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hookedonapirate · 1 year

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Lady Cassidy's Lover

Summary: 1919 England, Emma Cassidy, wife of a baronet, finds herself trapped in a loveless marriage after the war leaves her husband, Neal, paralyzed from the waist down and unable to produce an heir.

Despite the obstacles, she sticks by her husband's side at Goldby Hall, his family's estate, but when she meets former army lieutenant and Neal's aloof gamekeeper, Killian Jones, she feels curiously drawn to his distant blue eyes and quiet demeanor.

At first, she seeks him out for reprieve from her soulless, mundane existence at Goldby Hall, but what starts out as purely physical quickly turns into more than either of them expects.

But Emma is a baronetess, wife of an aristocrat and Killian is a working class servant. Their love affair is frowned upon, and she risks losing her title, her wealth and her position in the world by being with him. But she is determined to get her happy ending with the man she loves. Even if it means losing everything else in the process.

A/N: Thank you @ultraluckycatnd and for looking this over and for being amazing!

Hope you all enjoy!

Catch up: Ch 1 I Ch 2 I Ch 3 I Ch 4 I Ch 5 I Ch 6 I Ch 7 I Ch 8 I Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I Epilogue

Also on: AO3

Chapter Six

The next day, Emma doesn’t go to Killian’s cottage, nor the forest. She doesn’t go the next day either. Even though she can imagine—almost feel—him waiting for her. She thinks going to him in the first place had been a mistake. It’s not as if she didn’t enjoy her time with him, she very much did, but that’s the problem.

She’s becoming addicted. She thinks about him all the time, when Neal’s blabbing about the mines or other things, her mind drifts off to Killian and his damn ocean blue eyes. She hasn’t been able to think about anything else. The way he touched her and made her come with his tongue, the way he demanded she look at him while he finger fucked her, it set her skin ablaze.

And now she’s afraid if she keeps going to the forest to open her thighs to him, she’ll get too attached. She can already feel a part of her slipping away.

On the fourth day, she is restless and antsy, so she goes out for a walk. She refuses to go to the forest or to see the gamekeeper, so she heads in the opposite direction.

It’s a quiet spring day, almost warm, as she goes to Arendelle through a little iron gate on the other side of the park fence, absorbed in her thoughts. She wants to turn around and head back to the hut to see the chicks and the hens but she knows Killian might be there, waiting for her.

Waiting and wanting.

And the thought scares her. Because she very much wants him too. But she can’t want him. She can’t give in. She refuses to.

Emma goes to Arendelle Farm where she’s greeted by Mrs. Bjorgman who’s holding her one year old daughter, Arya, and donning a bright smile. The pastures of Arendelle Farm run up to Goldby park fence, so they are neighbors, and Mr. Bjorgman leases the farm from Goldby Estate.

“Why, it’s Lady Cassidy!” Anna looks at her daughter. “Arya, who’s this? It’s Lady Cassidy! You know Lady Cassidy, don’t you?”

Emma waves at the little girl. “Why hello, Arya.”

Anna makes some lemonade, and the three of them go outside to the table.

Emma sings as she bounces Arya on her lap. “This is the way the farmer rides, Joggety, joggety, jog.” The adorable baby girl has her father's golden blonde hair poking out from under the bonnet and her mother's turquoise green eyes. “Joggety, joggety, jog.” Emma looks up at Anna, smiling. “She’s perfect.” If she’s being honest with herself, holding the small baby girl makes her want one of her own, and she feels a bit jealous of Anna and Kristoff. But of course she can’t have children, unless it’s with a man other than her husband.

“Don’t let her fool you. That one’s given us a lot of sleepless nights.”

“Bet it’s all worth it.”

“Well, we’re very happy to have you, aren’t we, Arya?” Anna leans forward, stroking her daughter’s cheek, speaking in a soft voice. “Aren’t we?”

“Neal and I talked about having a child one day.”

Anna looks up at her, surprised. “Have you?”

Emma nods. “I mean, just because he’s lost the use of his legs, doesn’t mean we can’t have children.”

The woman’s face lights up. “That’s wonderful, isn’t it? Arya would love a new playmate.”

“Would you?” Emma whispers to the baby.

“Being a mother, I recommend it by all means. I lied to you. She really is perfect,” Anna says proudly.

Emma can tell she enjoys motherhood.

When she looks up from Arya, she sees someone approaching from the path, and her heart skitters.

It’s Killian.

Her cheeks heat, butterflies swarming in her stomach. But at the same time, panic ripples through her for several reasons. For one, would Anna sense something is going on between Lady Cassidy and her husband’s gamekeeper? How would she react if she knew? Would Anna hate her? Two, Emma had been trying to avoid him and now he’s standing there all tall and handsome with those dreamy blue eyes and charming smile. He appears to be happy to see her but it could just be him being friendly toward Anna.

“What’s the gamekeeper doing here?” Emma asks her.

“He comes each day for fresh milk.” Anna rises from her chair. “Good day to you, Mr. Jones.”

“Mrs. Bjorgman.” He nods at Emma. “Lady Cassidy.”

Anna takes the milk bottle from him and looks at Emma. “Would you mind keeping an eye on her?”

“Not at all.” Emma gulps as Anna heads inside the house.

Killian waves at the baby. “Arya, hello.” He steps closer and points at the toy she’s playing with, speaking in a child-like voice. “Whatcha got there, tinker?” He straightens and joins his hands together in front of him as he looks up at Emma, speaking in his normal voice. “Said you’d come to the cottage.”

“I said I’d try.”

“Will you come later?” He reaches his hand out and caresses her cheek, but Emma pulls away from him and looks away, afraid Anna or someone else might see. She’s also afraid if she sees the look of disappointment on his face, she’ll give in.

When the door opens, Killian falls into his previous stance with his hands joined in front as Anna comes out and hands him the bottle of milk. “Here you are.”

“Thank you.”

“I should go.” Emma quickly stands and transfers Arya back to her mother’s arms.

“Oh, all right.”

Emma kisses Arya’s cheek and waves at her. “Good-bye, Arya.”

“Shall I walk you home?” Killian offers.

Emma’s a bit surprised he would ask her that in front of Anna, though Anna wouldn’t suspect anything. She’ll just think Killian is being a gentleman. “No. No, not necessary.” She looks at Anna. “Um…lovely to see you, Mrs. Bjorgman.” Emma spins around and walks away as quickly as she can without being obvious that she’s actually running away.

Running away from what, she’s not exactly sure. From Killian and the way he makes her feel, perhaps. The way he makes her heart race, the way he makes her feel good, his touch waking every part of her body. The way she gets these pesky butterflies in her stomach when she sees him.

“Do come again!” Anna calls behind her.

“I will!” Emma makes her way to the forest, her head hung low, her heart pounding. Will Killian come after her? Will he ask her to come to his cottage again? More importantly, will she give in to that charming smile and smoldering blue eyes?

She finds herself slowing down eventually, walking more casually.

“Emma!”

Sure enough, she can hear him calling for her from not too far behind her.

A small smile tugs at her lips. She knew he’d chase her.

“Are you avoiding me?!”

“What do you mean?!” she calls behind her. As if she has no idea what he’s talking about. She finally stops and turns slightly to see him heading toward her.

“Well, you didn’t come to the cottage.” He points a thumb over his shoulder. “And the way you pulled back from me just then…”

“Mrs. Bjorgman could have seen. Are you crazy?!”

He removes his hat as he closes the distance between them.

For some reason, her heart always skips and her breath hitches when he removes that damn hat, revealing that thick, gorgeous hair she loves running her fingers through.

“Come to the cottage, then.”

“No.”

He finally reaches her and comes so close, his lips are hovering over hers. He raises a brow as if he doesn’t believe her. Probably because there’s a tiny smile tugging at her mouth.

“By the time we get there, it’ll be too late.” She went for a walk at six, and she has to be back at seven for supper. Her heart hammers as she closes her eyes, remembering what his mouth tastes like, remembering his scent, goosebumps covering her skin. She wants to give in but she knows if she does, she won’t be able to stay away.

He eyes her lips and she looks at his, her willingness to fight him quickly fading away. It’s much easier when he’s not standing in front of her, staring at her like he wants to devour her. He moves in until his forehead is touching hers and they both lean in for a kiss but stop just as their lips touch, breaths mingling, afraid someone will see them here in the clearing. He turns his head and looks over her shoulder.

“Come through here.” He starts to walk away but looks back at her, desire and hunger pooled in those irresistible blue eyes, and she can feel her own will leaving her. Not having the heart to fight anymore, she’s giving in. She’s giving up.

He takes her hand and leads her to a small clearing surrounded by fir-trees. Releasing her hand, he stops and takes off his coat.

Emma raises a brow in bemusement, looking around. “Here?”

“Aye, milady.” He spreads out his jacket on the forest floor. “Right here.”

Her skin heats up.

She likes how commanding and confident he is as opposed to his usual quiet self who takes orders from her husband. Then she remembers he was an army lieutenant, and she can definitely see that side of him. In fact she hates that even now he addresses her properly. She doesn’t want him to be proper with her. She’s tired of all that sort of nonsense she deals with daily as the wife of a baronet. “Don’t call me that.”

Fire burns in his eyes as he stalks his way toward her like an animal stalking its prey. “You don’t want to be a lady?”

She shakes her head. “Not with you.”

“You want coarser treatment with me?”

“Mmhmm.”

He steps up to her, and thinking he’s going to kiss her, she leans in, but instead, he grabs her chignon, pulling her head back roughly, making her gasp. But not too rough. Not enough to hurt her. He kisses her neck, his sharp stubble dragging deliciously across her skin and she grows wet, feeling those warm lips and tongue on her, remembering how they felt between her thighs. She shudders at the memory.

He wraps his fingers gently around her neck, capturing her lips with his, other hand still holding a tight grip on her hair.

Yep, she’s definitely a goner.

Completely his for the taking.

The kiss is desperate and insistent at first but quickly becomes slower and tender, his tongue massaging hers, groans tearing from his throat.

Removing his hand from around her neck, he tugs at the silk belt around her dress. “Take this off.”

Emma quickly complies, untying it and tossing it to the ground.

She thinks he’ll ask her to take off the rest of her clothes, but he rips off the top of her dress instead, along with her thin sweater, revealing her bare breasts. Her mouth falls open in shock, her breath hitching. She hadn’t expected that, but she’s not complaining. He cups her breast in his hand, squeezing firmly, her nipples hardening against his palm. His other hand is still around her hair as she crushes his lips with hers, cupping the back of his neck.

“Undo my trousers,” he whispers against her lips and finally releases his hold on her.

Physically at least.

She does what she’s told and slips her hand inside his trousers to find his cock. Her breath catches when she feels how hard he is for her. Stroking her hand up and down his length, she grows even wetter at the thought of having him inside her again. She wants him to fuck her into oblivion.

Killian groans, his breaths quickening. “Fucking hell…” He nods toward the ground. “Lie down.”

“Hmm?”

“Lie down.”

She goes over and lies down flat on his coat.

“No…no, don’t turn away. Look at me.”

Emma props herself up on her elbows and watches as he pulls off his shirt, revealing a thin dusting of hair sprinkled on his chest. “I want you to fuck me.” Her voice is firm. Unwavering.

“You want me to fuck you?” He removes his trousers, freeing his thick, aching cock and reminding her how good he felt inside her.

Emma’s core throbs, and she needs him.

Desperately.

“Yes.”

Heat surges in his eyes as he stares at her hungrily and sinks to his knees, pulling her dress off the rest of the way and leaving on her stockings.

He fucks her there on the forest floor, both of them naked and moaning and panting.

And giving in.

Giving up.

She splays her hands on his back and pulls him closer, their bodies pressed together as he thrusts inside of her.

He captures her lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue sliding between her lips and delving into her mouth as she rocks her hips back and forth, meeting his thrusts, his tongue dancing with hers.

"Don't stop," she begs him breathlessly. "Fuck me harder."

He picks up speed, pounding into her fast and rough as requested.

Her body trembles and she can barely catch her breath. “Fuck!”

Knowing she’s close to the edge, he rises to his knees, taking her with him so she’s straddling his lap, and she brings her arms around the back of his neck. He takes her waist in his hands and dips his head forward, kissing her breasts and drawing her nipples into his warm, heavenly mouth. Emma tips her head back, moans erupting from her mouth as she rides him good and hard.

This man continues to surprise her.

When she first met him, Emma never thought she’d be naked in a forest with him, having sex.

He lifts his head and kisses her mouth again as he drives into her. “Come around my cock, Emma,” he whispers huskily in her ear, making her skin tingle.

Her body is on fire, and she can feel the heat building inside her. During their time apart, she had dreamed about this feeling. About Killian bringing her to orgasm after blissful orgasm with only his fingers or his tongue or his cock. She thinks he’s showing off with how easy he makes it seem. “Killian!”

He growls, holding her flush against him, his hand cupping the back of her neck as they both chase their orgasms, moaning and panting hard. “That’s it, Emma. Come with me. Come all over my cock.”

Unable to hold back any longer, her entire body shudders as currents of sensation swirl through her. She cries out, her walls fluttering around his cock as he explodes at the same time and empties his seed inside her.

Killian kisses her on the mouth as they try to catch their breaths. He's still on his knees, still holding her securely against him as he takes her bottom lip between his teeth, gently pulling. Emma's heart is pounding, a small smirk pulling at her lips, her head spinning. She's definitely not going to be able to stay away from him now. She is hooked.

They kiss slowly, lazily for a few moments, trying to reassemble themselves. Finally they both collapse on the ground, and Killian sprinkles kisses up her neck and along the side of her face, his breaths still shallow on her skin. She lays there inert, staring up at the boughs of the trees, unable to move, her limbs, molten, feeling boneless.

“We came off together that time,” he murmurs against the corner of her lips.

"Mmmhmmm," she hums in agreement, still basking in the warm aftermath of bliss.

“It’s good when it’s like that. Most folks live their lives without knowing that feeling,” he says, speaking rather dreamily.

She looks over at him, lifting a brow. “Really?”

He plants a kiss on her forehead. “Aye.” He lies beside her and she turns on her side, resting her head on his chest, feeling it rise and fall underneath her.

“Have you come off like that with other women?”

“No, not even when I was with Milah.” He takes her hand, pressing soft kisses to the back of her fingers. “We were married for six years…still married.”

Emma runs her fingers through his soft chest hair. "What happened with her?"

She can feel him tense underneath her. “I went off to war and she carried on with different men. Now she refuses to divorce me and harasses me for my war pension." He drops a kiss to the top of her head. “What about you and Neal?”

Emma shakes her head. “We’ve never had sex,” she confesses, her cheeks warming with embarrassment.

He eyes her in shock. “Never?”

“We never got the chance. On our honeymoon, he was worried about going back to war, so we put it off. Then he came back paralyzed.”

“I’m sorry, love.” He wraps his arms around her, holding her close. “It must be hard…to be married to someone and unable to be intimate like that with them.”

“It was at first,” she says simply, not wanting to talk about this for much longer. “But there are other ways to be intimate with someone.” She doesn’t wish to discuss Neal any longer and everything that went wrong with their marriage. “Speaking of Neal, I should get back home. He’ll wonder where I am.”

They both force themselves to get up, and he pulls on his trousers and helps Emma with her clothes. Once they’re dressed, Killian grabs his jacket from the ground and brushes it off before draping it over his arm. He does the same with his hat before putting it on, and Emma carries her sweater as they make their way through the forest, his free arm wrapped around her shoulders.

They’re mostly silent until they reach the tree by the park gate. “You know what you have?” she says.

He tucks his hand into his pocket and turns to look at her. “What’s that, love?”

“Tenderness.”

He chuckles in amusement, and she laughs with him. “I…I didn’t say you were gentle,” she clarifies. “I’ve had enough of gentlemen.”

“They’re a different breed,” he comments, the laughter dying in his throat.

“How do you mean?”

“Dead.” His expression becomes more serious, his face clouded over with grimness. “Dead.”

Emma tilts her head, her eyes urging him to explain.

“You’ve got to…cut those parts of you that feel off if you’re gonna send men into mines or…factories or…”—he peers down at the ground—“into battle.” He looks up at her again. “Either that or you live with what you’ve done.”

Emma steps closer to him, placing her hand on his chest. “You’re not like any man I’ve ever met before.”

“You’re not like any other woman.”

“How?” she asks curiously.

He leans in close, their lips almost touching. “You’re warm and kind…you are beautiful…inside and out.”

Her heart flutters as she captures his lips. “You know, I don’t think I realized how lonely I’ve been until now. Thank you.”

A pained expression comes over his face before he looks toward the direction of Goldby. “You better go.” He turns toward her again and sweetly kisses her lips, placing his hand on her back. “Goodnight, Emma,” he whispers.

“Goodnight, Killian.” She smiles at him before she has to pull away. She goes through the gate, finding it harder to walk away from him than the last time. But her smile never wanes as she thinks about their time together.

She walks home slowly, her knees weak as she realizes the depth of her feelings for Killian. Passion is nothing new to her, but this is something different entirely. Rather it’s yearning adoration, and it’s frightening but at the same time exhilarating. She feels like a much different person than she did before. She feels alive and vulnerable and helpless. So very helpless. It scares her because if she adores him too much, she will lose herself, become effaced. She fears her adoration for him, yet she will no longer fight against it.

Emma goes in through the side door and tries to sneak upstairs to take a bath before supper but she runs into Johanna before she reaches the stairs.

“Did Sir Neal wonder where I was?” Emma asks, trying to seem nonchalant.

“He did but I saw you go across the park to the iron gate, my Lady.”

“I walked over to Arendelle and had lemonade with Mrs. Bjorgman,” she explains. “Kristoff had gone to the market, so Anna and I and the baby had lemonade together. Arya is so adorable, such a doll,” Emma gushes, trying to calm the nerves in her stomach.

“It’s good for you to go out and see a bit of company sometimes. I was telling Sir Neal, it will do her ladyship a world of good if she’d go out among people more.”

“You’re right, Johanna, it’s made me feel much better, thank you.” With that, Emma heads for the stairs.

“Oh, milady...”

Emma stops and spins around. “Yes?”

Johanna steps toward her and pulls something out of Emma’s hair, holding it up in front of her.

It’s a small leaf.

Emma is filled with dread, but she tries not to let it show. “Thank you. It was rather windy on the walk back here,” she lies. The leaf most certainly got in her hair while she was being fucked in the forest by Killian.

“No worries.” Johanna throws her a wink.

Emma’s heart flutters with panic for a second. Does Johanna know she’s having an affair? If she does, Johanna doesn’t seem the type to gossip. Besides, there is nothing on the kind woman’s face that makes Emma think she has anything to worry about. Emma flashes her a smile and turns around again, scurrying off upstairs to her room and taking a bath. Then she cuts out some primrose silk from one of her old dresses so she can use it to sew a dress for Arya.

But after dinner, Neal does not let her go and instead wants to read a book to her as he usually likes to do in the evening.

So she sews a little silk frock while he reads.

“What are you making?” he asks when he’s finished, irritation evident on his face and in his tone. He doesn’t like that she was focused on other things rather than listening to him read.

“I’m making a child’s dress for Mrs. Bjorgman’s baby.”

Mrs. Bolton comes in with two glasses of malted milk for Neal, to make him sleep, and for Emma, to fatten her again. It’s a regular night-cap she had introduced.

Emma is glad to escape after she finishes her drink and thankful she needn’t help Neal to bed. She takes his glass and sets it on the tray before picking it up to leave outside the room. “Good night, Neal.” She heads out the door, and for the first time since they came to Goldby, she goes upstairs without kissing him goodnight. It makes him angry, but she doesn't care. Killian is the only one she wishes to kiss from now on. And she slips into bed with a smile on her face, looking forward to the next time she gets to see him.

My dear sister,

I’ve thought a lot about what you said at the wedding. That I never open my heart. That may have been true before the war, but I don’t think it is any longer. Lately, I’ve felt my heart opening up again. Despite all warnings. And I can assure you, nothing about it has been easy.

I hope you and David are doing well. I would love to visit soon.

Emma

#cs ff #captain swan #lady cassidy's lover

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whats-in-a-sentence · 1 year

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We heard of the horns in the hills ringing,

the swords shining in the South-kingdom.

Steeds went striding to the Stoningland

as wind in the morning. War was kindled.

There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty,

to his golden halls and green pastures

in the Northern fields never returning,

high lord of the host. Harding and Guthláf,

Dúnhere and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold,

Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred,

fought and fell there in a far country:

in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie

with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor.

Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea,

nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales

ever, to Arnach, to his own country

returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen,

Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters,

meres of Morthond under mountain-shadows.

Death in the morning and at day's ending

lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep

under grass in Gondor by the Great River.

Grey now as tears, gleaming silver,

red then it rolled, roaring water:

foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset;

as beacons mountains burned at evening;

red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.

"The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King" - J.R.R. Tolkien

#book quotes #lotr #lord of the rings #trotk #the return of the king #jrr tolkien #mounds of mundburg #singing #song #battle #war #battle of the pelennor fields #gondor #riders of rohan #rohirrim

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alphareleasemedia · 8 months

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Daily Drabbles for 9/13/23 - 9/18/23

9/13/23 Jimmy leaned against the fence and looked out over the pasture. The long grass was still a vibrant green, but the leaves of the trees and bushes were beginning to slip into color. Golden yellows and rusty reds. The forest setting itself ablaze as the world turned colder. The warmth of the sun's rays pulling out of reach as the earth pulled away from the sun. Turning towards the long night. But there was still plenty of time before winter. Jimmy didn't worry about that. He leaned against the fence and enjoyed the view of the sunset over the pasture.

9/14/23 She introduced herself as Mrs. Philips. Or rather reintroduced. He knew her the moment their eyes met and could tell that she knew him too. Even after all these years. He would recognize her anywhere. Though it was difficult for him to reconcile the woman before him with the girl he had once known. The haughty girl had somehow become the humble widow of a sailor. How, he couldn't imagine. She treated him like a stranger, but not out of cruelty. No, it was a kindness. A chance for them to start over. A second chance he would gladly take.

9/15/23 Scotty tapped the plate with his bat as he stepped up to it. Over at the pitcher's mound Jared was doing wild poses as he wound up to pitch. Scotty shifted into a hitting stance as Jared continued to mess around. Scotty swirled the bat around as he waited for Jared to get serious. Jared wasn't paying attention to Scotty; he was clearly having too much fun just pretending to throw the ball and then not. Scotty finally got fed up with Jared and raised his bat as if he was going to throw it. Jared spooked and fell over.

9/16/23 Hilla's eyes slipped out of focus as she stared at the sudoku puzzle on her computer screen. It wasn't meant to be a difficult challenge, but Hilla was struggling with it nonetheless. She was having a hard time keeping track of where all the numbers could go. There were just too many options. Frampton wandered over and stared at the puzzle over Hilla's shoulder. He stood silently for a moment before he leaned forward and started filling in the puzzle effortlessly. Hilla sputtered in disbelief as he quickly finished it. Then, still completely silent, Frampton straightened up and walked away.

9/17/23 Steffan quietly trimmed the hedges and minded his own business. Across the lawn in front of the neighbor's house the McNeillys were having a huge blowout in the driveway. They had been yelling at each other for the better part of the morning and were showing no signs of slowing down. Not that Steffan was paying attention to them. He was just trying to get some light yardwork in before the day got too hot. Things were certainly heating up between Mr. and Mrs. McNeilly. Steffan accidentally cut a chunk out of the hedge as he leaned closer to watch.

9/18/23 Asta's nose crinkled as she smiled at Moon Pie. The little kitten had found a crumpled up old receipt somewhere as was currently having the time of her nine lives playing with it. Asta leaned over the back of the couch and watched as Moon Pie batted the ball of paper up and down the hardwood floors of the hallway. She'd send her makeshift toy sliding down to one end of the hall and then go bounding after it only to send it back the other way. She'd been at it for several minutes now. Asta couldn't help but laugh.

#daily drabble project #ddrp2023

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mirielvairenen · 1 year

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It's Battle of the Pelennor Fields Day, and I'm just Shook by the Rohirric poem describing the battle (it's a long one, so strap in):

We heard of the horns in the hills ringing, the swords shining in the South-kingdom. Steeds went striding to the Stoningland as wind in the morning. War was kindled. There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty, to his golden halls and green pastures in the Northern fields never returning, high lord of the host. Harding and Guthláf, Dúnhere and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold, Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred, fought and fell there in a far country: in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor. Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea, nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales ever, to Arnach, to his own country returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen, Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters, meres of Morthond under mountain-shadows. Death in the morning and at day's ending lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep under grass in Gondor by the Great River. Grey now as tears, gleaming silver, red then it rolled, roaring water: foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset; as beacons mountains burned at evening; red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.

If you've read any early medieval battle laments, especially Anglo-Saxon or Welsh, you know this poetry. The alliteration alone is incredible! And you name the lords who died, with a short description of their life or home or death, and you weep for all the slain. When I first read LOTR, I skipped these poems because I just wanted the story, but now! Tolkien didn't have to go this hard, but he did!

#lotr #march 15th #i want to read this to a scadian bardic circle #even though we're trying to get away from him #because he's in our roots #I just want to read this aloud to people #it's so good #jolkien rolkien rolkien tolkien

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arofili · 3 years

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@tolkiengenweek day six || environment || mansions of the valar

TANIQUETIL :: “high white mountain”; the highest peak in Arda and seat of Manwë’s rule ELENARDA :: “stellar kingdom”; the atmosphere where Varda hung the stars AULËTAMIN :: “forges of Aulë”; the halls of Aulë and his smiths YAVANNESSELË :: “pastures of Yavanna”; golden fields tended by Yavanna MANDOS :: “castle of custody”; the domain of Námo and the resting-place of disembodied fëar VANWEMMAR :: “images of the past”; the halls of Vairë where her tapestries hang LÓRIEN :: “land of dreams”; the gardens of healing tended by Irmo LÓRELLIN :: “pool of dreams”; the lake of slumber where Estë rests FUIMAR :: “home of night”; the halls of Nienna that look outward from the walls of the world ULMONAN :: “vale of Ulmo”; the chasms of the sea where Ulmo dwells TAUREMAR :: “house of forests”; the woods of Oromë where his hunters roam TARWALAURËA :: “gardens of gold”; the gardens of Vána where spring is born TARMATAMBË :: “pillars of bronze”; the halls of Tulkas surrounded by green fields CÉVAPALIS :: “glades of renewal”; the green swards of Nessa where her maidens dance UTUMNO :: “deep-hidden hells”; the dark caverns of ice where Melkor schemes

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tolkienillustrations · 3 years

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We heard of the horns in the hills ringing, the swords shining in the South-kingdom, Steeds went striding to the Stoningland as wind in the morning. War was kindled. There Théoden fell, Thengling mighty, to his golden halls and green pastures in the Northern fields never returning, high lord of the host. Harding and Guthláf, Dúnhere and Déorwine, doughty Grimbold, Herefara and Herubrand, Horn and Fastred, fought and fell there in a far country: in the Mounds of Mundburg under mould they lie with their league-fellows, lords of Gondor. Neither Hirluin the Fair to the hills by the sea, nor Forlong the old to the flowering vales ever, to Arnach, to his own country returned in triumph; nor the tall bowmen, Derufin and Duilin, to their dark waters, meres of Morthond under mountain-shadows. Death in the morning and at day’s ending lords took and lowly. Long now they sleep under grass in Gondor by the Great River. Grey now as tears, gleaming silver, red then it rolled, roaring water: foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset; as beacons mountains burned at evening; red fell the dew in Rammas Echor.

Song of the Mounds of Mundburg

#LOTR #Tolkien #Battle of the Pelennor Fields #Theoden #Quotes #Rohirrim #RED FELL THE DEW IN RAMMAS ECHOR

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forever-rogue · 4 years

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In Name Only - Part 1

A/N: Ughhh, hi! I’m a whore for Oberyn Martell and cannot be stopped. This is gonna be a little series, only a few parts (at least for now), and I hope you enjoy. This was one of my many shower ideas that I couldn’t let go! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know! xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: slight language

IN NAME ONLY SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“I will not marry a man that does not love me,” you cursed the gods for making you a woman. You cursed your mother for being the way she was though it was not her fault that you were her only daughter among six sons. You cursed the laws of men that determined your position in life, “I will not be tied down to man who does not care about me, to a castle that will never be a home, and bear children I do not want.”

“You are an insolent, silly girl,” she hissed at you, and for a moment you feared that she might reached and strike you across the face. She had been prone to doing so when you were younger, but in her older years she had calmed down, softening with the birth of each child after you, each son, each brother you loathed for how easy their lives were, “you should have been married many moons ago.”

“I will not marry a man almost twice my age that openly keeps a lover and already has plenty of children,” a fiery rage set through your bones, one that would probably be perfectly suited in the warm, desert homeland of the husband she insisted you take. In the Reach, your attitude was abhorred, and you were considered the lone deviant of your family, “I will not give up my freedoms because you deem it fit for me to do so.”

“You will marry him and bear him an heir,” she grabbed your hair and roughly yanked it and leaned in so only you could hear, “you are lucky any man will have you. You’re much too old to be unwed and your demeanor makes you almost unbearable.”

“I will not do it,” you gritted your teeth and tried to pull out of grasp, “I will not subject myself to a life of servitude-”

“When I was your age I’d already been long married to your father and had you and two of your brothers,” she reminded, pushing you away with a heavy sigh, “do you think I wanted to get married? I was no more than a child, and you at least are a woman grown. I could have married you off years ago, as I should have. You would have been out of my sight and perhaps tamed.”

“I refuse. I will not bend and break to your whim,” turning away you started to storm off, hoping that some fresh air would calm you down. Perhaps you could ride your horse through the open pastures and fields surrounding the castle.

“And just what do you plan on doing then? Will you wander through the kingdoms on your own, travelling without anything or anyone like a heathen?”

“Perhaps I will,” you shrugged, “it would be better than doing what you ask of me. If you loved me-”

“If you do not marry him, you will be cut off from this family,” her words were enough to cause you turn around and listen to her, “you will lose your name, your worldly possessions, and you will be penniless. Is that really what you desire?”

“All of this because I do not want to take a husband?”

“It is your duty. As it has been the duty of every woman before you.”

“Fuck duty!” your voiced reverberated around the castle’s stone walls as she stared you down, “I will not marry someone I do not love. Father would never make me do so.”

“And your father is dead,” she reminded you with venom lacing her tone, “and what do you even know about love? It is a fiction created to keep little girls happy.”

“I loved him,” your heart felt like it was being ripped out of your chest as you thought of him. Your mother scoffed and dramatically rolled her eyes at you, “I loved him and you sent him away to certain death because you are a monster.”

“That horrid boy? He was a bastard,” she reminded you of the cruel little thing that kept you apart. How you rued the term of bastard; it did not mean anything, it did not determine a person’s character or heart, “he was never good enough for you. And you defiled yourself for him.”

“Because I loved him!” you insisted, “and he loved me! We would have been happy together, we could have built a life together...”

“He was a peasant, he tended stables-”

“That does not matter to me,” you reminded her, “he was kind and gentle and warm. I would have loved to have a life of tending stables if meant I was with him. Because I loved him!”

“You were lost in your girlhood fantasies of what you think love is,” she was cruel, each of her words twisting like a knife in your gut, “he was the first boy to show you attention and you fell for his little trap, and it has left you ruined for other men. You are lucky that Oberyn Martell does not know and he will not care, the one benefit of having a Dornish heathen for a husband.”

“I did love him, mother,” you tried hard to fight off the flood of tears that were pricked the back of your eyes, “and just because you can’t handle that you sent him to the Wall where he will live out his days and die. I never even got to say goodbye.”

“He was a bastard, it did not matter.”

“He was a good man,” your voice broke slightly as you tried to square your shoulders and stare her down, “his only fault in life was loving me. It’s gotten him the most cruel of fates.”

“I have had enough of you,” she steeled herself and strode past you, regal and noble in appearance as ever, “in two weeks time you will travel to Dorne and you will marry Oberyn Martell. You will either oblige and do it, as is your duty or you be expelled from this castle and can live out your days among the bastards that you love so much. It is your choice, whether you bring shame to this family or you disappear into the background as a woman should and become a dutiful wife.”

“Those are both horrible, vile options.”

“That is duty of being born a woman.”

“I wish I was born a man then,” you turned on your heel to walk away, wishing you were stronger, wishing you weren’t on the verge of tears, “maybe then I would not subjected to such a cruel fate, and I wouldn’t let any woman in my care suffer the same.”

“Aren’t you just the martyr,” she mocked you with such a ferocity that you wanted to give her a good whack across her own smug face, “you think you know so much, you know nothing.”

“I know what it means to be a good person, or at least to try,” it was days like that you longed for your father. He had been a kindhearted, generous man, one who did not believe in the stereotypes that divided men and women. He was the reason you had remained unwed for many years, far past the age of anyone of noble blood. He encouraged your wildness, your open heart and free spirit. Your mother had always been the exact opposite. You always wondered how they seemingly got along so well, but you’d come to understand that it was no more than an illusion. The only love they shared was that of their children, and sometimes you wondered how deep that truly ran.

“Enough,” her tone held the cruel finality, the singular word was as sharp as a dagger as she stood in the doorway, the soft light filtering in behind her. She was a handsome woman, and if you hadn’t known better, she appeared almost angelic. But you knew better, much better; she was no more a saint than you were a sinner. You remained steadfast in your spot, trying to channel the ferocity that your father always embodied, “in two weeks time you will travel to Sunspear and you will marry the prince.”

“I would rather die.”

“If you choose your own grave so be it,” she slammed the door to her quarters shut, letting the sound ring through the hall. You had flinched at the noise, but now it only served to anger you. Your whole life, the little joys it still afforded you would be taken away soon, all because of a name. All because you were a woman.

They often called occasions such as these little deaths, but you had a feeling that it would be a lot more than a little pain to make yourself subservient to a husband you did not want.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The journey from the lush green lands of Honeyholt and surrounding lands into the dry, red deserts of Dorne had been...miserable. While you would have relished traveling and seeing the new lands under any other circumstance, you experienced no moments of tranquility or peace. The landscapes meshed into one and the only thing signaling that you were entered the land of the Dornish was the stifling heat. The Reach was temperate, never an extreme in either direction, but Sunspear provided its first test through the scorching heat of the golden sun.

It would take some getting used to but you could understand why the symbol of the house you would soon be joining was a blazing sun. It never seemed to fade, casting its golden light across every inch of the land. The people that you spied in villages and smaller cities as you approached Sunspear looked as if they didn’t mind; perhaps only a lifetime of heat would allow you to get used to it.

Their curious glances were always trained on you, and your small retinue that would depart as soon as you arrived safely. You were an outsider from a strange land that the Dornish were reluctant to trust; it wasn’t common fro one of Northern breeding to step this far south. Not that you had much of a choice in the matter; you hadn’t thrown a fit, or cried, or screamed, not wanting to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you so upset. Instead you had remained silent, speaking only a few words here and there as necessary, your true self hidden behind a thick veneer of steel. Maybe your true self would be hidden forever, dying a little bit day by day as you waited patiently for your death.

There would be no ceremony, no pomp, and most definitely no circumstance when you arrived to your new home and to meet the man who would shortly become your husband. You would be all but abandoned in the palace where you knew no one, trying to fend for yourself. It had been at your mother’s request and you knew exactly why she would treat you in such a manner; each of your brothers, all but the two youngest had been married off already, in a show of great festivities and celebration. You were all but kicked under the carpet, a smudge on the family name that she wished to forget.

Your mother harbored no love for the Dornish, whom she considered savages and uncultured; she must have been desperate to finally see you off if she agreed to a marriage proposal from the Martells. You wondered why they had even asked for you; there were plenty of other families in Dorne that could have produced a worthy daughter, or other Northern families that might have agreed. Perhaps they too realized that it would difficult to marry off a prince nearing middle age that housed a paramour and bragged about his bastard daughters. It did not phase you, or bother you in the slightest; you were pleased rather that they seemed to enjoy life to such a degree. But perhaps even the Martells were smart enough to know that they would need heirs, legitimate ones, to recognized by the Northern countries and carry on their name.

When you arrived at the palace in Sunspear, your jaw dropped slightly in surprise - it was a stunning beauty, a feat of architecture that you were loathe to find anywhere else in the seven kingdoms. It presented a sharp contrast to the home you had known your entire life; there was no bleak grays or beiges that met your eyes, instead colorful, brilliant shades of warm crimsons, oranges, tans, and bronzes met your eyes. it was warm and welcoming, despite the reason for your arrival. If this was to be your home for the remainder of your days, at least it was beautiful.

Your carriage came to a harsh stop and you almost slid off your seat at the sudden force. You groaned lightly as you straightened yourself, looking down at the green dress you were sporting and already wishing you had something cooler to wear. If you had been granted your way, you’d be dressed the same as the men that could spy all around the palace, sporting a pair of trousers and a loose tunic. Your father had never cared what you wore, but the day your mother found out that you had been running around like a boy, she had made you wear only the finest dresses. You’d still sneak off in trousers whenever presented with the opportunity, a small thrill running through your veins, knowing that you were directly defying your mother.

The small door was opened and you stepped out, letting your feet hit the warm the sand. You wiggled your feet about, trying to get a feel for it, bending over and picking up a handful of the small grains. It was a dark bronze color, different than the seasides of the Reach, and softer. You liked it, you immediately decided, it was much more comforting than stone and hard soil.

“Knock it off and put it back,” internally rolling your eyes at the septa you swore you were much too old to still have you, you let the sand trickle out of your hand and back onto the ground, “you’re acting like a child. You must behave and act like a proper woman.”

Sighing lightly, you remained wordless, not wanting to start an argument in the middle of your new home before you’d even made a proper entrance. The few items you’d brought from Honeyholt with you were quickly unloaded and brought into the palace. You hadn’t desired to bring much; you wanted a fresh start, a new one that you could call all your own, even if you weren’t here by choice. It felt like you could hang on to a little bit of autonomy that way.

Your most prized possession hung around your neck: a delicate golden chain that contained a small rose colored gem. It had been given to you by your father on your fourteenth nameday; he’d presented it to you with such joy and excitement, having it made just for you. He had claimed that the rose gem symbolized love and that you would always know how much he loved and adored you whenever you wore it. You hadn’t taken it off since his untimely demise; a small consolation for not having him around anymore.

You’d been so lost in your own thoughts, of your father, of your new life, that you hadn’t seen realized you’d stepped foot inside, until a pair of arms wrapped around you. Your body tensed in defense as you came back to reality and saw a young, dark haired girl grinning at you. She was beautiful, clearly of Dorne with her sunkissed skin and dark features, and animated smile. She was dressed in silks of gold and orange, much like the house she served. Appearing to be only a few years younger than yourself, she had a warm aura about her; it was the most kindness you’d experienced in some time.

“I’m Asha,” she had taken a step back when noticed your hesitation and held her hand out instead. You gave her the best smile you could as you gingerly shook her hand, still wanting to tread lightly as you gave her your name, “I’m your handmaiden. I’ll be helping you with whatever you need.”

“Handmaiden?” surely this must be a joke. Back in Honeyholt you’d had maids and servants, surely, but never one that served you in such a personal manner. Perhaps this was one of the perks of marrying a prince, even if he was one by name only, “I’m quite sure that I can handle myself...I’m sorry, forgive me, I do not mean to be rude. I’ve just never had someone...”

“It’s quite alright,” she insisted, taking your hand and pulling you further into the palace. You tried to get a good look at everything, but there was so much going on all at once that it was hard to keep track of everything, “I’ll be here for whatever you need and should you decide you do not need me at all, then I will remain as your friend, if it pleases you.”

“Friend?” that was the last thing you expected. It something you both had and hadn’t thought much about in the past few weeks. You’d had friends in Honeyholt, less and less the older you became, when they turned into mere acquaintances, tending to the families they were growing, but you’d resigned yourself to a life of solitude in Dorne. You weren’t sure what to expect here; you didn’t think the people would be so welcoming for the stranger that came to marry their favorite prince.

“Yes,” she gave you a dazzling grin, “like I said, if it pleases you. The prince wants to make sure you feel at home and that you’re comfortable.”

“He does?” you’d been there for such a short time, but already you’d experienced more twists and turns than you had expected.

“Of course,” she pulled you up a flight of marbled stairs and down a long hallway, stopping before a grand set of doors. They were beautiful, made of aged wood and intricately carved. You couldn’t stop yourself as you reached up and touched the carvings, letting your fingers glide over them, “ he’s traveled all over the seven kingdoms, the Summer Isles, Essos...so many different places. He understands better than anyone what it is like to be in a new, and often unwelcoming land. He wants you to know that this is your home too. The prince is very happy to have you here and finally meet you.”

“Huh,” you turned to her, searching her eyes for any signs of deception, but you found none. Her dark eyes were wide with excitement as she opened the door and revealed the beautiful interior of your personal quarters. It was a beautiful sight to behold, colorful furniture was strewn about, a large, soft bed with golden cloth over it, and open doors leading to a balcony that housed many plants. A soft breeze ruffled the curtains and rustled the leaves. This space, in the few moments you’d stared at it, felt more like a home than anything you had experienced.

“His quarters are on the opposite end of the hallway,” she explained and nudged her in the direction. Separate quarters, you thought to yourself, how strange, “he wanted to make sure you liked everything. If you’re unhappy with it or require anything else, just say the word and you will have it.”

“It’s beautiful,” you admitted, stepping into the space and taking a closer at everything, “Dorne is beautiful...I had not expected this much beauty in the desert lands. The way the Northern lords make it sound...it should be horrid and ugly. But it’s lovely.”

“There is so much in Dorne that they will never tell you about because they will not allow themselves to see the beauty in front of them. We know they see us as savages and heathens, we know what they say, but we are not as they claim. We are different, surely, but does not make us bad people simply because we do not share the same views and beliefs?” she asked as she started to drag in some of the small trunks containing your items. You shook your head with a small smile; no, surely it did not make them any less human. They were already a warmer people than any of the northerners you’d encountered.

Standing up and helping her, she looked at with you with a curious glance. You just carried on, not wanting to let her do all of the work; why should you?

“I can handle it, my lady,” she insisted, but you refused to back down. You repeated your name and insisted that she call you that, “even if you are to be the princess?”

“I take no joy or pride in hollow titles or unnecessary formalities,” you promised her, “you and I are not different are we? We’re both women, subject to the harsh reality of what that entails and the laws of the gods and men. I insist, please, that you call me by my given name. And I am more than capable of helping to unpack my own items. You musn’t do it all alone.

Asha gave you a big grin as she nodded, surprised by your genial approach. Those she had met from the lands north of Dorne would never dare to renounce a title so freely, or speak so candidly with her. But you did; Oberyn would like you, she thought to herself, “as you wish...I think you will like Dorne, it will suit you well. We do not believe that men hold any superior power over women, nor do we believe that women should be reduced to standing behind a man. Everyone is equal here, just as the gods willed it.”

“And yet here I am, to be married to a man I do not know and that does know me and give him an heir,” there was a slight tone of bitterness to your voice that you hadn’t quite intended. You sighed and shook your head in apology, knowing she had nothing to do with your fortune, “I’m sorry...I should not have lashed out at you.”

“It’s quite alright,” she insisted, “I know how it seems is harsh, but I assure you that not everything is as it seems. It must be shocking to come to a new home and be surrounded by only strangers, but I think you will be just fine; if nothing else you will provide a good wit to match Prince Doran.”

“Prince Doran?” you asked as she nodded, “and he is...”

“I dare they must have kept you quite in the dark about all of this,” you nodded as you allowed yourself to sit on the soft bed, testing it out and finding it just as soft as you liked, “Prince Doran is the ruler of Dorne, his oldest daughter Princess Arianne is his heir and Oberyn is his brother.”

“Oh,” you felt silly, and a bit dumb not being privy to any of this information before. It didn’t surprise you though; your mother did not care for the Martells and it was unlikely that she knew much of this information herself, “I apologize for not being as well versed in your land and people as I should be.”

“There is no need,” she laid out some of your dresses, placing them in the closet that stood against the wall, “one thing you will need to learn is that in Dorne we do not apologize. There is no reason to ever apologize for one’s true self, right? You were not to know this information, so how should you have known? You will learn in time. It is your home now and we are your people.”

“How is that I already feel so much warmer and lighter here than I have in years in my own home, the place I was birthed?” you let out a small laugh in spite of yourself and stood back up, spying some fine silks draped over the chair that was placed in front of the small writing desk, “what are these?”

“Silks,” Asha watched your face turn into a small smile as you touched the delicate fabrics and studied the colors, “they’re a gift from -”

“The prince,” you finished for her and she just nodded with a smile.

“He had a feeling that you wouldn’t be well prepared for the heat and wanted to provide you with something more suitable,” you lifted a few pieces up, holding them against your body. They were lovely, designed and crafted with care and expert stitching, “he asked about your coloring to make sure they’d suit you. And of course, some of the Martell gold and orange had to be included.”

“They are wonderful...absolutely beautiful,” a small sense of satisfaction worked its way into your bones as you realized that your mother would absolutely abhor the clothing, declaring crude and too revealing. But you loved the pieces, knowing they’d be perfect for the hot afternoons and warm evenings you’d come to expect, “this prince...he’s very kind.”

“He can...rough around the edges, but underneath the exterior he presents, he is a most kind and gentle man. His people love him and he loves them as well,” she answered, and you could easily sense the admiration she had for him. Maybe...just maybe, if this prince proved to be as fair and just as Asha made him out to be, things wouldn’t be a complete nightmare, “he wanted to be here to greet you, but unfortunately his duties have kept him away a bit longer than he intended. He will be back in time for your wedding.”

Wedding. Of course. You had somehow forgotten that little detail; this was just some sort of vacation or leisure trip. This was a whole new life you were walking into.

“Oh,” you tried to hide the nervous lilt of voice, but Asha picked up on it anyway. For someone so young, she was very attuned to your emotions. She stood next to you and slowly, as if testing the waters, put an arm around your shoulders. This time, you let her. You let her pull you into a hug and hold onto you tightly as you let your body relax into the comfort of her own. You were almost like clay, melting into her arms; it had been so long since you had experienced the touch of another. She smelled of fresh citrus and spices, a scent you already found comforting, “thank you, Asha. You have been more kind than I could have ever anticipated. It is not lost on me...I should be proud to consider you a friend.”

“And I you,” she insisted, you were quickly interrupted by a loud throat clear from the entrance to your new space. Your oldest brother, now the Lord of Honeyholt in your father’s absence, was standing there, an impatient look on his face. Asha pulled back and bowed her head in reverence, “my lord.”

“Come and make sure your goodbyes, sister,” he completely ignored Asha and turned his cold gaze to yours. Never having been close with any of your brothers, besides the youngest, you harbored no strong feelings for him. He was a fine man, a decent lord, but nothing compared to your father. The halls of Honeyholt were never the same since he sat at the head of the table, “we must leave soon to make it back before our visitors from the Crownlands come.”

“You just mean to leave me here,” it was not a question, but a cold statement of fact, “you do not intend to stay and watch me marry? It is only a short time away.”

“We do not have time,” he insisted already starting to walk away, “besides, what is there to celebrate? You’re married off far too late to...a Martell. Hardly calls for celebration.”

“Goodbye brother,” you called after him, not even bothering to follow and bid anyone else a farewell and a safe journey back, “if that is the way you feel, to leave your only sister thus, then so be it. I wish you, nor our brothers, nor mother any ill will, but I cannot say I will be amiss of any of you.”

“Watch your tongue,” he growled at you from the foot of the stairs, “you are lucky to be my sister or I would have you thrown out long ago. You taint our name and have no respect for decency. You’re just like father; weak and a fool. Always thinking without your brain.”

“So with my heart?” you spat at him, “how dare you take father’s name in vain! He’s more of a man, father, and lord than you will be ever be.”

“And look where that got him,” he reminded you of the harsh reality that your favorite person, the one that you had idolized growing up, was gone, “an early grave.”

“He was ill-”

“It does matter. I am lord now and you will obey me,” he shook his head, “you know, mother was smart to finally marry you off. At least you will be able to take the name of Martell and will stop bringing shame to ours. You are no sister of mine, you can join these...barbarians, become one of them,”

“If I see you again, it will be on your deathbed,” you insisted, feeling a tears of sheer anger roll down your cheeks, as your body trembled with frustration, “I guarantee it. You are no brother of mine.”

He glowered at you before turning around and storming off, his robes trailing behind him. You’d never shared a great appreciation or love for him, but this was a harsh blow nonetheless. Your family, the only one you’d ever know was so content to just cart you off. You wondered how long he had waited for this day - but it didn’t matter. Just like that you had no more home in Honeyholt. Sunspear, and Dorne, was your home now. Even if it was a life you did not desire, at least it would be your own.

“I’m sorry,” Asha appeared at your side, a concerned expression on her face at the heated exchanged. You choked back the few sobs that threatened to bubble up in your throat. You’d essentially just lost the little bit of family you had, “I did not expect such a response. Family means much to Dornishmen, sweet dove. You will never have to feel alone or unloved here.”

“Thank you,” you gave her a small smile, “I hope my family does not dishonor Prince Doran. I have not even meet the man who is to be my brother and already I bring chaos.”

“Prince Doran would never hold the actions of them against you,” she promised, “he shall be glad to meet you and welcome you into his family. As will we all. I can show you around the palace, if you so desire, and the water gardens. They’re most beautiful, especially during the peak of heat, such as this.”

“Will I meet Prince Doran today?” you were curious about meeting your new family, albeit the tiniest bit hopeful. It could be no worse than what you had just experienced.

“I’m afraid both princes will not return until tomorrow,” she explained, “however, they are preparing a feast in your honor for this evening. The Princess is here, and I am sure she will be delighted to meet you. She’s a brilliant combination of her father and uncle, and will surely revel in your company, she grows bored of monotony.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

Dinner had been an...interesting affair. You’d gotten to meet the princess, her mother, and many other members of the household and those who worked for and were dear to the Martells - to your family. It was a shocking contrast to the normally reserved and quiet meals that were had in the dreary dining hall of your former home.

The large tables in the garden were laden with delicious foods from all of Dorne, including the famed Dornish wine and everyone sat together, it did not matter their rank, station, or title. They were happy, kind, and jovial, welcoming you with open arms to Sunspear and their family. It was a warmth you had not known before, but not unwelcome. It was a sight to see everyone so happy, joking and laughing, teasing each other until late into the night; they had no reservations, no fears, no inhibitions. And you loved that about them immediately.

Your heart had almost stopped when the princess had presented you with a beautiful golden bracelet, containing the Martell sun entwined with the little dove of your own house. She had gently clasped it around your wrist, before kissing your cheeks gently. You would think of her, her generosity and warmth whenever you wore it.

But even the excitement and relief that the evening had provided was not enough to stave off the tears that found you late in the evening as you sat on the balcony connected to your quarters. You’d been studying the starry night sky, admiring how it glittered over the red dunes of the desert, when you were hit with a wave of sadness that you couldn’t ward of. A few hot, warm, salty tears dripped down your cheeks as you slowly repeated the names of the constellations you could see, stopping only when a small knock came at your door.

You dabbed at your eyes and turned around to see who the visitor was, but Arianne slowly let herself in. You gave her a small smile and she joined you on the balcony, without a word, but a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I am sorry that you must see me in such a state,” you apologized but she shook her head. She was about to open her mouth, but you stopped her with a small smile, already knowing what she was going to say, “do not apologize for being your true self.”

“Yes,” she agreed with a small laugh, rich and musical, “see you’re learning already - you’ll fit in perfectly.”

You remained silent for a moment and let out a long sigh.

“What plagues you so?” she asked gently, “besides the loss of your family?”

“Today has proven it is no real loss,” you admitted, “I am...I do not know if I can do this.”

“Marry my uncle?”

“Yes,” you said quietly, “I vowed to myself that I would never marry someone I did not love, and I know this sounds silly, but my father, before his death, always promised me that he would never send me off to do so unless I desired it. And now...”

“It is not easy.”

“No,” you sighed, a fresh wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, “I cannot bring myself to love someone just because I am required to, nor have a desire to be treated as a sow to be used for heirs. I do not know if I can do this, to myself or your uncle.”

“I realize this is very little consolation, but I do think I might know how you to help, if only a small bit,” she had your attention and you gave her a curious glance, “think of it as a marriage only in name.”

“Only in name?”

“Precisely,” she explained, “you will marry Oberyn, and that will the end of it. You do not owe him an heir and he would never expect one from you. He has eight daughters already, some nearing your age, and he loves them dearly. They keep him busy and if you do not desire children he would never force one on you. You do not have to love him, he knows you likely never will, but just respect him; for outside purposes you will be husband and wife, but behind closed doors, and to those here in Dorne, who not care about such things, it will not matter.”

“Oh?”

“Give it some time and you will find a lover, a man or a woman, or many lovers,” she explained, “love should not be contained so willfully, unless two people desire it. you are free to explore and take as lovers as you want. You give and take love.”

“Oberyn...has a lover,” why you suddenly felt shy, you did not know. Certainly it could not be jealousy? You did not know him nor care for him, and clearly did not love him, but something inside you panged slightly. How strange it would be to be married to a man with a different lover.

“He had a lover, a paramour by the name of Ellaria Sand,” she explained and you found yourself intrigued, “she’s a most kind, generous and lovely woman, and mother to four of his daughters. She is beautiful as she is kind and still comes around often, but she has left his bed sometime ago and has returned to her childhood home in Helholt.”

“Oh?” you wondered if it had anything to do with you, but you had your doubts. What power would you, a mere child compared to his longtime lover hold?

“It was amicable, I believe. They remain friends, and both love their daughters deeply. I think a strong bond and love remains between them, but nothing romantic,” she expanded, but it did not ease your nerves, “I’m sure you will meet her at some point, she comes around not infrequently, but you have nothing to worry about. She will love you, as we already do as well. She will understand what your position as Oberyn’s wife means.”

“Does he take other lovers still?”

“As far as I know,” she shrugged, not deeply concerned with her uncle’s affairs, “anything further than that you will have to discuss among yourselves.”

“I see,” you let out a long sigh and let your shoulders slump, finding little solace in her words. She was trying her best, but it did not chase away all your fears, “still I...”

“Remember,” she said softly, “name only. You will not have be with him, in his presence, any more than you desire. He will grant you many liberties and freedoms. The ways things work between a husband and wife are very different here in Dorne than in the North. You will not be confined to the palace or your husband, you will have your own voice here.”

“Such a strange concept,” you mused as she shrugged, “all my life I’ve been told that my only goal in life is to behave, marry a nobleman, and bear him children. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“Welcome to Dorne, sweet dove,” Arianne pressed a light kiss to the side of your head, before moving to leave your chambers, leaving you alone with your thoughts, “and welcome to House Martell.”

You watched her go without another word, envying her easy going personality and liveliness. She’s known this her whole life, and yet she was so happy; maybe there was something to this Dornish way of life. Maybe you could find some purchase here and make a happy little life for yourself. With or without your husband at your side.

You straightened up and stretched, raising your arms above your head as you looked at the moon, shining among the stars. Maybe...this did not have to be as bad as you had originally thought; maybe Dorne could be your own sanctuary. Your head was swimming with so many thoughts, and you were overwhelmed with a tiredness you had not known in ages. You walked back into your bedchamber, leaving the doors open to let in the warm evening breeze. It was quiet now, a quiet that you’d never really experience. Peaceful.

Oberyn watched you moved back inside from his spot in the courtyard of the palace. He and Doran had returned early, at his behest, but not early enough for a proper introduction. He been curious to meet his bride, the wild girl from the North that refused to be tamed. He had overheard you and Arianne, listening intently to your every word, clinging on to them to try and figure out how to best serve you. He wanted you to be happy, he hoped you would be, and if you wanted nothing to do with him, then he would respect that as well.

Whatever you desired, Oberyn Martell was going to make sure you had it.

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell #prince oberyn x reader #got #oberyn x reader #reader insert #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #i miss my prince #in name only series

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the-gay-prometheus · 3 years

Text

Frankenstein AU Segment - “Home Again”

Ok fun fact: I’ve been working on a segment for about two weeks now.

Second fun fact: This is not that segment, but instead something I wrote entirely spur of the moment in the timespan of about 1 hour total.

It’s extremely self indulgent, I’ll be honest. From writing an entire big useless paragraph of Henry horseback riding because I’ve been missing horseback riding and horse related things all day, to the entire actual context of this segment being... well... being what I wish I could have through my transition. If anybody wants to be my Henry and support me unconditionally as I go through my own transition that would be greatly appreciated jhebdjdfhbvjhdvbfv /hj

Anyways- So! This is something totally different than all of the other ones I’ve written so far, because it takes place quite a bit before Victor even goes to Ingolstadt - in fact, it takes place before he even chooses the name Victor! That means you’ll see a character named “Em” (who Henry recognizes as “Emily” at first) - and that character is young Victor!

TW: Mention of blood - absolutely harmless in context, but it is mentioned so it’s worth a tw. Otherwise this is a very generally wholesome segment (other than a small argument between Henry and his dad).

As always, likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are greatly appreciated!

“Henry! It’s nearly time for supper!”

“I’ll be right in, father!” From a leisurely walk through the green pastures of his home, Henry urged his red roan mare into one final canter across the field. In the golden light of the slowly setting sun, her mane, tail, and the feathering of her hooves flashed like threads of shimmering copper as Henry’s own vibrant auburn hair flew behind him whipping like fire in the breeze. His hazel eyes set their sights on the stables beyond, and he tapped his heels once more against the mare’s sides, pushing her into a swift gallop. Enthralled by the rush of the wind against his freckled skin, Henry let go of the reins and extended his arms outward. He felt the air pass through his fingers and he imagined instead that they were the feathers of great wings catching the current and soaring through the sky. Though it lasted only a moment, his heart pounded with joy within his chest, still so full of adrenaline even as they approached the gate that led out from the pasture and to the stable. He dropped his hands back to the reins, pulling back gently until his mount slowed her pace back to a walk. Both human and horse panted, the mare chewing idly on her bit as Henry hopped out of the saddle and pulled the reins over her head. He led her into the stable, humming a happy tune to himself with a skip in his step. Grabbing her halter from its hook, he took her into her stall, unbuckling and removing her bridle before replacing it with the halter and tying her to the rope that hung from the wall inside. She stood quietly, each breath sending up gentle plumes of dust that glittered in the light which filtered through the stall window.

After removing her saddle, he began brushing her patchy roaned coat. Ordinarily she was a steady, quiet mare, but Henry noticed that she kept twisting her ears toward the stall which was used for hay storage. Every now and then she would lift her head and flare her nostrils, turning toward the direction her ears were trained upon. “Do you hear something over there, girl?” Henry asked softly, watching her inquisitively. Nearly as soon as he said it, there was a soft thud from that same location, which caused him to jump and the mare to utter a low nicker. Henry pat her neck gently and cautiously stepped out of the stall, staring down the hall toward the source of the sound. “Hello?” There was a rustle within the hay, then another soft thud - followed by a quiet voice that Henry couldn’t make out what it was saying. Instinctively he grabbed a pitchfork that leaned up against the wall, pointing it toward the stall defensively. “Who’s there?” Then came a cough, more rustling of hay, and then - a small, thin figure with short, messy hair stumbled out into the hallway, promptly tripping over their own feet and falling to the ground. Henry gave the person an odd look and turned the pitchfork upright, resting on it like a walking stick. “Can I… help you?” he asked curiously, confused as to why some stranger was hiding in the hay. The stranger struggled to push themself up, and in the dim light Henry’s eyes widened as he beheld the stranger was covered in dirt and… blood? As they lifted their face, Henry suddenly dropped the pitchfork to the ground in shock. “Emily?! Is that- is it really you?” he breathed, rushing to the figure and kneeling down. Surely enough, the stranger smiled up at him with kind brown eyes.

“Oh hi, Henry,” they managed to croak - before promptly collapsing unconscious.

When Em’s eyes fluttered back open, the first thing he saw was Henry standing over him, a look of worry on his face as he gently rubbed at his dirty skin with a damp towel. He gave the ginger haired boy an odd look. “Uh… Henry?”

“Good lord thank goodness you’re awake!” Henry exclaimed. Em blinked at him.

“What… what are you doing?”

“Hold still - I’m trying to figure out where all this blood came from!” Em couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

“Henry. Henry-” He reached out and gently grabbed his arm. “It’s not my blood.” Henry stared, then gave him a curious look, and slowly set the cloth down.

“Oh thank goodness,” he breathed with relief. There was a pause, then his curious expression returned to one of concern. “Whose blood is it?”

“Cadaver,” Em replied simply, turning away and coughing into his shoulder. “It’s a long story.” Henry stared a moment longer, then smiled.

“Well I can’t wait to hear it.” Em smiled in return, but his smile quickly faded when a muffled voice called from somewhere outside. Henry glanced up. “I’ll- I’ll be right back. Father wants me in for supper.” Em nodded. “Don’t go anywhere!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Clerval.”

Henry sat anxiously at the table, fidgeting with the silverware and wishing he could be back in the stable with Emily. Secretly stuffed into his pocket were a few pieces of bread he intended to smuggle to his dear friend, while the food on his own plate went relatively untouched. His father sat at the head of the table, his mother directly across from him, and as usual there was awkward silence between them. “So. Henry,” his father began, breaking the silence. Henry sank in his chair, wishing he wasn’t being spoken to at the moment. “Have you decided?” Henry glanced up to him.

“Decided? Decided on what?”

“Is that not what you were doing out there? You said that you would be able to think of which trade you want to pursue better while on horseback.” Henry sheepishly looked away.

“Oh. Right. I… yes. I was thinking about it,” he answered at a length. “Definitely was thinking about that.”

“And?” He could feel his father’s gaze on him, and he shrunk down further in his chair.

“And… I still haven’t figured it out yet?” His father sighed heavily, his fork clattering onto his plate as he pressed his head into his palms.

“Henry, you’re a young man now. You need to start taking your future seriously!” he exclaimed, exasperated.

“I’ve got time! Besides, I have an idea of what I want to do but-”

“Please don’t say ‘travel the world and write stories,’” His father cut him off, mentioning his goals mockingly. Henry frowned.

“That is exactly what I want to do. Yes.”

“Traveling and story writing don’t pay, Henry!”

“Yes they do!”

“Not enough they don’t! We have talked about this before Henry - either you take up the family business or you take up a different trade. There is no other option!”

“I have plenty of options! Just let me go to university!”

“Absolutely not, Henry.” Henry groaned, putting his forehead on the table.

“Why can’t you just let me do what I know I’m meant to do?” he grumbled.

“Because this family has a reputation to keep, and you are the only one to keep it!” his father exclaimed. Henry glanced up at his mother, but she simply stayed silent. He groaned louder and looked back at his father.

“Permission to be excused?” he muttered.

“Yes but-”

“Perfect. Thank you. I’ll be back later.” With that, Henry stood and hurried out of the dining room, leaving his father to shout something after him - though his mind was too preoccupied to hear what it was he said.

“Emily?” Henry called out in a quiet whisper as he reentered the stable, lit lamp in hand. He glanced around, waiting for a response, then called out again. “Emily?!” When no response came, he ran to the hay stall to find his friend still lying on the hay, still as stone with his eyes closed. Henry stared at him a moment longer. “...Emily?” Still no response. In the dark, he couldn’t see the rise and fall of his chest, and he grew frightened. He reached out, grabbing his arm and shaking it. “Emily!”

“Good god Clerval!” Em suddenly exclaimed with a gasp, jumping awake. Henry let out a sigh of relief as he nearly fell back.

“Oh thank goodness you’re ok.”

“Of course I’m ok, Henry! I just spent months walking here from Paris on foot, I’m exhausted,” Em explained. Henry’s eyes widened.

“You got all the way to Paris?” Em thought for a moment, then smiled.

“I did.”

“What was it like?!” Henry exclaimed, his expression brightening. For a moment, Em was lost for words. He had forgotten how much he missed Henry, how much he missed the way his hazel eyes would light up and sparkle at the mention of anything that peaked his interest, how strands of his ginger hair would fall in wavy tangles over his freckled cheeks… he blinked the thoughts away, then grinned.

“It was horrible, disgusting, and absolutely wonderful. I hated it and loved it all at the same time.” Henry chuckled.

“Sounds like Paris to me.” He slowly sat down, turning and resting his back against the hay bales Em lay upon. “So what brought you back? Did things… not work out there?” Em shrugged.

“Things were ok for the most part. It was a rough life, but it was a lot of fun. I made friends, learned a lot about… well about a lot of things, I suppose. Never had a true home, but I felt home enough out there on the streets with the friends I had.” Henry felt a sudden pain in his chest at the sound of that, and he glanced down at the floor. “We got into some trouble though. ...More like I got into some trouble and unfortunately somebody else got partially blamed for it. And then, I guess, I realized I needed to come home.” He looked down at Henry. “Or at least to as much as a home as I’ve got.” Henry turned his gaze up to him and smiled slightly.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here safe now.” Em nodded.

“Me too.” There was silence between them, Em tapping his fingers idly on the hay beneath him as he thought about his next words carefully. “But that’s… not the only reason I came back.” Henry turned his eyes back ahead.

“Oh?”

“Yes. See- there’s something I discovered-”

“Some scientific marvel?” Henry teased, grinning. Em smirked.

“Well yes, but no.” He hesitated, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s… I’m… I discovered something about myself.” More silence. “Henry I- … Henry I’m actually…” Em sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled harshly. “I discovered that I’m… a man.” Henry blinked, then looked up at him.

“Is that it?” Em shot his gaze down to him.

“What do you mean ‘is that it?’” Henry shrugged. “You’re not… you’re not upset?”

“Why would I be upset?”

“...I don’t know, most people seem to think it’s crazy- or weird or- unnatural- but it’s not! It’s-”

“Emily. You don’t need to justify yourself to me.�� Em froze, staring down at him as he gazed back with a smile. “If you say that’s who you are, then it is who you are. Who am I to say otherwise? Who is anyone to say otherwise? You know yourself better than anyone else.” Henry’s smile suddenly faded as he realized there were tears dripping from Em’s eyes. “I- Was I supposed to be upset?” Em sniffled and let out an awkward laugh.

“No- no I’m just-” He paused, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I don’t know what I was expecting but… I guess I just wasn’t expecting you to be just so accepting.” Henry looked up at him with a sympathetic gaze.

“I’ll try not to be too offended by that,” he mused sarcastically. Em giggled and waved his hand dismissively.

“You know what I meant.” Henry nodded. “My point is… thank you. I couldn’t possibly ask for a better friend than you, Henry.”

“I do have one question, though.”

“Hm?” Em looked down at him, suddenly feeling himself fill with anxiety.

“What does this change? I mean… is there anything that’s different about you now?” Em breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well… for one thing, I’ve been going by just Em for a few years now.” Henry nodded, taking a mental note of that. “But I’m still trying to think of a better name for myself. Maybe… you could help me with that at some point?” Henry grinned.

“I’d be honored!”

“Excellent.” With great effort, Em started to sit upright, struggling to put his weight on his shaking arms. “There is… something else, though. Another reason why I came here.”

“Go on,” Henry encouraged, standing and hopping up onto the hay bale to give Em some support to sit upright. Em took a deep breath.

“This is going to sound crazy,” he began. “I need to… perform surgery.” He paused, and turned to look at Henry, who was staring at him blankly. “On myself.”

“Okay! When do we-” Henry began, until what Em had just said fully registered in his brain. “Wait, what?” Em grinned sheepishly.

“I need to perform surgery on myself,” he repeated, more confidently this time. Henry blinked.

“...That sounds incredibly dangerous. Is there something wrong with you? Why can’t you, I don’t know, get a real doctor to help you?” Em frowned.

“Well it’s nothing that’s wrong with me- it’s just…” He sighed. “I’m… I’ve grown up, I guess. And even though I never really felt weird in my body before, things started changing and suddenly it just… didn’t quite feel right anymore, if that makes any sense. Apparently it’s a common symptom of being… well… whatever I am. See- I had this friend, his name was René and he was… you know, the same as me. He used to tell me all the time how he wished there was a way to just get rid of the parts of himself that didn’t feel right, and- well you know me, Henry, when somebody says they wish something was possible, I have to find a way to make it possible.” Henry listened carefully, and nodded with a grin.

“That’s for sure.”

“Well… that’s when I decided I would try to figure it out - that way I could make it happen for him, and maybe even train him so he could do the same for me! Henry, we could’ve changed the world for countless others like us!” Henry blinked.

“...So why didn’t you?” Em suddenly went quiet, then exhaled softly.

“I knew it would take an awful lot of practice, and no doctor would ever reasonably let me apprentice under them for such an undertaking so… I may or may not have taken matters into my own hands.” Henry stared blankly. “Hence… cadavers. René helped me steal the tools I needed and aided me with breaking into the morgue every night so I could practice. All was going well, but it turns out people don’t seem to be overly keen on evidence being tampered with or bodies being ‘desecrated.’ So one night just as I finally got every part of my methods down correctly, we got caught. We both ran, but we had to split up and… I know René slipped but… I was too busy with my own pursuers to turn back for him.” He stared off into the distance, a suddenly sorrowful expression in his eyes. “I hope he’s ok… but it was then that I realized it would be unsafe for me to stay, and the only other person I could think of who could help me with such an undertaking as this… was you.” Henry’s eyes widened.

“Em I hardly think I’m qualified-”

“You don’t have to be! I can teach you. I’ll do most of the work, and you just have to do what I tell you, and everything should work out just fine.” Henry crossed his arms with a sigh. He thought it through, and although he wanted so badly to say no, the look of determination on Em’s face convinced him well enough that this was something his dear friend so desperately needed.

“As long as you think we can pull it off, you know I’ll always be here to help,” he reassured him with a smile. Em grinned, suddenly lurching forward and embracing him in as tight a hug as he could muster. Henry sat stunned, his cheeks suddenly burning as he felt himself blush, but he nervously chuckled and wrapped his arms around Em in return, not realizing that Em’s own pale cheeks were turning bright pink, until both of them awkwardly released each other and sat there turned away from one another. “Well… I suppose I should be off to bed,” Henry muttered, still with a sheepish smile on his face. Em flopped back down onto the hay, resting his hands behind his head. “We can talk more in the morning and- oh!” Henry pulled out the bread he had smuggled from his pockets, and held it out to Em, who gladly snatched it and immediately began shoving it unceremoniously into his mouth. “Figured you were hungry so… heh. Anyways… I’ll see about bringing you breakfast tomorrow too, just like old times.” Em grinned up at him.

“Jus’ ‘ike o’ ‘imes,” he answered, mouth still full with bread. Henry hopped down from the hay bales, taking his lantern once again.

“I’m glad you came back, Em,” he mentioned, standing just outside the stall door. Em turned and glanced back at him, smiling brightly.

“I’m glad to be back. I missed you, Henry. Nothing is ever the same without you, you know.”

“Same to you, Em.” With that, Henry strode out and quietly closed the door behind him. As he started back toward the house, he paused, turning back toward the stable with a bittersweet gaze and a flutter in his chest. You have no idea just how much I missed you, he thought. But you’re here now, and that’s- that’s good enough for me. Filled with a sudden surge of energy, he jumped into the air with an exclamation of joy and ran back to the house, twirling and prancing as he ran until he was dizzy from the thrill. He paused at the door, panting, looking back toward the stable with a massive grin and a glimmer in his eyes. “Oh Em,” he breathed out loud, chest heaving as he caught his breath, “I can’t wait to see the person you become.”

#frankenstein au #tw blood mention #ask to tag #lmao i considered proof reading this but it's 11:26 PM and i'm exhausted so. hopefully there's no huge errors in it fbvdvhbjvhdbvjfhvbdfv #we'll see i guess!

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vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Desert Rose

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Naruto

Characters: Shikamaru Nara, Temari

Additional Tags: Medieval AU

Hey, everybody! Here is my piece for Day 2 of ShikaTema Week for the prompt “Masquerade.” I hope everyone enjoys it~!

Temari’s slender arms glided through the sleeves of the ballgown as her attending ladies slipped it over her head. The heavy fabric slumped against her legs to puddle at her feet in rivers of white and cream and gold. One of her waiting ladies bundled a bronze corset to her chest, while another began tying up the ribbons with expert fingers. Careful hands smoothed every crease and crumple in the ballgown’s embroidered, bejeweled skirt as they straightened out the magnificent train, while pooled behind Temari like a grand golden-brown lake. Her blue-green eyes searched her reflection in the mirror as a maid combed and styled her voluminous, fluffy blonde hair, piling it atop her head in two buns streamed with beads of topaz. They settled a golden crown inlaid with crystal, tourmaline, and smoky quartz upon her brow and strung dangling earrings from her lobes. Perfumes of sandalwood, cinnamon, and nutmeg clouded the air around her, before the misted droplets settled upon her skin and were absorbed. Finally, a mask fashioned in the image of a golden hawk fell over her eyes, and Temari’s preparations were at last complete.

“You look splendid, my lady,” one of her attendants cooed over her shoulder with a happy smile. Temari’s lips curled up into a smirk, and she skimmed her fingers underneath her chin, admiring her regal personage reflected within the smooth glass.

“You think?” The ladies giggled at her pseudo-insecurity. Temari’s ladies revered her for her unflinching confidence and brash boldness, so they knew her comment was in jest. Temari ruffled the heavy skirts enveloping her smooth, slender frame. “I must, or Father will be most displeased.” Discontentment saturated her voice.

“I am sure that His Majesty’s efforts to secure My Lady a husband will be most successful,” one of the young girls, a hopeless romantic, sighed dreamily at her hip as she adjusted the train of Temari’s gown. The princess snorted derisively and cocked back her head.

“At the very least, he has finally allowed me to seek my own suitor. I cannot believe he offered me that bungling, dreamy-eyed fool that is the Uzumaki heir. He has eyes for the captain of his guard, and that is painfully obvious,” she haughtily snorted. Not that Temari cared if the future king of Konoha kingdom was besotted with the stoic, raven-haired knight; as long as he left her well enough alone, he could romance the entirety of his royal sentinel for all she cared. “It is too bad for the Hyuga princess, though,” she smirked as her ladies trilled in laughter. “The poor dear is enamored with him and has no idea that he grazes on the other side of the pasture.”

“My Lady Temari! You are too bold!”

“That Sasuke Uchiha is a dream, though. I cannot blame Lord Naruto for his fondness.”

“You hush now!” Temari laughed as she strode away from the mirror to her bower’s window while her ladies gossiped of various lords and ladies. Temari sank onto the plush pillow of her window seat, watching the stream of horse-drawn carriages and guard details pour in through the open gates of the desert palace. Many had come from far and wide to woo the indomitable Temari of the Sand, and many would leave with their hopes ruthlessly dashed. Temari leaned her cheek in her hand with a weary smile.

“Father only wants to marry me off so that I can produce a male heir before he has to relinquish his throne to me.” Temari was the only one available to be heir, but her father still refused it, as she was a woman. Their mother had died in childbirth of Gaara, and her loss drove their father to weld iron around his heart. He became dispassionate and totalitarian and cruel. It drove Kankuro to rebel and renounce his royal name to escape into the desert sands, and poor little Gaara was driven mad and imprisoned for his insanity and malice. In love for her poor baby brother, she arranged for his smuggling beyond the border.

Temari was the only one who knew what had become of them. Somehow, in the vast full world, they had reclaimed their own identities and were living peaceful lives in the neighboring forest land of Konoha, under the protection of the very princeling that had half-heartedly courted Temari. He was a fool with his heart on his sleeve, but Temari was at least grateful he had offered her displaced brothers a home with no strings attached. She smirked wryly as she watched the sun sink below the red sands. “It is a curse to be a woman, but especially in royalty. Count yourselves lucky in that, my dears,” she said as she turned back to her waiting ladies. They all bowed their heads and shuffled their feet. The world will still be cruel to them. It has no love of the female sex, she grimaced.

It didn’t matter if the world had no love for Temari. Every mountain that it tossed as her would be flung aside with the force of a sandstorm. She would not relinquish her agency, not for anything. “Is it time?” she asked, and languidly rose from the window seat. Darkness had descended over the desert; one by one, the braziers scattered around the palace were springing alive with flame.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Come then. Let us see what the desert winds have brought us,” Temari smiled and strolled towards the door. Two of her ladies carried her sprawling skirt train, while another held her hand to escort her properly. Together, they wound around the spiraling sandstone steps of her tower suite into the main wing of the lofty palace. The ball was already underway; lamplight glowed at the end of the carpeted hall, soft and yellow, and minstrels’ music floated on the air. As they rounded the corner, Temari watched the shadows dance along the walls. Dark men led grey ladies in dance all around her. They danced like their feet rested on the ever-present wind, skirts swishing like banners caught high in the morning breeze. Temari wondered if any among them would intrigue her enough even to entertain the thought of marriage. Most likely not. Most of them desire the iron mines, not me.

Politics was a cutthroat world, after all.

“Hail, Princess Temari!” a squire announced as she and her ladies strode into the ballroom. The attendants paused their revelry to return the hailing and bow respectfully to her. Their masked personages studied her as she marched to the long, clothed table situated at the back of the room, where her father was stuffing his face with roast quail imported from Konoha. They were lucky their kingdom sat upon the densest concentration of ore in all the realm, else he would likely be dining on stewed rat. Temari seated herself in the gilded chair beside him, and the servants wasted no time in procuring her a plate laden with delicacies imported from almost every kingdom in the Great Alliance.

“So, my daughter,” King Rasa tutted as he cracked the wing joint of the artichoke-stuffed bird, “many have come to look upon your beauty. Will you not at least give them the pleasure of a smile?”

“That pleasure must be earned,” she answered stoically and crunched on a tomato with only enough force to not breach propriety. He scowled at her.

“Willful girl. You should show more respect to your father.”

“That pleasure must also be earned.” Temari ignored his scathing glares to partake in the lovely spinach salad before her. Rasa continued to silently fume beside her; Temari wished she could exploit her willfulness in full capacity, but she did owe a duty to her kingdom to find a suitable husband, at least. As she chewed on the tender flesh of the quail, her sea-blue eyes raked the crowd of lords and ladies. A multitude of masks pranced within the sea of bodies- a blooming lotus, a roaring bear, a graceful swan, a gallant lion, a watchful crow, a tusked boar, and a colorful butterfly, to name a few. However, it was the majestic stag that caught her gaze for more than a few seconds, as its wearer strode undauntedly up to the royal table.

“Your Majesty. My Lady,” he uttered respectfully as he held a hand to his chest and bowed down to a ninety-degree-angle. The curved white horns of his mask jutted into the air like pale fulgurite. Black eyes twinkled behind the white-spotted curves of the mask as the man smirked at Temari. “Care to dance?” He asked while extending his hand to the princess. Temari had to summon all the will in her body to keep her mouth from falling open. What cheek, to beseech me as I am eating! The glimmer in his onyx eyes indicated that he was well aware of the nerve of his action. Temari found herself smiling at his boldness. No man had ever dared so brazenly court her. Despite her father’s complaints, she found herself bundling up her skirts to hurry around the edge of the table.

“It would be my pleasure, good sir,” she responded once she was in front of him, dropping into a curtsy. His smirk widened when she slipped her hand into his. A pink haze alighted her cheeks as he brought it to his mouth to drop a kiss onto it. Those glinting obsidian eyes bored into hers, like a thunderstorm rolling upon the blue-green sea. The snark and self-assurance were a welcome change from simpering, underhanded compliments. Thus, she allowed him to sweep her out onto the dance floor without so much as a peep.

“I had wanted to wait until you finished eating,” he admitted as he settled his hand upon her waist and held her other aloft, “but the crowd was rippling with your compliment. I realized I had to make a good first impression. Have I succeeded?”

“No man has ever dared interrupt my dinner.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” he purred. He eased into the movements as the band started up their melody, circling her around the marble dance floor. Temari’s dress swished around her knees as he rocked her gently with the beat, guiding her with utter surety. It was clear that her suitor was of high birth, perhaps even a prince.

“Tell me. From where do you come?”

“The vast forest lands to the east, if it pleases My Lady,” he responded. He paused to spin her around before easily reclaiming her slender corseted waist. “My family has long made a living developing medicines and droughts for the illnesses of the world.”

“You’re Shikamaru Nara?” she gasped in shock, and he nodded. The Naras were under the dominion of the Uzumaki’s kingdom, a noble house renowned for their doctors rather than their knights. They were known to keep very much to themselves, marrying middleborn children of dukes and minor lords. One had never been so bold as to court a princess, let alone one of the heirs to the vast wealth of the Sand Kingdom. Temari found herself relishing the fact. “You are bold.”

“I imagine you grow bored of empty flatteries and the whispers of sycophants who want nothing more than to usurp your throne.”

“How do I know I am not in the arms of a usurper as we speak?” A delighted smirk flashed on his lips, and Shikamaru brought his face close, close enough for his hot breath to puff over her face. A titillated shiver traveled the length of her spine.

“I care not for caverns of iron or halls of gold. My interest lies in a single topaz shimmering in the vastness of the desert.” Temari’s cheeks blazed with the pinkness of an opal, and she shifted her fingers that were clasped in his hand, feeling them grow clammy with nervous sweat. Many had compared her to precious gems before, but this was the first time it sent a nervous titter springing through her nerves. “It is true, some in this realm are more renowned for their beauty-” Shikamaru cast a look at a raven-haired woman in a moonflower mask who was undoubtedly the Hyuga heiress, “but I find that the flower that blooms under hardship puts them all to shame.”

“And what hardship would that be?” Temari asked with a coy grin.

“The crushing thumb of a father who values you more for what is between your legs than what you have to offer.” His lewdness set a blaze to her cheeks, but his words rang hollowly in her heart. Her chin dropped against her chest as she bowed her head, for tears were gleaming on her blonde lashes.

“You speak truly. My father wishes to marry me quickly, so that I may produce an eligible heir.”

“A pity. I have heard much of the shrewd tenacity of the Desert Rose.” The epithet had always grated her. There were much more distinguished and inspiring names she could bear, but she was known for her looks more than anything else. Still, hearing Shikamaru call her such was more bearable than usual. He stepped a little closer to her as he continued to ease her through the dance steps so that their chests brushed. When she glanced up, he was staring into the crowd. “None of these men care for your value, really. They want power, or influence, or wealth. It is dangerous and disappointing to be a woman in politics.” Temari blinked disbelievingly. Surely, he must be speaking words that I wish to hear to gain my trust. This man may be more cunning and sly than all the lords in this hall- and so the most perilous. She jumped when he peeked at her with a wry smile. “You are thinking my words dishonest, a ploy to lead you into a false sense of security.”

“Indeed. What man has ever cared for a woman’s place in this world?”

“A man who recognizes an amazing woman when he sees one.” Despite her misgivings, her cheeks still flushed again. He flashed her a sincere smile. “I arrived here four days ago. I wanted to know if the tales of the courteous and intelligent Lady Temari were true. So, I disguised myself and wandered the town. The townsfolk and knights speak very highly of you,” he said, making Temari smile shyly. “Your council has averted war many a time. You reallocate funds to ensure the people have food and water and healthcare. I’ve even heard you descended into the rabble to deliver medicine to plague-ridden peasants while your father insisted that three doctors attend him until the sickness dissipated.”

“The people gossip. Rumor is a powerful thing.”

“But most rumor contains a speck of truth, no?” Caught red-handed, Temari could only bashfully look down at her feet. It was true; Temari boasted many a political feat. Her father had once been a kind and just man, but age and toil had disfigured him into someone paranoid and venal.

“My father has forgotten that without the people, we are nothing. They are our charge. It is our responsibility to protect and care for them. All he cares about protecting now is his house and his wealth,” she sighed dismally with a glance Rasa. He was in fervent discussing with King Minato Namikaze and his queen Kushina; her father was always bleating about maintaining a good relationship until they could stab them in the back and usurp their fertile forest territory. Temari quite liked the royal family, as they were just and fair and well-liked by their people, so she had coaxed her father out of fruitless war efforts many a time. “I am but a means to an end,” she lamented quietly, turning back to him to look at him pitifully.

He released her waist to grip her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“It would be a pity if the beautiful Desert Rose wilted before she ever got to bloom,” he murmured. The pad of his thumb ever-so-gently brushed over her bottom lip. His dark eyes studied her intently, and all Temari could do was stare. She had never meant a man like this, that sent her heart fluttering because he saw her, not her throne or her father.

She was gripped with the overwhelming need to see him.

“I wish to leave this place. Be alone… with you.” He flashed her a beguiling smirk.

“As My Lady wishes.” They ceased dancing, and the room erupted into pleased applause. He offered her his arm, which she took, wrapping her hands around his bicep. He guided her back into the throng, meandering through the mass of royals to lead her towards the exit. They chatted amiably with various prominent figures, and though he was of lower birth, Shikamaru commanded more presence than even the most celebrated kings. After what seemed a life age, they finally slipped behind one of the tapestries into a servants’ passage. There, Temari grabbed him by the hand and broke into a run. His startled gasp bounced through the small crawlspace, followed by her gleeful laughter.

“How do you know your way through here?!” he asked loudly as she expertly weaved through the labyrinthine array of tunnels. She stuck out her tongue at him over her shoulder.

“How do you think I snuck out to deliver medicine?”

By the time they burst into the garden, they were red-faced and panting. The moonlight streamed down from a cloudless sky, casting the world in its milk-white glow. The garden was actually a vast greenhouse, as the arid desert climate made it difficult to cultivate most plants. The glass panes misted with condensation from the evening’s watering and the plants’ respiration. This particular section was the garden proper; another area was cordoned off for the kitchen’s supply. Flowers imported from all corners of the realm bloomed here, but regardless of what color their soft petals boasted, they were dyed silver from the starlight.

Temari strolled to a stone bench nearby and sat down, tucking the thick fabric of her skirts under her thighs. Shikamaru eased down beside her and sighed exultantly.

“It’s a beautiful garden.”

“I imagine the forests of your homeland are much better. Wild, untamed, not carefully tended with every errant leaf snipped away,” she frowned with a glance around the pristine garden. Shikamaru chuckled and leaned back on his hands.

“You’ve got me there.” He paused, inhaling the air laden with the robust aroma of loamy soil and fresh water. “There’s nothing like it, Temari,” he breathed wistfully. “Wandering the paths through the wood, with the birdsong filling the air and decaying leaves crunching under your feet… There is so much life out there, so much wonder.” He gave her a humorous look. “Still, the desert has its beauty too.” He punctuated the remark with a graze of his knuckles over her cheek. She leaned into the caress, smiling softly.

“Yes. The sky stretches on forever, like a blanket of sapphire over the world… And the sunsets are magnificent. Many a time I have watched the world fall away as the colors bleed over the horizon like paint, filling the kingdom with the glow… I can forget, sometimes, and just watch it sink. No crown, no throne, no iron mines… Just the majesty of it.”

Shikamaru smiled, then removed the mask from his face. His sharp jawline seemed all the finer in the white light, and his dark eyes shone like polished hematite. He was incredibly handsome. As Temari stared, his hands came to her face to gently remove the hawk mask from her face, and she allowed him to do so. Slowly, he pulled it away, and drew in a sharp breath.

“You are more beautiful than I could have imagined.” She flushed, her cheeks glowing rose in the soft light. He stroked her cheek again, and the pad of his thumb spawned a trail of fire across her cheekbone. His fingertips skipped down her jawline to rest against the column of her throat, feeling the blood pulse thunderously through her veins. “Beautiful, and much too special to be doomed to a bridal gown.”

“Yet, doomed I am,” she whispered woefully. Shikamaru was a splendid man, more honest and enticing than any she had ever met. Yet, if the courtship proved fruitful, she would still be no more than his bride. Their son, when he came of age, would be ripped from their grasp to begin training for his role as Rasa’s successor. Frustrated tears sprung to her eyes to then roll down her cheeks. Shikamaru tutted softly and swept them away, only for more to come. “I am no more than a tool in political bargaining. My talents will never be acknowledged by my father. Whomever I marry, I will be shipped off like common goods and serve only to spawn heirs.” She hung her head, sniffling. “It is a lamentable existence.”

“Lamentable indeed,” he remarked in a soothing whisper, “but is it entirely horrible?” She peered through her blonde lashes at him. “Temari, I cannot give you all that you seek. I cannot change your father’s mind.” He smiled wanly and cupped her face in his hands; they were so warm and comforting. “All I have to offer you is my heart, true as death. I will love you and you only. I cannot make you a queen, but you shall always rule me. I will live only for your happiness.” His voice shattered into a ragged whisper full of emotion, and Temari did not doubt that he spoke truthfully. Her hands rose to stroke the tops of his and her eyes fluttered as she attempted to dry her tears.

“That doesn’t sound entirely horrible,” she admitted with a small laugh. He smiled relievedly and continued caressing her teary face.

“I wish more than anything that you could be given what you deserve,” he said softly and pressed his forehead to hers. “I am sorry. What I can give you falls utterly short of it.”

“No,” she refused and smiled kindly at him. “What you have offered me tonight is more than anyone has ever given. If you offer me your hand, I will take it gladly,” she said and stroked his chin, her fingertips rolling over the black stubble, “for you are the first man who has ever offered himself wholly to me.”

“I pity all the men who have come before. They knew not the treasure within their grasp,” he smiled thickly. Her eyes now studied his face, the lines and the contours. He truly was handsome, but it was clear that his honesty had caused him much grief. The world was just as cruel to honest and just men as it was to women. Her sea-blue eyes dropped to his lips, and she fancied kissing them. It seemed Shikamaru was having similar thoughts.

Their lips melded together, slotting together like the were made for one another. Her fingers ghosted the side of his face in repetitive touches, while his found purchase on her waist, pulling her closer. His breath clouded over her mouth as he shifted his head to the other side to kiss her with more fervor, drawing a small, needy moan from within her. Their arms wound around each other and every inch of skin possible touched, but it was not enough, not nearly enough…

The world was cruel to Temari, but it was kind enough to give her someone who loved her utterly, truly, wholly… and in that moment, it was enough. It was enough.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @shikatemaweek @deliathedork @searchfortheonepiece

#shikatema #shikatemaweek #shikatemaweek2020 #shikamaru x temari #temari x shikamaru #shikamaru nara #nara shikamaru #temari #temari of the sand #temari no sabaku #naruto #naruto shippuden #naruto fanfiction #naruto fanfic #medieval au

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fragiledewdrop · 3 years

Text

Music

We were hidden in caves

Under the imprints of ochre hands

And we beat rhythms on our thighs

To forget the howling in the cold.

Drums echoed in the night

As we danced around a fire

Faster and faster and faster,

Our feet a frenzied counterpoint,

Until Dawn came, greeted by wordless songs.

The baffled king's composing hallelujas

On a harp of curved cedar of Lebanon,

And wild are his hymnals to his Lord,

Wild his dancing through the streets in triumph.

The Lyra of Apollus passes from hands to hands,

And Achilles's name is spelt by its strings,

And Odysseus's.

Sappho's last lament makes the sea weep,

While choruses bemoan Medea's revenge.

Lock eyes with the veal you'll have to slay

To string the violin and murmur melodies of water

In Venice the beautiful, Venice the dead.

Think of the terror in the elephant's gaze

While you plays fugas on a piano in Vienna's golden halls,

While you play scales in a German chapel.

Blow in the conch shell, harmonize a yodel

To call your flocks form their green pastures.

Sing by the fire, lull children to sleep

Without worrying about hitting the right note,

Think of the low songs of the whales

And mourn with a lament sadder than theirs.

Make electricity sparkle on a stage

During the riff of a rock song,

And never forget the beginning,

Never forget the cave,

When you hear the songs of quasars

A thousand lives away from here:

The universe is music,

We are its instruments,

And we will always, always sing.

F.P.

I decided to share this here because of this post by @biggest-gaudiest-patronuses and @underthehedge . I wrote it as a gift to someone and your words made me go into my email and copy it on my blog. I hope somene enioys it.

#poetry #music #my poetry #my poems #the evolution of music #my writing

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blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Loki Baby Pt 18

Special thanks to Incaprincess for helping me think up how to take this part. Huge hugs your way for helping me out of my slump. :D

@theincaprincess, @alishlieb, @lilith15000, @himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shesakillerkween

Harsh and fast your mind had drifted off and again you felt old rages and irritations flood back into the front of your mind. The world seemed to drift into the distance as the savage thoughts came forward. All the way back to the end of the universe where you had left Clara Oswald and Ashildr. One hard punch to keep your godfather from losing his memories and to follow the orders of the Council on Gallifrey to retrieve the stolen Tardis. She wanted to wait out eternity before facing her death so there you left her with her friend and sent the Doctor on his way while you returned the stolen Tardis now in pendant form you dropped back at the Council. The sting of your knuckles still there while you peered up at a painting of one of the old battles Odin had gone on.

Turned around Jack caught that same lingering gaze he knew he himself had been locked in. A common side effect of creatures lost to this path, creatures left to assume they were monsters one time or another, cursed beings to only bring about pain and suffering. “Where are you?” Jack whispered folding his arms around you from behind.

Lowly you muttered, “Punching Clara Oswald.”

Chuckling to himself he replied, “She broke the rules.”

“It was more the landscape of the end of the universe. That cluster of columns looks familiar.”

Jack’s head tilted and he smirked, “Ah, just like Trespan, that statue looks like your great great uncle Hector.” His head turned and he asked, “Loki, is this Trespan?”

Loki turned from the control panel he was explaining to Peter on how to operate the viewer to a database of film reels to see a battle Thor had mentioned and came closer asking, “Trespan?”

Jack nodded and asked, “Three suns, pink, blue and green, got about five rings and these huge temples. Giant screeching hippo like creatures that can fly, two month swooping seasons, absolutely dreadful, not really sure why they stayed there to be honest..”

Loki’s brows furrowed a moment and he said, “We call it Xquiem, but yes, father did mention it was a dreadful place. You know it well?”

Jack turned saying, “That statue is my great uncle Hector. Took Jaqi there once as a kid.”

“They do have spectacular burritos though.”

Loki wet his lips, “Was this before or after father annihilated the planet?”

Sharply you giggled saying, “Planet looked like that when he landed, worst he did was switch on the recouping generator,” that had Loki’s brow inching up, “Whole planet’s stuck in a reversing timeline, Odin landed in its decaying age, like a reverse acid rain, soon as they build something it crumbles to dust and slowly goes back to new again. Whole generations in their elder days seeing their towns and homes anew, there is beauty in growing old. They remodel in their final years so the next generation could begin to see the beauty too. But they were invaded, before Odin and locked in a stasis, which he kicked back on again, hence the trouble in trying to conquer.”

Loki chuckled, “Makes me wonder how much of father’s tall tales became his legacy easily mended.”

Out his hand stretched and he said, “I promised you view of our inner silver falls. Now sapphires, but stunning all the same.” Making you smirk and lay your hand on his with jack grinning in his path after you.

Through the Palace and out into the open swaying green fields between golden fields of grains you followed the eager King towards a distant stream at the end of a trio of water falls. The cool silver water shifting to clear streams splitting below with floating clumps of silver separating from the fall collected by sifters and the giant octupi under the surface shimmered in varying colors circling the stone path you walked across. Crouching down your hand reached under the water and a baby gladly coiled around your fingers allowing you to lift it and look it over while Peter did the same further down chuckling as two adults climbed up his legs.

Loki, “They do enjoy the attention. They won’t hurt us, actually have secretions we collect for some of our medicines and the sifters perfect their nest conditions.”

Jack, “How come there aren’t more?”

Loki, “We have more in falls farther South. Far larger, less useful for medicines but they do keep the walrus from taking over our grazing pastures.”

A faint ring turned your head and you stood asking, “You hear that?”

From your palm the baby’s skin flaps between its tentacles opened and it leapt from your palm to float back down to the water and Loki moved closer to your side peering upwards pointing at a floating cube, “What is that?”

Looking from him to the cube his finger was aimed at you let out a giggle, “Mail.”

Loki, “It looks like a tesseract.”

Smirking up at him you reached out claiming the box saying, “And who do you imagine gave your people the tech to protect that infinity stone, I suspect Odin claimed that too.”

Glowing brightly in your palm, the marking coated box that began to whisper, though your grin dropped and you rolled your eyes making Loki smirk at Peter’s waist deep walk to you asking, “That like an old tape recorder?”

“Something like that.” Turning to look at Jack you huffed out, “We have to go to Church.”

Loki, “An actual church?”

“Not the sort you would assume. It’s the base for the Papal Mainframe.”

Jack, “Wonder what it could be. Tasha knows better than to write us without reason.” He looked to Peter, “Her and the missus hate one another.”

“Can’t be good,” Looking to Loki you asked, “How comfortable are you with nudity?”

Peter looked over you three asking, “Nudity?”

Jack, “Can’t go to church with clothes on.” Leading the way back to Precious with Peter timidly following after you only to relax at Jack’s saying, “Don’t worry, you can stay in the ship.”

Peter nodded and with K9 trotting to join you eyeing the message in your palm stating, “There does not seem to be any underlying messages encoded.”

“No,” Through the door you led the way saying, “Precious, we’re off to Church.” Triggering her console to light up and begin to hum and you glanced at Peter, “We’re gonna go change, if you go through the green door you can give my arcade a whirl.” His brows inched up, “Takes virtual reality to a whole new level.”

His lips parted and K9 stated, “I shall guide you through the interface,” trotting to a hall on the right leading Peter in his excited path to see what your arcade was like.

Into your costume room you went and gripped the bottom of your shirt up over your head you pulled folding it to leave on a stool saying to Loki, “I’ll do my best not to stare.”

In the bunching of his own shirt he pulled up over his head onto his shoulders and arms to himself he chuckled trying not to look your way seeing your shorts being added with your panties to the pile over your bra. Jack took notice of his blush and said, “Feel free to stare my way all you like.” Only making the King chuckle again and undo his trousers to add to his own pile hearing Precious humming to you warning of how close she was getting.

Back to the control panel you went settling the message on the console sending off a warning pulse of your arrival causing their gate to open for you to land in their docking bay. Curiously eyeing the ship Loki stepped out behind you with Jack exiting first, from the lines of uniform wearing men to your back he took in all he could of your figure under your loose waist length curls you were brushing over your left shoulder on the side your father was on. The motion only luring Loki to steal a glance your way from the corner of his vision.

“Bluejay.”

“Tasha Lem, you wrote?”

Flatly from a cold gaze at Jack, who was glaring at her in return, “I am surprised you came without your crypt keeper.”

Jack, “My wife isn’t the only one with trick blades, Tasha, get to the point or I’ll give you a new hole in your head to go with that Dalek probe.”

“Perhaps I might show you what my weapon can do.” She snarked back.

To which you replied, “Please do I enjoy a good conductor.” Her eyes snapped back to you seeing the lightning flickering in your eyes matching the currents flowing between your fingertips.

Straightening up she inhaled deeply and said, “Had I been allowed to contact the Doctor I would have, but it was addressed to you.” From a floating tray she lifted a newspaper you claimed and opened flipping to the classifieds.

Straight through the French printed ads for nurses and maids for households you spotted one calling for a Bluejay for a Blueberry Bellerophon. “Oh what is the little tyrant up to now?” Jack glanced at you as you turned saying, “Napoleon.”

Loki turned glancing up seeing you three inside Precious walking back to the costume room to get dressed again, “We are after a tyrant?”

Jack, “More like a person who irritated him.”

“Or the one irritating him.”

Loki nodded then glanced back at the door, “Is that normally,”

You patted his bicep saying after wiggling into your panties, “We never really got along. She was one of Doctor’s flings, liked to parade her way around his ship flying it where she wanted after he lost one of his wives and hit a slump.”

Loki watched you hooking your bra and strolling around him to find a pair of pants while the duo got back into their own pants. The King asked watching you bounce a pair of black jeans up, pausing at your thighs with a huff, “Damnit Doctor…stealing my good pants.” Pushing them down you stepped out of them and kicked them away turning back to burrow under a long rack of shirts to dig in the cubbies between that and the skirts, “Grumpy twig of a man.”

Loki chuckled and his smile doubled at your pulling out another pair, “Ah ha.” You unfolded, lowering to bounce into and nip at your lip in zipping and hooking the button before turning in a finger wiggling browse through your collection of sweaters to pull on a baggy forest green one you added a grey vest over it. Matching long socks and tall boots were next to be pulled over your tight jeans as the men finished adjusting their shirts.

Loki, “Will we be requiring weapons?”

“Most likely, no. He’s not as imposing as he seems by his reputation.”

Out to the main hall you led the way only to see Peter wide eyed sliding into the hall ruffling his fingers through his hair, “King Kong, millipedes, everywhere.”

With a smirk you said, “Ya, really turns out to be more like Skyrim than a four hour action shooter. Full immersion.”

With a nod Peter wet his lips asking, “Church, went well?”

Jack, “We got a message to head to HMS Bellerophon.”

Peter’s brows furrowed a moment muttering the name then said, “Sounds French? HMS, a ship?”

Loki, “Apparently we are to see a tyrant named Napoleon.”

That dropped Peter’s jaw and he asked while you showed the page to K9, who was scanning it for any more messages, “Napoleon?! I thought we could only visit the city and fly over a couple battles, not actually go see the man himself!”

Your head tilted a moment, “Well, technically we can meet him, he’s just not the most hospitable. Hence the help message.”

K9, “This message has Corsair’s numerical code etched into the reverse image of the message behind the one calling for aid.”

Lowly you muttered, “Figured as much. Anyone else would prefer Hamilton or Hendrickson over Napoleon any day.”

Jack, “Can’t imagine why she would be calling for aid.”

You shrugged moving to the control panel eyeing the signals flowing across the screen making your brows furrow, “It seems they’ve fired a cannon at her Tardis.”

Jack let out a laugh, “Oh, no doubt the tyrant will be in pieces when we land.”

Seeing Loki’s confusion Peter broke into a full on description of the tyrant in question and a bit on his reputation while you steered your ship to hover beside Napoleon’s, “Alright, bit of a hop.” You said walking to the door you opened revealing the scent of smoke and salt water on the breeze along with voices and orders through the ship. Into your dangling hand K9 passed you your screwdriver sheath you pocketed then hoped out onto the railing and onto the deck with him at your side.

Behind you the trio hopped down and past the parting soldiers clearly recognizing you and frightened from your ship appearing from nowhere that shut and shifted to settle around your neck. Straight to the door for the Captain’s quarters you walked following the familiar female voice shouting curses at the men around her. Once you were in her sights the dark haired hazel eyed woman relaxed in her bindings saying, “Bluejay.”

The name had the men turning to puff up with guns shifting to you inhaling sharply while K9 shot a laser off to burn her binds from your side. “Corsair, you know we weren’t supposed to come back to these waters this decade past shielded overhead scouting, you set the terms.”

She fired back in a pop up to her feet, “I wouldn’t have but he stole my muffin tin and he’s lying about it and blasted a cannon ball at my ship!”

The man in question stood with his arms crossed leaning against his desk only to inch up his chin smugly when your gaze hit his in the arching of your brow, “We’ve talked about this.”

Shaking his head he released his arms to wave a hand in the air through Peter’s subtle slip away closer to Napoleon’s side, “I do not know this muffin you speak of.”

“Leader of the French Naval Forces doesn’t understand muffin, got it.” Lowering your gaze to K9 at Corsair’s feet you said, “K9, scan the room please,” after a moment your fingers rose to your pendant, “Copper, if you and your family wouldn’t mind searching the rest of the ship for a muffin tin.” Around you the giant floating otters appeared and soared off through the ship luring screams from the frightened sailors in Napoleon’s smug stance stiffening.

Leaning sideways in his own interrogating gaze he muttered to Peter, “This is him? Hardly a threat to me.”

Peter smirked replying, “You and me both.”

Napoleon’s resolve hardening by the moment through the growing sound of shouts and things being rummaged through while Peter got to his side and out of his view made Jack smirk seeing him measuring himself against the man with his hand and capturing the result on his phone with a picture. Once the man’s head turned Peter flashed a grin and hopped over the desk to walk around to Corsair’s side giving her a grin as well. Peering down at him she said, “You’re new.”

Peter said, “My second trip really. Just came from Asgard.”

Corsair, “I love Asgard, have you seen the Truffle fields?”

Loki said, “Ah, those were lost when the Eastern shore caught fire.”

Her grin sank, “Oh, you look familiar.”

Jack said, “King Loki of Asgard.”

Corsair pointed at him saying, “That’s it, the resemblance is uncanny, haven’t been in ages.”

K9 completed his final circle of the room stating, “Search results, negative.”

Napoleon, “See, there-,”

Through the door Copper and his brothers flew, three of them holding tins that Corsair came to inspect, the one on the end she said pointed to, “This one’s mine! See, my snake!” She said causing the other two otters to hurl the tins through the door at the shouting Frenchmen silencing in the attack, to your side they flew and vanished to enter your ship to be fully protected again, proudly chattering amongst themselves while the confused Frenchmen wondered at your flying creatures.

Napoleon broke his silence at her shaking the tin in his face, “No muffin tin? You pint sized puff of hot air!”

Aloofly he replied after a purse of his lips, “Ah, that is muffin? I thought it was for soap.”

A crack left Corsair in her near lunge for Napoleon Jack ended in his arm looping around her stomach to keep her from killing the man, “The fuck! Soap?! I’ll turn you into soap!”

With a sigh you turned while she was carried out of the room back to the deck and giving him the ‘I’m watching you’ hand gesture you made your own way out, “Keep it in line Bonaparte.”

At Loki’s side you strolled across the deck picking up your pace to make the hop up onto the rail and into your now hovering ship again releasing a whistle and wagging your finger you said, “Come on Cosmo, we’ll patch you up.”

At that a smoking flamingo on a stick that was hiding in the mast lowered and zoomed in through your door that closed behind you making Loki chuckle. “Camouflage I take it?”

“He’s usually a giant serpent, must have hit it just right to jam him into a flamingo yard ornament.”

Corsair huffed saying, “You should have let me throttle him.”

Jack said helping to straighten her long skirt’s outer layer, “You know he’s due to die in soon anyways.”

She huffed again, “Not soon enough.”

Loki said, “If you require time for repairs you could join us on Asgard.”

Corsair said, “Ah, I’m not technically allowed to leave the planet for a week still.”

Loki glanced at you as you said, “After a Time Lord heals or regenerates there’s a courtesy grounding for all Tardis except for that Time Lord once they are recovered.”

Corsair, “Heard you took a nasty hit in that Reaper scuffle back in the 40’s. You alright?”

You nodded, “Just a nick to a nerve. Needed a rest. You sure about lingering?”

She nodded, “Yup, don’t mind me I have a poker game to get back to. Just got the call on my way back to my castle from a poker game with Ivan the Terrible, got kicked out of town, apparently I was terrorizing him. Imagine that.”

You giggled and Jack said, “Always did have thin skin.”

Peter, “So Napoleon is a thief and Ivan the Terrible is a ninny?”

With a giggle you said, “Wait till you meet Alexander the Great, obsessed with lemons, and I mean obsessed.”

Corsair giggled as Cosmo gave Precious the coordinates to their castle hideaway in Norway, “Do try to hide any glitter from him, always ends badly, always.” Leading the way over to your armchairs she asked Peter, “So, when are you off to next?” Her eyes drifting over to you in your cross legged lean into Loki’s side weaving your arm and hand with his stirring a curious smirk across her lips.

Peter pursed his lips a moment and he said, “Well if you’re talking Alexander maybe we could drop in on King Leonidas in Sparta.”

“Ooh, nice choice, however, I do have to warn you, it’s not like in the movies, he was nearly 60 when he died. Not all buff men in leather bikinis and crimson capes ripped to no end.”

For a moment he paused and Jack stroked his back as he said, “I feel, so betrayed.”

Each detail of the film was gone through and scoffs grew while Jack smirked chatting with Loki who was clearly not caught up to that section of history yet. Yet smoothing his hands over his face Peter grumbled, “This is just like when I heard in school there was no Santa Clause.” The pause and wide eyed gaze when he looked your face over was priceless as he shot out, “There is?!”

Corsair giggled out, “Why wouldn’t there be?”

“Although his preferred name on Earth is Sven, but he does operate on a belief system that is time sensitive and shielded to appear like parents do the work because they can only spend so much time on each child. Like, in films and such where the mom clearly signed dad’s name but mom is just smiling and confused swearing she only bought two gifts but there’s three and she keeps saying open it so she can find out what is inside to try and remember buying it. Things like that.”

Practically vibrating Peter let out a squeak folding his hands together on his lap as you glanced at Loki’s watch and said, “You know, we could catch him on his off season if you wanted to meet him.”

Jack, “Just don’t complain about presents you didn’t get, does not end well.”

Peter glanced between you, “How does it go?”

Corsair giggled, “He sort of explodes.”

“Rebuilding the shop is such a chore so we try to avoid that.”

Peter nipped at his lip, “maybe not today, I did agree to go to Sif’s partner’s musical show.”

Loki, “Ah, yes, mother did mention that.”

“Take your time, we can hang out for a few days give you some time to think it over.”

One vast castle later and back to Asgard you went drawing a relaxed sigh from Queen Frigga on her balcony staring at the spot you had left not four minutes ago. A calming wave from Loki came with his guiding you and Jack up to the sitting room with tea ready for you all as Peter swung off to meet up with Sif and her partner to introduce him to the other musicians.

Loki released your hand to lean in and kiss Frigga’s cheek, “Sorry mother, a distress call came from another Frey in the past. Quite amusing, the French have a tiny tyrant in their past, a Napoleon, who has a fondness for kleptomania.”

Frigga chuckled, “Well, I am glad it was not Thor,”

Loki’s brow inched up, “Why would it be Thor?”

She replied, “He would be missing you terribly. Heimdall keeps me up to date on his progress.”

Loki, “I could always send word that he could send for Rocket if he wished for a visit.”

Valkyrie passing by paused stating, “I could send the message if you wished, Your Majesty.”

Frigga, “That would be lovely, thank you. Both my boys back in time for the equinox.”

Loki chuckled weakly, “No doubt he will be glad for the ale and old faces to comfort his next few months on Midgard.”

Turning to you he claimed your hand again showing you the waiting tea, easing you into your chair beside his.

#Loki x Reader OC

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violinsweetiemiss · 5 years

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Moonlit Frost Part 1

Hi everyone! Here is my oneshot about Song Lan bringing Xiao Xingchen back to life. It was getting a little long, so I decided to split it up into two parts. I hope you all like it! Part 2 will be out soon. (FYI, I only watched the Untamed, so do forgive me if I missed anything from the novel).

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In a far away hidden corner of ancient China, there lay a valley hidden behind a strategically placed layer of protective mist. The large valley was dotted with green pasture and tall trees, blue flowing rivers and streams that bubbled gently along their path. The soft sound of birds chirping could be heard in the air, and different animals wandered about the valley peacefully going about their daily lives. In the distant edge of the valley lay a tall range of mountains, their peaks stretching high up into the cloudless blue sky. Nestled within the mountains was a tall imposing temple, made of blue crystalline rock that sparkled in the sunlight. High up on the tall poles leading up to the temple’s entrance, forest green flags bearing an elegant insignia flapping in the breeze. Over the doorway into the main hall, a sign bearing the temple’s name could be seen from far away by any visitors who managed to make their way into the hidden valley.

Thousand Moon Pavilion.

It was a relatively new sect compared to the four major families that had dominated the cultivation world for years, but Thousand Moon Pavilion had managed to rise quickly in the time since it had been founded, and was now known as one of the stronger of the secondary sects in the cultivation world. Overall, the temple gave off an air of elegance and tranquility, a place for young cultivator hopefuls to visit in the hopes that they would be accepted into the one sect that didn’t value family connections over talent.

Inside the temple’s large main hall however, the same couldn’t be said.

The tension inside the room was nearly palpable, made all the more obvious by the concerned expressions on the faces of the young men gathered in front of another, older man sitting on a gold and green chair in the front of the room. After a few seconds, one of the men, dressed in silver and green robes marking his status as one of the elder disciples, stepped forward and crossed his arms.

“Shifu, you cannot possibly be serious.” He stated firmly, “There’s no way we can let you do this.” Song Lan, the leader of the Thousand Moon Sect, raised his gaze from where he had been lightly running his fingers across a golden chalice and shook his head. Raising one hand into the air, the older man traced characters in the air where they glittered for a few moments with spiritual power before disappearing.

I must. I have no choice.

The elder disciple shook his head.

“Shifu, I know you want to bring back Sect Leader Xiao, but isn’t there a better way? This method...you’ve already been harmed so much just to get to this step! Us disciples simply cannot just watch you do this!” Song Lan raised a hand and shook his head again.

Zifeng, there is nothing you or your brothers can do to stop me.

He was about to embark on what was perhaps the most dangerous task in his entire life; mend the long shattered pieces of his best friend’s lost soul, and bring said friend back to living physical form. No one had ever successfully done that before, and Song Lan himself wasn’t sure it would work.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. And even if it didn’t work, at least he wouldn’t regret that he didn’t try.

In the years since he had taken Xingchen’s shattered soul and begun wandering around the world, he had searched for a way to restore his friend’s life while purging the world of evil. It was an impossible task, people had told him, no one brought the dead back to life perfectly. Even Lan Wangji, one of the top cultivators in the world, hadn’t found a way to bring back Wei Wuxian from the dead in the sixteen years he had waited. But as fate would have it, Song Lan had come across an old hidden method of restoring a lost life during his travels, a method hidden away in the recesses of a foreign country’s palace that Song Lan had been given as a gift in return for his help in purging the country of evil spirits. As expected, it wasn’t the most simple method. First, he had to travel to the four corners of the world and find the powerful talismans hidden there, talismans that were infused with powerful spiritual energy. That in itself had been more than difficult; to obtain each talisman, Song Lan had to traverse through multiple obstacles and tests, dodge monsters filled with dark energy and vengeful spirits. Each round had left Song Lan beaten and heavily wounded, barely able to make it out alive. But in the end, he had succeeded. Then, he had been forced to wait for years on end to allow his body to heal before he could carry out the next step, and in the meantime, he had formed his own sect.

Thousand Moon Pavilion.

Few people knew, but the name was a tribute to Xingchen, the one who others had likened to the brilliant moon that hung in the sky every night and had promised to start a sect with Song Lan. And at the same time, the name was a promise, an oath that Song Lan made to wait for Xingchen to return, even if thousands of moons had to pass before his wish came true. The sect worked the exact way Song Lan and Xingchen had promised many years ago; membership was based on merit, not on family connections. Those who wanted to join would have to prove their worth on their own. Zifeng had been the first, a child that Song Lan came across on the streets. The sect quickly grew after that, and now it was one of the strongest secondary sects in the cultivation world. Xingchen would be happy to see what Song Lan had done in their time apart.

And now, after many years of rest, it was time for Song Lan to carry out the final step.

There was a price, of course, to carrying out the final step in restoring Xiao Xingchen to life; after all, one did not mess with the course of fate and step away untouched. And that was exactly what Zifeng and the other disciples were currently worried about.

“Shifu!” Zifeng protested, “This method, whether it works or not, will cost half of your cultivation! That is far too steep of a price to pay, even to bring back Sect Leader Xiao! There surely must be an alternative way!” Zifeng’s brow was furrowed in concern, and he looked like he was going to continue protesting, but one look from Song Lan’s cold, determined gaze silenced the words on the young man’s lips. Song Lan raised a hand in the air and wrote out a few more characters with spiritual energy.

I have not come this far just to stop now. For Xingchen, this is worth it.

“Shifu!” The disciples protested, “It will take you thousands of years to get that cultivation back!” Song Lan shook his head and traced more characters in the air.

Zifeng, what are the three precepts that I have always taught you and your brothers?

Zifeng sighed.

“Friendship, loyalty, and merit.” He replied.

Exactly.

Before Zifeng or the other disciples could say anything more, Song Lan raised a hand and summoned a bolt of spiritual energy to wrap around his disciples. With a second flick of his hand, the young men were sent flying out the door of the great hall, the golden ornate doors slamming shut tightly behind them.

“Shifu! Shifu!” Their voices cried in desperation, but Song Lan ignored them all. With a few quick swipes in the air, he drew a spell with spiritual energy and sent it over to the main hall’s doors, effectively locking his disciples outside. He sighed deeply and looked at the four talismans he had painstakingly gathered many years ago. Then, he rose from his seat, and carefully placed the talismans in the requisite formation on the floor around him before settling into a cross legged position in the center of the four items. Then, Song Lan drew the precious drawstring pouch that held the pieces of Xingchen’s shattered soul from he kept it tucked carefully within the folds of his robes near his collar.

Xingchen...please, come back to me. I have so many things I want to say to you.

Song Lan held up the precious bag in front of him, then with a quick swivel of his wrist sent the bag floating in midair. Then, he closed his eyes, cupped his hands in front of him, and summoned spiritual energy from within the core of his being.

Let’s begin.

The pain was almost immediate.

Out of nowhere, Song Lan felt an indescribable burning sensation rise from within his chest as he began the spell that would bring Xingchen back, a burning that spread throughout his entire body to the tips of his fingers. White teeth crashed down on a trembling red lip as Song Lan forced himself to keep from crying out. He could feel his entire body trembling from the weight of the spell and the toll it was taking on his body, his hands clenching together so tightly he was sure he was drawing blood from his palms. Still, Song Lan took a few deep shuddering breaths and cleared his mind of all thoughts except for the goal ahead.

Xingchen.

Behind the darkness of Song Lan’s closed eyes, he could see his friend’s white robed figure standing in front of him, the slender white ribbon in his hair fluttering in the wind as he stood with his back to Song Lan in the middle of a sunlit forest.

Xingchen...the man who is as bright as the moonlight.

In his mind, Xingchen turned to look at Song Lan and smiled even though a slender strip of white cloth covered the place where his eyes usually were.

Zichen.

Song Lan could hear his friend’s voice call his name, that one name that he hadn’t heard for so long he had almost forgotten he had it. He could see Xingchen smiling, sunlight glinting off of Shuanghua as Xingchen expertly spun the treasured sword in his slender hands.

The image of Xingchen standing there was enough to make Song Lan’s heart clench in his chest, hurting even more than the pain of the spell eating away at his hard earned cultivation. Xingchen had given up so much for him, and yet in the end…

Zichen, come spar with me.

Oh, how Song Lan wanted to! In all his years of traveling, he had never found someone who could spar with him the same way that Xingchen could. No one else understood him the way Xingchen did.

And then…

Was he imagining things?

Beyond the pain of the spell and the tumultuous emotions running through him, Song Lan thought he could almost feel a second presence in the room with him. It was weak, but it was certainly there.

Xingchen?

Was the spell working? Song Lan did not dare to open his eyes to look, partially out of fear that he would be disappointed and partially out of concern that it would disrupt the spell. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there in the middle of the main hall of the sect he had painstakingly built, but after some time, Song Lan felt as if something shattered from within him as his spiritual energy reached its peak, and finally, the pain became too much to bear. Song Lan threw back his head and screamed as his spiritual energy exploded around him, the force of the energy ripping his hair free from its simple bindings and tumbling down his back. Something warm and sticky rushed up his throat, sending Song Lan lurching forward and coughing red fluid onto the ground in front of him. As he opened his eyes slowly, he realized that his vision had grown blurry, likely from the strain that the spell had put on his body. His entire body felt heavy, so heavy. Yet, as Song Lan looked around slowly, he realized that while the talismans still lay on the ground in front of him, the precious drawstring bag that held the pieces of Xingchen’s soul was nowhere to be seen.

Xingchen…!

Panic tore through Song Lan as he attempted to get up, only to fall right back down to his knees.

No, it can’t be! Even if the spell didn’t work, it shouldn’t have taken all that was left of him!

Xingchen!

If Song Lan could speak, his horrified scream would have surely echoed through the entire Thousand Moon Pavilion.

I failed.

Either the spell hadn’t worked, or Song Lan hadn’t been strong enough to sustain it. And now, even the little he had left of his best friend was gone. Song Lan felt his body go slack, and let himself fall to the floor in sheer exhaustion and weariness. Every inch of his body was in pain, and his head wouldn’t stop spinning from all that had happened. Tears pooled in his eyes as he felt darkness close in on his consciousness.

Xingchen...I’m sorry.

From far away, he heard the sound of the main hall doors bursting open, followed by terrified cries from his disciples.

“Shifu!”

Footsteps rushed towards him, and soon Song Lan was surrounded by the panicked voices of his disciples. Someone laid a hand on his back, and he felt a warm rush of spiritual energy run through him. While Song Lan was grateful for the slight alleviation of his pain, he knew it wouldn’t do much in the long run. A sigh of defeat escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes as he waited for the sweet darkness of unconsciousness take over. As darkness took over his conscience, he thought he could hear a voice calling out to him, rising over the worried murmurs of the disciples around him.

“Zichen!”

Xingchen…

#the untamed #xiao xingchen #song lan #song jiyang #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot

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royaltealovingkookiness · 5 years

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I was totally not going to do Zutara Week, but seeing all the great stuff around I just had to write this. Story inspired by this fantastic piece of art. Read on AO3 or below. @zutaraweek

Day 1 - Gifts

The Painted Lady glided through the red-and-gold hallways silently. It had been so long since she set foot in this place. Not since the virtues of justice and charity were abandoned by its owners in pursuit of glory and riches. But there were murmurs that things had changed. She was curious.

The kitchen was bustling with activity. Knives dancing on chopping boards, pans sizzling with sauces, the fire burning in the oven.

“Don’t forget the plum-glaze on the pig-chicken, Michi, it’s the General’s favourite,” the head cook elbowed a sleepy sous-chef.

Two young women were working on a dessert in the shape of a pond made from sparkling blue jelly, sculpting delicate turtle-ducklings out of melted candy. “It’s coming along nicely,” the chef gave them an encouraging nod.

She tasted the soup steaming in a huge pot with an uncertain expression. “Perhaps add a little bit more lemongrass? I’m afraid that the recipe I’ve had sent in from the South Pole is dreadfully unspecific on the spicing. But don’t make it too hot,” she instructed the plump woman in charge.

The Painted Lady continued her way up to the second floor. Servants were busy decorating the dining hall with garlands and lampions. It was a cavalcade of colours and shapes; the sun and the moon, red and blue dragons, pink, green and yellow fish and birds. The long tables were already covered with crisp white table-cloth, and set with fine china bowls and plates. Laughter and chatter brightened the hall as the servants worked eagerly, careful to make everything perfect for the omiyamairi.

The Painted Lady continued her way and came to a halt in front of a heavy wooden door.

A young guard passed by her, unaware of her presence as he came running, yelling excitedly. “The guests have arrived.”

The woman standing in front of the door in Kyoshi uniform, motionless like a statue, scolded him on low voice. “Shhhh, she’s sleeping.”

The Painted Lady slid past them, into the room. It struck her how different it was from the rest of the palace. Brighter, softer. Instead of heavy crimson and gold curtains, the windows were covered with light white and blue linens. The paintings on the walls depicted curious animals from all around the world; penguins and turtle-seals ducking in icy ponds, sky-bison and flying lemurs soaring in the blue sky peppered with fluffy clouds, badgermoles clawing their way around their intricate tunnels under the green grass, dragons circling in the setting sun, turtle-ducks swimming in a pond, komodo-rhinos and ostrich-horses running wild in green pastures. A world once believed to be irrevocably lost. But hope sprung again that things could change for the better.

She frowned when she noticed the figure covered in black leaning over the cradle.

“You!” she said in alarm. “I didn’t think I’d find you here.”

The figure lifted his face, a familiar blue-and-white mask of permanently mischievous grin.

“Well, I could say the same, my Lady. It’s been far too long,” the Blue Spirit greeted her, his voice low and gravelly.

She lifted her hands. “Step away, evil spirit, she’s under my protection. I’ve brought her gifts.”

There was no way he had a better claim than her to be the baby’s guide.

“Get in line then, I suggest,” he snickered, “because I got here first.”

“What could you give her that she’d want?” the Painted Lady grimaced. “The world has had enough evil already.”

“The spirit of freedom and self-reliance.” The Blue Spirit placed his hands over the cradle in a motion of blessing. “And that of selfless sacrifice,” he added quietly, like it was something private, something he didn’t want to share with her.

“What would you know about selflessness?” She didn’t believe him for one second. He was a well-known trickster and trouble-maker, only ever looking out for himself.

“The truth is, we spirits are shaped by the beliefs of humans in us. And thanks to her father, people see me differently now. Something of a hero. Savior of the Avatar, I’m sure you heard,” the Blue Spirit winked at her. Yes, the Painted Lady had heard something about that, even if it was hard to believe that he of all spirits could ever change. “He helped me remember who I was and what I really stood for.”

The Painted Lady pondered his words. His story was strangely familiar. It was something they apparently had in common.

“I know what you mean. I have started to fade away - there was too little justice and charity left in the world to sustain me. But her mother reignited the flame in people’s hearts and my shrines are once again alive. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.”

“Justice and charity are noble gifts indeed. Go ahead, my Lady,” the Blue Spirit stood aside, letting her close to the crib.

Lifting her veil, the Painted Lady leaned over the sleeping baby. Fine, dark-brown curls framed her delicate face.

“She’ll have her mother’s hair,” she noted with satisfaction. She felt connected to the young woman whose spirit awakened her from a long lull of frozen sleep, and by extension to this child.

The Painted Lady marked the baby’s sand-coloured skin with red spirit-paint for justice and drew a silver-moon on her forehead for charity. Her fingers were light as the night breeze, yet the little girl stirred and opened her eyelids. Her eyes shone like golden gemstones, as she stared at the spirits calmly.

“She has her father’s eyes,” the Blue Spirit pointed out with satisfacton and reached out to tickle her arms gently. He seemed surprisingly warm, almost fatherly.

The baby started to wiggle, kicking off her covers. The spirits gasped when they noticed the two rag-dolls lying next to her in the crib - black and white, blue and red, a man and a woman.

“That’s us!” They looked at each other in wonderment.

The baby made excited noises. The connecting door opened immediately and a young man dressed in red pajama pants appeared with a worried face.

“That’s him,” the Blue Spirit whispered.

The Painted Lady watched him curiously as he leaned over the crib and lifted the infant. Was he good enough to have stolen the young girl’s precious heart? He held his daughter close to his bare chest, supporting the back of her fragile neck with his strong hand. The baby quieted against his heartbeat, her little fists gripping his long, black hair.

“You think she’s hungry, Zuko?” A voice from the other room called. The Painted Lady recognized it immediately as the voice of the caring, young girl.

“Maybe,” he replied. He ran his fingers along the baby’s cheek. “Come little Turtle-Duck, time to see Mummy.”

They disappeared behind the connecting door.

The Painted Lady hurried after them, but the Blue Spirit planted himself in her way.

“Where are you going, my Lady? Our mission is done here. You know the rules,” he reminded her.

He was right of course. The divide between the world of humans and spirits couldn’t be crossed lightly. The spirits were not to meddle unnecessarily. But the Painted Lady wanted to see her so badly, to make sure she was happy. She smiled coyly at the Blue Spirit, he was known for bending rules after all.

“Just a glance,” she promised and he let her pass. She glided through the door and he followed her only after a moment of hesitation.

The room was veiled in silvery-soft moonlight. There she was on the large bed, propped up against the pillows, cradled in her husband’s arms, her blue eyes sparkling with the purest joy. The baby rested on her breast, small hands grasping unto her mother’s skin. The hungry gulps and snuffles of the infant as she suckled were the only noise in the room.

“What a beautiful family,” the Painted Lady sighed happily.

“I think they were made for each other,” the Blue Spirit nodded in agreement. “And however small, we had a part in this.”

“Ssshhhhhh,” someone shushed them. They looked around startled. Yue, the moon spirit scowled at them from above.

The Painted Lady and the Blue Spirit backed out of the room quietly; it was never a good idea to anger the greater spirits.

They paused in the empty nursery, unsure of how to proceed, now that fate brought them together in such a strange way.

“Well, I guess, this is it, my Lady. Until next time,” bowed the Blue Spirit.

The Painted Lady was about to say good riddance, for old times' sake but she couldn’t shake the picture of the happy family from her mind. Creation, rebirth, peace, unity, love. Maybe the spirits could learn from the humans too every once in a century. Maybe their faith in the spirits could really change them for the better. She watched the Blue Spirit pensively, remembering the young man cradling his family.

“Actually, I’m heading south,” she started hesitantly. “Gaipo region is suffering from floods - I could use the help.”

To her surprise, the Blue Spirit nodded eagerly. “It is a worthy cause. Lead the way, my Lady.”

#atla #Zutara Week 2019 #atla fanfic #blue spirit #painted lady #zutara #zutara fanfic #brusselssprout writes #Day 1 #prompt: gifts #rtk does zutara week

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theskyrimlibrary · 4 years

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2920, Hearth Fire, v9

Hearth Fire Book Nine of 2920 The Last Year of the First Era

by Carlovac Townway

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2 Hearth Fire, 2920 Gideon, Black Marsh

The empress Tavia lay across her bed, a hot late summer wind she could not feel banging the shutters of her cell to and fro against the iron bars. Her throat felt like it was on fire but still she sobbed, uncontrollably, wringing her last tapestry in her hands. Her wailing echoed throughout the hollow halls of Castle Giovese, stopping maids in their washing and guards in their conversation. One of her women came up the narrow stairs to see her mistress, but her chief guard Zuuk stood at the doorway and shook his head.

“She’s just heard that her son is dead,” he said quietly.

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5 Hearth Fire, 2920 The Imperial City, Cyrodiil

“Your Imperial Majesty,” said the Potentate Versidue-Shaie through the door. “You can open the door. I assure you, you’re perfectly safe. No one wants to kill you.”

“Mara’s blood!” came the Emperor Reman III’s voice, muffled, hysterical, tinged with madness. “Someone assassinated the Prince, and he was holding my shield! They could have thought he was me!”

“You’re certainly correct, your Imperial Majesty,” replied the Potentate, expunging any mocking qualities from his voice while his black-slitted eyes rolled contemptuously. “And we must find and punish the evildoer responsible for your son’s death. But we cannot do it without you. You must be brave for your Empire.”

There was no reply.

“At the very least, come out and sign the order for Lady Rijja’s execution,” called the Potentate. “Let us dispose of the one traitor and assassin we know of.”

A brief pause, and then the sound of furniture scraping across the floor. Reman opened the door just a crack, but the Potentate could see his angry, fearful face, and the terrible mound of ripped tissue that used to be his right eye. Despite the best healers in the Empire, it was still a ghastly souvenir of the Lady Rijja’s work in Thurzo Fortress.

“Hand me the order,” the Emperor snarled. “I’ll sign it with pleasure.”

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6 Hearth Fire, 2920 Gideon, Cyrodiil

The strange blue glow of the will o’ the wisps, a combination, so she’d be told, of swamp gas and spiritual energy, had always frightened Tavia as she looked out her window. Now it seemed strangely comforting. Beyond the bog lay the city of Gideon. It was funny, she thought, that she had never stepped foot in its streets, though she had watched it ever day for seventeen years.

“Can you think of anything I’ve forgotten?” she asked, turning to look back on the loyal Kothringi Zuuk.

“I know exactly what to do,” he said simply. He seemed to smile, but the Empress realized that it was only her own face reflected in his silvery skin. She was smiling, and she didn’t even realize it.

“Make certain you aren’t followed,” she warned. “I don’t want my husband to know where my gold’s been hiding all these years. And do take your share of it. You’ve been a good friend.”

The Empress Tavia stepped forward and dropped from sight into the mists. Zuuk replaced the bars on the tower window, and threw a blanket over some pillows on her bed. With any luck, they would not discover her body on the lawn until morning, at which time he hoped to be halfway to Morrowind.

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9 Hearth Fire, 2920 Phrygias, High Rock

The strange trees on all sides resembled knobby piles crowned with great bursts of reds, yellows, and oranges, like insect mounds caught fire. The Wrothgarian mountains were fading into the misty afternoon. Turala marveled at the sight, so alien, so different from Morrowind, as she plodded the horse forward into an open pasture. Behind her, head nodding against his chest, Cassyr slept, cradling Bosriel. For a moment, Turala considered jumping the low painted fence that crossed the field, but she thought better of it. Let Cassyr sleep for a few more hours before giving him the reigns.

As the horse passed into the field, Turala saw the small green house on the next hill, half-hidden in forest. So picturesque was the image, she felt herself lull into a pleasant half-sleeping state. A blast of a horn brought her back to reality with a shuffer. Cassyr opened his eyes.

“Where are we?” he hissed.

“I don’t know,” Turala stammered, wide-eyed. “What is that sound?”

“Orcs,” he whispered. “A hunting party. Head for the thicket quickly.”

Turala trotted the horse into the small collection of trees. Cassyr handed her the child and dismounted. He began pulling their bags off next, throwing them into the bushes. A sound started then, a distant rumbling of footfall, growing louder and closer. Turala climbed off carefully and helped Cassyr unburden the horse. All the while, Bosriel watched open-eyed. Turala sometimes worried that her baby never cried. Now she was grateful for it. With the last of the luggage off, Cassyr slapped the horse’s rear, sending it galloping into the field. Taking Turala’s hand, he hunkered down in the bushes.

“With luck,” he murmured. “They’ll think she’s wild or belongs to the farm and won’t go looking for the rider.”

As he spoke, a horde of orcs surged into the field, blasting their horns. Turala had seen orcs before, but never in such abundance, never with such bestial confidence. Roaring with delight at the horse and its confused state, they hastened past the timber where Cassyr, Turala, and Bosriel hid. The wildflowers flew into the air at their stampede, powdering the air with seeds. Turala tried to hold back a sneeze, and thought she succeeded. One of the orcs heard something though, and brought another with him to investigate.

Cassyr quietly unsheathed his sword, mustering all the confidence he could. His skills, such as they were, were in spying, not combat, but he vowed to protect Turala as her babe for as long as he could. Perhaps he would slay these two, he reasoned, but not before they cried out and brought the rest of the horde.

Suddenly, something invisible swept through the bushes like a wind. The orcs flew backwards, falling dead on their backs. Turala turned and saw a wrinkled crone with bright red hair emerge from a nearby bush.

“I thought you were going to bring ‘em right to me,” she whispered, smiling. “Best come with me.”

The three followed the old woman through a deep crevasse of bramble bushes that ran through the field toward the house on the hill. As they emerged on the other side, the woman turned to look at the orcs feasting on the remains of the horse, a blood-soaked orgy to the beat of multiple horns.

“That horse yours?” she asked. When Cassyr nodded, she laughed loudly. “That’s rich meat, that is. Those monsters’ll have bellyaches and flatulence in the morning. Serves ‘em right.”

“Shouldn’t we keep moving?” whispered Turala, unnerved by the woman’s laughter.

“They won’t come up here,” she grinned, looking at Bosriel who smiled back. “They’re too afraid of us.”

Turala turned to Cassyr, who shook his head. “Witches. Am I correct in assuming that this is Old Barbyn’s Farm, the home of the Skeffington Coven?”

“You are, pet,” the old woman giggled girlishly, pleased to be so infamous. “I am Mynista Skeffington.”

“What did you do to those orcs?” asked Turala. “Back there in the thicket?”

“Spirit fist right side the head,” Mynista said, continuing the climb up the hill. Ahead of them was the farmhouse grounds, a well, a chicken coop, a pond, women of all ages doing chores, the laughter of children at play. The old woman turned and saw that Turala did not understand. “Don’t you have witches where you come from, child?”

“None that I know of,” she said.

“There are all sorts of wielders of magic in Tamriel,” she explained. “The Psijics study magic like its their painful duty. The battlemages in the army on the other end of the scale hurl spells like arrows. We witches commune and conjure and celebrate. To fell those orcs, I merely whispered to the spirits of the air, Amaro, Pina, Tallatha, the fingers of Kynareth, and the breath of the world, with whom I have an intimate acquaintance, to smack those bastards dead. You see, conjuration is not about might, or solving riddles, or agonizing over musty old scrolls. It’s about fostering relations. Being friendly, you might say.”

“Well, we certainly appreciate you being friendly with us,” said Cassyr.

“As well you might,” coughed Mynista. “Your kind destroyed the orc homeland two thousand years ago. Before that, they never came all the way up here and bothered us. Now let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”

With that, Mynista led them into the farm, and Turala met the family of the Skeffington Coven.

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11 Hearth Fire, 2920 The Imperial City, Cyrodiil

Rijja had not even tried to sleep the night before, and she found the somber music played during her execution to have a soporific effect. It was as if she was willing herself to be unconscious before the ax stroke. Her eyes were bound so she could not see her formed lover, the Emperor, seated before her, glaring with his one good eye. She could not see the Potentate Versidue-Shaie, his coil neatly wrapped beneath him, a look of triumph in his golden face. She could feel, numbly, the executioner’s hand touch her back to steady her. She flinched like a dreamer trying to awake.

The first blow caught the back of her head and she screamed. The next hacked through her neck, and she was dead.

The Emperor turned to the Potentate wearily, “Now that’s done. You said she had a pretty sister in Hammerfell named Corda?”

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18 Hearth Fire, 2920 Dwynnen, High Rock

The horse the witches had sold him was not as good as his old one, Cassyr considered. Spirit worship and sacrifice and sisterhood might be all well and good for conjuring spirits, but it ends to spoil beasts of burden. Still, there was little to complain about. With the Dunmer woman and her child gone, he had made excellent time. Ahead were the walls surrounding the city of his homeland. Almost at once, he was set upon by his old friends and family.

“How went the war?” cried his cousin, running to the road. “Is it true that Vivec signed a peace with the Prince, but the Emperor refuses to honor it?”

“That’s now how it was, was it?” asked a friend, joining them. “I heard that the Dunmer had the Prince murdered and then made up a story about a treaty, but there’s no evidence for it.”

“Isn’t there anything interesting happening here?” Cassyr laughed. “I really don’t have the least interest in discussing the war or Vivec.”

“You missed the procession of the Lady Corda, said his friend. “She came across the bay with full entourage and then east to the Imperial City.”

“But that’s nothing. What was Vivec like?” asked his cousin eagerly. “He supposed to be a living god.”

“If Sheogorath steps down and they need another God of Madness, he’ll do,” said Cassyr haughtily.

“And the women?” asked the lad, who had only seen Dunmer ladies on very rare occasions.

Cassyr merely smiled. Turala Skeffington flashed into his mind for an instant before fading away. She would be happy with the coven, and her child would be well cared for. But they were part of the past now, a place and a war he wanted to forget forever. Dismounting his horse, he walked it into the city, chatting of trivial gossip of life on the Iliac Bay.

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