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four-loose-screws · 3 years

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FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 2, Section 3

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I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 2 - The Blood of a Warrior (con’t x2)

Renvall Castle was on the border that separated Renais and Grado, and was also called "Waterside Renvall," as it was built atop a lake.

Seth was the one to decide on their route to the castle. Though they were still only a small force of a few people, if they did not move carefully, then they would probably be spotted by the Grado soldiers. They needed to travel the route that would be the most likely to have the least people along it, and so chose to go south below the mountains in Renais territory.

After crossing the mountain range and cutting through the Za’ha Woods, they arrived in the border town of Serafew. From there, it was only a short distance to Renvall, but first, they had to travel a rural road that passed through a number of small villages.

Though they were in Renais' territory, Grado soldiers were currently waltzing around as if it was their own, and to make matters worse, bandits were also taking advantage of the confusion and rampaging about. They couldn't afford to let their guard down for even a second.

"First, I believe it best to ascertain that the road ahead is safe. Will you give me permission to go gather reconnaissance?" Vanessa requested.

She rode a pegasus even larger and more magnificent than Achaeus. However, they feared that if she flew up too high, the Grado soldiers would find her, so they had her stay on the ground with the horses.

Just as Tana had said, Vanessa was serious in both demeanor and speech, and her back was always straight. She was difficult to approach, but really wasn’t all that scary, as Eirika had come to understand. She was simply awkward with others, and had a hard time choosing the right words.

"Would you really be okay flying around in the sky? It would be very dangerous if an archer spotted you…" Eirika worried.

The pegasus knights may be praised as the elite soldiers of Frelia, but they were extremely weak to attacks from archers. If one of their pegasus' wings were hit mid flight, then the rider would also fall. If the enemy knew they would be facing pegasus knights, they'd be likely to start the fight with archers on the battlefield.

"I will be careful. If I sense an enemy's presence, then I will return right away."

"Then yes, please. Just be careful."

"Yes. I will succeed.” She was not excited, and showed the same lack of expression as always as she spoke. When she was finished speaking, she quickly mounted her pegasus.

After a short takeoff gallop, her pegasus spread her wings and rose into the sky.

Vanessa returned about half an hour later.

She was in a panic as she dismounted her pegasus and lowered on one knee in front of Eirika, then spoke quickly as she reported, "I found a group of bandits just ahead of here. They appeared to be attacking a village.”

"Bandits…?"　Eirika's face turned pale.

Moulder, who'd been standing next to her, said with a sad look on his face, "We should probably avoid any movements that will make us stand out here. ...If it were just bandits we had to worry about, then we could likely take care of them by ourselves, but I fear the noise will draw the attention of the Grado soldiers to us."

His advice did indeed seem very wise, but Eirika bit her lip and shook her head. "Still, I cannot overlook the actions of those who cause the people to suffer. Vanessa, please give me the details of the damage."

"I confirmed that there was an injured person. He seemed to still be just a boy…"

"Father Moulder, can I ask you to treat him?"

"You certainly can, but first, I must get to where he is."

"I shall take you to him." Vanessa said quickly.

When she saw Eirika nod, she turned around and got back on her pegasus, despite the fact that she'd just jumped off.

A strong wind stirred up the land around them, then they rose into the air. Eirika watched them fly off and said, "We must hurry as well, and head to the site of the bandits' violence straight away, so we may stop it."

She and the others all set out in the direction Vanessa had flown in.

Before long, the small ruined village came into view. It did not seem like it would be attacked again soon, so the villagers were calmly yet diligently working the fields.

Eirika turned to Seth and said, "It looked like Vanessa went just up ahead this way. This village still seems peaceful, but I think we should advise them that bandits are coming.”

"You're right. Then I…"

"No, I will go."

Those like Seth and Franz could be identified as soldiers with just one look due to their clothing, so they might frighten the villagers. On the other hand, since Eirika looked like a common traveler, she likely would not not startle them, and they would let her in.

"Please be careful." Seth said worriedly.

"I will return soon." She replied, then dismounted his horse.

Eirika rushed into the village and was immediately noticed by the handful of people chatting in the square just before her. They turned and started to approach her.

Standing in the middle of the group was a young woman. Her bright blonde hair was cut in a simple style that rested just above her shoulders, but her face was so beautiful that she made Eirika gasp. She had a very different air about her compared to the villagers.

Eirika didn’t know anything about the woman, but she didn’t seem to be arguing with the villagers.

Eirika approached them and said, "Please close the village gate straight away. Bandits are rampaging close by here. We can't let them get inside…"

"Who are you? I see you're wearing a sword." A woman said to her sharply, and looked at her with a puzzled expression.

Eirika’s heart skipped a beat. She'd been in such a hurry that she'd forgotten that her sword was still attached to her belt.

Her mouth uttered a lie so quickly that she did not fully realize what she was saying. "My… My name is E… Erina. I’m a member of a mercenary group that passes through this area sometimes…”

The woman seemed uninterested, but nodded and also gave her own name. "My name is Selena. I am a general of Grado."

"Grado…!?” Eirika could not hide her surprise. She stared straight at the beautiful woman before her.

Now that Selena had said it, she certainly seemed like a soldier. But it was a surprise that she was a general, being so young, and a woman at that.

Eirika had a feeling that her obvious staring would make the others see right through her lie, and her legs started to shake.

"What's the matter?" Selena asked her.

"It's nothing." Eirika responded. She wanted to get out of there right away, but she couldn’t.

Selena seemed to see her as a mercenary girl nervous to stand before a general of Grado. She softened her expression and tone as she continued to speak. "Bandits are running amok in this area, just as you said. I too came here because I was concerned about that. However, I have received orders from the capital to return home, and have no time to drive out the bandits. You being here will be a huge help. Your mercenary group is probably close by, correct?"

"Y… Yes, they are…"

"Then will you please help this village? I must leave already."

"Um…" Eirika looked at Selena in surprise. "You said you're a general of Grado, right? Why are you so concerned for a village in Renais…?"

"The lives of the people have no relation to borders. They are in your hands now." Selena said firmly, then turned away.

When she disappeared, the villagers immediately burst out in conversation.

"Wow, she's really cool… So even Grado has soldiers like her!"

"I'd heard that the Grado soldiers were beasts that shed no blood nor tears, but she was different!"

"She came here just to warn us. I wonder why such a good person is attacking Renais and participating in such horrible things…"

"Her feelings have nothing to do with anything. Whatever the emperor orders, she has to do, right?"

"Yes, that is true…"

While the villagers carried on their idle chatter, Eirika's heart became heavy. ‘So even a woman with such kind eyes like Selena was a part of the attack on Renais…’

But on the other hand, she was also filled with hope.

Lyon was not the only one. There were other people from Grado spreading such words. Both sides were currently in chaos, but when they had an opportunity to talk with each other one day, chances were, they'd be able to find a path to a solution.

"Please close the village gate and hide, everyone! My mercenary group will figure out what we will do after that." Eirika said to the villagers, then left.

They continued further down the mountain road single-file, and were soon able to meet up with Vanessa.

A boy was squatting next to her pegasus, and she was wiping the sweat from his brow.

When she noticed them, she stood up. "Lady Eirika, I safely rescued the boy."

"Good work, Vanessa. Father Moulder, please tend to his wounds straight away…"

Moulder walked up to him, staff in hand. The injured boy squinted in pain as he raised his head.

He was probably around fifteen or sixteen years old, had black hair and tanned skin, and looked like a bit of a rascal. He was undoubtedly glaring at them not because he thought of them as enemies, but because of the pain. Blood was trickling from his side and staining his simple clothing.

"The village… our village was attacked by bandits, and burned down! Please help! You guys are military, right…?"

“Please do not yell so loudly. You'll further open your wounds." Moulder soothed him as he healed his wounds, but the boy would not stay quiet.

"The name's Ross! I was born in Ide Village. It's just ahead of here. My father's still in the village fighting! Lend him a hand! Please!"

Eirika said kindly to the panicking boy, "Rest assured, Ross, we will take care of the village. Please relax in a safe place."

"No way, I'm gonna fight too!"

"But your wound is very deep…"

"Then hurry and heal it! If you just stop the bleeding, it'll be fine! Dad's fighting all on his own. We gotta hurry and help him! I'm the son of the warrior Garcia. I won't lose to a lowly enemy like bandits!"

The boy's angry words pierced through Eirika's heart.

He was trying to save his father, a man surrounded by enemies and fighting all on his own. He was the same as Eirika. She’d also rejected King Hayden's concern for her safety to save her brother, without even thinking twice about it.

No matter what dangers were awaiting him, he could not hesitate to save someone important to him... Eirika knew that feeling very well.

"Understood. Let's go, Ross. But please do not travel far from us, no matter what might happen."

"You got it!"

This was the first time Eirika ever watched a priest use a staff. When he raised the staff over the wound, a soft light emanated from the orb atop it, and the wound started to heal. If someone without training tried to use the exact same staff, then there would be no way they could achieve that result. Eirika had known about staves, but seeing one used up close was truly a wonderous thing.

Ross' wound closed up in the blink of an eye. He joined their single file line, and they all traveled even further down the mountain, until they reached the outskirts of Ide Village.

A small battle was raging in front of the burning village. A villager surrounded by bandits was brandishing his axe, and giving the bandits a hard time all on his own.

"Dad!" Ross called out and rushed over to him.

The man halted his axe mid-swing, and his face flushed with anger. "Why did you come back!? Run away…!"

"I went to get reinforcements! I'm gonna fight with you!"

The bandits flinched at the arrival of another group. They'd attacked the village to take advantage of the current situation, and were really just a ragtag bunch of thugs without any sense of order among them. Before Seth and the other powerful soldiers, they didn’t stand a chance.

Father and son also fought so hard that everyone was wide-eyed in amazement. Ross moved as if he’d faked the pain he'd previously been in, swinging his axe and chasing down his enemies. His father also took down bandits like one would think no ordinary villager possibly could.

Once the enemies were entirely defeated, Ross' father wiped his brow with one of his muscular arms, then turned towards Eirika and the others. "Thank you for taking care of my son. You saved him."

Seth stepped forward before Eirika could reply to him and said, "Forgive my rudeness, but are you… Sir Garcia, ex-member of the Renais Army?"

The man stared at Seth, but did not try to answer.

Eirika looked up at Seth. "Do you know of him?"

"Yes. Ever since I'd heard of the warrior Garcia, I'd thought something had happened to him… He was a commanding officer of a unit of the Renais Army until ten years ago. I was still just a squire at the time, but Sir Garcia's name was famous throughout the entire army as a courageous warrior who knew no fear…"

Garcia listened with a pained expression, but then abruptly tried to turn away.

Seth called out to him, "I never imagined I'd meet you in a place like this. As you know, Sir Garcia, Renais is currently in trouble. Won't you please lend your strength to her once more?"

"Sorry, but I retired. I won't work for the army ever again." Garcia said curtly, as if the question inconvenienced him.

"Sir Garcia!"

"You have my eternal thanks for saving my son. But I don't want to concern myself with you any further. I will be leaving now…"

"What are you saying, Dad?" Ross rushed over to him. Moulder had tried to hold him back, but he'd shaken off Moulder's hand and managed to get up. "Our village was burned down. If we don't fight here, then what will we do!? Let's go with them!"

"Ross…" Garcia looked deeply troubled.

Ross balled his hands into fists and continued, "You quit the army for Mom and I, right? I thank you for that. You've always taken good care of me. But to turn down this fight for that reason now, ain't like you at all!"

Garcia stared at his son, unable to respond.

Ross calmed his anger, quieting his voice a little, but his words were just as sharp. "I fought well, right? You watched me, didn't you? I'm proud to be the son of the warrior Garcia. I'm not a kid anymore! I'm a warrior, just like you!"

"...You are? Yes, you are." Garcia slumped his shoulders.

Eirika felt anxious that he might answer his son with just as much anger, but instead, Garcia immediately lifted his head.

"I'm ashamed. Being scolded by you made me realize it for the first time. That my son, before I knew it, grew from a boy I must protect into a warrior of his own. If these old bones can be of help to you, then please let me fight with you as well.”

Ross' face lit up.

Eirika was surprised as well. To such a small group headed towards Renvall Castle, the addition of this father and son pair reassured them. The battle they'd just fought was proof enough of their power.

Eirika wanted them to join the group and deploy immediately, but Garcia requested they give him a little time before leaving. Eirika agreed, and then he disappeared.

"I wonder where he went..."

Ross answered her question. "To Mom's grave, probably."

"Your mom's…?"

"Yeah. There is a graveyard nearby the village. Mom died many years ago, from an illness." He sounded sad, but even further beneath that seemed to be loneliness.

Eirika looked at him, but didn't say anything.

"That's when Dad changed. He'd only ever concerned himself with the army, so he probably regretted that he didn't get to care for Mom when she was sick and weak. I was still really small back then. He took me to her grave and made a promise to her. 'I will quit the army, and won't leave this village until Ross is grown.'”

"So that's what happened…"

"I think that's why he said he was so stubborn not to fight. But Dad really is a warrior, so when Renais is in danger, he should get more worked up than anyone to fight!"

"Your argument seemed to help him make up his mind."

Eirika's words made him happy. His face lit up, and he nodded his head. "No, it's all thanks to you and your group, girl! I think you lit a fire inside of his warrior's soul once more…"

"Stop calling her 'girl.' It's very rude to speak that way to a princess." Someone suddenly cut in, and made them whirl around.

An angry Franz was standing before them.

Ross looked like he didn't understand what Franz had said to him. "Huh?" Was his only response.

Franz repeated himself. "Don't call her 'girl.' She is Lady Eirika, princess of Renais."

"Huh…? Oh, is she? Sorry. I was raised in the mountains, so I don't know nothin' about manners. What should I call her, then? Princess? Your Royal Highness?"

"Lady Eirika."

Their exchange was a bit weird, and it made Eirika giggle as she said, "It's fine, you don't have to be strict. We're friends traveling together, after all!"

"Yeah, you're right. You're a really good person. See, the princess said it's fine!"

"Don't get carried away!" Franz yelled, but when he noticed that Eirika was laughing, he set aside his anger and started up a conversation with Ross.

Until now, he'd been surrounded by people older than him, so he'd probably been concerned about that. In truth, he seemed happy that someone around his age had finally joined them.

Ross and Franz were different in both personality and upbringing, but Eirika felt that they would become surprisingly good friends.

Garcia returned soon after, and the group left the burned down village.

Garcia spoke not a word of his visit to his wife's grave and walked along in silence. Even Ross did not try to ask him about it.

#fire emblem #fe #fe8 #sacred stones #nintendo #game boy advance #gba #japan #japanese #translation #novel #light novel #fe8 novelization translation

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intricate-oeuvre · 4 years

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On how to be deadly || Geralt of Rivia || part III

A/N: Ahhh, update!!! This is a bit of a filler chapter, so I can set mood for the next big turning point. Also I don’t know how long do you guys want this story to be? Hit me up if you want to be tagged. Likes, reblogs, comments, fanarts, playlists, moodboards are always welcomed!

Word count: 3.1k+

Summary: Axelia is Witcher experiment herself and has gone through same harsh Trials as Geralt, but she wasn’t so lucky with the outcome. Her vision didn’t become better. Therefore, she was rendered blind in the end. And because of that, she solely uses her Witcher senses to make her ways. Only potions can give her false sense of sight for limited time.Somewhere along the way she meets the Rivian. Who’s interested to know how she’s been killing monsters and hasn’t been killed herself yet.

Warnings: Nudity, but nothing too graphic. Alcohol (drink responsibly). Angsty, kind of. Bad grammar, since English is not my first language.

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

Before Axelia had gone and slayed the monster she had found some old lady that was ready to take her in for some time, or until she will be ready to leave for the next place, next monster.

Now she was making her way towards that place. With deep sigh she exited the grove and stopped at the small stream that separated the village from the said grove. She leaned down near the stream, letting her fingertips dip in the cold, refreshing water, she washed her hands off, at least enough to knock on the old lady’s door. Then she stood up again and shook off her hands. Girl with the tulle blindfold carefully made her way across the small stream and then walked on the dirt road. She heard chatter of the people that were walking through the village. Someone was feeding their pigs; another was chopping wood. Someone three houses down was forging iron. Then there were giggles and laughs of children. Some even running past her, making girl stop and turn around as she followed the sound, small smile of wonder curving on her lips. Which soon turned into look of curiosity as she heard the whispers that followed afterwards. Kids were talking about her. The way she had outlandishly white hair, or the fact that she looked as if someone had been dragging her on the ground for hours to no end. Or maybe it was the blindfold that made her look odd, or two swords that were attached to her back. Axelia didn’t indulge anymore on that chatter and turned back around and continued her path to the old woman’s house. She just wanted a hot bath and some peace and quiet as everything seemed to be annoying her at the moment. As curious as she was about the talks going around about her, she, at the same time, couldn’t take anymore talking.

With three quiet taps of her knuckles against the wooden door, she was granted the warmth of the house.

“Oh, lords, look at you, dearie!” Old woman exclaimed and putted her hands together as she saw how Axelia looked like.

“Did that beast do such a thing to you?” old lady asked.

“Nothing serious. It’s mostly dirt and some scratches. Nothing that good night’s sleep won’t fix.” Axelia replied taking a seat at the nearest chair as she was wishing to get off her boots faster.

“I am going to draw you a bath. Would you like that?” She asked the girl.

“Yes, thank you very much.” Axelia said as she pulled off her boots and putted them down by the fire to dry.

“Are there some specific herbs you’d like in your bath?” lady had asked. All people around here were herbs gatherers, that much girl knew.

“Velvet rose and sandalwood.” She said without thinking. After realising what she had said, she hissed and looked up at the lady, who was already gone to prepare her a bath.

“Great.” Axelia rolled her eyes and stumbled to where she heard the sound of the running water.

*Some time later*

Axelia was sitting in the wooden tub. Fire crackling softly to her right, casting the right side of her face in orange glow as her shoulder was getting pleasantly warm. The old lady was sitting behind her on the small stool and combing Axelia’s white hair that was now wet and cascading down her back. Girl absentmindedly played with the rose petals that were spinning in the water every time she moved. Girl didn’t talk much, but the old lady seemed to be the opposite. She told Axelia how she became living here and that she was once married and has a daughter, similar Axelia’s age, at least in the appearance. How all her children were living in different cities and villages. All the reasons why she was alone in the big house, only her and two maids with two stable boys, that she raised like her children. Axelia didn’t answer much to it, only occasional hum and nothing else. At some point Axelia had quite blatantly asked the old lady to leave her alone for the moment. And without questions and only full with understanding, the lady had grabbed her dirty clothes and left the girl.

Axelia had her left elbow propped on the side of the bath tub, while her fingertips were against her forehead. She was trying to not listen for once, not feel for once and just let her body restart. At the moment she was feeling as everything was setting her off, keeping her on the edge. In her other hand there was small woodchip, as she was turning it over and over with her fingers, to distract her mind. For a second her eyebrows rose up as she heard commotions downstairs. She didn’t pay any heed to it and with a deep sigh stretched her legs under the water. Couple moments later doors to her room opened, without raising her head she said in a tired voice:

“May I be undisturbed for the rest of the night?” And as she finished that sentence, she raised her head and froze for a moment, similar to dear that is fearful and is listening for noises and smells.

“What are YOU doing here?” Axelia said, sitting up straighter and pulling her knees to her chest.

“I told you to leave me alone.” Axelia grumbled, in no mood to talk to Geralt who was standing in her room now.

“Your payment.” He said as he tossed the leshen’s head near the tub alongside with purse of coins.

“You brought dirt in old hag’s house. And thus, in my room.” Axelia looked down at the scull, that still had the broken antler missing. She raised her right leg out of water and putted its calf on her other knee, wiggling her toes as the water dripped down now exposed leg.

“If that is all, you can go.” Axelia said, turning her attention back to the water, listening how water droplets hit surface of the scented water.

“Geralt, you forgot-” There was a voice that Axelia didn’t recognise. Jaskier had just entered her room too, holding other antler in his hand.

“What are we doing in the naked maidens chambers? Together?” Jaskier asked raising one eyebrow as his eyes slid from Geralt to Axelia.

“I’m hoping that not only talking.” Axelia tilted her head to the side, small smirk playing on her lips. Jaskier could feel the tension in the room and it was not between him and the girl in the bath nor it was one akin to pleasure.

“I, um… I got your... horn?” Jaskier said, pulling on the collar of his jacket as he briskly walked to the bath and extended the antler toward Axelia. Axelia extended her hand, palm up but didn’t take the antler from him. With still outstretched hand, Jaskier turned his head back to look at Geralt, questioning look on his face.

“Put it in her hand, Jaskier.” Geralt answered with slight roll of his eyes. The bard did as he was told, and as soon as the girl grabbed the antler out of his hand, he stepped back, still standing slightly behind the witcher.

“Thank you.” Axelia smiled politely and instantly started to twirl the antler in her hand.

“But I don’t need it.” She said dropping it near the bath.

“And now you can leave, so I can continue my bathing.”

“Water’s cold already.” Geralt said not missing a beat.

“Fine.” Axelia said in steady voice as she braced herself on the edges of the tub and on her right, got out of it.

“Oh, sweet…” Jaskier exclaimed, hiding his face behind Geralt’s back. The witcher only let out a displeased grunt as he casted his eyes down at the floor. With her back naked to two men, Axelia reached for a towel and wrapped it around herself.

“I’m… I am going back downstairs.” Jaskier said sliding away from the back of Geralt and disappearing from the room.

“Is that your jester?” Axelia asked as she pulled a comb through her hair.

“Jaskier is a bard.” Geralt’s voice come from somewhere closer than before.

“Why don’t you go downstairs now? Join that Jaskier of yours. I am pretty sure that they have ale or something.” Axelia said putting down the brush on the table in front of her.

“Look…” Geralt started, briefly receiving disapproving sigh from her.

“About what you said.” He continued.

“I don’t like where this is going. You should leave. Before you say too much, Geralt.” Axelia said, looking down at the floor. All she could feel was him standing behind her, as his warm breath landed on her naked shoulders.

“I didn’t want to-” Geralt started again, but Axelia interrupted him:

“Leave me?” she took a step forward, away from him.

“Axelia.” Geralt said sternly.

“Leave. I need to get dressed.” Axelia run her hand along the dress that was on the bed.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Geralt said, his yellow eyes following her hand movement.

“I don’t feel like showing my scars to you right now.” Axelia said holding towel closer to her chest. Her head turned towards the door, where one could hear cheers from downstairs.

“Go. Join them.” Axelia putted her hand gently on his chest and gave him a small push backwards. He didn’t fight her, with only a nod towards her, went downstairs.

Axelia was left alone for a moment, when there was a small knock on her door.

“What is it?” Axelia asked half annoyed as she was securing her hair in low bun at the nape of her neck.

“Are you wakeful, dearie?” Old lady peaked her head in her room.

“Yes.” Axelia half whispered.

“May I come in?” old lady asked even though she already had come in.

“Boys must be keeping you up with all that noise.” Lady said sitting on Axelia’s bed.

“I’ll manage. After all I grew up in a place with mainly boys.” Axelia sighed at took a seat next to the lady. She let her hands slide along the skirt part of the dress that lady had given her. Axelia was never one for the dresses. They always got in her way. Restricted the movement of her body.

“I guess alongside the big one.” Lady chuckled. Axelia hummed in response.

“But there is something more.” She continued to tell the girl.

“Maybe in past.” Axelia sighed, looking around the room. Without a word, the old lady took hold of Axelia’s left hand and held it in her lap.

“Tell me what happened.” She asked her softly.

“He left…” Axelia started in the softest voice, barely above the whisper.

“Without any explanation. Left me alone on the doorstep. I thought that all the things we faced together until that…. I thought that there was something more to it. Maybe it wasn’t the connection he was looking for… I don’t… know… that winter he didn’t come back… I was being a fool… for waiting for him to come back… I was alone… no one believed me that I could do this… this…whatever this is…” girl explained, her head now in the old lady’s lap as she used her hands to express her mixed emotions.

“I was all alone… and all the parts of me that I showed him… kind of disappeared… I thought that he loved me… we didn’t say that… not directly, anyway… but I thought that… he had this thing with tapping me three times… I didn’t know what that meant… still absolutely don’t… he tapped whatever part was closest to him… just *tap tap tap*” Axelia tapped lady’s knee three times.

“Only three times… no more, no less… tap tap tap.” Axelia tapped in air with her finger.

“After the second winter, I kind of… got sick of it… news travelled fast you know? I heard that he was coming back… I don’t know why or for what… but he wasn’t alone…” Axelia explained, letting out some details, not willing to bare her all to some stranger.

“With who?” old lady asked softly, letting her fingers brush hair out of Axelia’s face.

“Yennefer…” Axelia said softly, without any malice in her voice.

“This pretty girl, the sorcerer… the one that had stolen his heart… Love of his life.” Axelia said, single tear running down her face. She remembered that, she didn’t want to, but she did. Vesemir had said something about Geralt coming back, to do something. Unfinished business of sorts. But when Vesemir had mentioned another name, Axelia was confused. She had asked him to explain who this Yennefer is to be. And once Axelia had learned about this all ordeal of love of his life, she didn’t want to linger. She had run upstairs to her room, packed as little as she could and escaped the Kaer Morhen through the hole in the wall, so just she wouldn't have the option to run into him and the love of his life. But that was years ago, even though the memory was burnt in her head like with flaming spear.

“You know…” old lady started as she saw the unhappy look on girl’s face.

“In one lifetime you can and will love so many times, but there will be that one that will burn your soul forever.” She continued.

“Yeah… right…” Axelia scoffed with slight roll of her eyes.

“Sweetheart, do you know the difference between the love of your life and a soulmate?”

“Aren’t you supposed to love your soulmate for the rest of your life…” Axelia furrowed her brows.

“You choose the love. You choose who to love. How long? That is up to you. But the soulmate… soulmate isn’t a choice, dearie.” Lady explained.

“What are you implying?” Axelia sat up, dried her tears and blinked at the lady.

“Maybe he’s your soulmate. Have you thought about that?” lady looked at her with caring smile.

“No… never…” Axelia trailed off, her eyes drifting towards the door.

“He might not love you in the same he does this Yennefer. Nor does he love you in a way that you might understand love. But there always will be that connection, that power that will draw you together. You might think that you both are just making your way through the fog, but in reality, you’ll just end up meeting each other again. He needs you as much as you need him.” Lady explained. Axelia sat there, thinking. Her thoughts running in circles. Her ears buzzing. Hairs on her hands raising, sending shivers down her spine.

“I…umm… I gotta…” Axelia stood up, pointing at the door.

“You better…” Old lady got up too and opened doors for her.

Axelia didn’t walk down all the way. She stopped in the middle and just looked over the railings. There at the table sat Jaskier telling some magnificent tale about his and Geralt’s adventures. The stable boys drinking and laughing, and cheering at that. Two maids seemed to listen in as well, but their attention was caught by the handsome witcher sitting at the same table, tankard of ale in his hand, and annoyed look on his face. Axelia leaned against the railing and listened at the story that Jaskier was telling. But her unseeing eyes seemed to be drawn towards the witcher.

What if the old hag was right? What if he was her soulmate? What if it was inevitable for her to meet him here? What if it was inevitable for him to find her in that forest? She would have stared longer at the witcher, but he caught her stare and quirked an eyebrow at her, that familiar scent of velvet rose and sandalwood more prominent than ever. That smell could numb all his senses and he wouldn’t complain. He could drown in that scent and he wouldn’t even fight for his life.

“What?” Axelia mouthed but didn’t move away from her spot on the stairs. Jaskier, on the other hand, had caught the look that Axelia shared with Geralt.

“Ah, yes, the blind she-witcher!” he exclaimed, raising his tankard and cheering at the girl on stairs. This only got him a look of disapproval from Geralt and annoyed sigh from Axelia.

“Come, join us!” Jaskier got up and made his way towards Axelia.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Axelia said taking a step back but she had nowhere to go as Jaskier grabbed her hand and dragged her to the table, making her sit between himself on her left and one of the maids on her right. And next to that maid sat Geralt.

Great. She was stuck somewhere she didn’t want to be in the first place.

“Do tell us of your adventures!” one of the stable boys in front of her asked, sending a smirk her way. Axelia furrowed her brows, but didn’t say anything.

“How can a blind girl fight monsters…” giggled one of the maids that seemed to be tipsy already.

“It just takes sword and little bit of courage.” Axelia explained pulling on her sleeves, as she didn’t feel like being in the centre of the attention.

“That sounds like lines for my next song.” Jaskier mumbled to her left.

“That kind of life must be hard. No man in your life and all…” other maid on her right said, leaning her head on Geralt’s shoulder.

“I’ll choose to not answer that…” Axelia leaned her elbows on the table.

“Oh? Why not?” still giggled the first maid.

“I don’t want to talk about that one asshole…” Axelia answered matter of factly and sent a small look to Geralt, who looked at her incredulously.

“He was not an asshole.” Geralt said in his tankard as he drank ale.

“Oh, really?” Axelia’s eyebrows rose up as she leaned away from the table and turned to look at Geralt.

“Let’s see, hmm. That asshole left me. Didn’t explain anything. Not a single word. What else? Didn’t come back for two years. Oddly enough. Oh, and when he did come back, it was with another woman. And a child. I could live with that child part, because that’s complicated and he kind of asked for it. Destiny has something for all of us. But you know, no explanation... How’s that for an adventure story.” Axelia finished her rant with crossing her hands.

“We weren’t together.” Geralt gave her a pointed look.

“We...?” Jaskier mumbled, his fingers pointing to Axelia and Geralt, as he was drawing parallels in his head.

“We slept together!” Axelia stood up. She bunched up her skirt part of the dress and climbed over the bench and was ready to leave.

“As if you haven’t slept with anyone else.” Geralt called behind her. She swiftly turned around, still holding her dress:

“Speak for yourself, Rivian. Some of us don’t really go for unmeaningful sex.” Axelia huffed. There was silence as both of them stared at each other.

“So, you two were together…?” Jaskier asked meekly, pointing at both.

“Jaskier.” Geralt warned the bard.

“Shitty day to learn that you are my soulmate, I suppose.” Axelia mumbled quietly to herself, but she was pretty sure that the witcher at the table was the only one who heard her.

“I bid you all good night.” Axelia made a little bow and walked up stairs. Geralt only stared at her leaving form. With annoyed grunt he got up and went after her.

~~~~

part I || part II || part III || part IV || part V || part VI || part VII || part VIII || part IX || part X || part XI || part XII || part XIII | Epilogue

tags: @boiled-onionrings @fandomwithnolifesblog @901seconds @kingniazx @shesakillerkween @your-dreams-are-strong @stitchattacks @ayamenimthiriel @stormfire6 @mr-illegal-king @stretchkingblog97 @mikariell95

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #roach the horse #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #jaskier #butcher of blaviken #geralt imagine #witcher yennefer #witcher oc #witcher netflix #withcer games #gwent #deadly series #angst #soulmate

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roman-writing · 4 years

Text

you search the mountain (4/6)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 15,080

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

NOTES:

I got about 10k words into this chapter before I realised I needed to split it up, otherwise it would be stupidly long. Plus I was going mad trying to scroll through my monstrously large gdoc last chapter and I didn't want to do that again. So, here you go. An early present.

Next chapter will be some big battles and then they finally smooch or something idk don't ask me

This time, Sylvanas did not ask.

“I am taking your cavalry,” she told Lucille.

For the last few days since the battle of Barrowknoll, Lucille had turned into Sylvanas’ primary point of contact among their new allies. She acted as an envoy between Sylvanas and Jaina, when the two of them would refuse to speak with one another. She had been puzzled by the abrupt change, but had not complained.

Now, Lucille blinked at her, opened her mouth to dispute this, then thought better of it when she saw the look on Sylvanas’ face. Raising her hands as though in surrender, Lucille said, “They are yours.”

She found Hayles and the others enjoying a spot of Drustvar tea, which she had come to learn was normal tea with a healthy dose of whiskey tipped in for good measure. It was the third day since the battle of Barrowknoll, and their little army was still fortifying the town after wrenching it from the hands of the Ashvanes. Anya was there, playing dice with the cavalrymen, who had grown leery of her around cards and now insisted she use their dice. Somehow she still won nearly every round, and a few of them groaned about the luck of the dead as they handed over coins.

When Sylvanas approached, Hayles glanced up from where he sat on a pile of bricks being used to repair the church. After their victory, he had warmed up somewhat to the Horde forces, but he was still wary of their leader. Still, he lifted his mug to her. “A good morrow, Warchief. Can I help you?”

“Gather up a scouting party, Captain. No more than thirty,” Sylvanas ordered coldly. “We are riding north.”

Hayles drained his mug then slammed it onto the ground. He wiped excess tea from his beard with the back of his hand as he stood. “Been waiting for clear orders from the Lady Waycrest. What’s the plan, then?”

“The plan is we are going scouting,” said Sylvanas.

“Aye, but we was hoping for a bigger picture. Are we wintering here?”

A number of his men were openly eavesdropping on the conversation now. Even Anya had stopped rattling around a set of dice in favour of listening. Sylvanas swept her gaze over them, then said brusquely, “Get on your horses.”

With a shrug, Hayles pulled his gloves from where they were tucked into his belt and began tugging them over his hands. He looked over his shoulder at his men, who had not yet moved. “You heard the Lady!” he barked. “Get off your arses, you fussocks!”

Immediately, they began shuffling about, shrugging on their cuirasses over their buff coats, buckling their helms over their heads, and clasping their pistol belts around their shoulders. Hayles’ cuirass had a touch more tooling than the others and a broad white sash worn over it to denote his rank, but otherwise he appeared very plain. Anya herself had continued to favour the dark-washed cavalry buff coat she had won earlier that week, wearing it over her usual Ranger leathers, so she could still pull her hood up. Even from a short distance, she would have blended in with the rest of them without trouble. She rode at Sylvanas’ side, when the others preferred to stay a length or two behind the Queen of the Forsaken.

“Are we looking for something in particular?” Anya asked. Somewhere along the way, she had acquired herself a living horse, one of the deep-chested smoky chargers bred in the area.

“The enemy,” said Sylvanas, her tone curt. She did not offer any more explanation.

Sylvanas' skeletal horse was out of place among the flesh and blood beasts of burden ridden by the cavalry. That and her armour meant she stuck out like a sore thumb, but she was long past caring. The Ashvanes by now knew who they were up against. Or if they didn't, they were fools.

Scarcely an hour later, and they were riding north along the road to Fallhaven. They would not hope to reach it today -- not when it was another three days trek from Barrowknoll -- but there was plenty of evidence of the Ashvanes' retreat. Not even the downpour over the last few days could hide it. She would have joined the scouting expeditions sooner, if not for the rain. Until finally she could not stand staying still another second, and taken Lucille's cavalry for her own.

They stopped every now and then to read the landscape. Hayles at one point disputed Sylvanas' tracking, claiming that the Ashvanes had clearly gone west. In response, Sylvanas had glowered at him until he sighed and fell back in line. She was not about to discount a few centuries of experience tracking game and leading armies in favour of a man who, in her culture, would barely be considered old enough to wipe his own backside. They headed east at a fork in the road towards Carver's Harbour, until midday when Sylvanas pulled back on her reins.

She frowned down at the tracks in the ground. "They doubled back south," she murmured, pointing.

Hayles grunted in agreement. "Not all of them, though. Just a lightly armoured company, if that."

"On horseback, no less." Sylvanas tugged at the reins so that her skeletal horse veered off in that direction.

Hayles followed, kicking his horse forward to trot after hers. "If we're unlucky, we'll get caught on both sides."

Sylvanas ignored him. She urged her horse to a canter, loping ahead of the rest so that she reached the treeline first. Behind her, she could hear Hayles cursing and the sound of him drawing his weapon. The cock of a pistol clicked, echoed by dozens of others as his cavalrymen followed suit. She did not bother drawing her own bow slung at her saddle beside the matching quiver.

Her eyes scanned the woods. They were a far cry from the dense and foggy Crimson Forest, though they were nothing at all like the woods of her homeland either. The trees here wended across the gentle slope, their trunks moss-covered and sporting growths of white fungi. She guided her horse briskly through the trees. Her ears twitched at the faintest sound -- the rustle of tack, the snort of horses behind her, the creak of branches in a stiff breeze, the chattering of birdsong, the purl of a stream narrow enough to step over. And finally the faint strains of human voices.

Lifting her fist into the air, Sylvanas pulled back sharply on the reins. Without turning, she made a gesture and then dismounted. Anya was by her side in an instant, arrow already nocked in her bow, eyes bright and alert.

“Four hundred paces dead south,” Anya whispered in Common for Hayles’ benefit, as he crept up beside them on foot.

Sylvanas turned to Hayles, keeping her own voice low. “Do you know the area?”

He nodded. “Aye. There’s a small ridge by a stream just up ahead. Barely a feature, but it’s something.”

All it took was a meaningful glance from Sylvanas, and Anya vanished through the trees like a wisp of smoke. Hayles blinked at her sudden absence, trying to get a good look after where she had gone.

“Wait here,” Sylvanas told him. “Keep the horses quiet. When I give the signal, you will approach with me on foot.”

“Begging your pardon, Warchief, but that kind of defeats the purpose of bringing cavalry in the first place,” he said. “We’re not dragoons.”

“Which is why they chose to hide in the woods rather than risk skirmishing out in the open. Now, hold your tongue.”

He huffed, but said nothing further. His troops dismounted and tied up their horses. They drew their sabres and stuffed extra pistols into the broad sashes tied around their breastplates. Rain drizzled from the pointed brims of their lobster-tailed helmets. On horseback, they were confident and easy-going, but on foot they appeared uncertain and ungainly. They would occasionally exchange puzzled looks and shift their grips upon their swords while they waited.

The smell of smoke drifted through the air, though Sylvanas could not make out a fire through the thicket. The Ashvane scouts had obviously set up a small temporary camp further from their main body to feed back information. The lack of movement on the part of the Waycrest and Drust forces over the last few days would have puzzled them.

Anya returned on utterly silent feet. She ghosted through the underbrush like a shadow, stopping when she reached their position. Her hands started relaying the information she had gathered using Ranger signs, until she realised Hayles and the others wouldn’t understand anything. Picking up a stick, she drew formations on the ground and held up five fingers, then four and five more.

Sylvanas nodded in understanding. She pointed at Anya then at a few of the cavalrymen behind them. Anya inclined her head, then motioned for a group of five cavalrymen to follow her. When one of them stepped on a fallen log, his foot snapped through the wet and rotten wood with a noise loud enough to make the birds go quiet.

Sylvanas closed her eyes as though praying, and grit her teeth. When she opened her eyes again, the cavalryman in question was being glared at by everyone in the platoon. One of his squad mates smacked him upside the head, so that his helm tilted down over his eyes.

“You fucking moron,” someone hissed.

Hayles shushed them, and they fell quiet again. The man carefully pulled his foot from the log, and the little group went off, following after Anya. Sylvanas gave them a head start, counting in her head until she was satisfied. Then, she gestured to Hayles and without looking back, she crept forward on silent feet.

Her trained ears could hear the rustle of their own approach. The cavalrymen creeping along in her wake were accustomed to scouting by roaming broad countryside and hills atop their horses in easy formations. They were not used to this. Just ahead of them, Sylvanas prowled forward until she could see the peaked rise of tents over the underbrush, until she could hear individual conversation, the crackle of campfires, and the stamp of horses’ hooves. The horses were tethered on one side of the camp, their noses stuck in their feed bags. A few of them merely flicked their fuzzy ears upon seeing the approach of the Waycrest cavalry, but raised no alarm.

Sylvanas raised her hand in a fist again and stopped. The men behind her hid behind the trunks of trees and in the thick underbrush, lying low on their bellies and squinting beneath the rims of their helms at what awaited them ahead. Peering carefully around the trunk of a tree, Sylvanas quickly counted men. Forty-five in the camp, according to Anya, who had counted rightly. Five more on the ridge. That was nearly fifteen more than they had brought themselves. Another glance around the tree trunk, and she spied Anya and the small group of cavalrymen in position at the ridge, waiting.

Sylvanas caught Anya’s eye. They exchanged a brief nod, and then Anya struck. Quick as a bolt, she had a knife pressed against the throat of one of the sentries. The group of men with Anya burst forward as well, pistols raised, sabres at the ready.

Straightening, Sylvanas stepped out from her hiding spot. “Gentlemen,” she said, lifting her voice, “how good it is to see you again.”

A cry of alarm went up, and the men in the camp leapt to their feet. They tugged their weapons free, but their helms and cuirasses were still packed away. Their Captain drew his pistol and sabre, levelling the gun at Sylvanas. It was the same young Captain Ashvane that she had seen during her reconnoitre before the battle of Barrowknoll. His eyes were dark and sombre as he took in the situation -- the men with Sylvanas, the soldiers on the ridge with his sentries at knifepoint. Anya tightened her grip in the hair of the man she held steady when he tried to struggle, drawing a line of red at his exposed throat.

Sylvanas spread her hands open to show she held no weapon, though Hayles stepped up to stand beside her, his expression grim beneath his heavy beard. “There needn’t be violence,” she said. “Cry ‘quarter’, and I will ensure you are well looked after.”

Captain Ashvane grinned at her over the top of his flintlock. “Shame,” he said, cocking the weapon with his thumb. “I rather like a bit of violence with my afternoon tea. And you’ve come just in time, too.”

“We have you surrounded, boy,” said Hayles, aiming down the sights of his pistol. “Best give up and come quiet now, yeah?”

Captain Ashvane swung his arm around so that his own pistol was now pointing at Hayles. “Not a chance, old man.”

Hayles opened his mouth to speak, but the blast of a pistol snapped through the air. Captain Ashvane’s arm recoiled, the tip of his gun emitting a gout of smoke, and Hayles staggered back, grasping his shoulder.

All hell broke loose. The Waycrest troops opened fire, and the air was filled with the crack of gunshot and shouts. Red-coated Ashvane scouts returned volleys, only for the two sides to toss aside their one-shot pistols and fall upon one another in a clash of swords. Hayles swore and fired his pistol at Captain Ashvane, but missed. The shot went wide, hitting a tree and scattering bark on the ground. On the ridge above, Anya had drawn her blade across the throat of the soldier she had been holding at knife point. His body was slumping to the ground as he gurgled and grasped at the tide of red spurting from his neck. She was already pulling back the string of her bow and firing arrows down into the camp.

Captain Ashvane shoved his first pistol into the wide sash at his belt, and pulled out another. He aimed it at Hayles, whose eyes went wide. Moving quickly, Sylvanas shoved Hayles to the ground, and the shot narrowly missed. The Captain drew his sword and advanced upon her, arm raised, slashing down. She danced easily out of reach, moving away from Hayles so that the Captain would follow her instead. Foolishly, he did. He swung his sword in broad strokes, and Sylvanas avoided every blow with a calm assurance that only seemed to anger him. His face grew red. He pulled his lips back from his teeth in a silent snarl.

When one of the other Ashvane soldiers tried to attack her as well, an arrow sprouted from his back. Sylvanas did not need to even look to know that Anya had shot it. Hayles switched his sword to his good hand, and was fighting a group of Ashvanes with his own men, rallying them together for something more elevated than a mere brawl.

The Captain did not do the same. He was content to let his superior numbers do the talking for him, leaving him free to pursue Sylvanas, who continued to elude his slashes. He was no slouch with the blade. She could tell by the familiarity with which he handled his sword. A young nobleman trained in gentlemanly pursuits used to getting his way. When he drew too close, she grabbed his wrist and tightened her grip until she could hear the crunch of bone and tendons beneath her hand.

The Captain cried out. He tried to kick her away, but she stepped aside so that his foot hit nothing. She did not let him go. Instead she twisted his arm expertly so that he was forced to drop the weapon or risk breaking his arm as she jammed his hand into the small of his own back. He was a tall man, and strongly built. But standing behind him, she planted her foot behind his knees so that he was forced onto the ground.

“Call them off,” Sylvanas murmured into his ear, while he jerked futilely in her grasp. “Or I will make sure you never swing a sword in your life again.”

He continued to struggle, grunting in pain when she pushed his arm a little further up. He grappled for purchase at her leg, but could do nothing to dislodge her. She leaned in closer to speak again, when she saw a flash of silver. With his free hand, he had pulled the knife from her boot and struck blindly at her over his shoulder.

Reeling back, Sylvanas clutched at her face. She hissed, feeling the cut at her cheek, which bled black and sluggish. Captain Ashvane was scrambling to his feet. He rounded upon her, brandishing the hunting knife given to her by her mother when she had come of age. The same knife that had been used in the ritual to summon undead ghouls from the sacred Ardfert bogs not four days past. She could feel the anger boil in her lungs, frothing white-hot and wild, welling up in her throat until she was nigh drowning in it.

Captain Ashvane’s expression changed as he watched her. Smug certainty gave way to confusion and then to fear. He took a step back, holding the knife before him like an animal backed into a corner. Some of his men did not notice. All they saw was their commander continuing to fight and break free of the enemy. Several of them moved into position around her, swords raised, while Anya continued to fire into the fray.

Shadows coiled at Sylvanas' feet, slowly gathering around her. Rage was a living thing in the crucible of her lungs, burning like liquid fire, clawing at the backs of her teeth. With a wordless snarl, her form flickered. In a blaze of black necrotic smoke, Sylvanas swept over the Ashvane men advancing upon her, over half a dozen including the Captain. The coils of shadow billowed outward, curling around them and swallowing them whole, until the air was filled with the sound of a shriek that tore itself from her mouth, drowning out all else. The note shivered high over the treetops, sending a startled flock of birds to flight. Everyone in the camp -- friend and foe alike -- clutching at their ears. Some fell to their knees. Others cried out in agony, blood dribbling from their noses, dripping from their open mouths, choking them until they could not make a noise.

When the boiling black fog faded, Sylvanas stood in the centre of a group of dead Ashvanes crumpled along the ground. Their bodies were contorted into foetal positions, their skin grey and clinging to their bones as though the very essence of life had been drained from them. Sylvanas' shoulders and the tips of her fingers twitched. Her face was an uncanny mask, her eyes burning like red coals through the gloom.

Those left untouched staggered weakly to their feet. The camp had gone eerily quiet, the absence of noise in the wake of the banshee scream almost as loud as the wail itself. They were all staring. Hayles' eyes were wide and uncertain, taking in the scene before him. His beard was wet and dark with blood. Even Anya watched warily from the ridge, waiting to see what would happen.

Breathing out a long ragged sigh, Sylvanas straightened. It took effort to animate herself again as she usually did, as though her body had forgotten what it was like to pantomime life. When she turned her gaze upon a few of the Ashvane soldiers further away from her, they took a step backwards, gripping their weapons tightly to their chests.

"Put those down," she said, and though her voice was soft, it still echoed with the vestiges of dark power that lingered in her chest like an unspoken threat.

Immediately they threw their weapons to the ground and raised their shaking hands. She turned her attention away from them, looking instead down at the dead body of Captain Ashvane. His fingers were still curled tightly around the hilt of her hunting knife. Reaching down, Sylvanas tugged it free. She took a moment to inspect the blade and clean it on his sash, before slipping it back into its hilt nestled away in her knee high boots.

Hayles approached her slowly, his steps tentative, as though he were approaching a wild animal that might snap his arm clean off with one bite. "Your orders, ma'am?"

"Take them prisoner, and we'll drag them back to Barrowknoll for questioning."

"Pity about the Captain," he said, glancing down at the man's corpse. "He would've had the most information."

Something in her expression must have changed, for Hayles went very pale and said hurriedly, "Not that it's a problem, mind. I'm sure the others'll have plenty to talk about when we bring them back to camp, ma'am."

Sylvanas tried to school her features into something resembling calm, but it was difficult when her muscles did not want to react normally. Her soul twitched in her body like a man wearing an ill-fitting suit of clothes. It would take her a few hours to get used to having skin again. So, she merely nodded sharply at Hayles, then turned and began walking back in the direction of their horses. The Waycrest cavalrymen parted before her, staring as she passed. She lengthened her stride and paid them no heed.

Anya was at her side in a moment, trailing after her like a faithful shadow. She looked concerned, but said nothing. Not until they reached the horses, at least. While Sylvanas hauled herself into the saddle, Anya remained standing by the skeletal horse's side. She gazed up at her Queen, as if waiting to receive instruction.

"What is it?" Sylvanas asked.

"Do you need me to fetch you an Apothecary, my Queen?"

Sylvanas considered the offer for a moment before shaking her head curtly. "No."

Anya did not quibble. She just clasped her hand over her heart and bowed low. Then, she strode towards her own horse and climbed into the saddle. When she tried to urge the living horse towards Sylvanas however, it shied from the prospect, turning in a wide circle rather than get too close. Sylvanas pretended to not notice.

By the time they returned to Barrowknoll, it was nearing the evening. On their ride back with prisoners in tow, it had begun to rain. Suddenly Anya’s fixation on an oiled buff coat did not seem so foolish. Sylvanas’ cloak was not nearly as effective as combating the elements in Kul Tiras. It was slower returning to camp than leaving it. The prisoners were not allowed to ride their horses. Rather, their hands were bound and they walked behind the Waycrest cavalry. Their horses were tethered individually to the Waycrest horses; it wouldn’t do to leave them behind. Horses were expensive. One could always find work for them in an army.

Their return earned a few appreciative murmurs. Waycrest and Drust soldiers gathered round and asked questions of their friends in the cavalry as they rode into Barrowknoll. Jeers and hard looks were aimed at the Ashvane prisoners, but they were otherwise left alone before they were carted off for questioning. Hayles was approached by a Waycrest infantry Captain when he dismounted. Sylvanas eyed him sidelong as he clapped the man on the shoulder and began to speak with him boisterously.

As if sensing her gaze upon him, Hayles turned. He caught her eye, and to his credit he did not look away. In fact, swept his helm over his heart and inclined his head towards her respectfully. Fearfully, even.

Rather than reply, Sylvanas slid smoothly from her own saddle. She strode off, giving Anya a sharp gesture to imply that she wanted to be left alone. Anya did as commanded without question, returning, presumably, to the cavalry unit she preferred to haunt for company these days.

Sylvanas headed towards her own quarters in Barrowknoll -- a repaired house near the Church, which itself was being used as the new headquarters. She quickened her step when she drew near the Church, knowing full well that certain unwanted parties often lingered within. Before she could make it past however, a voice called after her.

“I see you’ve returned victorious from your little hunting expedition.”

Going still, Sylvanas glanced over her shoulder. Katherine was walking towards her from the Church. Planks had been erected in a webwork of pathways across the muddy ground. The end of Katherine’s cane knocked against wood with every other step.

With one last longing look towards her own private quarters only a few paces away, Sylvanas turned to face the Lord Admiral. She tucked her hands behind her back in an officious pose, trying to seem natural even when she knew she appeared stiff. “I did,” she said.

Katherine stopped before her, and folded her hands over the top of her cane, leaning her weight upon it. She was undeterred by the rain. “Did we learn anything new?”

“Not yet.”

Katherine cast a critical eye over her. “You look more dead than usual. Did something happen?”

“Your concern is touching,” Sylvanas drawled. “But unnecessary. I am fine”

“Hmm.” Katherine pursed her lips.

“Unless there is something else you wished to discuss, I shall -”

Before Sylvanas could finish speaking and try to slip away however, Katherine interrupted. “There was, actually. How good of you to ask. I was wondering when we might all have a strategy meeting. Since you and the High Thornspeaker seem to be conveniently busy whenever I try to get you both in the same room these days.”

It was true. Any time Katherine or Lucille would try to convene a meeting to discuss their next steps, Sylvanas would find an excuse to be elsewhere. It was at least gratifying to know that Jaina was doing the same. Though she doubted it was to avoid her. Most likely it was to avoid her mother.

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “These are busy times, Lord Admiral.”

“Oh, spare me the bullshit, my dear. We all know what times these are.”

Sylvanas blinked. Not at the swearing -- Katherine was prone to cursing as fluently as any sailor worth their salt -- but at the endearment. Sylvanas had heard Katherine call people ‘my dear’ only when they crossed a certain unspoken threshold. For Tatanka it was with the first cup of tea. For Anya, after their first card game. For Arthur after exactly three seconds of conversation. For Sylvanas, apparently, it took nearly seven months and a victory on the battlefield. Some had more hoops to jump through than others, it seemed.

"I want to know what the plan is," Katherine continued with a face like cold iron.

"Since when was this my army?" Sylvanas sneered. "Last I looked, my people and I were just a resource for you to use."

Katherine scoffed. "Like you didn't want it that way. Still -" she shifted her weight so that she could tap her cane thoughtfully against the wooden planks beneath them. "I do wonder what the High Thornspeaker promised you to get you to deploy so many troops into Drustvar."

Sylvanas thought of the treaty in her personal quarters, stashed safely away, signed and sealed. Copies of it had been distributed to Jaina as well as to Durotar, so that no party could cry foul of the agreement. "That is between myself and the High Thornspeaker."

Katherine arched an eyebrow. "Not even a hint for an old woman?"

In reply, Sylvanas merely glowered.

"You really think you can keep your arrangement a secret?" Katherine asked. "The truth will out eventually."

"Yes," Sylvanas said. "But not today."

"I don't see why the secrecy in the first place."

It was so tempting. She could tell her so easily. Jaina's secret hung by a thread in Sylvanas' hands, ready to be severed with a single swipe of a sentence. There was little to gain by telling Katherine, but the pure spite of the deed was almost enough to sway her.

Almost. But not quite.

Finally, Sylvanas said, "I have died for secrets in the past, Lord Admiral. You’ll not suss them out of me with conversation alone.”

There was a bullish squaring of Katherine’s jaw that followed. Sylvanas had seen it many times before on Jaina; the two shared more mannerisms than they likely knew.

Sighing, Katherine said, “At least tell me what the plan is for the next week? What have you and the High Thornspeaker discussed?"

Sylvanas’ face darkened. In truth, she and Jaina had not exchanged a single word over the last few days. Every time Sylvanas so much as saw her, she began walking in the other direction. Thankfully Jaina never gave chase. "Ask her yourself,” Sylvanas said.

"I tried. She refuses to talk to me.” This time when Katherine rapped her cane against the planks, it was annoyed. “I figured you would know, seeing as you're close allies, supposedly. Though I'm having second thoughts, now."

"Then ask Lady Waycrest," Sylvanas said. She turned away and continued striding towards her lodgings.

"I wasn't aware I was marching alongside children,” Katherine called after her before she could take more than a few steps away.

Stopping, Sylvanas glared over her shoulder. "I'm older than you."

"Physically, perhaps. But in other ways? Evidence suggests otherwise."

Taking a few steps after her, Katherine stopped and fixed Sylvanas in place with a look sharp enough to skin a hare. "If you ask me -"

"I'm not."

"If you ask me," Katherine repeated, undeterred. "This sounds like some petty row."

When Sylvanas did not answer, Katherine clucked her tongue in an admonishing sort of way and shook her head. "Dear me. Do I really need to encourage you and the High Thornspeaker to use your words? Sit down? Have an adult conversation?"

"The same way you used your words with your husband?" Sylvanas sneered. "Yes, I can see why you ended up widowed and childless."

Katherine went still. Her eyes were like chips of ice. "You mean to shock me, throw me off my tracks and derail the conversation. But I made my peace with myself years ago."

"Clearly."

"What's more interesting is that you would compare your relationship with the High Thornspeaker to mine with my late husband." Katherine sniffed delicately at the notion. "Well, if I'd known this was a lover's quarrel, then I wouldn't have intruded. What a messy business."

Sylvanas growled, "It's not. And we are not having this conversation."

"Might I suggest leaving what goes on in the bedroom out of our military affairs?"

Again, Sylvanas turned to leave. She had scarcely stomped a few steps away, when Katherine called after her, "Kindly pull your head out of your ass. Before we all die, preferably."

When Sylvanas did not stop this time, Katherine raised her voice, "Do you really intend to let the Ashvanes take the initiative? For such a storied military leader, I honestly expected more from you."

Sylvanas froze with her hand gripping the handle of the front door. Her grasp tightened. She could feel the wrought iron handle crumple beneath her fingers like paper. Behind her, she could hear the intermittent thump of the cane against the sodden wood walkways until Katherine stopped just behind her.

"We cannot winter here," Katherine said firmly, yet softly enough that they would not be overheard. "You know it. I know it. Lucille knows it, but only because I told the poor girl. Does your High Thornspeaker know it?"

Without turning around, Sylvanas said, "She is not 'my' High Thornspeaker."

"I don't care what or who she is," said Katherine. "What I care about is winning. If I had to play go-between for the two of you, I would. But neither of you seem very inclined to speak with me, despite my best efforts. Now, if I can condescend to try and settle this debate or quarrel or what have you, then you can eat crow and talk to that Tides-forsaken druid for five minutes. I'll settle for three minutes, even. Enough for us to agree on a plan and execute it. Have I made myself clear?"

Unclenching her fingers made the iron door handle screech slightly. Pulling her hand away, Sylvanas straightened her shoulders. She rose to her full height and turned, her movements too smooth, too mechanical. Even with a slight stoop due to her leg, Katherine still stood a few fingers taller than her, but the implacable expression on Sylvanas' face made her brow furrow. Katherine leaned back slightly, her eyes suddenly wary.

When Sylvanas spoke, her voice was quiet; it slithered like a dark echo. “I have no intention of losing. You will have your victory, Lord Admiral. Make no mistake. But do not presume to tell me how to handle my affairs, personal or otherwise.”

Katherine scowled, but this time she did not try to stop Sylvanas as she turned to tug the door open. Walking inside, Sylvanas shut the door behind her, hearing Katherine mutter to herself, "Damn high-handed elves."

Even in the cold damp reconstructed house, there was little peace and quiet. Nathanos was bowed over a table, arranging reports and maps and ledgers in preparation for her arrival. He straightened when she faced him.

"Anya told me what happened," he said. "She also told me that you refused an Apothecary."

"I don't need an Apothecary. Or a mother, for that matter. So, you can drop the act," she added snidely. Crossing the sparsely furnished room, Sylvanas rounded the table and sat behind it. "What I need is the latest news from the ships sailing to our position, and the movements of the Great Fleet. If the Zandalari ships don't manage to slip Lord Stormsong's noose, those reinforcements will never arrive, and we might as well abandon this for a lost cause."

"I wish you would," Nathanos replied. “I wish I could sway you to leave.”

She had considered it. A few times over the course of the last few days, if she were being honest with herself. Leaving Kul Tiras would have been the more sensible approach. There was no use throwing good coin after bad, as her father had been so fond of saying. And knowing when to cut one's losses was a key trait in any military leader worth their salt. Still, the idea rankled.

It was about more than thwarting the Alliance, now. This was personal. And if there was one thing Sylvanas hated, it was losing.

Sylvanas pulled the first report Nathanos had arranged for her on the desk. Her eyes skimmed over the lines, but every now and then she would glance at him over the top of the parchment. Despite her earlier rebuke, Nathanos hovered nearby. He seemed to have no intention of leaving her alone right now. Annoyance prickled at the back of her spine, but it was tempered by a grateful flicker of feeling as well.

She did not often use her powers. It was never pleasant -- mostly for others, but for herself also. There were no days, no minutes where she could pretend she was anything than what she had become at the hands of the Lich King, but there were certainly times that were worse than others. An Apothecary could only do so much with their potions and poultices. Her body was a mere vessel for the spirit chained within. They could but settle her corpse, urge it to be soothed for a brief respite. She generally only submitted herself to their care for the sake of others rather than herself. The Forsaken -- her Rangers included -- felt better if they believed she was properly looked after. As though the thought of her distress or loss caused them pain of their own.

It was the threat of her absence more than anything else. What it would do to them as a people and as a society were she to no longer be there to guide them at the helm.

The thought rose unbidden in her mind, then. Jaina's offer. Being 'cured.' The possibility of it ached. How would they see her if she lived once more? What would they do? Would she abandon them? Would she stay? Would they even want her to?

"Is there something wrong, my Queen?"

Sylvanas lowered the report back to the desk. Others found Nathanos difficult to read, but she had never found that to be the case. His careful veil of uncaring haughtiness was the most inhuman thing about him, but his actions were his ultimate tell. He would say one thing, and then do another. Spiteful words of ridicule in one hand, and selfless acts in the other. For the longest time, even back when they had been alive, he had thought she never noticed, but she was not one to reward skill alone. One had to have the proper disposition.

Now, he hovered, and it was anxious despite his cool tone and his perpetual lofty sneer.

Lifting her hand to her face, Sylvanas explored the cut on her cheek with her fingertips. She could withstand blows that would kill any living person, but her body did not heal normally, not like it once did. It would take time for the necromantic powers laden upon her spirit to knit this corporeal form back together. The process was slow. The flesh was weak, but the bond between body and spirit was weaker. She could get her Val’kyr to mend her, but she did not like wasting their powers for such trivial matters.

Finally, she said, "Bring me an Apothecary, then. If it will soothe you, Nathanos."

"It is not I who needs treatment," he said, lying to himself. Sylvanas let him. He bowed and strode out of the house.

With a sigh, Sylvanas leaned back in her seat and waited for him to return with an Apothecary in tow. Perhaps after letting herself be fussed over for an hour or two, she could get some actual work done.

Nathanos returned not long later with an Apothecary at his heels and -- to her surprise -- a familiar raven on his shoulder. Now that Nathanos knew about Arthur, he was tolerated rather than actively despised. Arthur had taken to ruthlessly abusing this change in status, much to Nathanos' annoyance and Sylvanas' amusement. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"He saw me getting the Apothecary, and wanted to see how this worked," Nathanos explained, shutting the door behind them. "I told him that it was not my decision to make."

With a shrug, Sylvanas rose to her feet. "He can stay, if he wants."

"Yes," Arthur whispered triumphantly under his breath.

Since discovering what he was, she had watched his interactions with the Forsaken in a new light. Suddenly his queries about their undeath made sense. She had initially thought them to be curiosity, or him digging up information for Jaina. And perhaps there was a bit of that, to be fair. But it certainly was not the whole picture.

The Apothecary was a mass of heavy robes. Strapped to his chest and back were darkly lacquered boxes, filled with all manner of potions and reagents. His rotting face was hidden behind a deep cowl, but his eyes gleamed golden through the dim light like candles. He limped as he walked, and even with his hunched stature he was still taller than Nathanos. When Sylvanas turned her gaze upon him, he bowed low.

"If it would please the Dark Lady," he said in a gravelly voice.

"It would," she murmured.

He shuffled closer and began to disassemble the boxes upon the desk. They folded out with clever hinges, revealing a labyrinth of compartments within. While he worked, Sylvanas walked around the desk to stand before him, waiting quietly with her hands clasped behind her back.

Candles were lit as well as incense. Soon, the room was filled with the smell of chrism and rose oil. The Apothecary took his time. He swung a thurible by its chain, walking around her and murmuring in Gutterspeak. She stood still, allowing the ritual of the process with a bored kind of familiarity. The air grew thick with smoke. When various bowls and vials and candles had been arrayed just so, the Apothecary bowed before her once again. Without needing to be told what to do, Sylvanas lifted her arms somewhat to allow him to begin disrobing her. Every piece of armour and scrap of cloth above the waist was removed and placed aside, handled with care and reverence. He even waved the thurible over her pieces of armour, muttering more incantations.

On the other side of the room, Nathanos had turned his back for this process. Arthur on the other hand, shuffled around on Nathanos' shoulder to keep watching. That was, until Nathanos plucked one his tail feathers in admonishment.

"Ow! Hey! What was that for?"

"Keep your eyes to yourself," Nathanos growled.

"You always were an awful prude, Nathanos," said Sylvanas, watching them with some amusement. "I do not care if he watches."

There was a bit of dark grumbling at that, but Nathanos said nothing more. He maintained his own discretion, keeping his back turned, while Arthur looked on curiously.

When her torso was fully revealed, Arthur made a whistling noise. Nathanos appeared on the brink of strangling him, but Arthur only said, "Does that still hurt?"

Sylvanas did not need to look down; she knew what he was referring to. The Val'kyr could mend many things when they reconstructed her body, but the wound made by Frostmourne was not one of them. The gash slanted across her abdomen just beneath her ribs. Along her back, the exit wound was a mirror. It had been expertly sutured back together and packed with a variety of reagents that she did not care to know more about beyond the fact that they smelled of warm myrrh and smoky incense.

Rather than answer, Sylvanas countered, "Do your old wounds still hurt?"

"No," Arthur said.

"Well, then. There you have it."

It was not strictly true. Sometimes, she could still feel the cold presence of that cursed blade as though it were sliding between her organs anew, splitting against her lower ribs. Those times were mercifully rare, and usually only occured when she used too much of her powers or spent too much time out of her body in nothing but spirit form. As though returning to her body reminded it of the very concept of pain. Today was not such a day.

She lowered her arms, and the Apothecary began to unstitch the wound. He went carefully yet expertly, snipping the sutures loose and tugging them free with a pair of pliers and scissors plated in silver. Arthur craned his feathery neck to watch, trying to gain a bit more height to peek over the Apothecary kneeling at Sylvanas' feet and treating her.

"Are there more Undead among the Drust?" Sylvanas asked.

"There are lots of them!" Arthur said. "But not like me, no. They're mostly ghouls or restless spirits. They don't remember who they are or anything."

The Apothecary was repacking the old injury now. His hands pressed the cavernous wound full of reagents. She did not flinch or even glance down at what he was doing. Instead she continued speaking to Arthur, "Do you have a difficult time remembering things?"

Arthur shuffled his wings. "Sometimes, yeah."

Immediately Nathanos' head twitched. Though he did not look around or speak, Sylvanas could tell he was listening very intently to the conversation now.

"Does Jaina tell you to do things, and you seem to wake up later, not able to remember the past few days?" Sylvanas asked.

Even the Apothecary paused in his ministrations. Sylvanas glanced down at him sharply, and he returned to his task, though he too was now eavesdropping.

Meanwhile, Arthur cocked his head in bemusement. "No?" he said, sounding confused. "I've never had anything like that happen before. The first year or so after she raised me though, I struggled with basic things. Walking and talking and stuff. I got better at it. She was very helpful."

"How?" Sylvanas tried to keep her tone light, so that Arthur would not get suspicious of this line of questioning.

"You know. She would make potions for me, and braces for my legs, and stuff. But she never could help with the wounds or anything." Arthur blinked, his eyes pale blue and filmy. A corpse's eyes. "I don't think she's very good at necromancy, to be honest. I mean, she's good at a lot of magic, but every magic user prefers some things over others. Like, I can turn into animals all day, but I'm terrible at healing people."

Sylvanas frowned. "But if she gives you a direct order, can you disobey her?"

An incredulous caw was Arthur's answer. It sounded like a laugh. "Oh, yeah! I disobey her all the time! Why?"

The tension drained from the room. Sylvanas, Nathanos, and the Apothecary all relaxed, as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Sylvanas even let out a little sigh.

Bemused, Arthur looked between the three of them. "Is there something I'm missing here?"

But Sylvanas merely shook her head. "It's nothing. Nevermind."

Arthur leaned down over Nathanos' shoulder, his tail feathers jutting up into the air for balance. "Have you ever raised anyone from the dead?"

"I have," Sylvanas said truthfully. "Never without their permission. If you had been given the choice, would you have come back?"

For a long moment Arthur puzzled over that query. He shifted his weight back, and shuffled his tail. "I don't know," he finally said. "Maybe. It's not great, but I like it enough. And I didn't like dying. At all."

A surprised huff of laughter escaped Sylvanas then. Even Nathanos chuckled quietly.

"No," Sylvanas mused with a faint smile, her killing blow on display. "No, I can’t say I did either."

The rest of the procedure went forth without trouble. The Apothecary stitched her back up with a hooked needle and thread. He anointed her in oils like a god king, until she fairly gleamed. Death magic was woven heavy in the air, heavy on his fingers, as heavy as incense. By the time he worked his way to the more recent wound on her face, she already felt calmer, as though the Apothecary had sewn her soul more firmly into place.

There was little more he could do about the cut on her cheek than stitch it together and seal it with fragrant chrism and a necrotic spell chanted from his lipless mouth, but it would help quicken the process along.

The Apothecary helped her back into her clothes and armour, his bony fingers as deft with clasps and buttons as they were with a needle and thread. Soon she was shrugging her cloak around her shoulders, and allowing him to buckle her pauldrons into place as though he were dressing a high priest of the Light in sacred vestments of office.

A knock came at the door. Sylvanas waved at Nathanos to answer it. When he did so, she could see a number of Forsaken soldiers clustered around outside. News of her minor scrape must have spread through the ranks like wildfire. She had to hold back a grimace.

"Arthur," she called, gesturing for him to fly closer.

In an ungainly flap of wings, Arthur flew from Nathanos' shoulder and landed on the back of the chair behind the desk. "Yeah?"

"Change into your usual form."

After a moment's hesitation, he did so. There was a whirl of druidic magic, and he stood behind her chair looking curious but faintly uneasy by the way Sylvanas and the Apothecary were eyeing him up. When Sylvanas waved for him to approach her, Arthur rounded the table to stand before them, his pale gaze flicking between the two of them.

Tilting her head to one side, Sylvanas reached out and touched the rent flesh of his wrist. His clothes were scuffed and worn, but not in rags. They were a mark of a man who did not care for clothes, rather than a mark of neglect. His shirtsleeves had been rolled back above his elbow, revealing his hands and forearms, large portions of which had been peeled of flesh and muscle.

"See what you can do for him," Sylvanas told the Apothecary.

Without question, the Apothecary bowed to her, then gestured for Arthur to stand where Sylvanas had stood not moments ago.

Arthur balked. “Oh - I don’t - I don’t know if -”

“Jaina’s speciality is not death magic. It is this man’s, however,” said Sylvanas firmly, indicating the Apothecary. “You will feel better after. I promise you.”

Sheepish, Arthur allowed himself to be herded where the Apothecary wanted him to stand. He awkwardly held his arms out to the side, all while shooting Sylvanas a look that she could only describe as abashed.

Rolling her eyes, she turned away from him and walked towards the door. He was not so bold when it was himself being undressed in front of others.

Humans, she thought to herself with a wry shake of her head.

Nathanos was shutting the door once more when she reached him. “Did you tell them they could stop their worrying?” she asked.

“I did, though doubtlessly they will remain outside until they see you.”

She made a disgruntled noise.

“I also received word from Captain Hayles,” Nathanos continued. Lowering his voice, he said, “Apparently, one of the prisoners you brought back from your little scouting expedition has decided to talk.”

Sylvanas’ ears canted up in surprise. “That was fast,” she murmured. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder back towards Arthur and the Apothecary, she said, “Do we know the High Thornspeaker’s current whereabouts?”

Arthur was not paying any attention to them. He was too busy pestering the Apothecary with rapid fire questions, which the Apothecary answered in a dusty wheezing voice.

“The people I have assigned to watch her informed me that she vanished from camp sometime this morning,” said Nathanos. “Nobody has been able to ascertain her position since then. She has a habit of disappearing without a trace and reappearing again. I suspect portals and other translocation magics are at work, but none of the Forsaken mages I’ve designated can crack where she goes to so often.”

Sylvanas hummed a contemplative note under her breath. “I have an inkling.” Tugging the hood of her cloak over her head, she said, “Stay here. Keep an eye on the camp while I’m away.”

Nathanos’ brows furrowed. “And where are you going?”

“Belore. You’re as bad as the others.”

“Incorrect,” he said with an affronted sniff. “I’m worse.”

With a snort, Sylvanas reached past him to open the door. “I am going to speak with Hayles and the prisoner. And then I’m going to do something I will probably regret.”

He stepped aside to let her pass. “Which is?”

“I’m going to find the High Thornspeaker, and have a conversation.”

The fang was heavy in Sylvanas' hand. She weighed it in her palm, considering her next actions very carefully. Then she lifted the token by its string and said, "Take me to Jaina, please." She growled out the last word like it was a penance.

That feeling hooked behind her gut as though latching onto her spine and pulled. In an instant blur of colour and darkness, she appeared at the entrance to Jaina's cabin. The fog had returned. A chill nipped the air. A shallow shower of snow dusted the grounds. On one side the cliffs were shrouded in white, and on the other the dark vastness of the trees seemed to vanish into the mist like the long march of time itself. As though this place were caught in a stasis, torn between the woods and the sea.

Sylvanas tucked the fang back into her belt pouch. She stood before the front door, which had been hung with a wreath woven from blackthorn branches. The berries were dark and clustered along the wreath. Whether it was purely decorative or served some greater magical purpose, she did not know. She used studying it as an excuse to not knock on the door. Eventually, steeling herself, Sylvanas reached out a hand and rapped her knuckles against the door.

There was no sound from within. Brows knitting together, Sylvanas leaned to one side in order to peer through one of the windows, but the glass was misted from the chill outside. It was impossible to see anything but the indistinct shape of furniture within.

She knocked again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Rocking back on her heels, Sylvanas tongued at the back of her teeth contemplatively. She had been so sure that Jaina would be here. Or perhaps she was, and she knew it was Sylvanas outside. Perhaps they were both avoiding each other.

She was reaching for the door handle, when she heard a voice behind her.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Jaina said.

Sylvanas whirled around. It wasn't everyday someone could sneak up on her. The only people who could consistently pull it off were her Rangers. And, apparently, Jaina. It was so reminiscent of their first meeting, that Sylvanas narrowed her eyes warily.

Jaina stood behind her, wrapped in a robe. A towel was slung over her shoulder. Her feet were bare. Her hair had been undone from its usual braid so that it hung, wet, over her shoulders. It was a rare occasion to see Jaina with her scars on full display, the neckline of her robes a low-draped décolletage revealing the rope burns at her neck and the hint of a sword wound over her heart. She faintly steamed in the cool air, as though she had just stepped from a pool of hot water.

Which was, Sylvanas realised, exactly what she had done.

"I have the house warded," Jaina explained. "If you try to force your way inside...well, it's not very nice. Let's just leave it at that."

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows. "Noted."

They looked at one another for a long moment, until Jaina cleared her throat and stepped past her. "I suppose you'll want to come inside. Unless you really were hoping to rifle through my things without my being here."

"I wanted to talk," Sylvanas said.

"Now, I'm really worried," said Jaina dryly.

There was a rusted old lock on the door, but Jaina used no key. She did not need to unlock the door. It opened at her touch without any trouble. Sylvanas wondered if she even locked it conventionally at all.

Jaina did not wait for her guest to follow after her; she simply stepped inside and left the door open behind her. Sylvanas removed her shoes, but hesitated to leave her weapons behind. Eventually however, she balanced the bow and quiver and knife against the outer wall of the cabin, and walked inside.

The door shut itself softly behind her as though a draught had caught the edge. Jaina was standing before the fireplace. When Sylvanas had peered inside, there had been no light emanating from within. Now, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Jaina stood with her back to the flames and toweled her hair dry.

The skull mask glowered at Sylvanas from its customary spot hanging on the wall. This time, the scythe-like staff was leaning against it. The runes carved into them glowed stronger when she drew near. Sylvanas moved past them both, entering further into the cabin. She made no motion to make herself comfortable. Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back as though awaiting an infantry inspection on parade.

Jaina pulled the towel down, her hair a mess until she began raking her fingers through it. "You're very quiet for someone who came all this way to talk to me," she said.

From this angle, the fire lit Jaina from behind so that she seemed gilded. The soft fabric of her robe was brighter at the edges, more saturated, so that her body beneath was but a silhouette.

Tearing her gaze away, Sylvanas wandered over to the table strewn with books and scrolls and various maps. She dragged her fingertips along the ragged edge of a vellum map. “I’m sure you will have already heard that I took Captain Hayles and a few of his men for a reconnoitre this morning.”

“I did,” said Jaina. Her footsteps were soft as she crossed the room and joined Sylvanas, careful to keep the table between them.

“We caught a few prisoners. Fortunately for us, one of them decided to cooperate.”

That got Jaina’s attention. She draped the towel back over her shoulder, and asked, “And what did they say?”

“There is a feature just to the northeast of Fallhaven,” Sylvanas said. “They call it Watermill Hill.”

“I am familiar with it, yes.”

“The Ashvanes have orders to take it from the defenders, and use it as a fort to bombard the city.”

Jaina fell silent. Her eyes dropped to the table, and she began digging up a more detailed map of Fallhaven and its surrounding countryside. She pulled out her ledgers, placing them atop the map and scowling down at the both of them.

Finally she said softly yet vehemently, “Shit.”

Sylvanas hummed in agreement.

Sighing, Jaina sank down into a chair. She rubbed at her eyes, scratching at the scar on one side of her face. “I had hoped to gain control over the peninsula by taking Carver’s Harbour from the Ashvanes.”

“It is far too late for that, now.” Reaching over, Sylvanas tapped at a section of the map between Fallhaven and Carver’s Harbour. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make life difficult for them in the meantime. We just need to take the initiative.”

Jaina nodded. She lowered her hands and opened her eyes. “So, we march for Fallhaven, and hope we can arrive in time to reinforce Watermill Hill. Otherwise we’ll have to take it back before they can blast through the eastern walls with artillery and create a practicable breach.”

“And then we winter at Watermill, and harass their position at Carver’s Harbour until they wished they had never set foot in Drustvar.”

“It’s a good plan,” Jaina admitted. “Though somewhat predictable, given the present company. I understand guerilla tactics are a favourite of yours.”

Sylvanas gave a dismissive little wave of her hand. “We all cling to our little foibles. Mine happen to involve a penchant for shock and hit-and-run doctrine.”

Jaina smiled, but it was a fleeting thing. Her face looked raw and recently scrubbed. She held Sylvanas’ gaze and said, “You smell like death.”

“Don’t I always?” Sylvanas drawled.

“No,” said Jaina. “Not like this. What happened?”

Sylvanas tried to make her shrug nonchalant. “I got a little carried away during the scouting expedition.”

Jaina looked at the cut on Sylvanas’ cheek and murmured, “I see.”

"To add insult to injury, your mother cornered me upon my return."

"Oh?" Jaina's tone was light, but she would suddenly not meet Sylvanas' eye. She fiddled with the ends of the towel slung over her shoulder, picking at stray threads, her actions uneasy, faintly apprehensive.

"She wants to call a meeting to discuss our strategy moving forward."

"Good thing we have one now, then," Jaina said, gesturing to the map of Fallhaven.

Sylvanas caught Jaina's eye and said, "I don't think that was all she meant."

In reply, Jaina swallowed thickly. The apprehension was more than faint now. She gripped the end of the towel tightly in one fist until her knuckles were white. A flicker of fear and uncertainty flashed across her features. She did not say anything.

"The truth will out," Sylvanas said. "That was what she told me. And she's right. This war will end, and our agreement will come to light. You cannot hide forever."

Inhaling deeply, Jaina lowered her hands to her sides and said, "I know." She chewed at her lower lip for a moment before asking, "What happened with you?"

Sylvanas frowned in quiet puzzlement.

"When you -- you know -" Jaina made a strange motion with one hand. "When you saw your family again after you had died? How did they react when they saw you like this?"

The map was suddenly incredibly interesting. Sylvanas traced circles around Watermill Hill and its surroundings, wishing beyond all else that they could return to topics of war and strategy and killing, things she was infinitely more comfortable discussing. Not this.

"My younger sister, Vereesa, was the first to see me,” she finally said, her tone blank and matter-of-fact. “It was awful."

"What happened?"

"She hugged me," said Sylvanas.

Jaina laughed, until she realised very quickly that Sylvanas was not laughing at all.

If she thought too long and too hard, she could still feel Vereesa’s arms around her, crushing her with a warmth that scorched. It hurt to touch her. To be reminded of the heat of life she could never again share. To want to be the person her little sister remembered and idolised -- a yearning so strong it tore her up inside until she thought she could feel a blade piercing her ribs.

“Might I make a suggestion?” Sylvanas said before she could sink too deeply into that melancholic memory.

“Please,” Jaina said, sounding relieved, almost eager for any scrap of advice in this surreal situation.

Sylvanas glanced up at her sharply, and her eyes burned crimson. “Don’t wait too long. The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

A little huff escaped Jaina at that. “I think we’re well beyond that, now. She’s thought I’ve been dead for years. Since before she even became Lord Admiral. I’m sure she’s made her peace by now.”

“She hasn’t. She told me she had, but she is lying.” Sylvanas ran her hands along the back of a chair tucked beneath the desk, her thumbs counting the rings of polished wood grain. “Grief is reaching out in love and finding nothing, and then filling it with something, anything to make that void a little less yawning, a little more manageable. The longer you wait, the more disruptive your return will be.”

Firelight played faintly about the strands of Jaina’s hair. She engoldened in the dim glow. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment of silence. “For assuming what you wanted. It's just that back in Ardfert bog, I thought -”

Sylvanas shook her head curtly. “No. Stop.”

“Sylvanas -”

When Jaina tried to round the table, to draw closer, Sylvanas slipped further away. She used the table as an obstacle to keep them apart. “I am not here to accept your offer. And I never will.”

Jaina did not try to pursue her further. She stopped, her hands coming to rest on the desk between them, just lightly touching a space between a stack of worn, well-read books. “I still don’t understand,” Jaina said slowly. “But only because given the choice, I would leap at the chance.”

The cabin was warming up, the fire lapping at the hearth and filling the space with a pervasive roiling heat. Sylvanas wished nothing of warmth. Not now. It was too close to body temperature, and she could feel her own skin begin to react to the heat, to drink it in and hold it fast as though hungry for it. “It is not just about what I want. I have an obligation,” she said, and the words felt as though they were being scraped from her throat. “To more than just myself. I cannot be selfish. I will not be.”

That was how it always had been. Self-sacrifice above all else. Living for others and not herself. Wishing she could be selfish, but knowing she could never do so; she would hate herself if she did. And she did not need any more reason to hate herself. Especially now.

“If there is one thing you are allowed to be selfish about, it is your own life,” Jaina said, her words chosen with care and precision.

But Sylvanas was already shaking her head, even as Jaina was speaking. “Not mine. And not yours. Not anymore. We are more than people. We are symbols and titles.”

A scowl crossed Jaina’s face, though not one of anger. “Do you allow yourself nothing?”

“You are new to your position. Relatively speaking,” Sylvanas added when Jaina opened her mouth to protest. “There is a balance you must find between personal wants and public needs. I found it long ago when Quel’Thalas demanded a military leader of my family. It is easy for you now. You want to save Drustvar. You want what is best for you people. But there will come a time, when you will do things that go against your better conscience not because you want to, but because you must.”

“And you believe you must remain dead?” Jaina asked incredulously.

Sylvanas’ answer came without err or hesitation. “Yes.”

With a sigh, Jaina shook her head. Again, she raked a hand through her hair, which by now had begun to dry somewhat.

“Your relationship with your mother is a prime example,” Sylvanas began, watching her reaction. “You don’t want to reveal yourself to her, but you know you have to eventually.”

Jaina chewed at her lower lip again. Her brows knit. Finally she relented with a nod. “Yes. I know.”

“It is easier if you think of yourself as two different people.” Sylvanas lifted her hands, palms facing up as though weighing objects between them. “The future Lord Admiral, and Jaina Proudmoore.”

A bitter smile twisted Jaina’s lips. “It seems you need more hands, if we’re going to talk about your personae,” she said with a nod towards her.

Sylvanas lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “When you live as long as elves do, you might need more than two, as well.”

“I will.”

At that, Sylvanas blinked. She looked at Jaina for clarification.

“Druids live as long as elves do. Even human ones,” Jaina said. Then she grinned, amused by Sylvanas’ confusion. “It’s a perk.”

“And here I thought the Kul Tiran nobility would be clamouring for you to conceive an Heir the moment you became Lord Admiral,” Sylvanas drawled.

“Oh, they probably will anyway. But they’re going to be very annoyed when they find out that I’ll outlive them by a good few centuries at least.”

“I can hear the cries of outrage from Boralus already.”

Jaina’s grin widened, then softened. Her fingers played with the cloth belt holding her bathrobe together. “I have to say, this certainly has been a surprise.”

Sylvanas cocked her head to one side.

In answer, Jaina gestured between the two of them. “I thought this conversation was going to be far more unpleasant.”

"I can make it unpleasant, if you would prefer."

Jaina made a face. "Please, no. I thought we were doing so well."

When Sylvanas smiled, it did not reach her eyes. Her fangs glinted in the firelight. "Make no mistake. I am still very angry." Her gaze seared crimson.

Jaina made a noise at the back of her throat, something between a hum and a grunt. "I can see that. I don't suppose there's anything I can do?"

"More concessions when you become Lord Admiral wouldn't go unappreciated."

Rolling her eyes, Jaina said, "Anything that doesn't involve me whoring out my nation?"

Sylvanas tapped at her chin, pretending to think deeply on the subject. Finally she said, "No. Nothing."

With a snort of wry amusement, Jaina said, "Well, do let me know if that changes."

"I will keep it in mind." A keen expression crossed Sylvanas' face. "I never forget when I am owed a favour."

"Now, that is just ominous."

"Good. It was supposed to be."

The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the sky had fallen dark as night swept across the land. Glancing through a window, Jaina sighed. "I suppose I ought to make myself presentable and face the firing squad."

"I very much doubt your mother will draw a pistol on you, though I will admit that she is a difficult woman to read."

"That's an understatement," Jaina muttered under her breath. She had begun to pick her way up the stairs, manoeuvring through the stacks of books haphazardly arranged along the steps.

When she reached the mezzanine, she dropped the towel onto the bed and untied the belt of her robe. Sylvanas pulled the maps closer to herself to study them while she waited, but her eyes would stray up to where Jaina was getting dressed. There wasn't much to see through the pillars of the balustrade and the piles of books. Glimpses of skin and cloth here and there as Jaina pulled on a fresh set of formal robes. There was an exit scar on her back, where Gorak Tul had struck her through with a sword, right between her shoulder blade and her spine.

A few minutes later, Jaina descended the steps, still tying the laces of fabric at her throat to hide the scars of her neck. Her cloak was draped across the back of the couch, and she shrugged it over her shoulders. The fabric rustled like the wind through dense branches. Sylvanas had long since given up the pretense of pouring over the maps, and stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

"Are you ready?"

Jaina fiddled with her loose hair for a moment, as though contemplating taking the time to braid it. Eventually though she nodded. "Yes. Let's go."

When they reached the door however, Jaina stopped. Her hand had immediately grabbed up the sickle staff, but she hesitated at the mask. Sylvanas waited patiently a step behind for Jaina to make up her mind.

"No," Jaina said softly to herself, turning away from the mask. Before she could take another step towards the door though, she turned back to the mask. "Or...? Well...? Hmm." She grabbed the mask. "Yes." Then almost immediately she put the mask back on its hook. "What am I thinking? No."

Sylvanas sighed. "You are worse than a cat at the door."

"All right, yes." Jaina snatched up the mask, spurred into action, and pulled the door open. Once outside she placed the antlered skull over her head, and her shoulders relaxed somewhat, as though the idea of extra layer of protection was soothing.

Sylvanas followed, closing the door behind them. She took a moment to pull on her boots and greaves. Once she had slung her bow over her shoulders, she pulled the fang from her belt pouch, but Jaina just held out her hand instead.

"I'll take us back," she said, hand outstretched, waiting.

Slowly, Sylvanas tucked the token away, and reached out for Jaina's hand. Jaina clasped their fingers together. Her skin was warm and calloused. Sylvanas could feel it even through the supple leather of her gloves.

The dark sockets of the skull's eyes glowed with pinpricks of light, and Sylvanas tensed. Jaina tightened her hold, as if she were afraid Sylvanas would wrench her hand away while the spell was still taking form. And then that familiar hook-like sensation gripped at Sylvanas' stomach and gave a mighty tug. When the world righted itself again, they were standing on the second floor rafters of the church at Barrowknoll.

The roof had been reconstructed with rough-hewn lumber. Stacks of bricks and munitions were piled up all around. The space was dimly lit from candles scattered around the main floor below them, and the sound of voices floated up the nearby set of stairs.

"Tides help me, if you don't tell me this instant, Lucille Waycrest -!"

"I don't know anything! You must believe me, Katherine. If the Warchief or the High Thornspeaker had said something to me, they would have said it to you as well. I swear it."

"You’re hiding something. You all are. Oh, don't give me that doe-eyed look! You always were a terrible liar."

"I told you, I don’t know anything!"

"You know I was there at your birth? Your mother held my hand. Nearly squeezed it right off, if you ask me. That woman had a death grip like no other."

"Yes," Lucille sighed wearily. "I know."

"And when Meredith fell to the Coven? Who was the first to offer you aid?"

Lucille mumbled something under her breath.

"Speak up, my dear."

"I said: You were."

"That's right. I was. And when those fools at Corlain attempted to burn you at the stake for some far-fetched witchcraft conspiracy, who got wind of it and rallied the Marshal for a rescue attempt?"

"You did."

"And yet you have the nerve -- the absolute gall -- to look me in the face right now, and lie to me." There was the sound of boot steps, and the faint clack of a cane against wooden floorboards. When Katherine spoke again, her voice was low but not at all soft. "I had thought I could rely upon you, the last of my family, distant though you are. But I see I am cursed to live a life of disappointment, through and through."

“That’s not fair,” Lucille sounded like she was choking on the words, or trying to hold back a wave of tears. “You know I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me.

"You have a very poor way of showing it."

"What am I supposed to do? Perform every action of my life as though I'm grovelling at your feet just to show how thankful I am?"

"Of course, not. You're being ridiculous."

"Don't say that! Don't you say that to me! You know I can't stand that, Kath!"

"Don't you 'Kath' me, young lady!"

As they eavesdropped, Jaina was gripping Sylvanas' hand hard enough that her fingers trembled. Sylvanas stole a quick glance at her. It was impossible to see what her expression was beneath the mask, but her back was too straight, her shoulders too rigid.

Sylvanas squeezed her hand back, and Jaina's head jerked towards her in surprise, as though she had only just remembered that Sylvanas was present at all. But it was only to get her attention, for Sylvanas jerked her head meaningfully at the stairs, and gave Jaina a pointed look. She could hear a faint indrawn breath beneath that mask, and then Jaina let go of her hand.

At the first creak of the floorboards beneath Jaina's feet, the two voices went silent downstairs. Sylvanas followed as Jaina descended the stairs, her own footsteps silent as a whisper.

Lucille and Katherine were standing very close together before the large rectangular altar that had been converted into a planning table. Scrolls and scraps of notes, missives and ledgers and stacks of maps were strewn across the altar. The papers were weighed down with bits of brick and bronze lamps. Both of them appeared startled at the interruption and the idea that their conversation was being listened to. Katherine recovered more quickly, grasping the falcon head of her cane in both hands and schooling her features to their usual hard neutrality. On the other hand, Lucille’s lower lip trembled. Despite that, her gaze was sloe-eyed and unyielding.

"Forgive the interruption," Jaina said, her voice cold beneath the horned skull. "But I thought I should step in."

Lucille jerked her chin up and said steadily. "It's fine. We just got a bit sidetracked from a strategy discussion."

Jaina hummed. She approached the altar, her hand reaching out to rest upon the stone surface. "Sylvanas has informed me of new developments that we all need to discuss."

Hearing this, Katherine shot Sylvanas a look that could only be described as startled, though she tried to hide it. In return Sylvanas gave away nothing. She did not draw nearer the altar, keeping her distance, watching Jaina, waiting for what she would do.

"I'm glad to hear you two are talking again," Katherine said carefully. Then she turned her attention upon the altar, waving Lucille and Sylvanas over to join them. "Shall we -?"

"No, not yet," Jaina said, cutting her off. Her voice was determined, but there was the barest hint of shakiness lingering beneath the surface. "You were right. There was something Lucille was keeping from you. And I think -- for all our sakes -- we ought to clear the air."

Lucille's eyes widened. She gave Jaina a panicked look.

Jaina gave no indication that she noticed. Slowly, her hands reached up and clasped the base of the skull mask, lifting it away to reveal her face. Katherine was watching her with a bemused frown, which only deepened when Jaina set the mask atop the altar. Opening her mouth to speak, Katherine paused. She blinked. Then she went white a sheet, and her jaw slackened as the realisation visibly dawned on her.

Katherine shook her head. “No, that’s - that’s not possible,” she breathed. “You died. They’d told me you died.”

“Yes,” Jaina said. Her hands were gripped into tight fists at her side. She held herself as though expecting to be struck.

From this angle Sylvanas could not see Jaina’s expression, but she could see Katherine's with all too much clarity. Something raw and painful shifted across Katherine’s pale face. Anger and anguish, disbelief and dread. Her hand tightened around the cane. She rapped the end of it against the ground, her jaw tight but her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I planted a sword in the grave for you,” she rasped. “And yet here you are.”

“Here I am,” Jaina echoed.

“If this is some trick, I swear to all that’s good, I’ll -” Katherine cut herself off with a rough swallow, breathing in heavily through her nose.

“I’m real.”

Katherine opened her mouth to say something, but words seemed to escape her. Hesitant, she reached out with one hand, but Jaina’s shoulders stiffened, and Katherine lowered her arm before she could touch her daughter. She had to muster up the ability to speak again. “You’ve grown very tall,” she said, a weak smile trying but failing to take shape. Her eyes flicked to Lucille and Sylvanas, and then her face hardened, her voice gaining strength. “How long have they known?”

Lucille looked like she would rather die on the spot than answer that question. Sylvanas herself kept her mouth firmly shut, letting Jaina answer. “Long enough.”

Pain twisted Katherine’s features. “And you didn’t tell me? Why?”

“Are you really asking me that? After what you did?”

Katherine drew herself up to her full height, but the top of her head barely passed Jaina’s chin. “I did not want to, but I had to,” she said. “Everything I did, I did to safeguard Kul Tiras. I will not apologise for that.”

“Letting Tandred hang was all part of your plan to ‘safeguard Kul Tiras’?” Jaina asked incredulously.

“You were too young to understand,” Katherine snapped. “The political situation at the time was volatile. I did everything I could to change Daelin’s mind, to find some work around, to exile Tandred instead, but he would have none of it. And the gentry were baying for blood after the orcs had killed so many during the First and Second Wars.”

Jaina scoffed. “Oh, great. So, dad wasn’t just a power-mad bastard. It was all because of politics. I see now why I should have come back to Boralus the moment he died. How foolish of me!”

Katherine’s face was quickly regaining its colour again. The two of them were locked in a glaring contest, tempers rising, mingling with grief and years of bitterness. They continued speaking as though they had completely forgotten anyone else was in the room.

“That’s not what I meant!” Katherine said hotly.

“Then what did you mean? Enlighten me.”

“You should have told me! Have you never heard of a letter? ‘Dearest mum, I am alive. Love - Your daughter, Jaina.’”

“You’re unbelievable! You -!”

As silently as she could, Sylvanas crossed the room and murmured to Lucille, “Come. Let us leave them be.”

Lucille nodded without hesitation, and the two of them slipped away. Neither Jaina nor Katherine seemed to notice.

“I could have protected you!’

“Oh, yes, because you’ve done such a good job of that in the past!”

“How dare you! I am the reason why you survived at all!”

“You don’t know anything about what’s happened for me to survive! Or have you already forgotten? You threw me away!”

“I did no such thing!”

Sylvanas shut the side door to the church behind her, so that the sounds of their voices were muted. Outside, the night was dark and drizzly. Most of the soldiers were camped in the fields just to the north, but some still wandered the town performing their duties. Sylvanas kept her hand firmly on the latch of the door as though afraid it might burst open at any second, while Lucille leaned against the outer wall with a ragged exhalation, staying beneath the shelter of the eaves.

Sylvanas studied her profile, then said, “You did well. I thought you would crack immediately under questioning.”

A soft shaky laugh escaped Lucille at that. “Thanks,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. She glanced towards the door. “Should we wait here? How long do you think they’ll be?”

Sylvanas’ only answer was a shrug. “They will take as long as they take.”

“Then they’ll be a while. ‘Stubborn as a Proudmoore’ they say in Tiragarde Sound.” Lucille ran a hand across her brow. She pushed herself away from the wall and said, “Would you like to join me for a drink? I desperately need one.”

“I don’t drink. And alcohol is wasted on me. It does nothing.”

“Right. Of course. My apologies.”

One of Sylvanas’ ears tilted towards the door, hearing the rising volume of the voices within. She grimaced. “On second thought, I will join you.”

“Thank the Tides,” Lucille sighed, already gathering up her long hems so that they would not trail in the mud.

Sylvanas followed Lucille out into the rain, the two of them making a dash towards a nearby reconstructed house. She may not be able to enjoy a drink, but it was a better proposition than staying put; she had had enough eavesdropping for one night.

Lucille had nearly finished what remained of the flask of whiskey she kept hidden in the drawer of her work desk, and Jaina and Katherine still had not emerged from the church to the Tides. Sylvanas sat in a chair beside the fire, while Lucille nursed a glass. Conversation was halting at first, but eventually Lucille's tongue was loosened by drink. Sylvanas took the opportunity to suss out any additional helpful information about Jaina and Katherine. Most of it she already knew. Some of it however, she did not.

"I wanted to go to Jaina's burial in Boralus, but my mother forbade it," Lucille said. She had draped a blanket over her legs to ward off the cold, and her chair had been pushed nearer the fire.

"Why would she do that?" Sylvanas asked.

Lucille sipped at the amber spirits in her glass. "In hindsight, I think it was because she had already well fallen under the influence of Gorak Tul. But it wasn't just that. There really was bad blood between the Houses back then."

"Unlike now, where you all get along swimmingly," Sylvanas drawled.

Lucille snorted a laugh into her cup. "I didn't think you would actually have a sense of humour, you know. It's kind of nice."

"I'm a woman of hidden depths." Sylvanas waved for Lucille to continue. "Now, you were saying about the Houses?"

"Yes. Well. Katherine was right back in the church, really. Terrible business, the First and Second Wars. There aren't many people in Kul Tiras to begin with. Then nearly a quarter of the entire population died fighting the orcs. We are still recovering as a society. I don't know if we ever will. Not really." Lucille cradled the glass of whiskey between her hands as though praying that it would warm her. "Derek Proudmoore, Jaina's eldest brother, was one of the people to fall. Daelin and Katherine were crushed. But he wasn't the only one. Lady Ashvane's Heir died. Her husband, too. And some of Lord Stormsong's family. Everyone was affected. Then Tandred goes off and helps those shipwrecked orcs? I know he was being kind -- he was a kind soul, if a bit of an ass at times -- but it was a scandal. Everyone wanted him to hang. My mother included. The Proudmoores nearly lost the Admiralty over it. There was talk of overthrowing them back then. My mother said theirs was a whole line of traitors. That they weren't to be trusted. And there were plenty of people who shared that sentiment. An example needed to be made."

Sylvanas hummed. "A sacrificial lamb led to the altar to appease the masses."

Tipping her glass towards Sylvanas as though in a toast, Lucille said, "Exactly that."

"Which doesn't exactly bode well for me."

"Oh, definitely not," Lucille said. Alcohol made her earnest and far too honest. "I think it would be a disaster, personally."

Sylvanas gave her a dangerous look. "How reassuring," she said in a silky warning tone.

Usually Lucille got the hint, but not when she was four glasses deep and reaching for the flask to pour herself a fifth. "The only thing that might salvage the relationship is the fact that you're not an orc. Kul Tirans tend to be a bit -- uhm -- how do I put it nicely -?"

"’Negatively predisposed towards those of orcish descent?’" Sylvanas supplied dryly.

“That works, yes.”

“And what does this have to do with Jaina’s burial, exactly?”

“Well -” Lucille expertly balanced the glass on her knee while she screwed the top back onto the flask. For a moment Sylvanas thought the glass was going to crash to the floor, but Lucille was apparently as Kul Tiran as any, for she snatched up the glass without fail or fumble. “There wasn’t a body, obviously, but Katherine wanted a funeral anyway.”

“People often do.”

“Anyway, it was a big public event. The Lord Admiral couldn’t keep it secret that she no longer had an Heir. Before that, she’d told everyone that Jaina was living with us in seclusion at Waycrest Manor.”

“Ah,” said Sylvanas. She leaned back in her seat and crossed an ankle over her opposite knee. “Yes. I see where this is going.”

Making an affirmative noise into her glass, Lucille finished her sip of whiskey and continued. “When my mother refused to let any member of House Waycrest attend, it was a public indictment in all but name. A show that the Lord Admiral’s power was slipping in Drustvar. And to top it all off, my dear mother was already neck-deep in her dabblings with Gorak Tul and the Coven, so of course she wanted the Lord Admiral out of her business, so she could take over Drustvar without any hassle. It was a damn mess.”

Sylvanas tilted her head to one side. “And what do you want for Drustvar?”

“Me?” Lucille blinked, as though surprised at being asked that question at all.

“Yes, you. You are Lady Waycrest, are you not?”

Turning her gaze to the fireplace, Lucille stared into the flickering hearth. “I want a Drustvar free from corruption and at peace with itself. I want to clear the smirch on my family’s name. And I want to follow a Lord Admiral who has a clear vision for Kul Tiras.”

“And you think Jaina will give you those things?”

“I do,” Lucille said with real conviction.

“Even if it means aligning yourself with people like me?” Sylvanas gestured to herself.

Lucille’s mouth opened, but before she could answer the front door swung open hard enough that it hit the wall and bounced back. Jaina stormed into the house, skull mask beneath one arm. Rain was caught in her cloak and her loose hair, droplets gleaming like stars. Her eyes were red-rimmed as though she had scrubbed recent tears from her cheeks.

Katherine was conspicuously absent.

“Right,” Jaina said, slamming the door shut behind her and stomping towards the fireplace to stand between their two chairs. “Well, that was awful.”

Wordlessly, Lucille held out the glass of whiskey. To Sylvanas’ surprise, Jaina took it and slugged back its contents as easily as though it were water.

“Welcome back,” Sylvanas said.

“Why did I listen to you?” Jaina asked, handing the glass back over to Lucille for refilling.

“Think of it this way: you only have one surviving family member, so you’ll never have to do it again,” Sylvanas pointed out.

“Thank the Tides,” Jaina grumbled.

Lucille handed the glass over to Jaina, filled with a good three fingers of whiskey. “Do we have a plan?”

“We have a plan.” Jaina took the glass. This time she did not immediately drain it in one gulp. Rather, she tipped it back and forth as though admiring the way the liquid slid against the interior of the glass. Then, she took a sip and said, “We march to Windmill Hill tomorrow morning to chase off the Ashvanes and wait out the winter. Or -” She craned her neck to peer out the nearest window, where the faintest sliver of dawn was creeping over the horizon. “Later today, actually. Ugh, but I need some sleep.”

“And the Admiralty?” Sylvanas asked.

“You’re looking at the official Heir to the Admiralty and Scion of the Great Fleet. Cheers.” Jaina lifted the glass in the air, and tipped it back. What few drops remain, she cast into the fire, which spit and hissed furiously.

Lucille and Sylvanas exchanged silent glances.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sylvanas said.

“Yes,” Lucille agreed, though she sounded far less certain. “Congratulations, I suppose?”

In response, Jaina heaved a weary sigh. “Fuck me.”

#you search the mountain #drust au #sylvaina #sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #roman writes

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chrysalispen · 4 years

Text

xxviii. dulce et decorum est

AO3 Link HERE from here on out the chapters are... probably gonna be pretty long XD

===

“Just one more…”

Aurelia wedged the bucket carefully beneath the wide throat of the hand-pump and scratched yet again at the cloth on her head. Sweat trickled steadily into the rough fabric as she worked, making it increasingly uncomfortable to wear as the day wore on. It was another hot, still day, the only sounds to be heard coming from birds and a chorus of cicadas, and if Vahne hadn’t been dogging her heels for the last two days as she helped care for the Wolndaras’ mysterious friend, she’d have risked removing it just to get some cool air.

But she didn’t dare do that. Too easy for a stray breeze to ruffle her fringe and reveal her third eye, and while Vahne might not care, she doubted she could say the same for the girl’s guardian.

Resolved to see this task completed at the very least, she turned back to the heavy curved iron handle. While it was a blessing that there was a large underground water source -- one Rhaya had said had kept them through the Calamity while so many others succumbed to flux -- it was certainly far less convenient than drawing from the river or using a water crystal.

“Miss Aurelia! Is the bucket full yet?”

“One moment!”

This time Aurelia threw her weight against it with a low, soft grunt. The handle moved perhaps a quarter ilm the first time, and the second time she was rewarded with the gushing babble of cool water spilling into the bucket. She eased off the handle and continued to pump until the bucket was filled, then lifted it back into its locked position and headed for the clotheslines she and Vahne had raised behind the house. The bucket thumped against her leg as she wove between the wet sheets freshly hung upon the washlines.

She rolled up her sleeves and dumped the fresh water into the spare washtub, ignoring Vahne’s lifted brows at her obvious clumsiness, and pulled up the washboard once more. The soap kept slipping from her fingers, and Aurelia cursed as the skin was grazed from her knuckles for the umpteenth time that morning. Shaking off the water and sucking on them gingerly, she noticed the girl was watching her with a mixture of amusement and confusion.

“You aren’t using it the right way,” Vahne said after a moment.

“What?”

“It’s going to take forever if you keep handling the linens that way. Here, let me show you.” All business, the girl came trotting over the grass towards her and took the cloth and soap from her hands. “You have to push down and scrub. Like that. See? Really get the soap into the cloth. Else it won’t wash out proper, and you’ll have to have another go.”

Aurelia watched Vahne work, the small hands surprisingly strong and swift. “You’re very good at this,” she observed. “Do they not have washtubs in that village of yours?”

“The Hearer to whom I’m apprenticed has a young lady named Noline take in our washing twice a week. I’m certain the villagers do their own wash otherwise.”

“Ha! I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“You come from a rich family, don’t you? Had servants to do your wash and the like. Am I right? I wager I’m right.”

Aurelia could only laugh, as much at herself as the absurdity of it all: without realizing it, her young friend had guessed correctly.

“Yes, I come from a well-to-do family. Was it so obvious?”

“Well… yes, it was, actually. Just ‘cause… you don’t know how to do some things I thought everyone knew and it’s a bit strange, that’s all.” Vahne’s brow crinkled. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

“Such as?”

“Laundry, for one. The way you wash dishes. You can’t cook-”

“What? Of course I can cook. I can make a pot of tea,” Aurelia protested. “And boil eggs.”

“That’s about it.”

“...Do you talk back to all your elders like this, or am I just especially lucky?”

The girl’s answering grin had regained much of its cocksure brashness, and she looked more now like the prickly, self-assured child Aurelia had rescued from the ruins. “You’re not special. I’m like this with everyone.”

“I see that.” She reached for one of the sheets to set in the wringer, the way the girl had shown her. “Rhaya must have had quite the time with you.”

“She’s used to it. I’ve lived with her since I was six summers old.”

“Six summers? That’s a very long time.”

“She’s had the care of me since Mum died,” Vahne shrugged. “Where’s your parents, Miss Aurelia? Do they still live in Gridania?”

“Oh... “ Aurelia hesitated. “Well, that’s… no. I don’t have any parents. I mean, I did, but they’ve been gone for a long time”

The girl looked some mixture of sad, surprised, and embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” she said, abashed. “Aunt Rhaya always tells me I ask too many questions.”

“That’s all right.”

“You’re an orphan then. Just like me…” Vahne’s nose crinkled and she paused in her scrubbing to scratch the tip with one soapy finger. “After helping us out, I bet she’d be happy to have you if you ever just wanted to come and visit and eat with us or tell stories or… something. If you have the time and all.”

“Perhaps you can show me how to properly do my wash.”

“And I can teach you to cook. No offense, Miss Aurelia, but I’m worried you won’t be able to feed yourself if all you know how to make is tea and boiled eggs.”

Aurelia laughed.

“Ah, you raise an excellent point. Well! I suppose I can find the means to submit myself to another teacher. Provided the Hearer is amenable.”

“What’s ‘amenable’ mean?”

“It means if he likes.”

“Or you could not worry about what he thinks and just come visit me anyway,” Vahne retorted with the cheeky cheerfulness of the very young. “Here, give me the soap. When you’ve put the rest of the sheets through the wringer, we can hang them to dry.”

I do believe, Aurelia thought with amusement as the girl continued to chatter, that I have been adopted.

~*~

Keveh’to Epocan sat belly up to the bar, morosely turning the faceted glass in idle circles. He’d long since drained its contents and now he was deciding whether or not to chance asking for a refill and thus calling attention to himself. At the moment he was the only Miqo’te man in sight, and while none of the few patrons huddled over their tables with their food and ales seemed to care about the presence of a Keeper man - which surprised him a touch - old habits died godsdamned hard, and so did the anxiety that always arose under curious stares.

That said, he was just inebriated enough not to pay it as much mind as he would have at any other time.

He tilted his head forward to rest against the wooden surface. Like the rest of the building it was still very new; the twin scents of tree sap and fresh varnish tickled his nose. He was supposed to have returned from his rounds a bell past, not that he supposed Mariustel Aubaints would give a damn one way or another. Laurentius Daye too often came to the Druthers, and he was far from the only one.

Buscarron’s Druthers - like many other places in the Twelveswood - had been born in the wake of the Calamity out of a need that had not always existed. Once this place had been naught save a single cabin just ahead of the lumberline, serving as both a rest stop and a watch station for travelers passing south into the marshes. There was a need for more eyes on the road in places where the Wailers and their reduced numbers could no longer venture and that had given way to business opportunities, and Buscarron Stacks had taken it upon himself to retire and open a bar.

Some had criticized him for it, lamenting the loss of the familiar watch, but Keveh’to personally found Buscarron’s decision to be a sound one. Running a tavern was just as good a method of information gathering as sitting in a cabin by the road - probably better, in fact. Drink had a tendency to loosen the tongue and relax the mind, and not all of the patrons of the ex-Wailer’s new watering hole were what one would call on the right side of the law. Most were trappers and hunters and the odd adventurer, and rural Wailer units on patrol, but Keveh’to’s keen eye had spotted one or two faces here that had been peppered across wanted posters in Gridania and nearby Quarrymill ever since the takeover of old Boughbury.

“Another?”

“Please,” he mumbled. “Bowl of walnuts too if you’ve got ‘em.” No sense in drinking himself stupid and paying for it the next day. He’d be expected on wall duty regardless of how miserable he felt.

His thoughts circled back to that piece of metal, burning a hole in his pocket.

Fumbling at his belt he fished around in the small pouch where he’d hidden it until his fingers, made somewhat clumsy with the whiskey, were able to safely retrieve it. He squinted it in the dim light, turning it over and over and all but enthralled by the way the curved cylinder caught the refracted bits of prismatic light from his tumbler and-

“Wouldn’t be flashing that about if I were you, mate.”

Keveh’to jumped, nearly losing his tenuous grip on the- what had Aurelia called it? A casing? He managed to catch it before it fell to the floor. Steel winked at him from his fist, curled half-open- and when he looked up, he saw Buscarron, the proprietor, grinning at him.

“You’re the new bloke, right? Sergeant… Evocan. No, Epocan. Got assigned to- where’s it, the Willowsbend outpost? Out there on the old Sentinel road?”

“That’s me.” The man slid a small wooden bowl full of shelled nuts towards him and reached for the decanter behind the shelf. Keveh’to watched the liquid spill into the glass, his ears twitching. “I don’t know that we’ve ever spoken but I’ve been in-”

“-a couple of times before. Aye, I saw you with young Laurentius, as I recall.” Buscarron’s lone eye twinkled at him, but there was something not quite mirthful about his words nor his demeanor as he slid the refilled glass over the varnished surface. “You take care ‘round him, you hear? I’ve known him since he was a young lad, and he don’t always think twice about judging the character of his friends while he’s about making ‘em.”

“I think there’s no danger of any close association.” Keveh’to picked up the glass. “I keep my business and my personal affairs separate. Try to, anyroad.”

“Probably for the best. Is this a personal visit, then? Or business?”

“It is, but…” Hells, he might as well get on with it. “...Might as well make it both.”

“Ask away,” Buscarron said, reaching for a cloth and a soapy glass. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere for the nonce.”

“I take it that you recognise this?” Keveh’to opened his hand. The casing lay in it still, lantern-light winking cheerfully back at the pair, and the Hyur squinted at it thoughtfully, the sun-wrinkles in his face bunched behind his eyepatch.

“Seen it once or twice. That ain’t from any Eorzean weapon.”

“That’s what my partner said too.”

“Your partner sounds sensible if you don’t mind me saying so. Where are they?”

“She’s tending to an urgent affair elsewhere,” Keveh’to said glumly, “or I’d have brought her with me.”

Buscarron’s brows arched, but he made no comment.

“I see,” was all he said. “I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you want to know if I’ve seen anything.”

“Have you?”

“I don’t think I’ve personally seen any imperials about these parts, but you understand I’ve been busy with the ales and spirits as of late. Short of one of ‘em walking in and asking me for a drink, I doubt I’d have had the opportunity to meet any of His Radiance’s finest.”

Keveh’to sighed, but the Hyur held up a hand.

“That isn’t to say I don’t want to help you. You might consider asking some of these folks hereabouts if they’ve seen anything out of the ordinary.”

“If any of them will talk to me.”

“Oh, ask around and be patient, and you’ll get a bite from some soul or other, I guarantee it. Might’ve actually worked in your favor, comin’ out here without your Wailer mates,” Buscarron observed. “Them what’s most like to have seen any wanderin’ ironcoats about the forest surely won’t be telling the law about it. Not if they think it’ll end with ‘em warming a space in a gaol cell.”

It wasn’t exactly the answer he wanted, but it did make surface sense. Even five years ago he’d associated the attention of the Wood Wailers with harassment at best, wrongful accusations at worst. “You have my thanks for the advice. And the drink.”

Buscarron let out a dry cackle.

“Don’t thank me now, lad,” he took the emptied glass, brows lifted in amusement across the weathered canvas of his face. “You haven’t got what you’re after yet.”

One bell later he had to admit, however grudgingly, that Buscarron’s warning carried some weight. Most of the responses he received were blank stares or simply a hostile, stony silence as he tried to explain himself. Some few souls said they would like to be of help but had no idea what object he was even holding, and others thought he was having them on. He needed another few bells to ask around the entire rest stop in all honesty, but he knew he didn’t have them to spare. The day was wearing on towards late afternoon, and he would be missed if he weren’t back by dusk. Resigning himself to the fact that his inquiries had proven fruitless, Keveh’to made for the chocobo paddock.

He was reaching for the braided reins to loosen them from the post when a sharp prickle ran its way down his spine and gooseflesh spread over his forearms. He froze in place, one hand still on the reins and the other on his mount’s flank, and out of the corner of his eyes he saw four Hyur in dark leathers with their faces covered. They had fanned out around him, and looking over their shoulders he watched four more put down what they had been doing to stand and grab a weapon where each had had one concealed among their tools.

So that’s how it is. As ever, the thought was barbed with cynicism. Same shite, different pile.

The Miqo’te bit back an exasperated sigh and his fingers closed around a dagger he’d concealed behind the saddle, just over the strap that held the blanket in place. “Right, gentlemen,” he said without turning around, his muscles already tensing in preparation to dodge a blow aimed for his back. “If you’ve come to ask for a dance-”

“Hold your weapon, Wailer,” one of them interrupted, the flow of his baritone like creek water, cool and unhurried. “We’ve not come to fight. Just to talk.”

“Have you now?”

“Aye, we have.” The man’s tone didn’t waver even once. He was in charge of this encounter and it was clear he knew it. “Boss said he wants a word with you.”

The boss, he thought. That sounded suitably ominous.

For a brief moment he gave idle consideration to the idea of fighting his way out, but it was just that: a flight of fancy and little else. It was obvious these men had orders to detain him, and he had no doubt they were likely to drag him off his chocobo and force him to do what they wished if he attempted to escape. Keveh’to was no coward and could well hold his own in any fair fight, but didn’t rate his chances against eight fully armed men, all of whom carried themselves with the casual swagger of battle-hardened veterans.

Those cold eyes locked with his, the faintest hint of a smirk tilting those smooth lips. No, he didn’t rate them at all.

His hand withdrew from the blanket to fall at his side.

“Well,” he said with forced cheer, “you’ve got my attention. Lead on, gentlemen.”

Buscarron didn’t even glance at Keveh’to upon his re-entry to the tavern, and he suspected that was by design, for this time he entered as a sort of vanguard’s spearhead, followed by the four men who had accosted him in the paddock. They led him past the bar without pausing and towards a small, round side table where a middle-aged Midlander in leathers sat alone, his lance leaning against the wall as he perused a book and sipped a cup of black Thanalan tea.

The entire scene was so incongruous that he might have laughed did he not know better; any of the men at his back could cause him undue harm or simply kill him, and he knew why they didn’t. A mild sidewise glance upwards, and hazel eyes locked with rain-grey. The man’s expression relaxed into a smile that was friendly enough, for all it was quite bland and didn’t reach beyond the curve of his mouth.

“Well. A Keeper! Don’t that beat shite all.” He folded a small corner of the open page, shut the book cover, and set it aside. “I didn’t think the Wailers recruited your kind.”

There was no point in lying to him. “They didn’t. Not exactly.”

“What’re you called?”

“I’m called Keveh’to Epocan. In polite society, anyroad.”

The man let out a delighted guffaw into the spine of his book.

“Seven hells,” he cackled, “finally I get one with a sense of bleeding humor. So, if you keep company with Wailers but you ain’t a Wailer, then who do you work for?”

“A Grand Company. I’m a sergeant with the Order of the Twin Adder in Gridania.”

“We found him about to leave town,” one of the men began, but fell silent at the lift of a hand.

“Sure the good sergeant can speak for himself. Go on, this is a private matter.” Out of the corner of one eye, Keveh’to watched the men exchange surprised glances, but they shuffled away and left him to speak with their leader alone. “Have a seat.”

Keveh’to sat. The act brought him face to face with the most nondescript-looking Midlander man he had ever met: sandy hair going to silver at the temples, rheumy hazel eyes, and absolutely no distinguishing features whatsoever. He could have passed this man in the street any number of times without having any idea who he was looking at.

By design, of course.

“I guess there’s no point in pretenses,” he said. “I’ll assume you’re the leader of the Redbelly Wasps.”

“One of many. But I see you’ve heard of us.” The bandit leader inclined his chin. “We’re an informal lot- we don’t much stand on ceremony. But if you need a name, you can call me Arthur. Keeps things friendly, like.”

“Well met, then, Arthur,” he said. It wouldn’t hurt his chances to be polite. He gestured at the half-cleaned plate at his host’s elbow. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

“Not at all. I like to take my time with my meals,” Arthur said. “Sit back with a bit to read and watch the comings and goings ‘round these parts.”

“You’re a regular here?”

“I am. We’ve a deal with ol’ Busc, see. He knows all about our little feud with Gridania, but he wants this place to stay neutral and it’s in our best interests too. So we don’t bother no one while they’re here, and in turn, they don’t bother us.” Arthur smiled. “It works the same way for you and yours, Sergeant. A two-way road, you might say. You don’t call your Wailer friends to haul us off to rot in a gaol cell or swing from a gibbet, and we don’t send you back in small pieces to whatever hole you crawled out from.”

“A good system,” Keveh’to agreed mildly. He knew a veiled warning when he heard one. “So what was it that you wanted to discuss?”

“You’ve been showin’ a bit of steel about the tavern today, so I hear. Can I have a look? I know it’s in that pouch of yours.”

“Mate, you have eyes in this tavern waiting for me to draw a weapon just so they can put a dagger in my back. I’m not that much of a fool.”

Arthur shook his head with a sigh. “Come now, Sergeant. I know you aren’t about to shoot me. We’re friends for the next quarter-bell at least, which means I’ll not raise a hand against you. You’re safe and all. Go on.”

Keveh’to’s eyes narrowed at the man, but he wasn’t about to accuse him of lying about their truce- and Buscarron’s reputation, at least, he did trust. His fingers eased loose the leather knots of the pouch and drew forth the spent shell. It rolled into his palm, winking steel and brass in the flickering lights, and he held it out to Arthur.

“Open your hand,” Keveh’to said, and when the Hyur did so, he rolled the shell into his waiting hand and watched as he squinted at it. “That look familiar? Something that one of your people might’ve seen recently?”

“Imperial ordnance,” Arthur mused. The fingertips of his other hand drummed a slow and constant rhythm against the surface of the table. “Where’d you find this?”

“In a copse just outside Willowsbend.”

“Willowsbend, eh…”

“You know the place?”

“I’ve got a couple of men with sweethearts in that very same village. Off near the old Amdapor ruins.” Arthur rolled the piece of metal in his palm. “Funny you should mention, though. One of ‘em said something about hearing what sounded like a gunblade discharge a few nights past while he were out making sport with his lass. Multiple shots, he said.”

“And he said it was gunblade fire? You’re sure?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Sergeant, but we don’t just feud with the Wailers. The Garlean Empire wants the wood too, and their fancy magitek makes them far more of a threat than your lot with your bows and arrows.” Arthur squinted at the metal in his hand. “We’ve all of us got in skirmishes with imperial scouts here and there- though this is the first in over a year they’ve ventured out this far from their castrum. Could be they’re about to take another tilt at us, could be they had some other reason for being out here. You ask me, it’s probably the latter.”

Keveh’to’s brows arched. “That’s not much to go on.”

“That’s what I have.”

“Care to tell me who the girl is or did your man say?”

“You maybe could talk to her yourself if you’re so inclined? She heard the sound too, he said, and she’s one of your villagers. Makes it easier for all concerned - and I trust you’ll not be sendin’ your friends to set a trap for my man, now I’ve told you what we know? Fair exchange of information and all that.”

“I’ll not breathe a word. And the girl...?”

“Oh, aye, I can give you the girl’s name right enough,” the bandit leader said with a smile and a shrug, holding out his hand to pass the gunblade shell back to Keveh’to. “It’s Noline.”

~*~

The sun had long since fallen below the trees, and the sky had darkened to a deep, rich blue, limned with the brilliant pinks and orange of sunset. It seemed to cast the timberline in an otherworldly glow, and Aurelia found herself admiring the view while she removed her pattens and hoisted the basket of clean linens to take inside. She missed the dramatic skyscapes of Gyr Abania and even Garlemald, but the skies over the Shroud held their own mysterious allure that she couldn’t deny.

With a distant sort of amusement, she imagined how her aunt and uncle would react if they could see her as she was now. Filthy and tired after a day spent on her knees scrubbing dirty linens on a wooden and copper-plated board until her slender fingers had gone red and raw.

Aunt Marcella would have conniptions, that’s what. A rueful grin lingered upon her face as she nudged the door open with the flare of one hip and her mind turned back to the night’s tasks.

She would set the basket in the hall for Vahne to sort, then go back out to get water from the well pump to wash up and find a meal. Once she’d eaten it would be time once more to check on her patient’s vitals and change out his bandages. After that… well, chores or no, there was precious little to do whilst overseeing a single patient’s recovery so long as there were minimal complications. A cup of tea might not go amiss, and she could perhaps make some new entries in her journal tonight.

Cheered by the thought, Aurelia made her way into the hallway, set the basket on the floor, and plucked a washcloth from the pile.

“Ah, Mistress Aurelia.”

She paused. The voice had come from the direction of the stove, and when she looked over her shoulder she saw Rhaya Wolndara ascending the ladder.

“There’s stew in the pot,�� she said. Her demeanor was still somewhat stiff and mistrustful, but she had seemingly decided to stay her judgment upon Aurelia for the time being. “I had a haunch of venison that needed finishing off before it went over. Since we’ve got four mouths to feed right now, that should be no issue.”

“Thank you,” Aurelia said, and meant it. “I realize I’m an imposition here.”

Rhaya sighed. “I’ve no children and no particular desire to have them. Vahne is the closest I’ll get, and she’s… young and prone to thoughtlessness. And she seems to trust you, despite having known you for less than a sennight.”

Aurelia said nothing at the woman’s pointed words.

“Surely you have other patients. Why would you disregard them to help us?”

“Because that’s what I do,” she said simply.

“With no expectation of payment in return, I suppose.”

“Perhaps Vahne misunderstood or did not explain. I am not the conjurer in charge of the village where she found me, but rather the conjurer’s apprentice. I have a roof over my head and meals provided to me.”

“A novice.” Rhaya’s eyes narrowed. “And yet you seem to have a very thorough knowledge of field medicine.”

“I was originally a chirurgeon by trade. Before the-”

“Aunt Rhaya! Aunt Rhaya!!”

The panicked cry startled them both, as did the immediate slamming of the cabin door. Vahne’s fingers fumbled at the locks as she threw the big bolt, and the sounds of her rapid, heavy breathing filled the small space.

“Vahne?” Rhaya emerged fully from the root cellar, her brow indexed with a deep frown. “What’s happened? Are there wolves near the coop again?”

“N-not wolves,” she gasped and bent over to cough from her exertion, “bandits.”

“What do you mean, bandits?” Rhaya said, in a sharp and incredulous voice, and Aurelia watched her jaw tighten at the news. “That isn’t possible. Are you sure?”

“Yes! I was putting up the feed when I saw- they’re all hiding in the hay fields. They’re wearing that strange black stuff so it was really hard to see them, but they’re out there.”

“Did you see how many were out there?”

“I-I’m sorry,” Vahne panted. “I didn’t see how many there were. I thought they might grab me if I didn’t run away fast. But-but they didn’t follow me so I don’t think they know I saw them.”

Rhaya was already halfway across the common room in search of her bow, growling, every hair on her violently lashing tail standing on end. “Those lying bastards,” she spat, slinging her quiver over her back. “There’s not supposed to be any bloody Wasps out there.”

She sounded so certain that Aurelia frowned.

“I was under the impression that bandits don’t much care whether or not they’re trespassing.”

“You wouldn’t understand and it’d take too bleeding long to explain. Let me get these bastards off my property first and then we’ll-”

Aurelia never heard what Rhaya had intended to say. Her senses were overwhelmed by a preternatural, primitive flash of warning that snapped through her soul seemingly out of nowhere, and before she could even question it she had grasped both Miqo’te by their shoulders.

“Both of you,” she shouted, “get down! Now!!”

She threw them to the ground and dropped to join them just as she heard an all too familiar explosion and one of the window panes shattered. The gunblade’s bullet drilled harmlessly into the wall where Rhaya had been standing only moments beforehand.

Vahne screamed.

On its heels came another shot fired, then another, and another. Aurelia turned her face to the ground and made sure her body was blocking the girl’s, lying unmoving beneath the sensation of broken glass and wood chips pelting down onto her back. After what felt like an eternity but must only have been half a minute if that, the fields went silent. The stink of black powder rankled in her nose and she coughed.

From the other side of the broken windows, a heavily accented male voice barked:

“Sixth Cohort Velites, hold your fire!”

Aurelia Laskaris felt her stomach drop through the floor.

Vahne cowered beneath her, shaking and crying and awaiting another barrage of gunfire. On her other side, Rhaya’s pretty face was livid with fear and fury, her ears laid flat against her head as she spat foul curses beneath her breath. Aside from shredded curtains and broken glass and chipped furniture, all else appeared as it ought. They hadn’t hit the lamp that sat in the front window, though perhaps that had been by design rather than providence.

The only other sound in her ears was the chime of broken glass dangling from newly emptied panes in the night breeze like cracked teeth and the crunch of multiple footsteps. The imperials were approaching the door.

A gauntleted fist crashed against the panels, once, twice, thrice, and Vahne jumped beneath Aurelia’s protective arm.

“We have come on behalf of the XIVth Imperial Legion,” came the shout from the other side. “We have evidence that a deserter is being sheltered upon these premises and have come to arrest the criminal, as is our right by imperial law. Surrender this traitor within the next five minutes and we will consider clemency. Be warned that any show of resistance or lack of response will be taken as a tacit admission of guilt in aiding and abetting a fugitive-”

“Piss on your swiving Emperor! This isn’t one of your provinces, you tin-plated whoresons,” Rhaya howled at the top of her lungs. “And if you don’t clear off my land right now, I swear by the Twelve you’ll live to regret it!”

“Miss Aurelia,” Vahne whispered, her eyes wide as saucers. She was trying to wriggle out from beneath the arm that pinned her to the floor. “Aunt Rhaya, what are they shooting at us with? Are they bandits?”

Aurelia struggled to sit up. Her head covering had been knocked askew by the last-moment dodge and only barely kept its perch, tilting so far forward that it covered her eyesight.

“No,” she said, her voice flat and grim. “Definitely not bandits.”

“This is your final warning,” the disembodied man’s voice shouted, now tinged with no small amount of irritation. “Present the deserter that you have been illegally harboring or prepare to face the consequences due for your defiance. You have five minutes. Choose wisely.”

“Bugger it all,” Rhaya hissed. “If it were Wasps that’d be one thing, but imperials?”

It was difficult even to hear her own thoughts over the relentless thumping sound of her heart in her ears. Outside there was the sound of shouted orders over the thrum of cicadas and the calls of birds - clearly, the soldiers were not bluffing, although she supposed they ought to be thankful for any sort of warning.

“We’ll have to drive them off if we can,” Aurelia whispered at last. “But first things first, that trapdoor-”

Rhaya reached for the bow and the arrows, which had scattered when they had dropped to the floor.

“Vahne, go down with our friend. Shut the trapdoor behind you and stay down there- and keep quiet.”

“But-”

“No buts. This isn’t a job for children.” Vahne opened her mouth, then shut it, seeming to realize an argument would be futile. “You’ll help me best by remaining out of sight. Go down into the cellar and shut the door behind you, and don’t you open it until one of us tells you it’s safe. Do you hear?”

“Yes, auntie,” she mumbled. Aurelia watched her go, spindly legs and still-awkward gait and all.

“It’s just you and me, then, conjurer,” Rhaya said. She grimaced at the broken glass all over the floor. “Damn it, this glass cost my grandmother a fortune- ”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” Aurelia stood, and the moment she did the kerchief on her head fluttered loose and fell into her hands. She stared at it, chewing on her lip… then a slow and wicked grin stretched its way across her face.

Rhaya gave her a blank sidewise stare. “What’re you smiling about?”

“Pray tell me, Mistress Wolndara,” she said without looking up, still grinning, “might you show me where you keep your leatherworking reagents?”

~*~

Never expected I’d ever miss Ala Mhigo, Argas rem Canina thought to himself, but here we are.

The observation was silent for necessity’s sake, as he didn’t want the inhabitants of the cabin overhearing any orders he might have had to pass along, but he was miserable. They were coming into what locals called the dog days of high summer now, and though it was more temperate than the city where he had been posted for so long, that wasn’t to say it was more hospitable. Even did one discount the humid and sweltering heat, and the bandits, and the beastmen… well. Carbonweave might be effective at preventing death by immolation but it was utterly useless against midges, and the Eorzean variety were both vicious and plentiful. Vicious and plentiful, he thought. Just like everything and everyone else in this godsforsaken forest - even after having a blasted moon dropped on their heads.

Eorzeans, he was starting to realize, were an annoyingly resilient lot.

“My lord,” a voice muttered at his shoulder. Phoebus pyr Cinna, lips set in a cold and angry line, already reloading his gunblade - like the other frumentarii the pilus prior had handpicked for this mission, the man was an officer, albeit a junior one. “It’s been nearly five minutes by my count. Your orders? Do we take the door down?”

Argas took a moment to consider his next course of action. He wasn’t accustomed to fieldwork any longer and he knew it showed. He’d spent the last three years behind a desk- but by His Radiance’s Will, some things one never forgot. He still knew how to track down defectors, and that was why Fabian rem Corbinus had entrusted him with the task of leading a squadron of velites on his retrieval mission.

This one was worse than most of the criminal rabble that deserted their posting. Usually, the bastards were found again within days’ range of the castrum they’d fled, with naught save the clothes on their backs. But just turning tail and running away hadn’t been enough for him, Argas thought sourly.

At the very least, the Crow seemed to want the deserter either retrieved or dead and wasn’t terribly minded as to which solution they sought.

Pale hazel eyes tracked over the facade of the cabin. One of the others thought she’d seen movement inside earlier, but aside from the single lamp still burning in the window (and somehow untouched by their opening barrage of firepower), all remained still. He’d seen the child running through the fields to the house so he had no doubt the owners of the cabin were still present, likely hoping they might be left to their own devices if they remained silent.

He sighed aloud in disappointment. He’d heard tell that the primitive folk of the Black Shroud worshipped forest gods and in return held the power to turn the wood to their very whims, but there appeared to be nothing to such tales after all.

This didn’t promise to be much in the way of sport.

“My lord?”

“We've been more than lenient. Let's-"

Something came flying through one of the broken windows to crash at their feet with a tinkle of shattering glass. Its contents splashed against their carbonweave leggings, and as one the squad staggered backward, coughing -- the reek was enough to fell a behemoth.

“Seven hells,” came Phoebus' choked voice from behind him, and that was when the rock struck him in the chest and knocked the breath from him in a great gust.

Taken by surprise, Argas had little chance to defend himself. The force behind the wind gust that followed took him off his feet and sent him sailing clear of the porch to land at the foot of the steps, slamming against the stone and mortar lip of the nearby well.

“Open fire!” he snarled, over the levin shocks of pain radiating into his right arm from his side. If a fight's what these savages want, then a fight is what the bastards will get! "They've got him! Take them down!"

An arrow whistled through one of the broken windows, aiming at his face. Argus took hasty evasive action, rolling to the ground and covering his head with his arms, and the projectile struck the wooden panel bare ilms from the space his throat had so recently occupied. He heard another pained cry as a second arrow struck true, then the sound of a gunblade clattering to the ground. Another gust of wind punched into his back and cut tiny paper-thin slivers into the exposed edges of his tabard, near blinding him with tiny splinters and the tattered corners of leaves.

“Phoebus!” Argas shouted. “Don’t just sit there, smoke them out!”

His second immediately scrambled to obey. Between wild-fired shots with his gunblade, the other man fumbled at his belt until he unclipped a small device, pulled the pin with his teeth, and tossed it at the cabin. It crashed through another windowpane and with a tight, flat bang smoke began to billow everywhere, in the cabin and along the length of the porch runner. Eyes watering, Argus coughed and covered his mouth with his forearm.

There was a slam and then a loud cracking sound as the door was kicked open to slam on loosened hinges against the outer wall. Two female figures emerged through the smoke, their noses and mouths covered in cloth: one a wiry auburn-haired Miqo’te with eyes that burned as balefully as ghost-fire, the other a tall, blonde, and willowy Hyur.

The Miqo’te threw herself off the steps and lunged at his other two operatives. Behind her arrows came more flying stones and sharp bursts of wind; the force sent her targets crumpling to the ground with a groan. At his side, Phoebus pyr Cinna took aim and fired at the woman. The smoke obscured his sight, but the lack of response was enough to indicate his second’s bullet had missed its mark.

Grinning mirthlessly, his second opened the revolving chamber of his gunblade to reload--

“Take your hands off your weapon,” the quiet command drifted through the smoke plumes that still billowed out of the cabin door, “and keep them where I can see them if you please.”

They had forgotten the Hyur woman. Her voice was dulcet, clear- and, the pilus prior thought, her accent was immediately recognizable. There was something in it of Ala Mhigo, but she was no more an Eorzean than he was.

Another deserter, he thought in silent dismay. Two of them. Hells below.

Argas watched Phoebus’ hand freeze in place along the hilt’s trigger guard, heard coughing and swearing from the others, then his gaze traveled from his second to the young woman who now towered over them both. She held a glowing wand at the ready, a simple leafless branch with a small corona of light at its tip, and he had no doubt by the look on her face that she was willing to use it.

“Have your optio drop his weapon, my lord,” the Garlean woman repeated. “Tell your subordinates to stay where they are and keep their hands in sight.”

Phoebus was already baring his teeth.

“We don’t take orders from-”

“Do as she says, Cinna, you damned fool,” Argas snapped. His second continued to glare at the woman, but placed the gunblade flat against the ground and raised his hands in the air.

“Cease fire!” he shouted.

For a few moments, silence returned to the clearing and the sounds of the forest intruded once more. Full night had fallen, and the smoke made visibility poor besides, but the tall woman was close enough for him to see her face from the point of light gleaming ominously in the small stick she bore in one hand. Something on her brow, just beneath her hair, caught the reflection from the aether that cast the visible half of her face in a lambent blue glow.

Argas craned his neck up, squinting-

-and she kicked him roughly onto his back and planted a slender, pattened foot against his chest. The edges of his broken bones ground together beneath its pressure upon his sternum in a way that left him gasping and breathless.

“You dare to treat an officer of the imperial army in this manner-" A pained and very undignified moan escaped his lips as she leaned her weight into the foot on his chest, the pressure on his ribcage inexorable and, increasingly, unbearable. He spat a mouthful of dirt to one side, panting. "You will regret your insolence, madam. Mark my words.”

“Mark mine first, pilus: there are over two hundred bones in your body, and I know precisely where and how to break all the ones which would leave you able to answer my questions." The woman’s mouth was set in a tight line. "Who are you?”

“Argus rem Canina,” he managed. “And you are-”

Her foot bore down once again, and the pilus prior’s query ended in a howl of pain and a string of Ilsabardian vulgarities which she proceeded to ignore. “Why did you fire upon civilians with no prior warning?”

“He’s a deserter,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “Harboring deserters and defectors is a violation of imperial law and the penalty-”

“I’m well aware of the provincial statutes, my lord, and none of them apply here. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but Eorzea is not an imperial province.”

A shout caught their attention, followed by the sounds of cursing and grunting-- and the sharp bark of a discharged gunblade.

“Rhaya!” his interrogator shouted. Her attention turned towards her companion, all thoughts of questioning forgotten.

The moment he saw the window of opportunity, Argus took it. He unhooked the flash grenade from his belt, pulling the pin as he did so, and tossed the activated projectile at her feet.

The world exploded in white, blinding all of them; he could hear only the keening high-pitched sound of a magitek detonator-- but it had the desired effect. The pressure on his chest evaporated as she fell back. He felt arms fumbling around his shoulders to pull him to his feet, slapping his weapon back into his hand.

“We should press our advantage, my lord,” Phoebus hissed in his ear.

“No,” he winced, coughing and clutching at his hurt side.

“But--!”

The weapon in his hand felt as though it weighed tonzes; his fist remained tightly closed about the grip, for it would be inviting courts-martial if he lost it - but his arm trembled violently, weakened by the debilitating pain in his chest; the very act of breathing felt a torment. Argus knew he could not continue to fight if pressed, and with at least one other of their number wounded that would leave the others at too much of a disadvantage.

There was naught else to be done. He ground his teeth in frustration.

“Damn you, do not countermand my orders!" Argas snarled. "We withdraw!”

He could feel the resigned slump of the shoulder against his own.

“Velites!” Phoebus pyr Cinna shouted in the direction they’d last seen the others, his voice hoarse from smoke inhalation. “Fall back!”

And under the cover of smoke and artificial light, Argas rem Canina and his comrades fled.

#chapter 28 #reborn by fire #aurelia laskaris #chrysalispen writes

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

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Fic: Northern Lights

Summary: Belle travels to frozen Arendelle to witness the Northern Aurora. Legend has it that eligible young women will see the face of their intended in the lights, but Belle’s never held much sway by old wives’ tales…

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard, available here.

Rated: G

Northern Lights

Belle had been looking forward to her trip to Arendelle ever since she had received Anna’s invitation. As the carriage drove through along the heavily salted roads, snow and ice piled up in huge drifts around them, she could see that the entire kingdom was in a state of intense excitement.

She knew why, of course. It was the entire reason for her visit to Anna in the first place. Well, in the invitation, Anna had couched it in terms of diplomacy: a visit from a duchess of the southern lands to the frozen and near uninhabitable North was always a good exercise in maintaining friendly relations across the Enchanted Forest. Belle knew the truth, however.

The Northern Aurora was due to become visible again over Arendelle’s peaks that night, and it was a momentous occasion. The mesmerising sky lights were only seen every ten or so years, and all of Arendelle fell into a frenzy when they became visible again. Much store was set by the Aurora, and the swirling colours were said to predict all kinds of things about the future.

Belle did not hold much with the divination side of things, but she knew that she wanted to witness the natural magnificence since she had the chance. She had seen illustrations of the Aurora in her books before, but she knew that they would never be able to compare with seeing the lights in person. The pictures themselves were breath-taking, which meant that the lights themselves could only be more so.

The carriage rounded a corner and the Arendelle royal palace came into view. Belle could already see Anna standing by the gates, wrapped up in wool and furs and prancing from one foot to the other to try and keep warm as she waited for her guest. Almost as soon as Belle was out of the carriage, Anna had grabbed her and was leading her through the palace’s halls, chattering on so fast that Belle could barely get a word in edgeways. She didn’t mind, though, content to let Anna guide her on a whistle-stop tour of the palace and fill her in on several hundred years of history in just a few minutes.

She had first met Anna just a few years ago, when she had accompanied Queen Elsa on a tour of the southern kingdoms and they had spent a few days in the Duchy of Avonlea, neighbouring Belle’s own lands. All of the nobility in the region had been invited to meet the visiting royalty, and being Belle’s age, Anna had taken a shine to her. Although they were chalk and cheese in terms of personality, Anna brash and outgoing, a people-person in all respects, whilst Belle was more reserved although no less forceful when she wanted to be, the two young ladies had got on very well and had remained firm friends ever since.

This was Belle’s first time in Arendelle, and her first time visiting anywhere without her father. Anna was determined that they should make the most of their comparative freedom.

“Of course, Elsa will make sure that we have a chaperone when we go out to see the lights tonight, but with any luck it will be Sir Rumpel.”

“Sir Rumpel?” Belle was intrigued by the name.

“Rumpelstiltskin, really, but it’s such a mouthful to pronounce. He doesn’t seem to mind when I call him Rumpel. Everyone says that he’s performed great feats in war against the ogres. Of course, all that was long before my time and he doesn’t like to talk about it, but I think that the reports are trustworthy. Anyway, he’s lovely, and very discreet so I don’t think he’ll tell Elsa if we happen to slip away for a bit.” Anna sighed dramatically. “It can be so tiresome having someone watching your every move all the time.”

Although Belle was only the daughter of a duke comparatively low in the noble pecking order, she too knew the problems of being followed by knights everywhere she went. She wasn’t sure that she was looking forward to meeting this knight of Anna’s. In her experience, most soldiers were alike, but Anna’s description of Sir Rumpelstiltskin had roused her curiosity.

The rest of the day was spent in the room that had been set aside for Belle’s stay, the two girls catching up on everything that had happened since they had last been in touch. As darkness began to fall outside, far earlier than it did in the south, Belle could tell that Anna could barely contain her excitement; she was practically bouncing up and down on the bed.

“You know, they say that young ladies of a marriageable age will see the face of their future husband when they look into the lights,” she said, then gave an emphatic sigh. “Oh, I hope mine’s handsome.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Anna, please don’t tell me that you invited me to see the Aurora just so that I could see my potential suitor?”

“Of course not! The lights are a wonderful natural phenomenon that everyone should have the chance to experience in person and of course we’re doing our bit for maintaining good relationships between Arendelle and the rest of the Enchanted Forest. Honestly, Belle, didn’t you read my letter to your father?”

Belle remained firmly unconvinced and Anna let out a sigh of defeat.

“All right, all right, yes, one of the reasons that I wanted you to see the lights was to see your future husband. I know that you haven’t been having much luck on that front and I thought that if you had something to aim for then it would help you.”

Belle just shook her head in despair. It was true enough that none of the potential matches that her father had introduced her to over the last couple of years had been anywhere near suitable, and she knew that she was running out of eligible noblemen, but Belle had never been of the opinion that bloodlines and fortunes should be of the highest priority when selecting a partner. She held far more store by love and friendship, no matter who her partner might be.

Presently there was a polite tap on the door and a voice spoke through the wood.

“Your Highness, Her Majesty has instructed me to accompany you to the Aurora tonight. I suggest that we head out soon if we want to get the best view of the lights.”

Anna rushed over to the door and flung it open.

“Oh, I did so hope that it would be you coming with us, Sir Rumpel. Belle, this is Sir Rumpelstiltskin. Sir Rumpel, my dear friend Lady Belle of the Marchlands.”

Sir Rumpelstiltskin bowed. “Welcome to Arendelle, Lady Belle. I hope that you’ll enjoy your stay here.”

Belle curtseyed. “Thank you, Sir.”

She took a moment to take him in, the famous knight that Anna had told her so much and yet so little about. He was certainly not like any of the other knights of Belle’s acquaintance, and she was very pleased by that. He was older for a start, mature and measured rather than one of the young, hot-blooded types that she was used to, and there was kindness and gentleness in his eyes.

“The sled is waiting, Your Highness, Your Ladyship. I’ll see you shortly.”

He closed the door after him, and as Anna bustled around gathering their warm cloaks and fur-lined boots, Belle was left wondering.

“Come on, Belle, stop daydreaming! You don’t want to miss your chance, do you?” Anna shoved a hat on her head haphazardly and as Belle pulled it up from over her eyes, she saw Anna give a wistful sigh. “Oh, I hope mine looks like Prince Hans from the Southern Isles.”

Belle raised an eyebrow, unseen, and she continued to prepare for their departure. From what she’d heard of the Southern Isles’ royal family, she thought that Anna could do an awful lot better than Prince Hans, but she didn’t say anything, letting her friend indulge in her harmless fantasies.

At last, they were ready, and soon tucked up snugly under heavy blankets in the back of the sled. Sir Rumpel was trotting alongside them on a white charger, and Belle couldn’t help sneaking little sideways glances at him. She was trying to be subtle, but she knew she’d failed when she saw the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smile.

Presently, he leaned down in the saddle to speak to her.

“You’ll get a good view just around the next corner,” he said. Even though Belle knew that he was talking about the lights, she felt her face flame as her thoughts turned in a different direction. At least the warmth in her cheeks was countering the cool wind.

They rounded the corner and all thoughts of Sir Rumpel were put out of Belle’s head as she caught her first glimpse of the Aurora. It was breath-taking, even from this distance, and she stared in wonder at it.

“I know, it’s mesmerising, isn’t it?” Anna clapped her hands together in excitement. “It’ll be even better when we get closer.”

The sky was swirling in bright greens and blues as if it were alive, and Belle immediately thought of just how little justice the illustrations in her books did to its raw and unrefined beauty. It kept her spellbound until they reached the plateau where crowds were gathering to watch the lights in their full glory, and it was only when Sir Rumpel offered her a hand to help her out of the sled that she remembered where she was and was brought back to the present.

She kept hold of his hand as he guided her across the icy ground towards the best viewing spot; Anna had already rushed on ahead, not caring as she slipped and slid across the plateau until she was right in the centre of the crowd, gazing up at the Aurora.

Belle looked up and drank in the majesty of the spectacle. If she’d held even the vaguest belief in the old notions, then it would have been well and truly squashed in that moment. There was nothing akin to a human face in the lights, and she could not see how anyone could see anything aside from the beautiful waves of colour. They in themselves were more handsome than any potential intended.

Although, that said…

She looked across at Sir Rumpel, very aware that she was still holding his hand, but he showed no signs of being uncomfortable with her closeness. He wasn’t looking at her, instead staring up at the lights as she had been doing until just a moment before.

The swirling hues of blue and green lit up his face, and Belle wondered. Maybe it was not so much seeing the face of one’s future partner in the lights, as seeing the lights in the face of one’s future partner.

Almost as if he could feel her looking at him, Sir Rumpel glanced over at her and smiled, giving her hand a brief squeeze where it still rested in his.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Belle nodded. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“I’m glad you’ve had the opportunity to experience it first-hand.”

Nothing more was said, as Anna came bounding back over to them at that point.

“I think I’m going to marry a reindeer,” she said, screwing her nose up in disgust. “I couldn’t see anything at all human shaped. Just what looked like antlers. What about you?”

Belle shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen any antlers.”

“But you have seen something, right?” Anna was far too enthusiastic for her own good. “Something good?”

Belle glanced at the knight beside her once more before turning back to Anna.

“Yes. Something good.”

It was only an old fairy tale, after all, but maybe some truth could come out of it in the future.

#rumbelle fic #A Monthly Rumbelling #rumbelle #Belle French #Rumpelstiltskin #Knight!Rumpel #Lady!Belle #meet cute #first meetings #Fic: Northern Lights

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saintvalentinex · 3 years

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Blast from the Past

A/N: this was a paid writing commission from ____ who wanted to expand on their idea of Wendy’s mom! It was super fun to explore and I appreciate the opportunity! It goes from present day to flashbacks, flashbacks will be blended in and marked with italics.

Summary: an investigative reporter visits the town of gravity falls, oregon to look into the missing citizens. one stands out in particular.

Word Count: 3,230

My name is Eleanor Parker and I’m an investigative reporter from Portland, Oregon. I’ve been sent out to the sleepy town of Gravity Falls, Oregon, to try to connect the dots between strange happenings and the missing citizens of this town. In the entire list of names that I was given, one stood out in particular. Adeline Marie Girard, mother of 4 and wife of Dan Corduroy.

Born in the town of Gaspé, in the province of Québec, she was the youngest of 6, and the only girl. A demolitions expert by profession, a nature lover at heart, she found herself relocating to the Pacific Northwest for a job. She was friendly, confident, and a down to earth girl that got along with everyone in town. Despite all this, I know two things:

Adeline Girard was reported missing August 28th, 2006.

She was not the first, nor will she be the last.

I stepped into the diner on a foggy September morning, the smell of bacon and pancakes immediately hitting my nose. Stomach rumbling, I took myself and my files to an empty corner booth, relaxing amongst the atmosphere of mystery.

“Well it’s about time I see a new face!” I looked up from the photo of Adeline to be greeted by a kind old face, eyelid droopy and painted blue.

Susan.

“Well, I’m not staying in town long, but I’ve heard from everyone here that you’re the best waitress. So I decided to see what the fuss was all about.”

“Well that’s so kind! What can I get started for you, honey?”

I glanced over the menu and around the diner, noticing many of the same plates in front of the many different people. I felt Susan change, and I looked up. She was staring at the open file before me, right at Adeline.

“Do you know her?” My painted finger rested on her face, looking up at Susan with intent. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, but hurriedly glanced away from the photo.

“Your order?”

“Um… yeah could I please get a stack of pancakes, with blueberries instead of strawberries please. And uh… classic bacon, egg and sausage platter. Over easy. Thank you.”

Quickly scribbling, she ran to the kitchen to call the order, leaving me to Adeline’s unblinking face and the millions of notes of where she could be.

The windshield wipers looked like they were about to fly off the car in Adeline’s eyes. Her fingers were wrapped tight around the steering wheel, knuckles white with tension as she just tried to keep her focus on the road.

“It’s freezing…” Her mouth was set in a straight line, pressed together to try and keep her lips warm. The trapper hat was fixed firmly on her head, her blonde hair for once messy and out of control. Adeline reached for the heater before seeing brake lights, slamming on her own to keep from hitting the person in front of her.

Letting out a long and tired sigh, she heard her duffle bag fall from the backseat, hitting the floorboard with a dull thud. Her dynamite.

Reaching into the backseat, she kept her hand on the wheel as she fixed her bag, making sure to keep the charge in place. Quickly turning back around, she looked for any sort of road signs to find where she was located.

Oregon Border. 500 miles.

Just 500 miles to go, and then it was a new life, a new job.. a new everything. Adeline sighed to herself, tapping her fingers to the music as she enjoyed the slow crawl of the Washington freeway.

“Ma’am?” A gentle knocking on the window stirred Adeline awake, the smell of rain and pine coming through the cracked windows of her car. She looked up at the officer before her, a friendly enough looking fellow with too big of a smile.

“How can I help you?” Adeline asked with a slight crack in her voice, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“You know being pulled over asleep on the side of the road is illegal. You ain’t supposed to be doing that.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. I’m not exactly from around here and I just wanted to take a rest.”

“Where you from? Where are you headed to?”

“Québec, Canada. And I’m headed to Gravity Falls, Oregon for a job.”

The officer clapped the top of Adeline’s car, making her jump in her seat. He radioed to his partner, who got out of the passenger side of the cruiser.

“Well welcome to our town! You coulda just stopped about 5 minutes down that way and hit a motel! We can lead you that way if you need a guide and some safety in case you go back to sleep behind the wheel.”

“Uh…. no I think I’ll be fine officer….” Adeline paused, squinting to adjust to the early morning sun reflecting off his badge. “Blubs?”

“That’s my name! If you need anything just holler!” He walked back to his car, pulling his partner in before driving off ahead through the massive trees. She ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach, turning on her car and letting the engine run for a moment. Running her long fingers through her hair, she hummed to herself, getting back into a driving position to drive off.

Welcome to Gravity Falls.

The rain began almost immediately as she parked in front of the dingy diner, getting out and running through the door with a soft tinkling of the bell. Most of the counter was empty, minus a woman with a heavily painted face. The booths were another story.

Full of smiling and chattering faces, most looking up at Adeline when she walked in. She was used to all eyes being on her, but in this circumstance it felt.. different. Off. Heading to the corner of the restaurant, she took a booth to herself, putting her purse beside her.

“Well aren’t you just the prettiest flower that ever bloomed! I’m Susan, what can I get started for you?”

Adeline smiled softly at the woman before grabbing her matches out of her purse. With a cigar gently resting in between her teeth, she lit the stick on the bottom of her heel, lighting the cigar with a few puffs.

“Coffee, black. Um… do you have maple pancakes here?”

Susan kept staring at the woman before her, not quite sure what to make of this new customer.

“We have maple syrup for the pancakes?” She sounded unsure of herself, eyelid twitching a little as Adeline inhaled the rich maple smoke of her cigar.

“That’s fine. And eggs please, scrambled. No meat please.”

Susan walked away, calling out the order as the other customers chatted amongst themselves. The only person who came in here alone was that man who lived in the woods. No one really got a name from him, but they both seemed to be the same loner type.

As Susan came back with Adeline’s water, the blonde smiled up at her.

“Is there anything fun to do here? I have a demolition job here in a few days, and I was wondering of any… um… enjoyable activities?”

“Fishing! We also have downtown Gravity Falls. It’s not much but it’s something to do!”

“Thank you Ms. Susan, I appreciate the hospitality.” Adeline put out the cigar, smashing the tip of it into the cracked plastic ashtray that sat to her left. “Where’s the fishing spot?”

“Um… Lake Gravity Falls. About 5 miles from here.”

“Perfect.”

Susan and Adeline stared at each other before the younger woman quirked up an eyebrow. The waitress turned away, leaving her alone in the corner booth.

I sat in my car overlooking the lake, watching the people gathering around an older gentleman who seemed to be yelling about something. Quickly grabbing my notebook, I climbed out of my car, walking over with breakneck speed as I caught the end of his speech.

“I’m tellin’ ya! I saw a monster in the damn water!”

“Dad, you’re embarrassing me.”

What I could only assume was his son clapped his shoulder, pulling the man out of the crowd and leading him back to the bait shop by the shore of the lake. Everyone went back to their business, leaving me standing there completely out of place.

Lake Gravity Falls. One of the last places Adeline was spotted before she went missing.

I squinted my eyes, looking at the islands that seemed to sit in the middle, cliffs climbing and cutting into the sky. The boats littered the water, nature being the only noise filling my ears. Looking towards the shack, I let myself wander that way, away from the curious looks the townspeople gave me.

“Hello?” Opening the door, I listened to the staticky radio play in the corner, the smell of decaying meat filling my nose. Covering the lower half of my face, I let out a small gagging noise.

“What can I do for you?”

The man behind the counter’s face was hidden by hair and a giant hat. He was leaned against the glass top with one elbow, his body turned to face mine.

“Uh, I actually wanted to speak to your father. About his.. ravings.”

“Ah.” He spit out some dip, rubbing his bottom lip. “Let me get him. He’s out back.”

I watched him walk towards the door before quickly catching him with a cough.

“Actually I’ll just go talk to him. I might be able to get him to give me answers if it’s just us two.”

“All you’ll get from him, lady, is his crazy. But sure, go for it.”

Letting out a gentle sigh, I guided myself out the backdoor to be greeted by the smell of a cob pipe burning. The older gentleman sat in a rocking chair, staring into the woods as his lips twitched around the stem. Smoke billowed around him, almost giving him the aura of a wise sage.

“Hello?” I called out, closing the door behind me as I saw him jump slightly in his chair.

“Well I’ll be! You’re that reporter everyone’s talkin’ about in town!”

“I…” I let myself pause, squinting slightly. I don’t remember seeing this man in town, or even relatively close to the diner. He met my gaze, not breaking it as he took another puff. I waved away the smoke, giving a soft clearing of my throat.

“Yes. Yes I am. My name is Eleanor Parker and I was wondering if I could ask a few questions about an individual?”

“I can’t guarantee a remembrance but! I sure can try!” He let out a laugh, slapping his knee. “Who we talkin’ about?”

“Adeline Girard-Corduroy. She disappeared a couple years back but we don’t have any suspect of foul play.” I opened her case file, not noticing the man’s face starting to glaze over with disassociation. “She married Dan Corduroy and has 4 children with him. I’m looking for any eyewitnesses that might have seen her a few hours before her disappearance. The last recorded person I have was a day before-“

“The agents took her.”

I felt my eyebrows furrow, looking up at the old man. He refused to make eye contact, and my fingers fidgeted with the papers.

“Agents? What agents are you talking about?”

He wouldn’t speak anymore, and I stood up, brushing off my pants.

“Well… thanks. I guess.”

He quickly grabbed my wrist, causing me to startle as he leaned forward in his chair.

“It’s not safe to be chasin’ ghosts around here, understood? Sometimes ghosts deserve to stay that way.”

Pulling my wrist away, I stared at him until he broke eye contact to look back into the trees. I didn’t want to know what he meant by that, and I didn’t want to know why he kept looking that way.

Adeline arrived at the lake, nearly empty except for a single boat treading the water. Her cigar hung from her lips, thick and treading smoke. For a moment, her green eyes sparkled as she remembered when her mother found out about her new habit. Always trying to fit in with her brothers, she said.

Holding it steady in between her lips, Adeline put her hair up into a bun, tucking it underneath her trapper hat.

“Alright, fishing it is.”

Walking to the cabin that sat beside the lake, she watched as a little boy ran out, a man with wild eyes stepping forward through the door.

“Now you get back here- Oh! Now what can I do for you on this fine afternoon?”

“Renting a fishing boat. You got one available?” Adeline held the cigar down, just in case the smell was offensive to the gentleman standing before her. He eyed her for a moment, taking in the strange choice of attire before stepping to the side.

“Please, come in. The boats are docked on the side but you can pay in here.”

She treaded carefully on the wood planks, making sure to not get her heel stuck in an eye of the wood. Pulling her wallet out along the way to the counter, she quickly pulled out a $20, handing it to the gentleman.

“For any damages caused.”

“Damages? Ma’am you haven’t even gone fishing yet!” He looked shocked to say the least, hand tight fisting the bill all the same.

“It’s just in case, Cherie.”

She strutted out, letting her cigar rest back in her mouth, walking through a cloud of smoke and out the door, going towards her car and then the boat.

The bag was resting on her knee as the other boat on the water came towards her own. She side eyed it, making sure it wasn’t anyone who was going to hit her rental or steal her catch. Whatever would be left of it that is.

“You don’t have a pole!”

The voice was aggressive in volume, but tender in tone. Adeline turned her head fully to catch the eye of the red headed man with kind amber eyes, freckles splotching his cheeks. A beard was growing in, a beanie tucked under his thigh.

“I know.”

“But…. you.. need a fishing pole?”

“Do I now.” Adeline raised an eyebrow at her future husband, a smirk growing on her lips. He could tell it wasn’t a question, but more of a genuine comment. He fiddled with his own fishing pole as he watched her take out a stick of dynamite, flicking her cigar quickly to light the fuse.

Boom.

Not only did the dynamite explode, but so did his heart.

Fish shot out of the water as Adeline laughed, landing in her boat and in his own. They locked eyes and he reached out his hand, a smile plastered on his face.

“Daniel! Daniel Corduroy! Everybody calls me Dan though!”

Adeline eyed his hand for a moment before reaching out her own.

“Adeline. Adeline Girard. No one calls me anything.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and he couldn’t help himself. Dan absolutely had to make a fool of himself then and there.

“Want to go out to dinner with me?”

“So forward!” She laughed, Dan’s face going as red as his hair before she leaned over, puffing a little bit of maple smoke into his face before lighting another stick, tossing it over her shoulder. “What time?”

Months had gone by. Adeline was making money with her demolition job, her last one taking place in a week. An old church outside of town, beautiful, but an absolute mess.

As the young blonde sat next to her boyfriend, she leaned into his side, lacing her fingers through his own.

“Dan… I have a question for you.”

She stared at their interlocked hands before looking up at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah?”

“I have a job coming up here soon, and I don’t really have anything holding me back from going home. Except you.”

Dan looked at her, raising an eyebrow as he listened intently.

“Want to make this thing official? It’ll make it harder to leave… I might just ask for an official job here.”

“Are… are you asking me to marry you?”

“You’re so thick skulled! Yes! I’m asking if you’d like to marry me!”

Adeline laughed as Dan leaned in, capturing her lips in his own. Squeezing her hand tight, he nodded in agreement.

“Do you want rings? A ceremony?”

“Nothing too official… but you know that old church outside of town?”

“Of course I do. My parents got married there. Nearly everyone’s folks got married there.”

“It’s my last job. Blowing it up. Maybe… maybe we can have it there. After all, wouldn’t it be fitting? Our relationship began with a bang after all!”

Dan snorted, letting out a belly deep laugh as he looked at her.

“You’re absolutely crazy darlin’. But yes, let’s start off with a bang.”

It’s been years now since she arrived in town. Adeline settled with her new tight knit family, a young daughter heading the brood of four. Wendy. She always liked the name Wendy, and she wanted it for her daughter.

The daughter who was so much like her. The daughter with the same vibrant green eyes and tenacious attitude. She was going to be a little hell raiser and she knew it.

Adeline smiled to herself as she locked up the diner door, turning to wave to who she thought was Susan. The robed figure stared from under the streetlamp, their face completely hidden in the shadows.

“Hello?”

Before Adeline could say anything, her vision was blurred. Wrong place, wrong time.

Walking along the bustling sidewalks, I was met with curious looks from quite a few citizens. Things were strange in this town, but nothing stranger than this club that was held in reverence.

Remembering things here wasn’t a good idea, according to the man at the lake. In the last few hours I researched them. The society of the blind eye. Keepers of memories no one wanted, or who they assumed would not want them. Lapses of memory were fairly common with everyone I had spoken to so far.

But how? There’s no way of erasing memories. No logical way anyway.

I didn’t fail to notice the feeling of dread digging its way into my stomach as I crossed the threshold of the town’s history museum. I saw a shadow pass by, and ran for it, skidding against the tile as I saw it round the corner.

As my hand rested against the wall, my vision went blurry mid turn. Finding myself suddenly unable to see, I reached out, trying to find something, anything, to make this situation better.

“HELLO?!”

I didn’t find salvation. I found a pair of hands.

“Shh.”

Adeline and Eleanor moved as one now.

Strapped in the chair. Sworn to secrecy, an oath they both would not remember.

Only separated by time and one detrimental flaw in the beginning. These hands were experienced with the memory gun, those were not.

As the women stumbled out the doors and into the moonlight, blinking eyes staring out into the night, one would head back to her car, wondering and questioning why she was in this Podunk of a town to begin with. The other would fade from the lives of those she loved, found and forgotten by another who she never met.

#paid commission #my writing #gravity falls #gravity falls au #gravity falls oc #eleanor belongs to me! oc is commissioners own work with my name addition and slight flair!

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azure-story-corner · 4 years

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Let Me Be Gay For the Bard | Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Jaskier x Male!Reader

Everyone knew Geralt of Rivia, maybe not the Witcher himself but the story behind the infamous man. It was all thanks to one lucky bard, Jaskier and his need for a good story. Jaskier wasn’t always traveling along the Witcher’s side gathering new stories for his next big song. While Geralt went off and did gods know what Jaskier made himself at home in Novigrad, he spent his days looking for muses to sing or write about and his evenings spent fulfilling his wants. This pattern went on for a few months before the bard grew restless and wanted to seek out a new adventure, another Geralt of Rivia.

(Y/N) has been traveling for what felt like weeks. He was covered in blood, dirt and gods and knew what other kinds of filth. Right now all he wanted was a nice warm bath and abed at the closest inn. The closest inn was at least a half day journey in the city of Novigrad.

It was about late dusk when the young adventure finally made his way into Novigrad’s inn. (Y/N) never thought he’d miss the smell of stale ale and man more in his life, by no means was this scent a good one but it was a welcomed one. The adventurer walked over to the counter with the thoughts of a potential meal, when he was greeted by a young woman. “How may I help you sir?” the lady asked pouring another patron an ale. “I will take an ale and your specialty as well as a room,” (Y/N) said tossing two crowns on the counter. The woman simply smiled taking the crowns and handing the male a key. “Take a seat and I will have Ismey run you your food,” she said before moving on to the next customer.

(Y/N) made his way through the now busy inn, managing to find a seat in the back corner of the room. Not much quieter but less likely to bother anyone. The young male sighed taking off his pack setting it next to him, he removed his cloak revealing his bloodied leather armor. (Y/N) ran his fingers through his (h/c) hair, his fingers tangling in the matted locks of (h/c) hair. After a moment of wrestling with his hair (Y/N) gave up, his hands falling to his sides before moving to a pocket on his pack. The adventurer pulled out a small journal as well as a makeshift pencil. (Y/N) often travelled alone and often found himself quite bored on the road between cities, to entertain himself he took up drawing as a hobby and found the activity quite relaxing. He wasn’t too bad at the skill either. The man flipped to a blank page lifting the pencil to his lips he looked about the tavern area trying to find his muse for the moment. No one stuck out at first, finding himself drawing a figure but soon abandoning the sketch in the favor of another figure.

Even after he got his food, (Y/N) found himself still trying to satisfy the urge to create but the lack of a muse kept him back. The evening drew on, conversations of drunk men grew louder, until a young man’s voice broke through the chatter. “Tonight,” the voice started, “I bring all of you a wonderful performance.” A couple of drunk men told him to shut up and leave but that didn’t stop the bard from beginning his performance. The young bard began his well known song, dancing between people. (Y/N) found himself being pulled in by the performance, he never heard the song live before only the badly sung by people who had it stuck in their heads. They weren’t wrong either, the song was quite catchy when sung by the bard who made it. During the bards performance (Y/N) found himself stealing glances at the man, his hand translating the poses into small sketches in his journal. Seems like the adventurer found himself his muse for the night.

Jaskier had made his way to Rosemary and Thyme inn in Novigrad, the place he had been coming to perform his songs for the past month now. Everytime he walked through the doors he hoped for another brooding mysterious adventurer, much like when he first met Geralt, so far no luck. Jaskier hoped soon that a new adventure would present itself so he could make a new epic tale of it. Tonight Jaskier believed it would be no different than the last, he would do his performance, drink and then be whomever he decided to fancy that night. He opened the doors to the inn getting himself a drink before announcing himself. He glanced round the room as he performed his eyes searching for something, someone. Tonight he seemed to find who he was looking for, just like when he met Geralt, this man was alone in the back of the tavern covered in what Jaskier could only guess was blood. Unlike when Jaskier met the Witcher, this man seemed to be studying him.

When the final note to his song disappeared into the taverns noise Jaskier slipped away to where the mysterious man sat. Jaskier casually took a seat across from the adventurer as if they were old friends. “I haven’t seen you around here before. You just visiting?” The bard asked chin resting upon his hand. The sudden presence of the bard startled (Y/N), causing him to quickly shut the journal. “You could say that, more like passing through,” (Y/N) said looking up at the bard. “You remind me of my friend Geralt,” Jaskier said smiling, “Sitting in the corner alone, covered in, what I think is monster guts. Reeking with the smell of adventure and destiny.”

“Oh? Do I now? I thought the smell was the mud and guts,” (Y/N) remarked with a slight smirk. “I doubt the resemblance to your friend brought you over to me.” “That is where you are mistaken. You see I have been lacking a muse, my good friend Geralt is off doing Gods know what and I simply have been itching to go on another big adventure,” Jaskier started, looking at the adventurer in front of him. “And I saw you during my performance you couldn’t keep your eyes off me,” he teased, winking at him. (Y/N) blushed lightly knowing he had been caught staring, he looked away and cleared his throat. “I have been rather lonely on the path as of late. I wouldn’t mind the company of a bard,” he said looking at Jaskier. “As long as you aren’t running from someone I wouldn’t mind if you joined me on my adventure.” “Perfect!’ Jaskier said with a large smile.

“We leave at dawn,” (Y/N) said as he stood. “Excuse me, bard I have some guts to clean off. I shall see you here tomorrow morning,” he stated with a smile.

“Call me Jaskier,” Jaskier said as (Y/N) turned away. (Y/N) looked at him confused for a second before figuring it must have been the bard’s name. “You can call me (Y/N),” he said introducing himself before heading off to his room.

Next chapter {Oof! I never realised how hard it is to write this out. So this is my first fanfiction that I actually wrote out. I have been dying to have a male!reader x jaskier but with a slow burn. I apologize if the last part sucks but it is late and I am really tired. I hope you like feel free to leave me a comment if you want to see other things. I am also thinking about doing a fanfiction with Geralt, Jaskier, and nonbinary reader in a cute polymourous relationship. Thanks so much! -Osgon}

((Cross platform post, up to chapter 5 is on my Wattpad))

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #the witcher fanfiction #fanfiction #Jaskier #jaskier x reader #male!reader #jaskier fanfiction #dandilion #Let me be gay for the bard #gay fanfiction #first fanfic

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ashleyswrittenwords · 4 years

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How to be a Queen [Part 19]

Summary: Princess Zelda is at a loss. Her handed royal responsibilities have begun to weigh heavily on her and she is eventually backed into a corner. Live a life she loathes or run away from everything she’s ever known? Navigating life is hard, and Link forces her to learn that she doesn’t have to do it alone.

Part 1

How To Be A Queen

“Do we plan to ride through the night?

Their replies were always hesitant. The pauses between my questions and their answers were long enough to tell that they were carefully choosing their words. The senior officer of the seven-manned caravan soon responded.

“We were told to be swift, but if Her Highness requires a few hours’ rest then I’m sure the king wouldn’t mind the delay.”

I frowned, that was something Father would absolutely mind. Cosmo reared her head to the side every now and again, looking for someone who wasn’t there. It had only soured my mood further. Two officers rode on either side of my horse and convinced me greatly of how much more suspicious it would look for a band of men to be surrounding one woman, no matter how plain their clothes were. The one to my left was noticeably younger with mocha eyes that kept diverting from my direction each time I glance over.

Surely I didn’t look intimidating, but remembering what Link had recounted before about his own prejudices… perhaps I could use it to my advantage.

“Sir,” I glanced at the senior officer ahead. It appeared he hadn’t heard me.

The man with the mocha eyes responded and tried to mask his confusion. I put on the greatest smile I could muster, “If we’re going to travel on the same road for more than a day, I suppose I should make friends. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

His horse was taller than Cosmo and I tried to keep my mind off the possibility that it may be an animal suited for war. The man breathed in and glanced ahead as I had.

“Well,” something that could pass for nervousness washed over, “That is only natural, is it not?”

I took a second to feign thoughtfulness, then nodded. “I do believe you’re right. Dare I ask what my new friend’s name is?”

“Elian, Your Highness.”

Elian looked at me curiously. Over the next few minutes filled with horseshoes on dirt, I took the liberty to assess him. He couldn’t have been too much older than Link. Why, he also had that set weight on his brow that made me wonder if he never stopped having something on his mind.

“Tell me, Elian. You cannot be more than five years my senior.”

“Ah, I believe we were born in the same year,” he stifled his humor at my mundane questions.

I hummed, “We have so much in common.”

Much to my satisfaction, that made him grin. I pursed my lips and sat straight in my saddle, hands relaxing on the reins. “Forgive me if my math is wrong, but there are seven men here. At the plateau surely there had to be more. Why is that?”

My voice was light and very much resembled the ladies of the court who wanted someone to divulge gossip without giving away that they wanted it. It made me feel dirty.

Elian brushed back a strand of hair that matched his eyes and looked down, “The rest are to head towards the desert border west of here. One of my best mates is on his way right now.”

“How intriguing. Does he happen to serve under Captain Forester by chance?”

There was that hesitation again. It reared its ugly head in the way he gripped his reins and his jaw set. Before I thought he would ignore my question, he spoke. “Yes, Your Highness.”

I gave him a wary, fleeting look and dropped the conversation altogether.

Dust had set and a chill drew up my spine.

“A cloak, Your Highness?” Elian drew near with it tucked under his arm. Another soldier, the man from the inn, was with him. Not long ago they were whispering jokes to each other out of ear shot of their commanding officer, whose name still evades me. My backside was stiff from the ride, but it wasn’t unfamiliar.

I accepted the offering with hearty thanks and invited them to sit. The man from the inn was very fair skinned compared to his counterpart. After sipping water from a skein, I found my voice, “Are you Elian’s good friend too?”

Laughter came from the man, “I’m afraid I can’t compete with the unbreakable bond between you two.”

Elian went pink and I grinned. His friend took the liberty to sit across from me and the other soon followed.

“Very fair, sir.”

They chattered on about topics I had no experience in while the rest of their group huddled in two other packs not far away. Whatever food I was offered was accepted with the excuse that I would eat it later. Maybe my attire put a damper on my title because they seemed to speak freely with the exception of stopping themselves amid the occasional inappropriate jester.

I smiled, “Then you must ask her.”

The man beside Elian, whose name I learned was Rodrick, elbowed the lad. Pink cheeks turned to a blistering red, “She is a lady, a very regal woman. A… a woman of great stature.”

“Mm,” I peered coyly at him, “As if I had never heard ladies speak inappropriately about knights. If I remember correctly, that’s their favorite past time after tea. I’ve never met your woman, but I think if she has any sense then she can appreciate the sentiments of a good-looking man. Did you say she was the youngest of three?”

“Yes.”

“Then she won’t even be inheriting the estate. Elian, I do think you have a fair chance.”

He fell back on the heels of his hands in exasperation, “It’s better than nothing.”

We lapsed into silence. I smiled to myself and felt happiness for this unnamed woman. If it was the way it sounded, they were a good match. He would have to speak with her father, but for the youngest of two sisters it would be more than a favorable marriage. Elian had rank and would be inheriting a small plot of land from his grandfather.

The happiness in my chest turned to stone and I realized the bite of green envy. I swallowed it down and remembered that jealousy was a poison hard to rid of when left unacknowledged. What if this woman was in my court? I should be happy.

“What are your plans after this escort?” I said nonchalantly.

Rodrick bit into a loaf of bread, “We’ll go southwest to convene with the captain.”

Elian’s neck nearly snapped as he met Rodrick with convicting eyes. I looked away as if I hadn’t saw; hadn’t cared.

“What are your thoughts on him?” my voice was flat as if I was merely trying to spark conversation. My fingers tightened the knot of the cloth of bread and meat, the sun had sunk low and it wouldn’t be long until we were to continue horseback.

The two men had a silent argument, Elian soon relenting. He turned his head to the general direction of the most senior man and lowered his voice just so, “The general consensus is that he’s young.”

“But the stories of him are very telling,” Rodrick leaned in with an almost childish glint in his eye. “The captain has never lost a duel.

Elian scowled, “That one is false. Rob told me he’s lost one during training but kept challenging the man until he won.”

“Oh, shut it about Rob.”

“He was in his unit, idiot. You’re trying to tell me that a 15-year-old kid never lost a fight.”

I stifled a laugh at their antics, it broke their argument. “Forgive me, princess,” the one who wasn’t fond of Rob said. “But were you not… traveling with him?”

My humor died down, “I was.” They looked like children when waited patiently for me to elaborate. “I was wondering how others saw him. He’s much more talkative than I expected.”

To myself, I smiled, “All you must do is force him to accompany you on a trip through the countryside.”

“Ah, so he didn’t kidnap you,” his voice was rife with sarcasm.

“Oh, no, I do think I was the kidnapper in this case.” Link would have laughed just as they did.

They asked more questions and added stories that were a mixture of rumor and truth. It was comforting that his men saw him for the good that he was. I carefully left out seeing his family and the Yiga, but the rest had made them grin. Link had the trust of people he hadn’t met.

I paused my stories to bashfully say, “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen. I need to use the toilet.”

They stopped they’re joking and looked at one another before Elian said with concern, “Do you require escort?”

Then, again, he blushed at his words.

Politely I declined, “I won’t be long, besides, there’s still light.”

Under the dimming light of the day, I felt there weren’t as many eyes on me. I crossed the rode where the horses waited and used Cosmo as cover. My hands found the bag strung to the saddle and found the crinkled, rolled up map. “Okay, girl,” I frantically whispered under my breath. I traced my finger along a road not far back to another that led west. “Let’s find him.”

She was tied just out of sight, obscured by a small gathering of trees. With a quickness, I untied the reins and led her further out of sight. I stuffed the map into my back pocket and swung onto her back. The mare started at a slow pace, not to make too much noise, then a gallop. One of my hands clasped the cloak tighter and I silently thanked the two soldiers I befriended. And with that, I tried not to think of how much I betrayed their trust.

“Come on, girl,” I yelled over the wind. I was up on my haunches now, looking back before we arrived at the crossroads and took a hard right. No one was behind me; not yet. Whether it was my father or uncle, someone had carefully chosen those men and for a good reason. The mare was galloping hard now and I prayed that the stream and those few apples had given her plenty replenishment. I copied what my mother used to do with her horses when we found time to go out, saying soft encouragements as we went.

The pounding feeling of being tracked snuck its way into my subconscious. The breeze whipped my hood back and whisked the sweat from my forehead. My heart pounded hard with the horse’s run. Soon, I turned back and made out shadows behind me. They were a way off. I spurred Cosmo onward and felt her pick up speed. If my short glimpse at the map was anything, this road west would fork into two. I tried to imagine the detailed map that sat in the castle War Room. I knew if I went northwest, it would lead me to center point of the Gerudo Desert, a place where Urbosa would be. However, the war years ago took place south of there.

My teeth clenched as I stirred my horse onto the left road. Shouts were behind us and I could faintly make out pleading to stop Cosmo. I would not. I turned my head to calculate my distance and as I spotted a fallen tree in the road within my peripheral.

Suddenly, I pulled back on the reins. Cozmo whined loudly, slowing, but not completely before she sensed my own hesitation and froze. The momentum forced me from my saddle, and I was then airborne. I couldn’t even scream.

Harshly, I hit the ground just inches from the tree. Blood rushed to my head and I gaped for breath. Not long after, however, the galloping that sounded so far away before had suddenly stopped. Boots hit the ground and the of the senior officer came into view, then Elian.

The latter spoke first, “Is she hurt?”

I retched my hand away from the older man as he tried taking my pulse and weakly tried to rise.

“It doesn’t seem so,” he replied in a gruff voice. He stood while Elian crouched to help me sit up. “Help her onto your horse, Bronling. The day is gone and we still have a long journey.”

“But sir-”

“Have you forgotten His Majesty’s orders so soon?”

There was a pause. “No, sir.”

It hurt to breath and I pulled away, “Let me leave.”

Elian pulled me to my feet, a sad expression pressed into him once the officer had turned to collect Cozmo’s reins. “I can’t, you must know that,” he muttered, taking assessment of my health. I bit my lip and tears pricked my sight, “On the grounds of your crown princess, let me go!”

“I can’t-”

“Elian please.”

He stared, regret filled his words, “Please believe me when I say that I truly do not want to tie you to my horse, Princess Zelda.”

I was filled with the thick pain of humiliation.

The ride felt longer when sharing a saddle with another person. When we pass through the back gates of the capital – a choice made by Father, no doubt – I made great effort to subdue my tears so that the redness in my eyes would dissipate. There was no talking and there were no jokes. The trek was harsh and when we arrived at the castle, my body felt heavy.

They allowed me to collect my bag from Cosmo. Soon, Elian and his senior officer led me through the halls. I was in the same dull riding clothes I had been wearing for four days and now it seemed preposterous that Father would entertain the thought in seeing me this way. We stopped outside the door of his study and after the officer walked in, Father stepped out. I swallowed my surprise and evidently, he felt the same.

Dark circles lined the areas underneath his eyes. The King of Hyrule stared upon me with bated breath. I pressured myself to meet his eyes and hardened my features. With a deep inhale, I opened my mouth and dared to speak, “Father I-”

Against my previous promise, I winced when he drew near. His hand came to my cheek and I scarcely could breathe when he looked at me with withered eyes.

“You draw away from me for good reason,” he said, the usual strength in his baritone voice was weakened. Then, to my horror, tears. In the eyes I inherited, tears fell, and he pulled me into a gentle embrace.

“My dear Zelda,” he started. “Could you ever forgive this foolish, senseless old man?”

In this moment, as we sank to the marble floor in a tight hug, I could only cry and vow that one day I would find it in myself to forgive his follies.

It was learned that Uncle how fallen ill with the last few weeks. The source of his illness was still a mystery to the court physicians, and they were continuously checking his condition. I had taken it horribly, of course, and under the pretense that it was just mere hours before dawn – I would wait until the following day to see him. Overcome with grief and several other overwhelming emotions that threatened to boil over, I couldn’t ask about impending wars yet. That, too, would need to wait.

At my own request, Sir Elian Bronling took me to my bedroom – a place I thought I wouldn’t see for many months. Before he turned to leave, I caught his sleeve.

My voice was scratchy from the events of earlier, “Would you do one last favor for me?”

At his shocked eyes and attempted to muster a smile, “Don’t worry. I won’t kidnap you, Sir Bronling. I’m very much… retired from the hobby.”

He laughed at this, “Anything for a friend. Can I ask what your request is, Your Highness?”

“Would you mind carrying a letter for me?”

After disappearing into my room to find nothing out of place, I withdrew an envelope with my name on it from my pocket. It was folded in odd places now and I smoothed it out on the corner of my desk. His handwriting made me smile and caused old tears to choke me. My hand found my quill and its tip found jet black ink.

I trusted Elian and his friend to tell their captain what happened, so I wrote only what was necessary. This time, I waited for his inked name on the envelope to dry and found Elian awaiting me outside. I half expected it to be that same silent boy I was still so used to.

I gave him my thanks and how I would pray for his safe travels. When he left, my body told me I wouldn’t be able to stay up for long. Without care, I stripped down to nothing and clipped my dirty hair high on my head. Tomorrow promised many things, with it would be a warm bath. The sheets were clean and cool against my skin. While I drifted in the dark abyss of slumber, I dreamed of Link reading my words.

Link,

I will wait for you.

Yours,

Zelda

#writing this chapter made me sad #but i have to for plot #how to be a queen #zelda #link #zelink #zelink fanfiction #ashleyswrittenwords #loz #legend of zelda #loz fanfiction #fanfiction

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ranwing · 4 years

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KADAM FIC: LEARNING TO FLY (17/?)

Title: Learning to Fly Series: A New Direction (was Season Four Remix) Pairing(s), Characters(s): Kadam, Kurt Hummel, Adam Crawford, Burt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Carmen Tibideaux, Cassandra July, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert, Dani, Adam’s Apples, Original Characters Rating: PG13 (rating may change) Genre(s): canon divergence. Parts: 16/?

Summary: As another school year starts at NYADA, Kurt seemed to have it all. The respect of his teachers, a group of wonderful friends and best of all, getting to live with the man that he’d come to love. So of course the universe would throw a few curve balls in his direction.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen

One A03

Rachel felt herself grinning from ear to ear as they exited the theater and looked up at her date, who was happily babbling about they show they’d just seen.

“I’m not going to lie, but I was really dubious about the show. Especially when you said that there were puppets involved,” Neil insisted, keeping Rachel close with an arm about her shoulders. “I was picturing some kind of lame Sesame Street rip-off and a theater full of five-year olds.”

Rachel shook her head. “I thought that you trusted me,” she complained. “It did win the Tony while it was on Broadway.”

“Like that means anything to me,” Neil chided. “But it was hysterical! I couldn’t stop laughing the whole time.”

Rachel was very aware of that and pleased that she’d guessed correctly in choosing the best show to get Neil to dip his toe into the shallow end of the theater world. She’d put the gift from the NYADA alumni to very good use when she announced that this would be their date activity was a Friday evening performance of Avenue Q.

“Whoever wrote those songs is either insane or a total genius,” Neil insisted. “I am never going to get that song out of my head.

“The internet is for porn,” he sang with enthusiasm, albeit very off key. “Why you think the net was born? Porn, porn, porn…”

Rachel giggled, giving him a poke in the side with her elbow. A few people were looking over to stare at Neil’s terrible singing, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop since he seemed to be enjoying himself so much.

“And that scene with the puppets fucking… That’s an image that I’m not going to forget for quite while,” Neil complained playfully. “I’m sure that some parents had no idea what the show was about and had to hustle their kids out once in a while.”

“So, theater isn’t so boring, now?” she asked with a twinkle in her eye. Not that she ever thought that Neil would grow to love it in the way that she did, but she’d be very happy if it became something that they could share in some small way. It seemed that Avenue Q was pretty much the perfect show to take him to see.

Neil looked down at her, seeing the hope in her eyes and allowed himself to smile a little bit. “It wasn’t so bad,” he granted. “Shows like this, I think that I can get behind.”

She was glad that he had enjoyed it since she’d been so insistent on dragging him

He gave her shoulders a squeeze as they walked down the street. “Thanks for bringing me,” Neil insisted, giving her the smile that always caused her knees to weaken. “I really enjoyed it.”

She leaned in, enjoying the feel of his strong body next to hers. “I’m glad. And thank you for coming with me,” she said sincerely.

“Well, since you provided the entertainment, I’m taking you out for dinner,” he proposed, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Elliot said that there’s a really good Indian place just a few blocks from here.”

Rachel sighed happily, letting him guide her away from the New World Stages and allowing herself to just enjoy his company. This wasn’t like anything she had ever planned for her life. In her mind, her ideal partner should be a performer; someone that would be able to fully understand her passions and be a suitable companion on stage as well as life. That she was even entertaining the idea of fitting in a man who couldn’t carry a tune if it came in a bucket and who had nearly zero interest in theater wasn’t anything she could have anticipated.

But like most surprises, it was turning into an especially sweet one. And she was looking forward to seeing just where all this went.

* * *

“Does anyone have any idea what this is about?” Ifan asked as the entire cast of “Butcher’s Bill” walked out from the hotel into the breezy spring sunset.

Niall shrugged. “No clue,” he admitted, not bothering to hide that he was a bit apprehensive. “Has to be something important.”

Adam nodded in agreement, falling into step alongside his friend as they strolled towards the restaurant. They had gotten the call for a dinner meeting with the production team on their one day off, which could mean pretty much anything from an offer of congratulations for a good job or advising that they would all be out of a job by the time dessert was served. They just wouldn’t know what was going on until they were told.

At least they’d get a good meal out of the deal, he considered as they walked into the upscale Italian trattoria. While their pay was quite decent for a touring production of this type, pretty much everyone in the cast was trying to save as much as possible while on the road. They weren’t spending their money on lavish meals so eating in a place like this was not the norm for them. Admittedly, it would be a nice change from the fast food and take out that they’d all been existing on.

Despite the crowd of well-dressed men in suits and ladies in designer dresses waiting for tables, the group of less finely dressed actors were ushered right in to where a pair of large tables were set up for them, set out with fine linens and several bottles of wine and spring water. Adam couldn’t resist looking about, taking in the elegant décor and, despite wearing the best outfit he had in his limited wardrobe, feeling a bit out of place.

Their director was waiting for them with several other men that Adam didn’t recognize but assumed were other members of the production team. Malcom Jellicoe was there as well, looking quietly pleased about things. Adam mentally calculated that this probably boded well, but he’d reserve his opinion until they were told the reason for this gathering.

Mr. Keen smiled as his cast approached and he motioned to the tables. “Good evening everyone,” he greeted cheerfully. “Sit down and make yourselves comfortable. We’ve got dinner ordered and we’ll talk afterwards. Enjoy yourselves.”

Adam and Niall looked at one another and shrugged, deciding to just go along with things and wait to see what was in store. They sat down at one of the tables with some of the others in the cast and tried to ignore the little kernel of worry that refused to go away entirely and enjoy themselves.

In all, it ended up being a perfectly pleasant dinner, with multiple courses served by the friendly and efficient staff. The wine was pleasing and with no show that night, the entire cast was able to indulge a bit. Conversation flowed pleasantly, the entire group relaxing so they could enjoy themselves despite the uncertainty. Adam sipped at his glass of very pleasant Chianti, willing himself to loosen up and enjoy the evening despite any lingering anxiety over the reason behind their dinner meeting. The meal with delicious and topped off with coffee and a tray of pastries placed on the table.

Adam was debating which of the delectable looking desserts tempted him most when Mr. Keen tapped his spoon against his water glass to get their attention.

“All right, folks… I’m sure that by now you’re burning with curiosity about what this is all about,” he granted with a smile. “You can relax because it’s all for good things. Part of this is to celebrate our passing the halfway mark of our tour. You’ve all been doing spectacular work and both critical reviews and ticket sales have been well beyond what we’d hoped for. This is just a small offer our thanks for your effort and dedication.”

The cast gave a sigh of relief that things were going well and Naill reached over to pat Adam on the shoulder. It appears that they would be employed for a bit longer.

Mr. Keen nodded at that response, glad that he hadn’t unduly alarmed his dedicated performers. “Now I have some additional news for you. We’ve mentioned before the tour started about the possibility of a New York opening depending on how our tour is received. Our investors have been paying very close attention to our ticket sales and reviews. I’m happy to inform you that we’ve gotten very positive feedback and we’re now looking at an off-Broadway opening in the spring of next year. Some of the logistics are being worked out and our goal is to have all of our original cast here for that run. I certainly hope that you’ll keep your schedules open for us.”

Adam couldn’t help from grinning in happiness, and saw the expression mirrored on his friends. This was the best news that they could have expected. The prospect of more steady employment and a chance to perform in New York was everything that they could have hoped for.

Best of all, he would be back in New York, working and living with Kurt. He couldn’t have asked for anything more.

“I see that you’re pleased by the prospect,” Mr. Keen teased happily, gratified about their enthusiastic response. “Well, I have some additional good news for you. This winter, we have been invited to perform our play at the Duchess Theater on London’s West End for three weeks in honor of our Mr. Jellicoe being considered as a finalist for the Samuel Becket Theater award. His contributions to British theater are considerable and it is great honor for him to be considered.”

The members of the cast were taken aback and began to chatter excitedly over the prospect. Mr. Keen looked exceedingly pleased and smiled at his performers. “This is a immense tribute to not just our esteemed playwright, but all the hard work that you’ve done. I’ll be able to give you some more details about the exact dates later, but it’s a great joy to all of us that ‘Butcher’s Bill’ is being seen as a worthy project and will continue on.”

Several waiters appeared with bottles of Prosecco to celebrate and poured glasses of sparkling wine for the group. The members of the cast began to chatter excitedly, talking over what this all meant for them. Additional weeks of employment was not something they were going to frown about, and the opportunity to be seen by a greater audience could lead to future opportunities. It was the best news they could have received.

Adam’s mind raced as he considered the implications of this news. Barring the possibility of being run over by a truck, he couldn’t foresee any reason to prevent him from participating and he mentally calculated the scheduling. It would certainly set back any possible staging of his own play, but that was the very least of his concerns. He wasn’t anywhere near where he wanted to be on the rewrites and he knew that the odds for getting it staged in the upcoming season were more than likely not in his favor. He would probably stand a better chance once he was a bit more established as an actor and he had the time to give his play the focus that it deserved.

Staging the play in New York was the best news he could have received. It would save him the pressure of jumping back into the audition mill straight away and likely would open some additional doors for him. But London… that had come as a complete and delightful surprise.

While Adam normally would not be looking forward to leaving New York again, even for a few weeks, this was an opportunity that he knew that he just couldn’t pass up. Besides it being an opportunity to fulfill a life-long dream of performing on the West End, even for just a few weeks, it would allow him an overdue visit with his family.

Hopefully the dates would overlap with Kurt’s winter break. He was very much forward to looking to having an excuse to bringing his boyfriend to his homeland and showing him off to his family and friends there. His mother would be absolutely ecstatic for the visit, though Adam still harbored the suspicion that she would be happiest to see Kurt.

There were so many things to consider over the next few weeks, but it greatly came as a relief that immediate future employment wouldn’t be as significant a concern as it was when he woke up in the morning. If anything, he felt like he had too much going in his favor at the moment. Something would have to give.

The group of actors sauntered back to the hotel, talking excitedly as they discussed the professional bounty that had fallen into their hands. A few weeks or months of work in a show that was earning more than decent critical notice was not something any of them really felt that they would walk away from. It seemed like the entire cast was on board with the London and New York runs.

“Wow,” Niall marveled as he and Adam stepped into their room. “This is insane. I wasn’t expecting that at all.”

“Me neither,” Adam admitted. “I guess the response has been better than we knew.”

Niall looked over to his friend with a broad smile. “I can’t wait to tell Cynth. She’s going to be so happy.”

“Think that she’ll come to London with you?” Adam asked.

Niall grinned widely. “We couldn’t afford a real honeymoon, and she’s got a lot of vacation time saved up. I think I can convince her to cash a week or two in.”

Adam sat down on his bed. “It’ll be nice to see my family,” he said thoughtfully. “And I’ve been wanting to bring Kurt to England, but we haven’t been able to coordinate a time when we’d both be free.”

“Then this will give you the perfect excuse to get him on a plane.” Niall reached over to clap Adam on the shoulder. “Things are looking up for us,” he proclaimed.

Adam nodded, still trying to mentally grasp the incredible opportunity they’d been offered. “When I was a kid, I dreamed of being on the West End,” he admitted.

Niall nodded understandingly. “I did one stint there… a tiny chorus part when I was fifteen,” he explained. “Awful show, but the cast was great and the whole experience… It made me love the theater. I’ve been trying to get back on that stage ever since.”

Adam understood exactly what his friend meant. He’d dreamed of being an actor ever since his mother took him to see a local play, fascinated by how magical it was to bring a story to life. Nothing had been more important than getting to stand on that stage himself.

He had that, and so much more now. It almost felt like it was too much, but he wasn’t going to throw away the opportunities he was given. He was a professional actor now, in a show that was gaining respect with every performance.

The sacrifice was worth it, he realized. He’d regret every day spent away from Kurt, but he now could honestly say that it had been worth it. He was fulfilling his dreams and could be grateful that they were dreams that he shared with the man that he loved. He couldn’t ask for anything else.

It was two days later, on the morning of their final show in Chicago that he realized that he had some choices to make. The email from Mr. Tillman, to see if he was interested in a role for the summer festival wasn’t unexpected and he had spent a bit of time trying to work out if participating would be an option. If he didn’t know that he had “Butcher’s Bill” on his plate for the fall and spring, he probably would have jumped at the opportunity.

Now though… the schedule would be tight, he recognized. The tour was due to end right as rehearsals were set to begin, leaving him with little down time even if everything ran as planned. And he needed to find a new flat for himself and Kurt. Even if Mr. Tillman let him forgo a formal audition based solely on his past work with the company, which he honestly didn’t think would be fair, the schedule of bouncing from one show directly into another would be brutal. He’d then have only a few weeks in the fall to get his life back together before leaving for London.

Adam sighed, weighing out his options. He hated to skip the festival and as tight as the timing would be, it might be workable if he was really determined and there were no delays with the tour’s planned conclusion. Realistically though, he knew that he was going to need some proper downtime after months on the road and needed to deal with the practicalities of getting a roof over his head. This was one of those times when his head needed to overrule his heart and make the practical decision.

He got out his phone and dialed up the festival director, knowing that this was something that he would need to discuss as directly as possible without delay. He owed them nothing less. The line rang a few times before being answered.

“Hello?”

Adam swallowed tightly. “Mr. Tillman, it’s Adam Crawford,” he answered.

“Adam! It’s so good to hear from you,” Mr. Tillman said cheerfully. “How’s the tour going?”

“It’s definitely been a challenge,” Adam admitted, gratified that the director liked to keep abreast of what his performers were up to during the year. “I’ve never done anything like this, so it’s an interesting experience. Today’s our last performance in Chicago and we’re moving on to Minneapolis next. It’s a bit of an endurance trial, but I’m learning a great deal.”

He could almost see the older man nodding in understanding. “Well, I’m sure that you’ve been able to handle things,” he insisted. “So, what can I do for you today? I hope that you’re calling about the festival.”

Adam sighed. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “I know that you’re starting auditions.”

“We’ve had some people in already,” Mr. Tillman advised. “I believe that we’re seeing Kurt later this week, which I’m rather looking forward to after hearing how well he did in his school’s show.”

That brought a smile to Adam’s face. “I’m sure that he’s going to impress you,” Adam assured the director. “He’s grown quite remarkably the past year.”

“Well, I have no doubt that he’ll acquit himself well,” Mr. Tillman assured him. “But let’s talk about you. Have you given some thought to what roles you’d be interested in? I know that auditioning can be a problem with you being out of town, but I think that we can do something less formal based on your past experience with us.”

“I have. That’s actually why I’m calling,” he explained. Adam took a deep breath, knowing that he shouldn’t beat around the bush. “I’ve been thinking things over and with the tour ending right as you’re starting rehearsals, and then my play being prepared for an opening in New York, I just don’t think that I can give the festival the kind of focus that it deserves. I think that I’m going to have to miss this year.”

“Oh… that’s a real shame,” Mr. Tillman said with sincere regret and clearly not expecting the refusal. “I’m quite sorry to hear that. I was hoping that you would consider reading for Oberon with Megan coming back. We’re planning to cast her as Titania.”

Adam smiled, thinking back fondly to the actress who’s played Beatrice the past season and how well they’d worked together. “I’m really sorry,” he said sincerely. “But I need to find a new place to live when I get back to New York, and I just can’t see being able to jump into rehearsals right as the tour ends.”

“It’s all right, Adam,” Mr. Tillman assured him. “I know that you must be working very hard, and I know how difficult being in a touring production can be. We don’t want you to burn out completely. You will definitely be missed this year, but I’m glad that you’re unavailable because things are going so well for you. If I have to lose a performer that I regard so highly, that’s the reason that makes it bearable. We’ve sent a lot of actors off to bigger and better things and it was probably only a matter of time before you became one of them.”

Adam couldn’t help from smiling to himself, grateful for the director’s consideration. He had never seen Mr. Tillman resentful over the success of the performers that the festival nurtured in the three years he’d performed with them. “I appreciate that, sir,” he responded. “But there was something that I did want to run by you.”

“Hmmm? Anything that would be interesting?” the director asked.

“Possibly. I was hoping that even if I can’t perform in the shows that you might be able to use me on the production side of things,” he offered. “I did take quite a few classes on direction and stage management and I’d like to try to get a bit of practical experience.”

Mr. Tillman didn’t answer immediately, and Adam couldn’t help from biting his lower lip nervously and wonder if he was asking too much. He’d thought that they had a good working relationship based on the several years that he’d performed with the company but asking for special consideration could be pushing his luck. It wasn’t as if the company didn’t have a fine staff of professionals managing things and he probably wasn’t needed to hang around the theater and get in the way.

“Let me see what I can do,” Mr. Tillman offered. “I can’t promise a paid position, but we usually have openings for internships if that’s something that would interest you. We could at least cover your room and board during the run of the festival.”

That was exactly what he was hoping for. Even if he ended up working alongside teenagers, the practical experience would be beneficial if he ever wanted to branch out into direction. Seeing the logistics of running a professional production, from casting to staging would be invaluable for him and possibly offer future opportunities if he grew tired of acting.

And if it allowed him to spend more time with Kurt after being apart for so long, so much the better.

“Thank you so much,” Adam said gratefully. “I really appreciate it.”

He could almost hear the smile in Mr. Tillman’s voice. “Well, it would feel odd to not have you around all summer,” he granted with a chuckle. “Don’t worry… I’m sure we’ll find a use for you. Give me a call as we get closer to the season and we’ll work everything out.”

“I will,” Adam assured him. “Thanks again. This means a lot to me.”

“It wouldn’t be the same without you there in some capacity,” Mr. Tillman chuckled. “And this way, I can avoid having Kurt pouting all season.”

Adam couldn’t help from laughing a bit. “Well, he and I do appreciate it,” he insisted. “I’ll give you a call in a few weeks.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Mr. Tillman asserted sincerely. “Good luck with the rest of your tour.”

After hanging up, Adam felt considerably better about things. He was sorry that he wouldn’t be performing that summer because he’d always enjoyed the festival, but he’d made the right decision. He needed a little down time and while he might be working, it wouldn’t be as stressful as performing. He hadn’t lied about wanting to get some real experience working behind the scenes on a production and it would be a real joy to have the chance to watch Kurt performing.

Finally feeling like things were settling in a way that worked for him, Adam got up and gave a long stretch to work the stiffness out of his body. A hot shower and a few hours enjoying the sunshine and the best of what Chicago had to offer before his final performance was exactly what he needed.

Life was a complicated thing, he considered. Plenty of bumps and unexpected turns, but the journey was worthwhile when he thought about his end destination.

* * *

Rachel studied the highlighted lines in her book a final time while Tina was on stage doing her audition. This was a bit out of her comfort zone, she recognized. Acting was so much easier with a song to guide her and she knew that this was going to deprive her of her strongest talents.

Fortunately for her, with both plays there were a good number of prime supporting roles that would be suitable for her. This was a new experience and having a chance to get her feet wet and even playing in the ensemble would be to her advantage. She needed to develop nuance as a performer and be able to act without depending on vocal gymnastics to get her emotional point across.

Kurt had scheduled his audition with theirs and watching him give a taste of what he could bring to the roles he was trying for. Seeing the reception that he got from the director and the quality of reading gave her the impression that he was more than probably going to get whatever roles he was trying for and she was pleased as hell for him. After seeing her friend pushed into the background when he was so deserving of more, watching him blossom the way he had in the past year or so had been a true joy.

Fortunately she and Tina weren’t reading for the same roles, Rachel considered as she waited for her turn. There were enough options that they could avoid putting themselves in direct competition with one another, and the last thing that Rachel wanted was for her competitiveness to get in the way of their close friendship again. There would come a time when they might be vying for the same roles, but Rachel hoped that she had finally gotten to the point where her need to win didn’t override everything else that was important to her. She’d made that mistake far too many times already.

When Tina was finished and hopped off the small stage with a happy smile, Kurt was on his feet to sweep her into his arms. “You did great,” he praised.

She just smiled and shrugged a bit. “It wasn’t bad,” she granted. “But I’m not expecting to get a big part. There are just going to be too many people with more experience than me.”

“You might be surprised,” Kurt insisted. “I was my first year.”

Mr. Tillman looked up from the notes he’d been writing and called, “Rachel? If you’re ready?”

She took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. This wasn’t Funny Girl. She wasn’t that person anymore. This was going to be different.

Once on the stage and facing the production team, she forced herself to relax as much as possible. Mr. Tillman offered her a reassuring smile and looked up from her CV. “So, Rachel… you’re also a second-year student at NYADA?” he confirmed.

“Yes. My focus has always been on musical theater, but I do understand that ignoring the wider theater world would limit my potential to develop as an actor. After seeing what Kurt was able to do last year, I knew that I needed to expand my range and I hope that I can bring something interesting to your festival.”

“And this would be your first professional production?” Mr. Tillman clarified.

For once, the reminder didn’t cause her pain. She just nodded in confirmation. “All of my experience has been in school productions,” she explained. “I’m looking forward to taking what I’ve learned over the years and trying in a more challenging environment.”

“Okay… then begin when you’re ready,” Mr. Tillman requested, sitting back in his seat to watch her.

She took another steadying breath and went through her monologue, trying to modulate her performance and keep from being too manic without becoming too static. It seemed to take forever she knew that the monologue would only take a minute or so to get through. When she was finished, Mr. Tillman jotted down a few notes before looking back to her.

“Thank you, Rachel, that was lovely,” he said with a sincere smile. Unlike the production team for Funny Girl where the initial audition was so impersonal, she felt like he genuinely wanted her to do well. “You’re interested in possibly playing Helen and Hermia, correct?”

She nodded. “Yes. I realize that there are a limited number of women’s roles in both plays and I wouldn’t be suitable for several of them.”

“That may be true, and I do give you credit for thinking about that. I’ve had to break it to a lot of actors that the roles they auditioned for just weren’t right for them, but I very often find that young actors are just starting to figure out what they’re capable of. If we thought you’d be better suited in other roles or in the ensemble, would you be okay with that?” Mr. Tillman asked. “They may not be as prominent but there are quite a few parts that often go overlooked.”

She smiled brightly. “Definitely,” she affirmed happily. “I was in the ensemble for our school production and it was a really fulfilling experience.”

Her willingness to accept a supporting role seemed to please him and Mr. Tillman nodded in approval. “Well, we’re definitely going to be in touch with you,” he promised. “We’ll be doing callbacks in the next few weeks once we work through the rest of the auditions. We’ll talk more about what roles might be good for you.”

It’s wasn’t the most overtly enthusiastic response she could have hoped for, but her audition was handled with the same calm professionalism that she saw with Kurt’s and Tina’s. Mr. Tillman had watched her carefully, taking in all aspects of her audition and treated her with respect. Leaving herself open to being cast in roles other than the ones she read for might possibly leave her in the ensemble, but that was better than not getting a role at all. And being in the ensemble wouldn’t be the most terrible thing, she decided. Another chance to learn and grow a bit while still getting to be on a stage. Hopefully she had done enough to get something more.

Kurt was waiting for her with open arms and a reassuring smile. “He loved you,” he insisted, giving her a warm embrace.

“I hope so,” she admitted with a shy smile.

“No, he really did,” Kurt claimed. “If he’s asking you to consider other parts, then he’s thinking seriously about casting you in something. And the ensemble was a lot of fun last summer.”

“Well, I’m not going to lie,” Rachel stated as she gathered up her things. “I’d like to get something more, but I won’t turn down an ensemble role. I know that I really need to develop more as an actor and not depend on my voice so much.”

“At least the two of you are likely to get something,” Tina added. “I’m still a first-year theater student and I don’t have the kind of experience you two got at NYADA. “

“You might be surprised,” Kurt maintained with a smile. “I didn’t expect anything last year and look what happened. In the meantime, we have a little while before we need to catch the train and there’s a nice coffee shop near the station. Let me treat the two of you to a drink before we head back to the city.”

Rachel nodded in agreement. “That sounds like a great idea. Thanks.”

As they walked out of the theater, Kurt noted a young woman with bright auburn hair pulled into a neat braid walking in. She looked up at him with a happy smile of recognition and rushed forward to hug him.

“Oh my God! It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms about him.

“It’s good to see you too, Tracy,” he said in return. “I was hoping that you and Craig would be back this season.”

Rachel then realized that this had been one of Kurt’s castmates from the previous summer and couldn’t help from smiling at seeing his joy at seeing her. Tina turned questioning glance at her, clearly not recognizing the other young woman and Rachel whispered the identity in her ear.

“Craig did his audition last week,” Tracy informed him. “It looks like we’ll have a rookie reunion this summer.”

Kurt laughed brightly. “But we’re not rookies anymore,” he reminded her.

“No, I guess we’re not,” she admitted with a playful grin. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t get over to see you in Les Miz but it was impossible to get tickets!”

Kurt smiled and shook his head. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” he insisted. “I know it’s been a crazy year for all of us.”

“Well, I read all of the reviews and I know how great you all did,” she responded, giving Kurt a playful nudge. He just grinned and motioned for Rachel and Tina to come forward.

“Let me introduce all of you,” he proposed drawing Tina and Rachel forward and making the formal introductions. “You met Rachel and Tina last summer when they came to see me. Rachel’s a classmate of mine and Tina’s over at NYU. I convinced them to audition this year.”

“It’s nice to see both of you again. Kurt always brings the most talented people with him,” Tracy said sincerely. She turned to Kurt and asked, “You read for Puck, didn’t you?”

Kurt nodded with a pleased expression.

“Well, Craig is going to be very put out. He was kind of hoping to get that part, but he won’t stand a chance against you,” Tracy said confidently. “Please tell me that you didn’t read for Lysander too, so I can put his mind at ease that he’s not going to get shut out.”

Kurt couldn’t help from laughing. “I didn’t, but if he’s also reading for Paris, then all bets are off.

“What about Adam?” she asked. “Is he going to be back from his tour in time?”

Kurt couldn’t help from sighing. “He’ll be back, but he’s going to need a break from performing,” he explained. “I really can’t blame him because the tour is taking a lot out of him. He’s trying to get something with the production so he can be a part of the festival without having to worry about a new role.”

“Oh, that’s a real shame,” Tracy said regretfully. “But I’m glad that you’re going to be back this season.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Kurt admitted with a smile. “Good luck with your audition. We’ll meet up and commiserate when the cast lists come out.”

Tracy smile and nodded to the other two girls. “It was so nice to see you both again,” she said cheerfully. “It’ll be nice to have some more girls around.”

“It’s great to meet you too,” Tina responded with a warm smile. “Good luck at your audition.”

“Thanks. I’d better get going, otherwise I’ll be late,” Tracy said appreciatively before giving Kurt a final hug and disappearing into the theater.

Rachel watched her run into the theater and turned an appraising glance to her friend. “She seems really nice.”

Kurt nodded in confirmation. “It was really great working with her and Craig last summer,” he said agreeably. “I mean, I loved working with Adam and the rest of the cast but it was reassuring to have some people my own age around. Having someone to share being new with made the experience a lot easier.”

Rachel nodded and turned to Tina with a smile. “Then it’s a good thing that you and I are doing this,” she insisted. “And having Kurt show us the ropes.”

“Definitely,” Tina agreed, smiling at her friends.

Kurt gathered them both under his arms and lead them away. “Well, come on, my ladies. I think that coffee and cake is just the kind of thing we need to celebrate your auditions.”

* * *

It was three weeks later that Rachel was leaving her American Playwrights workshop where she had been wrestling with the works of David Mamet when her phone began to ring. She struggled to fish it out of her purse, trying not to drop her books. By the time she’d completed her juggling act, the call had gone to her voice mail. Damn it…

She hurried to a table in the commons area where she could get her things in order and see who was calling, her face paling when she realized just who she’d missed. She quickly redialed the number, mentally sending up a little prayer as the line rang that the news would be good and bit back an audible sigh of relief when the line was picked up.

“Matthew Tillman here.”

Rachel swallowed tightly. “Hi, this is Rachel Berry,” she said, pleased that she was able to keep her tone so even and calm. “I think that I just missed your call.”

“Ah, Rachel… I’m glad that you called back so quickly.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t answer immediately, but I was just coming out of class,” she explained.

“That’s quite all right,” he assured her. “I figured that you’d be in class. I just wanted to touch base with you about your audition. Now if my notes are correct, you were interested in playing Helen, correct?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “And Hermina for Midsummer.”

“You also indicated that you would be open to reading for other roles,” he clarified.

“That’s right,” she agreed, hoping that she was playing this right. Even if she ended up in the ensemble for both shows, she very much wanted to be cast in something.

“We’re very interested in you, but we’re getting a lot of interest in those particular roles,” Mr. Tillman informed her honestly. “I’d like for you to come back and read for them again, but I’d also like for you to read for Cassandra in Troilous. I think you might be a good match that part.”

Realizing that she wasn’t being shut out, Rachel felt a smile cross her face. “Of course! I’d be happy to! When would you like me to come in?”

Kurt was walking out of his weapons class, feeling a bit battered because Mr. Hansen spent the past two hours using them all for pounding toys. He could already feel the bruises rising on his skin where he was swatted by the edge of a saber for letting his guard down. He was going to need to spend a good amount of time in the showers after class soaking in the heat and then a liberal application of Arnica cream. Unfortunately, with his fair complexion he bruised like a peach and he was going to look like he got run over by a truck by morning if he didn’t take proper care.

He was not expecting to be collided with by a petite bowling ball that barreled into him at warp speed. He grunted, catching Rachel before she could knock him into the wall and swung her to diffuse the impact.

“Rachel, are you crazy?” he complained, setting her back on her feet. “What is the matter with you?”

“They called me back!” she exclaimed happily, bouncing up and down. “I got a call back!”

The news immediately extinguished Kurt’s irritation and he found himself delighted for his friend. “That’s great! For both parts?” he asked.

She nodded. “Mr. Tillman is also asking me to read for another role,” she explained. “He said that there’s a lot of competition for the ones I read for and suggested another role to consider. That’s good, right?”

“Definitely,” he confirmed. “And it’s great that they still want you to read for the parts that your originally auditioned for. I was already shut out of one part by this point.”

She clutched at his arm, trying to keep her excitement under control. “I’m trying not to read too much into that. I know that I can’t expect to get every part I read for.”

“But being called back is a good sign that they want you for something,” he assured her. “When are you going in?”

“Thursday after my last class. Thankfully I don’t need to be in early on Friday. What about you? They are asking you back right?”

He nodded, looking quietly satisfied which Rachel thought he had every right to feel. After his performances the past summer and this past spring, she thought that they would be insane not to have him back and with any role he wished for.

“I’m going in on Saturday morning,” he explained. “Mr. Tillman is coming in to meet with me because I’ve got to give Isabelle some time with the summer issues going out. The next few weeks are going to be a bit crazed.”

Rachel was delighted that they both were being called in for the parts they read for. “I’m going to call Tina and see if she heard anything,” Rachel informed him. “Because I can’t imagine her not getting a call back. Maybe she and I can do our call backs together.”

“We’ll talk before you go in,” Kurt promised. “I’ll let you know what to expect and how they run things. There’s a good chance that you’ll know what you’re being cast for right there. You just have to remember that you’re new with the festival, so you probably won’t get everything you’re trying for.”

She nodded in understanding. “I’m not expecting that,” she assured him honestly. “I’ll be thrilled to just get one of them.”

She probably would shock anyone who had known her in the past, but she was being completely sincere. To get even one speaking role would be a tremendous accomplishment for her and would go a long way to finally healing over the disappointment that she’d suffered from the Funny Girl debacle. She was working hard to keep her expectations under control and could take real satisfaction that she was getting a call back at all, let alone for all the roles she’d auditioned for.

“Well, I’ve got to get to class,” Rachel said with a sigh. “But do you have a chance to hang out anytime this week? Santana’s been making noises about you making yourself so scarce.”

Kurt chuckled, knowing that his friend’s language probably had been rather colorful on the subject. “We’ll find some time,” he promised. “Maybe we can all go out for dinner one night this week before Santana has to go to the club.”

She nodded before leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you a bit later,” she stated. “Have fun with Madam Tibideaux.”

“Thanks. I’m sure that she’s sharpening her knives as we speak,” he quipped.

Fortunately he had just enough time before his session with her to grab a cup of green tea and get his throat in order before arriving at the classroom. Madam Tibideaux hadn’t arrived yet, so he used the time to get his warmups done, knowing very well that she would want to just drive right in.

She arrived a surprisingly ten minutes late, her assistant following quietly in her wake. “My apologies, Mr. Hummel,” the Dean said sincerely. “I had an important phone call with one of our donors who’s been making some considerable contributions to our school after seeing the musical.”

“I used the time to get my warmups out of the way,” he assured her. “I thought that way we wouldn’t lose too much time.”

The Dean smiled and nodded in approval. “Wonderful. Then if you’re ready, I’d like to see how those exercises you’ve been assigned have helping your development.”

Kurt nodded and took his place by the piano. Madam Tibideux nodded to her assistant and a piece of music that he’d become intimately familiar with over the past few days. He closed his eyes, reminding himself of what her expectations would be of him. When the cue came in for him to begin, Kurt was ready.

“The nightingale sighed for the moon’s bright ray,” he sang out, maintaining the balance of strength and gentleness that the aria called for. “And told his tale in his own melodious way. He sang ‘Ah, well-a-day!’

“The lowly vale for the mountain vainly sighed, to his humble wail. The echoing hills replied. They sang ‘Ah, well-a-day!’”

This was more difficult than a lot of the Broadway oriented songs that he’d performed for his teacher in the past. The melody was more complex, requiring him to make the most of his precision and hit each note cleanly while still showing the deep emotion that the song required. The melody was a lot more complex than it initially appeared, making it a real challenge to make sure that he didn’t neglect the emotional component of the song clear while focusing on keeping his vocal technique as clean as possible. It was a real test for her to see just how far he’d come as a singer.

Kurt could understand why his teacher was focusing more on this style of singing. It was pushing him to refine his technique and his natural ability to tap into a song’s emotion. And asking him to perform the song for a traditional romantic lead was clearly designed as a way to compel him to expand his range as an actor.

While Madam Tibideaux would expect that his voice be able to carry the emotional story on its own, she would also expect him to show that he could fully realize the characters and bring in his compete arsenal of acting skills in an effective manner. He softened his expression, looking wistful as he contemplated his character’s beloved. “I know the value of a kindly chorus. But choruses yield little consolation,” he crooned gently, letting his voice float upon the notes played on the piano. “When we have pain and sorrow too before us! I love – and love, alas, above my station!

“A maiden fair to see. The pearl of minstrelsy,” he expressed thoughtfully, trying to paint the image of a young man deeply in love with the woman he could never have. “A bud of blushing beauty, for whom proud nobles sigh. And with each other vie to do her menial’s duty.”

Madam Tibideaux watched him closely, only looking down to make the occasional note on her pad. One might make the mistake to think that after all this time that her sharp observation would no longer be intimidating to students who had ample experience under her tutelage. They would be mistaken.

Kurt would always be aware of his shortcomings. When his newfound technical skill would fail him, or when he was unable to truly grasp the emotional heat of a performance. Those were the moments that he dreaded, because he would be more disappointed in himself than any criticism she could offer.

He knew that he wasn’t going to present the most pristine vocal skills, but he could make sure that he gave a full display of the emotional story. He delved in deep within himself, finding the insecure boy who’d loved someone he felt was so far out of his league. It was a hurt that he was well acquainted with, wishing that the one he’d loved would notice him and remembered the pain of being overlooked or found lacking.

“A suitor, lowly born… with hopeless passion torn, and poor beyond denying,” he sang mournfully, giving full rein to his character’s despair. “Has dared for her to pine, at whose exalted shrine. A world of wealth is sighing.”

Kurt wished that he could get some sense of how he was doing, but Madam Tibideux never gave any sign during her evaluations. Like the Cheshire Cat, she watched and would pass judgement on her own time.

Wanting very much to give her what she wanted, Kurt delved deep and focused. “Unlearned he in aught, save that which love has taught. For love had been his tutor,” he sang, bringing a quiet gentleness to his tone. “Oh, pity… pity me… Our captain’s daughter she, and I that lowly suitor.”

The music drew to a close and Madam Tibideaux was still jotting down her notes, leaving him standing silently and waiting for her verdict. Several long moments passed, and he felt himself starting to fidget before she finally set her pad aside and looked at him expectantly.

“So…” She cocked an appraising eyebrow in his direction, motioning for him to take the seat next to her. This was going to take a while.

“Before I tell you what I think, I’d like to hear your opinion.”

Kurt exhaled deeply, knowing that she fully expected him to be aware of his flaws and if not totally able to self-correct, to at least know where his errors were. Failing to note them would reflect badly on his progress.

“I think that I had a good grasp on the emotional story,” he proposed with a certain confidence. That has never been a serious problem for him and he thought that he’d added some nice nuances. “I tried to translate my own experiences with what the character was trying to express, even if they weren’t a perfect match. But I think that aspect of the performance worked.

“Technique wise...” Kurt took a moment to consider how he’d sung the number before making his self-appraisal. It had been far from his best performance, but it wasn’t completely awful. “Overall it wasn’t bad, but I don’t think that my notes were true at several points. Even though it’s not a fast number, the way the notes are drawn out make them challenging to hold. And I think I sounded a little pitchy at a few points.”

Madam Tibideaux nodded, pleased that he wasn’t trying to excuse his errors and had enough in the way of self-awareness to recognize that he’d made mistakes. But she offered a reassuring smile, not wanting this to be a negative experience for a student that she found so promising.

“I know that this style of music would be a challenge for most singers and I wouldn’t ask most students to attempt it. But given how you used Candide for your audition material, I thought that you’d enjoy the challenge,” she confided, offering a reassuring smile. “The catalogue of Gilbert and Sullivan does lean closer to classical opera than anything you’ll find in conventional musical theater, which is one of the reasons that you’ll primarily see it performed by opera houses nowadays. Students who aren’t focused on classical singing will probably have little experience trying to perform material like this. It’s a very different style and calls for a more refined technique.”

Kurt felt himself nodding in agreement, thinking back to his high school experiences with musicals. They had always stuck to material that wasn’t especially challenging vocally, which wasn’t a surprise given Mr. Schue’s limitations and the lack of formal training in most of the choir. It was been smarter to stick with rock or more modern, well-known musicals that empathized their strengths and downplayed their weaknesses. Even then most of their efforts were underwhelming, in his opinion.

Madam Tibideaux waited until she was confident that he grasped what she was trying to teach him. “Even the similarities in style and structure, Les Miserables is closer to modern musicals than it is to classic opera. The technique that you’d learned up to now allowed you to acquit yourself well as Enjolras, but as we’ve spoken before, you’d only really begun to scratch the surface of your potential as a performer.

“This was meant to be difficult for you because you need to be pushed,” she reminded him. “I expect you to showing weakness in your technique as we move along. If you’re not making mistakes, that means that you’re not trying to grow beyond what you already are capable of. I see a lot of very talented students who are so afraid of being seen as imperfect that they never really get out of their box. Even if you through your entire career never performing material like this, I still think that it’s useful for your development and I’m pleased that you’re not shying away from it.”

Kurt nodded, understanding exactly the point that she was making. Maybe because he’d arrived with so little real training left him more open to being molded, unlike Rachel for example, who came to NYADA with a very clear and rigid view of who she was as a performer and had a difficult time accepting correction. Both of them needed to open themselves up to learning, though someone like Rachel would have to unlearn a great many things as well.

Once she saw that he had a comprehension of what she was explaining, she looked down at her notes. “Now to your credit, you’re not trying to hide behind the music to mask your mistakes. And we’re seeing some real improvement in your technique,” she noted. “As I said, allowing yourself to make mistakes and fail is what’s going to allow you to grow and I’m not expecting you to anywhere close to perfect at this point.

“That’s not to say that there weren’t moments where you were doing everything right and your voice sounded absolutely lovely. I’m seeing very good control of your head and chest voice. You are getting better with manipulating your larynx and I’m seeing a lot more in the way of vocal flexibility. You know your voice well and you’re getting more confident with your control, which is something that I definitely want to see at this point.”

Kurt allowed himself to relax just a tiny bit with the knowledge that it wasn’t all bad.

“But then about halfway though, I think that the melody was starting to get away from you,” his teacher said thoughtfully. “You weren’t sustaining the long notes as cleanly as I usually see from you, which indicates that you’re not getting enough air flow. And there were points where you were overusing your vibrato in a way that wasn’t especially pleasant. You can go a little sharp when you lose control of your upper range and too much vibrato highlights that.”

At seeing that he was paying close attention to her critique and wasn’t resisting her appraisal, she nodded in approval. “But all in all, it wasn’t a bad first effort,” Madam Tibideaux assured him. “I’m pleased that you were catching yourself when you made mistakes and trying to self-correct. You’re paying attention to what you’re doing and are aware when things aren’t going as expected which is probably the most that we could reasonably expect at this stage. Your grasp of melisma is stronger and while this particular run-through was a bit rough around the edges, it’s showing some decent technical bones to build on. You have been practicing, and it shows. What we need to do is build on your skills, continue developing your strength. Because we’ve just begun to explore what you’re going to be capable of as a technician and an artist.”

Kurt listened closely, considering her evaluation and was grateful that it wasn’t as bad as he’d been fearing. He knew by now that however sharply worded her critiques could be, they were all designed to make him a stronger performer. In order to do that, he needed to put his ego on the back burner, be willing to listen and actually accept her tutelage.

He cleared his throat and looked to his teacher. “Can we try it again?” he asked.

The Dean smiled and nodded. “I was just about to suggest that,” she chuckled warmly, motioning for him to take his place by the piano.

He took a quick sip from his water bottle, swishing it about his mouth before swallowing. When he was ready, he nodded to the pianist to begin.

* * *

Sitting at the airport and waiting for a delayed flight was no one’s idea of fun, Adam considered as he looked at the board for what felt like the millionth time but there was no help for that. A nasty storm front moving through the middle of the country had grounded their plane for at least the next few hours. Far longer than the actual flight was supposed to take.

Fortunately, they weren’t due to open in Minneapolis for a week, so losing the better part of a day wasn’t going to be that bad. They would have plenty of time to settle in and get used to the new stage before opening night. The biggest issue was boredom while they waited for any word about their flight. The group had dispersed to find their own amusements while they waited, with Niall roaming the shops to see if he could find a nice little gift to send to his wife. Adam decided to wait until when he was sure that Kurt would be on a break between classes. He had texted Kurt, telling him to call when he was free.

In the meantime, Adam was able to find a café with only moderately overpriced coffee and a relatively quiet corner of the waiting area where he could do some writing while he killed time. They had just gotten another announcement that the delay would be for at least one more hour when his phone began to ring. Seeing Kurt’s number come up on the screen, he closed his laptop and turned his full attention to the call.

“Good morning, darling,” he greeted happily, his mood immediately improving. “I hope that I’m not bothering you.”

“Not at all,” Kurt assured him cheerfully. “I just got out of class when I saw your text. Is everything okay?”

Adam sighed. “Just cooling my heels at the airport. Our flight was delayed, and we’re stuck here for a bit. We probably could have driven to Minneapolis in less time.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Kurt cooed teasingly, causing Adam to smile a bit in response. “But I’m sure that the plane will be more comfortable than a bus. Are you okay?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” Adam admitted. “And I had a question for you... Did you ever get around to getting your passport?”

“Not yet,” Kurt admitted. “I keep meaning to look into getting one, but things have been so busy and I haven’t really needed it.”

Adam smiled wider. “Then, my dear, you’d better get your application submitted. Because you’re coming with me to London this winter.”

“I am?” Kurt exclaimed. “Adam, that’s very sweet of you but you’re going there to work, and…”

“And I want you there with me, at least for a little while during your winter break,” Adam insisted. “Whatever time you can give. I want to be able to show London to you and my family is already making plans for you to visit them. You can’t let me disappoint them.”

Adam knew his young lover better than most and was quite aware of his habit being mindful of not overstepping so that he didn’t intrude where he didn’t deserve to be. Kurt’s sense of propriety and consideration could often go into overdrive and he wouldn’t put himself in a position where he might distract Adam during what would be the highlight of his career thus far. He’d want Adam to have the freedom to reap all the rewards of his accomplishments without giving any kind of appearance that he was trying to ride on his lover’s coattails.

Which was utter bullocks, as far as Adam was concerned. What good was all of this if he couldn’t enjoy it with the man he loved?

“I won’t take no for an answer,” he warned with a smile and gentle firmness in his voice. “London is absolutely beautiful during the holidays and I want you there with me. Please… don’t make me beg, love.”

He heard Kurt sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re making that pitiful, homeless puppy face, aren’t you?” he accused.

“If that’s what it takes to get you to come with me,” Adam warned. “Or if necessary, I’ll just sic Mum on you.”

He could positively picture Kurt’s frown. “Oh, that’s not fair,” Kurt accused petulantly.

“Well, you’ll be the one to tell Mum that you don’t want to come visit with her,” Adam teased. “I’m sure that she’ll be very understanding that you’d rather putter about New York by yourself than let her spoil you and take you shopping...

That brought a laugh out of the younger man. “All right… you don’t have play rough.”

“You like it when I play rough,” Adam growled playfully.

Kurt laughed again. “Don’t threaten what you can’t finish,” he teased. “At least I’ll finally get to shop at Harrods.”

“Harrods is totally overrated, but it is a bit of fun during the Christmas season,” Adam insisted. “Oh, sweetheart, I can’t for you to see it. Big Ben, the changing of the guard… we’ll do all the touristy things. And when I’m working, Mum and Dad want to take you to Essex for a day or two. You’ll get to see where I grew up and have them take you around. You can’t disappointment them.”

“Of course not,” Kurt agreed. “Because I wouldn’t put it past her to hop onto a plane and carry me off in a burlap sack.”

Adam knew that Kurt’s resistance would dissolve like wet tissue paper with the right inducements and he’d certainly laid out his best argument for Kurt to just comply graciously. They’d hoped to make a trip to England before this, but with his work and Kurt’s schooling, they never managed to find the time. This was a better reason than most to finally make that trip and he hated the idea of another few weeks spent apart.

“I’m sorry if I sound like I’m pushing so hard,” Adam granted. “But we’ve been apart long enough for the time being, don’t you think?”

Kurt didn’t answer immediately, but Adam could easily picture the softening in his gorgeous eyes and the soft smile touching his features.

“I think you might be right,” Kurt admitted.

An announcement came on over the system that Adam’s flight would start boarding in thirty minutes, causing him to sign in relief.

“Finally!” he exclaimed.

“They’re calling your flight?”

“Yes… we’ll be boarding soon,” Adam confirmed. “I’d better go round up Niall so he doesn’t miss the flight.”

“Then I’d better let you go,” Kurt offered. “Have a good flight.”

Adam couldn’t help from smiling. “I’ll call you when you’re checked into the hotel,” he promised. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kurt returned gently. “Talk to you later.”

Ending calls was always hard, Adam thought as he reluctantly hung up the phone. Giving up that tenuous connection caused near physical pain when all he wanted to do was pull Kurt into his arms and never let go. The longer he was away from home, the more he craved Kurt’s presence. Some relationships fell apart with prolonged distance, he knew. Others grew stronger.

He and Kurt were proving to be of that material. And he knew that it was only a matter of time before their time apart would end. At least for now, he realized. It was nearly unavoidable that their profession might require them to work away from one another, but he now was confident that they would not only survive but thrive. Both as individuals and a couple.

* * *

With Funny Girl, Rachel had gotten a brutal reality check about the business that she aspired to and it had been a hard realization that the world didn’t see her as the budding star that she’d imagined herself to be. Learning that she would have to fight for her place in the world, and that she would fail at least as often as she succeeded, had been a harsh wake up call.

But it was one that she’d very much needed, she could recognize in hindsight. And she realized that just maybe Kurt had it right by making a smaller production his first foray into professional acting. Admittedly, she much preferred the more intimate process that the Garrison Festival utilized over the cattle call of Funny Girl. She actually felt like the director was paying attention to her and that she wasn’t just a face in the crowd.

Rachel was very aware that she wouldn’t always have this luxury, and that she would have to deal with open calls for the roles she wanted. But getting proper feedback and a chance to grow as a performer made putting herself up for judgement worthwhile, even if she didn’t get the role that she wanted.

When she stepped out of the theater into the warm afternoon sunshine, she felt that odd disconnect that she’d felt after the Funny Girl callback, but for an entirely different reason. Her mind was still trying to come to terms with what had happened inside the theater, but this time she didn’t have to deal with it alone.

“I can’t believe it,” Tina said, her dark eyes shining as they walked out of the theater. “We did it.”

Rachel felt herself nodding, but it hadn’t really hit her yet. She got a part. A real part.

“You were amazing,” she praised the younger girl. “I’m so glad that you got Hippolyta.”

“What about you, ‘Cassandra’?” Tina retorted. “You’re going to have so much fun playing her and Moth.”

Rachel couldn’t help from grinning happily, amused at no end to be playing a character with the same name as the teacher who’d bedeviled her for nearly the whole of her time at NYADA. “With us and Kurt in the same shows, it’s almost going to feel like a mini-New Directions production.”

And it would be, Rachel told herself confidently. She had full assurance that Kurt would get at least one of the roles he was getting a callback for. She would not be at all surprised if he managed to land speaking roles in both plays, because he certainly had the talent to warrant it.

She was grateful that while she and Tina had auditioned for the same shows that they hadn’t gone after the same parts. While she was sure that she would have been able to handle it if Tina had gotten a role over her, she was happy that they didn’t need to put themselves into direct competition just yet. This would be nothing but good memories for the both of them.

As the reality of her role began to sink in, she felt the anxiousness that she’d felt right before the callback fade and the excitement over what she’d achieved began to sink in. There would be phone calls to be made to her delighted parents and her friends. Then they just had to wait for Kurt’s callback for them to really celebrate.

* * *

Even when one was reasonably confident that they were likely to be successful to some degree, callbacks were always nerve wreaking. Kurt was secure in his own abilities as an actor and knew how much he had developed over the past year. He knew that he could bring something really special to the roles that he had auditioned for, but there was no way to know how other actors had been received. He could only do his best and hope that he was better.

He was thrilled that Rachel and Tina had survived their auditions and he was thrilled that they both managed to land speaking and ensemble roles. For Rachel, it had been especially gratifying when she was told that she would play Cassandra in Troilus and Kurt had wanted to take her out to celebrate, but she insisted on waiting until he knew what roles he was playing. She wanted to make sure that they all celebrated together because in her mind, there was no chance of him not getting cast.

Her confidence in him was gratifying and certainly gave him a bit more confidence heading into his callback. He wasn’t the surprise new kid anymore and the expectations for him were much higher. He had to bring his best game if he wanted to impress Mr. Tillman this time around.

He arrived at the theater to find Mr. Tillman waiting, along with several other members of the production team. “Good morning, Kurt,” the director greeted, shaking Kurt’s hand. “Thanks for coming in today.”

“Thank you for accommodating me,” Kurt said sincerely. “I’m sorry for getting you up so early on a Saturday.”

The older man just smiled. “It’s not a problem at all. I know that your school schedule can be a bit insane,” he insisted. “Well, we have a lot to get through, so why don’t we get started?”

Kurt nodded in agreement, stepping up onto the stage. “Should I start with reading for Paris?”

“Sounds good,” Mr. Tillman agreed and settled into a seat so he could give the actor his full attention.

Kurt had all his monologues committed to memory and knew how he wanted to portray each of the characters. Paris was the young romantic, blinded by his love for Helen and responsible for plunging his nation into war as a result, but unrepentant for it. Patroclus was a great warrior in his own right, a fact nearly overshadowed by his profound sense of loyalty to Achilles. Both were in some ways peripheral to the main focus of the storyline, the doomed love of the title characters, but they were vital to the course of action.

And then there was Puck… the fae trickster that was far too clever for his own good and created mischief and havoc wherever he went. Kurt wanted to portray him as having a bit of an edge; less the innocent sprite that he often was portrayed as and more of a trickster out of classical mythology that could cause conflict for nothing more than his own amusement.

“My mistress, with a monster, is in love,” he pronounced with a rather deranged giggle at the fairy queen’s expense. “Near to her close and consecrated bower. While she was in her dull and sleeping our, a crew of patches, rude mechanicals that work for bread upon Athenian stalls.”

He leaned forward, as if divulging some great joke. “Were met together to rehearse a play intended for great Theseus’ nuptial day,” he explained with a wry smile and a twinkle of near madness in his eyes. “The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort, who Pyramus presented, in their sport.

“Forsook his scene and enter’d in a brake. When I did him, at this advantage take, an ass’s nole I fixed on his head!”

He broke down with laughter at his own cunning, going on to describe how Puck had managed to catch Titania in his web of spells and tricks and taking delight in the queen’s humiliation and uncaring about the harm that he might have done an innocent mortal. He’d seen enough bullies in his life to know exactly how to play out the tricks and by letting Puck show the cruelty inherent in his actions, Kurt was confident would set him apart from all the other performers.

When he was finished, Mr. Tillman took a few moments to confer with the other members of the production team before turning to Kurt with a broad grin,

“Well, thank you Kurt,” he said sincerely. “We were hoping to see maturing from you as a performer and you certainly didn’t disappoint. That was, for me, one of the most interesting takes on Puck that I’ve seen in a long time. The edge of malevolence was very different than most impressions of the character.”

Kurt nodded, glad that his intentions carried through the performance. “That was exactly what I was going for,” he confirmed. “I really wanted to avoid any comparisons to the way Micky Rooney played him. I know that’s the archetype for the character, but I wanted to give him a totally different vibe. Maybe a little more Loki than usually gets portrayed.”

Mr. Tillman looked quite pleased with his answer. “Well, I certainly hope that you plan to develop the character farther this season because Puck is always a highlight of the show. I think that you’re going to bring something very interesting for our audience. It’s good to challenge their expectations once in a while.

“Now as for Troilus… we’re a little bit conflicted,” Mr. Tillman admitted. “I think that you’d acquit yourself admirably in both parts but I want to make sure that we’re giving you a role that will really take advantage of what you bring to the table. You’ve been taking stage combat, correct?”

Kurt nodded, wondering where this was going. “I’m in my second semester of training,” he confirmed.

Mr. Tillman made a note and nodded in approval. “With several of our more seasoned performers moving on, we have a definite shortage of actors with combat training this year and there are some battle scenes in Troilus. I also am of a mind to take advantage of the chemistry you had with Ben last season. We’ve cast him as Achilles and the two of you worked well together, which is why I’m inclined to cast you as Patroclus.

“Now, one thing to keep in mind is that I’m intending to play up the closeness between Achilles and Patroclus and make it obvious that they are more than just comrades,” the director explained, watching for his reaction to the proposition. “The play itself doesn’t shy away from the inuendo, but we’re going to make it a bit more clear about the nature of their relationship and give some more focus to their motivations. Is that something that would be an issue for you?”

Kurt kept his expression neutral as he considered the idea. He wouldn’t mind working with Ben again, and there was always the possibility that the show would want to explore that aspect of the characters’ relationship. While he couldn’t help from wondering if being gay was a factor in the casting, he wouldn’t allow that to bother him. There would be enough times where his sexuality might keep him out of roles so taking advantage now, it that was indeed the case, wouldn’t bother him too much.

“Not at all,” he assured the director. “I know that their relationship isn’t a major focus of the play, but it would add some interesting nuances and draw some contrasts with the other love stories.”

Mr. Tillman looked extremely pleased with his response and gave a firm nod of approval. “Then it looks like we’re set. I know that we’re putting a lot of pressure on you this season, Kurt, but I think that you’re up to the challenge.”

Kurt grinned and hopped off the stage to shake Mr. Tillman’s hand. “Thank you so much,” he said sincerely.

The director just smiled. “We’re very happy to have you back this season,” he insisted. “It’s always wonderful to welcome new actors and watch them develop, and we have high expectations for you. I think that these plays are going to give you a lot to really sink your teeth into.

“We’ll be in touch about all the administrative stuff and send you the rehearsal schedule. I need to you start committing your roles to memory because things are going to move quickly once rehearsals start and you’re going to have a lot on your plate.”

Kurt nodded in understanding. “I definitely will,” he assured the older man. After shaking the director’s hand again and thanking him, Kurt gathered his things and left the theater with a bit of a well-deserved spring in his step.

That evening found him in Bushwick, toasting the success of his friends while they toasted his. He sat on the floor with Rachel and Tina, sharing a bottle of cheap but still very drinkable rosé and several containers of take out food. He would have plenty of time to stress about the hard work facing him, but right now he just wanted to celebrate with two of his best friends.

They wouldn’t always be so fortunate, so this was a rare moment of success for them to savor.

* * *

Kurt's solo: "The Nightingale" - H.M.S . Pinafore

#kadam fic #kadam #kurt hummel #adam crawford #rachel berry #tina cohen chang #carmen tibideaux #original characters #not blaine or klaine friendly

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