#the fire hose of new account follows has FINALLY stopped
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Humans are Space Orcs, “For Peace.”
Some more stuff involving humanity and the Drev war.
WARNING: this may be graphic? It wasn’t meant to be that, but I just thought I should warn you there is blood involved.
She definitely had not intended come. She wasn’t a soldier, and the idea of the war made her sick to think about, she knew it needed to happen, but that didn’t mean she lied it. The Runi weren’t exactly known for their war practices. In fact, in their history war had only been talked about as a theoretical possibility based on the idea of outing a poor government structure, but since the rundi had never had a poor government structure, there was no need for war.
But this was different, the Drev had only recently managed space flight, and because of their nomadic clan-like life no one had assumed their planet was inhabited . There was no infrastructure, and with the volcanic activity…. Well.
They generally tried to avoid meeting new species when they were at this point in space travel development. However, the Drev were smarter than they first appeared. They had had the ability to go to space for a long time, but never bothered to test it because it just wasn’t important to their culture. When they finally had left their planet, they ended up running into a Tesraki ship, which was trying to requisition precious metals from one of their moons.
Contact had been made peacefully enough with linguistics experts from the GA appearing and easily figuring out the Drev language.
It was a simple thing, very straight forward.
But the Drev just couldn’t fight their baser instincts, and that was to make war. After a slight insult based on cultural misunderstanding, the Drev leaders had promised to turn their sights to the stars conquering and fighting where they went. The GA had made a decision to push to destroy the technology that would allow them to do such a thing, but based on atmospheric composition, and the way they had hidden their technology deposits, this was about more than carpet bombing their facilities.
They had to actually go in.
And that was determined to be harder than they intended. The Drev War practices may have appeared primitive, but their tactics were not. They had been losing the battle, and even with the augmentation to their army with human troops and technology, they were being pushed back every day.
Officers were threatening to pull back off planet and just wait for the Drev to leave before blasting them to bits, but Drev shield technology was actually rather advanced and would take more than a little work to destroy.
Now she was here, having landed in one of the desolate lava fields before being secretly transported by hovercraft towards the very back of the front line. They could have landed closer, but the amount of ash towards the front was unprecedented and there were warning against trying to fly in such conditions
Her arrival was kept quiet, as she was ushered into what they had dubbed the FOB (forward operating base). Humans in strange patterned uniforms marches past in groups carrying their strange explosive sticks their heads covered by helmets and their face by masks. Little flakes of ash were falling from the sky and coating the ground in a thick layer that covered her feet as she walked.
The soldiers themselves were smeared with the ash, and blended heavily into the background making it difficult for her to make them out.
Large tents had been set up, and she could hear the strange guttural chant of human voices from inside. A tent flap was pushed back, and she looked inwards to see ash stained humans sitting around fires talking and interacting with each other.
Guards stood on lone vigils at the corners of the camps.
They had made it some way onto the base before being met by a familiar face. The human admiral was looking somewhat worse for wear, his face was covered in a layer of stubble, and his skin was covered in a layer of grime. His eyes once so gleeful were cold and hard almost haunted.
“Chairwoman.”
“Admiral…. How goes the battle.”
He man turned motioning her further into the camp, “I’m afraid not very well. We had assumed based on their more primitive war practices, that this would be an easy fight, however with the thick clouds of ash visibility is drastically reduced, and our ranged weapons become…. Almost pointless. They are generally right on top of us before we know they are there, and in that case they have the advantage. Their tactics are swift and brutal, they don’t necessarily aim to kill for some strange reason, but to brutally incapacitate usually by taking off limbs.”
She felt herself grow uncomfortably sick, “They take of limbs?”
“Yes dismemberment seems to be their favorite war tactic if they can manage it, and because we can’t see through this damned ash, not even our drones can, they always seem to have the upper hand, we've been pushed back almost constantly over the past month, and our soldiers are in pretty bad shape.” he walked further into the camp explaining how things ran and how the battle was fairing.
From his accounts, though he did not say it.
Not well.
The line had pulled back, and there were only three bases in operation aside from this one. Communications were being stalled do the volcanic activity, and that included satellite communications. They had no GPS no radar, and the drones wouldn’t fly in such thick ash.
All together it was as the human had put it
‘a shit show.’
He motioned her to follow after him.
“There is something…. I think you need to see.” Nervously she followed after the human’s long powerful strides easily able to keep up on her own long legs, but finding she was nowhere near as graceful as the human.
She watched him quietly from behind noting the slight slump of his shoulders and the weary way in which he walked feet dragging through the ash leaving long trails behind him. Had the human been so droopy before?
She couldn’t remember.
She wasn’t aware that humans could wilt?
They made their way past a group of men heading back from patrol. They were covered in ash and conversing quietly amongst one another. Her translation software had only so far a range, but she thought she heard them speaking about dismemberment.
They walked past another set of tents before stopping by a more established building.
He motioned her to step inside with him, and together with her guards they walked inside. Greeting them was a troop of humans and a Tesraki wearing HAZMAT gear.
They were ordered to gear up in protective covering before stepping into a second room where they were hosed off from all the ash. Spinning tendrils of dark ash spun towards a drain in the floor until the outside of their suits were relatively clean.
He paused before the door turning to look back at her from behind the surgical mask he wore, “What you are about to see ...is the epitome of the cost of war.” With one hand, he pushed the curtain aside and they stepped into a long, dark room lined from beginning to end with dozens of mats spaced evenly over the floor, and on each one of the mats lay a body.
She froze in the tent staring suddenly caught by the sound.
Soft moaning.
Keening
And the horrific wheezing gasp for air.
Other humans wandered through the triage tent tending to their wounded with soft words.
The man’s face had twisted into an angry snarl, “Fo the past few months the ash has restricted our access to supplies. Our ships can’t land for fear of gumming up the engines. We have been unable to replace our lost equipment, and so have only rudimentary medicine in order to treat our wounded.” He stepped up a row of wounded shivering under emergency blankets faces covered in light layers of sweat.
“This will be the first supply run we have received in weeks and with it the ability to take some of our wounded back to where they can get proper medical attention. Infection has been rampant despite our best efforts. Without modern technology, it’s like we are living in the goddamned dark ages.”
“Did you not bring these supplies when you first started the campaign.”
The man sighed in frustration, “We did but we, ‘I’ was overconfident. Our first three outposts were overrun by those beetles and with it most of our medical supplies.” he motioned around the room, “Those you see here are the men and women who managed to survive despite proper medical attention.”
The Rundi chairwoman tried not to look, tried not to see the horror that was in front of her, but there was no use, there was no turning away from that which she did not want to see. She glanced down at the humans splayed on piles of blankets and shivering with fever. She didn’t know much about humans, but she was vaguely aware of their ability to fight off infection by heating their bodies to unusual heat in order to burn off the infection.
It was supposedly an unpleasant process.
The human paused kneeling down next to one of the bodies pulling a blanket over the chest of a shivering human, “We ran out of painkillers two days ago.”
She was unable to keep her eyes away falling on one of the humans to her side. What she saw nearly had her running form the tent in shock and horror. The human that lay before her…. Was missing both of its legs. She…. at least she thought it was a she, opened feverish eyes mouth opening and lips trembling before her eyes rolled back. Bandages dark with ash and stained with red were tied about the stumps of her legs.
She lay on the floor quiet and unaided by medical technology.
Technology they should have had
Her vision widened finally forcing her to take in the view around her to match a symphony of moaning agony, guttural animal sounds to signify their pain. Whimpers and groans and weeping that died away only to be replaced by more.
The pitiful wailing of the dying.
“We are losing men, and we are doing it fast. A good portion of what we originally sent to you have either died or are in states like this.” A moan from her side, and she looked down to find a young man missing an arm, a rag covering both of his eyes. A yellow liquid stained the cloth.
She felt sick.
“With the transport you brought us a lot of our people will be able to get off and get medical attention. We have people moving them now. If all goes well, most of them should live.”
“And…. what about these?” She asked trying to keep her mind of the scene. A human just to the side of her missing an arm and a leg lay moaning pitifully on the ground. One of the hazmat dressed humans sat next to him gently holding his remaining hand.
The human didn’t appear to be doing anything medically relevant, but gently using their thumb to rub slow circles on the palm of the man’s remaining hand. It seemed strange, but that simple motion seemed to calm the human.
She was greeted by the feeling of horrible sadness as she looked.
“These…. Well. They have graciously volunteered for something special.”
They had almost reached the end of the tent now when, looking down at the floor, something caught her eye. The rundi chairwoman pulled to a stop staring at one of the humans. He was laid in the shadow of the tent at a distance from the lights. A roll of blankets had been propped up under his head and the stump of one of his legs, or what used to be his leg.
It was the right leg, and it had been severed an inch or two above the knee. A rag wrapped around the stump of his leg was red with blood.
His breathing was ragged and labored coming in forced gasps against what must have been excruciating pain, his face screwed up in agony
But it wasn’t that which had caught her attention.
“I…. I know him.” She stammered, stepping forward, “I know this one.”
The agitation in her voice must have been enough to rouse the human, who opened his eyes bleary and out of focus.
Even in this dim lighting she knew those eyes, a shade of bright, emerald green.
The young man turned his head blinking as he tried to focus on her, on her voice. His lips quivered his hands twitched at his sides, “Chairwoman?” He croaked.
The admiral hurried forward kneeling next to the young man as he began to shiver breathing growing more ragged, “Shhh lieutenant, it’s alright.” With surprisingly gentle hands, the man adjusted the boy’s pillow laying one hand on his shoulder, again making that slow rubbing motion that had been demonstrated earlier, “Shh, just relax, don’t try to talk ok.”
She stared on in confusion, and the admiral looked up, “You know him?”
She nodded her head in horrified confusion, “He…. he piloted the jet that saved my planet from an asteroid. He was….. He was one of the first humans we met. I I could be wrong.” She stared onwards knowing she wasn’t wrong.
The man looked on sad, “Yes, he wasn’t supposed to be on the frontline. The atmosphere has too much ash, so all our pilots were thrown back into ground divisions at the rear of the line for administration. When the Drev pushed back they were all that was left, and were forced into combat.”
The admiral looked up at her hand still trying to comfort the young soldier, “We were-”
“Admiral.” The boy’s voice was thick, slurred straining. She didn’t know much about human language, but the way he said the word made the admiral respond, and he leaned forward quickly cutting off and turning his focus.
In those few moments his breathing had grown more ragged.
“Yes.”
“It ... hurts.” His voice came between bursts of air forced from his lungs, a hutch as the muscles in his abdomen contracted and released, “Please…. Make it…. Stop.” Beads of sweat erupted on his forehead and his head arched back. The rest of the body followed suit writhing in slow agony, the remaining foot kicking at the ground in a show of the most visceral agony she had ever seen.
She was sick.
The admiral leaned in using one hand to pin the boy to the ground to stop the writhing, the other hand to the side of his face, “Hey Hey, look at me…. Look at me. Shhh…. There we go.” the young man let go of the contraction on his neck and looked the admiral in the eye face still twisted in pain.
Little droplets of fluid rolled from the eyes and down both sides of his face.
The two humans sat on the floor together, one gently wiping moisture from the other one’s face. His remaining foot grew still and went limp against the ground tilting outward.
Speaking so softly she could barely hear the admiral continued, “You’re gonna be alright kid. The ash is clearing up, and we got a troop transport in. You can go back home, we will get you some painkillers, get some rest, and you can go home…..just a few more minutes.” He dropped one hand back to the kid’s shoulder patting it gently. He turned to look for one of the attendings when, A shaky, clammy hand reached upwards grabbing the admiral by the arm.
He turned to look down.
“I…. I said I would do it.”
His voice was forced, it seemed like every time he was asked to speak the pain only grew worse.
“You don’t have to lieutenant. No one will blame you.”
“NO!.... I said…. I would… do it.” His hand quivered and then fell back to his side eyes squeezing shut.
The man kept a hand on his shoulder, turning to look at the chairwoman who had been forced to look away unable to keep eye contact with the scene. He motioned one of the other attendees over to him, and she took his place. With soft hands she slid next to the young man resting his head in her lap posing no more than a comfort to the human as he sunk back into his pained trance.
Murmuring softly and gently stroking a gloved hand through his hair.
Outside in the air though it was ashy and grim, she could finally breathe staggering to the side feeling as if she was about to fall over.
The admiral followed her.
“Why… why did we have to see that.”
The man’s face was stern and unyielding as he held a palm out to face the building, “Every last man and woman inside that tent was willing to DIE for you, for peace, and now….
Now they have volunteered to do it again.”
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a crown seldom enjoyed - chapter 27
To maintain the fragile peace between north and south, Clarke of House Tyrell is sent to live in Winterfell as an act of faith between the two kingdoms. There, she is put under the protection of the first queen in the north, Queen Lexa of House Stark, Daughter of Wolves. A woman draped in steel and silver, wolves at her heels and rumoured to be a manifestation of the fury of the old gods; Clarke refuses to be awed be her quiet violence and cold smile. Instead of fostering unity, the meeting of the wolf and the rose lights a spark that spreads through the rest of Westeros, threatening to burn it to the ground.
27/33
clexa game of thrones au
read on ao3
Book Three: Chapter 6
The south almost falls to ruin in the few days following King Finn’s death. Lexa is saddling a horse in the stables, her Queensguard working fervently beside her, when the bells begin to ring, a feverish, furious clang that stops them all in their tracks. For one horrifying moment she thinks that Pike has ordered the gates shut to kill them all, but a frantic stable boy stumbles inside, reeling from drink and fear and says, his voice garbled.
“The king! He’s dead!”
Later, Lexa is ashamed that her first thought is of the king’s new bride, but in that moment all she can do is stride across the stables and grab the boy by the shoulders to demand.
“The queen?”
The boy shakes his head, almost mute with fright. “Alive, but weak.” His voice drops, trembles. “They found her in the bed with him, covered in his blood.”
The stories have only grown worse since then, becoming bolder and more horrifying with each tale. There are many that whisper that Clarke was involved somehow, that her hands are covered in blood. Those with more daring mutter that the new queen should be deposed at least, beheaded at worst, but with no other obvious heir in sight they do not raise their voices. Others wonder whether the southern lady is cursed somehow, with the death of her father and now her husband looming over her like a dark cloud. For her part, Lexa refuses to leave now. She expects a fight from her Queensguard, wonders whether Anya will forcibly drag her back to the north, but instead she is surprised to find that her cousin only nods grimly upon hearing her decision.
In utmost secrecy, she sends two of her Queensguard north in the dead of night to order Aden to prepare for the worst, and has her own guard and that of Lady Tris doubled. She sleeps lightly, with a dagger beneath her pillow and spends much of her nights staring at the canopy above her bed, stifling in the southern heat, wondering whether Clarke too is staring at her own canopy.
In the early days that follow the killing of her husband, the kingdom is not wholly sure that Clarke herself survives. The Grand Maester will let no one in to see her, and only reports that she is weak from her injuries and distraught by her loss. They are left with only whispers and rumours, and Lexa feels like a trapped wolf, pacing the corridors as she waits to hear of Clarke’s condition. Several times she walks by the chamber doors of the royal suites, but Octavia Snow stands guard every time, her expression dark and she will not let even her queen past to see her injured lady.
By the third sunrise, Lexa fears Clarke has waited too long. By all accounts, Lord Pike is holding court in Tower of the Hand with the wealthiest and most powerful lords and ladies in Westeros. He terrifies them with talk of a land unprotected and overrun by enemies and refills their wine goblets until they are too drunk to argue with him. Though he has not yet said so publicly, Lexa is sure he is plotting Clarke’s deposal or demise and the thought of enough to curdle her blood.
For her own part, several southern lords and ladies even go so far as to court her favour in this time of unease. Some she knows well: Lord Marcus is welcome company, though she suspects his level headed and empathetic words would be best spent in Clarke’s support elsewhere; Lord Jonathon Tully, brother of Lady Abigail Tyrell, is a fair minded man with a blunt, easy manner, and the Princess Arianna is a surprisingly fervent supporter of her new queen. Many are frightened away by the wolves pacing at her sides and the dangerous expression that she so often wears when she is troubled, and for that Lexa is glad. As little as she likes waiting for word on Clarke, it is even worse to do so with southern prattle about her.
The sun is only beginning to paint the sky with its tangerine tones when a hurried knocking comes to her door. Lexa, barely asleep for more than a moment, wakes slowly and with heavy eyes, squinting through the darkened room to find Anya pushing open her door. Her hand, which had been groping for the dagger beneath her pillow, falls down, and she groans softly, rubbing at her eyes.
“What is it?” Her voice is slurred with sleep. “What’s going on?”
“It’s Clarke,” Anya hurries to light the candle beside her bed, ushering in one of Lexa’s handmaidens to stir the fire into life. Lexa shoots up at the words, her heart suddenly thundering, but Anya holds out a hand. “She is well, she is hosting her first audience.”
“An audience?” Lexa pushes herself from the bed with none of her earlier reluctance. She hurries to the carafe of water on the stand in the corner, pouring it into the waiting dish and hurrying to wash herself despite its frigid temperature. “At this time?”
“I expect she wants to say her piece before Pike does.” Anya intones, grimly.
Lexa is half in a daze as she allows herself to be dressed by her handmaiden, her hair pulled back into a simple braided crown, her real crown placed within the curls as she is urged into dark hose and a tunic embellished with fur and silver embroidery. Her sword is strapped to her waist, several small daggers slipped into her high boots.
When she steps from her rooms Honour, Sage and Valour fall into step beside her, their presence comforting at her side. The sun has risen as she’s been dressed, though its light is still watery. From the courtyard, she can hear the sounds of the city beginning to wake up, as merchants call their fresh catches and the hammers and anvils of the city’s blacksmiths groan into life. The servants of the castle are bleary eyed and startled to have so many nobles rushing from their rooms, and already the soldiers that man the city gates are having to open them for the few lords and ladies in the city who the word has reached.
With the wolves at her side and her Queensguard at her back, Lexa moves through the hustle and bustle with ease. People scatter out of her way, half bowing, still unsure of the protocol, and she doesn’t deign to meet their curious gazes. Instead, she keeps her eyes set on the doors to the Great Hall, which stand wide open to allow in the streams of nobles entering. As she takes her place at the head of the crowds, closest to the dais, Lexa feels the eyes of the south upon her and wonders how far Pike’s vicious rumours have spread. It is only the thought of seeing Clarke that keeps her in her place. If she weren’t so desperate to see the new queen, or so confident that Aden could handle the north in her absence, she would have saddled a horse that first night and fled this poisonous city.
The sound of horns pulls her from her reverie, and she blinks up at the dais as attendants step out. There are only servers and handmaidens at Clarke’s side when she steps out onto the dais, and she cuts a stark figure. Alone but for her attendants, she wears a dress so dark she appears white beneath it. A heavy chain is slung around her neck, and her golden crown shines open her head, but otherwise she is utterly devoid of decoration. There is something simple and mournful and strong about her appearance, and a hush falls through the waiting crowd as she makes her way to the front of the dais. Lord Pike, Lexa notices, is absent from proceedings. She wonders whether the hour is simply too early for him with his late night revellers, or if he refuses to acknowledge the authority of his new queen. Either way, she suspects it is what Clarke hoped would happen and she finds her own breath baited as she waits for Clarke to speak.
Clarke looks down upon them all, regal and stern, and when the chattering finally quiets she begins to speak.
“By now I am sure you have all heard what has happened to my husband and our king.” Another wave of murmurs runs through the watching nobles, but Clarke does not allow it to stop her. “I do not need to tell you of my grief, I am sure you all feel similarly. The king was a strong, wise man and he was my husband.” Here her voice breaks, just slight and when she pauses to draw in a steadying breath, there is no denying the way her eyes shine. Several ladies cling to their friends and husbands, padding at their eyes with handkerchiefs at her words. When she speaks again, her voice is strong and steady. “I would not assume to sit on our king’s throne without your consent,” Here, she seems demure and retiring. “But there is no immediate heir to take his place, at least, not yet…” She glances her hand over her stomach so briefly it seems instinctive, but Lexa knows in one heart stopping moment that it is as rehearsed as every other moment of this speech.
“My lady,” A lord bedecked in gold and black steps forwards, his dark brows furrowed. “Do you mean to say…” He pauses and flushes, “Did you and the king know each other intimately before his death?”
Shocked gasps and scorning looks follow his question, several ladies offer him outraged glances and touch at their cheeks and head, but many more eye Clarke with undisguised curiosity. From her place on the dais Clarke nods somberly, passing her hand over her stomach again in a gesture that is much more considered.
“I cannot say for sure, of course.” She raises her gaze and looks out over them, bathed in the light of the rising sun she looks ethereal, like the Mother herself. “But the king and I felt afterwards that there was some chance,” Her voice stutters again. “That’s why I- why I hid for so long when the assassin came. The king bade me to protect our heir.”
Another round of muttering follows her words. There has been much talk of how the king died, but to hear Clarke speak of it so frankly astonishes them all.
Clarke continues as if she cannot hear them. “Our king was a good and noble man, and if the gods see fit to bless me with a son, I know he will be just as good a king as his father was.” She looks out over them all and Lexa feels as if she could fall into her blue eyes. “I was not crowned before my husband was killed, but he did choose me to help him lead. For those of you who truly loved him I hope that that is enough to support my claim to the throne of the south.”
A gasp runs through the crowd and Lexa feels a prickle of fear run through her. It is a bold thing to say in her first audience since her husband’s death, and with no one else on the dais to show their support she seems isolated and vulnerable. A moment of silence passes as people exchange glances, but then Princess Arianna steps forward, unsheathing her sword, and she places her weapon at the steps of the dais, near Clarke’s feet.
“Dorne is with you, your majesty.”
Clarke looks down at her and when their eyes meet something unsaid passes between them, before Princess Arianna bows. Lexa eyes the dark haired princess with curiosity, she knows that the woman is only the daughter of the true Prince of Dorne, a man confined to the south by his many ailments, and she wonders what authority the princess has, or expects to soon have, to make such a pledge.
“King Finn was noble, as you say,” Another lord from the Stormlands steps forwards, grizzled and old, but he stands tall. “He chose you as his queen, always said you were good and wise,” He glances back at some of his compatriots. “I trust him, your majesty, and I trust you.”
Something close to a smile, but laced with sadness and regret flickers over Clarke’s face and she nods as the Stormland knights call their agreement and step forwards to lay their weapons at her feet.
One by one, more knights of the south make their way forwards. Among their like is Lord Marcus, who bows so deeply Lexa fears his nose will brush the ground, and the lords of Riverrun and Highgarden. Lexa says nothing, but her presence and unwavering gaze upon Clarke she knows are enough to show where her support lies. As a queen, she has no need to pledge her loyalty to Clarke publicly and regardless she knows that Clarke already has every part of her that truly matters.
“Thank you all,” Clarke says at last, when only those loyal to her remain. Enough have slipped away to be noticed, but the Great Hall is still crowded with eager nobles. “If the gods will bless my reign, I will sit the Iron Throne for you until someone more suitable is able to take my place.”
The waiting crowd let out a great roar of agreement at those words and Clarke bows her head, slipping away through the door at the back of the dais like she is made of mist.
The King in the South lies in state for three days and three nights before he is buried. His body has been cleaned up well, and there is still a boyish youth to his lifeless face that only makes proceedings worse. Still, when Lexa approaches to show her respects, she can see beneath his high collar the hastily stitched wound that ended his life. The city is filled with crying women and drunk men, and the city mourns for their king so fiercely one would think he had been upon the throne for years rather than weeks.
His funeral takes place on the fourth day after his death, a dismal affair filled with long sermons from the Septon and the ominous presence of the Silent Sisters. Clarke stands at the front of the Sept, close to her late husband’s body, and she appears drawn and tired, but strong. She is not yet crowned, but nobles still bow in her presence and the dark veil she wears is held in place by diamonds that sparkle within her hair and give the illusion of a crown. Lexa watches her as inconspicuously as she can, wondering at how she remains so composed and stoic. It is only the twitch at her lips and the corners of her eyes that give away her despair.
The day is unusually drawn and clouded, and when the rain begins to fall proceedings are cut unceremoniously short for the sake of the many people, nobles and smallfolk alike, gathered outside the Sept and in the streets. Nobles hurry back to the castle, eager not to get wet or ruin their finery, but Lexa lingers on the street. The rain feels good upon her skin and soaking into her hair, and her northern clothes are made to withstand much worse. The streets empty, and it is as if the downpour is cleaning away the filth of the city, leaving it open and fresh for the first time in years.
Returning to her rooms, she dries off at the insistence of her handmaidens, and settles beside the fire. The castle is quiet today, as people retire to their quarters to contemplate the lost king and what will come next. She calls for wine and food, but when it arrives touches little of it. There are letters from Aden, who assure her that all is well in the north and as there is no sign of secret code for an attack or danger she believes him. He is well guarded and has sent letters to families he knows are loyal to warn them to be on their guard, but with Lord Bolton dead Lexa wonders whether the head of their northern snake, at least, has been cut off. Other letters and scrolls remain to be read, but nothing interests or engages her. Instead, she is plagued by memories of the young king, and though she had not known or particularly cared for him she is saddened by his loss. She wonders what he knew of Pike’s plots, or whether he was simply a piece to be played with and manipulated. Her eyes go to the tapestry on the wall, from whence Clarke had once appeared as if by magic. The day after she had had Anya and her Queensguard help her manoeuvre a heavy oaken wardrobe in front of the hole, to ensure it was safe.
When her thoughts will not quiet she sighs and pushes herself from her seat. Her cloak hangs over clothes horse near the fire, but it is still a little damp when she swings it about her shoulders. Her sword at her hip, and Faith, Honour and Sage padding along beside and behind her, she steps out into the hall. Anya stands to attention at the sight of her, her eyes narrowing as she sees that Lexa is dressed to go out. Nevertheless, she falls into step behind Lexa and when they reach the end of the corridor she beckons two Queensguards to accompany them and leaves two more stationed at Lexa’s door.
The rain has lightened to a mist that hangs in the air, curling the stray tendrils of her hair. She had thought to walk to the library and find herself something more engaging to read, but her feet carry her past the library and across the courtyard towards the Godswood.
It is only when she has taken a few steps over the soft grass, slick beneath her feet after the day’s rain, that she spots the dark figure kneeling at the base of the heart tree. She pauses, her guard hesitating around her, and feels her heart constrict when the person turns a little to glimpse them and reveals her ever familiar profile beneath the hood of her cloak.
“Guard the entrance,” She tells Anya, quietly, and though her cousin’s eyes wander between the two of them, she doesn’t protest. The wolves stay at her side when she starts forwards again, Faith loping slightly ahead when she catches Clarke’s scent in the air.
The rain still hangs in the air like a fine mist, softening the sharp edges of everything. The low clouds linger, caught by the tall tree tops like a bird in a net. Like this, the rest of the world seems to shrink away from them, the city turns to white and they are suddenly alone together.
From where she kneels before the blood red face carved into the white bark, Clarke’s cloak pools like dark wine around her body. She doesn’t look up when Lexa lowers herself to the ground beside her, and around her the wolves settle their bodies like sentinels, Faith sitting at her shoulder. For some time they sit in silence and Lexa lets her eyes wander to the heart tree and the face of the old gods staring out at her from it. She remembers quite vividly the misty mornings spent sitting with her father before the heart tree in Winterfell, as he sharpened his blade and talked of the power of the old gods. She had thought of those conversations many times since his death, thought on all he had taught her, but she knows that nothing he said about the importance of war and battle formations will help her now.
“I saw him die.” Clarke’s words startle her, pulling her from her reverie, but her attention is immediately fixed to the girl beside her. Clarke has not moved, she still remains knelt before the heart tree, her eyes downcast. Lexa cannot pull her eyes away from her and she realises for the first time that Clarke’s hands are curled in the damp grass beneath them, twisting the stems until they break and turn her fingers white. The silence fills the air for a few moments before she continues, her voice low and toneless. “On the bed, when I first stepped into the room, he was dying.” Lexa says nothing, isn’t sure what sort of response Clarke wants. “I didn’t think to help him, I only thought of myself.”
“Clarke-”
“I lay on that bed with him for hours, hoping that he would wake.” The grass snaps beneath her fingers. “He was a good man, he deserved a better wife than me.”
“He adored you.” Lexa says, ever so softly. “That was clear to anyone.”
Clarke snorts, disdainfully, and her words crack. “A cruel trick of fate.”
“Clarke-”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
A beat of silence passes between them as Lexa tries to decipher her true meaning.
“I couldn’t leave until I knew you were alright.” Lexa shakes her head, finally, her voice low.
“That isn’t-” Clarke’s voice breaks over her words and she swallows heavily, but continues, as if she is worried that if she doesn’t speak now she will lose her voice entirely. “That isn’t what I meant.” There is a rough, guttural note to her words that makes them seem all the more forceful.
“Then what?” She is almost afraid to ask, afraid that she knows what Clarke will say.
“You shouldn’t be here with me, you shouldn’t be anywhere near me!” Clarke’s voice is rising, taking on a note of hysteria.
“No one can see us Clarke, my guards are posted at the gate and the wolves are here. We are safe for now.”
“Don’t be obtuse,” Clarke’s brows twist, somewhere between fury and anguish. “You think I don’t know what they have been saying about me? That I’m cursed, that all who love me die.”
“Clarke-”
“They’re right.”
“They’re not, Clarke,” She reaches out and clasps Clarke’s fingers within her own, pulling them from where they are tangling in the grass stems and digging in the dirt. Carefully, she encloses them in her own, folding around the cold digits like a parent swaddling a babe.
“How can you say that?” Finally, Clarke meets her gaze, and her eyes are deep pools of stormy blue, sad and angry and despairing. “My father, Thelonious, and now Finn… I loved them all in some way and now they are all cold in the ground.” A tremble runs through her at her words, and Lexa can feel it in her fingers. “I’m cursed.”
“No,” Lexa shakes her head, and she cannot hold herself back any longer. She hitches closer and lifts herself up a little to wrap her arms around Clarke’s stiff body, holding her close. “No Clarke.”
“The gods are punishing me.” The hitch in her voice tells Lexa that she is crying now.
“This was not the gods’ doing,” Lexa insists fiercely, her anger burning in the pit of her stomach. “This was a man’s doing, Lord Pike.”
Clarke melts into her embrace and Lexa wonders how long she has been carrying this shadow upon her shoulders, letting it weigh her so heavily. “Even so, if he finds out…” She trembles again in Lexa’s arms and Lexa feels tears prickle in her own eyes. She clings more tightly, and for a moment she wishes their lives had not panned out this way, that they could simply give themselves to each other without the fear of vengeful lords or the duty of their families and countries weighing them down. “Please, please,” Clarke presses her face into the crook of Lexa’s neck, not entirely sure what she is begging for.
When Lexa speaks again, her voice is raw with emotion. “Not even the gods could keep me from loving you, Clarke. Some southern lord certainly won’t.”
---
The fire crackles in the place, though the day is hot and the sun pounds down upon the streets. It streams in through the window of her chambers, forming a bright square upon the cold stone underfoot. If she stretches her foot out she can reach it and feel the heat of the day upon her bare skin. This room has always caught the morning light nicely, glowing with warmth under the sun, and she tries not to think on where she will be sleeping come nightfall.
Her robe is light around her shoulders as Harper’s nimble fingers tug and pull at her curls, pinning them into intricate, twisting forms with the expert hand of someone who has been doing this for some time. She has been working in silence since she began and Clarke has appreciated the peace, what feels like the first she has had in days.
Despite the rumours, her days after Finn’s death were not spent in bed recovering from grevious wounds. When she thinks of her wedding night now, everything feels very distant and far away. She barely remembers the assassin’s face, though she does remember it sliding away to reveal a second the moment the last breath had escaped him. She doesn’t remember the wounds to her legs and stomach, which are still bandaged tightly and throb with pain at every breath. She remembers the smell of blood, and the feeling of the blood soaked cotton beneath her fingers. She remembers how it dried beneath her as the night went on, turning stiff and dry like corn kernels. She remembers Finn’s wan, shallow face, and his unseeing eyes staring back at her, at once adoring and accusatory.
The Grand Maester had come only when Faith had been howling outside the doors to the bedchamber for so long that one of the guards had run to find him. He had wrapped her wounds, given her milk of the poppy, and in her drowsy, drugged state she had fallen into his familiar arms and wept her story of Pike. If before she had been unsure whose side he was on, she had been certain at the sight of uniminitable horror on his face as her tale unfolded. He had seen to her wounds, had the king’s body wrapped and taken to the Sept, and put her to bed. When she had woken the next morning, the ache in her heart stronger even than the ache in her body, he had asked her to tell her story again.
“Can you stand, your majesty?” Harper asks, quietly, and slowly, with her handmaiden’s help, Clarke struggles to her feet. Harper unwraps her robe and sets to dressing her.
On the morning after her cursed wedding, Harper had come at the Grand Maester’s command, and set about bathing her as gently as one would a newborn babe. Though her fingers had trembled, she had not backed away when the Grand Maester had offered to fetch another. With gentle determination, she had brushed Clarke’s hair and braided it back, dressed her in a soft nightgown and her periwinkle blue robe, so that when the first of the visitors came, she was presentable.
Lord Marcus was the first, at her request, slipped into the chambers through the secret tunnels. His face pale, he had set by her bedside, her hand in his, and listened without interruption to everything she had had to say. When she had asked that he send for her mother, he had bowed his head over their clasped hands, until her knuckles brushed his forehead. Lady Arianna had followed him, her brows drawn tight as she listened to what Clarke told her, Lord Marcus at her side. Clarke hadn’t been able to finish her tale before Lady Arianna spat at the floor and cursed Pike’s name.
“Of course you will have my backing, your majesty. Anything over that treasonous cunt.”
A knock comes to the door, and Clarke calls entry. Octavia steps through the door and gives a low bow.
“Everything is ready, your majesty.”
“Thank you, Octavia.”
Octavia had burst through the doors to her room that day with the ferocity of a wild jungle cat from Essos. She had glowered at them all, taken several steps to Clarke’s bed, bowed and said. “I will be taking over the queen’s protection from now on.” No one had thought to argue.
After Princess Arianna had come a whole slew of other nobles. The lord of Riverrun, her uncle Lord Jonathon, had eyed her with a new sort of respect and promised to stand at her side if the time should come.
Her father’s brother had been less easy to convince. Lord Arthur had stared down at her in the bed as if he thought she was finally where she ought to be, and crossed his arms, ignoring the glare of Lord Marcus and Octavia at her sides.
“This is just what you deserve, reaching higher than your station.” He had shaken his head, his lip curling. “What can you be thinking, to take on the Lannisters? They are the most powerful house in the land, they have the most money and the most arms.”
“Not against us all united, uncle.” Clarke had told him, as carefully as she could.
“You are a foolish child, playing at these games.”
“I am no child, uncle.”
“You will get us all killed, our house will never know another generation!”
“I am your queen,” Her voice had become steely. “And I am asking for your allegiance.”
“Lord Pike will tell anyone and everyone that you are no true queen.” Her uncle had sneered at her, and she had risen a brow.
“If I am not your queen, then I am still the head of our house, and your opinion does not matter.” Her uncle’s face had dropped, and she had watched as he struggled for the right words.
Eventually he too had bent a reluctant knee, and she had four of the great houses at her command.
“It’s time, your majesty.” Octavia steps into the room again, and Clarke lets Harper surveys her one final time, before nodding her approval. She is escorted from the castle to the Great Sept with a tight, loyal group of guards at her sides and she can hear the cheers of the waiting small folk as if from far away, though she is only in her carriage.
The lords of the Stormland had needed a gentler touch. A land steeped in the history of traditions and knights, the Stormland lords had become used to one of their own sitting the throne and the privileges this afforded them. She had had the room emptied, but for the Grand Measter, and when Lord Mertyn, now the most powerful Lord in the Stormlands stepped into the room he found a wan, pale woman confined to a sick bed.
“My Lord,” She had offered him a seat, and graciously accepted his bow. Her voice had taken on a breathless, anxious quality. “I am so glad you came, I don’t know who to trust.”
“Your majesty, I am so sorry for your loss.” His sincerity had touched her. “His majesty…” He trailed off, shaking his head, and she brushed at a tear that escaped down her cheek. “We are glad that you at least were spared.”
“Thank you for your kind words,” She had touched uncertainly at her covers, “Many do not feel similarly, I fear.” At his curious look, she had continued. “I am not safe my Lord,” She hesitated and brushed at her stomach again, lingering long enough for him to notice. “We are not safe.”
His eyes had widened and he had stuttered. “You mean to say…”
“A woman knows, my Lord.”
He had pledged his support moments later, stating, “You are a Stormlander now, my lady.”
Now, as the door to the Great Sept swings open, she walks to her place on the dais certain that no one of any importance will rise to object to her. Her knees settle against the velvet cushion and as the High Septon speaks the ancient words, she feels the eyes of the kingdom resting upon her shoulders. Each one of these people will fight for her if they must.
“May the Warrior grant her courage, may the smith grant her strength.” The Septon concludes and glances down at her, his eyes cold. She knows he hates crowning a woman more than anything, but the Most Devout, who give voice to the wishes of the Seven in this world, have always had a good relationship with the Tyrells. Her father's frequent visits to Oldtown, where they gathered, had seen to that.
“Arise, your majesty.”
She stands, and the dark gown falls in waves against her, the golden embroidery and carefully selected sapphires heavy against her bosom.
“In the name of the Seven, I now pronounce Clarke of House Tyrell, first of her name, Queen of the First Men, Protector of the Realm.”
The crown settles upon her head and she feels her shoulders straighten, her chin tilt up. As she looks out over the watching congregation, she knows that no one will challenge her now that she is queen.
Particularly with Pike of House Lannister rotting in a black cell far below the castle.
—-
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Adventures of Santal. Chapter 2: The first meeting.
Anything bad can happen will happen.
The changes begin! While the Sabur clan is enjoying a quiet life on Ryloth, something is about to happen in the galaxy that can change not only one planet, but the whole world. And in the life of young Santal Shan, irreversible metamorphosis will soon begin. As a result, she will have to change her lifestyle and take a new path. But for what, depends only on the girl herself.
Ryloth is a harsh, rocky planet, home to the Twi'lek. It is located in the outer Ring on the Corellian way and is the beginning of the death wind corridor. There is no day-night rotation on the planet, because the rotations around its axis and around the sun are synchronized, and the planet is constantly facing the sun with one side, while the other is in darkness. The illuminated side is called "Bright lands". However, the landscape also has jungles, plateaus, valleys, and volcanoes, and the atmosphere is breathable for both Twi'lek and humans. The equator covers a forest populated by dangerous predators. Given the diverse and dangerous landscape, Twi'leks live in underground caves.
Kala'uun is a large underground city on Ryloth, located among the Five lonely mountains, one of the two capitals of the planet. Like all cities on Ryloth, it is located on the twilight terminator that separates day from night. The city is home to a major spaceport, which is the center of interplanetary trade of the Twi'lek. To protect the city from heat storms and the Twi'leks who lived in the area, the only tunnel leading to the city is blocked by a massive stone block. It is there, between the upper and lowest levels, that the sabura clan resides. Nobi and Elina. For three years now, they have been raising their adopted child, Santal, who was very attached to them.
This family once lived in another settlement, which was very far from their current home. At the very edge of the Bright lands. But then, after saving up some money, they moved. And soon the daughter of Elina's friend, Adira Shan, appeared in their lives.
They met a long time ago, when Elina was still a very young girl. Then letanka studied at a dance school, and then wanted to get a job — to perform in the theater. But it so happened that she ran into scammers who decided to sell her to a familiar gangster-Hutt. As a result, Elina was trapped, forced to dance in a revealing outfit in front of criminals and other scum of society. It is inconceivable how humiliating it was for a letanka from a simple but decent family! Fortunately, it only lasted a few months. Then Adira and Bastian were on a mission for the Order, and by chance they crossed paths with that Hutt and saw Elina chained up. And then released, freeing the girl from slavery. So we became friends. After this incident, letanka became very careful, found a husband, Nobi, and started doing housework. I forgot about my career as a dancer.
When the sabura clan learned of their friends ' deaths, they were heartbroken. Young, talented and full of strength Jedi were defeated by some mercenaries. It's just not fair! That's why they were surprised when a newborn baby was found in the rescue capsule. By establishing the trajectory, they found out that this capsule was from the exploded ship "New hope". Elina realized that the Shang dynasty was not dead. And, fearing that the villains would find out, she and her husband moved to Kala'uun.
Santal grew up cheerful, curious and good-natured. By the time she was four years old, she was a pretty girl, with features more like her mother's than her father's. Her hair was a cold brown, and her eyes were brown and honey-colored. The future beauty is simple! Elina, looking at the growing up of the foster child, sometimes cried quietly in private, because she remembered.
***
Santal couldn't sleep. Every five minutes she would jump up and look out the window at the sky, then walk around the room and lie down again. I can't sleep. She had been dreaming for two weeks. Very unusual dreams. And all terrible.
For example, how different creatures brandishing swords of different colors, mostly green and blue, were shot by some soldiers in white uniforms. Or I dreamed of her house. There was a terrible fire. My aunt and uncle are screaming for help. She tries to help and... at this moment wakes up, pulling herself out of the nightmare, not wanting to see the ending.
Once Santal tried to tell Elina, but she said it was just a nightmare, no need to worry. But she was uneasy. What if this dream is a harbinger of trouble? Adira had once mentioned the Concept of Seeing the force to her. Maybe her girl had it. But she's only three years old. Isn't it early? How could she, insensitive to The force, know that? Letanka did not fool the girl and therefore asked not to be taken seriously.
Two weeks after the first nightmare, Santal was still looking out the window, thinking. About everything. About parents, dreams and dreams. And also about how beautiful the world is. When she was older, Santal wanted to leave Ryloth and explore other planets and even make a discovery. It doesn't matter which one. In short, the plans were colossal.
Suddenly, she saw a strange white light in the distance. Santal immediately wondered what it might be. A fallen star? An asteroid? A signal for help? Or does someone just have a light on? Oh, there are even two of them. And they are declining. What is it, after all?
The girl was bursting with curiosity. Maybe we should take a look. Nothing terrible will happen if she goes out of the window at night and looks at the street. Just look. And then go home. Without stopping anywhere.
Santal climbed up on the windowsill and dropped to the ground quietly. Looking around, the girl found the lights and ran in a straight line. Especially since the lights are still on and are about to land. It was impossible to miss the chance. What if she opens something?
The white lights turned out to be the ordinary lights of a starship. But Santal didn't know that was what it was called. Having satisfied her curiosity, the girl was about to run home, when the above feeling came with a vengeance. This time, the ship itself aroused Santal's interest.
A more cautious or older child would have turned and run. But the girl really wanted to know what kind of unusual ship it was. And he seemed to her simply huge for his small stature.
Then suddenly the door opened, and out came a creature of an inhuman race with long legs and arms. Having never seen anything like it before, Santal felt both surprise, delight, and fear at the menacing appearance of the creature with its red, creepy eyes and blue skin. The man calmly walked down the ramp and closed the door.
Ads: Hide
The girl moaned softly. She didn't know what to do. Follow the man or wait for him to return and explore the ship on the sly. Santal planned to do this: if the first option, then by sneaking and hiding, she would look a little and run home before they missed her. The second option: wait, and when the mysterious stranger returns, together with him, while he does not see, explore the ship. The main thing is to remain unnoticed. After a moment's thought, Santal decided to follow the man until he was completely out of sight.
For about half an hour, the girl, hiding behind objects, watched the unusual creature. I must admit, Santal really enjoyed playing spy. It was very exciting! Finally, the man brought the curious woman to the warehouse. Then she could see him better. Her skin looked more blue than blue in the light. Red eyes without pupils looked creepy. And a big hat that really fit his head without ears and nose. But what really struck Santal was the small hoses attached to her cheeks. Or pipes, it is unclear. Why would he want them? Maybe he has health problems? And I wonder how he wears it? Does it hurt? Isn't it hard? Probably not. Otherwise, I wouldn't wear it. And how does everything fit on it?
another guy with a hood on his head came up to the man in the hat. It's not even clear if it's a man or a woman.
"You're late." "Sounds like a man after all."
"I wanted to make sure I wasn't followed." Or you didn't bring your friends.
— Intelligently. Oh, well. Show me what you brought. But not here.
Inside, the ship seemed even more exciting. Long corridors, lots of rooms. The Hatter led them both into a dim room. Santal carefully hid behind the crate. Fortunately, the darkness accompanied the disguise.
"You didn't open it, did you?" "what is it?" asked the cowl — man, when the Hatter provided him with a small chest, slightly shorter than the girl, and green in color.
"I don't open anything unless I've been warned." I'm a professional! the blue — skinned man snapped.
Santal shivered and lifted her head, hoping to see what was in the box. The two began to discuss something unknown to the girl.
During the conversation, the customer opened it and fished out a rectangular object, poked with his fingers. There were some strange pictures, squiggles. The man with the big smile stared for a long time, and then laughed maliciously. Then, after examining the interior of the box, he said:
"You did a great job, bounty hunter. Any complications?
Santal did not understand: behind the heads? It turns out that someone lost their head, and this Hatter helped them find it. But this one's got a good head. And what does the pictures
have to do with it?
Anything else you want? Blue smiled helpfully.
— No. The money was transferred to your account. I'll contact you if I need you again. The hooded man turned and headed back.
Santal started to follow them, but suddenly she wanted to see what else was in the trunk. No time. The girl could barely keep up with the men on tiptoe. And then my eyes started to close. Sleep hunting. No! We must go home! She's already been up too long. Visiting is good, but at home is better. Wanting to get home as soon as possible, the girl revealed herself when the customer had already left. But she forgot about the Hatter! When I realized it, it was too late.
"You didn't know that, but when people spy on me, I take it personally.
Santal jumped in surprise. The blue man with the hat and the pipes was looking at her. The face might have shown some negative emotions, but the eyes... they made it seem like the man was always angry. The girl cringed in fright. Her gut told her not to look at him. The
Man sat down on his haunches, which made him seem smaller. Santal was a little emboldened and tried to justify herself:
— V-you… You are... from VIN-n-Ni-I-te. I won't tell anyone. I didn't understand him at all. The girl was on the point of bursting into tears, and she would have done so if it hadn't been for the stranger who had startled her with his appearance.
The Hunter reached out and lightly touched the girl's cheek.
She stood paralyzed with fear. I was afraid to move. A blue hand gently ran the pads of her fingers over the soft skin and lifted her chin slightly. After examining Santal, the man abruptly grabbed her by the scruff of the neck. The girl immediately began to struggle.
"What are you doing?" Let me go!
The Hatter did not react at first, but suddenly stopped abruptly and raised it at eye level.
"Did you think I was going to let you go, baby, after you found out something that didn't concern you?" You're a witness.
As the man dragged Santal down the corridor, She tried to bite him a couple of times. Going into a compartment, the hunter put the girl behind bars and locked her up. Santal tried to pull away, but where would she go? Exhausted, Santal slid to the floor and fell asleep.
She woke up, as it seemed to her, in half an hour. Then she found herself lying on a cold, hard floor. In some place in the shape of a rectangle with bars from the ceiling to the floor. The entire ceiling was streaked with the same long, cold lines. Well, she didn't know the words "cage" or "prison cell"at that time!
Santal began to slowly come to life. What happened to her? Oh Yes, she saw the lights, decided to look, the man in the hat, the conversation… Oh, my God! The girl raised her head and was horrified by what had happened overnight. This couldn't have happened! This is all unreal! She's only a three-year-old girl! She wouldn't have thought of that! This is a dream!
From fear, the girl even forgot for a while that she wanted to look at the lights. It seemed to her now that someone had been controlling her mind. But when the puzzle came together and the picture became clear, I was completely upset.
"Did you sleep well, child?" A familiar, deep, mechanical voice interrupted his thoughts.
Santal squinted in the dim light. That blue-skinned guy again.
— Not very. Look, uncle, I don't know why you brought me here, but this isn't a funny joke. Please let me go home.
The blueskin made a sympathetic face.
"I'm sorry, little girl, but you've been following me and my client. I don't like that. And you can easily tell your parents what you saw. And then they would quickly tell you where to go. He added to himself: "And I would have been put on the wanted list."
Santal shouted. "And I don't remember well!" I promise not to tell anyone! Forgive me and let me go. I won't tell anyone! There were tears in the girl's eyes.
"What's the difference?" the Hatter grinned. "You can tell it from memory, and the adults will understand.
— Yes, I... I'm a little girl! I still didn't understand. Please let me go! I want to go home!
the
Man took out a jar and opened it. An unpleasant smell reached the girl's nose. Santal grimaced. The man took a sip and only then answered:
— No problem. He smiled nastily. He moved closer to the girl, squatted down, and flicked her nose. "Now be a good boy and don't make any noise. It still won't help. He left, patting the child's cheek with a blue hand.
Santal was perplexed and upset at the same time. I even tried to take offense. Fail. Such an affectionate, but harmful uncle. But maybe he would let her go. I'm sure all his talk is just a joke. An adult uncle wanted to scare a little girl. But Santal sabura won't give in! She had exposed him! It won't be long before she's released. And if she gives the address, they'll take her home. Her aunt always told her to do this if she got lost: go to someone you thought you could trust and give her the address. That's it! And this blueskin didn't seem so scary to the girl anymore. Although the appearance of the baby was a little scary at first, but she quickly got used to it. The girl's spirits rose at the thought.
But at that moment, a slight shaking started. It was obvious that the ship was beginning to rise. Well, that's right! She's going home now! As soon as the uncle comes, she will give her address. And my aunt won't even know that her adopted niece was out at night. Although the girl was once warned not to go anywhere alone, not to talk to strangers, immediately run away. And don't turn your back. Except that Santal didn't remember exactly when it was. The words were somehow left in my memory. And anyway, when she saw the lights, she thought for a moment that nothing would happen if she just broke the rule once. So it happened.
And the ship rose higher and higher. Santal have sick feeling in my stomach. It became uneasy: a suspicion crept in that she would not get home. If it wasn't, the man would have already asked for her address or just dropped her off. Any minute now. And he hesitates. So... everything he said wasn't a joke! A terrible thought shot through the girl's mind. Oddly enough, in such situations, the brain of people begins to think smartly. Santal's brain was no exception: "What is it? What to do? What to do? We need to get out of here! Let me get hit, but only to get away! I'm the only one scared. Mom».
The girl curled up and wept bitterly. And why did she go? I'd be home and asleep right now. Sleeping? Sleeping?! Of course! What if she had managed to fall asleep at home and was having an amazing dream? But how do I check it? Idea! Santal closed her eyes tightly and froze for a few minutes. It is not known how much time passed, but when the girl opened her eyes, nothing changed. Same floor, iron bars.
He heard the steps. The girl started. The man with the hat came in.
"Aren't you hungry?" Almost morning.
Of course, the girl is used to having her aunt feed her Breakfast every morning. But in this situation, something told me that you can't take food from someone you just met. So she shook her head.
"I'd take another hour's NAP if I were you." We have a long way to go.
"Where to?"
The man didn't answer and started to leave. Santal felt very ill. A strange man is going to take her definitely not home, to a completely different place, and most importantly — it is unclear why.
— No! the girl screamed. "Don't! Bring me home! Please! — I wanted to cry, but for some reason I was afraid to become a laughing stock.
Her screams had no effect on her uncle, judging by the expression on his face. Instead he turned around and said with a smile:
"I'll sell it to the highest bidder, and good bye."
— No! Santal didn't know the meaning of the first word and wasn't going to find out. It was obvious that it was something evil.
And then something happened that had never happened to the girl before. Santal stretched out her arms, and some unknown force hurled the man against the wall. He slid to the floor. Sabura stared at her hands in shock. As she watched, either the blow was weak, or the blueskin was hardy, but he quickly stood up and looked at the girl strangely. She looked into his eyes and decided. Something's about to happen. Maybe he'll punish her.
"Looks like I'm getting more than I bargained for," the man said, more to himself than to Santal, who was terrified.
Three questions kept running through my mind: what would happen to her? What just happened?
Suddenly
, my vision began to blur, and the world around me began to turn into a mosaic. Santal felt stiff, unable to move. After a few seconds, everything was gone. The girl began to fall into an unknown abyss…
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Celebrating Victory for Survivors of Hurricane Sandy by Krista Sperber
It’s been a long road, but we’ve traveled it together. On the sixth anniversary of Hurricane Sandy, New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy joined members of the New Jersey Organizing Project to announce what we hope will be important steps towards finally bringing all of our families home on the Jersey Shore.
Standing with Senator Cory Booker, Rep. Frank Pallone Jr. and other elected officials, NJOP member Doug Quinn – who is himself still not home – thanked Governor Murphy, and reminded all of those gathered that much remains to be done.
“We are hopeful that this new $50 million dollar program to help people cross the finish line and freezing, reducing and eliminating clawbacks will give families more hope, more opportunity and more stability. We’ve fought long enough and families have been through too much,” Quinn said, as he introduced the governor.
“We cannot stop until every family, in every impacted community, is once again able to walk back through the doors of their homes,” said Murphy said to the crowd gathered at the Union Hose Fire Company station. “There’s 56 in Union Beach alone; that’s 56 families still waiting to write the end of their Sandy story.”
NJOP’s Sandy story was born out of born out of suffering, but it has made us stronger – as individuals, and as a community. Indeed, at the NJOP we have discovered how much stronger we can be when we stand together – and organize.
Just two weeks, ago, on October 13, we gathered in Manahawkin for our first annual convention to talk about our shared priorities: full and fair storm recovery for every family, preparing for the next storm, and the fight to keep healthcare affordable.
We talked about how we had learned that the state is sitting on $1.2 billion in Sandy recovery funds. We also talked about how to make the right choices in upcoming elections, and how to hold our elected officials accountable.
We shared with each other about our struggles with the problem-fraught RREM program, the injustices of the National Flood Insurance Program, the need for rental assistance and the clawbacks – letters that Sandy survivors received in the last days of the Christie administration demanding they repay what they had been told by the state was grant money to get home.
“There are people here today who haven’t even been able to even start rebuilding because they don’t have enough funding, and others who thought they were finished, even though they followed the rules and did all they were told, the state wants back tens of thousands in grant funds,” said Quinn.
That same day, dozens of NJOP members wrote letters to Governor Murphy, asking him to take action to address these urgent issues, and to start to disburse some of the $1.2 billion in Sandy recovery funds that are still in state hands.
Not long after we sent those letters, we got word from Governor Murphy’s office that there would be some good news coming for Sandy survivors on the six-year anniversary of the storm.
So we thank Governor Murphy – first for meeting with us as a candidate, then for following through on his promises to act with these two important new programs: $50 million dollars in zero interest, zero penalty loans to act as a cross the finish line fund for families who have exhausted their grant monies and are stuck without enough to finish the job, and a freeze on clawbacks and a process for homeowners who received clawback letters to have them reduced or forgiven based on need.
But most of all, we thank our members – for coming together in our darkest days, then sticking together until we achieved what many said was impossible. We thank you for standing with your neighbors, and for coming together to create NJOP. This victory belongs to you. Thank you for believing in grassroots power. We couldn’t have done it without you.
There’s still more to be done. Who’s going to do it? We are. If there’s anything Sandy taught us, it’s that when we stand together, we are powerful. And whenever we make moves forward – like on the foreclosure bill – we have to keep everyone’s feet to the fire, so there are no problems with the implementation.
We don’t have all the details yet, but we know that today, we took a big step forward. We also know that all of us, together, will make sure this gets done and helps as many families as possible.
Thanks for all you do. Today, we are more hopeful than ever.
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THAT’S HIGHLY OFFENSIVE: MET GALA 2017
THAT’S HIGHLY OFFENSIVE: MET GALA 2017
Well, well, welcome to the annual skewering of Dummies with Money Pretending They Care About Anything Other Than Themselves AKA the Met Gala 2017 (or as Drew Jordan called it, “a party for relatives of famous people.” I hate most of the people that attended this year, plus my supply of fucks is as depleted as my bank account these days, so the positive reviews are scarce. Cat and I watched the E! red carpet coverage together and tried really hard to care, but it never happened. We were passionate about one thing though: Whoever manned the camera tonight should be fired and exiled to a country where they only photograph people from the shoulders up and then seek treatment for his obvious battle with Parkinson’s. HIGHLY OFFENSIVE. Enjoy!
Giuliana Rancid (who is obviously not at the actual event because she would never be invited to anything other than a Ruby Tuesday’s salad bar ribbon cutting) spent the evening with a bunch of other nobodies in a studio on the west coast and chose to drape her Antz body in the milky exoskeleton of one of her albino brethren.
I hate Katy Perry almost as much as I hate Lena Dunham, so the fact that she has dated my future husband John Mayer is something that whittles away at my black heart daily, and whatever the hell I’m looking at on the red carpet right now just took out another big chunk. I literally cannot, so that’s all.
Lily Collins looks like the Berries ’n’ Cream Starburst guy on his way to a Sophia Coppola sponsored transgender formal.
Kendall Jenner would be 100% perfection if she’d done something different with her hair. Those legs, MY GOD.
Kylie Jenner (as always) looks like Bruce Jenner in a Pretty Woman wig with a Kris Kardashian’s worth of plastic surgery in a girdle and pair of Steve Maddens.
Rose Byrne: The sun’ll come ouuuut tomorrow! Actually, it saw you tonight and decided not to.
Brie Larson looks like the love child of Babette the feather duster and one of my hand bells from middle school church choir in Dorothy Zbornak’s footwear.
Lily James looks like Natalie Portman from Black Swan wrapped in a Swiffer Wet Jet.
Rihanna looks like two Jimmy Dean sausage links wrapped in red licorice, stuffed into a clotted human heart piñata.
Naomi Watts looks more like Nicole Kidman every day. But probably my favorite look of the night.
Celine Dion looks like Jenna Lyons wrapped one of her old, bedazzled J. Crew tees in the Oscar gown she pulled out of Angelina Jolie’s trash can and secured it with the straps from one of the antique electric chairs Billy Bob is afraid of. #teamjolie
Bella Hadid- I don’t love all the weight she’s lost since becoming an ‘it’ girl/I’m insanely jealous, but her look harkens back to the origins of the MET ball aka the OG supermodels and the designers that loved them, so I give her look an A.
GiGi- While I really do appreciate your channeling of Christy Turlington (whether you meant to or not), I can’t say that I fully understand your look tonight. The color is that of a gout ridden tuna, the shape is that of a sushi wrapped tuna, and your panty hose are reminiscent of someone wrapping tuna in seaweed at Hibachi Express. Sanitation grade: C+
Chrissy Teigen looks like she always has: bloated and wild. Her outfit looks like a cotton gin exploded next to a L’eggs factory.
Lupita Nyongo looks like the Toucan Tropicana Barbie and that is all.
Ruby Rose is channeling some ‘She Sells Sea Shells by the Jersey Shore’ shit.
Miranda Kerr looks like a walking, glossy, coral reef, made up by Bobbi Boring Brown, as usual.
Rami Malek went to the Ball as a Twizzler. Or was it a Red Vine? #redvinesfamily
Zendaya: Mac-OW.
Paris Jackson: I have never been so offended by someone. First of all, she has about as much of Michael Jackson’s DNA in her as I do. Secondly, she looks like she put as much effort into her appearance tonight as I did when I dialed Dominos earlier. Also- Express’s formal collection has never looked worse. Also, also, your tattoos rival the mess of ink on a backstreet water rat.
Madonna- I didn’t think I could be more offended by a poseur than Paris Jackson, but again, I’m proven wrong. Her gap-toothed, fake-British bullshit can’t be hidden by all the camo in the world, and certainly not by one hideous dress.
Zoe Kravitz- Big Little Lies made me love her and this outfit does nothing but add to my new obsession. I could do without the sleeve contusions, but I’m obsessed with the rest. Like the finale of BLL, she’s channeling Audrey Hepburn like a boss.
Kate Hudson- Yo ass has looked the same every damn year. This year is the same, just more boring and like you’re trying to channel a Kartrashian aka HIGHLY OFFENSIVE. But also- i love you.
Gwyneth Paltrow looks like she ate Chelsea Handler and borrowed Titus’s pumps.
Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen: Two canoodling Weimaraners.
Lily Rose Depp: I actually love this. All of it. I am ashamed.
Sarah Paulson: And the cockatoo cried ‘Nevermore.’
Cara Delevigne: The Tin Man and The Nanny Named Fran had a baby. And it was ugly.
Rita Ora: Wasn’t it nice of Russell Stover to cater the red carpet?
Maggie Gyllenhaal: If Dorothy Draper, the Jolly Green Giant and a footless grandpa had a baby.
Halle Berry: Barnacles never looked so good.
Reese Witherspoon: Alexis Carrington would be proud. But that ponytail… She’d snatch it off.
Amy Schumer: So you ate Tonya Harding and then stole some kid’s Scarlet Witch cosplay outfit from their Orlando double-wide and threw it over your hamhocks? You belong IN a trash bag, not wrapped in one.
Kim Kartrasashian: An OB tampon at a Renaissance Faire. That is all.
J. Lo- You’re channeling Jennifer North and I love that, but your horse hair ponytail is highly offensive. And I’m not sure I get the color. But I think you and A. Rod make a perfect couple.
Karlie Kloss- Your shiny face is offensive. Stop. Your shoes are on point like a mosquito’s knee. Stop. Your dress is half terrible/half almost there. Stop. Put on a damn necklace. Stop.
Kerry Washington- Whitney Houston in The Bodyguard with a lisp. Also- your lace front is almost as off-putting as Johnny Travolta’s. OFFENSIVE ON ALL COUNTS.
Blake Lively- I don’t know how someone makes golden chain mail with a peacock’s ass attached to it so boring, but you’ve done it. Also- you’ve done the braid/ponytail to death and made me want to follow suit. Death’s, not the hairstyle’s…
Jessica Chastain- Queen EleaBore of Land O’ Lakes called, she says you look melted.
Hailey Baldwin- I don’t know how dressing like a slutty piece of salt water taffy turned state’s surprise witness in a dog collar makes you a top model, but best regards and kindest wishes.
Nicki Minaj looks like Chun Li’s evil twin going to prom in Cleveland, Ohio.
So, Elle Fanning The Chinless Wonder thought tonight’s gala was an audition to be another boring ass Disney princess?
Mandy Moore- I love you more than anything because you are Rapunzel but NO. You are not Anjelica Huston in Addams Family.
Salma Hayek- you are naturally STUNNING and tonight you look OFFENSIVE and like a character from one of my brother’s anime shows. And not in a good way.
Selena Gomez made my eyes roll out of my head, onto the floor, out the door, into the street, and under the tire of Rachel Leigh Cook’s Volkswagen Rabbit.
Emma Roberts looks like a Jennifer Garner drag queen auditioning for the role of Jessica Rabbit in a high school production of Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
Priyanka Chopra is literally just wearing a trench coat. #carmensandiegoworeitbetter #andwithahat
Kate Bosworth always looks like a creepy Victorian doll with alopecia.
Worst dressed: Daisy Ridley, hands down. She looks like someone sewed fabric from the bargain bin onto one of those built-in-bra pajama dresses from Target and threaded a wonky hula hoop into the bottom. Hideous hair. No jewelry? HIGHLY OFFENSIVE.
BYEEEEEEEE
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So a few weeks ago I gave myself a pep talk, (you can read it here). It’s one of those posts that caused a lot of hullabaloo.
See when I write about my personal life, and it causes chaos I want to run and hide and scream and then never, ever write again. Ever. Never. Ever. Ever. Never. Like, breaking up Taylor Swift style.
But Holy Christmas Cookies, keeping my words in my head isn’t a place where they can live peacefully. I finally have to surface when I am done processing and get the words out again. They erupt like a fire hose.
What am I talking about?
The Pep Talk Post and the Pass the Praise Post caused drama in my life. Some people thought what I wrote had everything to do with them. But these posts were all ME, by ME, for ME, about ME. And even though I put them out in cyberspace to read; they weren’t about ANYONE else. Not even a little. And they meant no harm. They still mean no harm. Just like this post. It’s about me processing what happened to me.
I put them here to read for the pure and reasonable purpose of possibly reaching someone who feels like me. That’s all.
So there you have it, my thoughts can’t stay quiet. It is just not how I function. Period. Okay, maybe how I operate, EXCLAMATION POINT.
I need a place to let my thoughts wander free. I know I could do it quietly, but then I am not living out loud. And that is a promise I made to myself that I must keep. I NEED to live out loud. Yes, as always the capitals help. Immensely. They make everything feel better.
So, as I begin again in a post about me, I brace for controversy, I know I need to write out loud. Why? Because there is more growth happening here and this is where I put it.
And there you have it. Processed, dissected and now I cannot contain my voice any longer. And here is another post all about me. And yes, this makes me feel selfish and self-centered, but I don’t think I am alone in processing life events through writing. And at the end of the day; I do not believe I am selfish. Again, queue controversy because I am sure some people would disagree, but we can’t make everyone happy I learned that the hard way.
So onward I write…
I have been continuing to workout and semi meal plan since late August. It has not been easy. From my perspective, I am one of the biggest girls in the group with a lot of weight to lose. I know I got myself into this mess. Yes, I just wrote about choices and perspective and mythical unicorns; I know, I know, but this has been difficult. Not always challenging, maybe more tedious, but it wasn’t like whew-hoo so easy, I can do it without any effort!
Yes, there is a step by step meal and workout plan to follow. I do love that. It takes out any guesswork.
Yes, everything is laid out perfectly, and there is a group for accountability; all positive check marks.
Yes, the program is sound and coaches and trainer are on point. There could not be better people involved.
Yes, I love it. Don’t get me wrong, I really, really enjoy it. But it still isn’t always easy. Even with a supportive coach; I still slip a little here and there in the food department and have missed a handful of workouts, but I have kept at 30 minutes of exercise 4+ times a week.
I feel like here I can be honest in this safe place, it is like home for me here on this blog, and if I don’t keep it real, it won’t ever be. And despite my slips, I have kept at it. And that means it works and it is good. It can be good and hard at the same time. Kind of like life, right?
My adhering to the food plan and keeping up with the workouts can be the problematic part some days. And I would rather be honest about how tough that part is than sugar coat it. We often know the right thing to do and even have incredible help, but taking the steps and making the right choices seem difficult.
And that is why I wanted to share with you. I wanted to share what keeps me going despite my struggles and my weight slowly coming off or even seeming to stabilize. Just in case you were in a similar spot yourself.
One, I want to have more energy. So working out is a must to achieve that.
Two, I want to be healthy. Again, diet and exercise are the answers here.
And lastly, I want to keep a promise to myself to put myself on the list. I need to take care of me, too. This is an excellent way to do that.
And in an effort to adhere to doing those 3 things I had to take a good look at diet and exercise in my life.
Choosing to do this was wearisome at first. I didn’t really want to jump up and work out. But I said I would, so I did. Each day did not get easier at first. But over the weeks it did; I got stronger, and it became a part of my routine. I expected it and missed it when it was a rest day. And then it started to get a bit tedious again, so I took a chance and said yes to an opportunity my coach put out to the group. So, I say spice it up if you start to get a bit bored. This program that I am currently on, has a similar meal plan (let’s not go there yet) but I lift weights in addition to cardio. I know?! Who knew I would ever lift weights?
The video trainer is fantastic. There are several videos about form, and it is always stressed in each session, so you really feel like you are comfortable with all the moves. I love learning how to do this. Sometimes I feel like a wuss, but again over time, I have been able to up my weight and stamina during the cardio sessions. There are still things that I have to modify, but I keep moving and keep trying, and I know now that I will get better at it at some point. And sometimes I have to modify what is being modified, but I keep moving and keep getting better. You have to count each small success; one more sit up; finishing something in a new way, stepping up something that was modified before even if for a few seconds. All the little things count.
Another tip I want to share is not to watch the scale. Now weighing yourself is essential, but your body might be changing even when your weight isn’t. I can see minor changes in my shape and the way my clothes fit even though the scale isn’t seeming to budge too much right now. Overall, I am only 8 pounds down, but I know that I will get stronger and better at the meal plan and that will change, too. Remember sometimes if you have a lot of weight to lose, it took a long time to get that way, so the weight loss isn’t going to happen overnight. It will take time. Be patient.
You need to offer yourself grace and ask yourself these questions when you start to put yourself down:
A) Can you do more than you did yesterday?
B) How do you feel?
I think the – how do you feel – question is super important.
When I answer this question, it is transformative. How do I feel? I actually feel better in my body when I work out, and I think I look better. It must have to do with endorphins and all that jazz, but it does make a difference.
And most importantly, I made a promise to myself to take better care of me. If you have known me since 2012 you know, I got into the best shape of my life since high school when I started running. I could run 9 miles without stopping. A dear friend, who I will love forever, even said I began to have a thigh gap. God love her! In 2014, regardless of how much I was running, I started to gain weight again. I went to doctors for over a year, and nothing could be determined to be the cause. And nothing seemed to help. So I gave up completely. I was exhausted, too and so I just stopped taking of me. I dove into life and running a side business and my kids, and before I knew it I was really getting sick and feeling awful, and I was way over-weight. In 2016 I tried acupuncture to start things up again. It helped at first, but by early 2017 I had completely fallen apart physically. And that is when I made a promise to get healthy again.
I went back to doctors, and after multiple visits to different doctors, we determined that I did have some things that could be causing my exhaustion. I had surgery and started medication, and my energy started to come back. Hallelujah! Queue the choir of angels.
When I felt better, I decided to take a plunge and start this work out program that was all online, with a virtual coach and accountability group.
It started in August, and now in November, I have been lifting weights for 6 weeks. I still get discouraged. I am still frustrated with my weight from time to time. Food is always my downfall, but with logic, the meal plan and my knowledge, i.e., I think before I eat something and decide if it is worth it. Yes, I fall off track occasionally, but I am better than I was yesterday. And I wouldn’t give that up, not now and I hope not ever.
So my point, if you are wanting to start again, do it. You will be glad you did. If you are like me and feel like a rookie all over again – we will get there. Keep going, and if like me you get behind a bit, offer yourself grace and don’t stop – jump back in there. And if you are already a pro, then I am happy to hear how you got to where you are.
And just as importantly you can use your voice to express how you see the world. And even if you think you are doing so kindly; it will make people feel things. It might even piss them off. That is okay. You can’t control that. You can only control how you react. Try to stay calm and kind. But don’t stop speaking up.
Stay in the game, offer grace, and keep it up. You got this!
Pep Talk Part 2 So a few weeks ago I gave myself a pep talk, (you can read it here…
#21 day fix#beachbody#fitness#health#life#liift 4#nutrition#staying fit#take care of yourself#weightlifting#working out
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