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sunflowerdarlingx · 3 years

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Fred Weasley - “Fred doesnt date” 2

Hi everyone, I hope you’re all okay <3

Here is part two to “Fred doesn’t date”, please let me know what you think, I do have a part three idea ready but wont post it unless some of you want it.

PART ONE

Female Reader

Warnings: none

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Some might say Fred Weasley was scared to commit, some would say he enjoyed the player lifestyle and others would say he was some sort of sex addict who just enjoyed multiple partners but not all at once.

The truth was, Fred was indeed scared. He felt that the people close to him were he only ones he could trust, the only ones he could truly open up to. He was very happy with his life and his relationships, those he chose to build were stronger than most. He never expected to be drawn to Y/N, he also never expected to develop the feeling he did.

He was utterly shocked at the way their relationship progressed, he had never felt this before, the butterflies he would get when he saw her or the way his heart fluttered when their skin made the slightest contact or the undeniable feeling of love he had when she fell asleep in the common room all cuddled up into Fred’s chest after a night of her homework and him planning pranks.

This is why Fred Weasley didn’t date. It always got complicated. Feelings of anger, hatred, sadness filled him up and he couldn’t take his eyes away from the scene in front of him. Cedric placed a kiss on Y/N’s jawline before placing one on the corner of her lips. Soon enough his lips were on hers as his hand moved down to her waist whilst the other supported the back of her neck so he could pull her closer.

Fred knew he should look away, he knew he was torturing himself watching the scene in front of him unfold.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to go over there and pull Cedric as far away from Y/N as he could. An overwhelming need to break his hands for even touching Y/N in such away creeped inside his body and his fists clenched at his side.

How dare he.

How dare he stand there and touch her, kiss her, do all the things that Fred should be doing with her.

Surely he had heard the rumours. He knows how close they had been getting. How dare he interrupt that and take her away from him.

Tears pricked at the corner of Freds eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. He knew he couldn’t stay there, so he didn’t. He forced himself to look away form the two and turned to head back to his dorm.

He thought Y/N liked him, he thought she felt the same way he did. Why did she kiss Cedric if she knew?

He was angry with himself, he was so stupid to let himself get attached to her in the first place, he knew it was a bad idea but she was so bloody addictive. Every little thing about her drove him mad but in the best way possible.

As Fred walked down the corridor the tears started to fall freely from his eyes, scared someone would see him he ran as fast as he could up to his dorm. A few girls saw him and tried to stop and speak to him but his feet carried him straight past them. His top teeth were embedded in his bottom lip to stop the sound of heartbreak escaping his mouth.

Even after what he just saw, no other girl could take his attention away from Y/N. He made it to his dorm, he was greeted by a smiling George who soon had a look of fear paint his face.

“What’s wrong Freddie?” his voice was laced with concern as he walked over to his brother. He had never seen Fred in such a state. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks were wet with tears and his lip was bleeding slightly. It was obvious this wasn’t from a fight so what had gotten Fred so worked up?

Fred stood still in front of his brother, he looked around the room before a broken sob left his mouth, George’s heart broke at the sound. George wrapped his arms around Fred and pulled him close. “Mate what is it? You know you can tell me anything”

Loud broken cry’s left Freds mouth as all his emotions bubbled over, chocked sobs and snotty sniffles filled the room as he collapsed against George. Though Fred and George loved each other dearly, they never really hugged, it wasn’t uncommon but it wasn’t something they did regularly. They usually hugged when something good happened, like when they got the money for the shop that they planned on opening over the summer or when it was their birthday. George couldn’t believe that the reason they were hugging was because Fred was, well heart broken.

“Digger kissed her, he actually fucking kissed her” Fred shouted as he pulled away from George. “How fucking dare he, who does he think he is” he pulled his shirt over his head and wiped his face with it before putting it in the wash basket.

“Fuck...Fred I’m so sorry” George had never seen Fred so angry, even loosing quidditch to Slytherin never had him this mad. His hands were in fists by his sides whilst his chest heaved with anger, jaw clenched.

“I should have asked her sooner Georgie, why the fuck didn’t I ask her sooner” soon the anger was replaced by sadness, which consumed Freds body as he lay in his bed. He’s never been so emotional before, his heart literally felt like it had been broken in two, he felt weak… hopeless

“Cmon mate, why don’t we go down to dinner, food will help and I’m sure we could see if the elf’s could get you ice cream, like what mum does when you’re upset”

Fred buried himself in his duvet, “nah I think I’m gonna stay here, don’t really want to have to sit and watch her and perfect Diggory be all over each other again”

“I’ll take you something back then, just please come and find me if you need me, even send one of the first years down and I’ll be here as soon as I can okay?”

Fred nodded “turn off the lights please on your way out”, George left the room and anger flooded his body. He hated seeing any of his family sad but the fact it was Fred, it was prankster Fred who was always laughing but now broken, angered him even more. He wanted Fred to be happy but after seeing the state he was in, it felt like it would be a while before laughing Fred returned.

“Ced, I really think we should go and find Fred, what if he’s looking for us” Y/N pulled Cedric by the hand towards the staircase leading to the Gryffindor common rooms.

Cedric pulled her back toward him, wrapping his arm around her waist “cmon you agreed to a snack first” he looked down at Y/N with his best pleading eyes. She rolled her eyes before grinning at the boy beside her “fine, only because I’m hungry”

They made their way down the corridor, “he’s probably off shagging some girl in our year, doubt he’s looking for you”. Y/N felt angry hearing that, she knew Fred had a reputation but they had been getting closer and going on dates and stuff, surely he wouldn’t be off seeing other girls when he was suppose to be spending the day with her George and Lee.

“I don’t think so Ced, he was suppose to be spending the day with us” her voice was quiet as she looked ahead of her.

“Oh cmon Y/N you can’t be serious, Fred doesn’t care about that, as long as he’s getting a shag then he’s happy” Cedric laughed. “What’s going on with you two anyway?”

“Fred and Me? Nothing...we are just friends” Y/N looked down at the ground, the thought of Fred with another girl upset her, Y/N had always hoped that the rumours going around school just now were secretly true. That Fred was finally settling down with someone. With her.

Cedric turned them so Y/N rested against the wall, “are we friends Y/N” he asked as he rested his elbow above her.

“Of course Cedric, why would you ask that?” she looked up at him, forcing a smile.

“Well if I’m honest, I’ve always liked you Y/N, obviously I figured it’s better to tell you now before it’s too late. Especially since I’m leaving at the end of the year.”

“Oh Cedric...I’m not sure what to say, I’m flattered really” suddenly her shoes looked very interesting.

“Cmon Y/N, I’m so much better for you than Weasley, he can’t give you the things I can, plus you know his reputation just as well as I do. Remember that time Lucy is my year came into the common room crying her eyes out because Fred said he didn’t want her? What makes you think you’d be different?”

Y/N couldn’t help but frown. Cedric was right, Fred did have a reputation for hurting girls, she never thought he would really mean to hurt them but what if he did? He’d led her on and now he was no where to be seen.

Why would Fred change for her? She was nothing special. Plenty girls at school were prettier than she was, smarter than she was. She was a fool for thinking Fred would want something more.

“We would be good together Y/N and you know it. Summers in Italy or at yours, your brother loves me already so we know he’d be on board with it us. Plus, look” he gestured down to his body “who could say no to all this”.

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle at Cedric, she had always found him quite attractive, though they really only started speaking last year, Y/N had lost all her puppy fat over the summer, her boobs had gotten a bit bigger and her arse and curves were more defined.

“Hmm summers in Italy do sound good” she teased

“I’d hope I’d get your attention more than just through the summer” he leaned down placing a kiss on her cheek.

“I’m sure we could arrange that if it’s your deepest desire” he smirked against her before placing another kiss on her cheek.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted” he teased, placing another kiss on her jaw, “can I kiss you?” His voice was a low whisper in her ear. Y/N wasn’t sure what to say, on one hand she would like to kiss Cedric, she did use to have a crush on him, but the other part of her wanted to say no, hopeful that Fred would maybe want her.

Her body reacted before she could, nodding at Cedric. He grinned down at her, he ran his hand across her cheek pushing her baby hairs back form her face, she giggled at the contact. Cedric placed a soft delicate kiss on her jaw and then her lips, soon enough their lips where moving in sync but something felt off.

She pulled away before smiling up at Cedric “cmon we better go and get ready for supper” she places her hand in his and pulled him towards the common room.

When she got to dinner she sat with Cedric, laughing with him and his friends, her attention was drown to the flash of ginger hair walking into the hall. It was George, she looked over and smiled at him, shock consumed her when he glared at her. If looks could kill she’d have been dead.

His eyes trailed down to the table where Cedric has his hand rested on top of hers. George looked angry, his face turned slightly red and his nostrils flared. He walked over to the Gryffindor table, immediately meeting with lots of “you okay George?” “Where’s Fred?” “What’s got you so angry?”.

He was sat with Lee, Angie, Alicia and Katie, once he told them all what happened they were fuming. None of them really liked Diggory in all honesty, from the way he acted during quidditch to his show off personality, they all thought he was a bit of a tool.

To say there were all shocked was an understatement, they had all seen Y/N and Fred together and even they knew they were more than friends.

“Well I won’t be saying hi to her again any time soon” Alicia said in a bitchy tone, “how could she do that to Fred?”.

Fred eventually got hungry, and honestly he hoped food would comfort him. He pulled on a hoodie with his grey joggers and made his way down to the great hall. As he entered he avoided looking over at the Hufflepuff table, usually he would look for Y/N and send her a wave or a wink or a goofy grin but not today. Not ever again, he thought to himself when he reached his friends. He was sat in between Lee and George, both of them giving him a pat on the back as he sat down.

They tried to distract Fred by talking about new pranks and quidditch plays but he wasn’t really paying attention. He was desperate to turn around and look at her, to go over and pull her away from perfect Diggory and convince her that she should be with him instead but he knew he had to be strong. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against Diggory, after all, he he was the better option, he would give her the things Fred couldn’t, like luxury holidays to Italy.

Ginny came over to them and sat in-between Fred and Lee, giving her brother a comforting hug once he explained what happened. A few little sobs leaving his mouth which he covered with a cough. Fred had spoken to Ginny loads about Y/N, she was the only one who wouldn’t slag him off for being all lovey dovey about her.

“Fred, don’t look now but Y/N is coming over” Alicia said as she kept looking over to where Y/N walked over towards the table. Fred groaned and felt his eyes start to water.

Ginny turned around and glared at the girl coming towards her, “bitch” she mumbled before turning to Fred. “Want me to tell her you don’t wanna talk?”

“Fuck” he rubbed his eyes with his pointer finger and thumb, “it’s okay gin, I can’t exactly avoid her”. Y/N came over and wrapped her arms around Fred’s neck, pulling down his hood “what’s up with you Freddie?” her voice whispered in his ear. Fred tensed at the contact, before relaxing at her voice.

Y/N was worried about Fred, he was never usually late to dinner and she didn’t even get her usual goofy smile off him.

Her voice was one of his favourite sounds, he often fell asleep to her voice in the common room late at night when he’d sneak her in. His head would rest on her lap as she read muggle tales to him, the way her voice soothes him sent him into deep slumbers. He couldn’t help but melt in her arms and at her words, she’s always so caring.

He looked at his friends who were all sending glares her way. He sucked in a breath before pulling her hands away from his neck, he turned around and looked at her. She frowned at his current state, his hair was a mess, eyes bloodshot and face red.

“Nothing I’m good” Fred stood up and, made his way out of the hall.

“What’s up with him Georgie?” She turned to look at Fred make his way out the hall.

Ginny scoffed and rolled his eyes at her, “hmm I wonder” sarcasm laced her voice as she tapped her chin. Ginny learned at a young age to look after herself and then she very quickly realised she had to look after her family. They always came first and no one said anything bad about them.

She’d had her fair share of arguments with boys and girls over the years, boys trying to slag off her brothers out of jealousy and girls complaining about rejection. Knowing how much Fred liked and cared for Y/N only made Ginny angrier, Fred actually allowed himself to get close to someone and she broke him. She stood up to face Y/N, eyes staring her down, “why don’t you go ask your new boyfriend Diggory? Maybe you two can recreate some of the dates my brother took you on”, her voice was cold as ice as she spoke. She shoved past Y/N and went to look for Fred.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she looked down at George, he just looked at her before a “she’s right” left his mouth and him and the rest of the people he was sitting with left the hall.

Y/N was shocked, she was an idiot for underestimating what she and Fred had. She stood for a moment trying to think about everything that had happened. She majorly regretted kissing Cedric now, she should have spoken to Fred, asked how he felt but she was an idiot. She let her insecurities get the better of her.

She decided to go to her dorm and call it a night, at about 2 am she woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep, her mind in overdrive. She decided to go for a wander out to the gardens to look at the stars.

Fred was in and out of sleep, if he wasn’t having dreams about him and Y/N, he was dreaming about her and Cedric.

He woke up after dreaming about walking in on Y/N and Cedric, Cedric was above her, hands running down her body, they were laughing at Fred as he stood at the door watching.

“Oh Freddie, you didn’t actually think you had a chance with me, did you?” Y/N’s giggle flooded the room but it wasn’t her normal laugh, it was laced with mockery and hate. “Why would I settle for you, poor little Fred Weasley, can’t even commit to a girl. You honestly think I’d settle for that? Cedric treats me so much better”. Cedric leaned down kissing her roughly..

Fred shot up from his bed, chest heaving as he tried to calm down. He was an idiot for thinking he stood a chance, why would she be his when he’d been with so many other girls? When Cedric could offer her the world and he could offer her a summer at the burrow?

He got up and chucked on shorts and a hoodie, making his way out his dorm and out the portrait. He made his way around the castle avoiding the prefects and Filtch. He reached the gardens and was sat on the grass looking up at the stars above him.

He was staring up at the moon, all he could think about was Y/N, the way she laughed, the way she listened to everything Fred had to say, the way she could brighten up even the darkest days and the way she made everything better.

He thought about Christmas, he’d asked her to stay with them over the festive period. He was looking forward to spending all his free time with her, playing in the snow and showing her all his favourite places around the burrow. He knew she’d love their garden, the stars were even clearer there. He was to engrossed in thought that he hadn’t heard Y/N walk up behind him,

He was even looking forward to having her meet his mum and dad. Molly was shocked when she saw the letter from Fred asking for his new friend-girl to stay over at Christmas. Molly had a feeling another sweater may be needed.

“Freddie….” Her voice was a whisper but still managed to make him jump “can I join you?”……..

Part Three

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@manuosorioh @itsbebeyyy @britishspidey @supermassiveblackhope @impossibelle @jenniweaslee

#Fred weasley imagine #Fred weasley smut #Fred weasley x reader

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grigori77 · 3 years

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2020 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 2)

20. ONWARD – Disney and Pixar’s best digitally animated family feature of 2020 (beating the admittedly impressive Soul to the punch) clearly has a love of fantasy roleplay games like Dungeons & Dragons, its quirky modern-day AU take populated by fantastical races and creatures seemingly tailor-made for the geek crowd … needless to say, me and many of my friends absolutely loved it. That doesn’t mean that the classic Disney ideals of love, family and believing in yourself have been side-lined in favour of fan-service – this is as heartfelt, affecting and tearful as their previous standouts, albeit with plenty of literal magic added to the metaphorical kind. The central premise is a clever one – once upon a time, magic was commonplace, but over the years technology came along to make life easier, so that in the present day the various races (elves, centaurs, fauns, pixies, goblins and trolls among others) get along fine without it. Then timid elf Ian Lightfoot (Tom Holland) receives a wizard’s staff for his sixteenth birthday, a bequeathed gift from his father, who died before he was born, with instructions for a spell that could bring him back to life for one whole day. Encouraged by his brash, over-confident wannabe adventurer elder brother Barley (Chris Pratt), Ian tries it out, only for the spell to backfire, leaving them with the animated bottom half of their father and just 24 hours to find a means to restore the rest of him before time runs out. Cue an “epic quest” … needless to say, this is another top-notch offering from the original masters of the craft, a fun, affecting and thoroughly infectious family-friendly romp with a winning sense of humour and inspired, flawless world-building. Holland and Pratt are both fantastic, their instantly believable, ill-at-ease little/big brother chemistry effortlessly driving the story through its ingenious paces, and the ensuing emotional fireworks are hilarious and heart-breaking in equal measure, while there’s typically excellent support from Julia Louis-Dreyfus (Elaine from Seinfeld) as Ian and Barley’s put-upon but supportive mum, Laurel, Octavia Spencer as once-mighty adventurer-turned-restaurateur “Corey” the Manticore and Mel Rodriguez (Getting On, The Last Man On Earth) as overbearing centaur cop (and Laurel’s new boyfriend) Colt Bronco. The film marks the sophomore feature gig for Dan Scanlon, who debuted with 2013’s sequel Monsters University, and while that was enjoyable enough I ultimately found it non-essential – no such verdict can be levelled against THIS film, the writer-director delivering magnificently in all categories, while the animation team have outdone themselves in every scene, from the exquisite environments and character/creature designs to some fantastic (and frequently delightfully bonkers) set-pieces, while there’s a veritable riot of brilliant RPG in-jokes to delight geekier viewers (gelatinous cube! XD). Massive, unadulterated fun, frequently hilarious and absolutely BURSTING with Disney’s trademark heart, this was ALMOST my animated feature of the year. More on that later …

19. THE GENTLEMEN – Guy Ritchie’s been having a rough time with his last few movies (The Man From UNCLE didn’t do too bad but it wasn’t exactly a hit and was largely overlooked or simply ignored, while intended franchise-starter King Arthur: Legend of the Sword was largely derided and suffered badly on release, dying a quick death financially – it’s a shame on both counts, because I really liked them), so it’s nice to see him having some proper success with his latest, even if he has basically reverted to type to do it. Still, when his newest London gangster flick is THIS GOOD it seems churlish to quibble – this really is what he does best, bringing together a collection of colourful geezers and shaking up their status quo, then standing back and letting us enjoy the bloody, expletive-riddled results. This particularly motley crew is another winning selection, led by Matthew McConaughey as ruthlessly successful cannabis baron Mickey Pearson, who’s looking to retire from the game by selling off his massive and highly lucrative enterprise for a most tidy sum (some $400,000,000 to be precise) to up-and-coming fellow American ex-pat Matthew Berger (Succession’s Jeremy Strong, oozing sleazy charm), only for local Chinese triad Dry Eye (Crazy Rich Asians’ Henry Golding, chewing the scenery with enthusiasm) to start throwing spanners into the works with the intention of nabbing the deal for himself for a significant discount. Needless to say Mickey’s not about to let that happen … McConaughey is ON FIRE here, the best he’s been since Dallas Buyers Club in my opinion, clearly having great fun sinking his teeth into this rich character and Ritchie’s typically sparkling, razor-witted dialogue, and he’s ably supported by a quality ensemble cast, particularly co-star Charlie Hunnam as Mickey’s ice-cold, steel-nerved right-hand-man Raymond Smith, Downton Abbey’s Michelle Dockery as his classy, strong-willed wife Rosalind, Colin Farrell as a wise-cracking, quietly exasperated MMA trainer and small-time hood simply known as the Coach (who gets many of the film’s best lines), and, most notably, Hugh Grant as the film’s nominal narrator, thoroughly morally bankrupt private investigator Fletcher, who consistently steals the film. This is Guy Ritchie at his very best – a twisty rug-puller of a plot that constantly leaves you guessing, brilliantly observed and richly drawn characters you can’t help loving in spite of the fact there’s not a single hero among them, a deliciously unapologetic, politically incorrect sense of humour and a killer soundtrack. Getting the cinematic year off to a phenomenal start, it’s EASILY Ritchie’s best film since Sherlock Holmes, and a strong call-back to the heady days of Snatch (STILL my favourite) and Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels. Here’s hoping he’s on a roll again, eh?

18. SPONTANEOUS – one of the year’s biggest under-the-radar surprise hits for me was one which I actually might not have caught if things had been a little more normal and ordered. Thankfully with all the lockdown and cinematic shutdown bollocks going on, this fantastically subversive and deeply satirical indie teen comedy horror came along at the perfect time, and I completely flipped out over it. Now those who know me know I don’t tend to gravitate towards teen cinema, but like all those other exceptions I’ve loved over the years, this one had a brilliantly compulsive hook I just couldn’t turn down – small-town high-schooler Mara (Knives Out and Netflix’ Cursed’s Katherine Langford) is your typical cool outsider kid, smart, snarky and just putting up with the scene until she can graduate and get as far away as possible … until one day in her senior year one of her classmates just inexplicably explodes. Like her peers, she’s shocked and she mourns, then starts to move on … until it happens again. As the death toll among the senior class begins to mount, it becomes clear something weird is going on, but Mara has other things on her mind because the crisis has, for her, had an unexpected benefit – without it she wouldn’t have fallen in love with like-minded oddball new kid Dylan (Lean On Pete and Words On Bathroom Walls’ Charlie Plummer). The future’s looking bright, but only if they can both live to see it … this is a wickedly intelligent film, powered by a skilfully executed script and a wonderfully likeable young cast who consistently steer their characters around the potential cliched pitfalls of this kind of cinema, while debuting writer-director Brian Duffield (already a rising star thanks to scripts for Underwater, The Babysitter and blacklist darling Jane Got a Gun among others) show he’s got as much talent and flair for crafting truly inspired cinema as he has for thinking it up in the first place, delivering some impressively offbeat set-pieces and several neat twists you frequently don’t see coming ahead of time. Langford and Plummer as a sassy, spicy pair who are easy to root for without ever getting cloying or sweet, while there’s glowing support from the likes of Hayley Law (Rioverdale, Altered Carbon, The New Romantic) as Mara’s best friend Tess, Piper Perabo and Transparent’s Rob Huebel as her increasingly concerned parents, and Insecure’s Yvonne Orji as Agent Rosetti, the beleaguered government employee sent to spearhead the investigation into exactly what’s happening to these kids. Quirky, offbeat and endlessly inventive, this is one of those interesting instances where I’m glad they pushed the horror elements into the background so we could concentrate on the comedy, but more importantly these wonderfully well-realised and vital characters – there are some skilfully executed shocks, but far more deep belly laughs, and there’s bucketloads of heart to eclipse the gore. Another winning debut from a talent I intend to watch with great interest in the future.

17. HAMILTON – arriving just as Black Lives Matter reached fever-pitch levels, this feature presentation of the runaway Broadway musical smash-hit could not have been better timed. Shot over three nights during the show’s 2016 run with the original cast and cut together with specially created “setup shots”, it’s an immersive experience that at once puts you right in amongst the audience (at times almost a character themselves, never seen but DEFINITELY heard) but also lets you experience the action up close. And what action – it’s an incredible show, a thoroughly fascinating piece of work that reads like something very staid and proper on paper (an all-encompassing biographical account of the life and times of American Founding Father Alexander Hamilton) but, in execution, becomes something very different and EXTREMELY vital. The execution certainly couldn’t be further from the usual period biopic fare this kind of historical subject matter usually gets (although in the face of recent high quality revisionist takes like Marie Antoinette, The Great and Tesla it’s not SO surprising), while the cast is not at all what you’d expect – with very few notable exceptions the cast is almost entirely people of colour, despite the fact that the real life individuals they’re playing were all very white indeed. Every single one of them is also an absolute revelation – the show’s writer-composer Lin-Manuel Miranda (already riding high on the success of In the Heights) carries the central role of Hamilton with effortless charm and raw star power, Leslie Odom Jr. (Smash, Murder On the Orient Express) is duplicitously complex as his constant nemesis Aaron Burr, Christopher Jackson (In the Heights, Moana, Bull) oozes integrity and nobility as his mentor and friend George Washington, Phillipa Soo is sweet and classy as his wife Eliza while Renée Elise Goldsberry (The Immortal Life of Henrietta Jacks, Altered Carbon) is fiery and statuesque as her sister Angelica Schuyler (the one who got away), and Jonathan Groff (Mindhunter) consistently steals every scene he’s in as fiendish yet childish fan favourite King George III, but the show (and the film) ultimately belongs to veritable powerhouse Daveed Diggs (Blindspotting, The Good Lord Bird) in a spectacular duel role, starting subtly but gaining scene-stealing momentum as French Revolutionary Gilbert du Motier, the Marquis de Lafayette, before EXPLODING onto the stage in the second half as indomitable third American President Thomas Jefferson. Not having seen the stage show, I was taken completely by surprise by this, revelling in its revisionist genius and offbeat, quirky hip-hop charm, spellbound by the skilful ease with which is takes the sometimes quite dull historical fact and skews it into something consistently entertaining and absorbing, transported by the catchy earworm musical numbers and thoroughly tickled by the delightfully cheeky sense of humour strung throughout (at least when I wasn’t having my heart broken by moments of raw dramatic power). Altogether it’s a pretty unique cinematic experience I wish I could have actually gotten to see on the big screen, and one I’ve consistently recommended to all my friends, even the ones who don’t usually like musicals. As far as I’m concerned it doesn’t need a proper Les Misérables style screen adaptation – this is about as perfect a presentation as the show could possibly hope for.

16. SPUTNIK – summer’s horror highlight (despite SERIOUSLY tough competition) was a guaranteed sleeper hit that I almost missed entirely, stumbling across the trailer one day on YouTube and getting bowled over by its potential, prompting me to hunt it down by any means necessary. The feature debut of Russian director Egor Abramenko, this first contact sci-fi chiller is about as far from E.T. as it’s possible to get, sharing some of the same DNA as Carpenter’s The Thing but proudly carving its own path with consummate skill and definitely signalling great things to come from its brand new helmer and relative unknown screenwriters Oleg Malovichko and Andrei Zolotarev. Oksana Akinshina (probably best known in the West for her powerful climactic cameo in The Bourne Supremacy) is the beating heart of the film as neurophysiologist Tatyana Yuryevna Klimova, brought in to aid in the investigation in the Russian wilderness circa 1983 after an orbital research mission goes horribly wrong. One of the cosmonauts dies horribly, while the other, Konstantin (The Duelist’s Pyotr Fyodorov) seems unharmed, but it quickly becomes clear that he’s now the host for something decidedly extraterrestrial and potentially terrifying, and as Tatyana becomes more deeply embroiled in her assignment she comes to realise that her superiors, particularly mysterious Red Army project leader Colonel Semiradov (The PyraMMMid’s Fyodor Bondarchuk), have far more insidious plans for Konstantin and his new “friend” than she could ever imagine. This is about as dark, intense and nightmarish as this particular sub-genre gets, a magnificently icky body horror that slowly builds its tension as we’re gradually exposed to the various truths and the awful gravity of the situation slowly reveals itself, punctuated by skilfully executed shocks and some particularly horrifying moments when the evils inflicted by the humans in charge prove far worse than anything the alien can do, while the ridiculously talented writers have a field day pulling the rug out from under us again and again, never going for the obvious twist and keeping us guessing right to the devastating ending, while the beautifully crafted digital creature effects are nothing short of astonishing and thoroughly creepy. Akinshina dominates the film with her unbridled grace, vulnerability and integrity, the relationship that develops between Tatyana and Konstantin (Fyodorov delivering a beautifully understated turn belying deep inner turmoil) feeling realistically earned as it goes from tentatively wary to tragically bittersweet, while Bondarchuk invests the Colonel with a nuanced air of tarnished authority and restrained brutality that made him one of my top screen villains for the year. One of 2020’s great sleeper hits, I can’t speak of this film highly enough – it’s a genuine revelation, an instant classic for whom I’ll sing its praises for years to come, and I wish enormous future success to all the creative talents involved.

15. THE INVISIBLE MAN – looks like third time’s a charm for Leigh Whannell, writer-director of my ALMOST horror movie of the year (more on that later) – while he’s had immense success as a horror writer over the years (co-creator of both the Saw and Insidious franchises), as a director his first two features haven’t exactly set the world alight, with debut Insidious: Chapter III garnering similar takes to the rest of the series but ultimately turning out to be a bit of a damp squib quality-wise, while his second feature Upgrade was a stone-cold masterpiece that was (rightly) EXTREMELY well received critically, but ultimately snuck in under the radar and has remained a stubbornly hidden gem since. No such problems with his third feature, though – his latest collaboration with producer Jason Blum and the insanely lucrative Blumhouse Pictures has proven a massive hit both financially AND with reviewers, and deservedly so. Having given up on trying to create a shared cinematic universe inhabited by their classic monsters, Universal resolved to concentrate on standalones to showcase their elite properties, and their first try is a rousing success, Whannell bringing HG Wells’ dark and devious human monster smack into the 21st Century as only he can. The result is a surprisingly subtle piece of work, much more a lethally precise exercise in cinematic sleight of hand and extraordinary acting than flashy visual effects, strictly adhering to the Blumhouse credo of maximum returns for minimum bucks as the story is stripped down to its bare essentials and allowed to play out without any unnecessary weight. The Handmaid’s Tale’s Elizabeth Moss once again confirms what a masterful actress she is as she brings all her performing weapons to bear in the role of Cecelia “Cee” Kass, the cloistered wife of affluent but monstrously abusive optics pioneer Aidan Griffin (Netflix’ The Haunting of Hill House’s Oliver Jackson-Cohen), who escapes his clutches in the furiously tense opening sequence and goes to ground with the help of her closest childhood friend, San Francisco cop James Lanier (Leverage’s Aldis Hodge) and his teenage daughter Sydney (A Wrinkle in Time’s Storm Reid). Two weeks later, Aidan commits suicide, leaving Cee with a fortune to start her life over (with the proviso that she’s never ruled mentally incompetent), but as she tries to find her way in the world again little things start going wrong for her, and she begins to question if there might be something insidious going on. As her nerves start to unravel, she begins to suspect that Aidan is still alive, still very much in her life, fiendishly toying with her and her friends, but no-one can see him. Whannell plays her paranoia up for all it’s worth, skilfully teasing out the scares so that, just like her friends, we begin to wonder if it might all be in her head after all, before a spectacular mid-movie reveal throws the switch into high gear and the true threat becomes clear. The lion’s share of the film’s immense success must of course go to Moss – her performance is BEYOND a revelation, a blistering career best that totally powers the whole enterprise, and it goes without saying that she’s the best thing in this. Even so, she has sterling support from Hodge and Reid, as well as Love Child’s Harriet Dyer as Cee’s estranged big sister Emily and Wonderland’s Michael Dorman as Adrian’s slimy, spineless lawyer brother Tom, and, while he doesn’t have much actual (ahem) “screen time”, Jackson-Cohen delivers a fantastically icy, subtly malevolent turn which casts a large “shadow” over the film. This is one of my very favourite Blumhouse films, a pitch-perfect psychological chiller that keeps the tension cranked up unbearably tight and never lets go, Whannell once again displaying uncanny skill with expert jump-scares, knuckle-whitening chills and a truly astounding standout set-piece that easily goes down as one of the top action sequences of 2020. Undoubtedly the best version of Wells’ story to date, this goes a long way in repairing the damage of Universal’s abortive “Dark Universe” efforts, as well as showcasing a filmmaking master at the very height of his talents.

14. EXTRACTION – the Coronavirus certainly has threw a massive spanner in the works of the year’s cinematic calendar – among many other casualties to the blockbuster shunt, the latest (and most long-awaited) MCU movie, Black Widow, should have opened to further record-breaking box office success at the end of spring, but instead the theatres were all closed and virtually all the heavyweights were pushed back or shelved indefinitely. Thank God, then, for the streaming services, particularly Hulu, Amazon and Netflix, the latter of which provided a perfect movie for us to see through the key transition into the summer blockbuster season, an explosively flashy big budget action thriller ushered in by MCU alumni the Russo Brothers (who produced and co-wrote this adaptation of Ciudad, a graphic novel that Joe Russo co-created with Ande Parks and Fernando Leon Gonzalez) and barely able to contain the sheer star-power wattage of its lead, Thor himself. Chris Hemsworth plays Tyler Rake, a former Australian SAS operative who hires out his services to an extraction operation under the command of mercenary Nik Khan (The Patience Stone’s Golshifteh Farahani), brought in to liberate Ovi Mahajan (Rudhraksh Jaiswal in his first major role), the pre-teen son of incarcerated Indian crime lord Ovi Sr. (Pankaj Tripathi), who has been abducted by Bangladeshi rival Amir Asif (Priyanshu Painyuli). The rescue itself goes perfectly, but when the time comes for the hand-off the team is double-crossed and Tyler is left stranded in the middle of Dhaka with no choice but to keep Ovi alive as every corrupt cop and street gang in the city closes in around them. This is the feature debut of Sam Hargrave, the latest stuntman to try his hand at directing, so he certainly knows his way around an action set-piece, and the result is a thoroughly breathless adrenaline rush of a film, bursting at the seams with spectacular fights, gun battles and car chases, dominated by a stunning sustained sequence that plays out in one long shot, guaranteed to leave jaws lying on the floor. Not that there should be any surprise – Hargrave cut his teeth as a stunt coordinator for the Russos on Captain America: Civil War and their Avengers films. That said, he displays strong talent for the quieter disciplines of filmmaking too, delivering quality character development and drawing out consistently noteworthy performances from his cast. Of course, Hemsworth can do the action stuff in his sleep, but there’s a lot more to Tyler than just his muscle, the MCU veteran investing him with real wounded vulnerability and a tragic fatalism which colours every scene, while Jaiswal is exceptional throughout, showing plenty of promise for the future, and there’s strong support from Farahani and Painyuli, as well as Stranger Things’ David Harbour as world-weary retired merc Gaspard, and a particularly impressive, muscular turn from Randeep Hooda (Once Upon a Time in Mumbai) as Saju, a former Para and Ovi’s bodyguard, who’s determined to take possession of the boy himself, even if he has to go through Tyler to get him. This is action cinema that really deserves to be seen on the big screen – I watched it twice in a week and would happily have paid for two trips to the cinema for it if I could have. As we looked down the barrel of a summer season largely devoid of blockbuster fare, I couldn’t recommend this enough. Thank the gods for Netflix …

13. THE TRIAL OF THE CHICAGO 7 – although it’s definitely a film that really benefitted enormously from releasing on Netflix during the various lockdowns, this was one of the blessed few I actually got to see during one of the UK’s frustratingly rare lulls when cinemas were actually OPEN. Rather perversely it therefore became one of my favourite cinematic experiences of 2020, but then I’m just as much a fan of well-made cerebral films as I am of the big, immersive blockbuster EXPERIENCES, so this probably still would have been a standout in a normal year. Certainly if this was a purely CRITICAL list for the year this probably would have placed high in the Top Ten … Aaron Sorkin is a writer whose work I have ardently admired ever since he went from esteemed playwright to in-demand talent for both the big screen AND the small with A Few Good Men, and TTOTC7 is just another in a long line of consistently impressive, flawlessly written works rife with addictive quickfire dialogue, beautifully observed characters and rewardingly propulsive narrative storytelling (therefore resting comfortably amongst the well-respected likes of The West Wing, Charlie Wilson’s War, Moneyball and The Social Network). It also marks his second feature as a director (after fascinating and incendiary debut Molly’s Game), and once again he’s gone for true story over fiction, tackling the still controversial subject of the infamous 1968 trial of the “ringleaders” of the infamous riots which marred Chicago’s Diplomatic National Convention five months earlier, in which thousands of hippies and college students protesting the Vietnam War clashed with police. Spurred on by the newly-instated Presidential Administration of Richard Nixon to make some examples, hungry up-and-coming prosecutor Richard Schultz (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is confident in his case, while the Seven – who include respected and astute student activist Tom Hayden (Eddie Redmayne) and confrontational counterculture firebrands Abbie Hoffman (Sacha Baron Cohen) and Jerry Rubin (Succession’s Jeremy Strong) – are the clear underdogs. They’re a divided bunch (particularly Hayden and Hoffman, who never mince their words about what little regard they hold for each other), and they’re up against the combined might of the U.S. Government, while all they have on their side is pro-bono lawyer and civil rights activist William Kunstler (Mark Rylance), who’s sharp, driven and thoroughly committed to the cause but clearly massively outmatched … not to mention the fact that the judge presiding over the case is Julius Hoffman (Frank Langella), a fierce and uncompromising conservative who’s clearly 100% on the Administration’s side, and who might in fact be stark raving mad (he also frequently goes to great lengths to make it clear to all concerned that he is NOT related to Abbie). Much as we’ve come to expect from Sorkin, this is cinema of grand ideals and strong characters, not big spectacle and hard action, and all the better for it – he’s proved time and again that he’s one of the very best creative minds in Hollywood when it comes to intelligent, thought-provoking and engrossing thinking-man’s entertainment, and this is pure par for the course, keeping us glued to the screen from the skilfully-executed whirlwind introductory montage to the powerfully cathartic climax, and every varied and brilliant scene in-between. This is heady stuff, focusing on what’s still an extremely thorny issue made all the more urgently relevant and timely given what was (and still is) going on in American politics at the time, and everyone involved here was clearly fully committed to making the film as palpable, powerful and resonant as possible for the viewer, no matter their nationality or political inclination. Also typical for a Sorkin film, the cast are exceptional, everyone clearly having the wildest time getting their teeth into their finely-drawn characters and that magnificent dialogue – Redmayne and Baron Cohen are compellingly complimentary intellectual antagonists given their radically different approaches and their roles’ polar opposite energies, while Rylance delivers another pitch-perfect, simply ASTOUNDING performance that once again marks him as one of the very best actors of his generation, and there are particularly meaty turns from Strong, Langella, Aquaman’s Yahya Abdul-Mateen II (as besieged Black Panther Bobby Seale) and a potent late appearance from Michael Keaton that sear themselves into the memory long after viewing. Altogether then, this is a phenomenal film which deserves to be seen no matter the format, a thought-provoking and undeniably IMPORTANT masterwork from a master cinematic storyteller that says as much about the world we live in now as the decidedly turbulent times it portrays …

12. GREYHOUND – when the cinemas closed back in March, the fate of many of the major summer blockbusters we’d been looking forward to was thrown into terrible doubt. Some were pushed back to more amenable dates in the autumn or winter (which even then ultimately proved frustratingly ambitious), others knocked back a whole year to fill summer slots for 2021, but more than a few simply dropped off the radar entirely with the terrible words “postponed until further notice” stamped on them, and I lamented them all, this one in particular. It hung in there longer than some, stubbornly holding onto its June release slot for as long as possible, but eventually it gave up the ghost too … but thanks to Apple TV+, not for long, ultimately releasing less than a month later than intended. Thankfully the film itself was worth the fuss, a taut World War II suspense thriller that’s all killer, no filler – set during the infamous Battle of the Atlantic, it portrays the constant life-or-death struggle faced by the Allied warships assigned to escort the transport convoys as they crossed the ocean, defending their charges from German U-boats. Adapted from C.S. Forester’s famous 1955 novel The Good Shepherd by Tom Hanks and directed by Aaron Schneider (Get Low), the narrative focuses on the crew of the escort leader, American destroyer USS Fletcher, codenamed “Greyhound”, and in particular its captain, Commander Ernest Krause (Hanks), a career sailor serving his first command. As they cross “the Pit”, the most dangerous middle stretch of the journey where they spend days without air-cover, they find themselves shadowed by “the Wolf Pack”, a particularly cunning group of German submarines that begin to pick away at the convoy’s stragglers. Faced with daunting odds, a dwindling supply of vital depth-charges and a ruthless, persistent enemy, Krause must make hard choices to bring his ships home safe … jumping into the thick of the action within the first ten minutes and maintaining its tension for the remainder of the trim 90-minute run, this is screen suspense par excellence, a sleek textbook example of how to craft a compelling big screen knuckle-whitener with zero fat and maximum reward, delivering a series of desperate naval scraps packed with hide-and-seek intensity, heart-in-mouth near-misses and fist-in-air cathartic payoffs by the bucket-load. Hanks is subtly magnificent, the calm centre of the narrative storm as a supposed newcomer to this battle arena who could have been BORN for it, bringing to mind his similarly unflappable in Captain Phillips and certainly not suffering by comparison; by and large he’s the focus point, but other crew members make strong (if sometimes quite brief) impressions, particularly Stephen Graham as Krause’s reliably seasoned XO, Lt. Commander Charlie Cole, The Magnificent Seven’s Manuel Garcia-Rulfo and Just Mercy’s Rob Morgan, while Elisabeth Shue does a lot with a very small part in brief flashbacks as Krause’s fiancée Evelyn. Relentless, exhilarating and thoroughly unforgettable, this was one of the true action highlights of the summer, and one hell of a war flick. I’m so glad it made the cut for the summer …

11. PROJECT POWER – with Marvel and DC pushing their tent-pole titles back in the face of COVID, the usual superhero antics we’ve come to expect for the summer were pretty thin on the ground in 2020, leading us to find our geeky fan thrills elsewhere. Unfortunately, pickings were frustratingly slim – Korean comic book actioner Gundala was entertaining but workmanlike, while Thor AU Mortal was underwhelming despite strong direction from Troll Hunter’s André Øvredal, and The New Mutants just got shat on by the studio and its distributors and no mistake – thank the Gods, then, for Netflix, once again riding to the rescue with this enjoyably offbeat super-thriller, which takes an intriguing central premise and really runs with it. New designer drug Power has hit the streets of New Orleans, able to give anyone who takes it a superpower for five minutes … the only problem is, until you try it, you don’t know what your own unique talent is – for some, it could mean five minutes of invisibility, or insane levels of super-strength, but other powers can be potentially lethal, the really unlucky buggers just blowing up on the spot. Robin (The Hate U Give’s Dominique Fishback) is a teenage Power-pusher with dreams of becoming a rap star, dealing the pills so she can help her diabetic mum; Frank Shaver (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) is one of her customers, a police detective who uses his power of near invulnerability to even the playing field when supercharged crims cause a disturbance. Their lives are turned upside down when Art (Jamie Foxx) arrives in town – he’s a seriously badass ex-soldier determined to hunt down the source of Power by any means necessary, and he’s not above tearing the Big Easy apart to do it. This is a fun, gleefully infectious rollercoaster that doesn’t take itself too seriously, revelling in the anarchic potential of its premise and crafting some suitably OTT effects-driven chaos brought to pleasingly visceral fruition by its skilfully inventive director, Ariel Schulman (Catfish, Nerve, Viral), while Mattson Tomlin (the screenwriter of the DCEU’s oft-delayed, incendiary headline act The Batman) takes the story in some very interesting directions and poses fascinating questions about what Power’s TRULY capable of. Gordon-Levitt and Fishback are both brilliant, the latter particularly impressing in what’s sure to be a major breakthrough role for her, and the friendship their characters share is pretty adorable, while Foxx really is a force to be reckoned with, pretty chill even when he’s in deep shit but fully capable of turning into a bona fide killing machine at the flip of a switch, and there’s strong support from Westworld’s Rodrigo Santoro as Biggie, Power’s delightfully oily kingpin, Courtney B. Vance as Frank’s by-the-book superior, Captain Crane, Amy Landecker as Gardner, the morally bankrupt CIA spook responsible for the drug’s production, and Machine Gun Kelly as Newt, a Power dealer whose pyrotechnic “gift” really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Exciting, inventive, frequently amusing and infectiously likeable, this was some of the most uncomplicated cinematic fun I had all summer. Not bad for something which I’m sure was originally destined to become one of the season’s B-list features …

#onward #onward movie #The Gentlemen #spontaneous #spontaneous movie #hamilton #hamilton movie #sputnik #sputnik movie #The Invisible Man #Extraction #extraction movie #the trial of the chicago 7 #greyhound #greyhound movie #project power #2020 in movies

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rachywritessomething · 3 years

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Part 2

It took the better part of the day before anyone ventured deep into the cavern, and after that, it took a week still before the excavators felt more than visceral disgust when she was around. As such, she took to the outskirts of the digging site and waited there, closer to the camp where the women and children of the workers hung about, cooking, preparing tents, complaining about the heat.

Even as something close to a woman, Sava was no more welcomed by these sorts than the men who were intimidated by her. So again, she kept her distance and mostly watched, trying to maintain her hold on her newfound memory as she did so, committing faces and voices to mind to really make herself think.

It was a fascinating sensation.

The exercise was not, however, enough to completely distract her from the strange words of the monster in the cavern. The more she thought about the terrible existence between life and death and those simple proclamations, the more she felt an odd sense of fear, as if she knew what the rotting thing had been talking about.

By the time the sun was gone, most everyone had already cleared from the oasis not too far from camp, so Sava gathered her things and walked there to rest under the stars where it was cool and quiet. She had not yet figured out sleeping, but she was sure she was on the cusp. Something told her that when she would finally get it, holding memories would come much more naturally. Who knew, perhaps the people would be less frightened of her if she could sleep like they did. She did wonder what it was like to dream…

But this evening she was not alone. An elf sat perched on one of the rocks as his flock of sheep milled around the water, drinking and eating the plants on the bank. His head was wrapped in a cloth of many, woven colors, and he wore a robe that would have protected him from the harsh rays of the sun. Sava did not know many elves; Leo avoided them as much as he could so she did not have much of an opportunity to meet them. They were, however, uninclined to show her any more grace than the people she did find herself surrounded by.

This one, however, watched her with his black eyes in a way that Leo would study the great elephants or the dragon eggs in markets. He did not bother to redirect his sheep at all as they were all drawn to the water, so he just kept staring with great intrigue.

Sava did not pay him mind. She dropped her pack and walked to the edge of the bank, mindful of the sheep, to fill her canteen. The dry air was enough to make even her sweat in the heat of the day, so she found that she was drinking in excess.

“You’re an interesting creature,” the elf remarked, leaning on his hook and narrowing his eyes as if to get a close look. “Not something made by nature or the star of fire?”

Sava was not sure what he meant by the star of fire, but she was sure his assumption was correct. “I was made by a man,” she said truthfully. It was not from memory she knew this, but with the same kind of instinct that kept her breathing and blinking without having to think about it. “Generations ago in the underground, not that I remember.”

“You’re old then?”

She shook her head. “No. My mind isn’t.”

The elf smiled at her answer and climbed down the rock, walking to her side. He crouched beside her, peered into her eyes, and again smiled as if he had heard something funny. “I don’t think you are where you belong.”

Sava tilted her head thoughtfully even though she was unsure if she could derive much thought from his statement. Only a question. “Where do I belong?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the elf chuckled. “I don’t even know what you are. What I do know is that we are not meant to mingle with our makers. Our gods.”

“Why is that?”

“We will never be equal.” He pointed back to the camp. “You see these men. You say you are made by them. That means you cannot be one of them. If you are their lesser, they will beat you down because they can. If you are their better, they will beat you down so you’ll never find out.” He opened his hands and grinned. “So you do not belong with them.”

“Which am I?” The people Sava was around had always commended the wisdom of elves so it only seemed natural to ask.

He shook his head though. “It does not matter.”

Sava was sure that if she had enough time to think on that she would be able to figure out why it did not matter. She smiled and capped her canteen. “I’ve never been alone before.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“It is.” She nodded to the camp. “I don’t know a lot but I’m sure I’ve always been with Leo’s kin. His ancestor was the one who made me, named me, and gave me a meaning.”

“And what meaning is that?”

In her mind, she saw blood, heard screams, and smelled the familiar reek of death. “I don’t remember that much,” she lied. She was reminded of her purpose and did not want to scare this elf away by admitting to it. He was being kind and it was such a rare thing to encounter. It made her feel… warmer. As if her heart could push more blood through her body.

“Perhaps then it wasn’t a very interesting meaning,” the elf suggested. He stood back up and used his hook to guide the sheep away from the pool. “Perhaps if you’ve been around that long, it is time for something different, away from your gods.”

“I think my gods are everywhere.”

The elf tapped his chin and peered at camp for a moment. “Then not these ones at the very least. You should wander around my kin, the ones blessed by the star of fire.”

Sava thought with near certainty that she should not. But then again, this kind encounter was her first one when she was not also in the company of Leo or one from his bloodline. Perhaps being away from them, the makers of the underground and their descendants, would make it easier to be around the above-grounders.

“Can I call you a friend?” Sava asked the elf before he could turn away.

He paused, smiled, and then let out a short laugh. “I don’t know you well enough to be your friend.”

“What do you need to know?”

Once again, she had managed to render him curious. She swore the tips of his ears even shifted a little from behind his black hair. “A name,” he suggested.

“Sava.” It was interesting to give her name away so freely, almost defiant.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sava,” he said, very sure of himself. “I am Gamende of the Temple of Akdohr. If you are ever in need of a sanctuary, you may find one with us.” He reached into his shirt and withdrew a pendant hanging around his neck.

Sava took it as he offered it to her, realizing the pendant had been made from a very small turtle shell, carved with runes she could not begin to decipher. “Is this magic?”

Gamende chuckled and shook his head. “No. I would not share the magic of the temple to an outsider. Even a friend. That is simply proof that you are my friend. A key to enter if you will.” He tilted his head. “Just don’t try using it to open any doors. It won’t work.”

Sava nodded seriously. “I’ll try to remember that.”

The shepherd inclined his head respectfully and guided his sheep from the water once more. “Take care of yourself, Sava. And consider what I said. If for no other reason than to consider the advice of a stranger. I take it you do not get a lot.”

Sava watched the elf leave, mumbling his name under her breath a few times so she would remember it. Something told her that she would, perhaps even better than the rotting thing in the caverns of the excavation site. Brother…

No, if anything she would like to think of Gamende of the Temple of Akdohr as a brother, if only for a moment. He was a friend, the only one she ever had, she suspected. Friends, as she understood them, gave good advice and gifts, not orders.

The warm feeling filled her again and she hung the leather cord with the turtle shell on it around her neck. She looked down at it where it rested over her stained tunic, then decided to tuck it inside her shirt where it would not be seen. A friend, a gift, and now a secret, all in one evening.

Sava sat by the water for a little while, repeating the name over and over in her mind until it was as surely imprinted there as her own, unable to help her smiling or the lingering warmth inside her. Perhaps it was a spell, perhaps Gamende had lied and the pendant really was magic in that it made her feel… good. Not that she would complain.

When the world had turned dark enough for the stars to shine with their vigor, Sava rose, dusted her trousers, and gathered her belongings. She was, for the first time, sure that she wanted to do something. Rather than walk back to the campsite, she studied the stars for a moment to make sure she could follow their direction, and began to walk north.

She would try to sleep another night but for now, she wanted to abandon her gods.

#untitled wip #am writing #writblr #monster #fantasy #science fiction #after the dark below

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ampleappleamble · 4 years

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"...Did I fuck this up?"

Edér looked up from his whittling, focusing his good eye on the little woman. The other eye was still swollen shut, shiny and painful from their fight against his late Lord, but with some rest and the help of Raedric's priests-- Kolsc's priests, now-- he and the rest of his friends would be good as new for the trek back to Caed Nua tomorrow.

"Ain't too many ways I can think of to fuck up killin' a terrible murderin' bastard like Raedric," he mumbled around his mouthful of smoke, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Unless y' think we didn't kill him enough, or somethin'."

Axa's lips smiled, but the rest of her face did not follow suit. Her party was spending the night in a corner of the Berathian priests' sleeping quarters in Raedric's sanctuary, and she sat on her borrowed bed gently rocking to and fro, her knees drawn up to her chest, her sharp little nails worrying tiny holes in her trousers.

"The Legacy makes men mad. Perhaps it does worse to women. I do not know." Raedric had looked Axa over, then, had glanced toward his bedchamber where his own wife lay dead in their marital bed--

"No, we killed him exactly the right amount, I think." The smile was already gone, soundly quashed by the memory. "I just... feel like I may have acted in haste here. Like there's something I'm missing about all this that's going to bite me in the ass later, when I least expect it." She pressed her chin into her knees, curling up as tightly into herself as she could.

--if i make myself small enough i can just hide away from all this and no one will see me--

Kana chuckled, idly leafing through a massive tome that dwarfed even his sizable lap as he reclined in the worn armchair next to Axa's bed. "Yes, it is a rough sea, the world of the ruling class! So many nerve-wracking social calculations to make, always looking over one's shoulder... The political alliances to take into account, then the family alliances... But even the Ranga Nui himself and his own son are at ideological odds! And if you're discovered as a fair-weather friend, paying lip service to either or both--"

"I think," Aloth interrupted, "perhaps, that you've made your point, Kana." The elf was just as irritable now as he had been the morning that old drunk had showed up at Caed Nua, and his half-healed broken rib was not helping to improve his mood.

And now the in-fighting begins in the Lady of Caed Nua's inner circle. Axa felt her guts redouble their efforts to destroy themselves, anxiety churning inside her like acid. "Gods, I'm ill-suited for this politicking horseshit. Why did I think I could do this? I'm Ixamitli, we don't... nobody 'owns' the land, that's not how--"

"Oh, don't get me wrong!" Kana pressed on, seemingly oblivious to Aloth's peevish attitude. "Just as hard lands forge strong people, rough seas often yield great rewards. For instance, when we return to Caed Nua on the morrow, we can look forward to seeing your Brighthollow manse restored to its former beauty and prestige! Well, in part, anyway. All because of your actions here today and Kolsc's gratitude!"

"And even if you weren't gettin' somethin' out of it," Edér added, "you're the kinda lady can't rest without knowing you did the best thing y' could. Point being, y' had to do something, long-term consequences be damned. And like I said earlier, if y' have to do something, it's hard to go wrong with killing a mass-murdering shitheel like Raedric. No matter how bad Kolsc might turn out to be, better him than what we had goin' on before." He casually brushed the wood shavings from his lap, either ignoring or unaware of the annoyed glares and whispers from the priests in the room.

Axa glanced across the room at Aloth, who simply lay on his back in his bed in the corner, eyes screwed shut, his grimoire too heavy to hold in his lap without irritating his wounds. "Maybe," she sighed, lifting her head from her knees, "I should just hire on an advisor. Someone who actually knows what they're doing, to help me navigate these choppy waters." Her gaze flicked to Kana, a wicked little grin popping up on her face. "You know anyone who needs a job?"

The aumaua laughed, a thunderous noise that filled the small room. "Everyone I know is either in this room or in Rauatai, my friend! But I take your meaning. However, my own experience with the gentry is limited to the court of the Ranga Nui, a profoundly different environment from the one in which you find yourself, so I'm afraid I'd be more of a hindrance than a boon. And--" He glanced over at Edér, his smile half apologetic and half cheeky-- "I hope he'll forgive me for saying so, but our Edér doesn't seem like the sort to hobnob with the nobility."

The folk man snorted. "What tipped y' off?"

"That leaves you, Aloth," Kana continued, smiling in the elf's direction. "If I recall, you were raised among the gentry in Aedyr, were you not? That's a bit closer to the political system and aristocratic power structure here; any insight you have into that world would surely be invaluable to our Watcher. You're qualified, intelligent, you're clearly quite learned, you're... capable in battle. Why, you even came to the Dyrwood with the express purpose of finding a patron!" He was getting excited now, leaning forward in his seat, gesticulating passionately. "And here she is! What marvelous serendipity!"

Axa couldn't help but be charmed by Kana's enthusiasm, and she appreciated his effort to lift the wizard's spirits. "That's not a bad idea, actually. What say, Aloth?" She couldn't see his face from where he lay, but she could see his ears were bright red.

Not a fan of being the center of attention, I see. She felt a sudden surge of sympathy and warmth towards the man, and found her own ears reddening soon thereafter.

"I wouldn't take the gig 'f I were you. She can't even pay you, 's what I heard." Edér winked at her, taking his attention away from his whittling for just a second, then hissed with pain and surprise as his knife slipped.

Kana shook his head, his grin as wide as ever as he regarded the farmer with pity. "O, poor man! He who thinks coin is the sole and lone benefit of working for a prestigious, powerful woman like our Watcher! The true rewards of such a vocation are not in material wealth, my friend, but in the challenge! Rebuilding the glorious Caed Nua from the crumbling ruins... The intrigue of the political world of the Dyrwood... the tension, the drama... not to mention the treasure trove of ancient Engwithan secrets just waiting to be discovered in the Endless Paths!" He sighed like a lovestruck maiden telling her friends of her handsome beau. "Ah! I'm so envious. Were I more well-suited to the position, I'd have accepted her first offer in an instant! As it is, it seems I'll have to settle for hired muscle. Either way, I couldn't ask for a finer directress!" Now Axa's entire face was getting warm, and she found herself unable to look at Kana, although she could feel his eyes on her, his smile, warming her like gentle spring sunlight.

"Aye, I wager ye'd leap at a position 'neath 'er, slick-a-britches."

Aloth very quickly clapped a hand over his open mouth-- the loud pop! filling the little room-- and then came the long, shuddering groan of pain muffled behind his fingers, the sudden movement having yanked at his sore ribs.

Axa immediately flopped over onto her side, laughing like Hel, unable to stop herself. Edér's eyebrows leapt up his forehead, surprise and delight clear on his face, his wounded thumb stuck firmly in his mouth.

"...She seems impressed. I think you've got the job, my friend!" Kana chuckled, flipping to a new page in his gigantic book. He paused, considering, and then leaned forward in his seat, cocking his head with curiosity. "...Did you say 'slick-a-britches'?"

"No. I didn't. I said nothing." The elf's voice was quiet and short and clipped. "I'm in immense pain and I'm speaking complete and utter idiotic meaningless nonsense. ...Can we please talk about anything else." Axa was still giggling, tip of her tongue sticking out between her front teeth. He squirmed with embarrassment, and it hurt.

"As you say. How about this animancy research?" The scholar lifted the huge tome on his lap, tilting it up to show Edér as he crossed the room to wash and wrap his thumb. "I'm no animancer, to be sure, but from what little I've managed to decipher from Osyra's records, she may have been onto something!"

Aloth bristled, his breath hitching as he exhaled a bit too sharply. He had said 'anything else,' hadn't he. "All any animancer has accomplished, at the very best, is to swell their own ego and their own coinpurse. In particular, Osrya was a dangerous, insane monster who mutated kith into abominations. I have no interest whatsoever in reading anything that woman may have seen fit to record."

Anyone else would take the man's curt tone and disparaging language as the opposite of an invitation to continue. Kana continued with renewed gusto, "But if what Osrya posits is true-- and as far as I can tell, her methods are logically sound, if not morally-- why, then this may just provide the solution to the Legacy that the Dyrwood has been searching for these 15 long years!"

Axa had stopped laughing a while back, but only now did she sit back up. She remembered the animancer's words, recited them aloud with an accuracy she would not ordinarily expect from herself--

"It must be a localized effect. Something which strips the soul from a body, as the bîaŵacs are known to do. I have detected, even so, lingering traces of essence upon the bodies of so-called Hollowborn. This suggests that the soul itself has not been wholly destroyed. It remains, I think, intact somewhere."

Everyone-- even Aloth, lifting his head from his pillows-- looked at her, dumbstruck. The few priests remaining in the room hurriedly shuffled out, angrily whispering prayers to ward their souls against blasphemers.

"Um." She coughed, suddenly uncomfortably self-conscious. "That was... what she had to say, anyway. Before we killed her. ...If I'm remembering correctly."

"That's... what's in here, more or less, yes," Kana blurted, his ever-present grin tinged with nervousness as he shut the enormous book.

"So, what," Edér drawled, squinting at his half-finished carving as he turned it this way and that, "Hollowborn got a soul, but... somethin' or, or someone takes it from 'em soon as they're born?" He furrowed his brow, frowned at a blotch of red on the misshapen wooden thing in his hand. "And... what, hides 'em somewhere? Eats 'em? Why?"

"That would depend, it seems, on who or what is manipulating the souls, I would think." Kana actually frowned, now, staring blankly into the book. "Although I'd be hard-pressed to identify a creature capable of manipulating souls on this grand a scale, for this long, with this much apparent ease and consistency... short of, perhaps, a god." He glanced furtively at Edér, holding up his huge hands in deference. "Not that I'm attempting to implicate any particular deity..."

The farmer shook his head slowly, eyes shut tight with conviction. "Don't worry about me thinkin' that. Like I said before-- I can't and won't believe that Eothas was the kinda god would do somethin' like this."

"Do you believe, then, as some in your country do, that the recent prevalence of animancy is to blame?" The scholar was fumbling for a bit of charcoal, now, eager to take notes. "Keep in mind, the Vailian Republics has not suffered a similar Hollowing despite being the leading animancy practitioners on Eora--"

"Whether the recent uptick in animancy has caused the Legacy by inviting the ire of the gods is nigh impossible to know, and thus pointless to discuss," Aloth interjected, "although I certainly wouldn't put it past many of the gods to come up with a bizarre, horrific punishment like the Legacy in retribution for any slight from us kith, real or perceived.” He glanced balefully at the door the Berathians had shut behind them as they’d left. “What can be meritoriously discussed is what to do about the unbridled, barely educated charlatans taking advantage of a terrified and exhausted populace, using the Hollowborn crisis to feed their sick curiosity and their pocketbooks both. That is the everyday reality of animancy that must be dealt with in the Dyrwood." He winced in pain, his impassioned argument a bit too much for his battered body. "...Ahem. In my opinion."

"I don't think I know enough about any of it to have much of an opinion about it, bein' honest." Edér scratched the back of his neck, squinting in confusion as Kana eagerly copied down the conversation, his attention ping-ponging excitedly between each successive speaker. "I feel like that whole world is way, way beyond my ken." He smiled over at the orlan, glad to see her relaxing and engaging with other kith instead of clutching her knees and staring into the middle distance. He'd seen enough of that during the Saint's War. "...Although some of 'em are tryin' to do somethin' about the Legacy, at least. I guess. This animancer was a crazy piece of shit, but she's also the only animancer I ever met, 's far's I know. So I don't really got a lot to go on. Y'know?"

"Caldara was sweet, and extremely helpful." Axa felt an odd little tug of nostalgia at the memory of the dwarf, her warm, motherly smile. "Of course, she was also dead when I met her. So you'll kind of have to take my word for it. That said, ultimately I have to agree with you: I don't know enough about animancy to pass any sort of judgment on it just yet. It seems potentially useful, perhaps even miraculously so, but also extremely volatile and dangerous." The little woman paused, stretching her sore limbs, and then laid back down on the bed with a long, cathartic sigh. "Perhaps once we reach Defiance Bay, we can get a clearer picture of what the day-to-day animancy trade is really like. Until then, I must, in good conscience, reserve all judgment on the subject."

"A wise choice, but a laborious one. Never let it be said that our Watcher takes the easy way out!" Kana rose from his seat as he spoke, seeing that the orlan was getting ready to settle in for the night, and crossed the room to his loaner bed. "Speaking of hardships, I've heard tell that the poor weather over the last few days may have delayed the work on Caed Nua's eastern barbican. If, once we return, we find that to be the case... and if you're amenable to a bit of dungeon crawling after all this fresh air and sunshine..."

Axa half-groaned and half-laughed, like a good-natured mother finally losing patience with her annoying toddler. "Yes, Kana, I promise we will explore the Endless Paths. I already promised you before, too, remember?"

"Forgive me!" Kana chuckled as he reclined, his feet dangling over the edge of the too-small bed. "I don't mean to wheedle you, rest assured. But once I get an idea in my head, I tend to focus on it so intently as to neglect politesse!"

"We've noticed," Aloth grumbled.

The massive aumaua turned to Aloth in the bed next to his, smiling still. "That reminds me-- I've never heard that one before, 'slick-a-britches'. Did you mean to say I slicken others' breeches-- or britches, as you say-- or did you mean my own breeches are slick? As in, ah, lubricated for easier removal? I didn't even know you spoke Hylspeak! You must teach me some!" He wore no malice on his face, only open, honest wonder, and for some reason that bothered Aloth more than if the aumaua had been outwardly hostile.

Axa cackled maniacally in her bed, thrashing her limbs and rolling about. Aloth slowly, deliberately pulled his coverlet up over his chin, then his nose, then his brow. His facial expression did not change.

---

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #wip #i finally finally feel satisfied with this bit #only one more longer bit and one more shorter bit to write before the chapter's finally done~#this was v fun to write but o my god it took five false starts and almost a month to compose a first draft

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thesolitarystripe · 3 years

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Any World of Warcraft Fans?

This is a scene I have been sitting on for, forever. Well, since last expansion. I write a lot of lore about my guild and original character in the game World of Warcraft. While I do not own any of Blizzard Entertainment’s characters or anything else in the world of Azeroth, Tindyl’s story is absolutely my own. If anyone was curious, I dreamt up this scene while listening to this song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L7kF4MXXCoA

There is also a second part to this scene that came to mind later on and over a different song so I may write that up next, or at some point. Anyway, this was fun. It’s nice to get away from the writing prompts every once in a while and write something else. If people enjoy the Tindyl series, I have a lot of content written about her that I would be happy to share and elaborate on. Most of these characters have been written about and introduced in all the previous writings I’ve made but they are all based on actual raiders in my guild. Some are still here and some are not. If they weren’t given a name within the story, it is safe to assume they are no longer in my life but they included in the story because sometimes side characters don’t stick around forever.

If you’re a WoW nerd too, let me know!

Let go.

That insidious voice. It spoke, it wouldn’t stop speaking.

Such a heavy burden you carry. Soon you will be free of it.

Tindyl blinked wildly, as if the words were made of acid, blistering her eyes and eyes as shadows clouded her horizon. Where was she? The voices of her allies seemed so far away. “Tindyl!” That was…who? The archdruid settled her hand against her forehead, knee coming down to the fleshy ground stained a sickening purple with hues of crimson pustules and jagged openings like wounds etched inside flesh. Ny’alotha. The Waking City. Wasn’t that where she was? Tindyl looked at the ground but saw only grass; her hand pressed flat against the blades that were no longer the emerald green of her childhood but black and charred. Swiftly, her head shot up and her skin was painted in streaks of orange. Fire. So much fire. Teldrassil! Tindyl was off her knees and running, the screams of her kin drowning out the whispering that sucked her deeper into madness. The Kaldorei leapt over a fallen branch, the limb blazing upon what was once scared ground. Their home. Two feet turned into four, claws printing in deep against the soot covered ground as the long feline body surged forward.

“An’da!” Tindyl was running toward the fleeting shadow of a male night elf. The large figure shapeshifted from elf to bear. Her father, it had to be. She could see him in the distance, tossing others over his hulking shoulders and carrying them out of the flames that engulfed their home. The smoke was suffocating, she choked on its thick plumes but didn’t dare slow her pace as she ran after her father—she had not seen him in…She had not seen him since Teldrassil fell. Tindyl stopped, body transfiguring again until she was whole and back upon two legs. A night elf. “An’da,” her voice was softer, weary eyes following the shade of her father who never looked back. She had lost him already. This was not reality.

All alone in the depths…

That voice. Tindyl covered her ears, grit her teeth and shook her head, eyes falling closed against the deceit spread before her. These visions were not her own, her father was already dead.

“Tindyl!” The night elf opened her eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. The world had returned, her present moment. The images of Teldrassil, the fallen, the smoke and blood, vanished. She knew that voice. Tindyl turned her head and saw her dearest friend, the pandaren’s hand was outstretched as if the physical contact would solidify her friend in time and space. They just needed to touch. All around them the eyes of The Corruptor sprouted out of the ground, shrieking and hideous. Tindyl’s eyes swept the battlefield, taking account of her people and those that still stood. Her guild fought bravely, fighting against their own demons surely as N’zoth infiltrated the quiet corners of their minds. She turned to Kagurah, took a single step before she staggered backward in the face of an enraged ally. Their paladin. He had succumbed to the madness.

“Highlord,” Tindyl held out a hand, but the man was charging toward her with sword drawn. “Forgive me,” she whispered as her hands pushed forward and the winds of their natural word rushed out from her fingertips. The gust knocked the paladin back but only stalled him. Kagurah summoned a totem, seeing the change in their once trusted ally who now sought to see their leader’s blood. Before the totem’s effect could stop the human, a great hammer brimming with light struck Tindyl and brought her, stunned, to her knees.

“Tindyl!” Tindyl knew that voice, even in her weakened state where her limbs would not obey her mind. Her warrior. Eyes flickered over and caught the fading vision of her lover, his black hair whipping around his face as he thrust his sword up and into one of the looming eyes; his shield was held up to block a counter assault as he looked over his shoulder just in time to watch the hammer drop and strike down the Archdruid. Tindyl wished she could have comforted him. The look of worry on his face made her heart sink. That was her last thought as she flopped backward, lying upon the ground where the paladin had stunned her. Everything grew dim, the edges of her vision blurred. There was a vague recognition of Kagurah’s magic swirling about her in attempt to heal but Tindyl was sinking, being swallowed up by the darkness. It was quiet, almost…comforting.

“Tindyl.” A new voice. No, an old voice. “Tindyl.” How much time had passed between Tindyl’s body thumping against the ground to the moment her eyes peeled open, she couldn’t say but when she opened them and the haze began to clear away, she looked up at the ethereal form of her father.

“An’da?” Her voice croaked as if it had been unused for centuries. Her father’s arms slipped beneath hers, seeming to lift her up.

“On your feet,” he commanded gently, his face more tender than Tindyl ever remembered seeing it before. There was so much left unsaid between them after she had chosen to join the Alliance. Bai’len, the Guardian druid set like thick roots in his old ways—he disagreed with her choice and more so, hated her pursuance of healing magics. Tindyl’s lips parted as if to speak but all she could manage was to stare at him, eyes glittering even in the dank lighting of the old god’s lair. “Do you not remember who you are? Where you’ve come from? Your people are with you now.” As her father spoke, Tindyl looked away only for a moment and felt more sets of hands pressing her spine upward, setting her on her feet. She saw the ghostly white fingers that held her up in tandem with the strong arms of her father.

“An’da, I’m sorry.” Tindyl wept silently, tears cascading down her cheeks as the light within her faded.

“My child,” Bai’len’s rough fingers curled around Tindyl’s jaw, dwarfing her. “Stand firm in who you are. Feel the strength of your ancestors restore you. Remember who you are and who you were meant to be, hm?” Tindyl’s brow furrowed as her father looked out to where her allies still fought, even in the wake of her loss. They were covered in blood, some brought to their knees as weapons were knocked from their grasp. N’zoth was slithering into their minds, exposing their grief over the fallen Kaldorei and sinking into their souls. “Save them.” Bai’len looked at Tindyl. “Elune makes no mistakes,” his hand shifted from her jaw to the plump curve of her cheek. “Heal them.” The permission to use her gifts from her father. It was like a door had opened within her heart. Tindyl’s arms flew up above her, eyes searching for the light that beamed down upon her like Elune herself reached down her moonlit tendrils and washed away the corruption from her favored druid’s mind. The peaceful rains of Tranquility fell over their party. Hibikami, once brought to his knee felt the renewal of his ferocity, scraped up his axe and heaved it in one mighty blow. The weapon sliced through the air and planted within the sclera of one of N’zoth’s eyes. The creature wailed and fell. The dwarf laughed, sprinted forward to collect his weapon only to chop down another crying stalk. Kagurah looked to where Tindyl’s body had rested when she felt the rain, it could have only come from their Archdruid.

All the while, Bai’len held his daughter, smiling. Tindyl’s eyes had left the spotlight that Elune shined down upon her, glued now to her father’s face. She wanted to stay in the moment for the rest of her long life. Bai’len looked down at her and their eyes met. They regarded one another for several moments before Tindyl was snatched out of her father’s arms. The druid yelped softly, tumbling across the floor and into the torso of their human priest. A life grip.

“Tindyl, are you alright?” The human was touching her shoulder, but the moment Tindyl righted herself and crawled back on her knees she was looking back toward where her father had held her. Where she’d felt the embrace of her people holding her up. They were all gone. Breath came in short, rapid puffs as she held her gaze longer, hopeful that Bai’len would return. It was nothing more than a fleeting vision sent to her by Elune, perhaps. “Archdruid!”

“I’m fine,” she said suddenly, coming to her senses and feeling the weight of her responsibility. While she grieved upon the ground her guild still fought. A quick swipe at her eyes and she was nodding. “I’m fine,” she said again as she rose to her feet. The priest stood with her; hands latched on to Tindyl’s arm. There was a lull in the fight. Everyone paused and looked to her both with relief and concern. They were taxed. Exceedingly tired. “My friends,” she panted softly, seeing the despair in their eyes. Tindyl shook her head, “do not succumb to the darkness, drown out the whispers of N’zoth. Stand firm in who you are.” The words of her father echoed within the grotesque halls, and she felt emboldened. “Do not forget why you are here, why we fight.” Tindyl bared her canines, “For Azeroth!” A rally of cries reverberated the air, sending a new pulsing energy through their party. Tindyl’s body conformed to the four-legged feline once more, she leapt through the air, claws sinking in to a newly sprouted eye. It shrieked as her fangs sunk into its bulbous head, it bled and wilted to the ground. The cat sprinted alongside Kagurah, rubbing along the Pandaren’s hip once as they exchanged a look. ‘Don’t die on me again.’ Tindyl could hear it now. The cat grinned, a growl wrapped around it before the two dove back into battle.

Back-to-back they fought. Wisps of water flowed up and out as Kagurah spread her healing rain and the leaves of Tindyl’s magic swirled around her allies, mending their wounds. Their third healer, the priest, joined them a glittering ring formed around him and pulsed outward to strengthen and heal their allies. Together, they would save their home. For the Alliance, for the horde, and for all the lives lost throughout the trials of both sides.

#world of warcraft #writing #creative writing #oc #thesolitarystripe #wow oc #tindyl #Author

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tevivinter · 4 years

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just know that I would die for you

here’s a small fic I’ve created to celebrate the 2020 Zevwarden week :)

Fandom: Dragon Age

Rating: Teen (might change later)

Pairing: Zevran/Darya Aeducan

Chapter 1: Admiration

[read on ao3] Embers crackled in the dead of the night. A faint smell of stew lingered in the air, a reminder of their dinner coming from the empty cooking pot. Darya sat by the fire, eyes focused on the task of sharpening her axe with a knife. She had been at it for quite a while, merely nodding in response as her companions retired for their tents one by one. It didn't take long before she and Zevran were left alone.

"So, these Crows of yours." Darya began, blades still grinding against one another with a metallic sound. "How long until they come after you?"

They haven't had the chance to talk much ever since Zevran joined the group. It had been only a few weeks after all, and he quickly noticed how busy she were. It was somehow endearing to watch Darya command the party – giving out orders and coming up with strategies seemed like a natural thing for her, like she was born to lead. Zevran turned his head to face her, elbow resting on his raised knee. "Hmm. I'm afraid I can't give you an answer to that, my dear warden. I honestly have no idea – though I'm sure a capable woman such as yourself should not worry."

Darya scoffed at his obvious flirting. "It would take much more than a couple assassins to worry me, elf. Still…" She paused to analyze her blade, silently checking out her progress. "That’s a fancy way of saying that they could appear at any moment," she continued. Zevran suppressed a chuckle, though he couldn't stop the corner of his lips from twitching slightly. "Well, I imagine it will take some time for them to realize that I’m not dead. Maybe a few weeks? One month? One can never tell," he shrugged.

Darya raised one suspicious brow. "Now there’s an interesting development from someone who claimed not to know anything."

Zevran's smirk grew. He was too familiar with sarcasm. "Ah, but there is a difference between knowing and trying to make a guess, no?" He watched her reactions carefully as if threading through broken glass. Darya remained focused on her task despite his attempt to joke – he couldn't really blame her for being suspicious after all. Zevran crossed his legs then. "It’s the truth, though. I have no reasons to lie to you."

"Is that so?" Darya stared at him for a moment, the knife suddenly coming to a halt. He didn't seem to be lying, but then again, she knew better than to trust empty words. "I have been wondering, Zevran…"

Zevran's gaze followed her as she stood up, fingers loosely wrapped around the grip of her axe. Darya moved in closer until there were only a few inches keeping them apart. Then she raised her blade, using it to gently tilt his chin up.

"Let’s say you manage to earn my trust." She began, voice dropping to a lower tone so that no one else could hear them. "What would possibly stop you from finishing the job then? An unexpected sense of honor, perhaps?"

The way she almost purred the words made Zevran swallow in anticipation, holding her stare as she did so. Somehow she managed to be attractive and intimidating at the same time – and from the looks of it she was well aware of that. There was a tinge of heat in her amber eyes, the campfire casting an orange light over her features. Zevran couldn't help but notice the sharp lines of her jaw, how they were framed by soft waves of golden hair. She always wore her hair tied up, a low ponytail that rested on her left shoulder. She would probably look just as stunning with her hair down, if not more.

Zevran felt his voice drop as well, eyes never leaving hers. "Would it be too hard to believe that I just want to follow you?"

Another scoff, but this time there was a hint of amusement in her tone. "You seriously expect me to believe in that?"

Zevran smiled, not minding the axe dangerously close to his neck. The blade stood cold and sharp under his chin. "As shocking as that might sound, I am not one to turn against my benefactors." A brief pause, and Darya watched as his eyes roamed her face in quick inspection. "Especially not one as beautiful as yourself," he added.

A slight frown brought her brows together. She was not used to have people defying her like that – one would normally shrink in fear when facing her in such way. Darya was known to be intimidating, and yet Zevran didn't seem to be affected by any of that. He stared back at her, unflinching, with a smirk on his lips nonetheless.

Was he always cocky like that? If so, how did he manage to stay alive for such a long time?

A brief moment of silence went by, tension making the air grow thick with anticipation. The camp seemed like a distant memory then, and every little noise seemed to vanish until the sound of their own breathing was the only one left. Darya didn't mind the small distance between them, instead taking the opportunity to properly look at him. She followed the shape of his tattoo, noticing how the elegant curves contributed to highlight his cheekbones. A single strand of blond hair hanged above his other cheek, creating a fine contrast against tan skin. There was something… different about Zevran, something she couldn't quite place yet. At least he wasn't so bad looking after all.

Darya pulled the axe away from his throat. "If you’re hoping to make me swoon, handsome, you might want to think of other ways to do that." She smirked, sarcasm dripping from her voice when she pronounced his new nickname. "Cheap flattery won’t work with me."

Zevran let out a low laugh, warmth dancing in his eyes. "Ah. It’s no flattery to simply state the truth, bela.”

The foreign word seemed strange to her ears, though it was clearly some kind of response to his nickname. She ignored it. "Yes, you seem to be doing a lot of that lately." Her gaze drifted down to Zevran's body before returning to his brown eyes. "How unfortunate for the Crows to lose such an honest assassin."

Their usual height difference became inverted with Zevran sitting on the ground. He wouldn't complain about the view, though, gladly tilting his head up to face her. "I know, right? How will they ever make it without me? Tsc, such a great loss."

A few more seconds of staring, but this time Zevran could easily picture the gears turning inside her head. Darya had something on her mind, he just didn't know what - and the fact she was so hard to read made him feel frustrated and drawn to her in equal measure. She was likely debating whether to keep him alive, but then again, she would have killed him already if she really wanted to. Maybe it had something to do with trusting him? The suspense would soon drive him mad, and his breath caught in his chest when Darya decided to speak again.

"I'll see you tomorrow." A simple statement, one that made Zevran's shoulders drop a bit with relief. He nodded goodbye to her, offering one last smirk before she turned away.

Things would surely be interesting from now on.

#my writing #darya aeducan #zevran arainai #zevwarden week 2020 #zevwarden #dragon age

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dollswow · 3 years

Text

Encounter

A story about my warcraft oc’s, Lyrinde and Tsuuli I’ve been writing on and off for a little while now, about how they meet.

Characters: Lyrinde (night elf demon hunter) & Tsuuli (Zandalari troll paladin)

Story: ~4800 words (jfc, me), non-explicit sexual situations, minor sass. Set shortly after end of the 4th war.

As far as being stranded in what was questionably enemy territory went, Lyrinde supposed it could be worse. She floated lazily in a small, refreshingly chill pool near the summit of one of Zuldazar’s lush mountain peaks. The blaze of the late morning sun was oppressive as ever. It was tempered though by the cool water, the foliage overhead filtering some of the sun’s rays out, and the general peace of her crash site.

She spared a thought and a frown for her poor mount’s condition, after their escape from a flock of especially aggressive pterrordaxes flying through Nazmir’s southern swamps. Lixahl was formidable both in a fight and in flight, and her sharp talons and agile maneuvers had secured their escape. Somehow though, the steep ascent of their chase into Zandalar’s main province had caused her to sprain a wing. They’d landed on the top of an isolated mountain, where Lyrinde had been quick to immobilize the felbat’s injured limb. Searching for cover around the summit, it wasn’t very long at all before they located a dusty, disused cave perfect for Lixahl to roost in while she recuperated. Following the sound of water a little ways out from the cave and through the vegetation, Lyrinde came upon the clearing where she now rested.

Of course, proper safety measures had been taken. Once she’d taken water back to Lixahl and secured the site, she used the strange Gnomish messaging device given to her for just such an emergency, to communicate her location and predicament to the extraction team. The site seemed truly secluded, with thick overgrowth showing no footpaths up, and only signs of sparse wildlife tracks. She had little else to do but wait.

The machine sent a small drone carrying her message to a predetermined location. A homing device of sorts, though she’d soon gotten lost in the technical terms of Kelsey’s explanation of exactly how it worked. All she remembered was that it would probably be a day or so before she could expect any kind of return communication.

She sighed, and sank a little further into the water with the exhale. If circumstances had been different, the location would be idyllic. Idle birdsong, nearly drowned out by the soft bubbling of the wellspring feeding the pool, and the whispering rush and distant crash of the waterfall spilling from it’s rocky edge, combined with the warmth of the sun on her body, the cool feel of her hair swirling about her in the water, unbound from it’s tight braid for once, the gentle rustling of the brush and a twig snapping—

She was lunging out of the water in a blink, already gripping the glaives she’d placed at the pool’s edge for just such a necessity, growling as she swung the sharpened blades into place; one to rest at the intruder’s throat, one poised and ready to slice him across his belly.

“How did you find me?!” Lyrinde demanded, teeth bared in a snarl. “What do you want?”

She was vaguely aware that the tall troll in front of her had dropped a wooden pail he’d been carrying, and seemed to be without weapons or armor. The golden glow of a protective spell shimmered around his body however, marking him out as one of the Zandalari’s elite paladins; capable of wielding the powers of light even without a sword or shield.

He held his hands up at chest level, and though she’d spoken to him in Common out of habit, he answered in Zandali. “I was not looking for you, Miss Elf.” He paused, and his eyes obviously dipped to focus below the blades that were ready to strike. “But what a find to have made, this fine day. The loa have truly blessed me.”

Lyrinde then took time to realize the pail he had been carrying seemed to be full of bathing supplies, and also to recall that her clothing was drying on a nearby rock, where she’d laid it after washing the dirt of travel out of it. It had seemed fortuitous that she’d had the opportunity to clean her garments as well as bathe at the time, but now she was caught out, literally naked.

At least she had her weapons. Even if Horde and Alliance were at a truce for the moment, she could hardly expect that a troll wouldn’t be opposed to her presence in his home territory. The war was barely over, after all. She backed away, weapons still at the ready just in case.

“I mean not to intrude upon your lands,” she spoke in halting Zandali, “and will leave at first opportunity.”

“Where is the fun in that?” The paladin’s eyes were back to her face, though he was grinning—actually grinning!—at her now. “I should like to know more about you, and how it came to be that the loa have guided you here, to my private retreat.”

She dropped her weapons a fraction, still wary that he would attack, and said, slowly, “It is only accident that brought me here, nothing more.”

He gave a little “Tsk!” at her and, telegraphing his movements clearly so as not to appear to be readying an attack, knelt to collect his toiletries back into his pail. Once he finished, he stood again and met her eye.

“Miss Elf,” he began, sounding like a lecturer, “this retreat was created by myself and my brother, who used his shamanistic powers to divert the upwelling of water here, where I assisted in the formation of the pool’s borders and, as you may have noticed, seating within the water along the edges for better relaxation, although you had cleverly bypassed such amenities, it would seem, by simply floating—“

“You talk a lot for glorified manual labor,” she cut in, impatient. She gripped her glaives tighter, half expecting him to take offense and decide to attack after all.

He only looked startled for a moment, perhaps needing to parse her strange, stilting accent, then burst out laughing.

She lowered her weapons all the way, relaxing her stance, and frowned at him. He was so taken with giggles that she even saw him wipe a tear from his eye. “Is there something wrong with you?” she demanded.

As he caught his breath, he looked to the sky, ignoring her question and mounting agitation. “Loa help me,” he said, still smiling, “but I think I’m in love.”

She knew he was being facetious, but his words still caused her to take a half step back. Was he trying to lower her guard, in order to take her by surprise for an attack? She needed to be cautious, just in case. There might be other threats nearby. He might not have been alone, only ahead of any others coming, this strange behavior a ploy to distract her until backup arrived.

She empowered her spectral sight, to see deeper into the shadows, through more layers of the jungle surrounding them, to see if he was hiding anything.

Oh… she thought.

“Oh!” she breathed out, involuntary.

His gaze had dropped again, and, well. Expecting treachery lurking in the forest behind him, what she found instead was that he was not unaffected by her appearance, standing in front of him with her weapons drawn, but without armor, without clothing, flushed from the adrenaline and fel fire coursing through her body. It appeared the only thing he was hiding was a growing interest in her nudity.

Well, she was stuck here for at least the day, and possibly the night, too. He was handsome, seemed disinclined to fight, and physically attracted to her. Might as well have some fun, right?

She grinned at him when he realized he’d been caught staring, feral and toothy, and stalked forward.

Lyrinde woke up slowly, warm and heavy-limbed, the impromptu nap leaving her sluggish, but well-rested. As her senses came back to her, she realized several things that should have worried her, and might have if she wasn’t feeling so satisfied.

One of these things was that she wasn’t directly on her bedroll; she was lying on top of a well-muscled, warm body, gently rising and falling with each breath. She could feel hands resting loosely on her lower back. The large, three-fingered hands of a troll.

She knew what she’d done was dangerous and would earn her a lecture, at the very least. Disciplinary action was more probable, armistice be damned. She burrowed her face into the chest beneath her for a moment, and the hands on her back tightened their embrace to hold her more firmly in place. She could tell by the troll’s—Tsuuli, he’d told her was his name—breathing and slow, steady heartbeat that he was still asleep.

He’d certainly earned the rest. It wasn’t every man that could keep up with her.

She chuckled to herself, and the motion must’ve roused Tsuuli, as she felt him beginning to stir. She turned her head to the side, taking in the last vestiges of the sunset blazing around them. They’d begun their activities shortly before midday, and hadn’t gone in for more than a brief respite until perhaps the third hour of the afternoon. Then, they’d finally settled in more or less their current position, after approximately three quarters of an hour together in the spring, cleaning up, getting messy again, and cleaning up all over again.

So the nap had been about two hours. A day well-spent, she thought.

Now though, it was time to send him packing so she could check up on Lixahl, and make sure she was prepared for the extraction team that must be on it’s way.

Bracing her hands on Tsuuli’s broad chest, she made to push herself to her feet. Instead, she found herself being flipped over onto the bedroll beneath them, tangled in the blanket that’d been draped over her backside.

She squawked, and experienced a brief moment of wild fury at being betrayed now, after the time they’d spent together enjoying themselves, her adrenaline spiking as her mind raced, planning for retaliation and a fight likely to the death.

The sting of betrayal Lyrinde felt ebbed away as soon as it’d come however, when she realized Tsuuli was nuzzling at her neck, embracing her as a lover would, not as an enemy searching out vulnerable points. She felt the press of his upturned tusks, his lips moving over the racing pulse in her neck, the deep rumble in his chest as he hummed out a chuckle.

“You thought I was going to try to kill you, yes?” he asked, leisurely stroking her flank with one hand as he continued to kiss his way from just behind her ear down to the juncture of neck and shoulder. He lingered there for a moment, then raised up onto his elbows to look at her.

Her vision was still hazed with green from the expectation of battle, but she could see him peering at her, saw as he brought his hand from her side to rub his thumb over her cheekbone, gently skirting the edge of her blindfold.

She reached up to grasp his wrist, not to move his hand, but to ground herself. He began to lean in, and just before his lips touched hers, she murmured, “You might have tried, but you would not have succeeded.”

“You must go back.”

“Lyrinde, technically, you are the intruder here, being a member of the Alliance in Zuldazar. I know you said you were on your way out of Zandalar, as the terms of the armistice dictate. But, as I am sure you are aware, the Zandalari have allied with the Horde, and from what I have learned over the course of the war—are you making ‘talky’ motions with your hand at me?”

“I am, because you talk incessantly.” Lyrinde sat back from attaching her bedroll to her pack. “An extraction team is coming for me, and it would be unwise for you to be here with me when they arrive.”

It was full dark now, and their only light was from a small campfire in the clearing. Tsuuli sat on the other side of the fire, watching her finish up her preparations. They’d both dressed again, Lyrinde’s hair tied back into it’s long braid. She crouched on her side of the fire, and gazed over at him as he sat quietly, for once, his eyes directed into the flames and seeming pensive, chewing his lower lip.

“If it’s the darkness that you wish to avoid, I can give you a small lantern,” she began. “It would ease your way home—”

She was interrupted by a small, metal thing slamming into her chest. It didn’t hurt, but it’s wild fluttering combined with the impact pushed her back onto her rear from her crouch, and she wrenched it off of herself with a snarl, ready to throw it into the fire.

“Wait—” Tsuuli was kneeling at her side in a heartbeat, one large hand at her back, steadying her, the other gently prying the now still item from her grip. “It is some kind of device, perhaps from your contact?”

She snatched it from his hand, petulant. Then she took a steadying breath and said, “Sorry. You’re right.”

It was similar to the device she’d sent upon arrival, though fashioned after a small bird. She unscrewed the head, “Morbid,” she thought, and pulled out a tightly coiled scroll.

The message was encoded, but easily enough deciphered, as she’d committed the key to memory before setting out on this mission.

She read out loud for Tsuuli’s benefit, “Expect extraction two hours past dawn. Stay safe.”

She let the scroll fall into her lap as she pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, letting out a groan. “I thought they’d be here tonight.”

“Well, no use pouting. We should make the best of it, yes?”

Lyrinde huffed. “We aren’t making the best of anything.” She poked Tsuuli in the chest with one finger. “You still need to go back to your home.”

“Now, now,” Tsuuli soothed, taking her hand in his, “the night will be safer with two of us.” He tipped his head to one side, considering. “You could...come to my home? No,” he dismissed, “no, I live too far into the city, you would be discovered. I will have to stay here with you.” He gave her what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

And damn it all, if he wasn’t growing on her. She let her shoulders slump a little. “I must go check on Lixahl—my mount—” she clarified, “and I’d thought to spend the night in the cave where she rests.”

“Oh, the cave just around the summit from here, yes?” He waited for her confirmation, then continued, “Yes, I know the one. It will provide a perfect shelter from the damp of night. We should smother this fire before moving there.”

Lyrinde briefly thought to warn him off of coming to the cave, that Lixahl was likely to be hostile, but she’d already accepted that he wouldn’t listen. Or more precisely, he’d talk for several minutes without actually saying anything, and then still tag along no matter how much she tried to convince him otherwise. Besides, she had some of the anti-venom that would clear up a bite from Lixahl. It wouldn’t hurt—much.

Probably.

“You said you had a lantern?”

She shook herself out of her reverie to unhook the lantern from her pack. Handing it to him so he could light it with the last of the fire before he covered it over with damp earth, the embers scattered and burnt out. He stood, brushing the dirt from his hands, and holding an arm out to her.

Paladins.

She snorted softly and took it, allowing him to escort her to the cave, through the brush.

Lyrinde couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She stood still, hands uselessly hanging at her sides, mouth slightly open, as she watched Lixahl, fierce matriarch of the felwings of Mardum, happily receive scritches from Tsuuli.

She suspected the sweet tropical fruits he detoured to pick on the way to the cave helped bribe Lixahl’s good favor, but Lyrinde’s mount just really seemed to enjoy the attention. He’d managed to work his way under Lixahl’s armor to scratch behind her ears, which must’ve been the winning move.

“I think she likes me!” he said, unnecessarily.

“I suppose she does,” Lyrinde shrugged, finally moving to action and bending to unclasp her bedroll and lay it out.

She felt him sidle up behind her before he smoothed his hands down her arms, effectively halting her progress, and the rumble of his voice reverberated through her back as he drew her against his chest, “She is a sweet girl, but don’t tell her I like you best.”

Lyrinde turned in his arms and said, “Fancy words when we’ll never see each other again after I get out of here.”

“Nonsense.”

“What do you mean, nonsense?”

“Nonsense!” Tsuuli grinned and held her tighter. “The loa sent me to you. You to me. Do you think I am going to give that up easily?”

Lyrinde huffed, “I crashed, no one sent me—“

“On the very day I decided to visit the grotto, after being away for more than a year! It had been so long, the footpath was completely grown over and wild.” He hunched down, burying his face in her neck. “If it was any other day, I would have missed you.”

She hesitated, then said, “Still, I am leaving. First to Kul Tiras, then back to Stormwind. You are Horde—“

“Meet me in Dalaran.”

“—and, what?”

“I am traveling soon, and will be going to Dalaran in two months time. Meet me there.” He pulled back, resting his hands on either side of her neck, stroking his thumbs over her cheeks. “Please?”

“I—that is not something I can commit to.” She turned her head to gaze in Lixahl’s direction. “I don’t even know what my next assignment is yet,” she murmured.

Tsuuli considered her for a moment, then offered, “Perhaps we can write to each other. I believe the goblins can route mail anywhere, even to members of the Alliance. Do you have spare parchment I can write my address on for you?”

He was coming up with plans all on his own, and Lyrinde could only wordlessly retrieve the writing implements for him, still reeling a little from his invitation as she was. She even let him coax the address of her rooms in Stormwind out of her. At least she wasn’t in the Illidari camp anymore. She doubted she’d be able to receive mail there without nosy demon hunters prying into her affairs. Sometimes others of her kind could be very annoying, she thought with a snort.

“What are you thinking about over there?”

Instead of answering, she shook her head and moved to inspect where he’d finished laying out the bedding. There had been an old fire pit in the back of the cave, and after he’d shown her the vents in the ceiling that lead to the outside and assured her they would not suffocate from smoke inhalation, she’d agreed to let him make a new campfire there. He was quite handy with her flint and tinder kit, and had set the bedroll close by the cheery little blaze. Zuldazar was a warm territory, but at this altitude especially, she’d already begun to feel the chill of night, and was glad for the heat.

She also wondered at Tsuuli, still only wearing the brief wrap about his waist he’d arrived at the grotto in, having only expected to stay for a relaxing bathing session during the heat of day.

As she approached, he stood and moved towards her, his profile glowing with the firelight. “Are you not cold?” she asked as he stepped closer. She absentmindedly lifted a hand up to the golden tattoos on his chest at her eye-level, ghosting her fingers along the bold lines. The muscles of his abdomen contracted, and she looked up to find him gazing at her, an indecipherable look on his face.

“The grace of the loa keeps me warm,” he said before cracking a smirk. “As does my burning passion.”

Lyrinde would’ve rolled her eyes, had she still been in possession of them. She settled for an exaggerated sigh.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are ridiculous?”

“Of course, Miss Elf,” he replied with a laugh. “It is part of my charm!”

“Charm,” she echoed. “I’m not sure that’s the word I would have used.”

As she spoke, however, she reached up to hook a finger around one of his tusks, pulling him down to meet her upturned face.

That’s one way to silence him, she thought, before being lost in the moment.

“Wake up, you oaf!”

“I refuse.”

Tsuuli’s breath puffed against Lyrinde’s neck, and she could feel a deep rumbling hum emanating from his chest, though it was very nearly sub-vocal. He clung to her like a barnacle on a ship; arms wrapped around her middle, and a leg draped over hers, pinning her in his embrace.

She was actually terribly, horribly comfortable, and could’ve luxuriated in such a position for a couple more hours at least. But, dawn was breaking, and she needed to prepare for her rescue party’s arrival.

Tsuuli could not be there when they came. She shuddered to think at what might happen if he were.

“Lyrinde,” he mumbled into her skin.

“Yes?”

“Lyrinde,” he repeated, nuzzling behind her ear.

“Tsuuli,” she said with a little huff.

He finally loosened his grip enough so she could begin to extract herself from the tangle of his limbs. When she was free, she turned where she sat to look at him, still laying on his side and watching her.

He reached a hand out, and ran a finger along her jawline. “You will write to me, yes?”

She thought to just say yes, with no intention of doing so.

“I—”

He sat up to face her, and leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “I will write to you,” he said. “You may reply if you wish.”

“I—I would like to,” she blurted, a little too forcefully. She felt heat in her cheeks. Ridiculous, she thought, frowning. She hadn’t felt shame at facing a would-be enemy while fully nude, but the prospect of corresponding with someone made her stomach flutter? And someone with whom she’d already been extremely intimate?

She shook her head and stood, bouncing on her toes to get the blood flowing into her sleep-heavy limbs. Tsuuli stood as well, shaking out her camp blanket and rolling it neatly, before stooping to do the same with the bedroll. Lyrinde watched him work, efficient and tidy, seemingly at odds with his somewhat goofy personality.

But he -is- a Zandalari paladin, not some common townsman, or foot soldier, she reminded herself.

As she watched him take the bedding to her pack, securing it in place, she decided she could make an effort. It wouldn’t hurt anything, after all, to write a few letters. It would break up the post-war monotony once she was back in Stormwind at least.

Right?

“You really must be going home now,” she began. Tsuuli turned to face her, tall and imposing as he was, looking grave; accepting her statement for the inevitable truth.

He let a breath out, not quite a sigh, but suggesting one. “Yes,” he agreed, “I suppose it is time.”

He turned to face the cave entrance and walked towards Lixahl, stopping to give her a scratch behind the ear. Lyrinde walked up next to him, watching him keenly.

He faced her, and drew in a breath. “Lyrinde,” he began.

She cut him off, reaching up and pulling him down by the neck, standing on her toes to reach him better, kissing the breath out of him. Her fingers found their way into his hair, bumping against the golden circlet he wore, threading through the thick strands to hold him where she wanted him better, anchoring herself as he wound his arms around her and let her take all she wanted.

When she finally relented, sinking back down onto her heels and ducking her head as he stood upright again, she said, into his chest, “Write me, and I will write you back.”

She splayed her hands on his sides, slid them to his stomach and pushed herself a step back, finally looking up at him again. “I will be expecting a letter when I arrive in Stormwind.”

Tsuuli smiled at her, and she was charmed. Reluctantly charmed, but charmed all the same.

“‘Twas a lucky landing spot, it was!”

Lyrinde hummed agreement as the Wildhammer agents strapped Lixahl into the special harness they’d brought to airlift the felbat to the ship. She’d attempted to help, to keep herself occupied when they first arrived, but she’d been very politely shunted off to the side so they could do their work properly without her getting in the way.

Gryphon rescue wasn’t entirely unexpected, and she did like the fierce dwarves, but she still found her mind wandering. Most of all, she wanted to figure out why she was, well, mooning over a troll, of all people.

She sighed.

“Don’t worry lass, the ol’ girl will be just fine and well get ‘er back to the stable master to get fixed up in no time.”

“Thank you,” Lyrinde replied, firmly giving herself a mental shake.

No time for distractions. The dwarves were finishing up their flight preparations, and it was time to leave Zandalar, and everyone in it, for good.

Epilogue

After the third try, Lyrinde finally slotted the key into the keyhole of the door to her rooms. She’d been waylaid nearly an hour and a half ago, getting stopped for drinks and chatter in the inn’s tavern. After several rounds with some friends as well as some new faces, she retrieved her key from the innkeeper and made a stumbling retreat.

She was happy for the warm welcome and the company, but she was tired.

She’d only spent a couple days in Kul Tiras before the long journey by ship back to the Eastern Kingdoms, and finally, finally into Stormwind harbor. With no upcoming missions, and orders only to, “Get some rest, champion!” she fully intended to spend at least a couple days lounging in or near her bed.

Dropping her bags inside the door and tapping the rune on the wall that activated the room’s soft, magical lamps, she locked up behind herself, fully intending to fall flat on her face into the newly refreshed bedding.

She started towards the bedroom to do just that, when something caught her eye—a stack of letters on her table. She wasn’t surprised the staff would’ve brought her mail in when they were preparing her rooms for her return, but that she had mail at all. Unless—

—unless Tsuuli really did write to her.

She honestly thought he wouldn’t, despite his insistence. She’d thought he was caught up in the moment, probably hadn’t bedded many women lately what with the war in his own homeland. She thought he was just eager for companionship and the coincidence of their meeting along with his, well, if she was being honest with herself, both of their desire for a release, no matter if it was a one-time and done, was a lucky happenstance. Lucky their meeting ended with mutual pleasure, and not with bloodshed.

She’d put away all the inconvenient feelings she’d felt at his kind words, infectious smile, and soft touches. Had decided it would just be a memory, and perhaps a scandalous war story to tell at a pub, at some future date, further away from the actual conflict.

Bah, she thought, giving herself a shake. You’re soft when you’re drunk.

She snatched the mail, rifled through it, and found that there was some correspondence from friends she’d made in Stormsong Valley, and even Nazjatar. And two letters that were curiously postmarked, with no discernable return address. She concentrated her slightly wavy vision, and it seemed they bore stamps through—

“Booty Bay! The goblins!”

She covered her mouth in surprise at her vocal outburst, then kicked off her shoes on her way to the bedroom, carrying the letters with her. She flopped on the bed, squinted at the dates on the envelopes, and cracked the seal on the older of the two, only half paying attention to the image of a roaring tiger’s face stamped in the gold wax, and unfolded the pages inside. She then settled further into her bedding and began to read, a smile on her face.

#warcraft #warcraft fic #warcraft oc's #lyrinde #tsuuli #night elf #zandalari troll #demon hunter #paladin #my writing #just part of the story that lives in my head about these two idiots #i love them tho

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the-science-of-stories · 4 years

Text

Find Your Star.

A Dungeons and Dragons fiction writing commission for my buddy Noriaki on Twitter!

They’re part of a campaign I am also a part of with Dahlia and have given me permission to post it here on Tumblr! This was my first writing commission and I couldn’t be happier with it.

Characters that belong to the commissioner:

Star Chaser, Tabaxi Rogue

Aegis Olyrnn, Female Elf

“Huh. I guess this is the place.”

Above the babbling brook that ran through the quaint expanse of a small forest came the voice of an elvish man. He wore the garb and carried the hefty bag of a researcher. Holding up a pamphlet he was using for reference he adjusted his glasses to get a better look.

It was a crude drawing of a small cottage flanked by an abundant garden and a quaint little pond. In front of it stood a couple of stick figure drawings: a woman with dark hair and a small cat-like figure with a cloak.

Lowering the drawing to compare it to the cottage he stood before he gave an affirming nod. His boots clacked against the cobblestone path in melody with the stream and a few home-made wind chimes.

He stepped up onto a creaky patio that led to a wooden door, both showing signs of their age with weathered surfaces. He gave the door a couple of raps with the back of fist before placing his arm behind his back in a patient stance waiting for an answer.

After almost a minute the door creaked open, the sun spilling in onto its residence.

It was a woman. One also of elvish descent with ears poking out of shoulder length dark hair. She wore a set of casual clothes with her hair hanging loose, cascading around her face with evergreen eyes that matched the lush vegetation around her dwelling.

“51 seconds, that’s almost slower than last time.” The researcher observed, pretending to be impressed and earning a tired scowl from the woman.

“I was taking a nap, Farlan,” she groggily answered, looking at his hand, “You received the drawing?”

Farlan raised the paper before turning it around to face the drawing towards the woman, “I would say so, as I found your home.”

The woman stepped aside, gesturing with an arm for the man to follow inside. He gave a thankful nod and stepped through the door.

Taking a look around he was immediately met by lush pots of different flora hanging from the ceiling or resting on shelves. The air itself almost smelled like perfume, something Farlan clearly noticed as he flinched a bit when he took a breath.

“I see you still have your hobby,” he remarked, “Quite an... exotic home.”

“Keerla likes it when she comes here.” Aegis crossed the room to a small stove where she set a kettle on a rack in a quaint fireplace.

“Keerla was busy, so they sent me instead. Like they always do when she’s busy. She’ll be back before you know it. But in the meantime-” Farlan slipped a document out of his bag, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat, “Aegis Olyrnn, my name is Farlan Chaedi of the Harpers Medical Wing. I will be your substitute physician for this visit. Do you accept my treatment?”

The woman turned around, now holding two mugs that she set down on the table with a firm stare at the scientist, “Yes, Doctor Farlan, I accept. Do we have to do this every time?”

Farlan nodded in answer, scribbling on the scroll before tucking it back in his bag. Aegis gestured to the chair opposite of her at the table. He nearly took his seat when he stopped to pick up another paper that sat atop a few others.

“These came in a parcel, are these from him?” Farlan asked, holding up one of the drawings, pressing the back to his chest to face Aegis.

“Yes, that is from Star Chaser,” Aegis responded, resting her cheek in her hand with a bit of an endeared expression, “Bless him, he learned how to use the mail. He has been sending me some of his drawings to let me know where he is and that he’s okay.”

His brow furrowed as he turned it back, clearly he noticed something on the paper as he pressed it to his nose and took a sniff.

“This smells like cinnamon,” Farlan observed, causing Aegis to chuckle to herself.

“One of his new friends makes these cinnamon treats he is obsessed with. I believe he attempted to send me one tied to the letter.”

Farlan’s lip curved up a bit with a quiet ‘hrm’ as if that were an answer he didn’t expect but definitely believed. He set the paper back down with the pile before taking a seat.

“So we ran some more tests, and it looks like you are responding positively to the treatment. There are no signs of any infection or antibodies to the-”

“Get to the ‘but’ please, Farlan,” Aegis interrupted with a couple of exhausted nods, “I was in the field as well. I may not have done as much medical study but I’ve been alive for over 400 years. I know what letting a patient down easy sounds like.”

Farlan pressed his lips together in a relent expression, setting the paper in his hands down before lacing his fingers together on the table, “We believe your condition might be spreading to your muscle tissue. We cannot be sure just yet, but it appears to be migrating away from where we’ve targeted the treatment.”

Aegis took a heavy breath through her nose, her shoulders rising and falling in deflation. She didn’t seem surprised, but that didn’t make the news any easier to take.

“If there’s nothing else you can do I’d like you to finish your test and be going.” Aegis requested.

“I think you should tell him.” Farlan responded, tapping the drawing.

“I don’t want to hear this.” Aegis interrupted, standing up from her chair to walk towards the fireplace.

“He is out on his own he should know about-”

“Doctor Farlan.” Aegis cut him off as the kettle started to whistle. For a moment the loud screech was the only sound in the cottage before she quickly turned around and removed it from the heat, “My lifespan is likely to be much longer than his. Even with my condition I will outlive him.”

“You may outlive him,” Farlan emphasized, “You knew this when we found him. I need you to recall I don’t ask this lightly, he was like a nephew to me.”

Aegis had just started to pour the boiling water into the two cups laid out, her expression softening, “He did love his ‘smart uncle’, even if he thought you were strange at times.”

“I think he found me just as fascinating as I found him,” Farlan countered, seemingly a bit annoyed. It made Aegis crack a smile as she sat back down and cupped her hands around her tea.

She reached across the table, dragging one of the drawings out from the bottom of the pile. She picked it up and looked it over, tilting her head with a bit of a smile.

“Do you remember when we found him? Freezing and feral that night in the Mulhorand desert? He was so comfortable in the wild, but the moment I touched him he wouldn’t let me stop petting him. Such an affectionate little creature, alone for such a long time. Couldn’t even speak or write common yet.”

“I had to remind you he was for a study when all you wished to do was play with him,” Farlan recalled, taking a sip of his tea.

“You weren’t the most on task, either,” the elvish woman reminded, giving him a knowing glare, “I would find you pausing in the middle of taking notes when he was batting at your pen.”

The memory sparked something with the researchers as Farlan cracked a smile before they both laughed for a moment. Aegis collected herself as she ran a finger around the rim of her cup.

“He’s having so much fun,” she explained, looking at the stack of drawings and letters, “He’s met such a wonderful group of friends.”

“We knew sooner or later we’d have to release him,” Farlan said, “He was still a living creature, even if he’s an adolescent. He deserves to make his own choices.”

She shuffled the drawing she was looking at across the table to face Farlan.

It was another crude drawing of the same cat from the reference picture he used to find the cottage. This time, he was standing atop a large hill with sword extended towards a starry sky. A shooting star’s trail streaked to where it was drawn in place at the tip of his sword.

“He wanted to find a star. Just like a story I used to tell him: that shooting stars all landed somewhere and we had our own to find.” Aegis reminisced, her eyes starting to get misty.

Farlan nodded somberly with his eyes on the drawing, “That was how you came to the choice of his name. Yes, I recall.”

“He believes if he finds one it will make me better,” Aegis continued, “That if he finds his star then I’ll be healthy again. I can’t take that away from him.”

Farlan exhaled, clearly he wanted to argue but he knew he couldn’t. Instead he elected to start removing equipment from his bag, “I don’t know if it’s a star he’s gonna find, exactly, but he may find what he’s looking for in a form he didn’t expect. Maybe a magic potion or an ancient artifact.”

“Don’t patronize me, Farlan,” Aegis said, but she couldn’t hide the bit of a smile, “You’re my doctor today, you don’t get to tease me.”

“Not teasing. Well, maybe half teasing.” Farlan assured, “It is quite a world out there, after all. From what you’ve told me already he’s on quite a remarkable adventure.” He held a hand out, flexing his fingers. Aegis rested her hand in his as he started to check her pulse, “For now, he has his own star to chase,” he cast a glance at the drawing again, “I think you’ve already found yours.”

Farlan placed his other hand over top of Aegis’ as she nodded a couple of times, covering her teary smile with her hand. She sniffled, brushing some of her hair out of her face.

“Remember, my little Star Chaser-”

“- When you see a falling star, follow it. Follow it and remember that I see it, too. If you chase the star, I will know where you are!”

A small Tabaxi with an orange coat sang the parable to himself as he had before hundreds of times, kicking his feet on a bar stool way too tall for him. He held a length of chalk in a fist drawing on a sheet of parchment.

An empty glass with the remnants of what was likely milk sat next to him as he had just finished scribbling ears on a cat-like stick figure staring up at a very large tower.

His party was about to go see a tower just like it nearby. He couldn’t quite remember why they were, but he was still so excited. It was so tall! Maybe if he could scale it he’d get close to the night sky.

There were so many stars above where they were, and it was so pretty! One of them just had to be close enough to touch! If he couldn’t grab it, maybe he could just knock it loose.

“Hey Star! We’re about to go to the markets and see the fresh catches for today,” A soft female voice called from the doorway, “Do you wanna come with us?”

“Uh huh!” Star eagerly replied, nodding a couple times. Fresh fish at the market, he couldn’t wait! He just had to finish this drawing.

A couple more details and... Done!

He folded the drawing up along with a note, giving a rather unnecessarily large lick to the envelope to seal it before waving it around to the barkeep, “I’d like to send this letter, please!”

The barkeep, a burly man with a bushy mustache reached out with a bit of a forced smile as he grabbed the slightly damp letter with two fingers.

“Same place as th’ last one?” he asked.

The Tabaxi nodded a couple times, “Yes, please!”

Star scooped up his drawing materials, hopping off the stool before padding for the door. Before long the letter would be on its way to the cottage, but the words almost rang in the air off of the paper that was filled to the brim with wondrous, if not brokenly written words.

The envelope was lovingly (albeit a bit sloppily) wrapped and sealed. The cover sported a blotch of ink resembling a paw print and a couple words scrawled barely legibly across the front.

To Mama

#Commission #Writing #DnD #D&D #Dungeons and Dragons #Star Chaser #Campaign: The Riot #Tabaxi #Rogue #5e #Aegis #Aegis Olyrnn #Elf #Fantasy #Fiction

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cuthie · 3 years

Text

Korafey: A Debt Owed

Waves gently washed over the frozen shore as a small human woman in Kul Tiran designed armor sat on the rocks, a raggedy fishing rod laid down to her left. Dark brown almond shaped eyes stared out into the sea between two curtains of silky black hair. Forcing her tired face to form a smile, Korafey reached out for a ring pierced into her right nostril, poking it with her finger. What good were piercings if you didn’t play with them every now and then, yeah? Returning her attention to the seas, her voice spoke with a tired quiver, “Ahoy there, Tidemother. It’s me again, Kora. Jus, makin sure ta give ye the respect ya deserve, kennit? Not sure if Gods get jealous er nothin. I know I’ve been drawin on the Light pretty heavy durin, well, all this shite. Kindy like havin’ two sets of parents, ain’t it? The Light and the Sea.

Anyways, I just thought ta keep ye up on matters. The dead’s slowed down. They say the Capitals are back ta normal an’ whatnot. The armies here have changed, somewhat, ever since them heroes took off inta the skies. If that were intended ta be kept a secret, it weren’t fer long. I can’t say ta understand the Ebon Blade, but.. They’re up there doin the right thing, and have fer a bit. They’ve even got a portal in the Mage Tower opened, if ya can believe that.

Not that any Sally er Bob could jus waltz up an take a fancy trip ta.. Well, that’s the hard part, ain’t it? They say it’s the realm of death. I’ve no reason ta disbelieve’em a’course. An no one quite knows what’s goin on that ain’t someone super important or a Death Knight. Why are folks needed up there? Are we stitchin it back closed? What’s beyond the veil? Mm. Suppose I’ll jus play my part down here. Northrend’s needed less and less defending by the days. Things were lookin a bit grim there, then suddenly.. Like they stopped carin’ and went back ta bein mindless Scourge jus.. Wanderin. Still dangerous, though. No tellin where the herds are gonna travel, there’s so many ta keep track of. We been beatin’em back fer weeks and- Well, ye know what they say about the calm before the storm. Well.. Good talkin to ya. I promise we’ll do more of it. I’ve joined these night elf folks, an’ I really think I’m where I need ta be. Though, every path has a few puddles.” “Indeed they do.” Immediately Kora’s eyes widened as she stood up to turn towards the unexpected voice. She wasn’t a fan of people eavesdropping on her prayers and communes. “‘Oy!” Only as she turned, she saw that it was.. Him? Her? Them. She wasn’t sure their kind had genders or sex or preferred pronouns. Trying to swallow her emotions, she focused on gratitude for the one who had saved her mother’s life. “Benefactor…”

There, in all their glory, stood a tall imposing creature. It’s face was a formless twist of magic cowled and covered with a metal mask of some mineral not found anywhere on Azeroth. Long flowing white robes somehow swept from a breeze that wasn’t felt, as they almost hovered above the frozen rocks. White and grey magicks seemed to dance atop their shoulders, coursing over their chest and into tiny golden satchels and containers. Their voice was neither feminine nor masculine, but instead a calm calculated whisper. “The time has come for me to call upon you, faithful servant.” Kora looked back over her shoulder towards the Sea, as if the Benefactor’s choice of words would yield blasphemous consequences. Giving an apologetic smile, she turned back to face the robed figure, “I ain’t yer servant, ya know. Just.. A friend what owes ye a debt.” “I don’t speak the word as an insult. Your name is in my book of worshippers and contracts.” “I worship the Light an the Sea. No room fer no more Gods, sorry.” The mysterious figure emitted a sound of chittering chimes.. Or crystals or.. Something glassy. It was hard to understand, though as they placed their hand to their chest, Kora assumed it to be laughter of some sort? “No, my friend. I am no deity. I am a connection. I connect to others, who foster my strength, and in return, I try to provide what they need. When you signed my book, it connected us. I am stronger for your service, and I hope to bestow upon you all the benefits you are owed.” Kora wrinkled her nose, “Ye kinda gave me no choice, kennit? It was.. Join ya or let my mother die..” Again the memory had been so painful that it caused her to wince. “Your mother was taken out of harm’s way by another servant. That can’t be undone, not now, only in the moment.” Korafey blinked. “Then.. If I decided to not do what ye ask.. What then?”

“Is that the kind of person you are?”

The Kul Tiran girl sighed, defeated, “No.” Though, in the back of her mind she still remained curious. Her name had been written, the blood from her veins drawn through the quill. That was a binding magick, no doubt. This Benefactor -could- force her, couldn’t they? Mm. “I already knew your answer before I came to you in your time of need. You’re a good person, Miss Korafey. And for that reason, I need your assistance in the Shadowlands.” Kora fidgeted as her eyes automatically gazed up onto the shattered sky. “Up there? Now?”

“I have lost contact with an associate of Revendreth. I ask that you find them on my behalf and bring them back to me.” Kora hefted a huge paladin’s mace, “When ya say bring him back.. Is he gonna put up a fight?” “No, of course not. My subjects are willing. I have my suspicions as to why he hasn’t reported back in, and I’m in need of someone favorable with The Light.” The Light? That made things different. Why hadn’t she thought about it before. Of course the Light would be a part of the Deathlands or whatever. “Okay, though I admit I’ve lots of questions. Like, what does Revendreth mean?” “It is but one of infinite realms within the Shadowlands.” “Your realm?”

More crystal chimes clanging. This time the sound was piercing, maddening even. Kora made to cover her ears but it was over almost as soon as it had begun. “No, it is not my realm. Mine is.. Minor and adjacent with nary a soul to defend it. Save for my servants and mortal allies, such as yourself.”

Kora frowned, not entirely sure how to take that. She wasn't going to leave the land of the living to spend forever defending some unknown’s realm. She owed a favor, not a life debt, right? However.. If that’s what it took to save her mother’s life, wouldn’t she give her own? Then again, the Benefactor let it be known that her mother’s life was saved and there was no reversing that. The Kul Tiran girl nodded quietly to the white robed entity, then turned to step into the sloping bank. The frigid waves sloshed over his plated boots as she leaned down to planted a hand into the receding water. Even through her gauntlets she could feel it’s biting cold, but she wasn't entirely certain when she would be allowed back. “I love ya, Tidemother. Never ferget that, as I’ll never ferget all ye’ve done fer our people an loved ones..” A humming noise grew in volume behind her, and as Kora turned, she could see a bright red portal of swirling energies. The Benefactor’s voice rang in her head, “Your Tidemother reciprocates your feelings.” Kora wondered how they would know that. Or were they trying to bring her comfort.. Or coercion or.. Taking one final breath of Azerothian air, the Light’s warrior stepped through the opened portal.. And immediately her head felt as if it would split in twain!

#wrarp #WRA RP #wowrp #World of Warcraft

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himluv · 4 years

Text

Thoughtful

Another Solavellan oneshot, because this is my life now. Set a week or so after A Different Kind of Truth.

Riallan stood at the war table with her advisors and mulled over what her next steps should be. The Hinterlands were rift-free now, and she’d rescued their soldiers from the Avvar. She knew that she could only delay sealing the Breach for so much longer, but she was adamant that the mages get settled and rest before she called upon them. She could return to the Storm Coast, but she’d only just felt like she’d dried out after the Mires. She wasn’t sure she could handle another week of rain.

“Herald,” Leliana said.

“Hmm?” Riallan looked up to see the ghost of a smile on the Nightingale’s lips.

“It is getting late,” she said. “Perhaps we could continue this in the morning?”

She looked around the table, at the knowing look between Jospehine and Leliana, at the distinctly uncomfortable look on Cullen’s face, and Cassandra’s barely concealed excitement and knew that they were up to something.

It couldn’t be later than five, and they’d worked well past that before, but she didn’t argue. “If you think that’s best,” she said.

Josephine shuffled her papers into a tidy pile. “I know I could use the time. We have several dignitaries from Orlais requesting a tour of our operations.”

“How exciting,” Cullen said, a wry smile on his lips.

“Riveting,” the ambassador said. “If you have need of me, I will be in my office.” She left the room and thus released them from the spell of the War Council.

Cassandra followed Riallan out of the Chantry. “What will you do with your evening?” She asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe I’ll have dinner in the tavern. It’s been awhile since I’ve irritated Sera.”

The Seeker snorted. “It does not take much.”

She smiled. “Sometimes it’s the simple things, Cassandra.”

“Maker knows, that is the truth.” They paused at the side door to the tavern. “Have a good evening, Herald.” It was an oddly formal farewell, but then, Riallan thought Cassandra was frequently oddly formal.

“You too, Seeker.” Inside the tavern was loud, the evening festivities well underway. Maryden strummed her lute and sang an upbeat song, one a few folks seemed to have already learned.

“This one’s ‘bout me!” Sera crowed when she spotted Riallan. She bounced her head along to the beat, a giant grin on her face. “Catchy, innit?”

She listened for a moment and had to admit that it was. “Not too bad.”

“Yeah. Wait a tick,” she squinted at Riallan. “What are you doin’ here?”

“In the tavern?” Riallan looked around, waiting for the punchline.

“Yeah, you’re s’posed to be--”

“-- in meetings!” Varric said, joining their conversation. “You’re always in meetings.”

“Right, yeah. Always stuck blabbing with ol’ curly hair and stabby whatsit.”

She looked between them and crossed her arms. “All right. You’re being weird.” Sera opened her mouth, but Riallan cut her off. “Weirder than usual. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Varric promised. He covered his mouth so Sera couldn’t see his lips. “Between you and me, Buttercup has had one too many.”

Sera blew a raspberry at him, but didn’t otherwise deny his claim.

“If you say so,” she said. “I’m going to order dinner. If that’s all right with you two?”

Varric raised his tankard to her and smiled. “By all means, Herald.”

If she thought her companions were acting strangely, the bartender confirmed all of her suspicions that her friends were up to something.

“Good evening, Flissa,” she said.

“Your worship,” the woman said, promptly ignoring the two other patrons that sat at the bar. Riallan felt bad, but neither man seemed to care. “Order anything you like. I’ll have it sent to your quarters straight away.”

“My quarters?” She had planned to eat with Varric and Sera. Maybe even see if Bull and Dorian wanted to join them.

“Yes, Ma’am.” She smiled, but her nervousness soured the expression. “We’ll bring it to you, just like he said to.”

“Like who said to?” What was going on in this village?

Flissa covered her mouth with one hand. “Oh. Oh no. I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”

“Considering that I have no clue what is happening, I don’t think so Flissa.” She smiled, finding the woman’s good-natured panic actually endearing.

“Oh good!” She ran her hands through her hair, then rested them on her hips. “Now what can I get for you, Herald?”

Riallan ordered a larger meal than usual, one with more red meat than she would typically eat. She had a reason to treat herself this evening, after all. She waved to Varric and Sera on her way out, both of whom lifted their glasses to her as she went.

Once outside, she looked up the stairs to where Solas usually stood, but he wasn’t there. The wind bit at her as the sun set behind the mountains, so maybe he’d just gone indoors to avoid the cold. But she didn’t think so; that would be too convenient. He was up to something.

It wasn’t until she stepped into her cabin that she remembered their conversation in the Fade all those nights ago. They’d been so busy, traipsing through the Hinterlands, solving so many problems that she’d completely forgotten they’d even talked about her birthday.

Solas clearly had not.

In the center of her room stood a large tub, steam rising off the water in gentle wafts. It smelled wonderful, like crystal grace and lavender, fresh and floral. The fragrance alone made her want to climb into the tub and let all of her troubles melt away.

But there was more than just a warm bath waiting for her.

A small table sat next to the basin. On it sat a bottle of Antivan Red accompanied by a delicately stemmed glass, a leather-bound book, and a note. As much as her fingers itched to open the book, she started with the note. His handwriting was unsurprisingly neat, the letters crisp and swooping into one another. Somehow, the words looked just how he sounded.

Riallan,

I hope you do not consider this impertinent, but I do not think it unreasonable you have an evening to yourself. Unfortunately, I could not avoid including some of the others in my plans; getting ‘fancy Orlesian soaps’ on such short notice would have been impossible without Leliana’s assistance. The wine is a gift from Lady Montilyet. She assures me that this vintage is particularly satisfying. Dorian crafted the rune heating the water, which he insisted I mention. The book is a gift from me.

I hope all is to your liking.

Annar’vegara’shenathe nuvenehn,

Solas

She stared at the note, blinking back sudden tears. Riallan knew he was thoughtful, that was readily apparent from their conversations in the Fade. But she couldn’t help thinking that this was an awfully big gesture coming from him. She set the note down and took up the book with trembling hands.

She had no idea what to expect in a gift from Solas. Maybe a text about magic, or ancient Elvhenan, if such a thing existed. But the soft, leather cover held neither of those things. It was a sketchbook, and now she recognized it as the book he’d carried with him during their travels so far. She’d noticed him drawing, of course. He’d spent many an evening with the book on his lap, a soft ball of light hovering over the pages as he sketched beside their campfire.

She had no idea what he drew, and she hadn’t wanted to pry. Now she held the answer in her hands. The first few pages were mostly landscapes, quick sketches of rocks and creeks and trees. She recognized some of the landmarks from her time in the Hinterlands. She leaned against the edge of the tub, fascinated by this glimpse into his point of view.

The next drawing was so detailed it barely qualified as a sketch. She recognized the long, bony fingers and the lines in the palm as her own, even with the gash of the mark down the center. There were notes in his tidy script around the drawing, so small she had to squint to make them out.

On the back of that page was a rough sketch of her face. Her brow was furrowed, eyes closed, the lines of her vallaslin drawn in light dashes on her forehead and cheeks. Even though the sketch was obviously a quick one, she felt breathless at how accurate the image was.

After that there were more drawings of members of the Inquisition. Cassandra and Varric, Leliana, even Cullen and Jospehine. They all made their appearance in the pages of Solas’ mind. There were depictions of the Breach and the demons that appeared through the tear in the Veil. Those pages were often shaded with aggressive strokes, the graphite smeared and angry.

As she flipped through the pages she got a sense of the timeline of the book. It started with his journey to Haven, then his time watching over her, followed by the first days of the Breach and the Inquisition. Toward the middle of the book were drawings of plants and animals, familiar landscapes from their travels so far.

And the closer to the present she came, the more she saw her own face staring back at her. Looking back over her shoulder. Sitting at the fire, a smile on her lips. Sitting with her back to him, looking out over the water of the Fallow Mire. There was even one of her barefaced with long hair, as she’d been as a child. As he’d seen her in her dream.

Riallan flipped the page and met with blank space. She blinked, turning pages to find more of his drawings, but the remainder of the book was empty. Her heart sank, the disappointment heavy in her chest. She would have looked at his drawings the whole night if she could. She cradled the book to her and wondered at receiving such a gift. She had no words for what it meant to her.

A knock at her door announced the arrival of her dinner. Flissa brought it herself, hemming and hawing and generally making a fuss. She left it on the table beside the tub and wished Riallan happy birthday, which made the elf blush.

Once she was alone, she eyed the tub. The rune would keep the water warm and she wouldn’t be gone long enough for the food to go cold. Her mind made up, she held the sketchbook tight against her chest and hurried out into the cold night air.

She hesitated at his door for just a moment; she’d never been inside his cabin before. And despite his presence in hers only a few weeks ago, she feared she was intruding. Then she thought of the tub, the wine, and the book in arms.

She knocked gently and instantly worried he wouldn’t hear her. But of course he did.

“Riallan,” he greeted, surprise on his face. He looked her up and down and realized she must be cold. “Come in.”

She stepped over the threshold and turned to him before he’d even closed the door. “Thank you,” she said. She couldn’t keep the blush from her face or the tremor from her voice, but she refused to let that stop her. “You didn’t have to do all this. The wine, the soaps, this book? Really, it was more than--”

He shook his head but a smile played at the edges of his mouth. “I hardly acted alone,” he said. “Did you read my note?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I read the note! But, Solas, this book?” She shook her head. “It’s amazing. I knew you enjoyed drawing, but I had no idea you were so talented.”

He looked away, suddenly bashful under her gaze.

“I can’t keep it,” she said.

He looked up at her sharply, hurt flashing across his face. She held the book out for him to take, but he didn’t move. He eyed the sketchbook and swallowed before reaching out to take it. “May I ask why not?”

She smiled at him. “It’s not finished,” she said. “I want to see what you’ll draw next.”

He looked at her as if she were some intricate riddle, a puzzle he couldn’t manage to solve. It was that intense, searching gaze she’d come to expect from him, and this time it sent a flash of heat through her.

The flush of embarrassment on her cheeks only made her more self-conscious. “So, yeah. I’m going to go… take a bath now?” She bit her lip at how awkward she sounded. With any luck she would drown and never have to face him again.

He laughed, but opened the door for her, his sketchbook tucked under one arm. “Happy birthday, Riallan,” he said as she walked past him.

“Thank you, Solas.”

Even as she walked back to her cabin, eager to enjoy her evening of solitude, another part of her couldn’t wait until she fell asleep. These days, the best part of her day happened long after she’d slipped into the Fade. She expected tonight would be no exception.

#riallan lavellan #solavellan #dai #solavellan hell #my writing #fanfic #this is my life now

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ramblinganthropologist · 5 years

Text

Writober 2019 2 - Fluff

Summary: Winters in Ferelden are balls cold. To survive them, it takes a little close contact. Now, if only Cahel and Alistair could actually contact before they freeze to death. A snow storm isn’t the best place to be a hormonal idiot, but... is there ever a good time?

---

There was nothing like Ferelden in winter to make you hate your existence.

After hours of thick snow, the dark clouds had finally rolled away to expose the shining moon. White covered every surface, hiding the grime and traces of the Blight that were slow to seep into this part of the countryside. Shining icicles sparkled on bare tree limbs, promising a beautiful death should they break off too close to someone. It was quiet.

It would have been beautiful if it wasn't so fucking cold.

Cahel Mahariel knew cold weather from years in the aravels, protected by spells and clan-mates. No one would be sleeping alone tonight, lest they never wake up. They had already come accustomed to sharing tents in warmer weather to account for the growing party, but now it was for survival from the bitter chill that sunk deep into their bones.

As the old saying went – if the Dalish wore shoes, you knew it was cold.

His shoes were currently firmly in place as he huddled low around the fire. Across from him, Alistair sneezed and dug deeper into his heavy scarf. They had drawn the short straw of first watch, but their shift would soon come to an end. A freezing tent awaited the pair, but it beat being outside.

“I have no idea how you handled this weather outside all those years.” Alistair sniffed back mucus and sneezed again, shaking snow from a tree limb from the sound alone. “I feel frozen stiff right now and we've only been out here a few hours.”

The elf shrugged his shoulders as he nudged closer to his mabari. Tamlen was curled up around the fire, thick fur providing some comfort for the both of them. He could have stayed in the tent, but he was a loyal dog to the end. Cahel was glad for the company and the warmth he gave. Winter was nothing to a mountain mabari, and he was grateful for it.

“The keeper made sure none of us froze, and we stuck pretty close in the aravels.” He nodded to the tents around them. “Wynne used a spell like Marethari did, but hers is a little different. Guess that's Circle magic for you.”

Alistair chuckled weakly. “Look at you, Serah Magic Snob. I had no idea I was in the presence of an expert.”

“What can I say, I've seen some good shit.” Cahel chuckled as well, though he regretted moving as a cold wind tore through their camp. He burrowed further down into his cloak, cursing the weather. “Elgar'nan's balls, where the fuck are Leliana and Morrigan? It's their turn soon.”

It was a match made in hell, but right then he didn't care. He was tired, and he wanted to get out of the cold before he froze solid. They could snipe at each other all night for all he cared – maybe it would keep them warm. As long as someone was watching the frozen wasteland formerly known as Ferelden, it could all drop into the sea as far as he was concerned.

“I think I see them coming.” Alistair squinted, his vision in the dark a pale comparison to his companion's. “Either that, or the darkspawn have started coming in female, non broodmother varieties.”

Cahel grimaced at the thought, but the former Templar was correct. They were relieved of their watch as the two women approached, taking their spots by the fire. No one spoke in the hand off – it was cold, they were tired. Tamlen at least had the good sense to wag his tail as he got up from the fire and fell in behind his master.

Both Alistair and Cahel groaned in relief as they entered their shared tent. Here, sheltered from the wind, they could at least drop a layer of clothing. No one would be sleeping comfortably that night, but at least they weren't outside. That was enough to be grateful for as they placed their weapons to the side to prepare for bed.

“It'll be hard to get through that snow tomorrow. Maybe Wynne or Morrigan could melt some of it.” Alistair yawned as he curled up on his bedroll, still shivering as he pulled the heavy blanket over his body. “Maker's breath, it's still cold even with the spell!”

Cahel found he agreed as he and Tamlen tried to arrange themselves on his side of the tent. While it wasn't deadly, unpleasant was definitely a good way to put it. Sleep would come, but it would take a while. For Wardens who more often than not woke up screaming, that wasn't a pleasant thought.

Though...

The elf cast an eye towards the small gap between their bedrolls. It only took a few seconds for him to make up his mind. Without much thought to decorum – not that he ever cared – he shoved his bedroll next to his fellow Warden's, closing the gap between them.

“What are you-” The tips of Alistair's ears turned ruddy as Cahel sat down in the new space. “Ok, I'm lost.”

That earned him a weak chuckle. “Saves body heat if we share space and blankets. Used to do this all the time back with the clan.”

Of course... he had done it mostly with the elven Tamlen. That hurt was going away slowly, but sometimes it still prickled. Memories flashed dully as he laid down, close to Alistair but not quite touching him.

No small part of him wanted to do it, however. He hated himself for being so quick to jump to someone new like that, but the heart was a stubborn thing. Luckily, Alistair was dense as hell and probably hadn't noticed. It was one of his charms.

“Oh. That makes sense. Guess I didn't think of that.” The half elf chuckled weakly. “Cold must have frozen my brain.”

Must have.

They eventually both settled down for the night, a thin sliver of distance between them like an unbreakable wall. With both blankets and Tamlen for extra warmth, it was almost comfortable. Almost, but not quite. A tension had settled over the tent as Cahel closed his eyes to sleep, but his body wouldn't have any of it.

He was so close to Alistair... he could practically hear the other man's heart beating. That, or his own was so loud he was mistaking it for someone else. The closeness was making it pound out of time, and his palms sweat even in the chill.

Now he was just being ridiculous – it wasn't the first time they had shared a tent.

“Good night, Cahel.” Alistair's voice was thick with sleep. “See you in the morning.”

The elf's face felt hot and he buried it in his pillow. “Night, Alistair. Hope the Archdemon doesn't eat you.”

Ok, maybe it wasn't the best way to wish someone pleasant dreams... but it was too cold for fancy words.

Cahel settled into an uneasy rest, not quite drifting off to sleep. His mind kept drifting back to the small distance between himself and Alistair. Just a little roll to one side, and he would bridge the gap without looking like he did it on purpose. He was so close, but that wall loomed behind him. It was like terror would strike him down should he dare to move.

It should have been simple – why were things so hard?

“Of all nights you picked to be a walking disaster.” he muttered to himself under his breath in elvhen, shifting to create more distance. Alistair wouldn't have heard it anyway, judging from the soft breathing that was a sign he had fallen asleep. He could sleep anywhere – it was a gift. Now more than ever, he envied him for it.

Next to Cahel, Tamlen whined at his master's fidgety nature. His large paws and head found the elf's side, nudging him with a cold nose that definitely shocked him back to his senses. That damn tail was wagging for sure when he shot him a look.

“I get the message, go to sleep.” He smiled anyway, though, as he reached out to pat the dog on the head. “You're lucky you're cute and not sentient.”

He settled back down for a few hours of fitful rest, but fate wasn't as kind. A sudden sharp wind blew hard from the north, shaking the tent and cooling things down considerably. Next to him, Alistair shuddered and his teeth clattered. Cahel buried deeper under the blanket, Tamlen coming with him. Judging from the soft sounds outside, it had started to snow again.

Great.

“Did it get colder?” Alistair's sleep laden voice was barely above a half awake mutter as he sat up, taking the blanket with him. Almost immediately, he hissed and sunk back down to the pile. “Maker's breath!”

Cahel nodded as he curled up tighter. “I think I heard some ice mixed in with the snow. It's going to be a mess tomorrow.”

That didn't change much – things were a mess right then too. Only it was coming from inside the house, so to speak. Still, at least he had something else to focus on besides his rapidly accelerating heartbeat. They needed to not freeze to death.

Alistair's voice was sharper as he woke up. “So... do the Dalish have any way to deal with this kind of cold?”

His voice almost sounded like it was suggesting something – but... nah. Cahel didn't exactly believe that as he rolled over to face his tent mate. They were about out of options at this point. It was either... deal with things... or freeze.

And he really didn't want to freeze.

The elf struggled to keep his tone and face neutral. “We need to get closer. A lot closer.”

Alistair nodded as he nudged his bedroll closer, wearing his blanket like a cape. “Sounds like a good idea.”

He paused, and the tips of his ears flushed a ruddy color once more. “Er... you're smaller than I am. Maybe...”

And then he motioned towards himself, not meeting Cahel's eye. That was fine – not like he was doing any looking anytime soon. It was a logical plan, but carrying it out was one of the hardest things he had done in recent memory.

Damn his fucking hormones- were they trying to kill him?

“Yeah... that makes sense. Tamlen can probably curl up on top for extra warmth.” Cahel held his breath as he nudged his body closer to Alistair's, until his back touched the man's chest. His heart exploded while his face burned. “There... that should-”

Alistair's arms were suddenly wrapped around him, pulling him even closer until they were flush with each other. He could feel the man's heart on his back, strong and fast. At least he wasn't the only nervous one in this party.

The ex-Templar's voice was a quarter octave higher as he spat out his sentence at a rapid pace. “Sorry, I figured it be easier to share warmth and er... my arms would've hurt. I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

Uncomfortable? Why would Cahel be uncomfortable? It wasn't like a highly attractive man that he was seriously interested in was spooning him or anything on their shared bedroll. Why would that do anything to him?

…

Fucking hormones.

“I'm fine.” His first attempt came out as a squeak -a cough made it lower. “I mean, I'm fine. It was just sudden is all. Are you comfortable?”

Alistair's chin found his shoulder as he settled in. “As comfortable as you can get in freezing weather. Could be worse – imagine having to do this with Oghren.”

Cahel laughed despite himself as his cold hands found Alistair's arm. “Gods forbid, I think I'd rather freeze to death. Then again, it's not like alcohol freezes.”

“The man is practically pickled. He'll be fine.” Alistair chuckled as well as Tamlen settled in. “Well, I think that's a sign we should probably get some rest. Nothing like a giant dog laying across your legs to let you know when to sleep.”

They shared another brief chuckle, but exhaustion was finally settling in. A quiet hush over the tent as snow fell outside and the wind howled. Inside, it was warm as the two Wardens curled up to finally rest.

Despite himself, Cahel smiled as he pressed closer. “Good night, Alistair. Don't let the Archdemon eat you.”

“Don't let the Archdemon eat you, Cahel.” Alistair answered back with a yawn. Soon, his soft breathing pressed lightly against the elf's back. He had fallen back asleep, curled up around his fellow Warden, lost to the world.

A smile settled across the elf's face and pink cheeks as his eyes began to drift close, guided by the rhythm of his tent-mate's breathing. Soon, he too was asleep, lost to his dreams as the snow swirled outside. Tomorrow would be messy, but for that moment everything was ok. It was just their tent and nothing else. Not even the claws of the Archdemon could reach them there as they both finally found their rest that night, curled up against each other to ward off the chill of winter.

So... maybe winters in Ferelden weren't all bad. They still sucked, but... there were perks.

#writober2019 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Cahel Mahariel #Alistair Theirin #alistair x warden

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nautiscarader · 5 years

Text

Portraits of you

Rayllum T/M (just some implications at the end)

(Ao3)

Five times Rayla had her portrait painted.

The first time it happened, Rayla was confused. She knew about Callum's talent for drawing, but she has never expected to be the subject of one of his sketches. And when she looked at the detailed sketch, she instantly remembered when Callum has drawn her. They were camping in one of the myriads of rocky, shallow caves that dotted Xadia, and she was looking at the sky, keeping an eye on the dragon circling on the horizon.

She thought that Callum was drawing it, not her.

Well, there was a dragon, but clearly the small doodle wasn't what Callum focused on. As she looked at her figure in the picture, her hand automatically moved to her hair. Did she really look like that from the side? And then she realised that until now, she didn't bother keeping her hair that tidy.

Her mind was torn with conflicting emotions. She wanted to see if Callum has made more sketches of her, and was about to flip the page, but as soon as she heard his footsteps, the rational part of her brain started working again and forced her to put his sketchbook exactly where she found it, and pretend that nothing has happened.

- Do you like it?

Blood froze in her veins when a moment later Callum asked her off-handedly, after picking his notebook.

- Callum, I know I shouldn't have...

She turned around, expecting to see anger on his face, but instead, she found a faint smile, though the moment their eyes met, he shied away.

- I shouldn't have either. I mean, it's rude to just sketch someone without telling them that, right? - You haven't asked that dragon either. - Rayla crossed her arms sitting on the opposite side of the rocky cave, regaining some confidence she lost when Callum's question threw her off. - Well, it would be awkward if I shouted at him, "Hello, mister dragon, could you hover in place for like half an hour, so I can draw you? By the way, you've got some tasty human meat here!". - Fair point. - Rayla chuckled. - So...

Callum's slightly quivering voice interrupted Rayla, bringing back the same, awkward silence she had to live through a moment ago.

- Er, would you like me to you know, draw you properly?

Rayla blinked. She gathered her thoughts, fought with the storm of them raging in her head, and replied with as much confidence she could muster.

- Uh, sure. Do-Do you want me to sit in a different way, or... - No, that's gonna be fine.

Callum replied and drew the first line of Rayla's portrait. In the distance, a dragon flew over the mountains, but neither of them cared.

When it happened a second time, Rayla was torn with anger.

To see her own face, staring at her from the wanted poster, just a mile away from her home town, was not something she would expect.

- "Wanted for treason and helping humans"? - she read in disbelief, forgetting she should be keeping quiet. - "The Moonshadow elf is wanted, dead or alive, for betraying her own kind, breaking oaths, as well as smuggling human party into the land of-" What party? - I think they mean me. - Callum scratched his head. - And that means we should probably move away from the main road... - No way, I'm not gonna let some snooty idiots put a prize on our head-

But words got stuck in her throat when an arrow pierced through the air, narrowly missing her forehead.

- Down! - she cried, though Callum was already ahead of her, ducking behind the tree's stump.

Two more arrows shot from the distance, trailing Rayla as she slid to Callum's hiding place.

- They can't be city archers, otherwise we would be dead already - Rayla gasped, thinking quickly. - Mercenaries? Do you have them in Xadia? - Callum asked, keeping arm around Zym. - We have money, so we have mercs.

A sudden smile appeared on her face, as she took a glance at the arrow.

- But I think we're much luckier.

A moment of eerie silence later, two forces struck the elf messengers down: one from high above, when Rayla jumped over them, and the other from below, when a blast of air from Callum's hands knocked them down for good, though Rayla bashed their heads against each other for good measure.

- And let's burn these. - Rayla pointed to the sack full of wanted posters. - Good call - Callum replied, tearing one down from a nearby tree. - I mean, they're not even very good, your ears are too small on these. And your face looks so evil, it makes you-

He looked up, and flinched when his vision was obscured with Rayla's face, inches from his.

- Are you telling me I've got big ears?! - Huh, maybe they did capture that evil look...

When it happened the third time, she wasn't even aware what was going on.

But Callum was.

It was the most detailed and accurate portrait of her he's seen, and as a result, the worst one. As he held the small coin in his hand, tears trickled from his eyes, wondering if Rayla could even hear, or see him. But he knew he'll find a way to bring her soul back, even if it was to cost him his.

The fourth time it happened, it's boring.

As a trained assassin, she should have been used to standing still, to guard or wait for her target. And yet, an hour felt like ten, when she had to do it in front of the royal painter, creating the first ever official painting of a Moonshadow elf in Katolis.

The only reason she hasn't gone mad yet was that Callum, standing right beside her, had to endure the same torture, and his remarks brightened her day.

- You know, Renet, I-I have actually drawn Rayla before, so I could give you a pointer or two... - Silence, boy! - the elderly man shouted, before realising whom he was addressing - I, I mean to say, my prince. A-And I didn't mean to say "silence". - That's okay. - Callum replied politely - But if you draw her horns or marks incorrectly, you'll be explaining yourself to her. Have you captured the sharpness of her swords yet?

Rayla chuckled, exchanging knowing looks with her boyfriend, as they watched the terrified face of the artist in front of them. Two years ago she wouldn't have imagined, in her wildest dreams, or worst nightmares, that she would be standing in the hall of the castle of the largest human kingdom, with her human boyfriend by her side, as the first Moonshadow elf in decades to do so.

Well, except...

- Can I, er, ask for a bit more smile, my lady?

The artist's much humbler request brought Rayla back to her senses, but also alerted Callum.

- Rayla? Is something wrong? - No. - she replied quickly, putting on the smile that was requested - It's just I remembered my friends that were in this palace, and... - Oh.

Callum couldn't quite meet her eyes, especially at the reminder of atrocities that occurred on the night they escaped, as well as the ones that happened to Runaan when Viren took him as a prisoner.

- Rayla, I... I don't know what to say to- - Nothing. - Rayla replied sharply - I think your father would have preferred if we didn't dig up the past, especially if it's so painful. - But he'd still like we learned from it. - Callum spoke in slightly lower voice, mimicking his step-father's tone.

Their eyes met, and at the same time, they cupped each other's cheeks before their lips met in a kiss, which brought back the smile on their faces.

- Er, can we, can we continue, your highness?

A quivering voice of the painter disrupted their brief moment of bliss, and the two shuffled into their positions at once. However, Renet couldn't quite resume his work, because the very next minute, the side door leading to the chambered opened, and a bit smaller figure walked in, forcing him to take a deep bow.

- Your majesty! - Oh, you're taking their portrait now, too! - Ezran cheered, and eagerly walked to the canvas. - Can I see it? - O-Of course! - he stepped aside, still bowing. - He never asked me if he can shuffle through my pages... - Callum whispered, getting another chuckle from Rayla.

Ezran looked back and forth from the canvas to Callum and Rayla, then tilted his head a few times, scratched his chin, and finally asked Bait for an opinion.

- Oh, you're right, Bait! Renet, Moonshadow elves have four fingers, not five.

When it happened the fifth time, she was annoyed.

And not just because she had to wear a dress, though that definitely didn't help. She never felt like she could pull off "being classy", unlike other women, but then again, she never had to. But now she was supposed to look elegant and presentable, and since every other person in Katolis was addressing her "my lady", she finally had to give in to the pressure.

But no, the fact that she was wearing a dress wasn't the worst. It was that other women at the party wore them, and they have caught Callum's eye.

And there he was, the supposed other host of the ambassador party, welcoming the guests from the whole continent to help rebuild their broken world. And what was he doing? He was doodling the two women from Duren, chatting at the other end of the ballroom.

Rayla grabbed the nearest goblet, drank the wine in one go, and slammed it on the table.

- Bait says that if you keep doing it, everyone will know you're jealous - she suddenly heard a familiar voice behind her back - When I was spending too much time with Zym, he used get all purple. Just like you now! - I'm not jealous! - Rayla barked back at her younger friend. - Hm, you're right, you're more cranberry. - Ezran corrected himself - And besides, Bait learned that you can't force someone into disliking someone else by jumping on a head and pretending to make a nest of that person's hair. - Oh, yeah?

And before Ezran could ask her if she was going to jump on his brother's head, she was already gone, walking towards him, as steadily as her high heels allowed to. She stood in front of him, put on a smile, and grunted.

- Callum? - Oh, hey. - her boyfriend looked from his sketchbook - Am I needed somewhere? - Well, yes and no.

Dropping the pretence, she grabbed his hand, dragged him to the empty adjacent room, closed the door, and pushed him against the wall. She opened her mouth and was about to speak her mind, when she reminded herself of Ezran's words. And she realised that in this moment she was a huge glow toad fighting over Callum's attention, and a very familiar feeling of guilt swept over her.

She sighed, looked down, cursed the fact that Ezran somehow always manages to bring back the best in people he meets, and she stared back at her boyfriend, still wearing a confused look on his face.

- I'm sorry. - Uh, sorry for what? - Callum raised his eyebrow - I mean, aside from pushing me against the wall, which is slightly uncomfortable, I guess.

Rayla let out another deep sigh.

- No, it's me. - she let go of him and walked to the elongated couch - I... I was gonna say something stupid. - Does this have to do with me drawing Lady Camilia and her sister? - Callum asked shyly, sitting on the opposite side of the tea table. - Maybe. - Rayla grumbled. - Listen, Rayla, I know these past few weeks we... I couldn't give you that much attention, as I wanted but... - I know, I know.

Rayla uncrossed her arms, interrupting him.

- I know you worked hard for the whole ball to work out. - We worked hard. - Callum corrected her - I wouldn't be able to do anything without your help. You've managed to convince other elves to come. - Well, if you say so... - Rayla sent him a sly smile. - Well, it's true. We have this one occasion to unite our people, human and elves, and think how are we going to make our world work, and...

He pushed his chair closer to the table, and took her hands.

- After this whole thing is over, I promise you, we're going to spend some time together.

Callum reached to cup her face, but Rayla was faster. She dragged him closer to her, pressed her lips to his, and locked the two in long kiss. The murmur of the crowd outside the door died out, as the two listened to their shared breathing and the tiniest of moans that escaped their lips into each other's mouth.

Finally, after a solid minute, Rayla let go of the flabbergasted adult prince, letting him fall into his seat, taking one desperate breathe after another.

- But... I'm still kinda angry that you didn't draw me first. - Rayla spoke, just as Callum was about to stand up. - Well, okay, fair point, I've drawn a sketch of pretty much every ambassador except you.

He took his sketchbook, turned the page, sat comfortably, and looked up from it, trying to think what pose he could capture Rayla in.

But it turns out that she has already chose one. One that made Callum look nervously at the half-closed door, and then forced him to rotate the page 90 degrees. Feeling waves of hot and cold on his neck, he undid a button on his regal apparel, and Rayla smiled, wishing she could still do that to hers.

Whether it was Moonshadow elf magic, or just his inability to focus under the storm of emotions that raged in his mind, Callum didn't know, but the result was the same. Her silky, smooth dress was on the floor, and she was lying on her side, wearing a wicked, inviting smile, and nothing else.

- Draw me like one of your Durenian girls...

#rayllum #the dragon prince #rayla #callum #nautiscaraderfics

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felseekers · 5 years

Text

lost anchors

Victory for Kul Tiras had come at a cost, as it so frequently seemed to, but the price they’d paid had earned them their fleet back, had earned Jaina some measure of atonement, if not peace, and earned both the Kul Tirans and the Alliance as a whole a moment’s respite.

It was hard not to feel just a little bit proud, a little bit triumphant.

Not since the initial voyage to Boralus had Jaina been in Stormwind’s keep, but she’d been preoccupied in the library for some hours, losing track of the time as she hadn’t allowed herself to do for years. It was quiet now, mostly just a few guards making their rounds. From one corridor, the sound of hushed conversation emerged, and the only thing that turned Jaina’s feet towards it was the somewhat-familiar cadence of Captain Shadeweaver’s voice, carrying far and clear as it typically did.

She stopped, however, when the sound of Captain Shadeweaver’s voice abruptly rose to a shout, “...hope your little power play was worth it, but I doubt you’re capable of thinking about anyone but yourself, Vivial. Don’t feed me that garbage now and expect me to believe it.”

Another voice, presumably Vivial, responded, but too quietly for Jaina to hear. Captain Shadeweaver, however, exploded. “You expect me to care about your ‘secret’ struggles when you brought this on yourself?! He never asked for this. He never even planned for this. He went back because your family thought you were getting in too deep. Because it’s all about you, right?”

Jaina prepared to turn and leave, but suddenly a void elf woman, with dark violet tresses falling across her shoulders, strode briskly by, her face a stony mask as she acknowledged Jaina with a nod. Jaina was ready to escape as well, but Captain Shadeweaver herself emerged, her blind side facing Jaina, and slumped against the wall, sinking down until she sat against it, her face buried in one hand.

She didn’t know what possessed her to stand there and watch instead of getting herself out of this situation, but she waited, torn between approaching the captain and letting the whole odd encounter slip by.

The Captain Shadeweaver sitting on the floor, however, was vastly different than the Captain Shadeweaver Jaina knew from their trip to Boralus, from the battle that ensued as they reclaimed their fleet, and that, more than anything, kept her where she stood.

She didn’t remain undetected for long, though--one of Captain Shadeweaver’s ears twitched slightly, and she looked up to lock eyes with Jaina at the other end of the corridor, her face drawn and haggard with exhaustion. It was a stark reversal from how Jaina normally saw the captain, so bright and full of vivacity she’d initially envied, but come to appreciate with time. She could not ever recall, however, seeing the captain so empty.

“Lord Admiral.” even her voice was more subdued than normal, hoarse from yelling, as she swiped at one side of her face with one hand. “You seem to have caught me at a disadvantage.”

“Are you all right?” Jaina ventured, reaching out with one hand despite the physical distance that made a gesture of comfort impossible, and she drew her hand back. “That was--”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Proudmoore.” Captain Shadeweaver’s face twisted into a scowl, and her shoulders slumped as she released a heavy sigh. Turning her head away, she picked herself up off the floor of the keep and stretched her arms. There was a look on her face that said she was desperately trying to decide whether she wanted to say anything or not, and that, too, brought Jaina up short.

Captain Shadeweaver, in all the time Jaina knew her, had never been the type to hold her comments. She spoke her mind, and sometimes Jaina found it refreshing, but others she found it insufferably annoying. She’d almost have preferred the captain’s usual quips to this kind of detached, despairing defeat.

In the end, the captain noticeably withdrew from the conversation, and Jaina found herself disappointed. “I’m sure you’ve got things to do before we head back to Boralus, Lord Admiral, and Elune knows I do, too--I’m sure we’ll speak again later.”

Her pace was brisk and long and loping in its gait, the gait of someone who’d spent time aboard the deck of a ship, and Jaina watched her leave with a kind of concern warring with dismissal.

Shaking her head briefly, Jaina turned and followed the captain’s path, albeit at a slower pace. They did have much to do, as always.

But Jaina made a note to herself for their upcoming trip back to Boralus to speak to the captain again.

The Silent Tide was slowly becoming familiar to Jaina.

It still had its perpetual clutter on the deck, its raucous crewmates led by their equally rambunctious captain, its oddly worn-down and well-loved charm. This was a ship that had been home to many people over many long years at sea, and it showed.

Captain Shadeweaver’s demeanor had returned to something approximating normal as Jaina arrived to prepare for the ship’s departure. She made jokes among her crew, slapped them amicably on the shoulder as she swept past, on her way to her next task, her steps long and sweeping and almost dance-like in their grace. She was in her element, confident and self-assured.

Part of Jaina thought she might’ve just imagined the unusual encounter with the captain in Stormwind’s keep the night before, but if she looked beyond the surface, Jaina could see the subtle differences: Captain Shadeweaver’s shoulders hunched by a nigh-indiscernible angle, and her attention wandered as she heard reports from her crew. Her grins, while wide and toothy as always, looked just a little forced, just a little insincere.

Jaina busied herself checking the cargo manifests that one of the captain’s crew handed her, ensuring they wouldn’t be leaving anything behind for their trip to Boralus. She was startled out of her concentration when Captain Shadeweaver’s voice abruptly cut through the white noise of the ship’s chatter like a blade.

“What do you mean we had a misallocation of space?!”

Quickly folding and pocketing the manifest, Jaina strode through the ship until she reached the source of the shouting--Captain Shadeweaver, holding a half-shredded parchment piece with a look of incredulous, exasperated frustration on her face. The crew member she was facing--Eastland, Jaina remembered his name was Eastland--looked sheepish and cowed by the captain’s rage.

“Just what I said, cap’n.” Eastland indicated the paper held in the captain’s grip, near to white-knuckle tight. “We don’t have enough bunks for our crew and guests combined.”

Somehow, the captain’s grip on the parchment tightened even more. “How is that possible? We have the same number of crew and the same number of bunks that we had when we first arrived in port here. How, may I ask, did we lose some? And how am I just now finding out about it?!”

“Well, Captain...” Eastland did Captain Shadeweaver the credit of looking her in the eye, which Jaina had a feeling was the only thing that saved him from the captain’s immediate retribution, “...we’d have normally talked to Kyrian about that sort of thing--he handled the finer details, you took on the big picture...”

Jaina wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Captain Shadeweaver’s face turned even more apoplectic with fury, and Eastland seemed to realize too late he’d said the wrong thing. “One,” Captain Shadeweaver said, deceptively calm, “I think I made myself pretty clear on the matter when I told you not to bring Kyrian up again. Two, you didn’t answer my second question: how did we lose the ability to house our crew and guests?”

“We ended up with some last-minute additions to the crew manifest and some cargo had to go onto the ship by order of Matthias Shaw,” Eastland indicated the parchment the captain still held in her hand, noticeably more crumpled than it’d been earlier, “and, well, we meant to tell you, but...”

Captain Shadeweaver sighed heavily, a sigh full of exhaustion and impatience and resigned acceptance all at once. Finally, she turned and acknowledged Jaina’s presence with a nod. “Proudmoore--I guess you heard the unfortunate news. You’ll be taking my quarters for the trip back to Boralus.”

Part of Jaina burned to ask who Kyrian was, and why he was forbidden from being mentioned aboard the ship, but she’d wager it was pirate business from before Captain Shadeweaver’s Alliance days. “And just where will you stay, if I do?”

Captain Shadeweaver shrugged. “I'll stay awake, maybe keep watch overnight if my crow’s-eye crewman needs a rest. Not the first time I’ve done it, doubt it’ll be the last.” With a sharp whistle, the captain garnered the attention of two deckhands, who straightened at her summons. “Boys! Get the Lady Proudmoore’s belongings to my quarters--we’ll be sailing off within the day.”

Turning to stride briskly away to whichever task awaited her next, Jaina didn’t even have time to protest the decision, and by the time the Silent Tide was shoving off from the Alliance docks, she found herself in the captain’s quarters, taking in the scenery.

Captain Shadeweaver herself hadn’t accompanied her--she was at the ship’s bow, preparing to set their course. She had told Jaina to make herself at home, however, and while she didn’t know if she could get precisely that comfortable, it would do for a temporary workspace.

At the center of the room was the captain’s desk, an obviously well-loved and well-worn piece with its share of gouges and scars from where blades had been scraped into its surface and various ink stains from accidental spills. It was smooth to the touch aside from the deeper marks, but Jaina found a suitably flat space at the desk’s center, and set up her small work area there--inkwell, and quills, and two stacks of parchment: one filled out, letters she’d read, and the other, blank, for the intended responses.

Hours passed, and Jaina fell into the rhythm of writing out her replies and plans for whenever they arrived in Boralus. The candle she’d lit earlier, already half-burned down, reached the end of its wick, and Jaina got up to search for where the captain kept her replacements.

After a cursory look in the most obvious places within the captain’s quarters, Jaina figured she ought to find the captain herself to ask rather than digging through her belongings, and set off for the ship’s crew bunks, really just a series of hammocks at the ship’s center. All of them were filled, but none of them were concealing a night elf that even came close to resembling the captain.

Withdrawing her head, Jaina set her steps towards the galley, almost unnerved by the quietness of the ship--the hour had to be later than she’d thought, or perhaps the crew was still unused to a more rigid schedule, working with the Alliance.

Within the galley, it was dark and empty, except for the seat at the head of the table, where a tiny candle was lit, illuminating the face of Captain Shadeweaver, deep lines of exhaustion etched into her face and a mug in her hand.

It took several seconds for the captain to take note of Jaina’s presence while she determined how to approach her in this state, but Captain Shadeweaver spared her the trouble. “Proudmoore,” the captain greeted her in a somber, tired tone, holding up her mug half-heartedly, “I see I’m not the only one up at this hour.” Kicking out the chair next to her--the chair at her right, Jaina realized--the captain continued, “Have a seat if you’d like.”

Jaina took it, but suddenly felt like her question about where the captain kept her extra candles felt too light for the atmosphere in the room. Captain Shadeweaver’s gaze was distant as she studied the tabletop, one fingernail tracing a mark in the wood, and Jaina found herself asking instead, “Your crewman mentioned someone called Kyrian earlier--who is he?”

Captain Shadeweaver stilled abruptly, and Jaina hurriedly tacked on, “I only ask in case it’s a threat or potential complication we haven’t discussed yet.”

“Right.” Captain Shadeweaver said tightly, and the tension in the air rose. “He’s no threat, Proudmoore, you’ve got my word on that. Beyond that, I doubt you’d care to hear the details.”

She changed the subject, to something she hoped would be less of a sensitive topic. “Were you arguing with someone in Stormwind’s keep last night?”

The captain’s grip on her mug tightened, and her free hand, resting on the table, clenched into a fist. “If you’re asking for the sake of our efforts to keep the peace with the Alliance--”

“I’m not asking because of that,” Jaina interrupted, and found it rang true, “I’m asking because it seemed like it troubled you.”

Captain Shadeweaver held Jaina’s gaze for a long moment, as if gauging the statement for honesty, before breaking it and letting her fist relax again, scratching at a score in the old, worn-down table. “It’s not me I’m worried about, Proudmoore.” She said quietly, and Jaina remembered her saying the same thing in Stormwind’s keep. “Vivial Starstrider--that’s the person I was arguing with--just doesn’t have much perception outside of herself and her goals. Kyrian is her brother--and he used to be my first mate.”

The obvious question of what happened to him rested heavily in the air, but the captain didn’t wait for Jaina to ask it. “Vivial was one of Magister Umbric’s big researchers into the void, and Ky told me she was always getting sideways looks from the family for her magic research over the years. When she signed on with Umbric, they drew a line and asked him to come back to talk some sense into her before she embarrassed the family any more than she already had. He ended up getting dragged into their void nonsense and...well, he was never the same, I’ll put it that way.”

Jaina considered what little she knew of how the void affected the void elves, and grasped for a question to ask that wouldn’t feel insensitive. “Did it overwhelm him?”

Captain Shadeweaver huffed and took another drink out of her mug. “No, not like you’re probably thinking. The void just...isn’t as compatible with him as it is with some of the others. I didn’t even find out what’d happened until a few months ago--I just thought he’d dropped off the face of the world without a trace. Lady Xaaria’s been trying to help him, but...it’s a slow-going process.”

“The first time I was here,” Jaina indicated the chair she now sat in, “I noticed you kept this one empty...”

“Yeah, it’s pretty sentimental of me, huh?” Captain Shadeweaver made a self-deprecating sound as she took another drink out of her mug. “Keep imagining he’ll be good to come back one day and we’ll just pick right back up where we left off, but...I know that’s not the case.” Her grin that time was a little more normal, a little more like the Captain Shadeweaver Jaina knew, but there was a sad edge to it, as well. “Guess that makes you my honorary first mate for the evening.”

A faint burning feeling on the back of Jaina’s neck reminded her that she ought to be careful what she wished for in regards to the captain’s demeanor, but didn’t regret the loss of tension from the room. The air was lighter between them, and Jaina felt safe to change the subject again. “I was going to ask where you kept your spare candles--the one on your desk burned out.”

“Ah, right.” the captain drained the remainder of whatever was in her mug--Jaina caught the faint earthy scent of some kind of tea--and set it down on the tabletop, pinching the candle out. “I imagine you didn’t come all the way down here just so I could unload all of that onto you.”

“I didn’t mind.” Jaina said quietly as they walked, mindful of the rest of the sleeping crew. “You didn’t seem like yourself. It was unusual to see you so...downtrodden.”

“Didn’t realize you were keeping track.” from this angle, Jaina couldn’t see the captain’s face, but it was all too easy to imagine the sly look on her face.

“Your personality makes it difficult not to notice.” Jaina shot back.

The captain laughed as she pushed the door to her quarters, sitting ajar, fully open. “Fair point, I suppose.”

While she rifled through the top drawers in her desk, Jaina busied herself organizing the reports and replies she’d already finished, sorting them by importance so she could send them out whenever they arrived. “You keep surprisingly tidy quarters, for your ship being constantly cluttered.”

“It’s organized chaos, Proudmoore--I’ve had a couple hundred years to get the system down.” Captain Shadeweaver produced a new candle from one of her desk drawers and yawned deeply. “There you go.”

Jaina reached out to take the candle, and hesitated once it was in her grasp. “You could sleep while I work. I’ll be awake for some time yet.”

“If I’d known you planned to be awake all night anyway, I might’ve just made you work in the galley instead.” Captain Shadeweaver teased. “Don’t worry about it--I’d rather you have it available as an option if you wanted it. The crewman I’m swapping bunks with later is supposed to be free in a few hours, but I’ll doze there,” she nodded towards the chair in the corner, “until then, if that’ll appease you.”

Jaina wanted to say that it didn’t particularly matter to her if the captain slept or not, but the room felt fuller with her here, and she’d have fallen on a blade before admitting it, but she’d almost have preferred the captain stay anyway.

Captain Shadeweaver took the chair in the corner, and Jaina returned to her paperwork, though it didn’t hold the same urgency that it had earlier. Fatigue burned at her eyelids, and while she made a valiant attempt to stay awake and finish what remained, at some point during the night, the unbroken quiet of the captain’s quarters and the sound of the captain’s breathing lulled Jaina off into sleep, right at the captain’s desk.

Morning came, and found Jaina at Captain Shadeweaver’s desk, with a new ache in her neck and a--fortunately long-finished--bundle of parchment under her cheek.

Something thick and warm rested over her shoulders, though, and Jaina reached up to feel soft leather, oiled and treated for use during a storm. It had to be one of Captain Shadeweaver’s jackets, the kind worn when one needed to stay warm and relatively dry in cooler climates at sea, and the shoulders didn’t fit quite right across Jaina’s own, but it was a surprising gesture of comfort from the captain herself--it couldn’t have been anyone else.

She went up to the top deck of the ship, the captain’s jacket left carefully hung over the back of the chair, and found their second day at sea had brought a storm.

It wasn’t serious--not bad enough to make the captain consider altering their course--but certainly unpleasant for those whose duties kept them above-deck. Anyone who wasn’t required to be up top found themselves in the galley, with some of the tea the captain seemed to prefer--she forbade them to drink anything stronger while they waited to see how the storm developed.

For a time, Jaina had stayed in the captain’s quarters, but her dedication the night before had paid off, and her reports were finished well ahead of schedule with just a half hour or so’s extra work. It left her curiously bereft of purpose during the ship’s steady rocking while they weathered the storm, and she found herself following the quiet sound of conversation to the galley, where at least half the ship’s crew had congregated. The other half had to be in their bunks.

Captain Shadeweaver, at the table’s head, noticed Jaina’s presence too quickly for her to turn and leave, and her face split into a wide grin as she kicked the empty chair at her right away from the table. “Proudmoore--come down to make sure the rest of us are staying out of trouble?”

For all her outward exuberance, Jaina could see the captain’s slow blinking and knew that exhaustion had to be dragging at her, while she was clearly trying to manage the duties of a captain and a first mate all at once, by her own admission and the argument she’d had with Eastland back in port. She slowly crossed the room but didn’t yet take the offered seat--the rest of the table seemed to be engrossed in their own conversations. “I wanted to ensure there have been no changes to the ship’s course or status.”

Captain Shadeweaver was already waving a hand dismissively. “Nothing new--my helmsman told me the wind isn’t bad, it’s just the sheer rain volume that’s posing a potential complication. He recommended a skeleton crew watch over the deck and make sure we don’t take on too much water, and I agreed--no point in all of us sitting out there, watching the rain.”

They let the quiet sit for a moment before Jaina cleared her throat and said, “Thank you for the jacket.”

“Oh, that?” Captain Shadeweaver raised a brow, and looked surprised Jaina had even brought it up, maybe even a smidge uncomfortable. “Don’t mention it. My helmsman came to fetch me when the weather looked like it was going to take a turn. Didn’t feel right to just leave you there without trying to at least make you a bit more comfortable.”

It wasn’t exactly entirely out of character for the captain, but certainly it seemed out of the ordinary. Her mild discomfort as she balanced one ankle over her knee proved that much. “Do you know how much the storm will delay our arrival?” was all she asked in the end.

“No, not yet.” the discomfort on the captain’s face melted away as they returned to the safely businesslike topic of their voyage. “We won’t be able to tell until the storm passes and we figure out exactly where we are in relation to Boralus. Hopefully the storm will pass by the end of the night. We’re gonna be overflowing on bunks if it doesn’t.”

The storm did not pass. Jaina occupied herself in the captain’s quarters with the various tomes she’d borrowed from Stormwind’s libraries for several hours, and every so often checked in with the captain herself, whose report remained largely the same. They were definitely off-course by now, since the wind had begun to pick up, but Captain Shadeweaver had assured Jaina that she could make up for their lost time once the storm was over.

It was sometime around sunset that the door to the captain’s quarters inched open with a faint creak, and brought with it a hot, earthy smell. Jaina turned from where she’d taken the chair in the corner and found the captain herself, two mugs of tea in her grasp. She set one down wordlessly by Jaina and took the chair in front of her desk with a deep sigh.

“I don’t suppose there’s been much change in the weather?” she had to ask, but Jaina had a feeling she knew the answer already.

“No, not much.” Captain Shadeweaver took a long drink of her tea and set the mug down, lacing her fingers together. In the low light, she looked even more exhausted than she had the night before. “All my crew’s hammocks and spare cots are full, and some people are still taking shifts in them, including the extra passengers. Remind me to tear Shaw a new one next time I see him.”

Despite herself, Jaina felt one side of her lip lift up into a grin. “I’ll do that.” she said dryly, and returned to her book. The tea that Captain Shadeweaver brought had a full, warming flavor with a hint of spice--it wasn’t a kind Jaina had tried before, and she held the mug up. “Can I ask where you got this?”

“My own creation, actually.” Captain Shadeweaver smirked as she carefully shoved her mug to a free space on her desk. “All the traveling I did, and I could never find the perfect tea. I suppose to say I created it would be technically inaccurate--I took a couple different mixes, put them together, and came up with that. After a great deal of trial-and-error, that is.”

“If you ever decided to get out of the privateer business,” Jaina lifted a brow, “you might consider becoming a tea seller.”

“A tea seller with only one kind of tea?” Captain Shadeweaver’s single remaining eye danced with mirth. “It seems like I’d be catering to a very limited set of people.”

It was fun, this occasional back-and-forth with Captain Shadeweaver, and it came to Jaina with an ease she found only slightly surprising. There was a time, not all that long ago, she might’ve avoided the captain’s various battles of wits both big and small, but now she found them entertaining.

Conversation faded out and was replaced by an easy silence, broken only by the occasional sound of either Jaina herself or Captain Shadeweaver yawning. When Jaina’s vision began to blur with fatigue, she let out a breath and set the book down, looking up at almost the same time as the captain.

“You should rest,” they both said simultaneously, and the captain chuckled. “Here I was hoping to get the last word.”

“You couldn’t have slept hardly at all last night,” Jaina pointed out, “and this is your ship, your quarters.”

“You, meanwhile,” Captain Shadeweaver raised one of her brows, “fell asleep over my desk, and probably had a great new ache in your neck to deal with in the morning--you couldn’t have slept any more than I did.”

“I can debatably function on less sleep, and I likely did get more sleep than you since I know you left before I awoke.”

“Fine, fine.” Captain Shadeweaver raised both hands before balancing her elbows on her desk again, fingers steepled together. “It’s clear neither of us are going to back down, so I have an idea, but I doubt you’re going to like it.”

Suspicion rising, Jaina marked her place in her book and closed it, but didn’t set it down. “I’m listening.”

Captain Shadeweaver’s face was carefully neutral, which was almost as jarring to see as the detached, under-the-weather look she’d had at the beginning of the trip, but none of those things were as surprising as the captain saying, “We could share it.”

“Share it.”

“My bunk--you wouldn’t know, since you didn’t sleep in it last night, but it’s big enough for two.” Captain Shadeweaver shrugged. “Barely.”

There was a single moment where Jaina wondered if the captain was implying something else, but she hadn’t made the suggestion with any of her usual charm or humor. While she was certainly not a shy person in the slightest, Jaina had a feeling the captain wouldn’t openly proposition her, at least not in these circumstances.

“Just to be clear,” Jaina began slowly, setting the book down on the nearest flat surface--a small table near to the side window, “this isn’t an attempt to...proposition me, is it?”

Captain Shadeweaver blinked once, then snorted. “Believe me, Proudmoore, if I intended to proposition you, it would be far more obvious. Subtlety isn’t my strong suit. This is for practicality while the storm keeps my crew--and me--from properly rotating bunks.”

“Fine, then.” she made a point of looking around the patently obviously bed-free quarters. “I assume you keep it hidden somewhere.”

It was hidden, and rather cleverly, for a ship bunk--Captain Shadeweaver tugged a small chain free of a small crack between wood panels and pulled the whole ensemble down, where she secured it to the deck with small wooden posts, bolted into the floor. As promised, it was bigger than normal, but likely not ordinarily intended for two occupants.

Captain Shadeweaver only bothered to remove her outer jacket, her boots, and the patch covering her right eye--not missing, as Jaina previously thought, but badly scarred and no longer shimmering with the bright light that her left one did--before flopping down at the edge of the bunk, pointedly facing away from where Jaina made her own preparations to sleep.

Uneasy was the wrong word for what Jaina felt as she sat on the opposite edge of the bunk--maybe it was something like unfamiliarity, the proximity to Captain Shadeweaver far closer than she’d been to anyone in a long time. For necessity’s sake, she reminded herself, and only for one night.

Jaina felt, somehow, it should have taken longer to drift away than it did--in this unfamiliar situation, with another person at her back, albeit as far away as the bunk would allow them to be--but something about the motion of the ship, even through the waning storm, and having an actual bed beneath her, were enough to let exhaustion finally win out, and sleep rose up to claim her.

Warm.

It was the first thing Jaina noticed upon waking, before even opening her eyes--she rested on something warm, something solid but soft, and it took several beats as she climbed the ladder back to full consciousness that she wasn’t asleep on something, but someone.

Captain Shadeweaver’s back rose and fell underneath Jaina’s cheek with the motion of her breathing, and she reflexively moved her arm where it’d apparently been resting over the captain’s shoulders. She briefly thought she might’ve been able to escape the encounter with her dignity intact as she slowly began to roll away, but the captain herself spoke, “Ah, good, you’re up.”

“How long have you been awake?” Jaina demanded, sitting up, and tried to make it not sound so accusatory, because there was nothing she could reasonably accuse the captain of in this circumstance--aside from clearly having been awake for some time and not pushing Jaina back to her own side of the bunk, but she shelved that thought for later consideration.

“A while.” Captain Shadeweaver’s answer was frustratingly vague, but she didn’t seem bothered by the question as she yawned once and ran one hand through her short, violet hair. She’d slipped her eyepatch back on, but even with her single remaining eye, Jaina could see the shadows of exhaustion beneath them, the kind of fatigue that was bone-deep and all but impossible to shake, and often accompanied by the weight of one’s burdens. “I think I need some tea, and if you--”

“He wasn’t just your first mate,” was the first thing Jaina blurted out, and couldn’t have said why she felt it important in that moment, but pieces from the past few days fell into place very rapidly, very subtle and so small that anyone might have missed them, but unquestionably there. “Kyrian. He was family.”

Captain Shadeweaver said nothing, and a stony silence settled over them. Finally, she sighed and got up, reaching for where she’d thrown her long jacket over her chair the night before. She rested her backside on the edge of her desk. “Everyone on my crew is family to me, Proudmoore.” Captain Shadeweaver’s grin was small and a little sad. “Or at least the only family I care to think about anymore. But Kyrian was like a brother, my best friend, and when he became a void elf...things changed.”

“You lost a friend.”

“But he lost everything.” Captain Shadeweaver countered. “He can’t be with the rest of us anymore because he told me the void afflicts him too much to risk being out here--he told me he’s afraid he’d hurt us, and the fear of it keeps him at shore. He can’t sail, he can barely leave Stormwind, for short periods of time while Lady Xaaria runs her few errands out there, he’s in pain and there’s nothing I can do to help him.

“I may have lost a brother,” Captain Shadeweaver finished, looking down at the deck, “but he lost everything. The fact that I now have to shoulder his duties as well as my own feels like a somewhat inconsequential thing to lose sleep over.”

“You still lost family,” Jaina pointed out quietly, “and you should be allowed to grieve for that.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about, Proudmoore.” Captain Shadeweaver arched a brow, lip twitching like she wanted to smile, as she said the same thing she had in Stormwind, in her ship’s galley, and she understood its depth this time.

“I know.” was all she said, reaching up to fix the braid she hadn’t bothered to take down the night before. “But perhaps it ought to be.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” with a long stretch, the captain fixed the strap on her eyepatch before changing the subject. “I’m getting my tea. I could bring some back for you.”

“That would be nice.” Jaina admitted, finishing the braid and getting up to search for the heavier pieces of her outfit, carefully folded and set down wherever there was space.

When the captain returned, she brought tea, and the news that they’d be arriving in Boralus, with their course corrections, in a few hours. The empty captain’s quarters had been left to Jaina once again while the ship’s captain made her preparations for docking, and Jaina carefully searched around the desk to ensure she hadn’t left anything behind.

With all her items safely packed away and moved along with the rest of the ship’s cargo, Jaina came to stand with Captain Shadeweaver near to the ship’s stern, where she watched, safely out of the way, while they coasted into port in Boralus’ harbor.

“It shouldn’t take long to find out what your next assignment will be, Captain.” Jaina knew that Captain Shadeweaver would certainly be needed back in Stormwind somewhat soon, but she would be remiss in not having the notoriously cunning captain solve other issues around the nearby seas in the meantime.

“Good.” the captain turned and lifted one brow. “Also, do me a favor: call me Miri, would you?” Her eye brightened with amusement, looking far more like Jaina typically saw her, full of vibrance and light. “People who’ve slept with me get to call me Miri.”

Jaina felt the back of her neck heat up again, but she managed to keep her tone even and unruffled as she said, “I hope you’ll understand if it takes time to break the habit of calling you by title, Captain.”

When the Silent Tide was fully moored to its dock in Boralus’ harbor, Jaina stood at the plank lowered from the deck to the harbor, and turned back to where Captain Shadeweaver stood, resting her weight on her left side with her arms folded.

“Thank you for your hospitality...Miri.” Jaina told her, tasting the unfamiliar name on her tongue.

Captain Shadeweaver’s grin widened into something that was a little deeper than normal, a little more sincere. “Anytime, Lord Admiral.”

#this may or may not be a characterization nightmare but it's DONE #my writing #ismirah shadeweaver #otp: from shore to shore #sorta bc they're not Together yet but w/e #disclaimer: i have not yet finished the alliance-side story but i know most of what happens and intentionally kept things vague

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theresnosafeharbor4myships · 5 years

Text

written for my Caryl secret santa: Caryl, back in the good ol’ days <3

Sweet Exchange (also on 9L)

The last of the leaves falling from the trees and the chill setting in their bones told them winter had officially arrived, and with it, Christmas. Celebrating holidays hadn’t occurred to them amidst the running and fighting and scavenging and surviving, but with things finally settling down and the Woodbury lot talking about Christmas being a few days away, the prison was abuzz with the idea of a party.

It’d taken some getting used to, having people around again—and especially ones nearly incapable of protecting themselves—but their small family had slowly opened up. The groups had begun working together, and they’d started construction on a covered outdoor mess hall, prepping the yard for spring planting, building a corral for the animals they intended to have, and going on runs to help provide for the group-at-large.

Daryl had returned from one of those runs not two days ago. He liked being out on the road, preferred it actually, but there was something to be said for having a place to come home to. And home it had become. Not because of the place, though having walls and some semblance of security helped, but because of the people waiting for him, depending on him, welcoming him back.

Still, he found the sheer number of them stifling sometimes. The noise and problems, chatter and complaints, company and neediness, the need to fill quiet spaces with unnecessary words…it all exhausted him, and he often excused himself when too many gathered around.

Like now.

He rubbed his hands together in an attempt to garner warmth. Guard duty had become nearly unbearable after the sun set, but he only had himself to blame since he’d offered to stay on watch while everyone else enjoyed the Christmas festivities.

He cupped his hands around his mouth, breathing hot air onto them before shoving them back into his pockets and scanning the grounds below. The night was dead, and not just because of the handful of walkers roaming the horizon. The air stung, the temperature much too frigid for anything living to want to encroach on their territory. Still, he kept his eyes peeled, even as he wondered what the merry-making inside looked like.

Was Rick wearing that dumb elf hat with the big ears on it that Michonne had found in a storage closet last week? Was Carl pretending Judy was the baby in the manger again? Was Beth leading the group in a round of Christmas carols? Was Carol decorating that wimpy Peanuts-style Christmas tree that Glenn had dragged in? Was she keeping warm? Maybe wearing that red sweater she’d claimed that made her eyes shine like stars and her cheeks look extra rosy? Was she smiling at the kids’ antics? Rocking Judith to sleep? Was she chatting it up with that guy, Greg, the one he’d noticed gravitating towards her lately? Did she enjoy the man’s company? Did she even miss his presence, notice he wasn’t around?

He shook his head, clearing away the frustrating thought that she might not even have noticed his absence, and focused on the yard around and far below him.

It’s not like he had any claim to her. Sure, they’d paired up last winter, after they’d lost the farm, but only because nearly everyone else had someone to keep warm with. She’d started flirting with him then, causing his cheeks to flush and his mind to go numb until an unimpressive ‘stahp’ was all he could muster. She’d mustered all the strength she had and hugged him fiercely after he’d found her in that tomb, nearly gone with dehydration, and he’d silently gulped in air, his breath sucked away by the adrenaline still boiling from his frantic pacing a few minutes before and the debilitating relief that he’d found her alive. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he’d come to care for her, and it scared the shit out of him. And after that…when he’d ditched them because he couldn’t escape his past, he’d known deep down she’d forgive him for traipsing off with Merle, even as the fear that she wouldn’t gnawed at him. But she had—and had even welcomed him and the jackass back into their fold.

He heart seized at the memory of Merle’s walker stumbling towards him. Had it really only been a month ago? A month since he’d ended the dead thing wearing Merle’s face? A month since he’d returned to the prison—where he belonged, he’d stubbornly told Merle—shuffling through the gate and finding his way to Carol? Since she’d taken one look at his expression and let a small “oh” out on a breath before eating up the distance between them and wrapping her arms around his neck? He’d nearly resisted the embrace, arrogant enough to believe he could hide his grief and handle it without the support of someone who cared about him, but the words he’d mumbled to Merle—can’t do things without people anymore, man—rang in his ears, and he dropped his head onto her shoulder and silently wept. If anyone in their group understood the emotions roiling through him, the bitterness and anger, the gratitude followed by the shame, the hatred and relief, the agony of it all, Carol would.

He swallowed hard against the sadness that still came over him in waves. Carol knew, better than anyone he’d ever met. She empathized but didn’t make excuses for him, called things as she saw them. And saw the man he’d become without his older brother casting that menacing shadow he’d never been able to shake until her.

She intrigued him, this woman who’d suffered her own abuses and come out the better side of it, so different from him. Kind and sweet and strong as hell, where he’d become silent, bitter, and defensive. He’d tried to fight it, attempted to remain indifferent, but he craved her presence. Felt drawn to her in a way that made his heart beat fast and his breath catch in his throat.

And instead of sitting inside celebrating a Charlie Brown Christmas with her, he’d offered to freeze to death alone. What an ass.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, his left hand finding the small trinket he’d left there and turning it over and over in his palm.

He’d happened upon it a few days ago. He and Michonne had searched for the Governor for two weeks before returning to the prison. On the way home, they’d discovered a small group of farm houses tucked into a grove they’d never discovered before. A small community belonging to a long-gone religious sect, if he had to guess. They’d made quick work of scavenging and had come away with a few useful items. And he with the small gift in his pocket.

He’d paused when he’d first seen it, shocked that something so perfect existed, then snatched it up and hidden it away before Michonne noticed and set about teasing him. She ribbed him relentlessly, and something about making him blush amused her. He didn’t need to give her any more ammo for her arsenal.

“Hey, you ready to go inside?”

He peered over the watchtower bars to see Ty staring up at him. “Party all done?”

“Mostly. Kids have gone to bed, and everyone else was headed that way when I left.” Ty started climbing the staircase. “You missed a lot of good fun in there.”

Daryl didn’t feel a need to respond. The dour mood he’d set himself in only had sarcastic remarks, and Ty didn’t deserve to be on the end of his self-pity trip.

“We left you some dinner,” Ty told him as he reached the landing. “Still warm too, I think.”

“Thanks.” Daryl passed his machine gun to Ty and grabbed up his crossbow, slinging the worn strap across his chest. “Stay warm; it’s only gonna get colder before morning,” he predicted as he started down the stairs.

“I’m gonna try.”

Daryl ambled toward the cell block, trying to shake away the darkness that had settled in his mind, but too much time alone, in his own head, with his morbid thoughts—and all because he preferred playing the outcast—had soured his mood and left his heart feeling cold.

As if he weren’t freezing already.

He hurried inside to warm up, hoping everyone had dispersed and he could eat his dinner in peace.

He closed the cell block door, effectively shutting the biting air outside, and made his way to the dining area. Red, silver, and gold baubles and garland graced the wimpy tree in the corner, nearly weighing it down with their joviality, and a few shreds of string and what had likely been gift wrapping still littered the floor. Laughter rang down the halls, taunting him in his loneliness, and suddenly the thought of eating dinner alone surrounded by sights of the season didn’t seem so appealing.

Heaving a sigh, he ignored the cheery, intermittent voices from the cell blocks and headed to the stove. He poured himself a cup of warm coffee and snagged some of the turkey jerky he’d made and a small can of fruit before heading toward his cell.

The main room stood empty, the low voices he’d heard coming from sheet-covered cells throughout the block. The noise would drown out any sound he made, but he still walked carefully, not in the mood to encounter any straggling partiers.

He’d nearly made it to his cell when Carol popped her head out of her room and spotted him. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

In your cell? he wondered despondently, nodding noncommittally in response.

“I was just bundling up to come find you.”

Daryl stopped outside of his room as she moved towards him, wearing one of the winter jackets and a scarf they’d pilfered. “Couldn’t find my gloves. But now that you’re here….mind if I join you?”

She had noticed him missing from the party…and had set out to find him? He felt a fluttering in his belly. At least she wasn’t spending the rest of the evening with Greg.

Suddenly her hand was on his arm. “You okay?” she asked, looking concerned.

It don’t mean nothin’ special. Shake it off, Dixon, he scolded himself. Act like a normal human being for once. “Yeah. Just cold.”

“Well, let’s get you warmed up. Mind if I sit with you for a while?”

He shook his head in response, too overcome with images of her helping him get warm to form words.

She pulled back the curtain covering his cell, and he dipped inside with her right behind him. Flipping on the small lamp and leaning against the desk, he motioned towards the bed, offering her the more comfortable seat, but she shook her head. “You’ve been on guard duty for hours. You get comfy and relax.”

“You sure?”

She smiled sweetly at him, nodding, and he moved to the bed, setting his coffee cup on the ground at his feet as she turned the desk chair around to face him. He placed his crossbow in the corner by his bed and slipped out of his jacket, leaving it pooled around him as he sat.

Carol removed her scarf and heavy coat and draped them over the back of the chair as she plopped down. Her proximity made him nervous, and though he didn’t want her to leave, he didn’t exactly want her so close—only a few feet away—with the curtain sealing them off from others. It made his heart thunder wildly in his chest, his thoughts run rampant. With the others around, he found it easier to act indifferent; hell, he wouldn’t be able to handle the ridicule if they knew how desperately he craved her, how often she occupied his thoughts, so he played it safe and kept it cool. But when they were alone—and that had started to happen more and more frequently—he felt sure she could read his thoughts, hear his heartbeat running fast. It was dangerous to have her so close. And yet so far, he reminded himself.

“Did you see our tree?” she asked, merriment on her face. “The kids went crazy when they saw the decorations Michonne and Glenn brought out. They almost knocked it over a few times, all of them trying to decorate at once.”

He didn’t trust himself to speak without sounding harsher than necessary, so he harrumphed in response, giving a small nod, and started eating the turkey jerky.

“Carl wanted to sing, so he and Beth led everyone in some songs, but when Carl started Jingle Bells with ‘Jingle bells, Batman smells,’ Rick called it quits.”

He granted her an amused look but otherwise remained quiet and continued munching.

You’re an idiot, he scolded himself. She’s been running miles around that race track in your mind for hours. Now she’s here in front of you, no one else around, and you clam up like you got lockjaw.

He glanced up at her and saw that his silence had subdued her mood.

Why can’t you act halfway decent?

“Hershel read the Christmas story,” she continued with a bit less enthusiasm. “And we let the kids open their gifts…mainly books from the library, and the chalk and the puzzles you brought back the other day.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Was nothin’.” Her intense stare made him want to fidget, but he willed himself to refrain.

“It meant the world to the kids. It’s not gonna be often…if ever...that we get to open gifts again,” she explained softly. “It lifted everyone’s spirits.”

He gave a small nod and started gnawing on the inside of his lip, unsure how to handle her praise. He felt comfortable in front of walkers and with weapons, but kind words from this slip of a woman with the bright blue eyes and he melted, powerless, like snow in the sun. Slowly, ever so slowly, she was thawing him out.

Her talk of gifts reminded him of the one in his pocket. He’d meant to wrap it, to wait until she was on guard duty and leave it on her bed or perhaps tuck it into her hands before he set out on the next scheduled run, but something in this moment prodded him. Give it to her…now or never, he told himself. Just ‘cause you’re an ass doesn’t mean you gotta keep bein’ one.

Setting his snacks aside and avoiding her gaze, he fumbled around with his jacket, trying to find the pocket with her gift in it. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I got somethin’ for you. For Christmas.” He withdrew a fisted hand from his jacket. “Didn’t….get a chance to wrap it.”

He raised his eyes to see her staring at him in wonder. “Ain’t much,” he mumbled, holding his hand out towards her.

She cupped her hands together beneath his, and he watched her as he placed the gift into her hands. A panoply of expressions crossed her face: surprise, happiness, excitement, anticipation. Holding the jewelry in one hand, she picked up one of the pieces with the other. “Oh, Daryl,” she breathed.

The large stud earrings had creamy-white pearlescent petals with a tiny golden center, and silver rimmed the edges, giving them a regal appearance.

“Cherokee rose. I just thought…well…it’s—”

He stopped stuttering when she abruptly moved from the chair and sat down next to him, but before he could speak again she leaned toward him and slipped her arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered near his ear, hugging him close.

He froze in place, her touch burning his skin, her scent, light and floral, overpowering his senses, her breath sending shivers down his spine. His heart staccatoed against his ribcage, and he felt certain they could hear it in the next cell block.

She was going to kill him long before he’d ever gather the courage to tell her how he felt

He slid his arms around her, tentatively holding her like he’d done not so long ago. That hug—borne out of relief and desperation, he knew—had surprised him, but since it’d been a matter of life and death, he understood it. This…this felt entirely different. Full of gratitude, happiness, and a sort of intimacy he couldn’t help but both crave and fear.

“They’re beautiful,” she enthused as she withdrew, looking at the earrings in her hand like they were diamonds. “Cherokee roses...” She met his gaze, and for a moment he thought she might cry. “Thank you.”

“You remembered,” he murmured.

“I could never forget. It was the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. And...I saw the one out on the grave...” she admitted quietly.

He felt the twitch of his eye, his tell of discomfort when someone got too close, and looked away. “Thought you were gone.”

He heard the sadness in his tone, felt his heart clench at the memory of almost losing her. Of finding her. Of bringing her back to the group and having her with him, with them, again.

She covered his hand with one of her own. “I know,” she whispered.

“Didn’t know how else…to pay my respects. Didn’t know how else to say goodbye. I was so angry that we lost… We went lookin’ for you…after we found T, found Lori. I didn’t want you to…be one of them or, or stay one of them. I couldn’t…it’d already been a few days and I couldn’t leave you like that.”

He saw the forgotten scarf on the ground, the knife she’d used to defend herself. Recalled how he’d jammed that knife over and over again into the floor, the wall, hoping to release some of emotions threatening to spill over. He hadn’t meant to tell her how he’d discovered her hiding place, but now that he’d started he couldn’t stop.

“I found a walker with your knife in its neck, and…I hated the thought of you down there by yourself, tryin’ to find a way out, fightin’ them things by yourself.” He shook his head, his eyes full of fire and hurt and miles away. “I made them leave me down there….in the tombs. I…after losing T and Lori, with Rick head-sick, and me tryin’ to keep everyone alive and make sure Asskicker had food, I…I couldn’t take it anymore. I made them leave me alone. Wallowin’ like a damn fool when they all needed me… I worked myself up to be able to…to put you down if I had to. We promised, and I would have, but…”

“But you found me. You brought me back.” Carol ducked her head trying to meet his gaze, and he finally met her eyes, coming back to the present. “Thank you…for saving me. For finding me.” She reached up and brushed his hair away from his eyes. “For the Cherokee roses that’ve given me strength and hope. And now I get to keep them…keep you…with me always.”

His heart seized in his chest, and he thought he might’ve stopped breathing for a moment. He stared at her, her words washing over him like a healing balm. She couldn’t mean what she’d said…could she? He’d used the rose to lend her hope when she’d lost it; now she was using it to bind them together. How she could do that, could turn the moment from maudlin to miraculous in a few heartbeats, left him speechless.

He cleared his throat, breaking the tension that crackled in the air, and he felt time snap back into place.

She held his gaze as she put the earrings on. “I love them,” she declared. She turned her head from side to side, showcasing them. “How do they look?”

He couldn’t help staring. In the dim light of his lamp, she looked soft and inviting, her smile blazing brightly at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “They’re perfect,” he breathed.

Carol covered his hand with one of hers. “Thank you,” she said softly, her words heavy. “I have something for you too.”

He furrowed his brow as she moved to her jacket and rifled through its folds. She glanced at him once conspiratorially before withdrawing a package wrapped crudely in soft leather and tied with a string. “Here.” She proffered the package to him, returning to her seat next to him on the bed.

Daryl swallowed hard, entirely unprepared for this exchange. It’d taken all of his willpower to give the earrings to her. But to know she’d thought of him too, had prepared and wrapped a gift, and had it in her pocket as she’d set out to find him tonight meant he’d been right: he was an ass for avoiding their first Christmas.

He untied the string and peeled back the cloth to reveal a coiled piece of leather. “What is it?” he murmured as he unwound it. The leather strap had a familiar-looking connecting piece at each end, and he realized he held a new, better version of a crossbow sling.

“I know you said yours was giving out,” Carol explained. “And I want to make sure you stay safe.”

“How did you…?” He trailed off in wonder, noting “D I X O N” emblazoned across the middle of the strap.

“That guy, Greg…? He’s a leather craftsmen. When I found out, I asked him to help me. We’ve been working on it for a few weeks; just finished today. I wanted to give you something nice. You do so much for us, for all of us, I wanted to do a little something special for you.”

He stared at the sling, unable to meet her gaze, his mind spinning. Useful, practical, and something she’d come up with on her own…she’d helped handcraft a personalized gift for him? ‘I want to make sure you stay safe,’ she’d said, but walkers were the least of his worries. She’d disarmed him with gentle words, kind eyes, sweet smiles, and tender touches. He’d fallen prey to her willful spirit, her fierce loyalty, her fathomless heart. She’d captured him as a wounded animal, angry, biting, bitter, and full of scorn, and softly, gently, methodically wooed him to her. And he didn’t care that he was her prisoner.

“Carol…”

The jealousy he’d felt as he’d watched her with Greg the past few weeks turned into embarrassment, and he thanked the heavens she couldn’t read his thoughts. He felt sheepish knowing she’d spent time with Greg because she’d been working on a gift for him. He really was an ass.

“This is…perfect.” He finally raised his head to meet her eyes, and as relief washed over her face, he realized how long he’d sat silent.

“I’m glad you like it. Should be the same length as the original; hopefully it fits right.”

He gazed at her, in awe of the compassionate, fiery, powerful force of nature before him. “Thank you.” He imbued the words with all of the sentiments he didn’t know how to voice yet.

Carol’s face broke into an understanding smile. “Merry Christmas, Daryl.”

He nodded. “Merry Christmas.”

#caryl #carol x daryl #daryl x carol #caryl fanfiction #caryl fanfic #christmas caryl #christmas caryl 2018 #my writing #personal

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carylerxsecretsanta · 5 years

Text

Sweet Exchange

for @captain-coffeebean

Title: Sweet Exchange Author: theresnosafeharbor4myships Rating: PG Summary: It’s time for a Christmas celebration, but Daryl isn’t feeling the love…until Carol shows up to bring him out of his funk. <3 A/N: Happy Christmas and Holidays to you, captain-coffeebean!! I hope your season has been full of blessings and love and good times. Hope you enjoy this fic from back when things were fun and mildly angsty between Caryl :D

Like now.

He shook his head, clearing away the frustrating thought that she might not even have noticed his absence, and focused on the yard around and far below him.

And instead of sitting inside celebrating a Charlie Brown Christmas with her, he’d offered to freeze to death alone. What an ass.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, his left hand finding the small trinket he’d left there and turning it over and over in his palm.

“Hey, you ready to go inside?”

He peered over the watchtower bars to see Ty staring up at him. “Party all done?”

“Mostly. Kids have gone to bed, and everyone else was headed that way when I left.” Ty started climbing the staircase. “You missed a lot of good fun in there.”

Daryl didn’t feel a need to respond. The dour mood he’d set himself in only had sarcastic remarks, and Ty didn’t deserve to be on the end of his self-pity trip.

“We left you some dinner,” Ty told him as he reached the landing. “Still warm too, I think.”

“I’m gonna try.”

As if he weren’t freezing already.

He hurried inside to warm up, hoping everyone had dispersed and he could eat his dinner in peace.

He’d nearly made it to his cell when Carol popped her head out of her room and spotted him. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

In your cell? he wondered despondently, nodding noncommittally in response.

“I was just bundling up to come find you.”

She had noticed him missing from the party…and had set out to find him? He felt a fluttering in his belly. At least she wasn’t spending the rest of the evening with Greg.

Suddenly her hand was on his arm. “You okay?” she asked, looking concerned.

It don’t mean nothin’ special. Shake it off, Dixon, he scolded himself. Act like a normal human being for once. “Yeah. Just cold.”

“Well, let’s get you warmed up. Mind if I sit with you for a while?”

He shook his head in response, too overcome with images of her helping him get warm to form words.

“You sure?”

He didn’t trust himself to speak without sounding harsher than necessary, so he harrumphed in response, giving a small nod, and started eating the turkey jerky.

“Carl wanted to sing, so he and Beth led everyone in some songs, but when Carl started Jingle Bells with ‘Jingle bells, Batman smells,’ Rick called it quits.”

He granted her an amused look but otherwise remained quiet and continued munching.

He glanced up at her and saw that his silence had subdued her mood.

Why can’t you act halfway decent?

He shrugged one shoulder. “Was nothin’.” Her intense stare made him want to fidget, but he willed himself to refrain.

“It meant the world to the kids. It’s not gonna be often…if ever…that we get to open gifts again,” she explained softly. “It lifted everyone’s spirits.”

He raised his eyes to see her staring at him in wonder. “Ain’t much,” he mumbled, holding his hand out towards her.

The large stud earrings had creamy-white pearlescent petals with a tiny golden center, and silver rimmed the edges, giving them a regal appearance.

“Cherokee rose. I just thought…well…it’s—”

He stopped stuttering when she abruptly moved from the chair and sat down next to him, but before he could speak again she leaned toward him and slipped her arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” she whispered near his ear, hugging him close.

She was going to kill him long before he’d ever gather the courage to tell her how he felt

“They’re beautiful,” she enthused as she withdrew, looking at the earrings in her hand like they were diamonds. “Cherokee roses…” She met his gaze, and for a moment he thought she might cry. “Thank you.”

“You remembered,” he murmured.

“I could never forget. It was the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. And…I saw the one out on the grave…” she admitted quietly.