes of the Coast, killing slavers and Tal-Vashoth, and only occasionally cringing with second hand embarrassment at Aveline’s attempts at flirtation. 

They’d dispatched most the ne’er-do-wells stupid enough to show their faces between the sand dunes, and were waiting for Aveline and Donnic to catch up in an appropriately concealed spot beneath the hissing reeds. Soon enough, their voices came down the path, not quite smothered by the close crash of the ocean and the whistle of the wind. 

“So I think it’s always best to start with a quick downward slash, and then follow up with a parry. It’s predictable, sure, but I think it’s good to get recruits started on what’s tried and trusted.”

Fenris had laughed, and for a second Anders thought the wind dropped. The elf’s voice was rough and low, and his laugh was too. He’d curled his lyrium-twined fingers at Isabela, and Isabela had rolled her eyes and presses a silver into his waiting palm. Fenris had pocketed it. Then he’d caught Anders staring, and cleared his throat, colour rising to his high cheekbones. Isabela had leaned across him, and Fenris’ flush had risen up the back of his neck and into the tips of his ears. Anders had tried very hard not to stare at it.

“Do you want in? Fenris thinks it won’t be until the third path.”

Anders had spoken, as he so often did, without stopping to think. “I wouldn’t have figured you for the romantic type.”

Fenris had met his eyes, then, and the elf’s were deep and green and beautiful. “There is a great deal that you do not know about me, mage.”

Anders had not been able to think of anything else for the rest of the night.

*

It started in 9:37 Dragon. They were in The Hanged Man, and Fenris was staring at the monster that wore the face of his nightmares. Corff was nowhere to be seen, nor were Maraas or any of the tavern’s other regulars. Fenris was trying to beat back the tide of cynicism in his mind telling him that he should have known they would betray him, all of them. That he should never have trusted anyone but himself. 

His sister stepped back, and his blood roared so loudly in his ears that he barely heard what Hawke said. But he heard his domi - Danarius - talking about his affection and his skills. It took everything Fenris had not to vomit on the tavern floor, and his mind revolted in a dizzy kind of horror as the impulse conflicted with memories of merrier disasters on these same stained floorboards. Then there were demons, and his mouth was thick with sulphur, and Fenris was fighting for his life.

It was like being back in the Provings again. Danarius had found his way onto the wooden staircase of The Hanged Man: the staircase that led up to Varric’s rooms, the staircase on which Fenris had once kissed Isabela and been pleasantly surprised by her response, the staircase where he’d found her kissing Hawke and told them it didn’t matter. Danarius had desecrated this place that despite the best efforts of Fenris’ anxieties had become like a home to him. Danarius had stood there, and watched, and Fenris had heard his friends’ screams as his master’s demons had ripped into their flesh.

Fenris had lost track of time, arms burning with the searing remnants of dismembered spirits, hands slippery with sweat and blood. But at some point the familiar relief of healing had disappeared, and he had belatedly looked up through sweat-stinging eyes to see Anders’ body arched in a translucent prison of blue light. Danarius had been watching the mage with an expression of terrible curiosity that Fenris knew well and feared more. His expression had been almost impassive as the mage shuddered and spasmed, blood oozing from his ears and flowing from his nose and down over his chin. 

Isabela was clutching a gash in her side that was turning her white canvas tunic cherry red, and Hawke was dragging a mangled leg through the broken furniture as she made her way towards her. Fenris stood frozen in the smouldering wreckage, trapped like the butterflies his master liked to collect on pinned boards in his study. Anders had collapsed in a heap at Danarius’ feet, and Danarius had stepped forward. Fenris’ heart lurched. 

But then Anders had surged abruptly to his feet and punched Danarius in the balls. 

Fenris laughed, a shocked bark that was too loud in the tavern following the battle, and Danarius had wheezed, and blood had spun about his fingers, and Anders had grabbed the back of his head with one hand and slammed his knee into Danarius’ nose with a jarring crunch, chest heaving as he panted. 

Then he’d picked up Danarius with all the strength promised by his tall, muscular frame, his training as a Grey Warden and the hearty meals Varric had spent nine years coaxing him into. Anders hurled Danarius down the stairs, where he landed in a heap at Fenris’ feet. Anders had looked at him, beard red with blood, body trembling with fury or pain or both.

“He’s all yours.”

And just like that, Fenris was free.

*

It started in 9:37 Dragon. Hawke and Isabela had fled across the sea, and Anders didn’t blame them. The Chantry was gone, and he was still getting used to the idea that he was meant to survive this. He still wasn’t entirely sure that he should, and Justice had been all too silent on the subject. So he spent his days in a waking dream, trekking for days and then weeks into the Vimmark mountains in the vague direction of Nevarra.

He hadn’t seen another living person for three weeks when an elf emerged from the fog, wreathed in white light like a ghost. Anders had stopped. His body and mind had long since become stretched too thin with hunger, horror and grief. Fenris’ countenance, for all its grim finality, came as an abrupt relief. At least he could stop running, now.

He’d dropped his staff, slowly, and held up his hands. “If you’re here to kill me, I won’t stop you.”

Fenris had not drawn his sword, but he hadn’t let the light die in his lyrium, either. When he stepped closer, he didn’t make sound, and for a moment Anders thought perhaps he really was a ghost, summoned by his imagination and too many nights in a decade spent longing for a man he couldn’t have. 

Around them, birds had sung in the early morning, and not far off a stream made its laughing way down the cliffs. “Why did you run?”

Fenris asked the question as if it held the secret to the restoration of the Golden City itself. Anders laughed, stepping forward and stumbling over his own feet and the thick mass of pain that was his long since ruined knee. Fenris moved toward him through the long, dew-soaked grass, but didn’t quite breach the space between them. Anders swayed into a mostly intentional sitting position on a moss-covered boulder. “Does it matter?”

Fenris had met his eyes, and his own were dark and green and beautiful. “It does.”

Anders shrugged, and shut his eyes, leaning his head back and up into the fog. Water kissed his cheeks, and he thought: it would have been worth it, for this. It would have been worth it, to feel the weather again. 

Something skittered in the bushes, and Anders opened his eyes and watched Fenris turn, bristling, to scan the trees. After a moment Fenris’ shoulders lowered, fractionally, and he turned back to Anders. He’d asked the question again, patiently, persistently. “Why did you run?”

Anders shook his head. “Because I didn’t want to bring you down with me.” Fenris’ eyes had widened a little, and Anders hurried on. “Any of you. I knew what I was doing, but the consequences were mine alone. I wasn’t going to subject you to them.”

Fenris had tilted his head, and the lyrium in his skin had sent shimmering refractions of light dancing iridescently through the fog. “I did not think you bore me so much good will.”

“More like I didn’t bear you so much ill.” Anders had corrected, before sitting forwards, feeling abruptly the weight of too many decades of exhaustion lying heavy on his aching shoulders. “It’s alright. I think killing me is the best decision, too.”

The glass had rustled, then, and Anders thought it must have been deliberate. But then Fenris’ feet were in front of him, stained green with the grass, and the light of his lyrium faded, leaving them both wreathed only in the sunlit fog. Anders looked up at Fenris, and he looked like some ancient king, backlit by the bright sky, skin dark and olive against the shimmering silver of his lyrium. “I’m not going to kill you, mage.”

And then there was a dark, calloused hand, silver with lyrium, fingers slender and elegant, thrust into the misty air between them. Anders stared at Fenris, and Fenris’ poker face cracked as he gave him a small, crooked smile. Despite himself, Anders took his hand, letting Fenris pull him easily to his feet.

“I’m going to help.”

*

It started in 9:40 Dragon, when the Circle of Dairsmuid was annulled, and over five hundred mages between the ages of six and seventy were murdered because they were allowed to see their families.  It started in 9:40 Dragon, with the rebellion of the White Spire.  It started in 9:40 Dragon, when Lord Seeker Lambert declared an end to the Circle of Magi.

It started in a tavern in Nevarra, at a meeting of former slaves and runaway mages. It started with elves, and second-hand weapons, and an apostate with a Fereldan accent who looked like an Ander. It started with an elf from Tevinter with white tattoos that looked like Vallaslin.

It started with rebellion. But that isn’t where it ended.

*

“No, words are a language It doesn't deserve such treatment And all my stumbling phrases Never amounted to anything worth this feeling All this heaven never could describe Such a feeling as I'm healing, words were never so useful So I was screaming out a language That I never knew existed before.”

- All This and Heaven Too, Florence + The Machine

╰  (  florence pugh. cisfemale. she/her. ) welcome back to hogwarts,  ALICE FORTESCUE ! you’re a SEVENTH year from GRYFFINDOR, right ? i’ve got your school file right here. it says you’re a TWENTY THREE year old PUREBLOOD, is that correct ? this file even has a personality entry, saying you’re ALTRUISTIC & STEADFAST as well as DOMINEERING & WELL-MEANING. is that why you’ve chosen to JOIN THE ORDER ? would you look at that ! it says here other students also describe you as : laughing so hard your stomach aches, the warmth of a palm pressed against your own, bandaids over day old scratches, a backbone like steel and leaving a faint smell of bubblegum wherever you go. how interesting. oh well, see you in class !

Gryffindor, Seventh yr. Former Sacred 28-er turned ice cream makers daughter, now Head Girl with a heart (mostly) of gold. Duelling Club professional, Herbology club afficionado and Seeker on the Quidditch team with a Snitch tattooed behind her left ear.

Was born a Fawley, the last of her line, the daughter of Andromache Travers, betrothed to Antioch Fawley, the only surviving son of the once great Fawley family. Her childhood was a happy one, though one that was still filled with the indoctrination of purist society, and she grew up unaware that the views her parents were raising her with weren’t the norm.

Her mother died when she was eight - vanishing sickness took hold quickly, but Dragonpox was what took her. Her father when she was ten - he hadn’t needed to work, he’d been left a fortune by family members who died too soon, but he decided to work anyway, and was caught in a collapsing Egyptian tomb. 

She was more or less adopted that same summer by Hugo Fortescue, a family friend who had been widowed in the same explosion that took Antioch (and, yes, her father was named after that Antioch. The Peverell one.) 

Suddenly she lost almost everything she had ever known. Yes, Hugo was a pureblood, though not a member of the Sacred 28 owing to him having immigrated from France only a few years earlier to be with his wife, but he was by no means wealthy. Or, perhaps, he was a lot more frugal than Alice was used to her family being.

Gone were the parties and little excursions to her friends houses, the fancy dresses and lessons on etiquette and what to expect from the Black’s and the Lestrange’s and the Rosier’s and Yaxley’s and Shacklebolt’s, the echoing halls of her manor of a home and the cold reality that while her parents loved her, they did not always treat her as such.

Living with Hugo - and her now adoptive older brother, Florean - was a learning curve that she hadn’t ever anticipated. She was suddenly faced with the reality that everything her parents had drilled into her, all of it was a lie. None of it was true. The innate kindness they’d tried to force out of her, the natural love of humanity and awe of muggles that they’d tried to burn out of her, that was true. What wasn’t was the lesson that they were superior that they had drilled into her head, that had been why she felt so out of place here, because their blood was pure.

She didn’t want to admit it, not then, but her childhood was tainted. It’s something she struggled with for a long time, hell, even now she struggles with it - that, really, she isn’t a Fortescue, even though that’s the name she totes, the name she is more than proud of - that her family, her blood, were people who hated anyone that was different. 

For all intents and purposes, Hugo and Florean were more like family than her parents ever were. They made time for her - Florean, even then, was her overprotective big brother - the one that would take a jinx to the chest for her, the one that would torment anyone who hurt her, the one who would wake up too early to learn how to braid her hair because Hugo was always too busy to do it. 

Despite all the unlearning she did - and still is doing, believe me, she knows she isn’t perfect, but she’s angrier than ever and learning more and more each day - she still remained close with several of her childhood friends. They’d come visit her in the ice cream parlour, and she’d sneak them a scoop or two before abandoning her post to run around Diagon Alley with her.

That started to change as she grew - as she became a teenager, and suddenly she was listening to muggle music, and watching muggle tv shows, following Florean out into muggle London for the first time, but certainly not the last. She started to lose friends when they couldn’t understand why she was abandoning them, when to her, she wasn’t. They were so important to her, some still are today, even if she isn’t proud of that, proud of being friends with people on both sides. 

When she got her letter to Hogwarts, a couple of years after being allowed her own wand - under Hugo’s strict supervision (okay, so it wasn’t necessarily always strict, but he said it was to anyone who dared ask him why she could sometimes be found waving her wand in the middle of the ice cream parlour in the middle of Diagon Alley), she knew exactly where she was meant to be.

She’d already gone through a “phase” of getting into skirmishes with people who, in her eyes, didn’t know how to treat people with respect. It’s something that’s definitely mellowed, though that instinct, that protective flare still hasn’t faded, not even now. It was obvious to any of the people who knew her, who knew her as a Fortescue, that she was going to be sorted into Gryffindor - nobody was less surprised than Alice when it barely took a second before she was swept off her feet.

Her fascination with muggle music and love of art only grew at Hogwarts - her natural ability with plants made certain Alice always found a home in the Greenhouses, and her wand’s natural inclining to defensive magic made it easy to thrive in Defence Against the Dark Arts. 

Trying out for Quidditch is a no brainer - she’s not so graceful on her feet on the ground, more often than not tripping and skinning her knees, Drooble’s gum bubble popped as she goes, but on a broom? She knows how to be graceful there, in the air, not quite so high as to be above the clouds, but high enough to be above their heads. She’s not meant to be trying out for the Seeker position - she thought maybe Chaser, or Beater, but Seeker was where she found herself, and where she’s stayed ever since.

Now she’s in her last year, she’s found that so much has changed. The world is on the verge of war, and Alice knows she’ll end up fighting - she wants to be an Auror, she has done since she was fifteen and met one in the ice cream parlour, looking for a lead. She just doesn’t know how far this will go - how far she’ll let herself go, how far they’ll all let themselves go. She only knows that she won’t ever back down.

- x -

middle name: marguerite. 

languages spoken: english, french, latin (duh). 

body modifications: five ear piercings. two tattoos. a golden snitch behind her left ear, one that moves and flaps it’s wings. a lion on her ribcage.

hobbies: photography, quidditch, herbology club, eating ice cream. being the most badass head girl hogwarts has ever seen. (in her own words, of course).

orientation: bisexual (and biromantic) af. let her have kissed girls and boys.

wand: yew wood and phoenix feather core. twelve inches. rigid. excellent for duelling, and by definition, defense against the dark arts and charms. (also with a dark and very fearsome reputation, she’s learned.)

boggart is herself turning into an inferi. that’s cool. totally not somehow a metaphor for how afraid she is of losing herself and her mind.

patronus: elephant.

amortentia: cinnamon being sprinkled across freshly baked cookies. her mother’s perfume. pink blossoms falling to the ground in the midday autumn breeze. pumpkin pasties, the way the hogwarts kitchens always make. seawater crashing against the coast. bouquets of tiger lily on the dinner table. firework sparks. droobles best blowing gum, bubblegum and blueberry mixing. water hitting tea. laundry, freshly done, just out of the dryer. woody cologne. 

birthday: october 9th, 7:54pm.

zodiac: libra sun.

egyptian zodiac: horus. 

positive traits: altruistic, steadfast, compassionate, loyal, personable, passionate.

negative traits: domineering, well-meaning, self sabotaging, messy, clumsy, closed off.

expanded aesthetic: laughing so hard your stomach aches, the warmth of a palm pressed against your own, bandaids over day old scratches, a backbone like steel and leaving a faint smell of bubblegum wherever you go, running hands through your hair, coffee with three sugars and no milk, eating ice cream for breakfast, leather jackets emblazoned with flowers, never letting your camera get dusty, potted plants on your window still, pressing kisses to people’s cheeks, standing by the sea as it crashes against the shore, sleepless nights buried in text books, wielding authority with a laugh and a smile.

Take Me Away

Take Me Away (Aaron Tveit)

Mary Kamden has just achieved the one thing the majority of her family hasn’t. Finishing college, grad school even. Lethargic and aching for a break from all the work, she’d taken on from education for the last six years, she decides to treat herself to a much needed vacation in the beautiful country of Italy. Packing a mere suitcase and boarding the plane in a maxi dress and sunhat, she heads out for paradise. Everything feels so right, so good, so tangible.

Arriving into Florence, she is whisked away to a resort on the coast. After putting all her suitcases and items away in her room, Mary races to the beach, starting her beach-combing excursion her grandmother had passed down to her from many trips to the beach as a family. What she doesn’t expect is to find an artifact — an ancient artifact at that. Somehow washed up on a very popular beach shore.

What she also doesn’t expect is the man who claims he was there first — the other beachcomber who will fight to the grave for the artifact, ‘cause apparently, “it belongs in a museum” — and who seems to notice that Mary is just as in to him as much as she denies.

Mary’s vacation just got a whole lot stranger. And sexier. 

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Capri Boat Transfer  Suggestions To Help You System Your Journey

visit the next web site For using out an precise distinct turning into successful your required unique person, permit's search at settle on luxurious motor yachts. Excellent for one short excursion, we present tour on ocean going liner docking at viewed as one of Naples port after you bought keep of a shut-by accommodations and even railway station. Considerably from port of Naples, our personal skipper it only normally takes you on top rated of pier by way of a minivan. With a brief ten-minute journey, you can board the personal luxurious boat to truly your decision. Selecting the starting time no issue what journey have you seen your obligation. But, assuring your selected time matches when employing the timetable time of ocean heading liner is essential. To travel in and out of this airport by way of a bus, contact on the companies of Volainbus airport shuttle. They formally serve the airport and comply with a demanding time table when driving passengers. Numerous mentor lines provide the airport's immediate place as well. One of this sort of lines is operated by Terravision. Terravision offers a minimal-charge express mentor to just take you appropriate to the city middle of Florence. Naples to Capri transfer are offered as effectively. Nevertheless, it is important that you ebook the service early. They won't be ready to accommodate your transfer ask for with no prior arrangements. If you want a faster experience though, there's a train that serves the city as very well.

Gliding down a canal, exploring elements of a town other tourists under no circumstances control, is quite a intimate practical experience, especially if you can receive a Transfer to Capri with just the two of you and the particular sailing the boat. Any city which has a canal process would do. If you're an experienced sailor, you can hire a sailboat; a four-hour program gives instruction for all those devoid of practical experience. Other rental boats contain tandem and glass-bottom kayaks, and tandem h2o bikes-all run by people! Some of these occasions are all-day celebrations. A lot of have food and beverages offered. Some of these venues, like the Polo Grounds, may well charge for parking. Most have music and other entertainment primary up to fireworks at dusk, dim or following nine p.m. Keep in mind to examine the net for particulars, fireworks times, and instructions. Superior still: get in touch with a pal, grab the picnic basket and blanket, and off you go! If you are with your pals or relatives, you can take pleasure in your keep by carrying out island hopping. A blue Grotto visit in capri can be rented for a certain quantity of hrs. After a leisurely early morning transfer to Da Nang for the mid morning prepare to Nha Trang. The railway follows the coastline and meanders unexpectedly inland from time to time. It is a intriguing journey that is finest seasoned by practice, as the road south on the key freeway. is too occupied for fulfilling biking. Right away at resort. If you've at any time needed to examine an ocean paradise, your honeymoon is the complete best time. If you're headed to an exclusive destination by the shore or on an island, snorkelling is a necessity. Exploring the vivid sights beneath the h2o together is surely passionate.

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Be The Initial One To Slice Out Awesome Ordeals On Naples Tours

100 Many years on the Ohio is a throwback pageant to 18th & nineteenth century in Louisville. This party is not free of charge, but it is very inexpensive. Tickets selection from $6 for adults to $3 for children (ages six-12). Individuals will be demonstrating things from that time time period like producing crafts and food items. Keep in mind that you are not just finding which component of the ocean you'd like to see. Nearly all cruises will allow you to make facet visits inland when the ship stops at a port of get in touch with. This can be possibly on your possess or as portion of an organized tour group. If you have often desired to go to Australia test combining a vacation to Australia with a cruise around the Pacific Ocean. The attraction to this seaside town is certainly Keansburg Amusement Park and Runaway Rapids Household Water Park. It is the oldest amusement location on the boardwalk in New Jersey. There is a excellent choice of rides, games, and foods. This is a wonderful position for a Pompeii tours but I wouldn't propose keeping there. Despite the fact that the beaches are mobbed through the day, the community is known to be a bit dicey soon after dim. courses.alsalam.ac.Uk Find out how significantly it fees to go on Naples tours. One of the most entertaining features of a cruise is the shore tour, in which the ship docks for travelers to explore a different city, state or island, or a lesser ship requires you into that port from the principal ship. Some cruise ships contain these in the value, although other folks develop service fees into your trip for just about every tour. Check with about excursions beforehand, so that your invoice doesn't shock you when you get off the ship. When I make a getaway program, I acquire time to take into account our particular person beliefs, options obtainable, expense/value, and so forth. It also promotes discussion between Jim and I. I can't prepare vacation for everybody without some discussion. If you are nervous that, this will be as well pricey then think again! The charge you would be paying out can by no means be compared to the luxury, comfort and privateness of a personal luxurious coach. Also, quite a few private coach businesses give reductions to teams. You can even check with for a low cost if you system to employ the service of the mentor for far more than one day. The price of the coach can be break up between every person on the tour and this will help to retain the charge down as opposed to what you would have invested on general public transport. A non-public tour coach makes everything more reasonably priced and a great deal additional pleasurable for all people on the trip. The likes of Rome, Florence, Siena and the cities of the wine tours naples italy had been all stated as destinations well worth traveling to. There's a splendor right here that is affiliated with cities and towns in fairly a various way to numerous other European city areas.You'll want to make positive you take some cash on your cruise as effectively. Your credit card will get a very good workout, but there are even now periods you'll want dollars. Traveler's checks are not taken as significantly as they applied to because of the large charge of fraud. And don't expect your cruise line to funds a particular check out. Most ships have ATMs but you'll fork out a fantastic sized fee and they have been known to operate empty. You'll be incredibly glad you have some tough cash to make buys from avenue vendors and more compact retailers at your ports of phone. Also, a cash suggestion is a great way to demonstrate your appreciation for all the excellent provider you get from your cruise ship staff. Packing some funds is an simple way to avoid inconvenience on your dream family vacation.

Thomas Millie Dow - Moonlight In The Alps - 

Thomas Millie Dow (28 October 1848 – 3 July 1919) was a Scottish artist and member of the Glasgow Boys school. He was a member of The Royal Scottish Society of Painters in Watercolour and the New English Art Club.

Dow was born 28 October 1848 at Dysart, Fife. He was educated for the law and was expected to follow his father and brother into the family law firm in Kirkcaldy. Deciding against a career in law, Dow went to Paris in 1877 and enrolled for classes at the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts under Jean-Léon Gérôme. Later, in 1879 he registered with the ateliers of Rudolphe Julien and Carolus Duran. Of his earlier instruction in painting and drawing little is known except for the encouragement he received from his uncle Alexander Millie, an amateur artist.

Two young men among the many young British and American students registered for classes in Paris in the late 1870s became Dow's particular friends. They were the Englishman William Stott of Oldham and the American Abbott Handerson Thayer. Both men were to remain important figures in Dow's personal and professional life and, as both had strong personalities and strong ideas about art, they came to exert a considerable influence over the artistic choices he made. Among other friends studying in Paris at the time were the Glasgow-based artists John Lavery, Alexander Roche, James Paterson and Alexander Mann.

Dow painted in oils, watercolour and pastels. His subjects include flower studies, landscapes, portraits and decorative allegorical works. The geographical range of his landscapes extends through Scotland, the northeastern United States, Morocco, northern Italy and Cornwall. Using a subtly refined palette he chose to depict the quiet moods of nature. The subjects of his compositions range from the intense stillness of woodland to the calm before a storm at sea; and from dusk deepening on a northern shore to the lifting haze of a Mediterranean spring morning.

From 1877 to 1879 Dow spent the winters in the Paris studios and making occasional sketching excursions with fellow students Mann, Paterson, and Bell, to the villages of Barbizon and Grez-sur-Loing in the Forest of Fontainebleau. Summers were spent painting in the towns and villages along the east coast of Scotland, travelling from Dysart through St Andrews and on up to Stonehaven, Cullen, Cowie, Collieston and Forvie Ness.

Upon his return from Paris and based at home in Dysart records show Dow exhibiting at the Royal Scottish Academy (RSA) in Edinburgh from 1878 and at the Royal Glasgow Institute of Fine Art (RGIFA) from 1879. However his letters to the Thayer family from this period reveal the degree of anxiety he felt about he direction his career should take.

On 6 September 1883 Dow sailed on the "Devonia" from Glasgow to New York. From there he travelled up the Hudson River to the home of Abbott Thayer and his wife Kate Bloede at Cornwall-on-Hudson. (Thayer had built there a studio on land owned by the Stillman family.) Dow stayed in the US into the early summer of 1884. During these several months he produced what may be his best-known landscape, The Hudson River (Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, Glasgow). It is a view of the river taken from the Thayer’s house.

The US visit had re-invigorated Dow. His letters to Thayer between 1885–87 reveal his renewed enthusiasm for landscape. During this period he produced Ragweed and Crows (Hunterian, University of Glasgow), among other fine paintings. Dow traveled out of the city, south to Moniaive, for his first allegorical painting The Coming of Spring, and north for his study of birches, In a Wood at [[Forres]], which was bought by Alexander Mann. He had begun a series of commissions, the first being Portrait of John Nairn (Kirkcaldy Museum and Art Gallery) and writes of working on a likeness in pastels of his sister Mary Lady in Black (private collection). Dow was at this time sharing the Glasgow studio of William York Macgregor and living with Mary and her husband Allan McLean, the lawyer, amateur painter and art collector.

It is for the work completed between 1885 and 1895 that Dow is most closely associated with that group of artists who later became known as the Glasgow Boys. Dow is among the 21 Glasgow-based artists whose work is assessed in David Martin's contemporary account entitled The Glasgow School of Painting (George Bell & Sons 1897). In his piece on Dow Martin wrote as follows. "His perception of colour is similar to his use of paint – keen and refined; and his observation of nature such as to give a true feeling of form, without a slavish imitation." Clearly Dow's subject matter and technique appealed to Martin. And he draws attention to what others have found since in Dow's work, that is, his "faculty of placing on canvas the essence of the abstract qualities of his subject, with a fine decorative arrangement of line and colour masses, and, let the theme be an idyllic landscape or an imaginative figure-subject, he combines in a satisfactory result the ideal with the real".

Though the Glasgow School grouping was "geographical in nature rather than stylistic" as Paul Harris makes clear in his introduction to the 1976 edition of Martin's account, it was to gain them a wider audience. Exhibitions at the Grosvenor Gallery and the Grafton Galleries in London led to invitations from Secession galleries in Vienna, Munich, Berlin in the 1890s and, later, to exhibitions in U.S. cities. Dow also joined the New English Art Club (NEAC) in 1887 and exhibited with them until 1891. Dow spent the summer of 1888 travelling in Switzerland and Germany painting in the mountains, some of the time in the company of William Stott. Stott's Portrait of Tom Dow is held in Edinburgh by the National Galleries of Scotland. He spent the winter/spring 88/89 in Morocco. Among his Tangier paintings is the pastel A Spring Day, Morocco (Kirkcaldy AG).

Dow married Florence Pilcher (née Cox) in 1891. Florence, a widow, had a boy and a girl from her first marriage. Dow’s own daughter Mary Rosamond was born in 1892. Two years later, in 1894, the family moved from Glasgow to St Ives, Cornwall where Dow joined his friends and fellow painters Louis Grier and Lowell Dyer as members of the St Ives Art Club. Though living far from Glasgow, records show that Dow continued to exhibit there and in other cities in Scotland. Among his paintings shown at the RGIFA in 1892 were The Enchanted Wood (private collection) and, in 1894, The Herald of Winter 1894 (McManus Galleries Dundee).

For several years from 1896 the Dows spent the winter months in Italy. His Italian paintings include several watercolours and pastels of Apennine valleys and villages and some well-known Venetian landmarks. For his larger pieces he continued to paint allegorical subjects: The Kelpie 1895 (whereabouts unknown), A Vision of Spring 1901 (Manchester Art Gallery), the triptych Eve 1904 (Walker Art Gallery), and Sirens of the North 1911 (McManus Galleries Dundee). Of the Cornish paintings his most frequent subject in both oils and pastels is the harbour at St Ives. This he depicts in contrasting moods, busy with boats in the sunshine and lying calm under a moonlit sky.

Dow died on 3 July 1919 at St Ives, Cornwall, England and is buried at Zennor.

Which is the Best Vacation?

Of course, no one hates going to vacation – right? The reason is that, vacation is an ultimate fun and bliss. There are people that want to go to different types of vacations rather than just exploring the places inside the city or country. Some people want to view the coral reeks, glaciers, oldest ruins and wrecks and more. If you are someone that wants to take on the thrilling and exciting trip, the Barcelona Shore Excursion is the best choice to you.

There are different types of shore excursion companies out there to choose from. Among that, you need to choose the company that stays best in organizing a wonderful Civitavecchia Shore Excursion. The shore excursion can be either full day or half day. It is you that has to decide how much you want to enjoy there and the length of the time you can able to spend out there on the shore. According to the time you want to spend, you can choose either a half day or full day excursion.

Not all the shore excursions will offer the same kind of activities and highlights, which depends on the place you have chosen and the highlights the place has to offer. It is your duty to choose the best Livorno Shore Excursion for you. You should go through the activities, highlights and more mentioned in each excursion package and choose the best one for you. Make sure to hire the right company that can take you safe and enjoyable excursion.

Top 5 Tuscany Tours from Rome

Top 5 Tuscany tours from Rome that can be enjoyed on a single day trip from Rome for an easy way to experience the magic of Tuscany.

Buon giorno and welcome to Stefano’s RomeCabs, Italy’s premier company for private Tuscany Tours from Rome and Florence, and Tuscany Shore Excursions from Livorno and La Spezia cruise tours. In this travel article, we will include the top 5 Tuscany tours from Rome that can be enjoyed on a single day trip from Rome for an easy way to experience the magic of Tuscany. While Tuscany is best enjoyed…

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12 Best Places To Spend Your Hottest Days (Summer) In The USA

We all know, summer in the USA (or anywhere in the world) can be very frustrating for some people while some people are seeing summer as an opportunity to get away from their busy life and spend some time on vacation with family or friends or maybe sometimes they enjoy their own company so much that they don’t need anyone. And plus, how can we forget about making some new memorable moments.

So are you in for making some new memories? Great! Now, here the most concerning question arises where to go and spend your hot days of summer in the USA? In this article, we are going to know the 12 best places to spend your summer in the USA.

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Without further ado, let’s see the 12 Best Places to Spend Your Hottest Days in The USA.

1. Tucson 

In case you're in temperament for some great climb up the staggering scenes during evening time and the best spot to visit is without a doubt Mount Lemmon, where you can undoubtedly discover relieving creeks at the foundation of this mountain to unwind after your climb. Tucson is outstanding amongst other summer excursion objections in the USA. Remember to look at the prestigious yard eating choices here where you can chill with your fellas regardless of the great temperatures during the daytime. All in all, would this be the possibility of an ideal evening for you? 

2. Oregon Coast 

Probably the most ideal choice to attempt in here is climbing and keeping in mind that you're busy, absorb all the Pacific breezes that you can. Oregon Coast is probably the best city to visit in the USA during summer. Three Capes Scenic Loop is known to be the best climbing trail which includes a course through old woods and seas. Invigorated as of now? All things considered, stand by till you drive along the coast to observe more magnificent perspectives in towns like Newport and Florence. Try to stop by Oregon Coast to outdo what the USA offers: climbing, touring, and that's just the beginning.

3. Wellfleet 

A serene getaway, away from the buzzing about of the Provincetown, this marvelous and dilettantish town of Wellfleet has beyond what you can envision. Jump on a kayak or go windsurfing in the alleviating cove waters in quite possibly the most excellent spots to visit in the USA in summer 2021! Trekking and climbing are among the renowned exercises in Wellfleet Bay Wildlife Sanctuary where you can investigate the energetic marine life! There are without a doubt quite possibly the coolest spots to visit in summer in the USA! 

4. St Nick Barbara 

Having a fair climate lasting through the year, this significant city in California beats different objections making it an optimal spot for a laidback occasion. Ensure you visit the Butterfly seashore to observe an all-encompassing perspective on the nightfall that this city is glad for and in case you're in disposition for some great riding time, attempt Arroyo Burro Beach Country Park here! Do allow the restaurants and wineries an opportunity to charm your faculties more than ever. 

5. Rehoboth Beach 

A peaceful seashore town with tasty fish to delve in close by the lovely dusk has more coming up for you whether you're up for a performance outing or plan to have the best summer get-aways in the US for families. Various sea shores like Dewey seashore, Bethany seashore, and Rehoboth seashore. You can likewise decide to add some exciting energies to your vacation by pursuing September's yearly Sandcastle Contest and visit the eldest bungalows around! 

6. Icy mass National Park 

At any point saw snow in July? Indeed, you're unquestionably in for a treat in the event that you wish to visit this public park which allows you to look through the natural life of Montana by means of a vehicle ride. Climbing through the recreation center's path of 700 miles, and setting up camp at different 13 locales are good thoughts to investigate this present nature's jewel in Montana! You can likewise get the backwoods grant on the off chance that you wish to cross through the off-beaten way of this locale.

7. Northern Vermont 

Offering an ideal combo of occurring and woodsy energies in a single spot in Northern Vermont. With a scope of spots around the ski mountains in the area, having cafés and climbing spots ready, you would be spoilt for decision in this mountain heaven! Do look at the first in the entirety of Vermont, zipline covering visit in Smuggler's score to outwit your vacay in here! 

8. Ithaca 

In the wake of shedding its colder time of year cover, this spot turns out to be especially lively with all the finger lakes adding more to its appeal. Bragging new produce and very one-of-a-kind wines to taste, ensure you attempt the cafés here, without which your occasion is deficient! Fixed with normal scenes and grand perspectives, you have different choices to investigate its magnificence with Treman State Park and Buttermilk Falls.

9. The San Juan Islands 

In the event that you haven't seen the old nation flows, been to the rancher's business sectors, and saw the marvelous firecrackers on Fourth of July, then, at that point, this is something you should do just in the San Juan Islands. In spite of being a bustling spot during summers this spot can be best investigated on a cycle and you'll most likely feel the occurrence energy of this spot just during the Bite Of Seattle food celebration.

10. Knoxville 

Situated on the banks of the eminent Tennessee waterway on the foundation of the Smoky Mountains, this spot has the perfect climate you need for summers. The primary fascination of this spot is the Market Square that has wellsprings you can go sprinkling in alongside numerous eateries and pastry kitchens serving lip-smacking dishes. Head to Knoxville Museum of Art to observe the nearby work of art of the locale.

11. Maui 

Maui is perhaps the best spot in the USA to spend your mid-year at. It is popular for its tropical climate, lethargic volcanoes, and falling cascades. Maui is widely acclaimed for its sparkling seashores and a coastline that compares to 30 miles. Be it precipice jumping during the dusk or spending a laid-back wedding trip while absorbing the sun on the lounger, the island is an absolute necessity visit place for swimming and experience devotees.

12. Manitou Island 

North Manitou Island, which is open just by means of a boat, is probably the best spot to visit in the USA in summer. It's anything but a freshwater seashore that offers a few roads for experience and diversion. You can investigate a scope of fun exercises there like kayaking, rowing, or having a little cookout with your precious ones. You should not disregard this put on your outing to Michigan. It is ideal for individuals who love to investigate the openings of natural life.

Conclusion

In the last, we can say whether you decide to visit Mount Lemmon in Tucson or the peaceful beach of Rehoboth Beach. The only thing is matters is to spend time with your loved ones and make a memory for a lifetime.

P.S. - The list is not in any particular order all mention places are worth visiting.

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Happy Travels!