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alicenttully · 3 years

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Chances

Sansa and Jeyne love each other with all the devotion of two girls- one whose sisters died in the cradle while the other was not close with the sister she had.

Sansa and Jeyne love each other, although the world does not let them forget who they are. The world never lets them forget that Sansa is the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark. Jeyne is the only daughter of Vayon Poole, Winterfell’s steward- A respectable position, but a steward nonetheless. Jeyne knows any match she makes will not equal that of Sansa’s- promised to the heir of the Vale.

Sansa and Jeyne love each other freely and without restraint, until Riverrun.

Lord and Lady Stark travel to Riverrun with four of their children- Robb remaining in Winterfell, for the wedding of Edmure Tully, Lady Stark’s younger brother. Still feeling giddy on the wine and revelry of the celebrations, Jeyne later steals into Sansa’s bed. Arya is in the another, but her peaceful snores assure the girls she’s fast asleep.

They are whispering and giggling, and then – it ceases when Jeyne kisses Sansa. They’ve kissed before, but they had been small girls then, a little older than Rickon is now perhaps. Practise, they had told themselves, as they exchanged swift, clumsy kisses. Except Jeyne is now sixteen, and she wants to kiss Sansa for herself. The gods must have granted her courage, because Jeyne is not brave- the thought of speaking to a room full of people however brief like she had seen Lord Eddard do makes her stomach flip, and the idea of Winterfell’s crypt unnerve her, even though she knew Sansa occasionally used to play down with her siblings.

Sansa breaks away from the kiss first. She is silent, and Jeyne feels herself grow cold. “Sansa, please say something.”

“Jeyne, I….” It is as if words and Sansa have become strangers. When Jeyne had kissed her, it hadn’t felt wrong. But Sansa also knew that they were not little girls anymore and – ladies weren’t supposed to that. She didn’t know how to reconcile those two feelings.

“Jeyne, you should not have done that.” Sansa’s voice was gentle but still low, mindful that Arya was in the room with them. But the light of the moon from the open window was bright enough to illuminate Jeyne’s face, and she looked as though Sansa had slapped her. She gave a strangled cry, and then left Sansa alone as she fled from the room.

II.

It takes three days of Jeyne avoiding her until Sansa had enough. They will be leaving soon, and Sansa does not want to return North without putting this to rest.

She finds Jeyne alone in Riverrun’s library.

“Jeyne, please. I can’t bear for you not to speak to me.”

Jeyne’s voice is cool and polite. “You seem to bear it well when your sister doesn’t.”

Sansa scoffed. “Arya is my sister. She’s always annoyed with me about something. But you’re my friend, Jeyne. We hardly ever fight.”

“Yes, friend.” Jeyne repeats. “You’ve made that clear the night of Lord Tully’s wedding.”

Sansa blushes. “Jeyne, forgive me. I’m just confused.”

She turns away for a moment. “I’m confused because I understand a part of me realizes you shouldn’t have kissed me like that. What if my mother had walked in? Or Arya had woken up?” Jeyne’s face blanches. “But,” Sansa takes a deep breath before continuing. “But there’s another part of me that’s confused as to why I didn’t hate you kissing me- that it felt nice. I don’t know what it means.”

Sansa feels Jeyne’s hand cup her cheeks. Her hands are so soft. “Perhaps we can find the answer together.”

When they kiss again, Sansa does not break away.

III.

The answer comes over time, in the next two years. Sansa writes Jeyne a poem, that Jeyne folds up to shut in the locket that had belonged to her mother. She wears the locket daily, to keep Sansa’s sweet words close. Lord Eddard sometimes invites one of his household to sup with him and his family. On the occasions that Jeyne and Vayon are honoured with an invitation, Jeyne would tune out her father’s voice while he talked about bread stores as she smiled knowingly at Sansa. They try to find whatever spot of Winterfell’s that they can- the library, in the godswood, or the rookery – and make it theirs.

Two years pass, and Sansa remains promised to Harry Arryn. A cousin of Sansa, the son of Elbert Arryn and her Tully aunt. Jeyne vaguely remembers Lysa Arryn from Riverrun- but what she remembers was a contented woman whose life was her husband and son. Sansa and Jeyne avoid talking about Sansa’s intended, although Jeyne is aware that Sansa does write to him. Jeyne does not like to think of what Sansa writes in those letters. But with Lord Elbert and Lady Lysa dying within days of each other and Sansa’s eighteenth name-day, Jeyne knows Sansa must begin the life she was promised for since she was ten.

That night before Sansa and Harry will speak their vows, Sansa and Jeyne both go to bed early. Sansa had told her mother that she was nervous, and thought perhaps Jeyne’s presence would soothe her.

“They say the Vale’s beautiful.” Jeyne says softly.

“It is.” Sansa’s hands stroke Jeyne’s arm. “Harry says the Vale will be made even more so by my presence.”

Jeyne grits her teeth. “I don’t want to speak about him.” She knows it’s partly her fault for bringing up the Vale, but she can’t help it.

Sansa lifts Jeyne’s hand and kisses it gently. “I’m sorry, Jeyne.”

But Jeyne feels angry now, and perhaps her anger gives way to the courage that had possessed her all that time ago in Riverrun. “We could leave.”

Sansa was lost for a moment. “What?”

“Leave. We’ll – We’ll run away, maybe Bravvos or somewhere. Somewhere where people don’t know who we are. We could be happy, you and me.” Jeyne’s voice is rapturous, and for a moment Sansa allows herself to be swept up in this sweet dream- but that’s all it could be, a dream.

“Jeyne, you know I can’t. I have a duty to my house, and to Harry. And if we left, there is no way we could return because of the scandal it would cause, the daughter of Lord Stark running off with a steward’s girl.

You remember that my aunt was taken by Prince Rhaegar? There are those who whisper she went willingly, and that shadow has hung over my father. I would only be making it worse.” Jeyne is resolute in the face of Sansa’s gentle pleas, but it is the mention of Vayon Poole that makes her yield. “And what about your father, Jeyne? You wouldn’t be able to see him again.” Every word Sansa speaks now is agonising, but it is necessary.

Jeyne nods, her eyes shining with tears. “I understand. It was a moment of folly, that’s all.”

“Jeyne, I’m sorry.”

Jeyne takes Sansa’s hand in her own. “Don’t be. It’s just that from tomorrow, you’ll be his. You’ll be his lady and give him sons if the Mother is good. He will get to love you openly, like I never could. But tonight- I just want you to be mine.”

When they kiss, Sansa wonders if this night with Jeyne will be enough to sustain her all the nights of her marriage.

IV.

During the first year of marriage, Sansa gives her husband a son- little Hugo. It is a good thing that Sansa finds joy in her son, because she finds little with her husband. Sansa wonders if part of this is her failing – wonders if she has prevented building something good with Harry, because she had already given away her heart.

But it was the second year of their marriage that Sansa understood how Harry had his own ghosts.

The serving girl does not notice Sansa as she slips out of Harry’s bedchambers one morning. Sansa is half-tempted to speak up, but she would probably frighten the girl to death.

She makes her way into Harry’s bedchambers. She thinks idly how her father and mother had possessed different chambers, and that Lord Eddard had never shamed his lady by using his rooms in such a way.

He shamed her in other ways, though.

“I hope you have not tired Mandy out.” Sansa says politely, as way of introduction. Sitting up amongst the covers, realization dawns on Harry’s face. “My Lady, I’m sorry-"

“My lord, please.” Sansa knows it is rude to interrupt, but perhaps it would be forgivable for this occasion.

“I am not angry at you. My father is the most honourable man I know, but my half-brother is proof that he like all men, will stray from his wife’s bed. I’ve long accepted that it could be the same for us. All I can ask is that you keep your dalliances discreet for my sake. I will not be treated like that of Queen Naerys. You make sure that whatever girl you are intimate with is given moon tea.

If you do sire a bastard, you will see to that child’s needs, but you will send both the woman and child away. I will not be like my mother.” Sansa is surprised by the intensity in her voice.

Harry nods, and it feels like a victory. “Agreed.”

The conversation could have ended there, but in spite of herself Sansa feels compelled to ask him this.

“Do you… do you love her?” She is genuinely curious.

Harry shakes his head. “She warms my bed, that’s it.” Harry locks eyes with Sansa. “I did love someone.” He said softly, and his face looked pained. “But I was promised to another.”

“You were promised to me.” Sansa feels her heart twist in sympathy for her lord husband. “I understand my lord, perhaps better than you realize. I loved someone else as well.” I love her still.

Perhaps it was this odd, unflinching honesty between her and Harry- the first time they were truly vulnerable with one another, that changes things for them. The next six years sees the birth of their twin children, Brynden and Teora. Duty and their children bound them together, but they have become good friends nonetheless.

When Hugo is eight and the twins six, Harry dies suddenly in his sleep. His heart had just stopped, was their Maester’s finding.

As Sansa suddenly finds herself becoming Lady regent for her son, her thoughts keep coming back to Jeyne. Sansa had been back to Winterfell twice in the years she married, but it was as though she and Jeyne were strangers, rather than – what they were.

Sansa realizes it might do to marry again, but it is the last thing she wants.

What she does want – or who, is in the North.

VI.

“Who’s it from?” Jeyne asks, as the letter is handed to her.

“Lady Sansa.”

Jeyne’s breath catches in her throat at the mention of Sansa’s name. For eight years, she has tried not to think of Sansa in the Vale, with her lord husband and children. When they had guested at Winterfell, Jeyne had wanted so desperately to reach out to Sansa- but the realization she would only be making things worse that held her back.

Dear Jeyne,

Perhaps you will have learnt by now that my husband is dead.

Harry was a good man. Although ours was never a love match, we came to an understanding.

But it is his death that has made me realize something.

Jeyne, I have never stopped loving you. When you proposed to run away that night, I cannot tell you how tempted I was. But I had a duty to my betrothed, and my father. But Harry is dead now, and I have given him three heirs. The Lords of the Vale cannot pressure me into marrying again when the line is well secure. I want to make my own choices now. Jeyne, my father gave my hand in marriage to Harry but it is I alone that gives you my heart. Be mine, Jeyne. Come to the Vale.

Yours,

Sansa

Trembling, Jeyne read the words over and over again.

At first, she is overwhelmed with joy- but it is the thought of her father which gives her pause. It would mean leaving him, and for the past eight years, Jeyne's father had become her entire focus, as she had assisted him in his duties. He had tried arranging a match for her, but Jeyne had refused.

She has never stopped loving Sansa, but just as Sansa had put her duty towards her father first, Jeyne needed to do the same.

However, Vayon had other ideas.

"I heard you got a raven from Sansa today," Vayon said quietly, as they ate in Winterfell's Great Hall.

"Yes." Jeyne folds her hands in her lap. "Lord Arryn has passed recently, and she invited me to stay in Vale."

Her father raises his eyebrow. "An honour. I remember how close you were as girls. I never understood why you didn't go with her in the first place, Jeyne. It would have been good for you."

Jeyne shrugs. "It is. But-" Jeyne's voice falters. "I don't know if I can accept it."

However, Vayon takes Jeyne's hands in his own. "Aye Jeyney, if you're worried about your old Papa, don't be. Lord Stark always looks after his servants. But you- I don't want to stop you being with someone you love."

Jeyne could fancy that her father means the innocent love of friends, but his knowing look made Jeyne's heart thud. "How..."

"I think a part of me always suspected. You were always so close like I said. The day Lady Sansa was married, I remember how sad you looked. At first, I thought you mourned your friend leaving, but when you refused that boy - I pieced it together. In a way," Her father pauses, and brushes back a strand of wavy hair that he would sometimes say had been a legacy of Jeyne's mother. "I was glad in a selfish kind of way. I didn't have the means to make you a great match. But Jeyney, life only gives you so many changes at happiness. Don't miss on yours."

VII.

When Sansa reads Jeyne's answer, her smile is bright as the rising sun.

#sansa stark #jeyne poole #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #starkpoole #sansa x jeyne #sapphic sansa fest #sapphicsansafest

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delemis · 3 years

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Rise of the Black Drake

By Fjaring the Black-Hand

(Part 1 in a series)

I was but a lad when the Black Drake’s host arrived at our doorstep. My father, the Jarl of Haustheim, had left with his soldiers three months earlier to join the armies of Arnvall and Karthfryse - a final, desperate effort to bring an end to Durcorach’s steady advance. He’d hoped that the combined strength of three jarls would be enough to bring the reachmen to heel, but that was three months ago, and now both Arnvall and Karthfryse had been razed to the ground. When we spotted those black banners on the horizon, my mother began to weep - The first time I’d ever seen her do so, in my entire life. It filled me with dread.

We weren’t stupid, of course; we knew that something like this would happen eventually, that the reachmen would make some push to wrest the Reach from nordic hands. But we did not expect it to arrive so suddenly, and in such force. Nor did we expect the sheer tactical genius put on display by their leader.

In those days, the kingdom of the Reach was struggling. Our last king had died in the wars of high succession some eighty years ago, leaving behind no heirs, and all his jarls and thanes had taken up arms to carve his kingdom apart into petty holds and clansteads. For the last eight decades, Haustheim had concerned itself almost entirely with the threat posed by its fellow nord neighbors.

So when we heard the rumors that the reachfolk were beginning to muster, we - in our arrogance - ignored them. What harm could a beaten people do against us? We had tamed this land long ago, forced the weakest tribes into servitude and ground the strongest into dust. The reachmen were a threat that existed at the periphery now, prowling the roadside or launching the occasional raid on some vulnerable farmstead. Sure, the tribes had grown rather quiet as of late, and we had heard that one man amongst them had risen to prominence. We thought that when the time came, we would be prepared for him.

But we were not prepared for the Black Drake.

In a matter of weeks, all of our assumptions about the enemy had been proven wrong. All at once he was upon us, his army sweeping across our lands village by village, town by town. Some have called Durcorach’s army a ‘horde’, but to refer to it as such is both insulting and inaccurate, for his army was more organized and well-prepared than any we had faced since the fall of the southern potentates. No, the reachmen were marching beneath the banner of a true army, the likes of which had never been seen before.

One by one, the bravest jarls and chieftains of the Reach marched out to meet the Black Drake upon the field of battle. One by one they were beaten and slain, their holds and steads burned to the ground. By the time we realized that this was no mere slaves’ revolt or crude rebellion, it was already too late; the reachmen had gained the upper hand in a war that we had not even considered it possible to lose.

We knew that without my father’s army, there was no way we could stand up to the combined might of Durcorach’s confederation. Still, me and my siblings were prepared to fight; were it not for what happened next, I am sure that me and my siblings would have gladly fought to the last defending my father’s hold, just as all the other holds before us had done.

But after the Black Drakes’ forces had fully surrounded the walls of Haustheim, it was not siege ladders that greeted us the next day, but a single reachman. An envoy of Durcorach, seeking to parlay. Under normal circumstances I am sure we would have declined, for in those days nords did not treat with reachmen, who they saw as weak and inferior, beastly and elfblooded. Not so any longer-My mother bid the gates opened, and the envoy welcomed inside.

When we received her within my father’s longhall, the Black Drake’s envoy quickly explained to us, in no uncertain terms, that Durcorach’s war was one of extermination against the nord settlers. She told us that our father had died alongside the jarls of Arnvall and Karthfryse, in the weeks before their holds had been burned to the ground. Neither hold had been given the opportunity to parlay, as we were now; they, and most all of the holds and clansteads within the boundaries of the reach, had been razed in retribution for their crimes against the land and its people. As Haustheim existed on the periphery of the Reach, it would be granted the Black Drake’s mercy so long as we opened up its gates to him, submitted to his rule and gave hostages that would ensure our loyalty. This, the envoy explained, was Durcorach’s terms, and he would only offer them once.

My father’s advisors were wary. They warned my mother that the reach-kings’ offer must be insincere, that the reachmen - being possessed of elven blood - had a natural inclination towards trickery, and so were attempting to enter our hold by way of deception before slaughtering us. But my mother was having none of it. “If there is even a slim chance that their offer is genuine,” She had said, “then we must accept it.” She kept repeating herself until her husband’s advisors relented. We siblings said nothing, simply waited while the adults deliberated. We were not old enough yet to have a place at father’s table for talks like these. Though my older brother Hori had complained about not being afforded the respect of the Jarl’s eldest son, now he was strangely silent. Looking back on it, I think he was afraid. Then again, I think we all were.

So the gates of haustheim were thrown open to the reachling invaders. I still remember seeing him for the first time as he entered through the gates astride that large, black destrier, flanked on either side by a row of wormhide-clad honor guardsmen. He was clad head to toe in armor unlike any I’d ever seen a reachman wear before, black as night and carved with witch-glyphs. A chain of silver hung around his neck, weighed low with the signet rings of slain nordic chieftains. There were too many to count, and I did not care to count them in any case for fear that I might find my father’s there as well. Instead, my eyes were drawn towards his face, towards that long mane of black hair tied in knots, and his face - fair, stoic... Clean-shaven, in a manner that I thought unbefitting of a great conqueror. Still, he had the look of a king; reachman and nord alike stood in awe of him as he and his retinue approached.

At the foot of the keep, he stopped to address a crowd of reachmen that had gathered in anticipation of his arrival: They were the indentured, household servants and field hands of the hold that had lived under our care since this place was founded. Yet when Durcorach had finished addressing them, speaking to them in a language that I did not know or care to understand, they cheered his name and began to file out of the city gates, leaving to join their own kinsmen beyond the walls. None of their former masters made any move to stop them.

Finally, when all else was said and done, the Black Drake dismounted from his horse and climbed the steps of the keep on foot with a handful of his guards. While my mother waited to receive him at the top of the steps, me and my three siblings stood off to the side, lined up against the wall. I knew that at least one of us would be leaving as a hostage.

When the reach-king finally did reach the top of the steps, my mother knelt. What happened next, I cannot say, for from the distance we stood we could not hear them speak... The Black Drake bid her stand to her feet with a gesture of his hand, and she did, her gaze averted from her husband’s killer. They did not speak long until Durcorach’s hand lifted, and I could feel my heart sink as I saw that he was pointing towards me.

I spent that night in my mother’s arms, the two of us crying like children. We had been assured that my safety would be guaranteed, so long as Haustheim remained loyal. Still, I cried. Tomorrow, I would be leaving Haustheim as the Black Drake’s hostage, and I did not know when I would be returning again.

#tes #elder scrolls #my writing #skyrim #the reach #reachmen #nords #Durcorach #The Black Drake #Fjaring the Black-Hand #first time writing in a long while #hope you guys enjoy lol

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wondersofdreaming · 4 years

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Lost Boys - THREE

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 2.389

Warnings: Family reunion. Memory overload. Realization. Hurt. Self-loading.

Author’s note: Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Tag: @katerka88 @littlefreya @hell1129-blog @radaofrivia @gothwhopper @fcgrizi @vania-marie @mary-ann84 @sciapod @mitzwinchester @omgkatinka @mis-lil-red (your tag isn’t working 😢)

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated. Seriously, please tell me all the good and bad stuff, else I won’t be able to develop into a better writer if I don’t know what I’m doing right and wrong. I swear I don’t bite.

[ONE] [TWO] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SIX] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE] [TEN]

Lucas was sent home to Georgia to heal. Joshua, the Syverson’s biological son, flew across the Atlantic Ocean to meet and bring him home. Silvia Syverson was a stern woman, and when she wanted her younger son to pick up her adoptive older son that is what she would get. His brother had been curious about what had happened, as a medical practitioner he was also compassionate and wanted to help in any way he could.

A 12-hour plane ride later Lucas was back in his childhood home, lying in his old bedroom filled with rock music posters. On his dresser sat an old boombox and next to it, a towering stack of CDs.

Silvia had demanded he got some rest. There he was. Staring at the ceiling like a good little boy. Fuck. He was a captain in the US Army. He had seen death and destruction enough to last two lifetimes, and he was still a little momma’s boy.

After dinner that evening, Lucas asked his mother for the things he had with him when he was sent to be fostered by them.

“Are you sure you want to rip up in the past?” Silvia asked him, her brows pushed together in concern.

“Ma, I need to know.”

She sighed and motioned for him to follow her. Joshua was right behind the two. All three entered the basement and towards the wall filled with stacks of boxes.

“One of them should be labelled Trevor Thompson.”

Lucas started lifting his uninjured arm to one of the top boxes, but a steely look from his mother made him back away and sit on the stairs.

“Joshua, come help your old mother,” Silvia commanded her younger son, who was snickering behind his older brother.

“There’s nothing old about you, ma,” the younger man said and kissed his mother’s cheek. He started taking box after box down. Of course, the box that belonged to Trevor Thompson was at the bottom of the pile.

It contained Trevor’s birth certificate, fostering papers, adoption papers, name changing papers, and a black photo album. Lucas opened it with one hand and a pair of blue eyes were staring right back at him. The same colour as his own haunted eyes. Beneath the photo was written ‘Jennifer Thompson’. The next page shocked him even more. ‘William Thompson’, Lucas was the spitting image of him, besides the eye colour. In his dream, his father was always too far away to get a close enough look besides some minuscule features.

“Wow, Luc, you look just like your dad,” Joshua exclaimed, “You even have the same freckle on your lower lip.”

“Josh, that is creepy as hell that you notice stuff like that,” Lucas looked at his brother with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m a doctor, I would be a terrible one, if I didn’t notice the little things. Now turn the page and let’s see those brothers of yours.”

Lucas sighed, preparing himself mentally to take a look at his biological brothers. Brothers he couldn’t remember until a week ago. They had shared a womb, so why the hell couldn’t he remember them?

Silvia noticed the change in her son. She put a hand on his good shoulder and squeezed. He looked into her green eyes that were giving him the confidence to face the past.

“Lucas, you were five years old. Don’t beat yourself up for not remembering.”

“I just have this feeling that we were so very close as children. I feel bad for forgetting them. They are my brothers. I’d do anything for my brothers, those in the army and even Josh.”

“Gee thanks, bro.”

Lucas chuckled and turned the page. Three identical young boys were smiling back at him. One of them had a front tooth missing. Probably himself. He couldn’t even see the difference between who was who in that picture. Only the names under each boy answered his question.

Trevor, Oliver and James.

“Aw, Luc, look at how innocent you looked once. Now you’re a grumpy old man with a beard,” Joshua was teasing him. Lucas ignored his little brother and looked at the next page, which was of the entire family sitting on a porch swing all together, laughing and smiling. The boys were smaller, maybe three years old at the time.

A sense of sadness washed over him. The flush of some childhood memories overwhelmed him. Lucas closed the book. He handed it back to his mother and walked away from the basement. Both mother and brother calling his name, he didn’t listen, just kept walking. He needed to be alone, to collect his thoughts. His mind was flooding with a million memories, his heart was racing, his legs just kept walking, until he was standing at the end of the driveway. He went into a sprint and ran as fast as he could to the beach, or as fast as his broken arm would allow him.

The beach was almost void of people. Only a few were out swimming or walking along the edge of the water. Lucas sat down and just let his mind wander. Letting all the memories in. His brain was throbbing, the feeling was like it wanted to escape from the cramped space of his skull.

Memories of smiles, laughter, love. He remembered the devastating feeling when two policemen came to the front door and told their neighbour, who had been watching over them, that their parents had died. A social worker, Marcy Kane, had taken care of the boys until they were divided into new families. He remembered a lot of yelling and screaming.

“They are only young boys. You shouldn’t separate them. They need each other!” Marcy roared at her boss.

“Nobody wants to take in three boys at the same time, so either you calm down, or you are off the case.”

The next he remembered was Marcy crouching in front of the three boys. They hadn’t said a word since the news of their parents’ death. They had vowed not to talk or be happy again without their parents.

“James, Oliver, Trevor. I’m sorry.” She started and hugged each boy in her warm embrace. It nearly made Trevor cry. As the eldest of three, he needed to stay strong for his brothers.

The families came and picked up each of the boys, separating them, forcing them apart from each other. Marcy put the medallion of Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton over each boy before they departed. None of the boys cried. They had made another pact, to find each other when they were old enough. A vow all three of them forgot as they grew up.

Now it was time to make that vow come true.

Lucas stood and brushed the sand from his well-shaped ass. With a clear mind, he walked home to get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Joshua drove him to city hall. They released his papers but there was nothing hinting where his brothers had ended up.

Back home he called an old army buddy, Aiden, who had started a private detective company when he was released from the military. It took Aiden a few hours before he called back.

“Aiden, any news?” Lucas asked the minute he answered the phone.

“Yeah. I have some good and a whole mountain of bad, which one do you want first?” His friend told him.

“Give me the good ones. You found my brother? James?”

“I did. He was sent to live with a family in Minnesota. He’s still there. He changed his name to Walter Matthew Marshall, and guess what, he’s a police detective. He used to be S.W.A.T. and, dude, he has a daughter.”

“I have a niece?”

“Yes, congratulations Uncle Lucas. Are you ready for the bad news?”

“Hit me.”

“The brother, Oliver, you met in Iraq, he was moved to Virginia and changed his name to August Christopher Walker.”

“August? What the fuck kind of name is that? August is a month, not a name.”

“That’s not the worst part. Lucas, he was in the CIA.”

“He was definitely well trained. What else?”

“He rebelled.”

“What do you mean ‘rebelled’? What did he do?”

“Luc… your brother is wanted for planning to set off nuclear bombs around the world.”

Lucas nearly dropped his phone. His parents and brother were giving him worried looks. He went to sit down on the sofa before telling Aiden to continue.

“They thought he had died somewhere north of India, but they haven’t found his body. And there’s a warrant for his head from all the intelligence agencies around the globe.”

“How much?”

Nothing. Aiden kept his mouth shut.

“Aiden, tell me. How much?”

A heavy sigh could be heard through the speaker.

“A hundred.”

“A hundred what? Just a hundred? A hundred thousand? Spit it out, man.”

“A hundred million dollars. All the agencies want him gone, Lucas.”

“What does the warrant say? Dead or alive?”

“Both.”

Lucas groaned in frustration. What the hell had his brother done? Why had he done it? What happened to him?

“Thanks, Aiden. I really appreciate your help.”

“No problem. Call me if you need any help. Any kind of help.”

“Will do.”

Lucas pushed the end button and threw the phone on the coffee table. His mother came to sit next to him. She touched his left bicep, trying to comfort him without saying anything.

“What now?” Joshua asked and sat on his other side.

“I don’t know.”

“Son, look at me,” his adoptive father, John Syverson, was a rather large man himself. Don’t be fooled by his grey hair and grey beard, he might look like a nice old man, but he could kill people with a spoon. Lucas heard the authoritative tone in his general father’s voice and looked into the compassionate green eyes. “What are my rules?”

“Always be kind.” Joshua and Lucas said at the same time.

“Treat your woman like a queen,” Silvia chimed in.

“Don’t judge people based on the first look,” Joshua continued.

“Don’t do things to make other people happy, do them to make yourself happy,” Silvia smiled.

“And never leave a brother behind,” Lucas’ voice was firm. His mind was made up.

“I’ll book you a ticket to Minnesota.”

“Who’s going to Minnesota?” A soft female voice said from the hall. Four pair of eyes looked at the curvaceous woman entering the living room. The Syverson’s only daughter, who had been born a year after they had adopted Lucas. Her long curly brown hair was put up in a bun, her glasses sitting at the edge of her pretty little nose. She had her father’s deep green eyes.

“Melanie, darling, we didn’t know you were coming home,” Silvia exclaimed and went to hug her daughter.

“I heard through the grapevine that the captain was home, so I had to come home and say hello,” Melanie smirked at Lucas and squeezed his left side, avoiding his casted arm.

“Good to see you, shorty. How’s the University treating you?” Lucas asked and kissed his sister’s forehead. She went to get kisses and hugs from her other brother and father, before plumbing down with a huge sigh on the armchair.

“I love my job. I love that I can do research all day long, I never get tired of that, but lately…” She started.

“Lately, what?” Joshua gave his sister a quizzical look.

“Lately it’s been a bit boring. It’s too much of the same. I know it is what I signed up for when I accepted the job, but I was also promised more fieldwork, where I would be able to travel and study the texts, ceramics, and people up close, not from a computer where someone is streaming. So, I’m taking a sabbatical, one year where I figure out, if I still want to do desk research or if I need to find a job that is better suited for what I want and need.”

Silvia and John gave each other a look that only a married couple could give. They were communicating non-verbally. Lucas looked at his parents.

“No,” he said sternly. “Not in a million years.”

“You need someone to help you,” Silvia told her son in the same hard voice.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You’ll need help with the cast.”

“Josh can help me.”

“Sorry, bro. I have to be back at work on Monday.”

Lucas sighed and turned to the young woman, who had put her hair down. Her long curl cascading down her shoulder.

“Melanie, will you come with me to Minnesota?” He said through gritted teeth.

“Anything for you, Luc. What’s going on in Minnesota?”

“We’re going to find my brothers.”

Lucas had filled his sister in on his history. She had taken one look at all his documents and said she would figure out why in the world they had to be separated into three different states. They dropped their belongings off at a nearby hotel, walking to the precinct where Walter Marshall worked.

The secretary at the front desk didn’t even look up when they entered and just told them where to go.

“Hey Marshall, when did you break your arm? And I thought you said something ‘bout never wanting to cut your hair.” A young man, fresh from the police academy by the looks of it, was yelling from the other side of the room. He walked over and gave Melanie an appreciative look over. Lucas clenched his left hand into a fist; it wasn’t his dominant hand, but he could still break the little fucker’s nose.

“Hi, we’re looking for Walter Marshall, could you direct us to his office?” Melanie asked as she blinked a few times. Lucas smiled; he knew the look in her eyes. The charm-glare as he called it. That look that had gotten her out of trouble countless times.

“Well, miss, he’s right here,” he motioned at Lucas.

“Cade, get back to work or I’ll wring your neck,” a deep grumpy voice said behind them. Lucas turned around to look into another mirror version of himself. Walter Marshall was standing with his leg spread, his arms crossed over his broad chest, wearing a black jumper. His eyes widened as he looked at Lucas. “My office, now.”

#Henry Cavill #This man #Lost Boys #Series #My story #Fanfiction #Chapter three #Triplets #August Walker #Captain Syverson #Walter Marshall #I need a drink #henry cavill fanfic

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lo-55 · 3 years

Text

Revel Ch. 11

Twining Threads

Tori was surprised by the fact that she was being allowed to go back again. Not, this time, to Imperia but to her sister island Soldano. Her mothers home, where she had been named Dogoressa so many years ago.

It was not quite like Imperia. The island was mostly flat, and some of it was even regularly underwater. The canals had to be traversed with flat bottomed boats, and gondolas. Elegant bridges stretched from one side of the street to another. The houses were painted with brilliant colors over brick and proud signs declared artisans, grocers, and everything in between.

Tori sat in the back of a water taxi, her legs crossed at the ankles. She was humming happily to herself, dressed in jeans and a loose violet shirt.

The sun was warm against her skin, and the breeze that came off the canal was cool. Beneath them dolphins swam and fish flashed silver scales in the sunlight.

“We’re almost there, ma’am,” her drive called over his shoulder. “It’s at the end of the block.”

“Thank you,” Tori smiled sweetly at him. Madelle and Daria sat on either side of her, also dressed in jeans. Katakuri hadn’t come with them this time. Soldano was not made for men of his stature, but with her siblings gone and her wedding passed, Tori felt like she needed to do this.

She needed to go to her mothers home.

The house that she had lived in was not the palace of the doge, it was her families ancestral house. A high stone building painted a bright red and trimmed in white. It looked like all the other houses in the city, if not older. It was one of the oldest houses, but not as old as the First Twelve. Twelve families, who now numbered only at eight. When Soldano had been founded it had been occupied by twelve families, and over the years they had steadily grown smaller and smaller, or spread themselves so thin their names changed.

The gondola came to a stop beside the house.

Three men stood outside, in identical suits, with finely trimmed white beards and close cut hair.

Tori recognized them. They were what was left of her mothers staff. When she had left Soldano to marry the king of Imperia she had left enough money to take care of the place in her absence. It was meant to be given to one of her children, but Tori would live at the palace in Imperia, Gemma was in the East now, and Lucien was gone too. It was all rather sad. Tori stood up and stepped out of the boat.

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, tipping the man well. It wasn’t like she was short on money. If anything she was just paying the money back.

“Glad to help. Ma’am. Just give a ring if you need another ride,” he gestured to the snail situated on the front of his gondola, and the number beneath. Tori nodded to him, and he pushed off, the condola floating cheerfully through the water.

Tori turned away from the water, towards the high house that seemed so much smaller than it was in her memories.

When she was small, Dolce would take her, and later Lucien, to visit Soldano every summer. It was important to her, that they know Soldano.

Her waters run through your veins, my love. We are all children of the sea.

Tori walked inside.

The staff, who her father still retained even after the house was all but abandoned, stood in lines on either side of the entry way. They were familiar faces, now aged with the years that had passed.

Luciano Orseolo, the steward, smiled warmly at her and dipped a half bow to the eldest princess.

“My lady, it is good to have you here again.”

“It’s good to be back, Luci,” she forewent protocol and stepped forwards to embrace the man. He was practically her grandfather. Luci stiffened minutely before he patted her on the back.

“Yes. Do you want to rest for a while?”

“No, no. I’m fine. In your letter you said you had something for me from my mother. I’d like that, please.”

“Of course. And, afterwards, the Doge and his council would like to see you as well. I believe you’re familiar with most of them.”

“Mmmm. Doge Ziani, Councilmen Vivarini, Bellini, and Titiano. Councilwomen Alvise and Tonini. And, the head of the artisans association, is it still Antonio Rizzo?”

“His daughter, now. Loicia. There’s a new one too, the Foreign Relations Advisor. Arcielda Elena.”

“I wasn’t aware Soldano had one of those.”

“All of our isles are usually so isolated, we didn’t need them. We generally only traded amongst each other, and we are all connected by our Chains. But with you married now, to an outsider no less, we’ve been forced to open our borders to the rest of Totto land. I believe the other islands have similar things.”

“I wasn’t aware,” Tori’s brows furrowed. “Lucien normally handles things like this.”

“I heard he’s getting married, to some foreign princess. And your sister as well. All of your line is being sent off of Imperia.”

“Father thinks that, in these turbulent times, we need to have as many allies as we can. We are not a major military power, whatever talents Gemma may have. We have had only each other for centuries now.”

“Very pretty words, my lady,” Luci said mildly. Which was funny, since she could remember a number of times in her youth when he called politicians silver spooned pissants when he thought Dolce wouldn’t hear. He was very like his younger brother. Tori had no idea why Luci had respected her mother so much.

“This way.”

They made their way through the big old house, it’s walls lined with elegant portraits of her ancestors. All of them with sea dark hair, and dancing eyes.

Her mother was not the first dogaressa in their line. Her great grandmother had been Dogaressa as well through marriage, and traced further back another six generations came one of the first Doge to be elected, after the family had come from Imperia.

She was Victoria di Imperia, Victory of Imperia, but her mother was Dolce Regina Genova. The Regina were old, as old as the isles themselves. Older, maybe. Even they didn’t have records before the Void Century.

The thought was enough to make her itch, but Tori reminded herself of Robin. Reminded herself of her own old life. The price of knowledge. She would not be another faust. Her chest tightened with the thought.

Luci lead her to her mother’s old room.

It was exactly the way she remembered it. Thick curtains draped across the window, through which canals shone glittering in blue and busy. The four poster bed still had thick pillows that Tori wasn’t even taller than they were long the last time she’d been here. There was a vanity, not that Dolce had ever needed much make up. Even without her ‘blessing’ Tori would have been lovely. Gemma and Lucien were, and Dolce was a beauty in all of her portraits and all of Tori’s memories.

Luci took her to a small chest that sat just outside the walk in closet.

“She meant to give these to you on your wedding night,” he admitted, pushing the chest towards her. “I suppose this will have to be soon enough.”

Tori smiled softly at him and opened the box. Inside were soft silk dressed of all colors, the long drapes that could be changed to size even if she outgrew what her mother expected. There were thick books, a wooden jewelry box encrusted with pearl and shining glass to form a mural, and a long chain attached to a necklace that looked like a simple cylinder with intricate silver twists.

Tori recognized it for the poisoners tool that it was.

“She knew,” Tori realized, lifting the necklace out. “She knew Father would break his word. That he wouldn’t give us the chance to say ‘no’.”

Luci grimaced. “You Father is a… pragmatist.”

“Luci. If I don’t slap your brother for calling me a bitch to my face, I’m not going to strike you for speaking the truth,” she said bluntly.

Luci actually smiled at that. “He’s political. It’s not a good thing. Your mother was smart. Dolce would do anything to ensure your happiness. Even if it meant getting rid of your dad. I can’t believe she even kept him around. She was in love with another boy, you know?”

“She was?” Tori was startled.

“Oh yes. A sailor boy. You know your mother and the ocean.”

Tori did. We are all children of the sea.

“Why did she stay with my father then? If she loved another?”

“Obligation, I assume. And you. She was married with a child on the way, and the sea is nowhere to raise a little princess ,” he teased. Luci did something he hadn’t done since she was a girl, and yanked on a stray strand of hair.

Tori swatted at him with a laugh.

It was as sad as it was flattering. Her mother loved her so much she would stay with a man she didn’t love, let her true love flee to the deep blue waters without her. She would settle for being a queen, instead of someone who was truly beloved, for the sake of her unborn daughter.

Tori’s heart fluttered with warmth and affection. She carefully put everything back in the chest to take home, although she suspected she wouldn't need the poison necklace any time soon.

The Soldano council of elders were legendary in Tori’s mind.

They were stoic men who stood at her mothers funeral, and cold faced women who smiled with teeth that would as soon sink into a throat. They were all kind smiles and dangerous words and too many agendas and too much power.

Soldano was a strange type of democracy.

The elders controlled who was the Doge or the Dogaressa until they died. In Tori’s life there had already been two. Her mother and the current one, who was nowhere to be found when she stepped into the council chambers. They smelled faintly of incense and expensive perfume, and the roasted meat someone had had for lunch. The table was, of all things, a triangle. Tori stood at the door, waiting.

Councilwoman Alvise, who looked like a grandmother if a grandmother had snake fangs hiding somewhere, smiled at her and stepped away from the table.

“Victoria, my dear. So good of you to join us.”

Victoria nodded and smiled and let herself be paraded around the room and reintroduced to everyone, officially. They chattered and smiled at her, like sharks in the water. Waiting for the scent of blood.

Councilman Titiano complimented her hair, while the other two congratulated her on her wedding, and her legendary husband.

It was all hollow words but Tori flittered around and laughed at the right places and gave no sign at all that she knew they were after more than just pleasantries.

The Doge appeared at last.

He came into the room, a sweep of red and white robes and carefully twisted crown atop his head. Ziani was an old man, and most of his body was made up clothe to hide the near skeletal shape of the rest. His fingers were long and thin when they took Tori and she noted that his eyes, blue, were almost pitched black with his pupils blown wide.

She wondered if he even saw her as he went through the vague formalities of welcoming her to the chambers and offering her olive leaf tea.

Tori tried not to gag.

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

He clapped twice and small boys descended from absolutely nowhere. Holes in the walls, probably, but she couldn't see them. They ran around, heating water pouring it into cups with the leaves through the strainers and as soon as they were done they were gone. Vanished.

Tori had never felt less safe.

Ziani sat her at his right side and took the first drink. The rest of them followed his exampled and the small talk started all over again. How the grandchildren were, the state of the repairs on the Trivera canals, the newest fashions between the women and who thought what of outsiders coming to visit. They stayed largely away from the topic of her husband. She had done her duty, they could not fault her for that. Not when she was Imperian.

“Oh, Victoria dear,” Councilwoman Alvise said suddenly, as though just remembering something of importance. “We had something to ask you, didn’t we?”

The men nodded, and Ziani, who was coming into sobriety, sat up straighter. “Yes. yes! Victory!”

“Ah?”

“You mother was the last Dogaressa. She had certain relics that were important to the state. Very important, not life or death but symbolically. You understand, don’t you sweet girl?” Ziani patted her hand, making Tori’s skin crawl.

“...I suppose. I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m afraid.”

“Symbols of the past, dear Victoria,” Alvise smiled at her again, barely hiding her teeth behind her lips. “A black lock and a red key. She must have given them to you.”

Tori stared.

“She did no. I’ve never seen either of those things. It sounds like a riddle, are you sure they’re real?” she tilted her pretty, empty little head at them, almost knocking her hair out of place.

Councilman Vivarini did a poor job of pretending not to roll his eyes.

Alvise’s smile grew strained. “Now Victoria. This is important. We need them.”

“I’ve told you I’ve never seen either,” which was true. She wasn’t lying, and one of them must have seen her genuine confusion.

“What a disappointment.” Titiano shook his head. But the conversation went back to meaningless and meaningful pleasantries. Things said between lines that Tori studiously didn’t notice. Threads left out that she did not pick at.

She escaped as soon as she could, and no one stopped her. She was useless to whatever plan they had in their greedy little raccoon paws.

Gods, she missed Orso and his vicious bluntness. She missed Katakuri and his quiet honesty.

She never thought she would be so eager to go back to her husband's side, but here she was trying to figure out how soon she could go without it being suspicious.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #katakuri #charlotte Katakuri #katakuri x oc #oc #victoria di Imperia

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krysnel-nicavis-blog · 16 years

Text

CSI: Slave

Title: Slave

Fandoms: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation; CSI:NY (slight)

Characters/Pairing: Nick Stokes/Greg Sanders, Warrick Brown, Ryan Wolfe

Wordcount: 865

Notes: MPreg, Set in an Alternate Universe, years ago.

SUMMARY: A life in servitude is a hollow one.

Series: Slave Universe

Some people are sold into this world. I was born into it. My mother was a slave, sold into it by her struggling family at the tender age of eight. It seems cruel to most people but in a way it saved her. Had she remained with her family she would have struggled through life and possibly even starved to death. At least as a slave she was ensured a roof over her head, clothes on her back, and food in her belly. She grew up helping the older slaves care for the Master and Mistress’s children. When she was eighteen the eldest son of the house entered into a secret affair with her. When she was twenty-three, the young man went to her bed for the last time. He was eighteen and off to college the next day, mother said. Within the next year she’d given birth to me. I was raised to live the same life as my mother. When I was five my mother died from illness, I’m not sure which one. No one ever told me. And so, outwardly, I lived my life as I had been trying my best to please my Master and Mistress. Inside, however, without my mother I was empty and blank. I felt cold without her hugs to warm me, and lonely without her stories in my ears as I lay down to sleep. To this family I was little more than ‘the boy slave’.

At age eight my Master decided he’d had enough of me and sold me to another well-off family. It was a large family with seven children, all older than me. I was introduced to my new Master, an entomologist by the name of Gil Grissom. He was a kind man and obsessed over his bugs most of the time. His wife’s name was Catherine and she was also very nice, but also was a strong willed woman who had a no-nonsense attitude that I respected. Their eldest daughter, Heather (age eighteen), was much the same. Next came Sophia, age seventeen, then the older of two boys Bobby, age fifteen. After him were Mandy, age fourteen, Nick, age twelve, Sara, age eleven, and Wendy, age ten.

My duties, I was told, revolved around being a companion to their younger son Nick. While no one in the family were mean to me in any way, Nick always seemed kinder than the rest and made the world look vibrant instead of grey. He valued my opinion and wanted to include me wherever possible. As a companion, we spent much time together when he was at home. Sometimes we played sports with his older brother Bobby and Bobby’s companion Warrick (a black boy who was the same age as Nick). We all grew older and then Bobby went off to college, leaving Warrick to assume regular duties around the house. Nick’s older sisters were being married off and his younger sisters were being courted.

I was thirteen years old when Nick and I shared our first sexual experience. He said he’d known his tastes for partnership did not lie with the opposite gender for a few years now and that he’d realized his interest in me. The following year Nick was off to college. My heart ached to see him go, but I’d always known he’d have to. I knew he’d never come back to me. That wasn’t how things were done. He did what all those in his class were expected to do. He graduated from university with a degree in Criminal Justice and entered law enforcement like his brother Bobby. While away at school he’d grown up and realized anything he felt with me wasn’t substantial, at least by class standards, and he forgot about me like my mother’s lover forgot about her and the world lost its vibrancy. He met a well off girl, Kristy Hopkins, and married her. Their son is four years old now, and they have another child on the way.

Even though he is no longer a part of my world there is always a part of him with me. As it turns out I am a different sort of male: I am a Carrier. When Nick left to further his education he unknowingly left me to carry his child within me. And even though it shocked me to discover it, I have never regretted the life we made. At least there will be an end to this cycle that has become my family. Master Grissom has agreed that my eight-year-old son, Ryan, will remain with me, and remain with this family should I pass on too soon.

“C’mon Greg, let’s get this chopped wood back to the house,” Warrick’s voice sifts though the memories. “It’s freezing out here and I promised I’d show Ryan that card trick before we help get the house in order for the Master’s Christmas dinner.” I turn back to where he has finished chopping and help him load the wood into the cart before heading back. Flakes are falling thicker onto the already knee-deep snow as we place the chopped wood blocks to the side of the kitchen door where they’re kept.

- 30 -

Continued in “Social Adaptation”

#Fan Fiction #CSI #Greg Sanders #Nick Stokes #Warrick Brown #Ryan Wolfe #CSI: NY #Family #Romance #MPreg Mention #MPreg #Slave Universe #wordcount: 500-1000

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