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imnotwolverine · 4 years

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The Monster’s Lair - A Belle Tune

Vampire!Henry x Belle - multi-chapter

Chapter 1 - A Belle Tune | Chap 2 >

Disclaimer: Dark adult fairytale - stalking, mild injury, angsty vibes

Author’s note: Here we go dear readers, a whole new series!! As I was setting out the plotline I kept saying to myself; “Let’s make this 3-5 chapters, a short series, okay, Wolfie?” ...Welp... Apparently I have many talents, but writing short series is not one of them. I’ve tried again and again to reshape the plot into a shorter, snappier version, but I just couldn’t. So, here goes; 12 chapters of broody vampire Henry and sweet Belle. I hope you are ready ❤️

Word count: 1.991

Reading music: Agnes Obel - Tokka

(Link to my Masterlist)

It was the first day of Autumn, summer finally past, as a tale of old was sung anew.

The land was cracked open dry and dusty after months without rain, the crops starting to fail just before harvest season. It made the tensions run high amongst the town folk, their worried eyes aiming upwards. The air had been thick for days now, the clouds drifting heavy and grey on dreary skies, foreboding a long awaited storm that just wouldn’t break.

And yet, not all were worried. At this moment the morning air felt slightly cheery too, as a soft tune wove through the ancient pine tree forest that lay like a prickly blanket over the rolling hills.

It was a familiar tune, sung by a familiar woman’s voice, her pale skin and dark braided hair a sight he saw often in these parts of the land. Before her, two mutts sniffled happily, their wet noses pushing through the fallen leaves and shrubs that covered the dry forest floor.

From the shadows of that same thicket, he was watching her, watching her rosy lips curl up in that dreamy smile, her feet kicking her blue skirts with confident strides.

Belle, he knew her name by now, was one of the few who dared to wander so close to his grounds, his domain, her skirts rustling as she conjured a book from the depths of her pockets. Always reading.

At first he had been somewhat surprised to see a woman of her position even owning a book, a proper book. Her father was but a poor horse handler and her family long deceased.

But, indeed, she could read.

With an elegant hand she brushed down her skirts before sitting down on that same fallen down tree that she used everyday; her hide-out whenever the weather allowed. Clicking her tongue she instructed her dogs to lay down, her hand flicking through the book, returning to the page where she had left off a day ago.

Away from the snarky remarks and jealous whispers of the town folk, here she could read as dawn cracked over the horizon, her presence welcomed by the listening embrace of the forest and its inhabitants. The birds quieted their song and the mice and squirrels halted their squabbling, just long enough to look and listen, bewitched beady eyes watching the pretty woman as she started to read aloud.

It was an old and leather bound rendering of Apuleius’ Cupid and Psyche, an ancient fairy tale, the book nearly falling apart as she brushed her fingertips over the yellowed, vulnerable pages. She had read it a dozen times now, and yet the monster couldn’t help but listen, his lips moving in a silent joined recital. He knew the words by heart at this point.

What exactly she did by the day time he couldn’t tell, his disposition making it impossible for him to visit town when the sun was out. And thus he would just imagine it. Perhaps she worked as one of the chambermaids for the Les Comtes. Perhaps she helped her father in the stables - he had seen the old man during the nights many a time, his rough hands being ever so gentle with the handsome beasts that belonged to the Les Comtes. In fact all was owned by the Les Comtes, the family so rich that almost all villagers worked for their estate and businesses.

Far too soon Belle’s voice would silence again, her finger tracing the page she had ended on, memorising it before gently closing the book, her eyes looking up through the thicket of the tree branches, watching those looming clouds up above. He knew what she thought; it was going to rain and she probably couldn’t return to this spot for a long time.

After the rain would come hail, winds, winter. And as it goes with reading outside, her natural reading nook was simply not able to hide her from the elements, and, with her reading hobby sneered at by the town’s folk, this might very well be her last reading session for this year.

With a sigh she got up, calling for her dogs and making her way back to the village, long skirts kicking, her book hidden back in the depths of her pockets. Oh, how he was going to miss her. Even if it was just for a day. Here in the forest he was awaited by an eternal nothingness. No job, no destination, only empty days that wove into a long string of months, years, centuries.

Returning to the crumbling ruins of his castle, the grande structure long past its glory days, he wandered endlessly through its halls, dust collecting on items that shouldn’t ever run into such disuse. Plates, cups, the fireplace, the beds. For centuries now he could not feel the pleasure of the simplicity of life. The food ashen on his tongue. His eyes, though closed, never truly resting. His skin no longer feeling the comfort of a warm hearth. His still beating heart but a mousy whisper of its once roaring strength.

Watching those heavy clouds above the treetops, he knew that it would be long before he would get to hear her voice again. A storm was looming, the long dry spell finally coming to an end and taking with it the long awaited rains. He knew it was a necessity, the listening critters around him feeling desperate for food now winter was soon to arrive, but he couldn’t help but feel a deep disappointment all the same. Because with the dreary days would come even more dark hours for him, the last sparkle of joy ripped from his life until spring would probably come again.

—

‘Another one dead.’ The hunter growled, heaving the dead dog’s body from his cart, the boneless heap of bled out sinew and fur unceremoniously dropping to the dusty ground. With the ongoing drought, food has become more and more scarce. Crops were failing, wild animals were roaming nearer to the village and despite their best efforts, the hunters had great difficulty to actually catch anything. Something strange was afoot in the forest and rumour was about; it was the beast!

‘So no luck then.’ Arthur said in a hushed tone, his old knees cracking as he squatted down to inspect the remains of the hound. And indeed. Neck cracked, jugular torn, the required strength for such an act belonging to no less than a bear..or beast..of sorts.

‘Twas a mad dog anyways. But still..’ The hunter squinted, looking out over the yellow grassed meadows, to the edge of the forest where that monstrous beast hid away. ‘..we must see to it. The darn thing must be done with once and ..for..’ He blinked, then looked at Arthur with mild confusion. ‘Is that Belle?’ He pointed at a figure that appeared from the tree-line, two dogs at either side of her light blue skirts.

Arthur pushed himself up with a groan and also squinted his eyes, his sight no longer what it had been. ‘If it’s a pretty thing with two mutts, a dress of blue and a smile for days, it must be Belle.’ He said, his vision too blurry to discern anything that resembled his daughter. The hunter gruntled his disapproval, though not denying that it was indeed Belle, his strong, broad shouldered frame turning back to his cart to bring out what few rabbits and pheasants he had managed to catch in his traps. ‘You ought to bring some sense in that girl, Arthur..’ He warned, bushy eyebrows frowning as he looked back at the girl, her skirts twirling as she threw a stick for the dogs to fetch.

‘She is just so very much like her mother.’ Arthur sighed, not fully agreeing with the hunter’s sentiments as his lips curled in an amused smile.

‘Tcould be the death of her, old man. The beast is out there, I know that much. In fact. There’s a meeting in the town hall by sundown, in case you wish to join.’

‘Good..good...’ Arthur nodded, only half-listening now, his eyes finally managing to focus on Belle as she kicked her legs over the wood log fence near the stables he worked, her face all smiles and skirts a muddy mess.

Oh..Belle!

The shutters of the barn-like town hall shuddered, the wind outside picking up and the torch flames dancing wildly in the draft. It was a busy night, the floorboards creaking as the town’s men got up from their benches to express their bewilderment and frustrations, loud “Aye’s” and “Nays” echoing in the air as the discussions roared.

Now the food reserves of the town were running low and people had to ration, the tension was near tangible. Winter was coming and the people felt as restless as the storm that was picking up outside. The pigs needed to be fed, the elderly were struggling, sickness was spreading and all fingers pointed angrily at the direction of that wicked forest. The Beast’s forest.

‘Dear people! My people!’ Old Master Le Comte stood up from the throne-like seat that was situated right at the head of the hall, his fatty fingers balancing a shiny cup of wine. He raised his hand to calm the uproar, old furrowy brows raising up to show two grey, beady eyes. ‘Say AYE and agree, that we must see to the end of this beast for once and for all. He threatens our livestock, steals our hunted bounty and his cursed evil talons bring us only disease and misfortune. This drought? I would not be surprised if it were by HIS design!’ He exclaimed.

The town roared up with enthusiasm, fists raised in the air as a loud ‘AYE’ resounded front to back. In fact only the old man Arthur sat quiet, far in the corner, thinking fingers pulling at his moustache. He had discussed the matter with Belle and all she had to say was; “It is indeed quite practical to make a simple minded animal responsible for all your sorrows. But is it right to kill it because you conjured an image of beastly proportion, fed by your own fears? From what I heard he only has killed those who came too close..far too close.”

‘HELP HELP!! The church! A FIRE!’ The large doors of the hall swung open as a young man burst through, arms waving in despair, the discussions regarding the monster quickly forgotten as everyone made haste to stop the flames as they quickly swept around them, the simple wooden structures of the inner town feeding themselves like perfectly dried logs to the hellish bonfire.

Arthur looked up from his daze and slowly followed the hastened crowd outside, his feet no longer so fast as he felt a sudden, surprising coolness in his neck. A wet coolness. With a question in his eyes he looked up at the darkened sky, feeling another drop on his wrinkly skin. Rain? Did the gods bless them just in time? Would all be well?

A conclusion made prematurely, as a new alarm was struck from the village’s heart.

‘THE BEAST! TIS THE BEAST!’ The loud screams came from the village square, Arthur’s attention immediately drawn back to the people that sped past him. Oh no..oh no...BELLE! She was alone, she was..

*FLUNK*

With a loud thud Arthur smacked to the ground, his eyes blinking in shock as he saw the person who had bumped into him rush passed, the silhouette of the person already fading from his vision as all he could do was claw into the dusty road, eyes seeing all black.

Oh no...he thought, his body now fading out of consciousness. Belle! She must be warned! She was all alone! The beast..Oh Belle..the beast..and...Belle...

With heavy blinking eyes he scratched and cried, trying to gain the attention of people rushing by, but failing. None could hear or see him as the storm drowned out his wails and the night hid him in unblinking dark, leaving him with little else but hope, hope that Belle’s joyful tunes would indeed not be ended at the slashing of beastly claws, like the hunter had warned him for this morning.

Oh Belle, dear Belle..

Chap 2 >

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#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #vampire!henry #beauty and the beast au #vampire #beast #angst #adult fairytale #belle #apuleius #cupid and psyche #stalking

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movedkagen · 3 years

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it’s always snowing .

kenta doesn’t remember the last time he saw fresh grass . he’s so far north , snow is a near constant on the mountains , a light dusting even in spring . the grass is prettier in the warmer months , but with less clouds in the sky obstructing the sun , he rarely gets to see them in full bloom .

it’s snowing today . he knows that today is a day where fuyumi may be a little weaker , may be a little sicker . he’s by no means an intelligent man , but he’s become fluent in the study of his only neighbor . when it was snowy , cold , or windy , she would become plagued by coughing fits . work would be harder for her . the pallor in her cheeks would bloom in deep pinks and reds , and her hands , frigid and almost cyanotic at the tips of her fingers , would tremble as they concealed the spasming of her lungs .

he would worry about her immensely during those times . she would insist she was fine , that it would pass , but kenta understood sickness --- he knew that it would until it wouldn’t , that every coughing fit brought her closer to her last , and then she would be gone and he would be alone again .

it didn’t seem fair to him ; fuyumi was , as far as he was concerned , a good person . she was kind , if not a little sad . good , if not a little lonely . she made wonderful stews . when she laughed , her cheeks would always tinge with rose in a way that his never had , causing spring to bloom in his chest , and her laugh . . . it was lovelier to him than the sound of birds in the morning , lighter than the evening zephyrs that would wake him from sleep . he’d never seen someone so wonderful , and while she was the first human he’d ever met , he was sure she was the most breathtaking .

taking care of fuyumi had become his own task to carry ; losing his father had been hard , but if the world had her in it , it was still good . he could still be of use if he could make her life a little easier --- and so he had . without being asked --- and more often against her own protests --- kenta had made it his personal duty to care for her .

he’d found her collapsed after chopping firewood , so he’d ensured she never had to chop wood again . every week , he would run up and down the mountain two or three times collecting the wood he’d gathered and storing it for her . when he noticed how hard it was for her to get a hold of meat , kenta would spend his nights ( and the days that would allow it ) hunting pheasants and boars . when he noticed cleaning them would take her hours , sometimes , he would come with them decapitated , skinned , and bled , and then he would insist on being the one to cut them into pieces . and then she would lie to him --- she would say he didn’t have to do any of those things , that she had no way of repaying him , but every time he would come down the mountain he would be greeted with a smile that would pay him in full . for that warmth , that favor , he was certain he’d explore the mountains a hundred times over , combing every crevice for something to bring home .

kenta knew she’d always found him strange , in that regard . she claimed no man ever did anything like that for free --- but it wasn’t for free . the warm bowl in his hands and the company she’d offer was plenty payment , she just never realized its value . even when he tried to tell her , she would insist he was still strange . he could never understand why . after all , she couldn’t finish most of her chores without fighting to breathe --- why , then , was an allergy to wisteria so far - fetched ? it made his throat burn so badly he felt as though he couldn’t breathe . his allergy to the sun was admittedly much stranger . . . but with her so pale her fingers were almost blue , she ought to have understood that . i’m not strange , he would think . i’m just different . i’m like you . that’s why we need to stay together . because if we don’t take care of each other , who else will ?

odd as she found him , she’d accepted him , nevertheless . and from there , things only became easier . her smile only became warmer . he’d stopped aching for morning because his days had become brighter --- he preferred the soft glow of her eyes to the rays of the sun . what was the difference between a spring day and the warmth of her hearth , anyway ? it was nothing that mattered to him .

she would be his spring ; her smile would be the sun . her cheeks would be the flowers . her tears would be his rainfall . her voice , saying “ welcome home ” would replace the morning songs of birds . ladybugs and caterpillars would crawl over his skin in the form of her fingers on his arm , shyly creeping up from his knuckles , fluttering away before he could catch them . the smell of sweet nectar rose better from her skin after a bath than any flowers he’d ever encountered . and suddenly , despite his fear of the sun , spring was his favorite season .

the snow and the clouds no longer offered him security ; no , they smothered his sun , his flowers , his rain , his birdsongs , his ladybugs and his nectar . he hated winter , for that . but he would still stay by her side , on cold nights like these , because he would not allow winter to hurt her anymore .

they’re smoking fish when the coughing starts . already , he counts this as a failure --- he should have known and prepared , better , but in the very least his reaction is quick . ❛ --- fuyumi ? i’m sorry . here , let me --- ❜ he rushes to open the window , then grabs a cloth and stumbles back to the ground to press it to her nose and mouth so that she doesn’t inhale any more smoke while the room clears . the smoke makes his eyes water a little , but he doesn’t worry about it --- this is his fault , anyway . ❛ i’m awful sorry , fuyumi . it’s all my fault . i was just thinkin ’ about keepin’ you warm . ❜ fuyumi looks at him incredulously , and he’s sure it’s because she’s thinking that he’s a real fool . he smiles sheepishly , because she’s right .

the smoke fills his lungs and makes his chest tight , but he knows it will be over soon . he pulls her closer , presses the cloth a bit tighter . if it’s affecting him , he’s worried about what it will do to her . after all , he’s strong --- smoke and fire almost never bothered him . this smoke was worse . he knows it because there’s real fear in fuyumi’s eyes , now . he feels it making his eyes water profusely , all of a sudden , the tightness in his chest feeling crushing . it’s getting hard for him to breathe ; all he worries about , however , is fuyumi . he has to protect her . ❛ . . . i think we should go outside . hold that napkin tight , now . i’ll carry you . ❜ he reaches under her knees to hoist her up , and for the first time in his life , he can’t .

he falls backwards .

suddenly , the room spins . kenta feels ill , really ill , like he does when he’s around wisteria . what was in that smoke . . . ? he doesn’t realize the smoke’s been cleared for a while , now . he doesn’t realize that fuyumi’s stopped coughing since the beginning , and a surge of panic washes over him as she lowers the cloth from her nose , exposing a horrified , pale face . ❛ fuyumi ! what’re ya doin’ ?! you’re gonna get sick --- ❜ he rushes to reach for the napkin, only to realize the hand he’s stretched forth is half missing .

that’s new . where are his fingers going ? he forgets his concern for a moment to bring the hand closer , watching his pinky and ring finger crumble and float away , carried by a gentle breeze out of the open window . he looks back at fuyumi , and realizes the horror isn’t from the smoke . it’s from him . something is happening to him . something . . . something is happening .

he doesn’t speak again until she opens her mouth . ❛ don’t go breathin’ it in, you dummy --- ❜ but he’s interrupted by a scream . her scream . these tears aren’t his gentle spring showers --- they’re a tsunami , a violent wave of emotion washing over her , and he feels himself go dizzy when her hands, usually so shaky , grab him and yank him closer . when did she go and get so strong ? she’s clutching him to her chest , begging every god he’s ever heard of in a fit of sobs . no , no , not him . please , not him . he’s not supposed to die --- i am ! don’t take him , please ! not him , she repeats , over and over , and while her tears fall onto his skin , he finds himself even more confused than before .

wasn’t he the one protecting her ?

fuyumi buries her face into his chest , hysterics seeming to have no end . she clings to him with such tenacity that kenta thinks not even death could tear him from her arms . but with every second , he feels himself get weaker , feels himself wither away . his legs are gone . whatever is happening , it’s happening quickly . he doesn’t know the what or how or why --- just the when , and that it is any second , now . ❛ fuyumi --- come on , look at me . ❜

his gentle plea wills her to look up , tears streaming down her face , eyes and cheeks red with agony . he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so sad . ❛ you’re breakin’ my heart , fuyumi . i’m gonna be okay . ❜ kenta watches her lip tremble , knows she’s going to argue with him --- so he kisses her . he’s always wondered what that would feel like . he never did because he was afraid she would push him away .

her lips are soft and warm, but he thinks the kiss shouldn’t be this wet . he pulls away gently , licking her tears away from his lips . ❛ don’t say nothin’ about me not knowing . i’m fine , fuyumi . i am . ❜ he reassures her , then lies back in her arms and smiles a little . despite being a little weak , the smile is genuine . somehow , right now , he feels happy . giddy , even . he thinks kissing fuyumi might have been the best thing in the world . ❛ i feel really good , ❜ kenta promises , and fuyumi’s tears still fall , though she’s quieter , now .

she looks so sad --- he’s never seen her quite so crestfallen , and he can’t stand that he’s causing it . ❛ don’t look like that , okay ? smile . i’m smilin’ . see ? ❜ and she hiccups , her voice small and broken : how can i smile right now ? , she asks and he hears that it may be impossible .

❛ you should smile , ❜ he says , his voice peaceful . the world is cruel , she whispers , but he knows she’s coming around . fuyumi just needed a little push . ❛ --- the world ain’t cruel , ❜ kenta replies .

❛ the world is good . it has you in it . and it has me , so i could be with you . ‘fore that , you n’ me were alone . but the world let us be together . i can’t think of anythin’ more wonderful than that . so i’m happy , fuyumi . n’ you should be , too . ❜ he sounds so wise , but then he pauses . ❛ --- sorry i kissed you , ❜ he adds , and the footnote is so ridiculous , she laughs . it’s a sad laugh , but he’ll take it . it’s okay , she says . i’m sorry i got tears in it .

he smiles again . ❛ it’s alright . i shoulda done it when you weren’t cryin’ . ❜ he wants to reach for her , but his hands are gone , and most of his arms are following suit . ❛ smile , fuyumi . ❜ he urges . he feels one eye is gone , and before he loses the next , he just wants to see her smile . thankfully , she does . it’s tear - stricken and weak , but he knows it’s genuine . good .

i love you , kenta .

what was there to be sad about ? he felt like he was floating . maybe he was . he grins . he wants to say it back , but . . . time is not his ally . gone is the grin , gone is any solid piece of him left . he wanted to tell her . . . he wanted to tell her so badly .

he hopes she knows .

#* KENTA » ic.#* KENTA » rel : pruinesce.#death /#moves this drabble over here

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chanoyu-to-wa · 4 years

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Nampō Roku, Book 4 (19a): Appendix I -- Tsurezure-gusa (Episode 66) [徒然草、第六十六段].

Appendix I:

❖ Tsurezure-gusa (Episode 66) [徒然草、第六十六段]¹.

“The Lord Kampaku Okamoto², [breaking off] a branch of red plum in heavy bloom, and wishing to attach a pair of birds to a branch³, [insinuated that] it would be good if [his chosen branch] could be used.

“The royal falconer Shimotsukeno Takekatsu⁴ replied, ‘in the case of [a branch with] flowers, the way one should attach a bird is something I do not know; nor, with respect to attaching a pair to one branch, is this something that I understand.’

“Because of this [reply], [Lord Okamoto] asked this and that person among the staff of the royal kitchen [but failed to get an answer]. So he again [said] to Takekatsu, ‘it being the case [that nobody seems to know how to do it], I will leave the matter in your hands⁵.’ In reply, [Takekatsu] took a plum branch devoid of blossoms, and attached one [bird] to it.

“Takekatsu then respectfully said, ‘a branch of brushwood, or a plum branch in bud, or after the blossoms have scattered, to these [the bird] may be attached. Or it may also be attached to [a branch of] the five-leaved [pine], or something of that sort⁶.

“‘The branch should be seven-shaku long, or maybe six-shaku, and separated [from the tree] with a 'returning stroke' of a sword, with the cut 5-bu long⁷.

“‘The bird should be attached at the middle [of the branch].

“‘The bird should appear to be stepping on the branch.

“‘Using a length of wisteria vine that has not frayed, [the bird] should be attached [to the branch] in two places. The ends of the wisteria [vine extending from the knot] should be comparable in length to the flight feathers [of a hawk]⁸. [The ends of the vine] should be bent like a cow's horns.

“‘On the morning of the first snow, [the branch] should be leaned against the shoulder [of the person delivering the to-shiba], who undertakes to make his visit through the middle gate [of the residence]⁹. Proceeding to the stone steps [leading up to the veranda]¹⁰, being careful not leave footprints in the snow. A few of the short feathers¹¹ should be torn out and scattered here and there [on the snow in the courtyard]. Approach the balustrade of the bridgeway [that connects the main hall with the residential quarters] and lean [the to-shiba] there; and if a reward¹² is bestowed, it should be thrown over the shoulder while bowing in thanks, and then [the servant who carried the to-shiba] should leave [the compound].

“‘But even if it is the first snow [of the year], [the servant bearing the to-shiba] should not venture out [on this errand] if the snow does not bury his shoes up to the edge of their sides¹³.

“‘With respect to the matter of scattering the feathers [in the courtyard], since the hawk holds its prey at the narrow part of the back, [the scattering of feathers] should suggest that [this bird] was caught by a hawk,’ so he spoke.”

A bird should not be attached to flowers -- what might the reason be?¹⁴

Around the Ninth Month¹⁵, a pheasant was attached to an artificial branch of plum [blossoms]¹⁶: “kimi ga tame ni to oru-hana ha toki-shimo wakanu [君がためにと折る花は時しも分かぬ]¹⁷” -- that is what [the note that was attached to the to-shiba] said. It seems like [this episode] might be found in the Ise monogatari [伊勢物語].

As for the artificial flowers -- so there really was no problem!?¹⁸

__________________________

¹Yoshida Kenkō [吉田兼好, 1284 ~ 1350]* is the author of the collection of essays, known as the Tsurezure-gusa [徒然草] from which this material was taken. The collection was written between 1330 and 1332.

The photo shows a hand-made copy of Yoshida Kenkō’s manuscript. . __________ *Recently strong evidence has come forward that much of what was supposedly known about Kenkō, and his family ties was forged. Thus, other than the fact that he was the son of an official in the civil administration, nothing can be said regarding his actual place in that clan-oriented society with any certainty.

²Okamoto kampaku-dono [岡本関白殿].

This refers to Konoe Iehira [近衛家平; 1282 ~ 1324], who served as kampaku [関白] to Emperor Hanazono [花園天皇; 1297 ~ 1348] from 1313 to 1315. The Konoe house, one of the major branches of the Fujiwara clan, traditionally claimed the right to hold the titles of kampaku and sesshō [攝政]*.

The title of kampaku designated the Emperor's chief adviser, who was either an official who acted as a sort of regent (for an Emperor who was an adult), or as the Emperor's secretary. In practice, the kampaku often held great political power, and occasionally was the de facto ruler of the state.

Kampaku is sometimes translated Premier, and sometimes Chancellor. __________ *Sesshō [攝政] is the regent for a child Emperor, or an Empress regnant.

³For presentation as a gift. The intended recipient is not mentioned in Kenkō's account.

Commentators suggest that the “pair of birds” were pheasants (a male and a female); but nothing is actually said to this effect in the essay.

⁴On-takagai Shimotsukeno Takekatsu [御鷹飼下毛野武勝].

The personal details of this individual are not know, though some commentators mention that he had formerly served Konoe Iehira's father, Konoe Iemoto [近衛家基; 1261 ~ 1296]. This implies that he had more experience and knowledge of precedent than Iehira.

The takagai was responsible for the care of the falcons used for hawking, and had charge of the birds during the hunt until the prey was actually sighted.

⁵In other words, “since nobody knows, please do it as you think best.” Iehira is asking Takekatsu to improvise.

⁶Go-yō nado ni mo tsuku [五葉などにも付く].

Go-yō [五葉], “five-leaved” is a colloquial name for the Japanese five-needled pine (go-yō-matsu [五葉松], Pinus parviflora). This pine has short, rather soft, needles in bundles of five, and a rather smooth bark. The needles appear silver-gray, due to a white stripe down their middle. It is a member of the white pine taxonomic group.

⁷Kaeshi-katana go-bu ni kiru [返し刀五部に切る].

Kaeshi-katana [返し刀] means a sword stroke that returns upward (following a slashing blow aimed downward).

Go-bu [五部] means go-bu [五分], the unit of length equal to approximately 1.5 cm (0.6").

The commentators explain that the first cut (severing the branch from the tree) is made downward, and on a (natural) diagonal. Then, a second cut is made from below (the kaeshi-katana), 5-bu from the end. This gives the lower end of the branch an off-centered point, as shown in the sketch.

⁸Hiuchi-ba [ひうち羽].

According to the commentators, hiuchi-ba [飛打羽] means specifically the flight feathers of a hawk's wings. These feathers were used for fletching arrows (hence their length would have been common knowledge to military men).

⁹Chūmon yori furumaite-mairu [中門より振舞ひて參る].

Traditional residences were surrounded by a wall, with a gatehouse opening onto the street, and a sort of courtyard on the inner side. The gate would have two or three doorways, the largest of which was in the middle of the gatehouse (hence chūmon [中門]). This gate was usually kept closed, and was used only when an important person would pass into, or out of, the house. The members of the household usually used the side door for their comings and goings.

In noble households, however, the nobleman would use the chūmon (indeed, if he traveled in an ox-drawn carriage, the carriage would only fit in through that entrance).

Though the to-shiba was usually delivered by an underling, it is emphasized that he should make his entrance through the chūmon -- because the gift is coming from a nobleman (and it is the gift that is important, since the underling is only there to act as its mode of conveyance).

¹⁰Ōmigiri-no-ishi [大砌の石].

Noble residences were usually raised several feet above ground level, to protect the residents from dampness that rises from the ground during the wet season. The edge of the veranda was reached by mounting two or three steps (which were often cut in long lengths from granite).

¹¹Amaōi-no-ke [あまおほひの毛].

Some commentators explain amaōi-no-ke [あまおほひの毛] refers to the short feathers that cover the upper side of the wings, protecting the flight feathers from becoming saturated with water when it is raining. Others claim that these are small, downy feathers, located at the base of the larger feathers, that protect the bird from wind and rain.

Either would be possible, since a hawk strikes downward, catching its prey just behind the wings, and thus easily dislodging the small feathers (the scattering of these feathers on the snow in the courtyard -- mentioned later in the account -- informs the recipient that the fowl attached to branch was taken by the nobleman's hawk).

¹²Roku [禄].

A sort of tip presented to the underling who has transported the to-shiba. In the classical period, this generally consisted of an elegant woman's robe (referred to as a goshūgi no i [御祝儀の衣], a “robe of appreciation”) -- since such garments were generally made from imported cloth that was too expensive for the person charged with delivering the gift to afford.

¹³Hatsu-yuki to iedomo, kutsu-no-hana no kakurenu-hodo no yuki ni ha mairazu [初雪といへども、沓のはなのかくれぬほどの雪には參らず].

Kutsu no hana no kakurenu-hodo no yuki [沓のはなのかくれぬほどの雪]: kutsu [沓] are lacquered wooden shoes, such as shown in the photo; kutsu-no-hana [沓の端]) means the “edge” of the shoe, where the toe-cover joins the instep (which is the lowest point on the side of the shoe); kakurenu-hodo no yuki [隠れぬほどの雪] means snow (deep enough) to hide -- or bury -- (the sides of ones shoes).

If the snow had not accumulated to a depth that would rise high enough to moisten the person's foot, then it was not appropriate for him to be sent out on this mission. Apparently the idea was that it should take great effort to convey this gift to the recipient (since a bird, taken while hunting, does not cost much at all).

¹⁴This final section consists of Yoshida Kenkō’s comments and speculations. As such, the passage was separated from the earlier part of the text in the original manuscript (this can be seen in the photo, where the last five lines -- which correspond to this gloss -- are clearly indented), though usually not formatted in any special way in modern printed versions of the Tsurezure-gusa.

These words have no direct connection with the story that he narrated at the beginning of this entry.

¹⁵Naga-tsuki bakari ni [長月ばかりに].

Naga-tsuki [長月], which literally means “the (month of the) long moon,” was the classical name for the Ninth Month of the Lunar calendar, perhaps because the generally cloudless skies of Autumn mean that the moon appears to stay in the sky longer than at other times of the year (the weather of the Ninth Month is usually better, too, for moon-gazing).

The phrase, then, literally means “sometime around the the long month....”

¹⁶Ume no tsukuri-eda ni kiji wo tsukete [梅の作り枝に雉を付けて].

Tsukuri-eda [作り枝] means an artificially fabricated branch (of plum blossoms) -- paper flowers attached to a tree branch.

The pheasant (kiji [雉]) was attached to the branch as a tori-shiba present, which was accompanied by the poem that is quoted in the text.

It is important to mention that women did not usually go hunting. Thus, her “gift” of a pheasant has a special meaning: there is a Japanese proverb that the male pheasant always sleeps apart from his mate, so she is using the bird to allude to her lover’s unfaithfulness.

¹⁷Kimi ga tame ni to oru-hana ha toki-shi mo wakanu [君がためにと折る花は時しも分かぬ].

Kenkō has only quoted lines 2, 3, and 4 of this poem, which comes from episode 98 of the Ise monogatari [伊勢物語].

(1) Waga tanomu [わがたのむ] means “I entrust them [to you]*...”

(2) Kimi ga tame ni to [君がためにと] means “since, just for you†...”

(3) Oru-hana ha [折る花は] means “[I have made] these folded[-paper] flowers...”

(4) Toki mo wakanu [時しも分かぬ], “which do not know the season to do it” [i.e., bloom]...

(5) Mono ni zo ari-keru [ものにぞありける], “these things‡ are like that.”

Because of the long nights (the scene is set in the Ninth Month, the Month of the Long Moon), the lady’s longing is increased. The paper plum flowers are unaware of the season, and so remain always in bloom. The pheasant, which the girl tied to the branch of paper flowers, means that her lover (the recipient of this strange gift) has shown, by his failure to call, that he prefers to sleep apart from her**. Yet she (like the flowers) is always open (for his visit). Even though he rarely visits her, both the paper flowers, and her feelings, are just like that: unaware of circumstances that must be obvious to the whole world.

The last line of this poem appears to be somewhat irregular, at least in the form quoted††. __________ *“Them” refers both to the poet’s thoughts and observations (regarding her relationship with her lover) and the paper flowers that she has folded “just for him.”

†Kimi [君] is a term of endearment, meaning “you.”

‡Mono ni zo [ものにぞ] can be read as part of the previous line, which would mean “(the paper flowers) are things that do not know the season!” It could also be taken separately, as I have done above, to mean “these things (= this situation)! they are/it is just like that.”

Ari-keru [有りける] means “it is as I said.”

**A Japanese proverb has it that the male pheasant prefers to sleep on a different branch from his mate.

††In classical poetics, however, the kanji ari [有り] appears to have more commonly been pronounced mo [も]. a [あ], u [う], or even ri [り]; and one of these “contracted” forms would be more fitting here (since it would have allowed Narihira to respect the traditional form of the waka).

In fact, many of the “irregularities” found in the poems attributed to Ariwara no Narihira [在原業平; 825 ~ 880], and other poets of the early period, are susceptible to this kind of explanation (though many of the authoritative versions are written in kana, and so appear to clearly set out the sounds, none of these texts date back to anywhere near Narihira’s day -- indeed, most seem to have been standardized in the Kamakura and Muromachi periods, when the idea that old poems frequently employ irregular forms had already been accepted as an established fact -- and so very possibly unknowingly incorporated later interpolations, or even corruptions, into what their compilers believed were historically-accurate editions).

¹⁸Tsukuri-bana ha kurushikaranu ni ya [造り花は苦しからぬにや].

Kurushikaranu [苦しからぬ] means “there is no problem;” “there is nothing wrong (with doing that).”

Ni ya [にや], which puncutates Kenkō’s statement, means something like "huh!" or "what?" and seems to indicate Kenkō’s surprise that the woman was able to get away with this sort of prank.

Another possible interpretation, however, is that Kenkō is saying that the Ise monogatari offers what should be a perfectly valid precedent for attaching a bird to a flowering branch, and so is calling the validity of Shimotsukeno Takekatsu's pronouncement into question.

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sussex-nature-lover · 4 years

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Wednesday 26th August 2020

Sunshine, It’s Dry but What a Mixed Sky

We went out for a walk today, just after 3pm I think and I had a short sleeved and thin cotton top on. Would we make it back home still warm enough and dry? The good news is YES, we did. There was a breeze and actually it was really pleasant, but it’s been so incredibly windy that the ground is covered in fallen acorns everywhere we went.

Decorative Bounty

I’ve got more photos from the walk, but yesterday I said I’d post some up some bird bath pics, so I’ll spread them out, starting with some favourites.

So called ‘Sid’ (after Vicious) although by rights I suppose we should call her Nancy and by very sharp contrast a gentle and friendly pair of Collared Doves being photobombed by a curious Travis. Now I was going to post a video link for Travis the band and their song Why Does It Always Rain On Me? which is how Pheasants gained their unique group name here - after seeing them standing in the wet time after time after time, when they could easily have sheltered under any of the numerous bushes or trees. It’s just the same as when we saw one ‘trapped’ behind the wire fence at the end of the garden. It ran up and down for such a long time while we shouted from the house ‘You can FLY you know’

Anyway, I looked at the video for said Travis song and my goodness it’s strange, so if you want to see it, you’ll have to search it out for yourselves.

Back on the walk, here’s a bird on the line shot - just a single one on its own...normally part of a big and noisy gang. Ideas? It’s an easy one.

Something I can’t ID is the Butterfly above. I imagine it’s either a small or a large White, but as it didn’t open its wings for me, who knows. You can check out butterflies HERE Frankly I’m just chuffed when something stays still long enough for me to focus on it and click the button.

Right now I’m watching Diarmuid Gavin on BBC2 and on his gardening programme they’re showing a new chicken house and his rescue chickens, which reminded me, we saw a lone chicken on our walk. His anonymity is safe as I’m sure its owner doesn’t read the Blog. It’s actually someone well known if you watch UK TV, bit of a household name, but not someone who’s featured on my Blog before and I’m not posting an exposé, this isn’t the variety column of a red top, oh no.

Red Top...these are the jokes folks!

Chatted with a friend today *waves* who says she likes reading what we have for our supper because it sometimes gives inspiration. That made me smile. So, last night was herbed pork fillet with parmentier potatoes. The veg was green beans, corn on the cob and some tenderstem broccoli just for OH, because as everyone knows, I can’t stand broccoli or brassicas - the polar opposite of Ms NW TE who loves it. Tonight we’re having a sourdough pizza, just a Margerita. I like a traditional pizza. Sometimes we pile on lots of extra ingredients, but tonight I’m just in the mood for plain - might add a few capers that’s all. There’ll be a big bowl of salad to go with. We don’t run to a fancy pizza oven, we don’t eat it often enough, but we have got a pizza stone, which is good - get it really, really hot in the oven and put a bit of baking parchment on top, although it has got quite brown over the years, but it’s not for looking at so it doesn’t matter that much.

Pretty peckish now so going to sign off with this sweet pic of Blue and Marsh Tits at the feeder. It’s quicker to feed them than us.

Outside links in bold are not affiliated to this Blog

#nature birds lovewhereyoulive

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easterwings · 7 years

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Did you see a Louis or a Nick outside your work looking for the little baby snake? Obviously Nick is lagging behind because .. creepy snake baby, y'know? But did Louis make weird hissing noises as though that would call the baby snake to him? And did Nick try and fail terribly at concealing how fond he is of the weirdo that was crouched over and hissing trying to find the baby snake? I feel like this probably happened and you might have forgotten to share the rest of the story.

Oh shoes, I did forget! But here it is! :D

Louis is hissing at something on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Nick asks, batting a bug away from his face. They’ve been out here for hours, it’s hot, and there’s bugs. All up in his business, and it’s annoying, and Nick wants them to go. He’s not the outdoorsy-give-up-everything-and-return-to-nature-type. He only made it about fifteen minutes at that one pub quiz where you’ve got to turn in your phone or you can’t play, and even then there hadn’t been bugs and…wildlife - Nick thinks he’s just seen a pheasant and her babies waddling about, although he’s not really sure what a pheasant looks like if he’s honest - and his shirt’s sticking to him and making him feel disgusting, and the sky’s getting darker each second, looking a lot like it’s about to rain at any moment.

Nick doesn’t want to get caught in the rain. His hair goes a bit mad in the rain, getting all frizzy and everywhere, and he can’t remember if Louis’s seen that before. He’s sure Louis has, but…this is different, isn’t it? It’s been a month or so now since Louis’s favourite snake had given birth in Nick’s wardrobe, and Nick had had a Polaroid he’d thought was a secret shoved in his face. And then there’d been kissing and snake sex, which was basically a very nice form of naked cuddling, and Nick would like more of that and also more, but he’s not found a way to bring it up just yet.

“i’m looking for Nessa, Nicholas, obviously,” Louis says, squatting next to a bit of cardboard and hissing at it like that’s going to be enough to draw a baby snake out of hiding. Nick hadn’t really wanted to keep the baby snake, but it’d loved Louis so much, curling itself around Louis’s wrist without him having to coax it, that he really couldn’t say no either. And he supposes it could be worse than a baby snake. It could be alligators or something in the bathtub.

“Can’t you look for her faster?” Nick asks, batting another bug away from his face. It might be the same bug for all he knows, but he doesn’t care. He hates bugs, and he’s miserable right now.

“You can leave if you want to,” Louis says, placidly, as he’s dropping down to his hands and knees and trying his best to peer up under a weathered grey bit of wood. He makes another hissing sound, followed by something that sounds a lot like hey snakey snakey, and Nick has to bury his face in his hand. He isn’t endeared. Not him. He doesn’t care how fond Louis is of Nessa, the grey and black baby snake, or Noodle, the albino snake Louis had managed to steal for Harry just because it was a pretty shade of pink and he thought it’d make a suitable birthday present, or Ziggy the Baby Turtle who they dress up at Halloween sometimes and who they thought they’d lost that one time at the beach. He just wants to go somewhere where there’s air con. He wants to go there now. He bats at another bug. It refuses to leave his face alone. Nick feels like it and Louis would get along. He sighs and pushes the sleeves of his t-shirt up until his arms are bare, and takes a seat on the step.

“Is hissing at it really going to work?” he asks, and since he hasn’t got anything else to do, he rests his elbow on his leg and his chin in his hand, staring unabashedly at Louis’s bum. It’s still a very nice-looking bum, and Nick’s seen it naked. He likes that he’s seen it naked.

“I don’t know,” Louis says, sitting back on his haunches. Nick can’t see his face from where he’s sitting, so he shifts about, turning so that they’re at least sort of side by side. He can see then that Louis looks worried, biting at his bottom lip, and that’s Nick’s job really, so he reaches over after a second or two and pokes him in the cheek. Louis turns his head, and that’s when Nick pokes him in the nose. Louis scrunches his face up at him, and Nick’s just about to poke him again when a drop of rain lands on Louis’s nose. Another one follows it, and then another, and then suddenly it’s chucking it down, all the while Nick and Louis are sitting there too stunned to move.

“Shit!” Louis yelps eventually, springing to his feet. He grabs Nick’s hand and pulls him along, dragging him underneath the metal awning sticking out from the side of the building, and he doesn’t let go of him once they’re safely underneath. He drags him over to the door and then leans up against it, breathing hard and dripping wet. Nick joins him, his heart about to pound out of his ears. “Shit,” he hears again, and next thing he knows Louis is dropping back down to his hands and knees, crawling over to the edge as far as he can without risking getting himself rained on again.

“C’mon snakey,” Louis says, a bit pleadingly, and Nick’s going to regret it, probably, but he gets down on his hands and knees and starts looking too.

“Yeah, c’mon, little noodle friend,” he says, borrowing the phrase from Harry, and he hears a snort of laughter to his right. “Let you sleep in my shoes like you like if you come out now.”

He won’t, at least not without freaking out, but Nessa doesn’t need to know that.

He’s just turned about and started to crawl toward the door when he hears it. A low sound and almost a…questioning one. Nick swears it’s a hiss. A curious hiss. He looks at Louis to see if it might have been him, but Louis is simply looking back at him, his eyes wide and his lips parted, so it couldn’t have been. Which means it had to be…

“Nessie girl!” Louis shouts, crawling closer and stopping when he’s mostly in Nick’s lap. He holds his arm out, and when he draws it back, there’s very much a little grey snake with black spots curled around his wrist. Nick freezes, his mouth a bit dry. “Scared us you did,” Louis says, running his finger over the snake’s body as he’s sitting back. Sitting back in Nick’s lap with a baby snake curled around his wrist. “Don’t go running off like that, ever.”

“To be fair,” Nick says, around a lump in his throat, “she wasn’t running.”

“She’s a snake,” he adds, when Louis, and Nessa somehow, turn back to look at him. “She hasn’t got legs” thank god, he thinks “so she has to you know, slither.”

He makes a motion with his hand that he hopes conveys slithering, but regardless of whether it’s accurate or not, Nessa seems to like it, leaving Louis’s wrist and curling herself around Nick’s. She flicks her tongue out at him and then nestles in with his bracelets. She looks like a bracelet if he squints. Nick’s just…going to do that, squint and pretend she’s a bracelet. He’s going to hope the bracelet didn’t remember what he said about his shoes.

“Told you she liked you,” he hears Louis say, and he shakes his head.

“Did not,” he says. “You said she wouldn’t eat me or anything. Didn’t say anything about her liking me.”

“Well if she didn’t like you she’d probably be nipping at you or something, wouldn’t she?” Louis returns, shifting sideways in Nick’s lap and wrapping his arm around Nick’s shoulders. “But she hasn’t, which means she likes you.”

“I guess,” Nick says, glumly, looking at his wrist. His eyes hurt from the squinting, so he closes them, and it isn’t very long before he can feel Louis’s hand on the side of his head, tugging him closer until he’s sort of tucked up under Louis’s chin.

“She does,” Louis says, petting Nick’s hair. He doesn’t say anything else, just keeps running his fingers through Nick’s hair, and Nick’s nearly dozed off from listening to the rain when he hears something that sounds a lot like bit like me, I reckon. His eyes fly open, and, forgetting entirely his brand new bracelet, he tilts his head so he can see Louis’s face. Louis is looking out at the rain, and he’s got his bottom lip between his teeth again. Nick pokes him in the chin, and eventually Louis turns his head to look at him.

“You don’t have to keep reminding me,” Nick says, leaving his finger right where it is. “I get it. We’re all right.”

“I’m not-” Louis begins, but Nick cuts him off by moving his finger up and resting it on his bottom lip.

“It’s all right,” he says, because everything is even if his boyfriend’s a bit of a weirdo who goes hissing at lost baby snakes in order to find them. And because he’s feeling brave stuck out here in the rain with just the two of them and a baby bracelet, he says, “Think we could even do things that aren’t snake sex, if you wanted.”

“But this,” he adds, waving his arm about, gently so his bracelet won’t fall off and get angry, “isn’t watching.”

Louis just laughs, sounding a bit relieved even as he’s shaking his head, and kisses him.

#anonymous #tomlinshaw #new adventures in herpetology #sorry i took forever to answer #i was going to do a little 500 word thingy #ended up doing three times that #sorry sorry

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bomberqueen17 · 7 years

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walburgablack replied to your post “walburgablack replied to your post “walburgablack replied to your...”

Peacock feathers are sold here as well, but not for much money at all. My gf's baby sister lives on a wilder campus than we do and she can just run out and collect dropped feathers. Your notion of the arrangements sounds really pretty, looking forward to the eventual photos.

walburgablack replied to your post “walburgablack replied to your post “walburgablack replied to your...”

Oh. I didn't mean the treaty was terrible, that's not it at all. Just the dead chicken description.

Oh good. I figured, but-- I recently mentioned the treaty’s existence on FB to a friend who was like “I found a dead hawk who wants feathers”-- I was like GUYS NO-- and people are often so shocked and dismayed and don’t think about the fact that in order to protect the birds, it has to be a unilateral ban, or can you imagine how many birds would be “found” “dead”???

Peafowl are so ~~Exotic~~ here, though they do run feral in some astonishing places-- most of them are, I believe, endemic to India, though?? So it’s not surprising that you’d have them everywhere.

I’ve used turkey feathers in floral arrangements already-- last year during turkey slaughter I pulled a bunch of great feathers out of the bin and dried them off, the Broad-Brested Bronzes have wild-type banded flight feathers even though they can’t fly, and I made a couple of dried-flower wreaths with those feathers as a backdrop, and they looked goddamn phenomenal. We have some pheasants that get released too, and I don’t want to hunt them but i want their hackle feathers. I might have to see if I can get one to raise tame. The biggest hatchery I know of (Murray McMurray) actually sells collections of chicks that you can raise expressly for decorative feathers.

(B-I-L was considering raising some of their Royal Palms, which are a beautiful heritage breed and since they finish smallish he could charge a bunch per pound and still have an affordable bird for the customer.) (Oh, they have peas too.)

Relatedly-- Oh man I meant to take a pic and share it, I thought you might get a kick out of it-- I have incense that I burn in the yurt sometimes because canvas building in the rain sometimes you know, smells like woods and wet dog after a while, and one box I opened last night was sandalwood or something but the package had, in this fancy font, something literally meaningless on it, and i gotta look up the exact phrasing but it said, let me see if I can get this right... “Infused With The Mystic Essence Of India”, or something, and I was like, legally what does that mean also why would you say that. It’s amazing. I’m sure it was in faux-Sanskrit font too. Like, Latin letters but with the line across the top for no reason, kinda deal.

I dearly hope that things sent abroad from the US (do we export anything besides bombs anymore??) say shit like that on them. Infused With The Mystic Presence Of America. Shit, we don’t rate mystic. Saturated With The Infuriating Essence Of America. That’s more like it. Christ.

#walburgablack #mystic essence #orientalism i guess #peacocks #game birds

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lyannas · 7 years

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A Thousand Silhouettes - Part One

Summary: The last thing Brandon Stark remembered was darkness, and it was darkness he woke to.

Brandon Stark survives King's Landing with scars both physical and emotional. The world as he knew it has changed, and at the center of it all is a bastard boy with his mother's eyes.

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Fandoms: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Relationships: Brandon Stark & Lyanna Stark, Brandon Stark & Ned Stark, Jon Snow & Brandon Stark Tags: Brandon Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, (just in case), Platonic Relationships, Family Dynamics Chapters: 1/4

Read at AO3, or read here:

The last thing Brandon Stark remembered was darkness, and it was darkness he woke to.

Blinking did not change that fact. All around him was black, and the bitter cold. Am I dead? There must be a reason for all this darkness-- there must also be a reason for all this pain.

His neck burned. When Brandon raised his hand to touch it, he felt a length of cloth, wet with blood. He pulled it off ignoring how his nerves screamed, and felt the ridges along his bloody skin-- with it came a fresh wellspring of pain. Touching the wounds that wrapped around his neck, Brandon tapped into his memory, and remembered.

If Brandon had the voice to scream, he would have. If he had the strength to weep, he would have.

II.

A gaelor came with light and a plate of gruel.

Brandon squinted against the approaching light, before recoiling at the heat of the fire. The growl in his throat was strangled as he choked on the smell of burning flesh, of a blood red throne room, two ropes against his throat-- in poor time, the horror faded away into the gaelor's wretched face. When the man came near, Brandon tried to spit in his eye. Nothing but a rain of spittle left his lips.

The gaelor laughed. “I wouldna do that if I were you,” he said, his voice low and cruel. “Else you won’t get any food at all.”

“Water,” Brandon demanded hoarsely, not brought low enough to beg.

“You think this is some feast? I’m no servant to fetch water and wine for the little lord. Do yourself a favor, and die quickly. If the black cells don’t kill you, the king surely will.”

Not if I kill him first , he would have said if his dry mouth could form words.

III.

Brandon remembered a week he spent in the wolfswood with nothing but his sword, a bow, and the clothes on his back.

He had been sixteen, and had told Lord Dustin he was going to ride home to Winterfell for a visit. His men left him just before the winter town, trusting him to ride the rest of the way to the gates of Winterfell without issue. Brandon stopped in an inn to sit and drink a mug of ale while he waited for the men to ride far enough away. He then left his horse in the stables, and walked the rest of the way to the wolfswood.

He wanted to see if he could survive.

On the first day, he killed a fawn. He skinned it for its hide, and cooked it over a fire, foolishly scarfing every bit of meat down, arrogant enough to think that he’d find food the next day.

He didn’t. Not even a hare had crossed his path, and Brandon starved and shivered for three days. On the fourth, he came across a lone wolf. It was a black-eyed wolf with grey fur who circled Brandon, silently snarling. He was moving slow enough to kill; Brandon could have flown an arrow between its eyes, worn its pelt for warmth, and rationed its meat over the next couple of days.

Brandon didn’t. The wolf seemed to nod at him before it slinked away. An hour later, Brandon had killed a stag, 3 hares, and a pheasant.

Four days later, he had been sleeping happily beneath his furs on the cool grass when his father’s men came upon him. Apparently, Lord Rickard had been a breath away from arresting Lord Dustin and the men he sent to escort Brandon for carelessly losing his firstborn son. Brandon had grinned in his father’s stern face when he recounted how well he done out in the wild, and begged him to let him return. His father did the opposite, and placed guards outside his room, where he was confined for the same amount of time that he had spent free.

The memory of his father both pained him and enlivened him. Brandon could survive this black cell. He could survive anything. He had to.

IV.

He had friends in the castle, though he does not know who. It was not the king-- that much was certain, but he knew that someone had interest in keeping him alive and well.

Meat showed up in his gruel from time to time. An entire leg of lamb, or a cut of mutton, or a thin slab of steak would appear, and he ate it at it over the course of days, ignoring how it spoiled, until the next one showed up. The gaelor brought him a torch to keep in his cell, one that Brandon squinted against and agonized over for days before he could open his eyes and smell his own piss again. A maester came to clean the wounds around his neck and replace the bandages. Even the straw in his cell was refreshed every now and again.

“Who sends you?” He growled at the maester, feeling more beast than man chained up in darkness. His voice was harsh and rough from disuse, echoing off the walls with the sound a rusted sword might make when put to the whetstone.

“The king intends for you to die down here-- or he’s forgotten about you, who can say? The man who sends me thinks you’re worth more alive,” the young maester said feebly. His chain was markedly short, shorter than Walys’s had been.

“Does your master want to kill the king?”

The maester looked startled. “I do not think so.”

“Then why would he want me alive?”

He had spent 413 days in his cell by the time Ned came to him.

He thought it had been a dream. He thought his brother was coming to him across the river of death, prepared to ferry him across and embrace him. He nearly wept at the thought that Ned was among the dead, but it was no dream after all. Ned and Ethan Glover each put one of his arms around their necks and led him out into the brightest light Brandon had ever seen.

It was Ned who cut his hair and shaved him. It was even Ned who bathed him. His eyes were shut, but he knew it was Ned by his quiet voice, though it was different than he remembered it. It was a man’s voice. A voice that had seen and suffered.

“We didn’t know if you were alive,” his brother admittedly somberly. “They never sent us any bones. We thought you were dead.” Minutes later: “I married Catelyn Tully in your place. A useless union now-- but she… She is with child. Perhaps there is still a way...”

“Take her,” Brandon had rasped. “Take her, and Winterfell too. I don’t want it.”

“But--"

“I don’t want it.” It was an honest confession, and one that Brandon doubted he’d regret. Power, responsibility, marriage, children-- Brandon wanted nothing to do with them anymore. “Is Lya with you?” His brother had grown silent over that, and it jarred him enough to force him to open a stinging eye. “Where is she?”

“We don’t know yet,” Ned said as he frowned. Gods, he look different. He even had a beard. “I’ll find her, Brandon, I promise. I’ll bring her home.”

“That was my job,” Brandon said between gritted teeth. “I was to drive a sword through Rhaegar’s black heart, and bring her home.”

“Rhaegar’s dead, Brandon,” his brother said.

“And the mad king?”

“Dead too. Jaime Lannister killed him-- Robert is king now.”

“Robert Baratheon?”

“Yes. He killed Rhaegar at the Trident.”

“Damn Robert. Damn the Lannister pup too--” Brandon growled, as hot tears streaked down his cheeks. “They were mine to kill.”

VI.

Ned left the next day to carry out the king’s business. None visit him but for Robert, but only once. Brandon was still squinting and unused to bright light when he came, but he could recall his arrogant voice with unpleasant ease.

“I’ve avenged Lyanna, but I won’t rest until she’s in my arms again,” Robert pledged, his voice as obnoxious and thundering as he had remembered, even more so to Brandon’s sensitive senses. “I’ve killed Rhaegar, and the Lannisters brought me the bodies of his wife and dragonspawn.”

“A woman and her children?” Brandon inquired, mouth twisting into a scowl. His fire was slowly returning to him, but not quickly enough. “How brave of you lot.”

“If I had gotten to them first, they would have suffered the same,” Robert said. “Lya would have wanted that. Look at what they did to her; look at what they did to you .” He gestured to his neck, and Brandon’s anger flares.

“Do not call her Lya. You haven’t earned the right,” Brandon growled. “You do not know what my sister wants, nor will you ever. Once she’s found, I’m taking her home.”

“We’re betrothed--”

“I’m calling it off.”

“Says the former heir to Winterfell,” Robert spat furiously. He looked the part of a storm lord now, bristling and crackling like thunder. “I’ll have her, as your father promised. She’s mine.”

Brandon did not yet have the strength to laugh, so he settled for a scoff instead. You could not make her yours if you fought a hundred wars for her.

VII.

Brandon was still used to counting days-- 39 pass, and his brother had sent word that he would return soon.

Within that time, Brandon had found a way to open his eyes again, though he had difficulty focusing on objects farther than fifteen feet away, and colors appeared more muted, more grey. More importantly, his strength had returned to him, though the fine muscle that once padded his body had wasted away, color had drained from his skin, and he was left skinny and pale. Such matters could be easily fixed-- with food and sun, perhaps he’d once again resemble the man he was before the black cells.

The scars around his neck, however, were a new and permanent addition. They mimicked the pattern of crisscrossed ropes that he had been bound with, each and every ridge visible, red, and raw. Brandon no longer wore bandages around them-- he would have the whole world see how he cheated death. He would have them see what he would suffer for those he loved.

VIII.

On the 41st day, Ned returned to tell him Lyanna was dead. Dead, and the mother of a child.

Any strength lost to him over the past year returned in a rush, and Brandon had turned over half of his stately room before Ned got a hold of him.

“It’s not right!” Brandon had bellowed as his world fell out from under him. Ned’s touch had rocked him to his knees, and he clutched at his brother’s shirt like a frightened child. His fingers bled from breaking glass and splintering wood, and stained Ned's shirt. “She was only a girl, Ned, she’s not supposed to die, I swore-- I swore-- And that monster-- that monster , you would raise his bastard? The bastard that killed her?” His voice cracked on the last two words. “How could you? How could you?”

“She made me promise, Brandon,” Ned urged him, strong hands gripping his arms. “Promise that I’d protect him, and bring her home.”

“I was supposed to save her,” Brandon wept over and over. “She was only a girl. Our sister, Ned, our sweet little sister--”

Tears mixed with blood on Ned's shirt. The 41st day proved colder and darker than the black cells ever hoped to be.

#a thousand silhouettes #gotfic #asoiaf #brandon stark #jon snow #fic

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