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corpsebasil · 1 year

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Shapeshifter Part 2

Part 1

Y/N, as it turned out, had more energy than almost all of Nikolai’s crew. Mal batted her away when she transformed into a cat, leaping onto his back as he walked across the ship towards the rail of it. Nikolai watched in amusement, allowing her to perch on his shoulder when another quick flash turned her into a small, white and grey hawk. She pecked him lightly on the side of his head before settling in, already having had decided that the prince was her favorite person on this ship.

“We should discuss the plan,” Mal said, eyeing the hawk in annoyance. She’d been terrorizing him all day, first as a rat sitting on his chest when he woke up, causing him to fall out of his hammock in shock, then as a snake that wound around his neck while he was trying to eat breakfast.

Everyone else seemed to find it infinitely funny, Y/N most of all, but Nikolai had been hoping to see her real face at some point that day. He couldn’t stop thinking about her last night—could hardly sleep as his mind drifted back to that white wolf form of hers and her strange power.

“When we sail in, we’ll take a group and attack together. Alina should be the one to kill it, but if it’s too vicious, it might not matter who ends the creatures life.” Nikolai said, pointing out at the eerie looking island in the distance. Was it his imagination, or did the hawk on his shoulder seem to burrow closer into his neck? “I hope you like fancy weapons, tracker friend.”

“What about her?” Mal asked, gesturing to Y/N. She snapped her beak at his outstretched fingers with a sassy click. “There’s got to be a way for her to help.”

“I’m not going to risk her life unless she offers it.” Nikolai argued, giving the shifter a glance. Mal mumbled something incoherent and strode away, headed to Tolya and Tamar to discuss the plan. Nikolai’s voice softened when he spoke, his eyes pinned on the distant island. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. This is going to be dangerous, and I’d rather not have the last shifter in the world die on my watch.”

The hawk seemed to ponder his words and then flew off, ducking inside the door of his office. When she emerged, sipping a glass of water with his shirt back on, she walked over to him barefoot, already staring out at the horizon as well.

“I might not be the last one.” She offered, tilting her pretty head at him. “But I’m definitely not letting you go alone.”

“You’d be safer here.”

“I can protect you, princeling.”

He rolled his eyes but smirked, glancing away from her. When he spoke again his tone was serious, tension crossing his shoulders.

“Hell of a way to die, though.” He said, casting her a sidelong glance. “A sea whip. Saints save us.”

“What does it look like?” She asked, and he tugged a sketching of the monster out of his jacket. When she saw it, her face paled. It looked like…and those teeth.. “No.” She scoffed. “You’re not going to fight that thing.”

“And why not?”

“Risking my chances of marrying a pirate prince? Very selfish of you.”

Nikolai grinned when she knocked her shoulder against his, her smile purely feline. But his expression sobered, and he gave her a questioning look.

“You’re coming with us, then?”

“No.” She said simply, her expression suddenly grave, and cast a look over to Alina and Mal. They had been her only companions for the past few days, and though she enjoyed annoying the hell out of them, they were also the only friends that understood what having power was like, what being feared was like, that she’d had in a while. “I’m not going with you. Because you aren’t going.”

The prince had all of five seconds to register her words before the girl hoisted herself over the rail and dropped into the ocean, disappearing completely under the waves. Nikolai shouted as Mal and his crewmates sprinted over, gasping in shock at the shifter that had just leaped over the side of the boat.

“Where the hell is she going?” Mal demanded, glaring at Nikolai like it was his fault. “I thought she was scouting not—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Not when a beast, so similar to the sea-whip and just as terrifying, flew out of the water and arced over the ship. Nikolai gaped up at it, it’s gigantic, menacing size, before it crashed down into the sea on the opposite side, spraying them with saltwater.

“Saints,” Alina gasped, watching as the beast’s body rippled just under the surface, swimming at a rapid clip towards the sea-whip’s caves. “She’s going to get herself killed. She’s been shifting all morning.”

“Can this ship move any faster?” Mal demanded, face paling, and Nikolai nodded mutely before rushing towards the wheel.

***

It took them five minutes to reach the entrance to the caves. Five minutes. And waiting there, on the beach, was…was…

“Y/N!” Mal shouted, tossing himself off the side of the ship and swimming towards her. Nikolai cursed to high heavens before he followed, Toyla complaining behind him that no one exited the ship in the civilized way, before going after his captain.

A monster lay on the beach. Huge, daunting, teeth gleaming in the sunlight. It was dead, huge bite marks gouged into its neck, and Nikolai shuddered as they approached.

“Where’s Y/N?” He searched around, the shifter no where in sight, when Alina suddenly shrieked. Nikolai jolted forward, running to the Sun Summoner’s side, then froze, ice filling his veins at the sight before him.

Y/N lay unconscious on the ground, every inch of her body exposed, with a deadly looking wound on her left leg. From thigh to knee the flesh was ripped, teeth marks marring her flawless skin. Blood pumped horrifically fast from the wound and all Nikolai could do was stare, gaping, down at the shifter who had risked her life for his entire crew.

She had killed it, had done the task for them, but it may very well have dragged her right after it into the underworld.

“Fucking move.” Mal cursed, knocking the prince out of the way. He tugged his shirt off and wrapped it as tight as he could around the injury, only for blood to soak the fabric in a mere second. Then he bundled her up in his coat and lifted her, holding the girl tight against his chest as he moved back towards the ship.

And Nikolai only gaped after them, his head reeling, the tang of blood in the air hot and heavy in his nose.

***

Y/N woke up from the worst nightmare of her life, only to enter a worse one when she opened her eyes.

She’d never been in so much agony. Had never shifted into something so big before; she had never been so reckless. And for strangers.

Truthfully, she was tired of a meaningless existence. Of stealing scraps of food from strangers, of being on the run, of spying or sneaking around or working for criminals that took advantage of her gifts. She wanted to mean something, so she wanted to protect her new friends.

And she wondered briefly if she might have actually died and this was what hell was like.

“Y/N.” A male voice said, groggy with sleep, and she tried to sit up. But a gasp of pain make her vision blur; fire seemed to burn down every inch of her skin, and her leg—she was terrified to look. “Hold on, just—just hold on.”

It was Nikolai, and a moment later, after some shuffling, she felt a prick of pain in her leg that made her cry out. She smacked at him, damn the agony the movement caused, but after a couple of heartbeats a sense of calm washed over her and the pain eased.

She groaned and laid back again, closing her eyes to welcome the bliss of a break from the torture. Nikolai moved close and scanned her face, setting down the injection he’d given her on his side-table. Sunlight leaked in through the windows of his bedroom. How long had it been?

“Do you need help sitting up?” He offered, and she nodded, allowing him to put an arm around her and prop her up on the pillows. She was shivering, damp with sweat, and she knew she had a fever. “You’ve been out for three days.” He said, his voice quiet and tight, and she gave him an incredulous look.

“How did—” she took in his face, his handsome features warped with pain and fear. “You saved me.”

“You saved us.” His laugh was unamused, and he reached out, resting the back of his hand against her forehead before he filled her water glass. “Why the hell would you do that? You don’t owe us anything.”

She remembered the sea-whip, the way it had roared in challenge. But she had overestimated it’s size, and overpowered the smaller monster easily when she’d tried to replicate the drawing he’d shown her. She snapped it’s neck, but not before it sank it’s rotten teeth into her thigh and almost tore her leg off.

She remembered the agony, the way that she barely made it two steps before she shifted back into her human form, and blacked out.

“I told you,” she laughed softly, taking a sip of water. “I like pirate princes.”

The expression on his face and the heat in his eyes told her he wanted to kiss the hell out of her, but his eyes moved down and he flinched at the sight of her leg. She looked down too, and nearly fainted. Her leg was covered in stitches, large gauge marks that had stayed when she’d shifted back sewn together, her flesh marred and ugly. The bleeding had stopped, but the bruising…the sight of the black thread in her skin…

She barely stifled a sob with her hand before she looked away, trying to focus on anything—anything but the ugly wound that she knew would scar. For the rest of her life, that marred flesh would transfer to any form she shifted to, marking her skin with the proof of her fight with the sea-whip. She was lucky they hadn’t amputated the limb, but she was vain, and was mortified that the prince beside her had seen her in such a destroyed state.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He told her, reaching out to grip her hand. “I owe you my life. I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

She wiped her eyes with her free hand and looked at him, at the prince who she’d sacrificed her life for. He truly was gloriously handsome. And he was kind, she noticed, and he’d done his best to take care of her.

“Just keep the pain-killers and broth coming, prince, and we’re even.”

The relieved smile that crossed his face that she was even able to be playful right now warmed her chest. He stood, moving to grant her request and scrounge up some broth for her, when she called out to him, stopping him at the door.

“And Nikolai?” She asked, voice sweet. He glanced over, raising a brow. “What Im healed, you owe me a date.”

His grin was stunning, and she laughed when he shook his head at her, amused.

“I’ll do more than go on a date with you, sweetheart.” He teased, giving her a searing up down. “I can teach you everything I learned to do to women in the five years since you last saw me.” When her face reddened, he added, “that’s a promise.”

Then he left, and she tucked the blankets under her chin, knowing there was no way in hell she was letting that pirate prince go.

#shadow and bone #six of crows #wattpad #nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone imagine #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #shapeshifter #Grisha

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r0semultiverse · 1 month

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Was Celia drunk as fuck or is this something supernatural?? 👀

Who the fuck is Jack?? 👀

Alice is such a delight, I love her!

Oof so one or both of them have trauma involving grandparents then.

I love Samama & Alice so much. 💜 They have a great dynamic!

Oh shit, right, Gwen is probably still getting over Mr. Bonzo too. 👀

"I just… I dunno. When I left the coffee shop, it felt like someone was following me."

Please don't take away Alice, she's one of my faves! I hope this post doesn't age poorly. Watch me have to quote this post very soon.

OH NO, is it that [ERROR] following her??? 😰

"Don’t joke about that, mate. I was dreaming about it all day." Okay, yeah, that's a creature.

Sam & Alice are both about to run into a creature... 👀

"Classifying unspeakable horrors all night for no discernible reason?" @/entities-of-posts & @/which-entity-this-post-serves is that you? :]

Hmm, now why is this episode called "marked?" I assumed Mr. Bonzo was gonna find his mark, but maybe Alice is marked by an entity/creature that was locked in the Magnus Institute?

"giving up the ghost" okay so someone saw an apparition? Honestly not sure what entity this episode is about so far.

It's giving The Corruption ✨🧟‍♀️⚰️ (maybe The Buried)

"It’s just that one of the graves had a body in that was too well-preserved for the age it should have been." 👀👀👀

This thing is about to jump out of the grave & run off, isn't it? 🏃‍♂️

"The back was completely covered in this complicated tattoo of a ship sailing across an open sea towards an open horizon." Peter Lukas?!?!?

Oh 100% The Buried, without a shadow of a doubt.

Lots of tattoo & carvings in walls imagery in this sequel prequel sidequel, isn't there? 👀

Hey wait, that's Ink5oul from episode 2, isn't it? 👀 Ink5oul definitely feels like a conduit or vessel for The Flesh or some other kind of entity.

Okay, there's something weird going on with this place, the salt water & waves near this cemetery are kind of seemingly enticing them to come drown in it's waters. In the very least it's messing with these guys' mental states! Pretty freakkyyyy! 👀🌊

Also the repeated emphasis on dreams is interesting this episode, wonder if that'll play a part in something later on. 👀👀

"If it’s any consolation, he’s with the sea now. The deep will care for his bones." I literally called it!!

I think Gordon Alan Johnson also wants to be with David. 👀🌊🌊

I don't know, Gordie, I think you did it! Unless Ink5oul is collecting tattoos like an alternate universe version of the Leitner books. Wait yeah, what if the tattoos are like conduits for the entities of this world or even the original one? 🖌

Another way to look at this is asking... Is The Deep a new entity/fear or is it a servant of a fear like The Vast? I stg there was a colossal water monster at some point in The Magnus Archives!

Okay so yeah, there's already a precedent for this. Also feels like The Lonely, The Buried, The Corruption, The Vast, & maybe even The Flesh are all involved in this one though I don't know if Flesh (Ink5oul) is working with or against the other fears at this time.

Gwen, you can tell your coworkers what's wrong, oh my fucking god. Please. Celia, you have me so invested in whatever is going on with you.

Weird unexplained noise at 17:44 too as Celia enters the office. Wonder what that's all about, maybe it'll come up later on.

"He is one of our Externals." Okay; so, there's more of them & they have their own secret hitman title too!

Mr. Bonzo when he was on TV

"And they usually like it." I bet fear creatures do like it when you scream. That makes a lot of sense actually.

Also what's that weird "boowomp" noise as they're talking or is it just the OST? 👀

Is Gwen going to be turned into something not quite human at some point? Just throwing darts at a board with that speculation, but wouldn't that be wild?

Okay; so, these little digitized noises are absolutely important!

I wonder how many times & when people have lied so far throughout this season. 👁️👁️

#someone should draw those two ( sam & alice ) in the style of that show at this rate. I have more questions every week i stg #is mr. bonzo gonna find his mark or is Alice dyer marked by [ERROR] place your bets!#okay so themes of coffins; decay; & rotting things; feels like the corruption or maybe even the buried #I stg if that weirdly aged guy is Peter Lukas somehow I'm gonna scream; it's an AU; anything can happen #Love seeing Ink5oul again; it's cool that they aren't just a one off character & are getting involved in the greater story #leitner tattoos canon??? maybe?? is this the equivalent of jurgen leitner books?? perhaps #the big water monster is giving The Vast energy; a lot of these feel like fear entities collaborating in this world #now I'm curious who the other externals are... is ink5oul one of them? They seemed to delight in reactions.#is this government organization called the magnus institute or what do they call themselves now? also who is mr bonzo after?#I wonder if the black ops guys that showed up to that charity place on hilltop were a counter organization or the government?#mine #op #tmagp liveblog #tmagp 11 #tmagp spoilers #tma spoilers #tma #tmagp #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol

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inaris-mage-of-storms · 8 months

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Content warning for swearing, guns, blood, and death of background characters.

}{ Part Five }{

Later, lying next to Scott on the second day of waiting for him to wake up, Martyn will blame himself for everything that happened.

Part of him knows he wasn't the only factor. A smaller part of him tries to say none of it was his fault at all. But most of him is used to shouldering the burden of guilt, and he thinks perhaps if he had been watching the horizon instead of the way Scott's face glowed in the morning sun as they sailed, then it might have been a normal day.

}{

Scott is beautiful in the sunlight, Martyn thinks.

It gleams off his cheeks, shines on his hair, reflects in his eyes - much the same way the moonlight streaming through his bedroom window had the night before. Martyn had thought then that Scott couldn't possibly be any more beautiful, but the way he glances up from his atlas and gives Martyn a slow, soft smile proves him wrong.

Martyn returns the smile and turns his attention back to readying the ship for sail. Their quest will take them past the boundary of what he's already explored, and his heart rate quickens at the thought of adventure and riches only. It's certainly not for the way Scott chuckles at the blush that isn't on his cheeks (he's spent a lot of time in the sun, that's all) or the way Scott's hand brushes his arm as he steps past him (it doesn't mean anything in the close quarters of a ship).

There's a lull in the conversation a few hours into their journey, but neither of them mind, finding comfort in each other's presence even when silent. Though, 'silent' isn't entirely accurate; Scott hums to himself in the quiet, and Martyn finds comfort in that, too, in the little habits that Scott doesn't know Martyn remembers so well. He listens to the song and watches the sun on Scott's face and lets himself relax for once.

He doesn't see the ship until it's nearly upon them.

Even then, he's not any more wary than he is meeting a stranger on the streets. He doesn't recognize the ship, but the Faction Isles are large, and people come and go.

"Don't see a faction flag, but they don't look threatening," he says to Scott, and raises his hand in greeting. Before he can call out, a bullet splinters the wood by his head. "Never mind!" he yelps as he ducks behind the mast to check his own gun is loaded. "Definitely threatening!"

"What on earth do they want!?" Scott spins the wheel and tries to outpace them, but they keep up with ease. Cannon shots join the gunfire. Some shots fly past the prow and some splash harmlessly into the water, but all of them are too close for comfort.

Martyn manages to hit one of their attackers in the shoulder, but with at least seven - no, eight - opponents that he can see, he spends more time ducking for cover than returning fire.

"I don't know, but we might have to - " It only takes one well-aimed cannonball to disable the ship and leave her drifting helplessly. " - Okay, we'll definitely have to make use of the cannons instead of running," says Martyn grimly. Scott is already loading a shot, and Martyn hurriedly reloads his pistol. Scott's cannonball strikes the enemy ship and Martyn's bullets drops their numbers to six, but within moments the crew boards their ship.

A fist connects with Scott's jaw, and Martyn sees red. He drops his empty gun and leaps for the assailant, but a punch to his gut makes him double over.

"Get us moving, and check the hold," orders one of the men. "A Heron ship isn't likely to be as fruitful as a Kestrel one, but there's bound to be something." He grips Scott's chin in one hand, studying his face. "Especially when the captain looks an awful lot like a Denholm. One way or another, you'll be worth a pretty penny."

"Get your fucking hands off him," Martyn snarls, and is answered by a blow to the head with a pistol. It isn't enough to knock him out, but he staggers and blinks stars from his vision. Blood trickles from his scalp. Scott's eyes are wide.

"Now then," says the captain to Scott, "be a good boy and do as we say, and maybe we won't throw your friend here overboard."

Scott's every muscle is tense, then all at once he relaxes as a bored look crosses his face. "Go ahead." He laughs when Martyn and the captain both give him incredulous looks, and it's a cold, derisive sound. "Does he look like something someone like me keeps around long-term? He's just hired muscle to carry the spoils of my adventures, and a bit of fun when I get lonely. I can replace him at any port."

"Hey!" says Martyn indignantly, but he knows Scott has a plan. He doesn't know what it is, but he must have a plan, surely. It only looks like betrayal.

(A bucket of lava burns his palm, exactly where the handle of a cold axe once did the same.)

(Martyn knows what betrayal looks like.)

Scott doesn't look at him. His eyes are still on the man before him. "You, though, could be useful. You won't get a ransom for me, if that's what you're thinking. I'm the one who ran away; they couldn't care less if I live or die. But you and I can help one another."

"How so?" asks the captain suspiciously, and Scott smiles.

"I'm intimately familiar with where every bit of Heron wealth is kept and how to get your hands on it," he says coaxingly. "And I'm bored. Let me join your crew."

"If this is some kind of trick to save your boyfriend - "

Scott rolls his eyes. "Oh, for heaven's sake. I'll get rid of him myself if that's what it takes." He saunters over to Martyn.

"Scott, what the fuck," Martyn hisses, and Scott laughs.

"Aw, did you think you meant something?" he taunts. His fingers play over Martyn's hand, pressing something soft into his palm before he rests his hand on Martyn's chest. "You even said you trusted me."

"Well clearly that was a mistake!" He thinks it's moss in his hand, but he can't fathom what Scott has planned. "I thought we had something! What are you doing?"

Scott clicks his tongue. "Seriously? Do you have moss in your ears?" His gaze bores into him, searching, hoping his message is clear enough. The smirk turns into a slow, soft smile, then with a shove Martyn is falling into the sea.

The impact stings. The ship is moving away. Martyn kicks toward the surface, tearing the moss in two and stuffing a piece in each ear. It's surprisingly effective; the only thing he hears is his own wild heartbeat.

Up on the deck, Scott turns to the crew, and begins to sing.

}{ Part Seven }{

#majorwood #scottyn #piratesshipping #pirates smp #file: storm writes things

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the-lady-amphitrite · 8 months

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— A FAIRYTALE BEGINNING | chapter 10

a fate already affixed

pairing: Loki / f!half-Asgardian!Reader word count: 5,043 summary: the time for your Weaver's Reading has arrived, and Skuld tells you what she can about your future in this chapter: references to Laufey's death & Odin's past removal of one of his eyes, reader feels so 15 bc of her attitude in this it hurts, blood magic & non-descript references to blood, very blatant canonical racist attitude about Frost Giants, lots of Skuld being cryptic author notes: hello everyone, i return once more after dragging myself out of bg3 hell long enough to finish polishing and uploading this! this chapter concludes what i like to think of as "act one" for AFB (with all of the setup about soulmates, glimpses at interrealm politics, and a look at how people get their godnames in this AU), and the next chapter kicks off "act two"! i'm really looking forward to posting the six chapters that make it up; it's honestly my favourite thread of this whole AU.

( previous chapter | read on ao3 | series masterlist )

You yawn at the stars as you lean against the front side of the karvi as it sails along Yggdrasil’s branches. The bright, distant stars are nothing more than blurred lines as they fly past the ship. They remind you that (despite not being able to tell yourself) this ship moves faster than even the racing skiffs on Asgard.

The ship — you remember someone had referred to her as the Grey Wolf — arrived on the shore of Asgard this morning, spearing through a dense fog in such silence that it left you in awe. The sun had yet to crest above the horizon when the karvi docked, there only to pick up you and your mother to head to Gymirsgard.

Sleep still clung to you like the mist of a light, drizzling rain when your mother dragged you from bed to get up and dressed for this trip. Your birthday party had run late into the previous evening, even though the celebrations had started from the moment you walked into a private breakfast with your family. Even Volstagg, his parents, and his sister Birsa (who just returned from her Valkyrjur trials), were all invited to the family breakfast. It was the first of many surprises for your fifteenth birthday.

Fifteen.

A smile works its way onto your tired face as you remember once more. You’ve looked forward to today for as long as you can remember. You can’t count how many times you’ve dreamt of your visit to the Weavers of Fate over the years. Of facing Skuld before Mímisbrunnr.

Skuld reveals one moment — just one — from a Drekasál’s vast future when they visit her after they’ve turned fifteen. A moment that you’ve been told again and again no dragon ever reveals to anyone else. Not even their soulmate.

A thrill of anticipation sings its way through you, winding through your limbs and rattling your breath. To keep something so close, so secretive, must mean that it’s a moment of unparalleled importance to a dragon. You’re meant to be able to tell your soulmate everything. You’re meant to trust them with the best and worst of who you can be.

Your imagination runs wild with a dozen ideas of what could be so important, each one spilling across your thoughts like a overflowing bottle of watered-down ink on heavy parchment.

You look behind you at the three dozen other drekabǫrn on the karvi. More than half a dozen conflagrations are on this ship with you and your mother. Each of them a different size, and from a different realm. Dragons from across the Realms of Yggdrasil, all headed to speak with the Weaver of Futures.

It’s painfully obvious how much you stand apart from the others. They came with their conflagration; you only have your mother at your side. For the first time since you met him, you can keenly feel the two year age gap between you and Gauti. Too young still to receive his own glimpse of the future, Gauti waits back on Asgard with the rest of your family.

In some ways, you suppose it’s a bit silly to only really feel that age gap now. In all the years you’ve known him, the only lessons you’ve ever shared with him are the Drekasál ones. He’s a child of the Court of Asgard like you are, but he’s also in the class below yours, so you’ve never shared those lessons with each other. Still, watching how close the other drekabǫrn are with their conflagrations reminds you of Gauti. And not just of Gauti, but of Loki, Thor, Baldr, and Volstagg. Part of you yearns to return home already. To the familiarity and warmth of your friends.

Soon. Soon you’ll head home. You just have to get through this visit to Gymirsgard, and then you can return home.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Your first glimpse of Gymirsgard comes as you approach the realm, the excited gasps and chattering from the other drekabǫrn drawing your attention from the distant stars.

The blue star of the Jǫtunheimar system blazes brightly in the distance — though for you, it just appears white. You only know that it’s blue because of your lessons about the various star systems of Yggdrasil.

In the open space before Jǫkullknǫttr — the star — sits Gymirsgard in all its wondrous glory.

Unlike Asgard’s unique standing as a small, flat realm, Gymirsgard is a round planet, its only edges that of its atmosphere. Truthfully, for a realm, Gymirsgard is on the smaller side. Yet it not only houses more Drekasál than you can imagine, it’s also the same realm your mother and uncle were born to. For decades — centuries even — Gymirsgard was the only realm they knew. It was the realm they called home before home became Asgard.

You eyes quickly shift away from Gymirsgard to look at the vast, open space that occupies most of your view, scanning for the one other planet of this system with sharp eyes. The realm forbidden to all — and for good reason. After what happened to Princess Laufey, to High Lady Dagmær, to your uncle, and to so many other Drekasál and Asgardians there, no one should step foot on that accursed realm.

Jǫtunheimr. A realm full of icy darkness and ravenous monsters. A realm that will rip the life from any who dare venture to it.

You don’t see the ice planet though, wherever it is. Good.

Your attention shifts back to Gymirsgard as you approach the realm. Second by second, the realm swallows up the view in front of you, until the karvi is descending through the atmosphere, and the stars are swallowed by the sky and the clouds.

Your mother leans against the side of the karvi beside you as the starship breaks through the heavy clouds hanging over this part of the realm. She peers out over the vast, forested land below with a fond smile. Shifting her gaze, she points towards a seaside city in the distance, a wide smile you don’t see too often on her face.

“That’s Krossavík,” she tells you.

The name strikes a familiar chord in you, but at first you can’t place the name. When you do, it’s like a strike of lightning zips through you as you remember where you’ve heard it before.

“The city you grew up in?”

“The very one.” Her hand falls, and her smile fades a little. “It’s quite strange. Sveinn and I are from the same city, and yet we spent so long trying to find each other after our Soul Awakenings.”

“How long?” you ask, leaning your chin against your crossed forearms as you stare at the city. In the distance, you can see a few dragons in flight, returning from the sea to Krossavík. From here, you can’t hear the beat of their wings, or make out anything that makes them stand apart from other dragons. They’re just dragon-shaped blobs of grey, soaring over the grey sea.

“A century or so. Your uncle is only a little more than a decade younger than me, but I was gone from Gymirsgard by the time his Soul Awakening happened. We only met because I came home to see my mother.” The smile on your mother’s face fades further, becoming softer, sadder.

“Will we see here while we’re here?” you ask, excitement bubbling in your chest. You’ve never met your grandmother, and your mother rarely speaks of her. Photos of her are even rarer.

“No, no, she won’t be at the landing ground, my star,” your mother says. She reaches out, placing a gentle, comforting hand on your shoulder. She knows you’ve always been curious about your grandmother, what with how you prod about learning more about the dragon you’ve never met whenever your mother or uncle brings her up.

You pout a little at her words. It’s followed by a soft chuckle from your mother, and then a kiss placed atop your head.

“You’ll meet her someday, I promise,” she vows.

“But when?” you ask, impatience threaded in your words even as you keep them hushed so as not to draw the attention of the other dragons. You draw away from her, standing tall and looking Kára in the eyes. “This is the first time we’ve left Asgard. And we’re here, Mamma. Why can’t we just go see her?”

Kára looks away, but you continue to stare at her. She closes her eyes, shaking her head. She says, “It��s a lot to explain, especially now. I would love for you to meet her, it’s just… not the right time. Not with everything else.”

Everything else. That mysterious phrase is the bane of your existence. All you’re allowed to know is that phrase has something to do with her Weaver’s Reading. Something she can’t tell you. Something she is never allowed to tell anyone.

You let out a frustrated breath, leaning against the side of the karvi again, your back to her. You don’t look at Kára. Instead, you watch the land that passes below and the other drekabǫrn as the conflagrations mingle with each other. None of them come near you, though you can see the way their eyes dart to stare at you for a few seconds now and again.

Neither you nor Kára speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t even look at her, ignoring her presence the best you can.

When the karvi lands, it’s in a valley to the far north of Gymirsgard. A narrow stream flows out from the mouth of a cave at the end of the valley, the bubbling sounds of it lost beneath the flurry of activity of the conflagrations jumping over the side of the ship. You sigh, then heave yourself over the side of the ship, landing in the soft, crunchy layer of snow that barely covers the top of your boots.

You watch as the different conflagrations separate from one another entirely. The vængforinginn of each conflagration checks that their drekabǫrn are accounted for, and the adult dragon with each one merely hovers nearby.

There’s another crunch of snow beside you, one that causes your eyes to dart over before they shift towards the drekabǫrn once more; Kára hopped over the side, joining you in observing the drekabǫrn. She places a hand between your shoulder blades after a few second, guiding you forward, and everyone begins the short trek over to the cave.

The drekabǫrn trade glances with each other — and with you a few times — as all of you make your way towards the cave. Kára’s pace is swift enough that, soon enough, the two of you are leading.

Everyone is (mostly) silent during the walk. The crunch of snow is the loudest sound in the valley as you walk alongside the river that spills from the cave. Even the birds have gone quiet, the presence of so many dragons setting the forest on edge, it seems.

The conflagrations stop several metres from the cave’s mouth, but Kára keeps walking the two of you forward. You can feel the eyes of everyone drilling into your back, sending waves of unease up and down your spine. Something in your chest claws at your heart and lungs, begging you to pay attention to the danger that lurks at your back. It takes everything in you not to look back at them.

Kára stops just before the mouth of the cave, and you turn to face her, finally looking at her again. Her eyes are focused on the cave beside you. There’s a brief twitch in her jaw, a sign of her unease with being here. It makes you wonder if she’s remembering her Weaver’s Reading once again.

Her voice is hushed as she tells you, “Once you step inside, you cannot come back out until Skuld releases you. No matter what you see, what you hear, you do not leave. Understood?”

Your skin prickles at her words, hairs raising along your limbs and the back of your neck as you realise the extent of her unease.

“I understand.” You step away from her, into the cave itself. The two of you stare at each other for another moment. Then you nod at her before turning away and making your way further into the cave.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

Your first steps into the cave are tentative. There’s soft torchlight coming from a few metres in, and you pass by the first of the torches on soft feet. You look back over your shoulder only once, after you’ve passed them. Your mother still stands there at the mouth of the cave, alone. It’s an unusual, unsettling sight. Uncle Sveinn is always with her. Always.

Except for this one time. He wasn’t allowed to come along for this journey. No one would explain why. All they would say is that he had to remain on Asgard.

You face forward again and continue down the tunnel.

Torch after torch, the tunnel turns into an ascending loop. Your footsteps are the only sound besides your soft breaths. Even the torches are quiet, which is far more unsettling than you would have expected. You make your steps as light as you can, your ears straining for any sounds besides your soft footfalls.

You continue your ascension, winding higher and higher with each loop. You’re not certain, but you think the loops are wider now than when you began — not that you can really tell.

When you finally reach the end, you find the tunnel opens up into a wide cavern room. There’s a slow, watery glow to the room as you step past the threshold. Like you’ve walked into a world beneath the waves, despite never stepping foot beneath water. All through the room, you can see stalactites dripping from the ceiling and stalagmites rising up from the unnaturally smooth floor.

“Ah, she finally arrives,” a voice calls out. Skuld’s voice, it has to be. You turn in a circle as you venture further into the room, searching for the Weaver, whose voice echoes all around you. “We have long awaited this day, little drekabarn. We have watched you with great curiosity. Your future is shrouded more than most.”

“Shrouded? What do you mean, Weaver?”

“Just as I said. It’s unusual for one like you. However, it always signals an interesting future as it unravels. Now, come. There is much for you to see and learn.”

Skuld glides out from behind you without warning, her footsteps soundless. You jump at her sudden appearance, wondering where she appeared from. Your back was to the cavern entrance, and you’re positive you looked at every shadow you passed as you stepped further inside. Still, you follow her as she moves deeper into the cave.

It strikes you how little of the Weaver you can see, the same as it did when Loki and Volstagg were given their god-titles. A black shroud covers her face, forbidding you from seeing beyond it, and a black dress that drags soundlessly across the floor, covering all but Skuld’s hands. Hands that you had assumed would be clean and boney, but are actually heavy, worn, and scarred.

As you cross through the cave, you approach a small seating area. Two large, dark rugs with the faint workings of a pattern woven into them, covered in a myriad of pillows, and a small circle of stones set between them. The arrangement is set at the base of what appears to be a well. The source of the watery glow of the room, if the way the ripples seem to fall onto the ceiling above it is any indication.

Mímisbrunnr. The Well of Wisdom.

Awe dances through you at the sight of an object so revered and sacred. Over the aeons since this Well was discovered, so many have sacrificed pieces of themselves just for a bit of knowledge they sought.

All-Father Odin sacrificed his eye to Mímisbrunnr years ago. No one truly knows what he’d sought an answer to when he did so, but it’s easy to guess what answers he likely sought. He sacrificed it to learn how to end the war with Jǫtunheimr. It was where the All-Father went after, appearing on Jǫtunheimr with one less eye before leading Asgard at Eldgard’s side against the Frost Giants once more.

The All-Father ended the war, but the Well had apparently not told him how to win it without losing the one he fought to bring home. Princess Laufey died on that frostbitten and cursed realm, never to know the warmth of Asgard again.

Skuld takes her seat on one side of the Well, gesturing for you to sit opposite of her. Once you’re settled, she reaches across the space between you, taking one of your hands and drawing it closer to her. Flipping it over, she leans forward and raises your palm to her shrouded face. With the index finger of her free hand, she traces lines over your palm — not following the ones etched into your skin, but different ones.

“You are remarkably calm and quiet, for one who does not know what I am doing,” Skuld says as she continues to trace lines over your palm.

“I’m not worried,” you tell her. Her tracing falters for a moment, like your answer surprises her. “I have faith in whatever you’re doing.”

“You have more faith than most. Most curious. Perhaps it is because you’ve been raised among the vættir, rather than the Drekasál,” Skuld says. You don’t say anything, despite all the questions that crowd your tongue because of her words. You have more questions than the Weaver would ever be willing to answer, that much you know.

Upon releasing your hand, Skuld sits back. You draw your hand back, placing it in your lap with the other. Only then do you allow yourself to as her the one thing that begs to be spoken.

“Why would other Drekasál not have faith in you, Weaver? You reveal Soul Awakenings, you tell us what is to come. Should we not have more faith in you than the vættir?”

“How do you break the faith of a people, and still have them seek your mercy?” Skuld asks, her voice suddenly sad and hollow. You can’t see her eyes, but you can feel her gaze as it sits heavy on you.

For several long moments, you’re quiet as you turn over her words, searching for an answer. For her part, Skuld does not press you to answer her, letting you come to your own conclusion about her question.

Mercy. Mercy implies that Skuld has more power over the Drekasál than you thought. That, if she chose to, she could punish your people. But punish them for what? And why, if their faith was broken, would they still go crawling to the Weaver, seeking Skuld’s generosity? What could she have promised —

A promise. Skuld promised them something. Something about the future. Something that they clung to desperately for so long, a hope perhaps, but —

“You promise them a hope they need, but they lose faith in that hope,” you finally say, your words slow and not entirely sure of themselves.

Skuld does not say anything, but she does nod. Something inside you fractures and weeps at the realisation. Skuld promised hope to your people about something, something they once desperately wanted to believe in. A hope they needed to believe in, and yet they have lost belief in that hope ever blooming true.

You look away from the Weaver, to Mímisbrunnr.

Silence fills the air between you both for long minutes. You think Skuld might be letting you process her answer, but it’s impossible to tell. To you, she’s just a shrouded figure, no expression to give away her thoughts. After too much silence, though, you turn back to Skuld, more words dancing sharp and angry on your tongue. Skuld speaks before you can let any of them spill forth.

“Twenty-four.” She says this like it’s an answer. When you look at her with a confused expression, trying to puzzle out the number, she explains. “Your Soul Awakening will happen in your twenty-fourth year.”

That’s nearly a decade from now. You’ve already waited forever for your Weaver’s Reading, and now you have to wait almost as long for your Soul Awakening? Impatience burns inside you.

“Isn’t that a bit old for a Soul Awakening?” you ask her. You can hear the sharp indignation in your words, and you lift your chin in an imitation of your royal friends.

“No. A soul Awakens only when it is ready. Twenty-four is a perfectly normal time for one to do so, drekabarn. Your mother's soul did not Awaken until she was twenty-seven, and her soulmate's did not Awaken until he was twenty-two.” You watch as Skuld stands, leaning over Mímisbrunnr. “I have seen souls Awaken when they are as old as seventeen, and I have seen souls Awaken as old as nearly forty. Dragonsouls are curious in that way.”

There’s the sound of something — multiple somethings being moved through the waters of the Well. The Weaver draws out several small logs from the Well, and you watch with rapt curiosity as she sits down, arranging the logs in the circle of stones.

A firepit, you realise. But the logs are wet. How does she expect to —

“Normally Mímisbrunnr requires sacrifice to learn,” Skuld says, interrupting your thoughts, “but you are not partaking in its waters, and it bends to the will of Yggdrasill, as we all do.”

“What do I need to do?” you ask her.

The Weaver passes you a knife, saying, “Three drops of blood onto the logs with the wish to know of your future. When I light the logs they will show me three things. Your most likely future paths, what your life might be in the more definitive of those paths, and which moment in your future you must hear today.” At the query on your face, she tilts her head to the side. You think she might be smiling. “Have faith, young dragon. The logs will light.”

Faith. You have plenty of that where the Weavers and Yggdrasill are concerned, even if so many other Drekasál do not.

So you listen, grimacing as you carefully make a shallow slice along the tip of your index finger. You hiss out a breath, the sting sharp as you squeeze it, letting three drops of blood fall onto different logs. Once that is done, Skuld hands you a small strip of wet cloth. You wrap it around your finger, hissing sharply at the stinging burn it causes.

Then, Skuld utters a word you don’t understand. You feel the ancient power that surges through the room. It condenses within the logs, coiling tight, then — it snaps apart, and the logs are ablaze.

You lean back on your uninjured hand, the other raised in front of your eyes at the sudden brightness. You expected thick smoke to blanket the room, but none rises from the logs. When you open your mouth to speak, Skuld raises a hand to ask for your silence. It’s only then that you realise she’s staring into the fire. You sit there, blinking as your eyes adjust to the firelight, until it no longer burns them to look at the Weaver.

“Your future is most interesting,” Skuld says. She leans closer to the fire, tilting her head to the right as she does. “I see many points that I could tell you now that will never change, no matter which paths you wander as you head towards your destiny. Most curious for one whose future is still so murky and ever-shifting.”

The hairs on your neck and arms raise. You’ve never given much thought to having a destiny. A future, a purpose to your life, yes, but not a destiny. It’s a weighted word. One that makes you think that, perhaps, you might become greater than you’ve ever let yourself imagine. That, maybe, you might live up to the legacies your parents have left for you to follow in the footsteps of.

And yet, the idea also unsettles you. To have a destiny means great things await you, yes, but you know the legends. The stories you have read, the histories you have memorised, all fall into similar patterns.

Greatness does not come without sacrifice, without pain.

“Weaver, what do you see?” you ask her, your words effused with curiosity about what she is seeing.

“I see many things, drekabarn. Every path that you might walk is open to me. I see wars that cannot be evaded, and wars that might never happen. I see a love that burns as bright and beautiful as the Kveldlagi of nights, and lasts for a lifetime; just as I also see loves that will burn like fires lit on a rainy day. I see death that will consume everything. I see your hopes, and your joys. Your wishes and dreams. Your sorrows and fears. I see the paths that you can walk, and the heartache that will shadow so many of them.”

The fire between you burns lower, barely more than embers and small puffs of flame compared to the small campfire it was just moments before. Skuld waves her hand over the embers, the fire banking until it is little more than glowing embers. The Weaver waves her hand over the fire again, and the embers begin to shift and glow in new patterns.

“I know which moment I must tell you. Are you prepared to hear?”

You suck in a breath and nod. Your heart thunders loudly in your chest. Anticipation chokes your limbs and shortens your breaths.

“Yes. I am prepared, Weaver.”

“Then listen closely to what I have to tell you, young one.”

Skuld gestures to the embers. You watch as they begin to glow in a way that forms the shape of a person. Her hand is outstretched, reaching for the hand of someone you can’t see, the image cut off. All the embers show of the other person is their hand, the details lost on you.

“This is what you must know,” Skuld begins. “You were whispered to my ancestors by Yggdrasill. Foretold by It to bring change to a great many things across Yggdrasil’s many branches. You will grow into a power that few will rival, blessed by beings far greater and more powerful than the vættir.

“Your path begins with this moment: on the day of your Soul Awakening. Much of your fate shall be sealed in the days after, for on the day of your ceremony, you will find the soul that the Voiceless One has bound you to in this life.”

You straighten up, mouth dropping open at Skuld’s words. You look at her with open awe. Warmth and giddiness floods your veins, and you don’t even attempt to hide the happiness this brings you — not that you could if you’d tried. To have your path align with your soulmate so early on? It is nothing short of a blessing by Yggdrasill for the bond the Voiceless One wove you.

You wait with bated breath for her to tell you more. To reveal any more scraps about the day of your Soul Awakening Ceremony. When she doesn’t say more, you hesitantly ask, “What else can you tell me, Weaver?”

Silence permeates the cavern, broken only by the sounds of breathing, of your heart thudding loudly, and the faint sound of trickling water. Finally, Skuld speaks once more.

“There is nothing else that I can tell you. That which I find worth telling you I cannot, for it might change the path you walk currently in ways that cannot be undone.” You bite your tongue, stopping yourself from pleading with the Weaver to reveal more to you anyway. If Skuld is concerned about changing the path you walk, then you must heed her. She's directing you towards the future you should walk, in the only way that she can in this moment. It surprises you when she speaks again. “Though, I can say this, for it is but a simple reminder. Protect your soulmate. Stand by them through all hardships, and always live for them. The Voiceless One chose this bond for a reason.”

“A simple reminder,” you murmur.

Tucking the words into your heart, you silently vow to never forget them. You’ve heard similar variations to that reminder before. More times than you can remember, your family has told you the Voiceless One chooses each bond for a reason.

It reminds you of when Frigga told you that the soulmate bond is a mixture of soul and blood magic. Of when you worried and wondered about if the bond was truly a curse in disguise, and how Lord Ivarr and Lady Tryggvadóttir’s interactions as a newly bonded pair banished such an idea. That afternoon showed you how well the Voiceless One chooses the bond for each of her children.

After all, how can something so effortless and comforting ever be a curse?

You do your best not to remember your exchange with Loki in the garden. Or the heavy, unspoken distance that lives in so many of the silences between the two of you these days in the presence of your conflagration.

Skuld stands without another word, beckoning you to follow her. You stand quickly, trailing after her as she returns to the mouth of the cavern. She stops before the mouth, and you step to the other side, but stop so you can turn and look at her. You place your left hand over your heart, bowing to the Weaver.

“Winds favour you, Weaver Skuld,” you tell her. Skuld pauses, as if your gesture has surprised her, and then copies you.

“Winds favour you, Lady Kárudóttir. I look forward to our next meeting. It will not be long now, before the vættir know your name.”

A shiver of excitement works its way down your spine. Skuld’s words promise to you that your godnaming will be soon. You smile, bowing to her once more. And then you turn around, and head back down the tunnel so you can return to your mother.

Each step is another one towards the destiny that awaits you.

( next chapter )

@ladydracona @huntress-artemiss @sarahscribbles @mischief2sarawr @pbs-theundeadmaggot @loki-cees-all @bitchy-bi-trash

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padfootagain · 10 months

Text

Pirates! (V)

Chapter 5: The Departure of the Two Ships

Hello, lovelies! Here we go with a new chapter for this Caspian fic!

I hope you like this new chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Caspian x Pirate!Reader

Warnings: depictions of violence in later chapters (fight scenes… nothing too terrible), slow burn, fluff!

Summary: As ships disappear across the sea, Caspian is forced to go investigate himself. But to win against the wild uncharted waters he must cross to reach his people, he needs to bargain with pirates. And then, he finds you…

Word Count: 2724

Masterlist for the series – Caspian’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

The morning of the departure had arrived. The tide was perfect, the last details were being set before starting your journey. And Caspian was excited. There was always a rush of adrenaline running through his veins when he stared out at the horizon, at the infinite sea, and remembered that he would be headed towards this infinite line.

The weather was good as well, lazy clouds turning the sky grey, a steady wind that would ensure your speed but the sea remained calm, with barely any waves to disturb its surface. The two ships were heavy with supplies, with food and wine and all that you would need in your long journey eastward. You expected to be gone for at least a couple of months, and you knew that these journeys were exhausting, for your ship and your crew. You were as ready as you could be, though. And so was Caspian.

Sylvia had already climbed on board of the Dawn Treader, and Reepicheep was showing her around. Caspian, Drinian and Lacusa were watching them from afar.

The entire crew had received their orders, the most important ones being that Caspian’s identity was to remain a secret, and that if asked about him by Sylvia they were to answer that he was a rich but rather unimportant Lord in Narnia. Nothing worth the trouble of a ransom…

No one was to go into his cabin except for Lacusa, Reepicheep and Drinian, the latter being in charge while Caspian was serving on the Bleeding Twilight. But most importantly, all were to keep an eye on the pirate…

“I still believe that it is a bad idea to have one of them here,” Drinian mumbled under his breath, his arms crossed.

“I have to agree, on this one,” Lacusa nodded. “Especially this one. She seems… cunning.”

“But having their second in command on board means they will not try to sink our ship at the first occasion,” Caspian replied, throwing a bag full of clothes, maps, and other of his belongings on his shoulder. “I am certain you will be just fine.”

“You going over there is madness, Your Majesty,” Drinian argued.

Caspian couldn’t refrain an amused smile.

“Are you saying that I have lost my mind?”

“I would never dare, of course, but you must admit…”

“No one knows who I am. I will be just fine. It is not in their interest to hurt me in any way, just like it is not in our interest to hurt them. Besides, it will be rather pleasant to not be called Majesty, for once. Brings me back to my more innocent youth…”

The three men chuckled at that, and shared a handshake before Caspian would leave the Dawn Treader.

Only a few steps taken in the brownish sand, and Caspian walked onto the bridge of your ship, the wood creaking under his feet.

The Bleeding Twilight seemed a little old, and in the few seconds that he took to look around, he spotted easily several pieces of your ship that would have needed repairs or improvements. It was a fair ship all the same. The sails were of a deep red hue, and he guessed it explained her name.

You had brought your ship right next to the Dawn Treader, in the small creek where its purple sails were safely hidden. The two ships were so close, one could have jumped from a bridge to the other. On both ships, the crew was busy, bringing the last goods on board, checking the sails, getting ready to leave… it was a whirlwind of busy bees…

"Peter!"

Caspian turned around, although it took him a second to react. He really had to work on his response to that name. You seemed to have your doubts about him already, as you had pointed out that day in the bar, but he still had to put up a show for the rest of your crew.

He gave you a courteous nod and you welcomed him with a polite smile in return.

"Welcome aboard The Bleeding Twilight. It’s always nice to welcome a new member of the crew.”

You came to stand right next to him, your smile polite, the decisiveness in your tone showed that you would not accept exceptions on your ship, no matter who Caspian might be.

“You will sleep with the crew," you instructed him. "You will not be allowed to walk around the ship without one of my crewmembers accompanying you."

"I am not your enemy."

"But you are not my friend either. So, you will forgive me if I take a few precautions. I doubt that your crew will act any differently with Sylvia.”

He couldn’t find an argument against your words. Before leaving his ship, Caspian had given this very order to Drinian.

“I do understand that you are a man of power on your ship,” you went on, a bright smile now on your face, full of something mischievous. “So… congratulations, you’ll be spared of cleaning duties. However, you are still a member of my crew, and as such, you will obey our rules.”

“Very well,” Caspian nodded.

You pointed at the high mast that towered your whole ship. He noticed that the wood was carved in the shape of a wave at one spot.

“First rule: if you come aboard, you need to touch the waves carved there and pray.”

“Pray?” Caspian frowned, quite taken aback.

“I don’t care who your God is, but send a prayer their way so we all come back in one piece. Or rich… at the very least,” you explained, your smile still on your lips. “If you don’t, you’ll bring us bad luck… and we truly don’t need that when at sea.”

You waited for him to do as he was told, but Caspian remained quite puzzled. Of course, he was aware of the sailors’ tendency for superstitions. To some extent, he was superstitious as well. He always rested the same foot first on the bridge, he always rested his right hand on the helm first… He had never heard of this tradition though.

He watched as a girl, not older than fifteen, climbed on board and aimed straight for the carving, closing her eyes, muttering a few words, before she would walk away and resume her duties across the bridge.

So, Caspian did the same.

He walked to the mast, rested his hand on the old wood. He could feel that the carving was ancient, it had become smooth with time, after hundreds of fingers and palms rested upon its surface. It was reassuring, in a strange way, Caspian was not certain how to explain it but… he felt… calm.

He closed his eyes, his lips remaining sealed as he formed a prayer in his mind.

Aslan, bring us home safely. Help us find our people. Protect us on our way home.

It only lasted a few seconds, before Caspian would open his eyes again, let his hand slip from the carving to fall by his side again. He turned to you once more, and you gave him a short nod. You were satisfied.

You joined him again.

“Good. Now, on a pirate ship, we believe in democracy. We discuss, we argue, we vote. Every important decision is presented to the crew, and voted. Before we leave, we must elect the captain as well.”

“Elect the captain? I thought that you were the captain…”

“I am. For now. If someone else wants to become captain, they are free to offer their candidacy, and the vote of the crew will determine who the captain will be. You can run for captaincy, if you’d like, as you are part of the crew. However… I do not think that my crew will vote for a perfect stranger. You might as well save yourself the humiliation,” you joked, and Caspian couldn’t refrain a smile.

“I think I will pass on that offer.”

You reached for a parchment inside the pocket of your red coat.

“This is your contract,” you handed him the parchment. “I’ve already added your name to the registry of the ship, but this is your copy of your contract. As a member of the crew, you are granted a portion of every amount of goods or money that we will gather while you serve on the ship. The details for compensations in case of wounds or death are also included. Do you have a wife or a lover we should warn in case something happens to you?”

“I… no, I am not married,” Caspian answered, quite taken aback. But he took the parchment you were handing him all the same, and started to quickly go through the document.

You had your first information about him. He could read. So… he was probably quite rich… But then again, if he was a Lord, it wasn’t that surprising.

Also, he wasn’t married. That would help with extracting information from him…

Caspian frowned a little at the long list of possible wounds that were covered by the contract. It was almost like an insurance, really.

Loss of a finger: 10 golden coins

Loss of a hand: 60 golden coins + full payment for a wooden hand

Loss of a leg: 60 golden coins + full payment for a wooden leg and crutches

The list went on…

“If you are wounded, you will obviously remain part of the crew, and we will give you some work adapted to your situation,” you went on, speaking in a neutral tone, matter-of-factly. You might as well have been talking about the weather. “Talking about work! You will be spared cleaning the decks, but you will receive duties as everyone else. You seem quite strong… you’ll go with Maya and Sophie. They’ll brief you on how to work the sails. Everything is rationed, but then again, I expect it is the same on your ship as well. Anyone caught stealing food or water will be punished accordingly.”

“Accordingly… meaning?”

Your smile widened.

“You will be thrown overboard to drown.”

Caspian clenched his jaw, but nodded, signalling that he had understood.

Clearly, you weren’t that good-hearted.

“The complete list of rules and punishments are written at the back of your contract. There are only three crimes leading to a possible execution: stealing food or water, killing a crewmate, and mutiny. Of course… you will be judged before being killed; the decision will be taken by a vote involving the whole crew.”

“How merciful,” Caspian mumbled, but his sarcasm only made you laugh. “And how many members of your crew have you had to throw overboard in the past?”

“None. Let’s hope you won’t turn into my first!” you answered with a bright grin, but he didn’t fail to notice how intense your gaze was upon him, and if your demeanour was pleasant, he knew you would not hesitate to put him back in line. “You’ll find that I’m a rather fair captain, as long as you follow our rules, and don’t try to betray us.”

“This is duly noted.”

“Good.”

Charlotte climbed on board, and hurried directly towards you after she had completed her ritual prayer.

“All is set, Captain. We’re ready to go.”

“Sylvia?”

“She’s aboard their ship. On the bridge.”

“Good, let’s gather everyone and vote then.”

Charlotte got the order for everyone to gather around, ringing the bell set next to the helm. Everyone gathered on the bridge. Caspian was surprised to spot children on board, the youngest barely nine or ten years old. There was an old woman as well, who was guided by two younger sailors. She seemed to be blind. Three women used crutches, two others had only one arm. He spotted several Narnians as well: two badgers, two Minotaurs, several foxes, wolves and mice… He was surprised to find so many different people on your ship.

This crew was more surprising than he expected…

Aboard the Dawn Treader, Sylvia jumped on the railing, peering inside your ship. You waved at her as you spotted her.

“Can you hear me, Sylvia?” you asked, raising your voice as you climbed a couple of the steps leading to the helm, so that everyone on board could see you.

“Yes, Captain!” she answered.

“Alright, let’s vote then!”

On the Dawn Treader, the sailors had stopped working. They were ready, yes, but they were also intrigued by what was happening on the ship next to theirs. Even Drinian and Reepicheep stopped and listened.

“First, let’s vote for our mission,” you spoke loudly, your voice clear and firm, while Charlotte was taking notes by your side. “We are to guide this Narnian ship through the Eastern seas, in search for their lost companions. We will be paid only if we accompany them all the way back here, but we are free to leave unpaid if the risks are too high. For this, they have offered to pay us over twenty thousand golden coins.”

A whisper crossed the deck, and Caspian caught two women before him speaking quietly to each other.

“That’s the money we were still missing!” one of them said.

“At last! We could do it all!”

Caspian listened closely, but couldn’t find any other information.

What did you all miss money for…?

“All in favour, raise your hand now.”

Everyone raised their hand. Caspian hesitated, but the woman next to him nudged him in the side.

“You need to vote, you’re part of the crew now,” she told him.

So, he raised his hand. Aboard the Dawn Treader, Sylvia raised her paw as well.

“This is adopted, we will carry on this mission,” you declared, and your voice was followed by loud cheers.

“Second point,” you went on once calm was back across the bridge. “The contracts are identical to the ones you have signed for our last journey at sea. If there is no objection, we will keep them unchanged for this new journey.”

But a hand was raised, a couple of rows before Caspian. You told the woman to speak by a mere nod.

“My daughter is turning fourteen this month,” she said, looking tenderly at the girl standing by her side. “She needs an adult contract, like mine.”

You smiled at the two of them, but you talked directly to the girl, not to her mother.

“Your contract is ready, you will receive it after the votes. Along with a proper sword, and a second weapon of your choice.”

All cheered again, but Caspian frowned.

Fourteen… she was just a child…

But the blond girl seemed ecstatic, and proud.

“Anything else?” you asked your crew, but all remained silent.

You nodded, a benevolent smile on your lips.

“Let’s vote then! All in favour?”

Again, all raised their hands.

“The contracts are adopted,” you nodded, and Charlotte, once again, took notes. “Last point: you must choose your captain for this journey. Is anyone volunteering for the title?”

But all remained silent. Your smile widened.

“Alright then. All in favour of keeping me as your captain, raise your hands.”

All raised their hands once again, and all cheered.

“I choose Sylvia as my second in command,” you spoke loudly, and the rabbit gave you a nod. “Anyone against this decision?”

But all remained quiet.

“As she is to stay on the vessel we are to guide, as a proof of good will from our part, Charlotte will be my right hand in her absence. We also welcome a member of the Narnian crew aboard, as leverage. Say hello to Peter, the new boy!”

All laughed, a couple of people nudged Caspian playfully. He gave them all a humorous smile.

“If he steps out of line, you are all allowed to kick his arse,” you joked, bringing more cheers from your crew.

You were laughing as well. Mischief shining in your eyes. The wind getting caught in your long coat, in the blue feather trapped in your hat.

Caspian didn’t know what to make of you because… because you seemed dangerous, almost ruthless. And yet, when he looked at you standing there now, grinning, looking at your crew with fondness… he couldn’t see anything truly evil in you.

He didn’t know what to make of you because… well, because maybe he liked you quite a bit, when he knew that he shouldn’t.

********************************

Taglist : @reg-arcturus-black

#caspian #caspian x #caspian x reader #caspian x you #caspian x y/n #king caspian #caspian fanfic #caspian fanfiction #caspian series #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #narnia fanfiction #narnia series #narnia fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #series #writing

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gococogo · 10 months

Text

Having Earned More Pt 2 | Shaytham

Pt 1.

Synopsis : Before Shay travels out to take down Achilles and Liam before they do more harm than good, Haytham meets up with him unexpectedly. Even with his nerves sparking with electricity for the fight ahead, he's still able to show Haytham that he still wants to return the favour.

Word Count : 5k

Genre : Smut

Pairing : Shay Cormac / Haytham Kenway

[Warnings] : Anal sex/Bottom!Haytham Kenway/Top!Shay Cormac/Fingering/Gentle Sex

Shay had to move quick. He couldn’t return to New York to report back to Haytham. Time is running out. From what le Chevalier had told him, Achilles and Liam were on their way to another precursor sight. Haytham would understand. He’d come back with more than a report on le Chevalier, he’d have the whole damn Brotherhood. He’d be able to present the box to Haytham and this would all be over.

But his hopes are short lived as one of his crew members shout at the top of their lungs, “Sails astern!”

Shay turns so quickly that if he moved any quicker he would of given himself whiplash. He keeps one hand on the wheel, using his vision to sight the ship. Gist is already handing him his spyglass and taking over on the wheel as Shay steps closer to the stern. He holds the glass to his eye and sets his sights upon the ship. Their flag whips in the wind. A Templar flag. Shay lowers his spyglass with a furrowed brow.

“Is there any report of a Templar being out this far?” Shay asks without taking his eyes off the ship.

“Only us, Captain,” Gist answers a little bluntly.

Shay frown deepens. Even the tone in Gist’s voice tells him that he’s weary of the situation. His sharp eyes watch the sails, a speck of white on the horizon. It isn’t fear that rises and clenches his throat tight but a need to know who has come all this way out in the ice to meet them. He exhales, a cloud of breath blowing away.

“Lay anchor and bring in the sails!” Shay bellows out his order.

Haytham is the first to step aboard the Morrigan, closely followed by Charles Lee. Shay can’t help the confused, distorted look that comes across his face. He straightens himself up though as he makes his way down the stairs to main deck to greet his Grandmaster. The last thing he wants Haytham to think is that he is displeased to see him. Gist takes the helm from Shay, keeping the Morrigan steady.

“Master Kenway, what brings you out here?” Shay asks formally.

Haytham sways on his feet a bit, still getting use to the rock and sway of the ship. But he stands strong and straight, his chest forward and chin held slightly up. He makes himself look bigger even though he stands at a medium height of a man. Shay stands at least a few inches above him, but it doesn’t matter. It’s clear who is in charge when they stand side by side.

Unlike Charles Lee who looks a right ol’ mess. He’s pale in the face and looks like he’s about to fall over the side of the Morrigan. It amuses Shay but he doesn’t let it show on his face.

Haytham speaks sternly, “It was a bit of trouble finding you. But the cannon fire and smoke wasn’t hard to miss from afar,” he glances around the ship as he talks before returning to Shay. “I realized quickly that I wanted to see to the next Assassin dead. But I realize I’m a little too late?”

Shay lets out a short chuckle to cover up the heat he can feel burning on his face. “Almost perfect timing actually, sir.”

“Yes?” Haytham raises a brow.

“I’m on my way to stop Achillies and Liam in the north at a precursor sight. Le Chevalier was just but a mere distraction,” Shay explains all while he slowly makes his way back to the quarter deck.

He’s eager to go. He wants to lower the sails and catch the wind to stop the madness ahead. But without trying to make a scene, Haytham gives a shy nod to Shay with a short and almost unnoticed hand gesture at his side to the Captain. Only Shay sees it and he stops in his tracks, one foot on the first step of the stairs. Charles is too busy keeping himself up right to make a comment on anything.

“Charles, head back to New York,” Haytham answers without looking towards the man. He doesn’t take his eyes off of Shay. “I’m heading with Captain Cormac to the final location.”

Charles Lee perks up at this. “What about me, sir?”

Haytham finally gives him the satisfaction of looking in his direction. “You are going to take a trip back New York and wait until I’ve arrived back.”

This gets a reaction from Charles. His face goes as wide as a sauce pan and he looks between Haytham and Shay.

“Sir, with all due respect I-“

Charles shuts up when a hand is raised in his face. The Grandmaster’s dark stare is enough to quite anyone but this is Charles. He’ll keep talking and yapping despite the obvious signs of wanting him to stop.

“I need someone I trust in New York,” Haytham has to hold his sneer from scrunching up his nose.

At that, Charles’s demeaner changes to something satisfied. Shay clearly sees the annoyance radiating from the Grandmaster but someone as blind as Charles, it’s like a moth to a flame. As if to be proud that Haytham trusts him enough to man the fort in New York. A large smile appears under that moustache that Shay finds very annoying. He’s never liked Charles. Has always found him seeking and getting his nose into people’s business that he doesn’t have any mean to be in. He tends to stay away from Boston where the man likes to do his own business.

The one time he was along in a room with him, he talked down to Shay the entire time. Commenting about his former alliance and how he shouldn’t properly be trusted. Then as soon as Haytham had rejoined them, the boot licker’s personality was back.

And here it was again. That sparkle in his eye any time Haytham looked his way. Like some lost pup that had forcefully attached itself to one person and wouldn’t leave them alone. The urge to tell him to get off his ship was strong, but Shay holds his tongue for professional reasons. Not in front of Haytham.

“I’ll do just that,” Charles says with a low bow of his head. “I’ll see you upon your return.”

And with that, Charles Lee crosses the plank back to the Schooner Haytham voyaged out here. As soon as the plank is drawn back from the Morrigan, Shay is calling out for full sails. He almost runs up to the quarter deck and takes the helm from Gist.

“Raise the anchor! I want main sails! We’re going to get there as fast as we can!” Shay calls out to his crew.

Half the men respond back to him, acknowledging they’ve heard him and it’s like a frenzy on deck. Men run and pull ropes, climbing masts and letting red sails fly. The other half of the crew push the Morrigan away from Haytham’s schooner so they can set forward with scrapping sides. The trust the crew has in Shay and vice a versa is something Haytham has always dreamed of. But he also knows this bond between man and Captain is something only found out at sea and on a ship. It’s something earned and respected. Earned by being days out at sea and seeing the worst and the best of days together.

As the sails are let down, Haytham makes his way up next to Shay. He nearly falls over halfway up the stairs as the Morrigan suddenly lurches forward as she catches the wind. Haytham holds onto his hat as he makes the rest of the way up. A big smile comes across Shay’s face that he can’t hide. At the fact that the Morrigan is set a sail again and that Haytham is beside him.

But it quickly fades as soon as it comes. The destination quickly comes to mind. His excitement is short lived, his mood quickly becoming dull and sorrowful. He doesn’t know if anyone else has picked up the sudden change but he hopes not. He gives a quick glance to Haytham who is looking over his crew. Seeming to be fascinated with how they work. Haytham catches him staring, blue meeting brown. Yet, Shay can’t find himself to look away.

“Report back to me now,” Haytham says over the rushing wind and thrashing waves, looking back out to the deck.

Shay seems to snap out of a trance and looks forward as well. The rest of the evening is Shay updating the Grandmaster as they sail north in the brisk cold. The sail is smooth though, any ice sheet that comes their way is smashed through with their ram. The Morrigan is strong and something of a menace.

Every time Haytham is aboard the Morrigan, an unknown sort of jealously arises inside of him that he can’t quite place. Might be one from never stepping foot on his father’s ship. Or that he has never met a Captain such like Shay before. Might or one or both between.

But Shay’s voice flows through the wind like some siren song. A thing that Haytham finds himself enjoying and one he could listen to for ages. None have quite perked the interested of Haytham Kenway much like the Captain of the Morrigan.

The night comes quick and by the end of it, Shay’s voice has become hoarse from talking into the freezing wind. He didn’t stop once though, giving Haytham everything and anything in between. Answering every question that was asked his way with an even longer story.

It’s Gist that stops them. Shay’s first mate that notices the slouch in his Captain’s shoulders and how is voice sounds compared to a couple of hours ago.

“Captain, I can take over if you want to call it a night?”

Shay is about to protest. That he can be out here for a couple more hours while Gist gets some rest himself, but Haytham beats him to it.

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” the Grandmaster pipes up. “Shay, there are more private things I need to discuss with you,” he says as he’s already making his way down the stairs.

Shay stares off after the Grandmaster. He looks to Gist with a half smile.

“Best be off then. Boss has called,” he says before handing the helm over to his first mate. “Have one of the boys take over before you call it a night, Gist.”

“Will do.”

Haytham has already made his way inside of Shay’s quarters. It makes him slightly nervous at what he’s sniffing around at. Maybe the nervous flutter in his chest isn’t from Haytham snooping. He hasn’t been able to properly think about what happened between them a few weeks ago. Yes, he’s been wanting more of Haytham but Le Chevalier has been on his mind instead. His focus has been the precursor sites. If this private talk is about the moment they shared, the moment where Haytham showed him how much he truly cares then he hopes the Grandmaster can understand.

When stepping into his own quarters, Haytham is inspecting the model ship of the Morrigan. He doesn’t touch it, he knows it’s best not to despite how stunning it is. Haytham had heard Shay enter, but did not hear his soft and quiet footsteps come up behind him.

“How long have you had this?” Haytham simply asks.

Shay has to ponder for a moment. It’s been awhile but it’s always been there since he’s had the ship.

“When I took the Morrigan for myself, the model was already here,” Shay explains as he steps closer behind Haytham.

He’s close enough that his weapon straps on his chest could touch him if he leaned forward a bit. Shay smells strongly of gunpowder and the ocean. Salty and honestly, slightly fishy. But it’s a familiarity that Haytham would never admit.

“Why did you come out this far north, sir?” Shay asks after a long break of silence.

Haytham smiles to himself as he turns to face the hunter. With Shay’s added height, Haytham has to turn his chin up to look at the man in front of him eye to eye. He is truly a force to be reckoned with and Haytham has him to himself. He is on their side and they’re about to finish what Shay started. He wanted to be here to see that. For Shay to see this through.

But, truth be told, Haytham had begun to worry about Shay. Had a feeling this would be coming to a close very shortly. And, he was right. Shay would have returned and reported back just fine. Haytham has that trust in him. It’s just the thought of not being there while it all happened is what brought him this far north. What brought him upon renting a schooner and following the Morrigan’s course and tailing him all the way out here. When he had heard the cannon fire on the horizon, he had insisted that they join the fight. Yet Shay will not know of all that.

He will simply know, “To make sure that you don’t lose your head.”

That brings a light snicker from Shay but his brown eyes don’t leave Haytham. Shay’s touch is hesitant as his fingers glide up Haytham’s arms to lightly hold him.

“Mhm, sure,” Shay grins as he comes ever so closer to his face. “Telling me not to lose my head, is that what was so important to tell me in private?”

Haytham leans up for a kiss but stops a mere hair away from Shay, watching the Captain stare down at him through his lashes before going the rest of the way. Weary and gentle. Shay’s hand comes to the back of Haytham’s head, fingers raking into his hair and untying his ribbon. His hat is knocked off as Shay only wants more, deepening the kiss ever more. Neither of them want to rush this even though they both know the travel ahead.

Shay guides Haytham backwards all while unclothing him with cold fingers. Taking off his cloak and then his coat. In only his shirt, the brisk air quickly latches onto his skin and goosebumps rise with his hairs. The back of his legs hit the bed and he’s push down slowly with a hand on his chest. He goes down willingly.

“Losing my head, you said? It does feel like it when you do this to me,” Shay confesses, standing in front of Haytham still fully clothed.

“Oh?” Haytham says with a raised brow.

Shay smirks down at him. It’s at this angle that Haytham thinks that this must be what men see before they die at his hand. Almost a shadow in the night, staring down with dark predator like eyes. The look Shay gives him is one that wants to pounce, but its restrained. Those men that have died by his place have seen the other side of that predatory look.

He sits up on his elbows while he says, “This is highly unfair.”

Shay smiles as he begins to undo the straps that go across his chest. It takes too long for Haytham that he sits up fully and pulls Shay closer by his belt to undo it. The both of them get Shay down to just his pants in a good few passing minutes with just how many layers the man wears. Haytham never got to see what was under all those layers that night. But now he can see Shay’s refined form from years of discipline and hard work. Scarred with years of battle and fighting.

Haytham can’t help but run his hands down Shay’s chest to his hips. His fingers lightly touching the scars that mar his skin. The touch has the man almost flinching away, trying to hold himself in place.

“Ticklish?” Haytham raises a brow.

Shay gently wraps his hands around his and takes them off his stomach. “Your hands are cold, sir.”

This has Haytham barking a short laugh. It sounds odd but it’s a rare thing to hear and Shay drinks it up. He pushes Haytham down to his back again as he crawls over the top of him. He hisses in sharply as Haytham’s cold fingers touch his sides again. He can’t stop touching him.

Shay comes down close to Haytham’s face, their noses barely touching. Haytham leans up to kiss him but Shay moves just out of reach. A protest is on the tip of his tongue when the Captain looks away sheepishly.

“I want to…” the hunter’s gaze comes back to Haytham, “…return the favour.”

“Hmm.” Haytham agrees, a sly smile coming to his lips. “How would you like me then?” He talks so softly that Shay could have missed such a sweet question over the water splashing against the sides of the Morrigan.

Shay finally captures their cold lips together. Haytham holds his breath, closing his eyes and getting lost in the moment. Kissing Shay is so much different to anyone else he’s been with in the past. Shay is rough and stern, musky and salty, and firm unlike a woman or any of the other young men Haytham’s messed around with in his youth. It goes straight to his cock, his gut buzzing. As much as he wants to touch himself, he holds the sides of Shay’s face, not wanting this moment to end. But they have to part at some point to breath, too captured by the other to notice their lack of air.

Shay rests his forehead against Haytham. “You’re perfect like this.” He says before he sits up on his knees.

He bends over awkwardly, reaching over backwards to his nightstand. In the draw, he grabs out a bottle of oil and comes back. He sets it down next to Haytham on the blankets before his icy fingers hook his pants. He expects Shay to just take them off but big brown eyes stare at him.

“May I?” The Captain of the Morrigan, asks for permission.

Haytham has to hold back a smile, but the amusement can be heard into his voice as he answers with a soft, “Yes.”

With such a gentle touch for a Templar, Shay takes Haytham’s pants off. The cold instantly hits Haytham, keeping his dick semi hard. But Shay looks down at him with such adoration that it has his ears going red. An odd flutter appears in his chest that he wishes would go away, a tightness in his throat that seems to be choking him.

Shay grabs the bottle of oil and slicks up his fingers generously. Haytham watches him with anticipation. He quickly becomes confused as Shay reaches around to his own ass. Haytham grabs Shay’s arm and holds him still.

“No,” Haytham shakes his head lightly. “You said you wanted to return the favour. Do it this way,” he says as he opens his legs a little wider for Shay to get the message.

His brown eyes seem to get a twinkle in them as he shifts himself snuggly behind Haytham. His unslicked hand grabs on of Haytham’s thighs and pushes it out further to reveal himself more. He should feel like a dime whore giving himself up like this. The Grandmaster of the American Templar Order giving himself up to another man. But it’s Shay. He’s not just some other man.

“You’ve gotta stop doing this to me, sir,” Shay breathes out.

“Doing what?” Haytham quirks.

Shay squeezes his thigh softly. “Giving yourself to me.”

The ship glides over the water calmly and the cold seems to come forth a little bit more. Chilling Haytham’s skin with goosebumps. Or maybe Shay’s words is that, that has given him chills to cover him.

Haytham counteracts it, realizing he doesn’t have anything to say, “Are you going to stare at me all night in the cold, Shay?”

His face reddens as he looks down, the Irishman clearing his throat. Shay gently brings one oiled finger to Haytham’s ass finally and pushes in. Haytham hasn’t done this in a while so the touch is foreign, but not enough so that it isn’t welcome. After a couple of strokes and with Haytham relaxing, Shay adds a second. This gets a grunt from the Grandmaster. But Haytham can’t help the deep yelp that escapes his throat as Shay pours cold oil over his ass.

“Sorry!” Shay is quick to say.

Haytham goes to snap but his words get caught in his throat as Shay adds a third finger with the rest. He can’t help but pant as Shay works him open. His entire body buzzes and sparks. His hands fists into the blankets and he grinds his teeth, trying to keep himself from making a noise. He hasn’t felt this thrill of pleasure in ages. He must be a sight at the moment.

When Shay deems it enough, he takes his fingers out to Haytham’s dismay. He watches Shay with hooded eyes as he shuffled back off the bed to take his pants off to reveal the rest of him. His dick is half hard but as he shuffles back onto the bed, he strokes it a couple times with his oiled hand to bring it to full length. Seeing Shay fully naked now has Haytham realizing how refined this man is. The scars travel down his thighs and there are even some around his hips. Each white line most likely has a story and Haytham will have to get them out of Shay later on.

Haytham sits up and meets Shay with another kiss. He seems to can’t get enough of the taste of salt on the Captain’s lips and skin. Shay’s hands make their way under Haytham’s shirt, feeling him up. He knows he’s not as hardy as the other, his stomach a little bit softer, but all of his strength is in his chest and arms. Shay takes his shirt off swiftly before laying him back down on the bed. Haytham has a few older scars on his body that are now faint and fading, nothing like Shay’s. A higher-class Templar life does that to a man, only having to worry about an Assassin that will come around one day and give the killing blow. Nothing that one could walk away from. No scars to hold as trophies. Assassins don’t allow that.

Shay grabs the bottle of oil again and slicks up his dick, hissing at the cold substance. Haytham holds his breath as Shay lines himself up, the head of his cock resting against his hole. Brown eyes glance at him, as if asking if he’s ready before pushing forward carefully.

Haytham tenses immediately as the head eases in, there being enough oil and prep that it goes in without resistance. Shay stops and waits for Haytham to give him a hard stare before continuing on. With how much violence this man as wrought it’s odd to see him so worrisome and gentle. Yes, this man tends to wear his heart on his shoulder, but he also hides it under his need to do the right thing. And if the right thing needs a monster, than Shay will show just that.

Shay pushes forward, slowly easing out and then thrusting again to get himself inside Haytham little by little. The stretch is uncomfortable and Haytham covers his face to stop the groans and whines coming from his mouth. With each bit that Shay is able to get inside, Haytham feels himself come apart. He can’t help his legs wrapping around the back of Shay’s back and almost pushing down the rest of the way. He feels such loss of control that it’s almost scary. It’s not until Shay is fully sheathed that Haytham’s hand is pried from his face. His hand is replaced with delicate lips that seem to peck over his lips, cheeks and forehead.

It’s all a little too much. Haytham knows he’s the one that has given himself up, but he can’t remember when he has been treated with such kindness. He doesn’t realize that there are tears spilling from his eyes until Shay is kissing them away. He hasn’t move within Haytham the entire time, keeping still and it’s making him itch. He isn’t crying, but the tears do drip down the side of his face and into his hair.

“Shay,” Haytham breathes out. “M-Move, for the love of God.”

A deep chuckle escapes Shay’s throat in Haytham’s ear that goes straight to his crotch. Shay pulls out only a bit and more or less begins a grind into his ass. It may not be a lot, but each movement drags along Haytham’s prostate, the oil easily helping the slide. He holds onto Shay as the other buries his face into his neck to apply more kisses to his skin. At this point, Haytham can’t help the breathless panting groans that come from him.

His wrapped legs hold tighter onto Shay and his nail seem to dig into his scarred back. He hasn’t gone two minutes and his body already feels like jelly, his body buzzing with want and a need to release. Haytham realizes that it has been quite a while since he has done something like this.

Shay changes his rhythm to something more, pulling halfway out then thrusting in over and over again. Haytham’s groans turn into panty moans. Even Shay now makes noises in Haytham’s ear, noises that only bring him closer to his release. The cold is long forgotten as their body heat is now radiating off both of them. The coil of pleasure tightens in Haytham’s gut and he knows he won’t be able to hold out for any longer.

“S-Shay,” he accidently whines out. “Sh-Shay.”

Said man rises to his hands, thrusting into him at a different angle. He then changes it completely again as he sits up and grabs onto the back of Haytham’s thighs and pushes them forward until his knees are near his face, folding him in half. It gives Shay better access to thrust in and it’s clear he’s becoming desperate now, but still all while giving Haytham something. Because this, is going to send him over the edge. He can’t think straight now as every thrust pounds down in that spot that sends shocks through him and has him gripping the blankets again. His hair is like a halo around him and he stares up at Shay through hooded lashes.

His hard dick hangs fully erect between them and hasn’t been touched this entire time, leaking pre cum onto his chest. If Haytham touches himself, he’s going to break, he’s going to come undone. He’s trying to hold on but even the sight of Shay seeming to concentrate on the even pace he sets himself is enough to push him over.

After a couple of more thrusts, Haytham can’t take it anymore. He’s sounding more like some virgin that has never been fucked in his entire life. Anyone outside the cabin be damned. He wraps a hand around his own dick and with a couple of sloppy strokes, he’s tensing up and almost locking Shay into place as he comes onto his own chest with a choked cry. Shay pants as he moves, pushing Haytham through his orgasm to meet his own. Haytham’s scrunched up expression as he comes is something that will be forever held onto. With a couple of more shallow grinds into Haytham, Shay quickly takes his dick out and comes onto Haytham’s stomach instead with a loud cry. It’s an odd feeling on Haytham’s part but he could care less right now. His entire body is buzzing and his vision is hazy. Shay stays where he is, shaking visibly and panting loudly.

The chill of the night quickly seeps upon Haytham before he can come down from his high. It seems to sober him up real quick.

“Shay, may you pass something to clean me up?” he asks drowsily.

Shay is quick to stand, his legs nearly giving out on him though but he stills grab Haytham a hand towel from across the room. It’s an amusing sight seeing the man’s pale ass skip across the room to fetch said item. Shay hand’s it to him before laying down on the bed next to the man. Haytham sits up on his elbows and cleans himself up the best he can. But he wants it done quickly as all he wants is to get under these blankets and fall asleep.

“It’s bloody cold,” Haytham grumbles.

Shay exhales a short laugh. “You get use to it.”

Haytham shakes his head as he chucks the towel onto the ground. “Move over so I can get underneath these damned blankets. I’m not walking all the way back to my quarters after most of the ship probably heard us.”

“I see you don’t do the walk of shame, sir,” Shay jokes as he hops off the bed and pulls back the covers.

Haytham rolls underneath them, already feeling warmer. “No,” he pouts.

Shay covers the bed with a couple of wolf and polar bear furs before sidling in next to Haytham. It’s warm and they may still smell of sex but neither of them care. The heat that seems to radiate off of Shay is something like a fire and Haytham holds onto him to capture that. Shay holds onto him, an arm wrapped around his shoulders to keep him warm. Haytham is content.

After a few moments of peace though and with Haytham on the verge of sleep in the arms of Shay, said man perks up a question.

“What comes after this?”

Haytham hums in reply, not fully hearing the question.

“What will my orders be after this is all over?�� Shay repeats.

The Grandmaster thinks for a moment. “There is always something next for the Order. Let’s just concentrate on Achilles and the task at hand,” he replies.

This, Shay seems content with. Haytham is finally able to fall asleep in the warmth of another all while Shay stays up thinking about the fight ahead. All with little knowledge that Haytham is about to send him away on orders for the next two decades.

#coco posts #assassin's creed #assassin's creed rogue #Shay Cormac #Shay cormac fic #Shaytham #Haytham Kenway #Haytham Kenway fic #ac #Assassin's Creed fic #Shay cormac smut #Haytham Kenway smut #Assassins'c Creed Rogue fic #Haytham kenway smut

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finxwrites · 1 year

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So I saw some cool fanart and got a craving for an Age of Sail au of Stranger Things, but I kept tripping up on how a proper fancy naval ship has like a hundred guys at least. I do not want a hundred guys. That is way too many guys. Half the point of this show is the secrecy, the “no one would believe me if I told them,” the us-against-the-world isolation that’s inherent to all of its genres.

There are two solutions to this problem. One is to shrug and ignore it, focusing only on the main characters and treating the rest as a faceless crowd with conveniently uniform opinions. This is the standard for writing these stories anyway, so it’s not like it’s even cheating really.

The other is to just…leave the guys behind. At the bottom of the sea. Sorry, guys.

Hopper was a captain of the Royal Navy, on track to be an admiral someday, but that was then. These days he captains a merchantman with a skeleton crew, because despite everything he couldn’t quite let go of the sea. He never takes his eyes off the horizon. That’s not quite the same as never looking back, but it’s the best he’s got.

His crew is the folks he works with in canon. This means they’re going to be apprised of the horrors before we’re done, unlike in canon, but I’m okay with that.

He knows Joyce Byers from the old days, when they were both kids going wild together, and even after he got himself a position as a midshipman, whenever he came into port they’d spend a night going wild together again, for old times’ sake. They remember this fondly, but they haven’t spoken in years – they saw each other once in the time after Lonnie left, and only once.

Hopper takes on passengers sometimes, to make up profits when margins are slim. This time he takes on Joyce and Jonathan, who are traveling to the Americas for a fresh start; and Nancy Wheeler and her companion/lady’s maid Barb, who are going to visit an aunt in the Caribbean. Will and Mike have been friends for years, even before the two of them took service on the same ship a year ago, so Joyce has promised to look after Nancy on her trip.

Will, Mike, Dustin, and Lucas are midshipmen in the royal navy, all serving on the same ship. Someone’s parents are landed gentry, maybe with a seat in the House of Lords or something, so some strings are pulled to get that ship to escort Hopper’s, or to get Hopper’s ship into the convoy that the boys’ ship is guarding, or however that works. I have not done research :P We’re going to call the boys’ ship the HMS Middlefast, because they’re. um. in middle school. Look I didn’t think too hard about this and neither should you. The Hawkins was already taken, that’s Hopper’s ship.

Also serving on the Middlefast: Steve! He’s a lieutenant, aka one rank below the captain, even though he’s like nineteen and has barely been at sea a full year. (His dad 100% bought his rank.) He starts courting Nancy almost as soon as he lays eyes on her.

Tommy’s also on the Middlefast, because we need him there as a set piece for Steve’s character arc. Unfortunately this means Tommy will not survive this story. Sorry, Tommy.

In my defense there’s no evidence he survived in canon either. It’s not like we ever see him again after his fight with Steve! For all we know he and Carol got eaten in the woods while Steve was cleaning off that marquee.

You know who else is on the Middlefast? A snappish midshipman called Max who keeps to himself and doesn’t seem to want to be friends with anyone. Dustin and Lucas think he’s really cool and spend a lot of time trying to befriend him whenever Will is hanging out with his family on the Hawkins. (Mike does not think Max is cool, he insists, he thinks Max is annoying. The feeling is mutual. They’ll get over it eventually, but not before they almost die a lot.)

We’re going to just smush seasons 1 and 2 together, because I’m the boss and I say so. (Also bc s2 is kind of about Things Festering, and being unable to move on, and PTSD, and that just doesn’t jive for this au. We’re not going to hold still long enough for anything to fester, this is just one really long, really cursed voyage.)

So that’s how things stand for a while. Steve and Will take every excuse they can to get assigned duties on the Hawkins, and after a while the captain of the Middlefast just gives up and makes Steve & the boys the default option for whenever someone needs to go stand watch there or whatever.

Will hangs out with Jonathan and his mom a lot, and spends the rest of his time playing silly games with his friends. (They should be standing watch, yes, and they do, but also they’re twelve, they goof off a lot. The only people on the Hawkins who ever berate them for it are Hopper and Steve, and Steve’s busy wooing Nancy while Hopper does not actually care that much, so it’s not like they have that big an incentive to stop.)

Steve and Nancy are dancing around each other as she puts up the protest she knows she’s supposed to, while Barb is increasingly done with her nonsense but does her best to be supportive.

The night everything changes, two terrible things occur.

Nancy finally lets Steve into her bed. This is not one of the terrible things, although Nancy will think of it as one for some time to come. It will be a while before she can untangle her guilt from that which she does not actually regret.

Barb decides that there are certain things she doesn’t want to overhear her best friend doing and goes for a walk along the deck. It’s a clouded night, not even stars to keep her company, but she leans on the railing and gazes out into the blackness anyway.

Will is on watch that night. Jonathan usually keeps him company when he’s on watch alone, but he’s been trying to learn all he can about navigation from Hopper’s pilot, both because he believes in picking up useful skills when he can and because if he helps with the calculations the pilot will slip him a bit of money for it. It’s not a salary, it’s not reliable, but it’s extra cash and he knows how deeply his mom dipped into their funds for this gamble on a new life. So Jonathan is too tired to stay up all night with Will. Will sends him off to bed with a laugh and a roll of his eyes—“I’ll be fine, Jonathan, oh my god, I’m not a baby, I’m not going to die of boredom without you.”

This is not one of the terrible things either, but Jonathan will think of it as one for the rest of his life.

The first terrible thing happens with no witness but one: a good man dies. He dies helping a frightened little girl, who sees his death and flees faster and further than those chasing her had thought possible. She weeps as she runs. Her salt tears drip into the salt waves beneath her feet.

The second terrible thing appears as a glimmer of moonlight on the black waves. The glimmer spreads, slow and viscous as molasses, and brightens as it does. And yet the moon is still hidden behind thick clouds.

The light spreads upward, illuminating the rotted hull of an old, old ship. The ship itself seems to glow in the false moonlight. The light spreads further: the deck, the quarterdeck, the poop deck, the forecastle, all bare of any souls, living or otherwise. A broken bowsprit over a figurehead so encrusted in barnacles it’s impossible to make out what it was once meant to be. Three masts in full square rigging, the sails billowing taut before the wind despite the huge ragged holes torn through the fabric.

A ghost ship, hollow with haunting. And it sails straight for the Hawkins.

It sails through the Hawkins.

It does not leave empty.

Nancy wakes in the dark before morning. (Steve does not.) She goes outside. She’s not looking for Barb; she hasn’t thought of Barb once that night, with a casual selfishness she has not yet outgrown. But she finds Barb’s shawl, soaked through with seawater, caught on the deck railing. It’s glowing like the still-absent moon.

The glow disappears in the first weak light of dawn. It does not return. No one believes her the next morning when she insists it was real.

And so, the aftermath.

In this story, Nancy and Joyce are united in their insistence that something happened. In this story, there is no obvious explanation for the disappearances: yes, they fell overboard, so tragic, it happens, but why both of them? On a calm sea? There’s something wrong here. Neither captain wants to admit it, but they both know it to be true.

In this story, the boys are convinced Will is hiding somewhere. They know him: they know he’s careful and sensible and has been at sea over a year, and wouldn’t just fall overboard like an idiot. They know he’s dutiful when they’re not dragging him away with games, and wouldn’t leave his post unless he saw something. They think he witnessed something awful—a crime, a murder, maybe Barb’s murder!—and he’s hiding from a scurrilous villain. They steal through every nook and cranny of both ships looking for him.

They find a girl instead. She is terribly afraid. When they decide they have to tell their captain about her, a huge wave crashes through the nearest porthole and blocks their passage.

They’re far above the waterline. There’s no way for a wave to reach them so high. They all rush to the porthole to confirm it, and then bicker amongst themselves about what’s going on.

It takes another wave before they realize it’s El.

In this story, Joyce dreams of her missing son. She dreams of him at the stern of a ghost ship, reaching for her. She wakes at the railing of the Hawkins, reaching back, about to step overboard into the waves.

It’s Hopper who grabs her before she can go over the side. He turns her around to shake her, demand answers, and his words die in his throat.

Her eyes are glowing. They’re filled with eerie light from end to end. Like phosphorescence. Like moonlight.

She blinks awake. The light vanishes. She registers where she is, who’s holding her, and the grief-worn lines on her face harden with determination. “He’s alive,” she swears. “He’s alive, Hop, I know he is.”

This time, he believes her.

Some plot stuff happens. Honestly I’m not too fussed about pinning it down just now; I’d rather leave some wiggle room in case I ever actually write any of this. Here’s the gist + some essential bits:

We’re going to lean hard on the fantasy elements. The whole point of an Age of Sail au is to change the aesthetic, after all, and this story’s aesthetic includes ghost ships and hungry mermaids and ancient curses.

El can walk on water. She can command the waves to some extent. If she strains herself, she can summon a storm. She’s a child of the sea; when she begs the sea for aid, the sea heeds her.

She can find the ghost ship, too. At some point she’ll point them toward it and they’ll sail to its home port.

Its home port is an island found on no map, because it’s actually a massive sea turtle whose shell is overgrown with greenery. It’s where El grew up, raised—no, more like kept—by a witch (Brenner) who can command the creatures and spirits of the sea. Of which she is one.

I really want to have Brenner work for the East India Trading Company. They’re just such good villains for the setting! Plus the way they operate semi-autonomously, not really answering to any government and without a hugely centralized hierarchy, gives them room for a top-secret laboratory magic island full of experimental sorcery.

But I also like the vibe of a mad witch alone with his monsters, and after all half the fun of an au is changing things around. I don’t need to give the man a laboratory and official funding.

Decisions, decisions…

Anyway, Brenner sent the ghost ship to find El. She managed to hide herself from it, so it scooped up the closest people it found: a kid about her size and shape, and a girl who was acutely alone. (Ghost ships have some rather unusual criteria for what makes two people similar.)

Nancy’s going to go on an expedition onto the turtle island to find Barb and blow shit up. This fic, should it ever exist, will be called Cherry Bomb. Possibly Jonathan (and maybe Steve!) will come along, but the story is hers. She deserves to blow shit up.

Maybe she even gets to Barb in time to save her. Or maybe she doesn’t, but Barb isn’t entirely lost—she might be a ghost, bound to a locket that Nancy wears ever after round her neck; she might have been transformed into a siren, or a selkie, or some stranger creature; she might be cursed with an enchanted sleep. Maybe Nancy gets to carry Barb with her and search for some way to save her. Maybe they both get a second chance.

Steve gets that character arc. He talks shit to Jonathan, gets punched in the face, rows over to the Hawkins on a dinghy to apologize, and then gets caught up in the sudden escalation of plot and is onboard when everyone goes to the turtle island.

The HMS Middlefast sinks. Probably when a kraken eats it. Sorry, Middlefast. Our main cast is conveniently on the Hawkins when it happens.

Possibly the captain of the Middlefast decided that the sensible thing to do when faced with a witch who commands the dark powers of the sea is to arrest him. So now there’s a witch in the brig, laughing at them, and, well, it goes about as you’d expect.

At some point it comes out that Max is a girl who disguised herself as a boy to run away from home and have adventures. Not sure how she became a midshipman, since her family definitely didn’t buy her commission; possibly she started as a ship’s boy and earned the rank for valor in combat.

Possibly she gets tossed in the brig or something and the boys bust her out and smuggle her onto the Hawkins. None of the adults over there really care about the impropriety, they’re too busy dealing with ghosts.

Kali is also a daughter of the sea. A siren, maybe, who beguiles with her song. Or maybe she’s something totally unique, like El—perhaps she commands the winds as El commands the waves, and she and her tiny crew of pirates always have fair skies and a strong tailwind.

As in canon, she invites El to join her. She promises freedom, agency, and the chance to know herself truly and fully. (If we go with Brenner working for the East India Trading Company, she can promise vengeance, too.)

As in canon, El declines, and chooses instead to go back and save her friends. Possibly from that kraken.

This fic is called A Room Where the Light Won’t Find Us. It’s about finding a place you belong; it’s about hiding, and choosing not to hide anymore despite the risks; it’s about fear, and family, and the struggle between being a wild, glorious, unfettered thing and binding yourself to others through love.

Will gets possessed for a bit. Sorry, Will. Maybe the ghost ship anchors itself in his ribs and keeps trying to steal him away again. Maybe he slowly becomes a siren, eaten away from within until there’s nothing but a coyly smiling monster that wants to draw you in and drown you. Maybe it’s a leviathan of the deep, long buried in slumber, and Brenner planted some seed in Will that’s calling to that creature so that it slowly wakes.

At the end Brenner gets eaten by a kraken, El manages to excise the evil thing from Will, Nancy blows some shit up and maybe sort-of rescues Barb, Joyce gets her son back, they all live happily ever after. (Except for everyone who’s now at the bottom of the sea in the wreck of the Middlefast. Sorry, everyone.) We sail along peacefully for a while, perhaps make it all the way to the Caribbean, and then—ACT TWO!

#act two may take me a hot minute #I'm trying to meld setting-typical tropes & supernatural elements into a plot that vibes with s3 #it's not going to be the same as s3! but the vibes you know? the shape of the horror #stranger things #st pirate au #highkey I am in love with this au #many thanks to tom and tano for the fic titles #and to the lovely anon who sent in that love song – that one's probably going to be in act 2

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t-inbound · 1 year

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Hi again!

I've read the 10th chapter of TBF and I'm really interested in Narinder' past with Baal & Aym. Would you mind to tell some more things about them? Like some good memories they share

Hello! Firstly, I am happy that you have read the 10th chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. Secondly I would love to talk about it but I feel like making a story is a little bit better, you know show don't tell and all that stuff they keep saying. So I decided to write that story of the Brook or the River situation in its entirety. By the way, I am sorry if I am a bit late as again the Uni decided to pull a fast one on me along with the new years eve doing its usual thing. Anyhow I hope you enjoy this one. Also anyone else who wants to ask for a prompt, feel free I am open. It doesn’t have to be about TBF it can just be normaş Cotl or really any Au

Brook or River

Trek was not long, nor was it treacherous. It was rather pleasant indeed, he thought as he made his way through the soft grass yet tall grass. There was a mild wind in the air, but it was not cold as it was warm. Sun shone in the sky as it was now way into the afternoon.

As he pushed aside the tall grass he could hear the brothers behind him following the path he had made through the grass. They were on a journey to the place Aym had described as ‘The giant river with all the fish and the pond and the birds and the’ so on and so forth. That boy sure likes to speak, he thought as he tried to look out for the river while trying not to blind himself. Even with the veil helping with the sun shining above it was still hard not to get his eyes burnt.

As they exited the plains and entered the more forested areas, he started to hear Aym talking to Baal.

Aym looked proud as he said ‘’It was so huge you could put a whole ship in it, like the ones on the coast’’ He opened his arms wide to show how big it was supposed to be.

Baal rolled his eyes at his brother’s antics ‘‘there is no way, we are in a forest, it is too big for that’’ Narinder let out a chuckle as he heard the indignant noises that came from Aym.

He scoffed ‘’You will see, it is so large that I am gonna make a ship myself then I am gonna go over the horizon and you are just gonna stay here’’ He giggled before continuing ‘’Maybe you can befriend the fish while I sail across the sea’’

This time it was Baal’s turn to splutter indignantly as he yelled ‘’You can’t just leave me!’’ He turned back to Narinder ‘’Isn’t that right Master?’’

He smiled at his young servants ‘’Well if it is a big ship I might wish to join in with him’’ He couldn’t suppress his chuckle as he heard Baal gasp.

He could see his face turn red as he looked like he was about to cry out of frustration ‘’You two cannot just leave me! I-’’ Before he could finish himself and most likely burst into tears Narinder turned around and took both the brothers and embraced them both.

After a second he let go of them, they still remained in his arms as he said ‘’I am just joking my little Baal, I am not planning on abandoning either of you ever. All for one and one for all.’’ He smiled to the brothers ‘’We do not leave each other ever not for venture, nor glory’’

He could see the way Baal seemingly calmed down, but he also saw Aym deflate a little. He felt a sigh almost escape him as he saw the way Aym looked at him with those disappointed eyes. He knew that Aym was not really thinking of staying here forever, he was too free spirited for that. Though he would eventually break that out of him. It would take him some time but slowly he would stop him from these silly dreams. He had to. He could not lose him too, He would not lose him too. He had already lost too much, never again.

Aym’s sudden shout took him out of his thoughts ‘’Here! Here!’’ He pointed at the brook up ahead, which was definitely not a river. He looked down the way he pointed and yeah, there was just the brook.

Baal looked over his brother who was still looking over the small brook with wondrous eyes ‘’That is not a river dumb dumb, that's a brook’’

Aym’s wondrous look shifted into an indignant scowl ‘’No, that’s a river’’

Baal rolled his eyes before he jumped out of Narinder’s arms to the ground, landing perfectly on the rock as was expected of him. He got close to the brook and dipped his leg into the brook which proved it to be rather shallow as it only came up just slightly above his knee. Without a word he just turned to his brother with a look that said ’Are you sure?’

Aym took his brother’s example and got next to him to dip his own leg into the water to confirm that yes, it was indeed shallow. Undisturbed by this he claimed ‘’It is just a small river’’

Baal slapped his forehead ‘’That is called a brook you dumdum’’

This time it seemed like it was Aym’s turn to look at his brother indignantly as his face grew red ‘’Don’t call me a dumdum, you dumdum! It is a river if I say it is a river’’ He turned to Narinder ‘’Isn’t that right master?’’

Before he could answer him Baal cut him off ‘’Don’t waste Master’s time with this. Master has no time for things like this’’ He looked at Narinder ‘’Isn’t that right Master?’’

Before he could answer him this time it was Aym who cut him off ‘’I am not wasting his time, you are!’’

And it started, the brother’s started their little scuffle with hands flying into each other in an odd slap fight. He could chuckle at their childish doings but really, he knew where this was headed. It would only be a moment before they would start attacking each other with curses and their staffs, which was good for training sure but he didn’t want the brother’s to be mad at eachother for the next week or two as both would get injured.

So weighing his options he decided the only viable one, or in other words the fun one. The brothers were in the middle of arguing what constitutes a curse before they were both lifted by their robes and dropped into the river.

There was peace, for but one moment before all oblivion broke loose. Shouting and hissing the two brothers started to yell over each other. However he couldn’t focus on what they were saying as he was laughing his ass off. It was perfect the way two looked at him like he had stabbed them in the back, the betrayal he saw in their furious eyes was too good.

Eventually though he knew what he had to do, as he shrunk himself in a moment before he too threw himself into the shallow brook. Splashing the two brothers and coating himself in cold water of the brook. It was only fair he should join them, all for one and one for all afterall.

Seeing the playing field becoming more fair the brothers teamed up against him, seemingly forgetting their dispute as they started to splash water on him. Their attacks were countered by his own as he began his own onslaught.

It went on for a while but eventually they decided to call it off as the water was getting colder by the moment. As they got out of the water he could tell it was getting into lunch time. Now by this point they should have been back at the temple with brothers eating lunch and getting some training done while he took care of a ritual or two.

After some thinking he decided that the followers could wait for a bit. He got both the brothers to take out their staffs and stand over a rock in the brook. they looked at him with both their heads tilted quizzically

He turned to them with his own crown turning into a trident like his own brother once showed him, before… He decided to avoid that thought for now. He cleared his throat ‘’Alright you two, now normally we should be back at the temple’’ He saw both the brother’s face fell but before they could complain he continued ‘’But, I decided that instead of learning some ancient war tactic or two, I would teach you both how to fish.’’ He smiled as he saw both the brothers perk up to his words.

He showed them how to hold their staff correctly for fishing before He demonstrated how to wait for the fish and strike at the right moment. At first the only thing they catched was bits of moss and water. Aym almost threw his staff away before he took it and showed him he was holding it slightly wrong. But eventually both the brothers started to learn what he was trying to teach them.

In the end, he caught around four fish. He could probably have gotten more but he didn’t want the brothers to get upset and besides they couldn’t even eat that many anyway. Other than Baal who almost got stabbed by Aym because he thought his feet were a fish. He could say that ‘their class’ was a success as they had caught three fish of their own. With one for each brother and plus one they caught with teamwork.

Now they sat around the fire they made together, cooking the fish and trying to dry their cloaks and fur. As he tended the fire he heard Aym and Baal discussing the previous water fight.

Aym showed up his hands with six of his fingers open. ‘’That makes six plus the ones before it makes at least twenty four points’’

Baal nodded as he showed his own five fingers ‘’Indeed, add my five and it makes it twenty nine points’’ He turned to Narinder ‘’Which means we won’’ He said with both brothers looking at him proudly.

He chuckled, shaking his head ‘’I didn’t know we had a point system. Enlighten me you two, how many points have I gotten?’’

The brothers looked at each other as they started to count; they looked up to each other before nodding. Aym begun ‘’You got around thirty’’

Baal took up where his brother left ‘’But since you are old you only get half the points’’

Rolling his eyes Narinder turned the fish to their sides to keep them from burning ‘’Unfortunately even so I have still won, my dear servants as I have gotten sixty points’’ The brothers looked at him confused before going back to calculating with frowns gracing their brows. He didn’t know how many points he had or really what they got points out of, but really he didn’t really care. He knew the brothers would argue about it either way.

As he looked at the two brothers as they calculated their points again, he felt a pride blossom within him. Even at such a young age, such capable fighters with such loyalty. As a fond smile grew across his face he knew they would be together, no matter what. He would make sure of it. After all it was all for one and one for all wasn’t it? https://archiveofourown.org/works/43839834/chapters/110724444

#Cotl #Cult of the lamb #Narinder #Aym #Baal #Writing #Prompts

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subqtaneoussmut · 1 year

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The Tea Girl's Gambit, Chapter 27

Aralia Cordivar stared broodingly out her enormous office window, onto a pale moonlit sea of rain-slicked slate and chimney brick. Memory was always ready to intrude, always trying to pour through her fingers. Usually she kept it stubbornly at bay, but tonight, for whatever reason, she was inclined to allow herself the sparkle of starlight, the heaving breath of the ocean.

~ ~ ~

It’s almost sunset in the southern reach of the Whistling Sea, and the whole western sky is a riot of blood orange and pink. There is a fine, stiff breeze that bellies out the canvas of the sails and makes them thrum.

The Damselfly blows through a spray of seawater and crashes down into the valley of another rolling swell. Aralia is newly thirteen, a gawky teenager. She stands on the quarterdeck, her sea legs rolling with her ship’s movements, and thinks she will never stop feeling tiny, in comparison to the ocean. Nothing else reminds her of this as much as the swelling waves—they’re just so big!

There is a shout from the girl up in the rigging, on lookout. She has seen something with her long-glass—three sails on the horizon. Aralia feels the pall of tension that drops like a curtain on the handful of crew that are moving about on deck. Everyone knows Imperiat frigates run in squadrons of three. Not one can resist turning to look, though they must know the sails will not yet be visible to the naked eye.

In front of her, Aralia sees the grim looks her aunts exchange. Her aunts Venti and Jacynth and Moa are the captains and navigators of the Damselfly, but they are also more than that. They are the heads of the families that crew the ship. They are Aralia’s teachers in more than several subjects. And they are the most wanted people in the known world, with the price on their heads increasing astronomically with every passing year. But, again, that is not all they are.

Right now, they look like three middle-aged Jyllish women with shadows under their eyes. Aralia, her heart beating faster now, glances at her friend, Kalista, standing beside her. Her aunties have been as rock solid as mountains for as long as she has been alive, and she feels shaken by the gravity in their faces, so she looks to Kalista, because Kalista will know what to do in a world that has come so unfixed and started to unravel.

Kalista is already sixteen, tall, graceful, and everything Aralia admires and wants to be. She is haliati, which means she has chosen to be a woman—has poured over it, considered it, unearthed it in a way that Aralia has not, a way that in truth Aralia has not had to—and the result is that now Aralia cannot dream of wanting to grow into any other kind of femininity but the one that she sees Kalista embodying.

Kalista has her weight shifted forward on her toes—she is listening to their aunties. Aralia copies her subtly.

“Well, that was fast,” sighs Jacynth.

Venti spits over the side. “We could lose them in the night.”

“Depends how many flares they’re willing to waste to find us.”

“Not worth the risk. If any of them are clipper-rigged, we’ll be boarded before dawn. We should tip again.”

“So soon? There is such a thing as too often,” warns Venti. “The risk compounds.”

“Tell that to my aching voice,” grumbles Jacynth. “I agree with Moa.”

Venti nodded slowly. “Kalista?”

The lean, dark, wolfish girl reaches forward and touches her elbow gently. Venti smiles back at her.

“Mea canat. Be a dear and fetch our lamien, will you? Tell them we need another one, but keep it calm, eh? Don’t let them stub their toes rushing up here.”

Kalista is off like an arrow, bare feet slapping the deck.

“Aralia, see to the drum and silver, please.”

Aralia feels inexhaustible as she drops down the ladder and careens around corners, down into the cramped, dim warren of the hold. Only by luck does she avoid a head-on collision with a small, fast, warm body running the other way.

“Aralia!” it gasps. “I was helping Esca with dinner. Is it them? Are they close?”

She reaches out and steadies him. “Careful, Pasha!” she breathes, though she was running just as reckless. Pasha is haliati, younger by two years, and for the last few months he has been excitedly telling everyone that he wants to be something like a boy, searching and sifting through the words and symbols of the several languages he knows, trying to share about what his desire feels like to him.

“There are three sails on the horizon. Venti wants our to help set up. Come on, help me with the drum.” She seizes his hand, pulls him in her wake.

Together they slip their way for’ard to a low-ceilinged cabin full of lockers and trunks. The timbers that form the walls are whorled with ridges and bumps that shed a faint, blueish-green glow. Aralia makes several quick hand motions in front of her face, and the glow brightens. In the center of the room is a broad, squat cylindrical shape, wrapped in oil-skin. The ship’s drum is easily as large as the Damselfly’s barnacle encrusted anchor, but whereas the anchor is heavy hammered iron, the drum is fiendishly light, a marvel of carefully braced wood and stretched hide.

Aralia and Pasha raise and maneuver the covered drum towards the cargo hatch, which is open, and lift it into the waiting hands of their crewmates, who raise it onto the weather deck. This done, Aralia and Pasha turn and make their way to the windowless heart of the ship.

The alchemy sanctum betrays the Damselfly’s true purpose, both because of just how much space it takes up, and what it contains. Officially, the ship is a glass merchant trader, and it is true enough that the crafting and grinding of lenses for the prized Jyllish telescopes and spectacles takes place down here. But it takes only a glance around to realize the obvious fact that the alembics, stills, and other strange instruments that line the space are not for glasswork.

Pasha hovers on the threshold, watching Aralia go straight to the back, where a large bubble of glass squats, wrapped and ringed with bands of pure beaten copper. Inside of it writhes a coiling argent fog. There is a spout at the bottom, from which she decants a stream of mercurial silver into a bottle. As she caps the bottle, she murmurs softly to it, and the liquid springs back into gaseous form. Slowly, Aralia spins, and proceeds back towards Pasha, as if walking with a stick of sweating dynamite, or perhaps an immensely rare butterfly, paper-thin wings still moist from the cocoon’s embrace.

Pasha follows her up to the main deck, where Kalista has just reappeared and is in the midst of ushering the elders Hallel and Synka, swathed in thick dark robes against the chill, towards the drum. The last rays of sun are dribbling vividly over the far edge of the world. The breeze is softening. The night is clear. A few drops of spray dapple the back of Aralia’s neck. The bottle in her hands pulses with an otherwordly starlight.

Kalista beckons Aralia and Pasha, and together they help their relatives creak down into cushioned seats, and position a brazier full of glowing charcoal between them. Moa and Venti are already there, sitting on the other side of the drum, eyes closed, breathing long slow breaths. Jacynth seats herself last.

A cry from the lookout. Aralia turns, and sees that the squadron of ships behind them have launched signal rockets. She has been studying Imperiat naval communication, and in the multi-hued bursts, she instantly decodes the demand to head into the wind, drop sails and prepare to be boarded. She mutters this into Pasha’s ear, with a derisive eye roll. The rest of the crew is gathering around, craning uneasily to look back in the direction of their wake.

The aunties are unruffled. Kalista walks around and places long drumsticks, the ends swathed in sealskin hide and sinew, into their hands. Aralia sees the first stars glimmer into view.

The drums begin—rolling waves of sound that overlay and underlie each other, complex polyphonic rhythms older than language. There is a collective sigh as the gathered crew begins to untense, lulled by the blossoming field of the drummers. Nobody speaks.

Aralia’s gaze seeks out Kalista’s with an easy familiarity. Between them, they have accumulated a lexicon of thick and silent meaning, and the dim and dying light does little to obstruct their communication. They circle towards each other and walk for’ard together, Aralia still holding the bottled pulse of burning silver, to the deep, wide bowl of knapped obsidian set into the deck near the bowsprit. Aralia uncorks the bottle, holds it almost tenderly for a moment, and pours out the contents.

Again a liquid, the silver splashes as it hits the obsidian stone, then billows into an argent mist that spreads and envelopes the entire bow. The ship slides deeper into the silver fog, until first rigging, then masts, then everything from bow to stern, is inside the shining cloud. Wordlessly, Aralia and Kalista’s hands find each other and share a squeeze.

The drums are thunderous now, a wash of vibrating vowels that bathes Aralia’s bones in reverberation. The stars overhead are pulsing to the beat that is everywhere at once. She turns her head and looks aft, just as the drummers throw back their heads and begin to sing. Their voices, imbued with burning silver, burst the membrane between the layers of the world.

There is a visceral tipping feeling, and then—as the hull crashes through one swell and charges up another—the whole ship slides into the spirit current and everything, from the slap of the waves to the groan of the rigging, is muffled quiet. The Damselfly has crossed into the unseen layers of the world, the place her aunties call the Tide.

Aralia’s hair, cropped short, does not float up, but it is ruffled and stirred by the invisible current. It’s as if she and Kalista are poised on the precipice of an interdimensional diving board, as the void rushes up to engulf them.

Aralia’s memories of the space between the stars are always glassy and loose, prone to slipping and rearranging. Each moment seems endless and also gone before she can quite understand what happened—a frustrating rarity for her. Moa has intimated to her that this is a side-effect of the quicksilver.

Each time, she swears to herself that this time she will remember the fractal geometric patterns that burn behind her eyelids. The chilly tug of the spirit water. The eery sounds that drift and wash up from the depths.

She always remembers when the ancestor spirits come, though, the deep and soundless beating of their wings, the whole ship bathed in their flaming silver glow. The singing of the drummers is endless and the silent response is also endless. The conversation is slow, ceremonial, graceful, urgent.

The endless depths around them sparkle with the light shed by the silent star beings that pace them, and the pitch-dark void beyond that ancient protection is also full of swarming shapes, only vaguely hinted at—some of which are larger than the ship itself.

Faintly, as if through a thick brainfog, Aralia knows those hungry presences are only kept at bay by the presence of their guides.

Their journey may have taken hours or only a few minutes, but at some point the pull of the Tide begins to recede, and the pressure darkening the inside of her intellect begins to lessen and lighten. The ship’s creaking emerges again in her ears. The stars are once again above her, instead of watching and protecting her from just beyond the hull.

The voices of the drummers, which have taken on an almost drone-like quality, slacken and gradually fall silent. The silver cloud around them begins to unknit, drift away and disperse in the much warmer night breeze, which has changed direction. The Damselfly drifts, sails flapping gently, in unknown waters.

~ ~ ~

There were two raps on the door, a pause, then another two.

Aralia rose and opened the door to admit Pasha, wearing the same unobtrusive uniform as after-hours cleaning staff and pushing a cart laden with various closed buckets and pails. Aralia bolted the door and they embraced tightly.

“Mea canar.”

“Mea canat.”

Aralia went to her desk and there was the soft, oiled clicking of tumblers. She drew out a briefcase, laid it on her desk, and popped it open. The padded interior was full of sealed glass vials, stacked and strapped into place. All the vials were a uniform cylindrical shape with a valve at the top, but some were multi-chambered, and contained various different combinations of vividly colored compounds.

Aralia and Pasha, working carefully and silently, transferred the vials into the buckets, nesting them securely between layers of cushioned padding. Then they refilled the briefcase with identical but empty glass vials.

When they were done, Aralia produced a bottle of expensive-looking, amber whiskey and poured a strong dollop into two tumblers, then pulled her chair around the desk. They both sat down heavily. Aralia raised her glass and Pasha clinked it.

“To our continued treason, sabotage, and theft” said Aralia dryly, in Jyllish, and drank.

Pasha snorted, and then tossed his off, too. “To finding Kalista, and the rest of our people.” There was a burr of tension in his voice.

Aralia cleared her throat and looked away. “Of course.”

“Have you found anything? In the restricted clearance files?”

Aralia shook her head heavily. “Nothing. I even started leaning on some of my assets to help with the research. I got so tired of hitting dead ends I took the risk.” She frowned. “And still found nothing.”

Pasha’s voice was gentle. “You’re the one who has told me over and over that we’re playing the long game, here, Aralia. Remember, this is how it felt right before we found Esca.”

“I know, I know.” She hesitated. “It’s just…Pasha, the Imperiat has Apomasaics, now. I gave it to them.” She grimaced. “It’s only a matter of time before they figure out the key hidden inside it, and are able to engineer their own mercury. And now with imminent war on the horizon, as well? You know what this could mean. For the whole goddamn Whistling Sea.” She looked down and winced. “Every day I think about what Kalista would say to me about the cost I paid for this, and every day I get a little more afraid she’ll never talk to me again when she finds out.”Aralia swallowed. “If she’s even still—” she caught herself, as Pasha made a little noise of protest.

Aralia closed her eyes. “I’m not giving up, Pasha. I promise.” She opened them again, took a deep breath. “But I can’t just—it’s not enough, what we’re doing. I want to start increasing the shipments.”

“Emilia will just love that,” said Pasha rolling his eyes. “You two are far more alike than either of you is willing to admit. You’re both part mule, for instance.”

Aralia shrugged that off. “Not just the grenades. The halia, too. I want to double the volume of what I’m currently synthesizing each month. Will you be able to keep up?”

Pasha looked at her askance. “Do you even know how many draft cart loads I am hiding right now? How many barrels I have to make disappear from riverboat lading bills? I’m up to my ears in forgery and graft and false paperwork.”

“You can do it, Pasha.” Then, at the look he shot her, she got serious. “You’re a genius with the numbers. Listen, if you’re having trouble, I’ll come cook the books with you. Like old times.”

He grumbled something under his breath.

“Also,” Aralia said carefully, “I need you to hide the paper trail of our latest stray. And soon.”

Pasha stared at her. “You want me to disappear her from the staff accounts? Aralia, that’s not the same as smuggling goods. People are much harder to hide.” His tone turned condescending. “They draw a salary, you see.”

Aralia ignored his sarcasm. “I need her safe, Pasha.” She hesitated. “I feel like she’s my responsibility somehow. She threw herself out into empty air, without a plan, because I showed her it was possible.” A wince. “And then, I gave her refuge. And I can’t withdraw that, now. I already told her I wasn’t going to let them have her, and Pasha, the look in her eyes—” Aralia looked beseechingly at him and shook her head. “I know this sounds so, so hypocritical of me, but I just can’t.”

Pasha groaned. “You’re serious? I knew this was a bad idea. You weakened your only leverage over her just so you could see the look in her eye? Don’t you fall apart on me, Aralia. Not now. I’m serious.”

Aralia rolled her eyes. “I’m not falling apart, you little twerp. I was worried that she would do something stupid if she had nothing and no one at all to depend on. Anyway, I think I know how I’ll gain that leverage back, it’s just…”

She hesitated, then muttered something under her breath.

Pasha gave her an exasperated look.

Aralia rubbed her face, then poured herself another whiskey. “Look, it’s just—she’s growing on me, all right?”

There was a pause as she tossed it back.

“Don’t make that face at me,” she snapped. “I’ll take care of it.”

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piratesgiftexchange · 2 years

Text

all my love

for @elventhespian, by @crowwithaccesstotheinternet

PROMPT: “My soul I do swear for fresh, in-character Willabeth fic or any Willabeth art: angsty, tender, sexy, funny, adventurous, Pre-Cotp, pre-AWE, an oddball AU–whatever, just… I *need* it. I would especially love something that isn’t done as much or hasn’t been done before. The One Day Beach Scene, after-curse reunion and their private swordfighting lessons have been done many times–I will NOT complain if you choose those, but would be extra delighted if it was something less explored” WORD COUNT: 2524

Elizabeth Turner, neé Swann, stood on the sand and silently watched the Flying Dutchman as it disappeared below the horizon in a flash of green light. One day. Ten years. And Will was a man of his word- she knew he would never make the same mistake as Davy Jones and abandon his duties. In that moment, she both loved and hated him for it. With a start, Elizabeth realized she was crying. They’d gone through so much, sacrificed so much to be together… and this was it. This was all she got.

With a sigh, she wiped the tears from her face and slowly began walking across the beach back to her rowboat. A cool breeze whipped across her skin, tangling her hair into knots. Seabirds wheeled above the water, crying out, and the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the shore served as the beat to which one thought repeated again and again in her mind: What on Earth am I going to do now?

Elizabeth frowned, deep in contemplation as she began to row across the water towards the Black Pearl. What now? Her options, the way she figured them, were thus: she could go back to land, leave piracy behind her and attempt to return to polite society and an ordinary life, or…

She looked at where the Black Pearl was anchored, its sails rustling in the breeze.

Or she could stay. Retain her title as Pirate King, and live the life of adventure she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl. Elizabeth had no interest in living under anyone else’s shadow; she’d have to procure a ship and a crew for herself, but that could be done easily enough. It would be difficult, and not to mention dangerous, but…

She smiled to herself as the rowboat came up alongside the Black Pearl. The choice was obvious.

That night, as she sat in her cabin writing in her journal, her thoughts began to drift back to her husband. To the steady beating of a heart locked away in a chest she’d hidden. It was strange, the way she found herself missing him. The unfairness of their separation made her uselessly angry, and she felt the beginnings of grief for how much of each other’s lives they were going to miss- but the ache was already dulled, as though it was either an old pain or one she had yet to fully feel.

Elizabeth set down her quill… and then paused, considering. Flipping to a fresh page, not quite knowing what she was doing, she began to write:

My dearest Will,

Although it has yet to be even a full day since we parted, I miss you dearly. I don’t quite know what to do with myself over it. My mind keeps turning to you, aboard the Dutchman- I am ever so thankful that at least you are not alone and that you are with your father. That your reunion came at such a cost is cruelly unfair. I hope the two of you are able to make up for lost time together.

I don’t know why I’m writing this to you. I suppose it helps to imagine you reading letters of mine, somehow- makes this whole mess we’ve found ourselves in seem a little less permanent.

Today, after you left, I had to decide what I wanted to do next. The future feels so unimaginably vast- after all we’ve been through, nearly anything at all seems possible. It scares me a little, but it excites me as well. I think I’m going to stay at sea, Will. I thought about it for a long time and I don’t think I could ever return back to a quiet life on land. I don’t think I have it in me to walk away from all of this. I don’t think I ever did, really.

It wasn’t until I really considered the thought of leaving my title as King behind that I realized how scared I was of going back to being stifled, to sanding down all my sharp edges and blunting my teeth. So I’m going to make a go of it here, as Pirate King. I’m going to find a fleet of my own to command, and put together a crew, and likely send a lot more men your way.

I don’t know what the future is going to look like, but I know I’ll always have an eye on the horizon and my heart fixed on the day when I’ll get to see you again.

All my love,

Elizabeth

She tore the page from her journal and cast around for an empty bottle. Elizabeth knew it was desperately foolish, but even the dimmest chance that Will might read her words, that the two of them might not be entirely cut off from each other, was enough for her to roll up her letter and seal it within an empty bottle of rum. Before she could lose her nerve entirely, she stepped out of her cabin and crept up to the deck, bottle in hand.

It was a full moon, clouds skittering across the horizon above the endless dark sea. The cold, salt-tinged nighttime wind ghosted across her skin. Elizabeth looked down over the ship’s railing at the fathomless waters beneath, took a deep breath, and lightly tossed her message in a bottle over the side of the Black Pearl.

She watched it bob up and down on the waves for a few moments before turning away. She was almost entirely certain that Will would never lay eyes on her letter, but she felt better for having written it anyways.

It took several weeks for her to stop glancing at the ocean every other minute in search of a reply, but soon enough her mind was filled with other, more pressing issues. In the span of a few weeks, she’d forgotten about the letter completely.

Will Turner, former blacksmith’s apprentice and newly christened captain of the Flying Dutchman, stood on the deck of his ship as it slipped across the waves. It was a fine day, nothing but gentle white clouds and endlessly rolling ocean in sight, and the tattered sails of his ship billowed in the wind. Will could hear the sound of his crew working steadily behind him, keeping his ship running at a swift pace.

He could feel his crew, too, by virtue of some supernatural sense that constantly lay in the back of his mind. All he had to do was reach for that awareness and he could sense exactly where his crew and the spirits under his care were. It was vague, and faint enough to ignore most of the time, but it had been one of the most unexpected parts of taking on Davy Jones’ role.

Right now, everyone was where they should be: his crew working up top, and the souls of the dead belowdecks. The ends of Will’s coat fluttered in the breeze as he gazed out at the neverending ocean. Today he felt odd- contemplative, perhaps. He’d barely had a moment to himself to think since becoming the Dutchman’s captain. It had been a steep, strange learning curve, one that he was only now beginning to get used to.

Really, he didn’t think he was ever going to get used to the emptiness in his chest.

Silence where a pulse had been.

Emptiness where his wife had once stood next to him.

Ten years, he reminded himself. Or, well, less than that now actually. Nine years, ten months, and twenty-three days.

With a sigh, he began to walk along the deck, his hand trailing along the railing. He probably ought to go below and check on the dead…

Wait, what was that? A flash of light in the water below caught his eye. Upon further inspection, it seemed to be some kind of glass bottle glinting in the sunlight. Will frowned. That’s unusual. Something about it felt important, somehow.

In a few minutes, Will had the bottle in his hands and a feeling of anticipation building in his gut. There was a rolled up message sealed within. He had the strangest feeling that… but no, that wasn’t possible.

He unrolled the letter and began to read:

My dearest Will…

Shock rippled through him like a stone dropped in a still pond. There was absolutely no mistaking those sloping letters; that was Elizabeth’s handwriting.

She’d written him a letter.

Will read through the rest of her words in something near disbelief. By the time he finished, a feeling of unexpected happiness and profound love had risen in his chest, so bright and strong it was almost painful. He silently thanked every lucky star that Calypso had taken mercy on them, and hurried to go search for some paper and a quill.

Dearest Elizabeth,

I barely even know what to say- I never once thought to expect that perhaps I would be able to hear from you again, that you, my clever wife, might find some way to circumvent our separation. I love you so much, with all of my heart, all of my love, for all of eternity my dear. Your letter was the most precious gift to me- when I was reading your words it was almost as if I could hear your voice in my ear, like we were reunited already. Thank you. I miss you every day.

I, too, am glad to be with my father. Although in all honesty some days I don’t quite know how to feel about it. Thankful, I suppose, that fate has given us more time together. But lately I’ve become quite- regretful, perhaps, thinking of my mother and the fact that she is not here with us to be reunited as I have been. It’s a grief that never quite goes away, I think. Of course logically I know that I am no longer an orphan, but some nights my heart (or the echo of it) has trouble remembering.

But I’d rather not fill a letter to you with such maudlin things. Who knows if this shall ever even reach you, after all! I’m glad you’ve decided to keep your title and your life at sea. I daresay that there has never been a more utterly terrifying pirate to sail these waters than you and for the world’s sake I hope there never shall be. When your mind is fixed on something there is hardly a force in all of creation that would dare stand in your way.

And I sincerely hope that you never again feel the need to be anything less than the incredible, razor-sharp woman that you are. As Jack and Gibbs like to say- ‘Take what you can, and give nothing back.’

You have my heart always and are in my thoughts nearly every day. Take care, Elizabeth.

All of my love,

Will

Will carefully rolled up the letter and sealed it away in a glass bottle. As he watched it slowly drift away on the waves, he prayed that this miracle of Elizabeth’s would work again.

Elizabeth liked to think of herself as a quick study when it came to learning new things, and in recent years- having spent far more time in the company of pirates than was strictly respectable- she’d picked up her fair share of knowledge. Namely: sailing, fighting, gambling, drinking to excess, and- most relevant to this particular moment- swearing filthily enough to make the Devil himself blush.

Anamaria, her recently hired first mate and budding confidante, stood a few feet away with her arms crossed and her cool gaze resting on Elizabeth. “Are you about finished?”

“Fuck,” said Elizabeth, with feeling, as her mind circled back to that same inevitable question she seemed to find herself asking far too often: “What the hell am I going to do now?”

“Take some time,” Anamaria said, taking a few steps over to where Elizabeth stood. “and think about it. You have options, you know.” She reached out and laid a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder, their eyes meeting. “Whatever you decide, you’ll have me and the rest of the crew in your corner to support you.”

Elizabeth nodded, breathing in deep. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” The worries that had begun to spiral endlessly in her mind were starting to feel slightly more manageable now. She gestured towards the door. “I think I’m going to go take a walk and think, like you said.”

After all, getting some fresh air certainly couldn’t hurt. Elizabeth took a deep breath as she stepped outside, letting the feel of the open sea wash over her.

Pregnant. She was pregnant.

And she had absolutely no idea how to feel about it.

Overjoyed, of course, and happy beyond all belief. Surprised. Shocked, really. Scared shitless, and anxious beyond measure.

All of it twisted together in her chest, a roiling mess of emotions and worries. I can’t raise a child at sea. I can’t leave the sea behind.

She made her way to the edge of the deck, resting her arms on the railing as she let out a sigh. I wish Will was here.

Below her, the waves lapped rhythmically against the side of her ship. The sun was setting, and the clouds above were a blaze of fiery color that reflected like scattered gold across the sea. Elizabeth let her head drop down to rest against the cool wood of the railing, closing her eyes to just breathe for a second.

After a few moments, she opened her eyes… and her heart nearly leapt right out of her chest. Right below her, glinting in the water, was a bottle sealed with a cork. She squinted. Was that a rolled-up sheet of paper inside, or were her eyes tricking her?

Either way, she definitely wasn’t going to take any chances. “Somebody bring me a ladder right now!” Elizabeth shouted.

It was brawny Qianyu who hurried over with a rope ladder in hand, her long black braid swinging behind her. Elizabeth scurried over the side of the ship as quickly as she could, reaching down to scoop up the lazily bobbing bottle. She held it up to eye level, a triumphant grin rapidly spreading across her face. There were several sheets of paper inside!

As soon as she was back onboard she immediately pried the cork free, ignoring the stares of her crew.

Dearest Elizabeth…

Elizabeth let out a helpless laugh. It had worked. They’d actually found a way! Bright, piercing joy glowed warm within her, coupled with an overwhelming, overpowering love for Will. He’d gotten her letter! He’d written back!

She closed her eyes, feeling the press of tears. It was such a small thing, but at that moment it meant nothing less than the entire world to her. When she next saw Tia Dalma, she was going to buy the goddess so many drinks.

With a smile wide on her face, she opened her eyes and continued to read her husband’s words.

All of a sudden, ten years was beginning to feel a whole lot shorter.

#pirates of the caribbean #potc #potc fanfic #anamaria #will turner #elizabeth swann #submission #round 2

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moonflower1605 · 1 year

Text

Chapter - 20(Part-1)

(Percy's POV)

I woke to alarm bells ringing throughout the ship.

The captain’s gravelly voice: “All hands on deck! Find Lady Clarisse! Where is that girl?”

Then his ghostly face appeared above me. “Get up, Yankee. Your friends are already above. We are approaching the entrance.”

“The entrance to what?”

He gave me a skeletal smile. “The Sea of Monsters, of course.”

I stuffed my few belongings that had survived the Hydra into a sailor’s canvas knapsack & slung it over my shoulder. I had a sneaking suspicion that one way or another I would not be spending another night aboard the CSS Birmingham.

I was on my way upstairs when something made me freeze. A presence nearby-something familiar & unpleasant. For no particular reason, I felt like picking a fight. I wanted to punch a dead Confederate. The last time I’d felt like that kind of anger...

Instead of going up, I crept to the edge of the ventilation grate & peered down into the boiler deck.

Clarisse was standing right below me, talking to an image that shimmered in the steam from the boilers-a muscular man in black leather biker clothes, with a military haircut, red-tinted sunglasses, & a knife strapped to his side.

My fists clenched. It was my least favorite Olympian: Ares, the god of war.

“I don’t want excuses, little girl!” he growled.

“Y-yes, father,” Clarisse mumbled.

“You don’t want to see me mad, do you?”

“No, father.”

“No, father,” Ares mimicked. “You’re pathetic. I should’ve let one of my sons take this quest.”

“I’ll succeed!” Clarisse promised, her voice trembling. “I’ll make you proud.”

“You’d better,” he warned. “You asked me for this quest, girl. If you let that slimeball Jackson kid steal it from you-“

“But the Oracle said-“

“I DON’T CARE WHAT IT SAID!” Ares bellowed with such force that his image shimmered. “You will succeed. And if you don’t...”

He raised his fist. Even though he was only a figure in the steam, Clarisse flinched.

“Do we understand each other?” Ares growled.

The alarm bells rang again. I heard voices coming toward me, officers yelling orders to ready the cannons.

I crept back from the ventilation grate and made my way upstairs to join Nora, l Annabeth & Tyson on the spar deck.

“What’s wrong?” Nora asked me. “Another dream?”

I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to think about what I’d seen downstairs. It bothered me almost as much as the dream about Grover.

Clarisse came up the stairs right after me. I tried not to look at her.

She grabbed a pair of binoculars from a zombie officer & peered toward the horizon. “At last. Captain, full steam ahead!”

I looked in the same direction as she was, but I couldn’t see much. The sky was overcast. The air was hazy and humid, like steam from an iron.

If I squinted real hard, I could just make out a couple of dark fuzzy splotches in the distance.

My nautical senses told me we were somewhere off the coast of northern Florida, so we’d come a long way overnight, farther than any mortal ship should’ve been able to travel.

The engine groaned as we increased speed.

Tyson muttered nervously, “Too much strain on the pistons. Not meant for deep water.”

I wasn’t sure how he knew that, but it made me nervous.

After a few more minutes, the dark splotches ahead of us came into focus.

To the north, a huge mass of rock rose out of the sea-an island with cliffs at least a hundred feet tall. About half a mile south of that, the other patch of darkness was a storm brewing. The sky and sea boiled together in a roaring mass.

“Hurricane?” Nora asked.

“No,” Clarisse said. “Charybdis.”

Annabeth paled. “Are you crazy?”

“Only way into the Sea of Monsters. Straight between Charybdis & her sister Scylla.” Clarisse pointed to the top of the cliffs, & I got the feeling something lived up there that I did not want to meet.

“What do you mean the only way?” I asked. “The sea is wide open! Just sail around them.”

Clarisse rolled her eyes. “Don’t you know anything? If I tried to sail aroundnthem, they would just appear in my path again. If you want to get into the Sea of Monsters, you have to sail through them.”

“What about the Clashing Rocks?” Nora said. “That’s another gateway. Jason used it.”

“I can’t blow apart rocks with my cannons,” Clarisse said. “Monsters, on the other hand..”

“You are crazy,” Annabeth decided.

“Watch & learn, Wise Girl.” Clarisse turned to the captain. “Set course for Charybdis!”

“Aye, m’lady.”

The engine groaned, the iron plating rattled, & the ship began to pick up speed.

“Clarisse,” I said, “Charybdis sucks up the sea. Isn’t that the story?”

“And spits it back out again, yeah.”

“What about Scylla?”

“She lives in a cave, up on those cliffs. If we get too close, her snaky heads will come down and start plucking sailors off the ship.”

“Choose Scylla then,” I said. “Everybody goes below deck & we chug right past.”

“No!” Clarisse insisted. “If Scylla doesn’t get her easy meat, she might pick up the whole ship. Besides, she’s too high to make a good target. My cannons can’t shoot straight up. Charybdis just sits there at the center of her whirlwind. We’re going to steam straight toward her, train our guns on her, & blow her to Tartarus!”

She said it with such relish I almost wanted to believe her.

The engine hummed. The boilers were heating up so much I could feel the deck getting warm beneath my feet. The smoke stacks billowed. The red Ares flag whipped in the wind.

As we got closer to the monsters, the sound of Charybdis got louder & louder-a horrible wet roar like the galaxy’s biggest toilet being flushed. Every time Charybdis inhaled, the ship shuddered & lurched forward. Every time she exhaled, we rose in the water & were buffeted by ten-foot waves.

I tried to time the whirlpool. As near as I could figure, it took Charybdisnabout three minutes to suck up & destroy everything within a half-mile radius.

To avoid her, we would have to skirt right next to Scylla’s cliffs. And as bad as Scylla might be, those cliffs were looking awfully good to me.

Undead sailors calmly went about their business on the spar deck. I guess they’d fought a losing cause before, so this didn’t bother them. Or maybe they didn’t care about getting destroyed because they were already deceased. Neither thought made me feel any better.

Nora stood next to me, gripping the rail. “You still have your thermos full of wind?”

I nodded. “But it’s too dangerous to use with a whirlpool like that. More wind might just make things worse.”

“What about controlling the water?” Annabeth came & asked. “You’re Poseidon’s son. You’ve done it before.”

She was right. I closed my eyes & tried to calm the sea, but I couldn’t

concentrate. Charybdis was too loud and powerful. The waves wouldn’t respond.

“I-I can’t,” I said miserably.

“We need a backup plan,” Nora said. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Ella is right,” Tyson said. “Engine’s no good.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Pressure. Pistons need fixing.”

Before he could explain, the cosmic toilet flushed with a mighty roaaar!

The ship lurched forward and I was thrown to the deck. We were in the whirlpool.

Trouble! I love trouble😈

Juuust kidding🙃...I'm not that evil😉

Link to the next chapter is here.

Link to the prev chapter is here.

Comment, like & share.

Take care my lovely readers.❤️

Alice signing off.

XOXO.

#percy jackson #percy jackson x oc #x oc #sea of monsters

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inherstars · 13 days

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The Fire Inside

More of this thing. Now it's time for bed.

She had yet to hear him laugh or see him smile, but at this the orchestral strings of his mind’s voice swelled with amusement. Laughter, transcendent of form. Perhaps he’d never learned the finer points of being joyful as a man. He wasn’t the first.

Emboldened, she approached him, circling him ankle-over-ankle in marveling quiet. He was twice as tall as her cottage, his full length and width hard to assess with his neck heron-curved back between his shoulders and his wings at rest. He was wholly black, each scale chased with the pastel tinctures of morning as they gained the sky. Helplessly her arm extended, fingers outstretched, hesitating, before he reached down and bumped his great, wedge-shaped head into the touch.

Fate closed on him like the head of a horse overhanging a pasture gate, exploring by touch the bony ridges above his eyes, the pebbled texture that lined his lips, the paradoxically velvet-soft nostrils. He snorted, startling her into a laugh, and the great cabochons of his eyes blinked mildly.

You aren’t afraid, he sang wonderingly. Fate tilted her head.

“Afraid? No. Curious, yes… perhaps even… a little intimidated?” He pushed his snout into her hands again and she scratched above his eye ridges, eliciting a double-bass rumble of pleasure. “But not afraid.”

They both knew all too well the power he held over her, how fragile she was. How had he put it last night? So like to die in so many ways. Istar wondered if he was not as intimidating as he thought, or if she had simply already seen far worse.

Fate finally took a breath. “So. How am I meant to do this?”

He lowered himself like a camel to the ground, offering a foreleg as a step up. With a little difficulty she hitched up her skirts and climbed, first onto his leg and then onto his shoulder, allowing a little undignified bump of his nose to get her the rest of the way onto his back. Thick, bony scales lined his spine, the gaps between them just wide enough for her to get a finger-hold, though it didn’t instill her with the utmost confidence.

“You know,” she remarked with a nervous warble. “I feel off a horse once, as a girl. I don’t think I ever quite recovered from it.”

Istar thought on that for a good long minute before craning his head around and favoring her with one eye.

...do you want me to eat the horse?

She patted his neck. “Never mind, let’s just be off.”

He needed no further encouragement. Fate caught her breath and clung fast as he gathered beneath her, muscles coiled with all the tension of a bow at full draw. He launched like a shot put, wings tripling open as the sails of a ship, then churned, thunderous, every muscle moving with oiled and certain rhythm in his skyward climb.

Fate had never been any further from the earth than the overlook above the beach, and couldn’t breath for the sudden distance telescoping her away from the world below. She saw the curious, curving outline of the coast, the tattered shingles of her roof, the cliffs, the trees, the ocean. And the ocean. And the ocean. And still he climbed.

Just as her mind began scrambling for a god -- any god -- to pray for salvation, Istar’s wings spread taut and leveled, and the terrible hollow in her chest eased with relief.

There was a peace up here, unknowable as a creature of the earth. Istar’s body radiated heat, keeping at bay the damp and chill of the morning air, though she felt each spun-sugar cloud on her skin as he sailed through them. The rising sun cast his shadow on the water beneath them, gilding each wavelet, and describing the vague shape of fantastic creatures just beneath their surface.

Eventually the familiar silhouette of Fate’s island appear on the horizon. Istar tilted, kite-like, and little by little it grew, becoming more real to her than it had been in many long decades of her life.

But it looked the same. Even from the sky, even as he turned on a wingtip and circled it slowly, slowly, looking for a place to set down, it seemed to her the same secret palace of her girlhood. Her father’s dream, and hopefully hers as well. And his besides.

The castle had been built with incoming dragons in mind, but there was enough of a rough peninsula off the Western side of the island that he was able to carefully set down. Fate braced herself as he back-winged like a bird to a branch, landing far more gracefully than she thought was possible for a creature of such size.

Once more he bent and offered her a foreleg to dismount, and with rock firmly underfoot Fate hastened to give him enough room -- and privacy -- to restore himself to his human guise. It was a far less noisy affair than the opposite, but when all was done and finalized he gently cleared his throat to draw her attention.

Fate turned, looking him up and down curiously.

“You’re still dressed,” she observed.

Istar looked down at himself as well.

“Yes?”

“That’s… I mean, of course you are. That’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, certainly, why wouldn’t it be fine?”

“You seem disappointed?”

“Hm, do I? Funny. Well.” She put her palms together. “Shall we have a look around?”

#my writing

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offwilds · 1 year

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“Running off like that, putting yourself at risk… it’s pretty goddamn stupid.”

Come with me, Isadore says, as they meet on the docks. The day dawned cold and clear over Hindarsfjall, and the seaward wind pulls at their robes, as though already eager to fill the sails of the ship that will be taking Isadore away. She cannot understand how she's found her; for months, she has taken every measure, has traveled the continent over, shutting her and every thing she has given her out, severing that taut, pulsing bond of pure, unbridled Chaos that Isadore has leashed from herself to Nereinne with such cruel, furious menace, neither she nor Isadore can longer sense one another's power as they have for years now, since first she set her foot in Aretuza. She does not want her help. She does not need her lectures; she can take it all elsewhere, they mean nothing to her. She does not want her here, here, at the end of the world, where, for the first time in the entirety of her life, she has made something out of her power; has given shape to her Chaos, has cut out a corner of the world for her and her alone to give form to; she's destruction given purpose, her very own purpose. She is not some scared little girl, some weakling tumbling at her feet, yearning for guidance. She will not stand here and let her think that she needs her. Her pitying tone is as unwelcome as it is unnecessary. She wants her gone. And yet her heart is aching as she stands before her, her pain more alive than her anger, her spite, her malice; more alive than the shadow of her past which hangs on her like a dress; her hands are empty; her body is wrought with her sorrow, a distant, unreachable regret she neither heeds nor acknowledges.

She stiffly holds herself together, more ice than woman as she stares at her, violet eyes ablaze with floods of restrained emotions as she withdraws every last inkling of her chaos from her; as she pushes her away, spills her coldness, her cruelty, shutting her off. "You are too transparent, Isadore. Do not presume to speak to me of risk, when all you wish is for me to be bound to you. I am not one of your apprentices, to hang on your every word. I am not Alfhild , who sees in you a mother. Your opinions concern me not at all." her voice flows from her lips like a cold river and she lifts her chin in defiance; her hand trembles but she wills it to stop, pries her gaze away and casts it upon the ocean before them. She shall not allow her to glimpse at her weakness; that void that has enthroned itself inside of her and no matter how hard she tries, can never be filled; not then, at her side, neither now, here, where she is something, where power thrums at her very fingertips and jarls and chieftains hang off her every word. Nature dictates that the strong survive, if they have the will, she thinks, fiercely, menacingly; and she is strong; she is power given shape, she will not permit her, or anyone, ever, to hold her leash. The world is hers to mold to her liking, and hers it shall all be. "Go, Isadore. You speak of meaningless things. Your little sermons are not needed here, and neither are you." she coldly demands, eager to see her gone away and out of her sight (away from her where she can not pull at the dead things inside of her, cannot remind her of who she is; who she's always been; the very sight of her fills her with such unnatural, cold pain, she does not know what to do with it than shape it into anger that she then lashes upon her; a bitter, cruel thing in her mouth.)

Go and stay gone, the sorceress says, and watches as the ships, each flying the bright sigil of clan Drummond on a field of purple, row out to the mouth of the bay. She watches as they unfurl the sails, and sink below the horizon with the sun.

When she makes her way back to the warmth of the keep, her hands are stiff and cold, but all the ache of them lives in her chest, below her heart.

That, too, she shuts out, and never listens to its summons. She is power given form and purpose; she is ancient blood and Chaos; the most powerful woman in the world. She does not need her.

@ofmythscndmagic

#& isadore #SCREAMS.....#a whisper from times past ;#the ocean is a thing evil cannot touch ; skellige #long post //

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narniancrownshield · 1 year

Text

Chapter 4 | The Lone Islands

» Land ho! « The look-out calls from the crow’s nest in the early afternoon of the next day. Luna lifts her eyes to the mast’s top. The sailor there leans over the balustrade and repeats his announcement. Within a few moments the deck is swarmed by the crew who were not up already. Everyone wishes to catch a glimpse of the land. Drinian holds a hand over his eyes and stares larboard – that is the left side of the ship if one looks from the ship’s stern to its bow. He holds out his portable telescope for Caspian to take who stands next to the captain on the quarterdeck. The king takes a look in the distance, then he hands the telescope over to Edmund.

» So, these are the Lone Islands? « Lucy asks excitedly,

» It’s been so long since I last saw them. « Indeed, it must be a very long time since the Kings and Queens of Old have been here, the Golden Age of Narnia lays about thousand-three-hundred years in the past.

» Finally! « Eustace exclaims, gripping the railing,

» I didn’t think this nutshell would escape the storm and see dry land ever again. « Luna casts him a sideway glance but doesn’t retort anything. There is nothing she may say that can possibly change his opinions. They climb the stairs to join the kings and captain as they decide what to do.

» What we see here ’s Felimath, « Drinian explains,

» The other two, Avra and Doorn, lay beyond. «

» Are we heading for Narrowhaven? « Lucy asks. She squints to see more of the land on the horizon. Her brother kindly hands her the telescope. She takes it and lifts it in front of her right eye, shutting the other,

» Aw, good old Felimath, it’s as green as I remember it to be! « The two kings smile at her excitement.

» Yes, « Edmund says fondly,

» We used to take long walks there. « Eustace stays surprisingly quiet. He eyes the land with interest which Reepicheep seems to note, too. The mouse sends Luna a glance to see if she did as well. She gets the impression that he is up to something.

» The capital’s a good day’s sail away, half with strong wind, « the captain receives his telescope back. Lucy gazes longingly at the green island in the distance. Caspian looks at her and turns his eyes to Edmund and Luna.

» I’d really appreciate to stretch my legs, « Caspian smirks and explains his idea. They may go ashore on Felimath and cross the hills to its other side where the Dawn Treader will take them aboard again. Then, they will set course on Doorn, the largest of the three islands and location of their capital Narrowhaven. The king’s idea is met with approval from all sides – except Eustace’s who would prefer to reach civilisation, yesterday at best. However, as soon as they are close enough to the shore, one of the longboats is manned to take them there.

Caspian, Edmund, Lucy, Eustace, Reepicheep and Luna take some time to walk along the beach to get used to real land beneath their feet again. Felimath is not called ‘the green island’ for nothing. The soft hills are lush as is the forest they pass along the way across the island. It’s the second largest of the three Lone Islands – Avra being the smallest – but its shape is more extended in length than in width.

As the sun starts to make towards the horizon, the companions reach a soft valley between the hills. Just behind the low hill on the other side they spot the ocean again – or better, the strait between Felimath and Doorn which is only a few miles wide. Though, they stop short in their tracks as they recognize a faint column of smoke rising from the bottom of said valley. A group of trees obstructs a clear view but there must be people here.

» I thought Felimath was uninhabited, « it sounds more than a question than a statement as Caspian eyes the smoke.

» It is, « Edmund reconsiders his quick response before adding,

» At least, it was in our time. « He shrugs and smirks at the panting Eustace next to him. This rather short walk seems to have already exhausted the boy. Reepicheep – who entertained them with stories – stopped. He took to ride on Luna’s shoulder some time ago and now balances there, watching the smoke as well.

» Well, « he exclaims,

» Shall we find out then? « Of course, he wants to investigate what- or whoever lurks there in the trees. He sounds ready for an adventure – may it just be the acquaintance of some Islanders – but Luna knows him well enough to notice his slightly crinkled nose. He is suspicious. She glances at Caspian as they wait for his decision.

» Yes, let’s see, « he nods but rests a hand on her arm before she can take more than a step forward. Luna turns her head to the side as Reep arranges himself more comfortably on her shoulder.

» We don’t tell them who we are just yet, « Caspian reminds her and casts everyone a look. She nods in understanding. Probably, it is wiser to not let every stranger know they are in the presence of two kings and a queen.

Only minutes later, they six friends reach the bottom of the hills and make towards the small group of trees. There, a few men sit around a bonfire, more smouldering than actually burning. The ashes are glowing with the rest of the heat, that is why more smoke forms than usual for such a small fire. The men – Luna doesn’t spot any women among them – notice the group as they draw closer. They mumble among each other before one of them rises to meet the arriving. Caspian leads the group, Edmund, and Luna with Reepicheep still perched on her shoulder follow right behind the king. Lucy and Eustace put the taillight.

» Good day to you, « the man greets them with open arms and a warm smile, showing yellow teeth. He isn’t very tall and plump around the hips. However, the tunic he wears makes him seem taller than he is. There is no sword at his belt but a long, crooked dagger. His hair is dark and reaches his shoulders, on his head sits a hat with two pheasant feathers.

» You’re welcome to join us for a drink, « he invites them and beckons them closer. Interesting that he doesn’t even ask for a name first. Maybe that is considered rude in the Lone Island’s culture?

» Good afternoon, gentlemen, « Caspian greets as he steps in the circle around the fire. The others follow suit.

» We’re not seriously joining those… persons, right? « Eustace whispers behind Luna in the complaining manner of his. However, he has a point. Those men don’t look groomed and neat. Quite the opposite, it’s no exaggeration to say that they look ragged, filthy even. This contrasts strongly with their host’s rather noble garments. Instinctively, Luna’s hand wanders to the hilt of her sword while she watches their new acquaintances attentively. She does definitely not think it wise to join them by the fire. Edmund seems to have the same thought; he leans closer to Caspian to whisper something in his ear.

» Come on, friends, sit with us, « the man who invited them says and plops down on a log,

» My name’s Pug, by the way. « After introducing himself, Pug sends the six friends a smile again. Something seems off, though. His voice, his smile… they give Luna a smeary impression.

» He has a golden tooth, « Eustace remarks quietly, and Lucy shushes him. She obviously feels uneasy. Luna can relate. Neither does she like this sudden invitation without proper introductions, nor the looks that are sent their way.

» Thank you for your kindness, « Caspian speaks now,

» But we should continue our way. « As he declines the offer, Luna sighs in relief. This is no comfortable situation. A strange tension lies in the air.

» There, there, « Pug replies in an attempt to smooth the waves,

» You’re a little shy, aren’t ya? «

» Tacks, help our new friends to a drink, « he demands, nodding to a man across from him. This Tacks fellow rises obediently. He is tall with broad shoulders and visible muscles under his shirt. He looks less filthy than the rest of these lot.

» We really should go, « Edmund turns to his companions. Eustace already backed away a few steps, Lucy stands unwavering. Her hand grips her dagger tightly, she left the healing cordial on the ship. Caspian nods, he visibly doesn’t like to run but they would be outnumbered, should it come to a fight. Even Reep who neverbacks down from a fight doesn’t argue.

As this Pug person realizes that they won’t stay and sit with them, he lifts his hat slightly. One might think that a gesture of farewell. Not in this case. As if on cue, the men jump up from where they are sitting and draw their weapons. Silver flashes everywhere and at a whistle from Pug, they charge.

As the howling men draw closer, Luna swiftly draws her sword. So do Caspian and Edmund while Lucy unsheathes her dagger. Reep draws his rapier, readying himself to jump on the first man who comes near them. Luna’s heartbeat speeds up and she bends her knees to take a fighting stance. Then, the lines meet. The clanging sound of steel against steel fills the little valley between the green hills. Two men come at her with their scimitars. One is taken by Reepicheep while Luna blocks the other’s first blow with her blade and pushes him back with it. But he doesn’t give up this easily. He attempts to swipe her feet out from under her. She sidesteps with seeming ease. This is a fight with no rules, so much is clear. As the man struggles to get up fast enough, Luna sees her opportunity and takes it. She has learnt that chivalry is only for tournaments, not for the wild reality. With a powerful stroke her sword meets his throat. His weapon slips from his fingers, his hands cover the wound. To no avail, the cut is deep. The man gasps for air, sputtering blood in every direction. His wide eyes stare at the warrior as he drops to his knees and topples over, dead. There is no time to dwell on the fact that she just took a life, her own and those of her friends are at stake.

Luna braces herself as the next opponent comes running. He glances at his fallen companion and rushes at her with an angry battle cry. However, this anger is his doom. It leaves his blows inaccurate, not even once striking her. As he goes down, she leaves him to search for Caspian instead.

» Don’t harm them! « Pug yells from his position at the edge of the fight. His words are irritating but Luna cannot stop to think about it. He doesn’t lift a finger; he just watches his men get injured or killed. Now, anger bubbles inside of her and she wants to go after him, but her duty is to protect the king. There, she spots Caspian. He defeated his first opponent. Lucy and Reep handle themselves well and Edmund is with Eustace.

At a cry from behind her she whips around, and barley manages to dodge the incoming blow. The opponent from before recovered fast and got up to charge again. A quick exchange of hits follows – none doing any real harm. Then, the man delivers some strong blows and Luna needs to take a few steps back, losing ground in the process. However, she finds herself back-to-back with Caspian. He fights off this Tacks person. Suddenly, a yell sounds over the fight. A frightened sound of a young voice. Everyone freezes to take a look at what is happening. Pug has grabbed Eustace by the neck and presses a dagger to his throat. The boy is petrified, terror written in his eyes.

» If you don’t want this laddie to call out like a li’l girl again… « Pug grins smoothly,

» Lay down your weapons at once! « For a moment, Eustace attempts to argue but closes his mouth again, thinking better of it. Lucy is the first to give in. She throws down her dagger with a huff. Immediately, a man rushes to tie her hands together in front of her.

» Get your hands off me! « Lucy exclaims and tries to shrug him off. Edmund glances at his cousin.

» Eustace! « He hisses and exchanges a look with the others. He is furious and it costs him every ounce of willpower to let go of his sword, following his sister’s example. Two men roughly pull his hands behind his back to tie them with rope. Tacks and Luna’s last opponent point their blades at them.

» What are you? « Caspian asks stoically, not lowering his sword. Pug smirks as if to say that they should have figured that out by now. Luna did and Caspian surely did too. With a dramatic sigh, Pug pushes Eustace forward, keeping the threatening blade at the boy’s throat. A thin, red line appears, and a few droplets trickle down to the collar of his shirt. Luna grips her sword tighter; knuckles turning white.

» We’re merchants, lad, « replies Pug and cocks his head to the side, seizing him with cold eyes,

» Well? How much do you care about your friend ‘ere? « Caspian tenses even more than before, hesitating. Then, he slowly lowers his sword. But he doesn’t just throw it to the ground, he holds it out for Tacks to take it. To an unpractised eye his posture doesn’t change, remaining proud and straight like a king. However, as Tacks takes the sword form him, his Crown Shield notes Caspian’s hands clasping to fists and unclasping in short intervals. Even though he is disarmed, none of the men move to bind Caspian as Luna still stands with her sword raised and Reepicheep next to her. But the men don’t pay much attention to the mouse. Now, Pug turns to the warrior. His eyes narrow and she holds her ground, not shifting under his piercing stare.

» Now, my wildflower, yield or this lad will suffer, « Pug threatens. Eustace looks at her with wide eyes, silently pleading for help. He must feel every movement of the dagger at his throat. It is not crooked, she notes, more S-shaped. Luna is conflicted, though. Of course, she doesn’t want Eustace to get harmed. But what will happen to the kings and queen? Her gaze meets Caspian’s and she silently ask him for permission to lay down her sword. He nods once, sending Pug a dark look,

» Stand down. « Slowly, Luna lowers her blade simultaneously with Reep. Tacks reaches for her sword, hesitantly, as the tip is still high enough to fatally injure him.

» What are you waiting for? « Pug bellows,

» Take the damn thing! « Tacks gulps and finally takes the weapon from her. As her fingers let go of the hilt, a feeling of forlornness washer over the warrior. Not that she is entirely helpless without a blade, but she never did give up her sword once… not until now.

After the weapons are taken away by Tacks, Luna’s opponent rushes to tie her hands. Pug releases Eustace from immediate danger and pushes him in the direction of one of his men. He is bound as well, so is Reepicheep. However, the Talking Mouse puts up a fight, biting every hand that comes too close and demanding an honourable duel. The man who tries to tie him up just laughs.

Meanwhile, Pug dares to get closer. So close that he can take Luna’s face in his hands, turning it left and right, looking her over. He smells strange, like incense mixed with sweat. A shiver runs down her back, but she grits her teeth and keeps her militarily straight posture. She could just kill him now, but it would be no use as his men have the rest of the friends at sword’s point.

» You’ll bring a high price, my dear, « Pug says with a smeary grin, one of his teeth is missing and was really replaced with a golden one. There, his words are prove enough now: These men are no mere “merchants”, they are slave traders.

» I’m very tempted to keep you for myself, « the man in front of her continues. Again, a shiver runs down her back, ice-cold. The Crown Shield has to turn her gaze away from this wicked man and meet Caspian’s. His eyes spray with rage which he must hold in for the moment. His jaw is clenched, as are his fists. He doesn’t seem to care about the bonds around his wrists that rub his skin raw.

» Keep your hands off her! « He spits at Pug. The slave trader’s chief lets go of Luna and turns to Caspian. He eyes him, the smirk staying on his lips.

» Or what, boy? « He taunts him. Caspian’s gaze is blazing, and Luna is very tempted to kick Pug or break his neck. She gets just one small step forward as Caspian does the same.

» Take those bonds off me and let’s handle this man to man! « He suggests but Pug laughs in his face. However, she did note the slight change in the older man’s stance. He isn’t so sure of himself anymore, for a moment, at least.

At the same time Caspian and Luna moved, Tacks did as well, and now holds her own sword to her throat. The warrior hates this and struggles to keep her composure – supress the bubbling anger and remain calm, at least outwardly.

» Alright, let’s take ‘em to the ship, « Pug exclaims, turning to his men,

» Be careful to not harm them, we want good money for this lot. « He casts the females a glance,

» Our guests need to look their best tomorrow. « Edmund and Caspian are pulled away first, then Eustace and the now bound Reepicheep – still nagging at the slave trader who carries him upside down by his feet.

» What is tomorrow? « Lucy speaks up, starting to move as one of the men pushes her forward. Pug rubs his hands, smirking again.

» The market, child, « he answers, his voice drips with mockery.

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