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#and maybe that still holds true!!!!! but i was wondering if the more direct parallel might be ‘given up by their parents’

unma · 6 months

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I Love Philip (LOR) And Feel so Painfully Bad for Him

Every time I think about Philip I cannot help but be reminded of how dirty he gets done in Library of Ruina. My little boy does not catch a break. He gets beat into submission at least 4 different times. He unwillingly gets saved from certain death in the library, and with the hindsight we get at the true ending of the game, that would have been a preferable fate.

But no, he gets thrown into Oswald's clutches. He doesn't get a chance to properly mull over his feelings and emotions like Xiao did, he doesn't get to actually work through it in a healthy manner, and much like Yan, gives in and becomes the Crying Children.

He still doesn't die. And then Argalia gets a hold of him and he loses all sense of who he once was, until now he's just Philip again. But he isn't Philip: everything that once made him up is gone, replaced by only the cinders, the ashes of what was once his burning flame.

And now he fights, burning once more. Much like Xiao, his fuel was those he cared about, but now that's all gone. Now he just fights for the Ensemble. And really, for what? He's truly and wholly apathetic now; any semblance of emotions is muted and grey, dulled to the point of returning to apathy.

It's a wonderful parallel that Malkuth continues to burn while all her efforts seem to have been hopeless, with the hope that it all, in time, will be worth it, while Philip burns in spite of said hope: he burns to destroy all, and reduce it all to sad, depressing soot.

In the end, it's a sad fate for him, and every time I return to the song "And There Is Heard No More" I feel horrible for him. He really didn't deserve all he'd gone through. Most members of the ensemble are horrible, or dislikeable in their own ways. You don't feel bad for their deaths, even if you do realize that some of them got here simply because of how twisted the city is. But we've spent a lot of time with Philip and got to see how he really was just trying his best for those he cared about, only for him to burn out until there was nothing left of him.

In the direct opposite manner of how Xiao goes out in a triumphant blaze of glory and will now get to see those she cares about once more, satisfied that she took action and never stopped burning till the end, Philip goes out the same way a small candle fire does. Silently and weak, the wisps of smoke that remained of him gone in the wind.

Xiao is the raging forest fire that scars the land irreparably for years, maybe even decades to come. Philip is the small candle flame that never got to spread before it slowly died off. And 'Philip', his remains, is that melted wax candle, being forcibly set aflame in an attempt to reduce everything to that same, sad puddle of apathy.

But this is just how I see it. Something I didn't point out here is the importance of isolation and the ability to define oneself to Philip's story, and how losing those close to him and being driven to Isolation was what got him here, and he was further not allowed the chance to grow or define himself like Xiao was, or how Angela could in the floor realization. Hod's Realization is all about Angela realizing that only she could truly define herself, and this floor's theme is an excellent parallel in that Philip wants the same: the ability to define oneself in isolation. The difference is, in part, in the extent.

Malkuth does not think that one is completely defined in the absence of others. While letting other's criticism and opinions define you is, frankly, a horrible idea, it does not mean it is all to be discarded. And while the clashing of opinions will inevitably lead to conflict and hard times, one can choose to take it all and use it yourself: to decide if and how to use one's experiences to define yourself. You define yourself, and you are not limited to your environment, but that does not make it a waste. You can grow and become better because of your enviornment.

'Philip' does not believe in this. He doesn't see the point, seeing where his hardships brought his previous self, which is why he wants complete isolation. In truth, he believes the same: You define yourself. But their beliefs are fundamentally incompatible as soon as the topic of oneself in relation to other people comes up, which is why they must disagree.

This final bit is a bit of a headcanon, more headcanon-y than my previous interpretation of events anyway.

I like to think that since Philip still has those little bits of what he once was, those come out in battle. When he's burning, when he's overheated, that previously dead flame is back, at least in part, and he can more vividly recall things and remember why and how he's gotten here. It would be a nice touch, but maybe that's just me.

Anyway, that's enough ranting about my poor boy. I have a fic to finish, and then maybe I'll go beat up Oswald and Argalia for doing this to Philip. And then I'll solo Roland with a different floor, probably.

#library of ruina spoilers #philip library of ruina #malkuth #library of ruina #unma rambles

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butterflies-dragons · 2 years

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Art credit: Maurice Greiffenhagen

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the centre of his antagonist's shield, and struck it so fair and forcibly, that his spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, that champion had, in the beginning of his career, directed the point of his lance towards Bois-Guilbert's shield, but, changing his aim almost in the moment of encounter, he addressed it to the helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered the shock more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Norman on the visor, where his lance's point kept hold of the bars. Yet, even at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained his high reputation; and had not the girths of his saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, saddle, horse, and man, rolled on the ground under a cloud of dust.

IVANHOE: A Romance By Sir Walter Scott

Let’s talk about IVANHOE by Sir Walter Scott, the story that inspired GRRM to write about tourneys, jousting, heraldry, gallant knights and fair maidens.

I started writing this post two years ago, with a complete different idea in my mind about all the parallels between IVANHOE and ASOIAF, but I let it unfinished for some reasons.

I started reading IVANHOE again during mid December last year and I finished last week. And it took me one more week to finish writing this piece.

Now, this is just a compilation of parallels and similarities between Scott and Martin’s works, focused mostly on the things I enjoyed the most about them, but this is, in no way, as comprehensive as I originally planned.

This post contains spoilers.

Here we go!

FROM ASHBY TO ASHFORD, TO HARRENHAL, TO THE GATES OF THE MOON

GRRM has repeatedly stated how IVANHOE by Sir Walter Scott, has served as inspiration for the tourneys, jousting, melee, heraldry, etc, depicted in ASOIAF:

Firstly, thanks for that very thorough response on the tournaments and knighthood. Fascinating. In particular given the notes about _Ivanhoe_ and its influence -- I've only witnessed the A&E production of it, although maybe about time I read it. Seems it might be ripe for ideas.

IVANHOE is well worth a read, although the style is very old fashioned, of course. Still it has some fabulous characters and scenes, and so far as I know the definitive portrayal of a medieval tournament, both melee and joust.

It has been filmed three times that I know of. The recent A&E production had some good moments, as did the older Sam Neill version... the CLASSIC version, however, is still MGM's 50s version, starring Robert Taylor, Elizabeth Taylor, and George Sanders. The jousts are wonderful, Liz is radiant, and George Sanders steals the film as Bois-Gilbert. You should definitely rent that one and have a look.

—GRRM - 1999

Sir Walter Scott is hard going for many modern readers, I realize, but there's still great stuff to be found in IVANHOE and his other novels.

—GRRM - 2013

The novelist is midway through something of a European tour. After his trip to Switzerland, he is due in Scotland for the Edinburgh book festival. It has often been suggested that Ivanhoe (by the Scottish 19th-century novelist Walter Scott) was, alongside the War of the Roses, a major influence on A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones.

Martin was first turned on to Ivanhoe by the 1952 MGM movie starring Robert Taylor, George Sanders and a young Elizabeth Taylor. "I think it was Elizabeth Taylor at the peak of her...," his voice tails off before he clarifies. "She was the most beautiful woman in the world. I think I was nine years old when I saw that movie. How could you not fall in love with her? But the jousting and the pageantry of it made me love that story. Later, in high school, I did read that book. For a modern reader, it's a little tough to get through. The prose is very Victorian and thick but if you fight your way through it, the story is there. It has everything the movie has and more – the heraldry and jousting and the insight into the times. It was an influence in that sense."

—GRRM - Independent - 2014

[…] I knew I wanted to be in this book [Legends], so when he [Robert Silverberg] invited me to be in this book I gleefully accepted, and then I had to think, well, what am I gonna write for this book? I’m still in the middle of writing… I think I was still in the middle of writing Clash of Kings, I mean the only book out there was Game of Thrones. Well, am I gonna write a story about Tyrion or Arya or Jon Snow? No! I can’t do that. I have to save that for the book. I have to do this, I have to do a prequel. So I started thinking about my history and what would be a good area to write it, and I came up with the Dunk and Egg stuff. I was particularly attracted… that whole story [The Hedge Knight] is built around a tournament. I love medieval tournaments, reading about them, writing about them. There’s of course some of them in the main books, but this was an opportunity in a time of peace, not war, to look at a medieval tournament with all its pageantry and the jousting and the combat and reveal a little of Westerosi History.

—In conversation: George R.R. Martin with Dan Jones FULL EVENT- August 2019

And who is the ASOIAF character that incarnates GRRM’s huge love for tourneys, pageantry, heraldry and chivalry? The answer is, unquestionably, Sansa Stark.

I’ve already written about this subject in these posts:

GRRM has projected his romantic nature on Sansa Stark

GRRM has projected his love for knights and chivalry on Sansa Stark

GRRM has projected his love for medieval tourneys, heraldry, pageantry, knights and chivalry on Sansa Stark

And talking about Sansa Stark, the fair lady of ASOIAF, let me introduce to you the Lady Rowena of Hargottstandstede, the fair lady of IVANHOE:

THE LADY ROWENA

Art credit: Anatoly Itkin

Formed in the best proportions of her sex, Rowena was tall in stature, yet not so much so as to attract observation on account of superior height. Her complexion was exquisitely fair, but the noble cast of her head and features prevented the insipidity which sometimes attaches to fair beauties. Her clear blue eye, which sate enshrined beneath a graceful eyebrow of brown, sufficiently marked to give expression to the forehead, seemed capable to kindle as well as melt, to command as well as to beseech. If mildness were the more natural expression of such a combination of features, it was plain that, in the present instance, the exercise of habitual superiority, and the reception of general homage, had given to the Saxon lady a loftier character, which mingled with and qualified that bestowed by nature. Her profuse hair, of a colour betwixt brown and flaxen, was arranged in a fanciful and graceful manner in numerous ringlets, to form which art had probably aided nature. These locks were braided with gems, and being worn at full length, intimated the noble birth and free-born condition of the maiden.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Rowena was a Saxon princess, a celebrated beauty, a very courteous lady, and the love interest of the hero of the story, Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe.

Wilfred and Rowena grew up together, as Rowena was the ward of Wilfred’s father, Cedric of Rotherwood, also known as Cedric the Saxon. They were also distantly related.... Cousins, maybe?

“Cedric is not her father,” replied the Prior, “and is but of remote relation: she is descended from higher blood than even he pretends to, and is but distantly connected with him by birth. Her guardian, however, he is, self-constituted as I believe; but his ward is as dear to him as if she were his own child.

(...)

“And be careful how you look on Rowena, whom he [Cedric the Saxon] cherishes with the most jealous care; an he take the least alarm in that quarter we are but lost men. It is said he banished his only son from his family for lifting his eyes in the way of affection towards this beauty, who may be worshipped, it seems, at a distance, but is not to be approached with other thoughts than such as we bring to the shrine of the Blessed Virgin.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Yes, IVANHOE is also the story of the forbidden [by Cedric] love between Wilfred and Rowena.

Cedric of Rotherwood dreamed with an England ruled by Saxon royalty, free of Norman invaders. So in order to fulfill his dream, he pushed for the marriage of his ward, the Lady Rowena, a descendant of Alfred the Great, with Athelstane of Coningsburgh, a descendant of the last Saxon kings that ruled England; even though the bride and groom did not love each other. Rowena’s true love was Wilfred, while Athelstane’s true love was food, and only food!

The restoration of the independence of his race was the idol of his heart, to which he [Cedric] had willingly sacrificed domestic happiness and the interests of his own son.

(...)

An obstacle occurred to this his favourite project in the mutual attachment of his ward and his son; and hence the original cause of the banishment of Wilfred from the house of his father.

This stern measure Cedric had adopted in hopes that, during Wilfred’s absence, Rowena might relinquish her preference; but in this hope he was disappointed—a disappointment which might be attributed in part to the mode in which his ward had been educated. Cedric, to whom the name of Alfred was as that of a deity, had treated the sole remaining scion of that great monarch with a degree of observance such as, perhaps, was in those days scarce paid to an acknowledged princess. Rowena’s will had been in almost all cases a law to his household; and Cedric himself, as if determined that her sovereignty should be fully acknowledged within that little circle at least, seemed to take a pride in acting as the first of her subjects. Thus trained in the exercise not only of free will but despotic authority, Rowena was, by her previous education, disposed both to resist and to resent any attempt to control her affections, or dispose of her hand contrary to her inclinations, and to assert her independence in a case in which even those females who have been trained up to obedience and subjection are not infrequently apt to dispute the authority of guardians and parents. The opinions which she felt strongly she avowed boldly; and Cedric, who could not free himself from his habitual deference to her opinions, felt totally at a loss how to enforce his authority of guardian.

It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle her with the prospect of a visionary throne. Rowena, who possessed strong sense, neither considered his plan as practicable nor as desirable, so far as she was concerned, could it have been achieved. Without attempting to conceal her avowed preference of Wilfred of Ivanhoe, she declared that, were that favoured knight out of question, she would rather take refuge in a convent than share a throne with Athelstane, whom, having always despised, she now began, on account of the trouble she received on his account, thoroughly to detest.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Oh, how I love a woman with some amount of agency in the Middle Ages! Cedric you idiot! Imagine calling a woman “despotic”, when she was subjected to your will and foolish dream of Saxon restoration, when you betrothed her with someone she detested, but mostly, when she was willing to reject the throne of England rather than marry without love. And even if we consider her a “spoiled brat” (the most popular opinion among readers), Cedric himself admitted that he was the one to blame for it:

“Cedric, though surprised, and perhaps not altogether agreeably so, at his ward appearing in public on this occasion, hastened to meet her, and to conduct her, with respectful ceremony, to the elevated seat at his own right hand appropriated to the lady of the mansion.”

***

“Rowena’s will had been in almost all cases a law to his household and Cedric himself, as if determined that her sovereignty should be fully acknowledged within that little circle at least, seemed to take a pride in acting as the first of her subjects.”

Opposite to being “despotic,” Rowena seemed to inspire loyalty among her retinue, especially in her handmaid Elgitha, who was always ready to defend her Lady even against Cedric himself:

“Elgitha, let thy Lady Rowena know we shall not this night expect her in the hall, unless such be her especial pleasure.”

“But it will be her especial pleasure,” answered Elgitha, with great readiness, “for she is ever desirous to hear the latest news from Palestine.”

Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of hasty resentment; but Rowena and whatever belonged to her were privileged, and secure from his anger. He only replied, “Silence, maiden; thy tongue outruns thy discretion. Say my message to thy mistress, and let her do her pleasure. Here, at least, the descendant of Alfred still reigns a princess.”

(...)

If, leaving this task, which might be compared to spurring a tired jade, or to hammering upon cold iron, Cedric fell back to his ward Rowena, he received little more satisfaction from conferring with her. For, as his presence interrupted the discourse between the lady and her favourite attendant upon the gallantry and fate of Wilfred, Elgitha failed not to revenge both her mistress and herself by recurring to the overthrow of Athelstane in the lists, the most disagreeable subject which could greet the ears of Cedric.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Rowena convinced Cedric to help Isaac and Rebecca (and a wounded Wilfred hidden in a litter as a sick friend of Isaac and his daughter), when they were left alone and unsafe in the road:

“The man is old and feeble,” she said to her guardian, “the maiden young and beautiful, their friend sick and in peril of his life; Jews though they be, we cannot as Christians leave them in this extremity. Let them unload two of the sumpter mules and put the baggage behind two of the serfs. The mules may transport the litter, and we have led horses for the old man and his daughter.”

Cedric readily assented to what she proposed, and Athelstane only added the condition, “That they should travel in the rear of the whole party, “where Wamba,” he said, “might attend them with his shield of boar’s brawn.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Rowena was also generous and grateful, as we can see in this passage, when she addressed her rescuers from Torquilstone (Robin Hood & Co.), with these words:

As Rowena bent her steed towards Locksley’s seat, that bold yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive her, as if by a general instinct of courtesy. The blood rose to her cheeks as, courteously waving her hand, and bending so low that her beautiful and loose tresses were for an instant mixed with the flowing mane of her palfrey, she expressed in few but apt words her obligations and her gratitude to Locksley and her other deliverers. “God bless you, brave men,” she concluded—“God and Our Lady bless you and requite you for gallantly perilling yourselves in the cause of the oppressed! If any of you should hunger, remember Rowena has food; if you should thirst, she has many a butt of wine and brown ale; and if the Normans drive ye from these walks, Rowena has forests of her own, where her gallant deliverers may range at full freedom, and never ranger ask whose arrow hath struck down the deer.” “Thanks, gentle lady,” said Locksley—“thanks from my company and myself. But to have saved you requites itself. We who walk the greenwood do many a wild deed, and the Lady Rowena’s deliverance may be received as an atonement.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

As you can see Rowena wasn't a despot or a spoiled brat, she was just a very sheltered young noble lady. She was kind and smart and a fervent defender of Wilfred’s honor and of her love for him. And that requires courage, especially in the Middle Ages:

“Let Prior Aymer hold my pledge and that of this nameless vagrant, in token that, when the Knight of Ivanhoe comes within the four seas of Britain, he underlies the challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if he answer not, I will proclaim him as a coward on the walls of every Temple court in Europe.”

“It will not need,” said the Lady Rowena, breaking silence: “my voice shall be heard, if no other in this hall is raised, in behalf of the absent Ivanhoe. I affirm he will meet fairly every honourable challenge. Could my weak warrant add security to the inestimable pledge of this holy pilgrim, I would pledge name and fame that Ivanhoe gives this proud knight the meeting he desires.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Rowena knew what she wanted, she wasn’t power hungry, she loved Wilfred dearly and she faithfully waited for him.

Rowena represents a happy and peaceful childhood and the hope of a domestic and peaceful adult life as well, in contrast to the adventurous and perilous life of a knight errant or a crusader in his quest to conquer the Holy Land.

This conflict of the heart is vastly illustrated in the book, especially in these dialogues between Rebecca with Wilfred, and Cedric with King Richard - Coeur de Lion, who was still disguised as the Black Knight:

“Glory!” continued Rebecca; “alas! is the rusted mail which hangs as a hatchment over the champion’s dim and mouldering tomb, is the defaced sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly read to the inquiring pilgrim—are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice of every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may make others miserable? Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of a wandering bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of those ballads which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls over their evening ale?”

(...)

“I know,” he said, “that ye errant knights desire to carry your fortunes on the point of your lance, and reck not of land or goods; but war is a changeful mistress, and a home is sometimes desirable even to the champion whose trade is wandering. Thou hast earned one in the halls of Rotherwood, noble knight. Cedric has wealth enough to repair the injuries of fortune, and all he has is his deliverer’s. Come, therefore, to Rotherwood, not as a guest, but as a son or brother.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

At the end, to the vast dismay of many readers that, until today, root for a Wilfred and Rebecca happy ending romance, Wilfred chose Rowena, and by choosing his first love, he chose home, he chose peace.

Read more about Rowena Defense Squad here.

Now, let me tell you that the dynamics between Cedric and his dream of Saxon restoration, his ward the Lady Rowena, and Athelstane of Coningsburgh, the last descendant of the old Saxon kings of England, made me think, in a darker way, about the dynamics between Petyr Baelish and his dream of Westeros domination, his bastard “daughter” Alayne Stone (Sansa Stark), and Harry Harding AKA Harry the Heir.

Even Sweetrobin (Baelish’s stepson), like our good Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe (Cedric’s son), fits in the role of the unlucky suitor rejected by the lady’s guardian/father.

FAIR COMPLEXIONS AND INSIPIDITY

And now let me draw your attention to Scott’s seemingly disdain of people with fair complexions and Martin’s apparently homage to it. Let’s see:

As many readers have already noted, Scott seemed to think less of people with fair complexions, as we can see in these passages:

“Her complexion was exquisitely fair, but the noble cast of her head and features prevented the insipidity which sometimes attaches to fair beauties.”

(...)

“Her disposition was naturally that which physiognomists consider as proper to fair complexions—mild, timid, and gentle.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

So Rowena, despite her fair complexion, was blessed with beautiful features and not so blonde hair (“her profuse hair, of a colour betwixt brown and flaxen” & “graceful eyebrow of brown”), but she was not exempted of the natural disposition that came with a fair complexion, so she was mild, timid and gentle....

It is because of these kind of assertions that readers tend to perceive Rowena as bland and boring, especially in comparison with the dark haired Rebecca.

Now let’s see how two of Martin’s heroes (Dunk & Jon Snow) react to certain “fair ladies”

The banner-bearer was a tall knight in white scale armor chased with gold, a pure white cloak streaming from his shoulders. Two of the other riders were armored in white from head to heel as well. Kingsguard knights with the royal banner. Small wonder Lord Ashford and his sons came hurrying out the doors of the keep, and the fair maid too, a short girl with yellow hair and a round pink face. She does not seem so fair to me, Dunk thought. The puppet girl was prettier.

—The Hedge Knight

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn’t even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

So Dunk thought that Tanselle, with her olive skin and dark tresses, was prettier than the blonde Lady Ashford, and while our good Jon Snow didn’t directly compared the blonde Princess Myrcella with anyone, he described her as “shy,” “timid” “stupid” and “insipid” (now imagine what would Scott say about Targies?).

RADIANT LADIES

But it is very interesting than after describing blonde Princess Myrcella as “timid” and “insipid,” (like Scott did with Rowena), Jon Snow proceeded to describe his redhead half-sister Sansa as “radiant.”

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon’s vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister’s hair and his mother’s deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey’s pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell’s Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Jon later even said that blonde Prince Joffrey “looked like a girl.” Like his “insipid” little sister, perhaps? Bold of you Jon Snow! You can’t acknowledge Cersei and Jaime's beauty and then proceed to call their offsprings and mini me-s “insipid.”

Anyways, we all know that the Stark men (with the Stark look), likes their ladies with red hair.

And we all know that later Dunk got really passionated about a redhead lady called Rohanne Webber.

Back to Rowena, she was not once described as “radiant,” but our gallant Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe did describe her as “bright.”

And “bright” is a synonym of “radiant.”

“Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, “thou hast painted a hero; surely they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide the means of crossing the moat. Under such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be, there are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant emprize, since the difficulties which render it arduous render it also glorious. I swear by the honour of my house—I vow by the name of my bright ladylove, I would endure ten years’ captivity to fight one day by that good knight’s side in such a quarrel as this!”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

My bright ladylove.... *sigh*

Sorry Rebecca, this man was taken.

Read more about about the word “radiant” in ASOIAF in these posts:

Jon calling Sansa ‘radiant’ has romantic connotations

ASOIAF & A Song for Lya

Candles and torches can’t match a radiant sun

A FEAST OF THE SWORDS

While reading the following passage:

“Pledge me in a cup of wine, Sir Templar,” said Cedric, “and fill another to the Abbot, while I look back some thirty years to tell you another tale. As Cedric the Saxon then was, his plain English tale needed no garnish from French troubadours when it was told in the ear of beauty; and the field of Northallerton, upon the day of the Holy Standard, could tell whether the Saxon war-cry was not heard as far within the ranks of the Scottish host as the cri de guerre of the boldest Norman baron. To the memory of the brave who fought there! Pledge me, my guests.” He drank deep, and went on with increasing warmth—“Ay, that was a day of cleaving of shields, when a hundred banners were bent forward over the heads of the valiant, and blood flowed round like water, and death was held better than flight. A Saxon bard had called it a feast of the swords—a gathering of the eagles to the prey—the clashing of bills upon shield and helmet, the shouting of battle more joyful than the clamour of a bridal. But our bards are no more,” he said; “our deeds are lost in those of another race; our language—our very name—is hastening to decay, and none mourns for it save one solitary old man. (...)"

—IVANHOE: A Romance

I wondered if Cedric’s words were the inspiration for GRRM to name the third and four ASOIAF books “A Storm of Swords” and “A Feast for Crows,” because these lines: “A feast of the swords” and “A gathering of the eagles to the prey” are basically the same, and they come from the same context as well, fights, battles, war:

He found himself outside the city, walking through a world without color. Ravens soared through a grey sky on wide black wings, while carrion crows rose from their feasts in furious clouds wherever he set his steps.

—A Clash of Kings - Tyrion XV

High, low, overhand, he rained down steel upon her. Left, right, backslash, swinging so hard that sparks flew when the swords came together, upswing, sideslash, overhand, always attacking, moving into her, step and slide, strike and step, step and strike, hacking, slashing, faster, faster, faster . . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime III

The rain was falling from a black iron sky, pricking the green and brown torrent with ten thousand swords.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya IX

It could be just a coincidence, but the images and metaphors evoked by Cedric really got me thinking about the ASOIAF books titles.

A TOURNEY NEAR A MEADOW

A major event in IVANHOE is the tourney, or Passage of Arms, that happens at the town of Ashby, also called Ashby-de-la-Zouche. But more precisely, the tourney takes place near a meadow:

The passage of arms, as it was called, which was to take place at Ashby, in the county of Leicester, as champions of the first renown were to take the field in the presence of Prince John himself, who was expected to grace the lists, had attracted universal attention, and an immense confluence of persons of all ranks hastened upon the appointed morning to the place of combat.

The scene was singularly romantic. On the verge of a wood, which approached to within a mile of the town of Ashby, was an extensive meadow of the finest and most beautiful green turf, surrounded on one side by the forest, and fringed on the other by straggling oak-trees, some of which had grown to an immense size.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

The major event of the first Dunk & Egg tale, The Hedge Knight, is also a tourney that takes place near a meadow:

On the outskirts of the great meadow, a good half mile from town and castle, he found a place where a bend in a brook had formed a deep pool. Reeds grew thick along its edge, and a tall, leafy elm presided over all. The spring grass there was as green as any knight’s banner and soft to the touch. It was a pretty spot, and no one had yet laid claim to it. This will be my pavilion, Dunk told himself, a pavilion roofed with leaves, greener even than the banners of the Tyrells and the Estermonts.

—The Hedge Knight

As you can see, GRRM took inspiration from the Passage of Arms at Ashby Meadow from IVANHOE, for the Tourney at Ashford Meadow from The Hedge Knight.

Later, GRRM also wrote about a tourney as the major event of the third Dunk & Egg tale, The Mystery Knight.

QUEEN OF LOVE AND BEAUTY

Art credit: Hulton Archive

As it was pointed out back in 2005, the election of the Queen of Love and Beauty probably has its origins in IVANHOE:

Opposite to this royal gallery was another, elevated to the same height, on the western side of the lists; and more gaily, if less sumptuously decorated, than that destined for the Prince himself. A train of pages and of young maidens, the most beautiful who could be selected, gaily dressed in fancy habits of green and pink, surrounded a throne decorated in the same colours. Among pennons and flags bearing wounded hearts, burning hearts, bleeding hearts, bows and quivers, and all the commonplace emblems of the triumphs of Cupid, a blazoned inscription informed the spectators, that this seat of honour was designed for “La Royne de las Beaulte et des Amours”. But who was to represent the Queen of Beauty and of Love on the present occasion no one was prepared to guess.

(...)

Whether from indecision or some other motive of hesitation, the champion of the day remained stationary for more than a minute, while the eyes of the silent audience were riveted upon his motions; and then, gradually and gracefully sinking the point of his lance, he deposited the coronet which it supported at the feet of the fair Rowena. The trumpets instantly sounded, while the heralds proclaimed the Lady Rowena the Queen of Beauty and of Love for the ensuing day, menacing with suitable penalties those who should be disobedient to her authority. They then repeated their cry of “Largesse,” to which Cedric, in the height of his joy, replied by an ample donative, and to which Athelstane, though less promptly, added one equally large.

There was some murmuring among the damsels of Norman descent, who were as much unused to see the preference given to a Saxon beauty as the Norman nobles were to sustain defeat in the games of chivalry which they themselves had introduced. But these sounds of disaffection were drowned by the popular shout of “Long live the Lady Rowena, the chosen and lawful Queen of Love and of Beauty!” To which many in the lower area added, “Long live the Saxon Princess! long live the race of the immortal Alfred!”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

But GRRM is also a great fan of Arthurian Legends where we can find more examples of knights giving a golden circlet or another jewell to the “fairest lady” or “Queen of Beauty and of Love” at a tournament:

[…] Ah, said the knight, that is the best knight I trow in the world, and the most man of prowess, and he hath been served so as he was even more than ten times, and his name hight Sir Pelleas, and he loveth a great lady in this country and her name is Ettard. And so when he loved her there was cried in this country a great jousts three days, and all the knights of this country were there and gentlewomen, and who that proved him the best knight should have a passing good sword and a circlet of gold, and the circlet the knight should give it to the fairest lady that was at the jousts. And this knight Sir Pelleas was the best knight that was there, and there were five hundred knights, but there was never man that ever Sir Pelleas met withal but he struck him down, or else from his horse; and every day of three days he struck down twenty knights, therefore they gave him the prize, and forthwithal he went thereas the Lady Ettard was, and gave her the circlet, and said openly she was the fairest lady that there was, and that would he prove upon any knight that would say nay.

—Le Morte D'Arthur - BOOK IV - CHAPTER XX - How a knight and a dwarf strove for a lady, by Thomas Malory (1485)

‘Lead then,’ she said; and through the woods they went. And while they rode, the meaning in his eyes, His tenderness of manner, and chaste awe, His broken utterances and bashfulness, Were all a burthen to her, and in her heart She muttered, 'I have lighted on a fool, Raw, yet so stale!’ But since her mind was bent On hearing, after trumpet blown, her name And title, 'Queen of Beauty,’ in the lists Cried—and beholding him so strong, she thought That peradventure he will fight for me, And win the circlet: therefore flattered him, Being so gracious, that he wellnigh deemed His wish by hers was echoed; and her knights And all her damsels too were gracious to him, For she was a great lady.

And when they reached Caerleon, ere they past to lodging, she, Taking his hand, 'O the strong hand,’ she said, 'See! look at mine! but wilt thou fight for me, And win me this fine circlet, Pelleas, That I may love thee?’

(…)

Then blushed and brake the morning of the jousts, And this was called 'The Tournament of Youth:’ For Arthur, loving his young knight, withheld His older and his mightier from the lists, That Pelleas might obtain his lady’s love, According to her promise, and remain Lord of the tourney. And Arthur had the jousts Down in the flat field by the shore of Usk Holden: the gilded parapets were crowned With faces, and the great tower filled with eyes Up to the summit, and the trumpets blew. There all day long Sir Pelleas kept the field With honour: so by that strong hand of his The sword and golden circlet were achieved.

Then rang the shout his lady loved: the heat Of pride and glory fired her face; her eye Sparkled; she caught the circlet from his lance, And there before the people crowned herself: So for the last time she was gracious to him.

—Idylls of the King - Pelleas and Ettarre, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1859 - 1885)

So Tristram won, and Lancelot gave, the gems, Not speaking other word than “Hast thou won? Art thou the purest, brother? See, the hand Wherewith thou takest this, is red!” to whom Tristram, half plagued by Lancelot’s languorous mood, Made answer, “Ay, but wherefore toss me this Like a dry bone cast to some hungry hound? Lest be thy fair Queen’s fantasy. Strength of heart And might of limb, but mainly use and skill, Are winners in this pastime of our King. My hand—belike the lance hath dript upon it— No blood of mine, I trow; but O chief knight, Right arm of Arthur in the battlefield, Great brother, thou nor I have made the world; Be happy in thy fair Queen as I in mine.”

And Tristram round the gallery made his horse Caracole; then bowed his homage, bluntly saying, “Fair damsels, each to him who worships each Sole Queen of Beauty and of love, behold This day my Queen of Beauty is not here.” And most of these were mute, some angered, one Murmuring, “All courtesy is dead,” and one, “The glory of our Round Table is no more.”

(...)

Then in the light’s last glimmer Tristram showed And swung the ruby carcanet. She cried, “The collar of some Order, which our King Hath newly founded, all for thee, my soul, For thee, to yield thee grace beyond thy peers.”

“Not so, my Queen,” he said, “but the red fruit Grown on a magic oak-tree in mid-heaven, And won by Tristram as a tourney-prize, And hither brought by Tristram for his last Love-offering and peace-offering unto thee.”

—Idylls of the King - The Last Tournament, by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1859 - 1885)

Wilfred, under the disguise of a Mystery Knight, crowning Rowena, a Saxon Princess, over the Norman ladies, during a tourney organized by Prince John and his retinue of Norman lords, reminded me of Rhaegar Targaryen crowning Lyanna Stark over his own wife, Princess Elia Martell.

But by crowning Rowena, Wilfred not only offended Prince John and the Norman lords and ladies, he also offended Athelstane of Coningsburgh, Rowena’s betrothed.

So great was the offense to Athelstane, that he decided to join the team of the Norman lords to fight against the team of the Mystery Knight (Wilfred) at the melee during the second day of the tournament:

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with the Lady Rowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane. This Saxon lord had arrayed his tall and strong person in armour, in order to take his place among the combatants; and, considerably to the surprise of Cedric, had chosen to enlist himself on the part of the Knight Templar. The Saxon, indeed, had remonstrated strongly with his friend upon the injudicious choice he had made of his party; but he had only received that sort of answer usually given by those who are more obstinate in following their own course than strong in justifying it.

His best, if not his only, reason for adhering to the party of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the prudence to keep to himself. Though his apathy of disposition prevented his taking any means to recommend himself to the Lady Rowena, he was, nevertheless, by no means insensible to her charms, and considered his union with her as a matter already fixed beyond doubt by the assent of Cedric and her other friends. It had therefore been with smothered displeasure that the proud though indolent Lord of Coningsburgh beheld the victor of the preceding day select Rowena as the object of that honour which it became his privilege to confer. In order to punish him for a preference which seemed to interfere with his own suit, Athelstane, confident of his strength, and to whom his flatterers, at least, ascribed great skill in arms, had determined not only to deprive the Disinherited Knight of his powerful succour, but, if an opportunity should occur, to make him feel the weight of his battle-axe.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

A knight crowning a lady betrothed to another as his Queen of Love and Beauty? An offended betrothed? A battle axe? This is Robert Baratheon and his war hammer against Rhaegar Targaryen all over again....

QUEEN IMAGERY

Art credit: Charles Edmund Brock

Also take note how Rowena is surrounded by “queen imagery.” She was a Saxon Princess betrothed with a Saxon claimant to the throne of England, just like Sansa Stark was betrothed with Joffrey Baratheon, the heir to the Iron Throne.

Rowena was crowned Queen of Love and Beauty during the tourney at Ashby by her first love Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe, disguised as the Disinherited Knight, the same way Ser Loras Tyrell (Sansa’s crush), known as the Knight of Flowers, unofficially crowned Sansa Stark as Queen of Love and Beauty during the Hand’s Tourney celebrated in Kings Landing.

Take note that Loras played a reverse Rhaegar to Sansa's Lyanna during the Hands's Tourney. Rhaegar was adorned with RED rubies and crowned Lyanna with BLUE roses; while Loras was adorned with BLUE sapphires and gifted Sansa with a RED rose. The author's intention to make us think about the Great Tourney at Harrenhal is hidden at plain sight.

And finally, Rowena had a throne:

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each of which was composed of a solid beam of oak, led him to the apartment of the Lady Rowena, the rude magnificence of which corresponded to the respect which was paid to her by the lord of the mansion. The walls were covered with embroidered hangings, on which different-coloured silks, interwoven with gold and silver threads, had been employed, with all the art of which the age was capable, to represent the sports of hunting and hawking. The bed was adorned with the same rich tapestry, and surrounded with curtains dyed with purple. The seats had also their stained coverings, and one, which was higher than the rest, was accommodated with a footstool of ivory, curiously carved.

(...)

The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants standing at her back, and arranging her hair ere she lay down to rest, was seated in the sort of throne already mentioned, and looked as if born to exact general homage. The Pilgrim acknowledged her claim to it by a low genuflection.

“Rise, Palmer,” said she graciously. ”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Rowena is often depicted seated on her high seat or throne (see the illustrations above), that curiously enough reminded me a lot of the Queen in the North’s Throne.

Read more about Sansa Stark & Queen Imagery in these posts:

QUEEN SANSA

QUEENS = Alyssa/Cersei; Alysanne/Sansa; Rhaena/Margaery; and Elinor/Daenerys

Sansa - Alayne - Alysanne - Sara - Sansara - ALL the similarities between Good Queen Alysanne & Sansa

Eleanor of Aquitaine = GRRM inspiration for Good Queen Alysanne, Catelyn Stark, Brienne of Tarth and Sansa Stark

THE ARMS OF COURTESY

When I read the following passage:

Secondly, any knight proposing to combat might, if he pleased, select a special antagonist from among the challengers, by touching his shield. If he did so with the reverse of his lance, the trial of skill was made with what were called the arms of courtesy, that is, with lances at whose extremity a piece of round flat board was fixed, so that no danger was encountered, save from the shock of the horses and riders. But if the shield was touched with the sharp end of the lance, the combat was understood to be at outrance, that is, the knights were to fight with sharp weapons, as in actual battle.

—Ivanhoe - a Romance - Sir Walter Scott

Especially this part: “the arms of courtesy, that is, with lances at whose extremity a piece of round flat board was fixed, so that no danger was encountered, save from the shock of the horses and riders.”

I immediately thought of Sansa’s iconic line: “courtesy is a lady’s armor,” because, like the “arms of courtesy” in a tournament, courtesy is for Sansa an instrument that, although it cannot physically hurt anyone, can still provide protection against her enemies

Also, the two ends of a lance determining if the joust would be with the “arms of courtesy” or with sharp weapons, reminded me of the two Stark sisters being the two sides of the same coin: Sansa with her sewing needles and Arya with her sword Needle.

MYSTERY KNIGHTS AND TREE SIGILS

Art credit: Edward A. Wilson

Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe joined the tourney at Ashby-de-la-Zouche as a Mystery Knight designated as the “Disinherited Knight” by the inscription on his shield, the Spanish word “Desdichado,” meaning precisely “Disinherited.”

All eyes were turned to see the new champion which these sounds announced, and no sooner were the barriers opened than he paced into the lists. As far as could be judged of a man sheathed in armour, the new adventurer did not greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to be rather slender than strongly made. His suit of armour was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold, and the device on his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, with the Spanish word Desdichado, signifying Disinherited. He was mounted on a gallant black horse, and as he passed through the lists he gracefully saluted the Prince and the ladies by lowering his lance. The dexterity with which he managed his steed, and something of youthful grace which he displayed in his manner, won him the favour of the multitude, which some of the lower classes expressed by calling out, “Touch Ralph de Vipont's shield—touch the Hospitallers shield; he has the least sure seat, he is your cheapest bargain.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

But the the Spanish word “Desdichado” has other acceptations that translated to English mean “joyless” or “unhappy,” which made me think about another Mystery Knight: “The Knight of Tears” AKA Aemon the Dragonknight:

Bran nodded sagely. Mystery knights would oft appear at tourneys, with helms concealing their faces, and shields that were either blank or bore some strange device. Sometimes they were famous champions in disguise. The Dragonknight once won a tourney as the Knight of Tears, so he could name his sister the queen of love and beauty in place of the king’s mistress.

—A Storm of Swords - Bran II

Wilfred was indeed a “Desdichado.” His father separated him from Rowena, his first love, and from his own home and fortune, he was disinherited and unhappy, a man in tears, just like Aemon the Dragonknight, “The Knight of Tears”, and his doomed love for his brother’s wife.

But Wilfred also bore a tree on his shield: “a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots” as a homage to the forest of oak-tress that surrounded the meadow:

—IVANHOE: A Romance

And this is exactly what happened with Dunk in The Hedge Knight. Dunk chose an elm tree as part of the device to be painted in his shield, as a homage to the huge elm tree by the pool near Ashford, the place he turned into his pavilion:

(...)

“What color paint do you have?” he asked, hoping that might give him an idea.

“I can mix paints to make any color you want.”

The old man’s brown had always seemed drab to Dunk. “The field should be the color of sunset,” he said suddenly. “The old man liked sunsets. And the device…”

“An elm tree,” said Egg. “A big elm tree, like the one by the pool, with a brown trunk and green branches.”

“Yes,” Dunk said. “That would serve. An elm tree…but with a shooting star above. Could you do that?”

The girl nodded. “Give me the shield. I’ll paint it this very night and have it back to you on the morrow.”

—The Hedge Knight

And a tree on a shield also made me think about another important Mystery Knight from ASOIAF, the “Knight of the Laughing Tree” AKA Lyanna Stark and the weirwood tree with a laughing face on her shield:

But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared in the lists.

Bran nodded sagely. [...] “It was the little crannogman, I bet.”

“No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.”

(...)

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.”

—A Storm of Swords - Bran II

The same way that Dunk chose an elm tree that was located next to a pool, as the device on his shield, Lyanna, as a member of House Stark that worshipped the Old Gods, chose a weirwood tree as the device on her shield. Near Harrenhal there was the Isle of Faces, full of weirwood trees with their carved faces, at the centre of the Gods Eye lake. And take note that The Heart Tree at Winterfell is also located next to a pool.

Read more about about Dunk’s shield and the hints of Jon Snow’s true parentage in these posts:

DUNK SNOW - Parallels and Similarities between Ser Duncan the Tall (Dunk) and Jon Snow

THE BLACK PRINCE WITH THE WHITE GUARDIAN - Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, the Tourney at Ashford Meadow and the songs about Florian and Jonquil.

Now, particularly about the laughing tree, Lyanna laughed at everyone, because she was no knight but a young girl. The same way Dunk laughed at everyone because he was no knight at all, he was never anointed as one.

And Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe, somehow despite being a “Desdichado,” also laughed at everyone because he was a Saxon knight that favored a Norman monarch, but not Prince John, the organizer of the tourney, but King Richard - Coeur de Lion.

Also the laughing tree gives us the image of the laughing face of a jester or a fool, that abounds to the “knight and fool imagery” that surrounds many characters of IVANHOE and ASOIAF.

Continuing with the parallels, Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe, as the Disinherited Knight, beat, among others, three Norman knights: Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf and Philip de Malvoisin, three of the main bad guys of the story, that were conspiring with Prince John to usurp the throne of England to the detriment of King Richard - Coeur de Lion.

The same way, Lyanna Stark, as the Knight of the Laughing Tree, also beat three southern knights, the porcupine knight (House Blount), the pitchfork knight (House Haigh), and the knight of the twin towers (House Frey), whose squires bullied Howland Reed (vassal of House Stark).

BAD BOYS

BRIAN DE BOIS-GILBERT

Pictures credit: Edited by me from: 1. Sam Neill as Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert for the film Ivanhoe (1982); 2. House Stark Sigil stained glass window by Spin Dunbar; and 3. House Corbray of Heart's Home Sigil.

Brian de Bois-Gilbert was a Templar knight, an old creep in his forties predating young girls just because his first love left him for some simple guy with no great money or glory like the celebrated knight of the Temple that fought in the Holy Land... A combination of Jorah Mormont, Petyr Baelish, Tyrion Lannister and the hound.... Pathetic.... But, unlike me, most of the readers and GRRM himself seem to love him....

Anyways, Bois-Gilbert’s personal sigil reminded me of House Corbray’s sigil:

Lastly, he laid aside his shield, which had received some little damage, and received another from his squires. His first had only borne the general device of his rider, representing two knights riding upon one horse, an emblem expressive of the original humility and poverty of the Templars, qualities which they had since exchanged for the arrogance and wealth that finally occasioned their suppression. Bois-Guilbert’s new shield bore a raven in full flight, holding in its claws a skull, and bearing the motto, Gare le Corbeau.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Coat of armsThree black ravens in flight, holding three red hearts, on a white field (Argent, three ravens volant sable, each clutching in their claws a heart gules).

—House Corbray of Heart's Home

So, it could be that GRRM took inspiration in Bois-Gilbert’s sigil to create House Corbray’s sigil.

GRRM’s affection for Bois-Gilbert could also explain why he commissioned the glass artist Spin Dunbar, a House Corbray Sigil stained glass window, among other great houses of Westeros, like Stark, Arryn, Lannister, Greyjoy and Targaryen.

And this made me think about Lyn Corbray, that at this point of the story is in the Vale next to Alayne Stone (Sansa Stark), and maybe planning some dubious deed like kidnapping a maiden or something.... More about this later.

REGINALD FRONT-DE-BOEUF

I’m only mentioning this cruel and perverse character because of his name and sigil. Front de Boeuf means Ox face or Ox forehead and his sigil was a black bull’s head:

The gigantic Front-de-Bœuf, armed in sable armour, was the first who took the field. He bore on a white shield a black bull’s head, half defaced by the numerous encounters which he had undergone, and bearing the arrogant motto, Cave, Adsum. Over this champion the Disinherited Knight obtained a slight but decisive advantage. Both Knights broke their lances fairly, but Front-de-Bœuf, who lost a stirrup in the encounter, was adjudged to have the disadvantage.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Front de Boeuf was a huge and strong man, described as gigantic, and he was also a cruel and perverse man, so of course this villain reminded me of Gregor Clegane the Mountain.

Also the black bull’s head of his sigil reminded me of Gendry’s helmet and somehow the hound’s helmet as well....

MAURICE DE BRACY

Maurice De Bracy was a mercenary knight at the order of Prince John:

“The Saxon porker,” he said, “is either asleep or minds me not. Prick him with your lance, De Bracy,” speaking to a knight who rode near him, the leader of a band of free companions, or condottieri; that is, of mercenaries belonging to no particular nation, but attached for the time to any prince by whom they were paid.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

De Bracy wasn’t as evil as Bois-Gilbert or Front-de-Bœuf, he was just an ambitious fool that Rowena reduced into a puddle of shame at the end.

FOLDED HANDS AND TEARLESS EYES

Moving forward, the guarded reaction of Rowena to the revelation of the Disinherited Knight’s true identity and to Wilfred passing out at her feet due to his wounds at the en of the melee, reminded me of Sansa’s reaction to the death of Ser Hugh of the Vale at the hands of Gregor Clegane:

When the helmet was removed, the well-formed yet sun-burnt features of a young man of twenty-five were seen, amidst a profusion of short fair hair. His countenance was as pale as death, and marked in one or two places with streaks of blood.

Rowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered a faint shriek; but at once summoning up the energy of her disposition, and compelling herself, as it were, to proceed, while her frame yet trembled with the violence of sudden emotion, she placed upon the drooping head of the victor the “splendid chaplet which was the destined reward of the day, and pronounced in a clear and distinct tone these words: “I bestow on thee this chaplet, Sir Knight, as the meed of valour assigned to this day’s victor.” Here she paused a moment, and then firmly added, “And upon brows more worthy could a wreath of chivalry never be placed!” The knight stooped his head and kissed the hand of the lovely Sovereign by whom his valour had been rewarded; and then, sinking yet farther forward, lay prostrate at her feet.

(...)

“I was somewhat afflicted,” he said, “to see the grief of the Queen of Love and Beauty, whose sovereignty of a day this event has changed into mourning. I am not a man to be moved by a woman’s lament for her lover, but this same Lady Rowena suppressed her sorrow with such dignity of manner that it could only be discovered by her folded hands and her tearless eye, which trembled as it remained fixed on the lifeless form before her.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Despite Ser Hugh of the Vale being nothing to Sansa, her reaction to his death was identical to Rowena’s reaction at a wounded and unconscious Wilfred, with folded hands and no tears:

Jeyne covered her eyes whenever a man fell, like a frightened little girl, but Sansa was made of sterner stuff. A great lady knew how to behave at tournaments. Even Septa Mordane noted her composure and nodded in approval.

(...)

The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated. The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.

Jeyne Poole wept so hysterically that Septa Mordane finally took her off to regain her composure, but Sansa sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching with a strange fascination. She had never seen a man die before. She ought to be crying too, she thought, but the tears would not come. Perhaps she had used up all her tears for Lady and Bran. It would be different if it had been Jory or Ser Rodrik or Father, she told herself. The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it. And now the world would forget his name too, Sansa realized; there would be no songs sung for him. That was sad.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

I’ve always admired Sansa’s ability to suppress her emotions and vailed them with courtesy (THE FOLDED HANDS!!!), so reading Rowena’s emotions seeing Wilfred for the first time after his exile and how that happiness shortly morphed into sorrow, strongly reminded me of Sansa and made me love Rowena in a similar way.

These passages from Sansa and Rowena also reminded me of this scene from Eugénie Grandet, where the heroine of the story had to hide her sorrow at the betrayal of her only love, her cousin Charles, with a courteous smile in front of everyone who was expecting a flood of tears:

She appeared in the evening at the hour when the usual company began to arrive. Never was the old hall so full as on this occasion. The news of Charles’s return and his foolish treachery had spread through the whole town. But however watchful the curiosity of the visitors might be, it was left unsatisfied. Eugenie, who expected scrutiny, allowed none of the cruel emotions that wrung her soul to appear on the calm surface of her face. She was able to show a smiling front in answer to all who tried to testify their interest by mournful looks or melancholy speeches. She hid her misery behind a veil of courtesy.

—Eugénie Grandet

Also look at this:

A lady’s armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry.

—The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

Courtesy is a lady’s armor... Indeed.

NO ONE WILL EVER MARRY ME FOR LOVE

Rowena reminded me of Sansa in so many ways, she was also the object of desire for many greedy men who wanted to marry her to restore ancient claims to the England throne or to increase their riches.

The same way Rowena’s guardian, Cedric, betrothed her with Athelstane of Coningsburgh in order to restore Saxon royalty and claim the throne of England, Prince John gave Rowena’s hand in marriage to Maurice de Bracy, in order to cement the Norman conquest over Saxon lands:

“We shall cheer her sorrows,” said Prince John, “and amend her blood, by wedding her to a Norman. She seems a minor, and must therefore be at our royal disposal in marriage. How sayst thou, De Bracy? What thinkst thou of gaining fair lands and livings, by wedding a Saxon, after the fashion of the followers of the Conqueror?”

“If the lands are to my liking, my lord,” answered De Bracy, “it will be hard to displease me with a bride; and deeply will I hold myself bound to your Highness for a good deed, which will fulfil all promises made in favour of your servant and vassal.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

This is Tywin Lannister saying “the key to the north is Sansa Stark” when he informed Tyrion that he must marry Sansa at once and reclaim the North to the crown, all over again.

TRUE KNIGHT

Art credit: John Rush

The true knights of Ivanhoe are of course Wilfred of Ivanhoe and King Richard - Coeur de Lion, but one can argue that they were more fools than true knights.

If you want to find the real true knights of the story you need to look in the direction of Wamba, the actual fool, and Gurth, the swineherd. They were also slaves, property of Cedric the Saxon, which made their role as true knights even more compelling.

But let’s talk of King Richard - Coeur de Lion here, who first appeared in the story disguised as a Mystery Knight designated as the “Black Knight”:

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight a champion in black armour, mounted on a black horse, large of size, tall, and to all appearance powerful and strong, like the rider by whom he was mounted. This knight, who bore on his shield no device of any kind, had hitherto evinced very little interest in the event of the fight, beating off with seeming ease those combatants who attacked him, but neither pursuing his advantages nor himself assailing any one. In short, he had hitherto acted the part rather of a spectator than of a party in the tournament, a circumstance which procured him among the spectators the name of Le Noir Faineant, or the Black Sluggard.

(...)

And now, valiant knight, may I pray ye for the name of my honourable guest?”

“Truly,” said the knight, “Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst, men call me in these parts the Black Knight; many, sir, add to it the epithet of Sluggard, whereby I am no way ambitious to be distinguished.”

(...)

“Deny it not, Sir Knight, you are he who decided the victory to the advantage of the English against the strangers on the second day of the tournament at Ashby.”

“And what follows if you guess truly, good yeoman?” replied the knight. “I should in that case hold you,” replied the yeoman, “a friend to the weaker party.”

“Such is the duty of a true knight at least,” replied the Black Champion; “and I would not willingly that there were reason to think otherwise of me.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

King Richard - Coeur de Lion saved Wilfred twice in the story, not to mention all the times that he probably helped Wilfred during their adventures at Holy Land....

Indeed, King Richard - Coeur de Lion, disguised as the Black Knight, saved Wilfred at the melee, when he was fighting against three powerful opponents at the same time: Rowena’s offended betrothed Athelstane of Coningsburgh, the Templar Bois-Gilbert and the gigantic Front-De-Beouf. Wilfred was about to lose and even worse, to die, at the hands of those three men, until the Black Knight came to his rescue and defeated his adversaries, getting the victory of the tournament.

Later, King Richard - Coeur de Lion rescued a wounded and kidnapped Wilfred from the flames that were consuming Torquilstone:

“I had not found thee, Wilfred,” said the Black Knight, who at that instant entered the apartment, “but for thy shouts.”

“If thou be’st true knight,” said Wilfred, “think not of me—pursue yon ravisher—save the Lady Rowena—look to the noble Cedric!”

“In their turn,” answered he of the Fetterlock, “but thine is first.”

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as much ease as the Templar had carried off Rebecca, rushed with him to the postern, and having there delivered his burden to the care of two yeomen, he again entered the castle to assist in the rescue of the other prisoners.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

King Richard - Coeur de Lion performed the most valiant and formidable chivalric deeds of the story. Wilfred was his fair maiden and also the voice of the reason, because Richard was happy playing the gallant knight here and there neglecting his real and royal duty of claiming his throne and rule his country (hence Scott also designated him as Le Noir Faineant, or the Black Sluggard). If not for Wilfred, constantly reminding him his duty, Richard would still be playing the knight errant with Robin Hood & Co.

Sounds familiar? Look at this:

“Good man!” The king clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve half a mind to leave them all behind and just keep going.”

A smile touched Ned’s lips. “I do believe you mean it.”

“I do, I do,” the king said. “What do you say, Ned? Just you and me, two vagabond knights on the kingsroad, our swords at our sides and the gods know what in front of us, and maybe a farmer’s daughter or a tavern wench to warm our beds tonight.”

“Would that we could,” Ned said, “but we have duties now, my liege…to the realm, to our children, I to my lady wife and you to your queen. We are not the boys we were.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard II

Coeur de Lion was a fool (and Robert too), as I said before.

And all this talk about knights and fools inevitably reminded me of Sansa Stark, the ASOIAF character who is most surrounded by knight and fool imagery. More about this later.

ABDUCTING A MAIDEN AFTER A TOURNEY IN ORDER TO MARRY HER

After the tourney at Ashby a kidnapping happened. A kidnapping that was intended to cement a marriage.

Sounds familiar?

What on earth dost thou purpose by this absurd disguise at a moment so urgent?”

“To get me a wife,” answered De Bracy coolly, “after the manner of the tribe of Benjamin.”

“The tribe of Benjamin?” said Fitzurse; “I comprehend thee not.”

“Wert thou not in presence yester-even,” said De Bracy, “when we heard the Prior Aymer tell us a tale in reply to the romance which was sung by the Minstrel?—He told how, long since in Palestine, a deadly feud arose between the tribe of Benjamin and the rest of the Israelitish nation; and how they cut to pieces well-nigh all the chivalry of that tribe; and how they swore by our blessed Lady, that they would not permit those who remained to marry in their lineage; and how they became grieved for their vow, and sent to consult his holiness the Pope how they might be absolved from it; and how, by the advice of the Holy Father, the youth of the tribe of Benjamin carried off from a superb tournament all the ladies who were there present, and thus won them wives without the consent either of their brides or their brides’ families.”

“I have heard the story,” said Fitzurse, “though either the Prior or thou has made some singular alterations in date and circumstances.”

“I tell thee,” said De Bracy, “that I mean to purvey me a wife after the fashion of the tribe of Benjamin; which is as much as to say, that in this same equipment I will fall upon that herd of Saxon bullocks, who have this night left the castle, and carry off from them the lovely Rowena.”

“Art thou mad, De Bracy?” said Fitzurse. “Bethink thee that, though the men be Saxons, they are rich and powerful, and regarded with the more respect by their countrymen, that wealth and honour are but the lot of few of Saxon descent.”

“And should belong to none,” said De Bracy; “the work of the Conquest should be completed.”

“This is no time for it at least,” said Fitzurse “the approaching crisis renders the favour of the multitude indispensable, and Prince John cannot refuse justice to any one who injures their favourites.”

“Let him grant it, if he dare,” said De Bracy; “he will soon see the difference betwixt the support of such a lusty lot of spears as mine, and that of a heartless mob of Saxon churls. Yet I mean no immediate discovery of myself. Seem I not in this garb as bold a forester as ever blew horn? The blame of the violence shall rest with the outlaws of the Yorkshire forests. I have sure spies on the Saxon’s motions—To-night they sleep in the convent of Saint Wittol, or Withold, or whatever they call that churl of a Saxon Saint at Burton-on-Trent. Next day’s march brings them within our reach, and, falcon-ways, we swoop on them at once. Presently after I will appear in mine own shape, play the courteous knight, rescue the unfortunate and afflicted fair one from the hands of the rude ravishers, conduct her to Front-de-Bœuf’s Castle, or to Normandy, if it should be necessary, and produce her not again to her kindred until she be the bride and dame of Maurice de Bracy.”

“A marvellously sage plan,” said Fitzurse, “and, as I think, not entirely of thine own device.—Come, be frank, De Bracy, who aided thee in the invention? and who is to assist in the execution? for, as I think, thine own band lies as far off as York.”

“Marry, if thou must needs know,” said De Bracy, “it was the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert that shaped out the enterprise, which the adventure of the men of Benjamin suggested to me. He is to aid me in the onslaught, and he and his followers will personate the outlaws, from whom my valorous arm is, after changing my garb, to rescue the lady.”

“By my halidome,” said Fitzurse, “the plan was worthy of your united wisdom! and thy prudence, De Bracy, is most especially manifested in the project of leaving the lady in the hands of thy worthy confederate. Thou mayst, I think, succeed in taking her from her Saxon friends, but how thou wilt rescue her afterwards from the clutches of Bois-Guilbert seems considerably more doubtful—He is a falcon well accustomed to pounce on a partridge, and to hold his prey fast.”

“He is a Templar,” said De Bracy, “and cannot therefore rival me in my plan of wedding this heiress;—and to attempt aught dishonourable against the intended bride of De Bracy—By Heaven! were he a whole Chapter of his Order in his single person, he dared not do me such an injury!”

“Then, since nought that I can say,” said Fitzurse, “will put this folly from thy imagination, for well I know the obstinacy of thy disposition, at least waste as little time as possible; let not thy folly be lasting as well as untimely.”

“I tell thee,” answered De Bracy, “that it will be the work of a few hours, and I shall be at York at the head of my daring and valorous fellows, as ready to support any bold design as thy policy can be to form one. But I hear my comrades assembling, and the steeds stamping and neighing in the outer court. Farewell. I go, like a true knight, to win the smiles of beauty.”

“Like a true knight!” repeated Fitzurse, looking after him; “like a fool, I should say, or like a child, who will leave the most serious and needful occupation to chase the down of the thistle that drives past him. But it is with such tools that I must work—and for whose advantage? For that of a Prince as unwise as he is profligate, and as likely to be an ungrateful master as he has already proved a rebellious son and an unnatural brother. But he—he too is but one of the tools with which I labour; and, proud as he is, should he presume to separate his interest from mine, this is a secret which he shall soon learn.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Rhaegar, is that you?

Was Rhaegar trying to perform a wedding in the manner of the tribe of Benjaming? Or more precisely, Freefolk style?

So, Rowena and Rebecca were abducted after the tourney at Ashby by two men, De Bracy and Bois-Gilbert, who wanted to make the girls their wife and mistress respectively. Both girls were captives at Torquilstone, a castle that ended burned and destroyed.

The same way Lyanna was “abducted” by Rhaegar, who later impregnated her and put her in a tower, the so called Tower of Joy. After Lyanna’s death Eddard torn the tower down.

Now, Lyn Corbray being a dubious character, bearing a similar sigil to Bois-Gilbert’s sigil, and being so near to Alayne Stone (Sansa Stark) at the Vale, and with a tourney about to start at the Gates of the Moon, got me thinking about the possibility of Sansa being abducted by Corbray, with the help of some other dubious knights (Ser Byron, Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich), that are also at the Vale for the tourney. All of them supposedly under Petyr Baelish commands....

TAMING A NOT SO FIERCE BEAST

As I said before, Maurice De Bracy wasn’t as evil as Bois-Gilbert and Front-de-Bœuf, he was just an ambitious fool that Rowena reduced into a puddle of shame at the end. Let’s see:

After kidnapping Rowena, De Bracy wore his best attire and presented himself to his intended bride:

He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, garnished with a golden brooch, representing St. Michael trampling down the Prince of Evil. With this, he gently motioned the lady to a seat; and, as she still retained her standing posture, the knight ungloved his right hand, and motioned to conduct her thither. But Rowena declined, by her gesture, the proffered compliment, and replied, “If I be in the presence of my jailor, Sir Knight—nor will circumstances allow me to think otherwise—it best becomes his prisoner to remain standing till she learns her doom.”

“Alas! fair Rowena,” returned De Bracy, “you are in presence of your captive, not your jailor; and it is from your fair eyes that De Bracy must receive that doom which you fondly expect from him.”

“I know you not, sir,” said the lady, drawing herself up with all the pride of offended rank and beauty—“I know you not; and the insolent familiarity with which you apply to me the jargon of a troubadour forms no apology for the violence of a robber.”

“To thyself, fair maid,” answered De Bracy, in his former tone—“to thine own charms be ascribed whate’er I have done which passed the respect due to her whom I have chosen queen of my heart and loadstar of my eyes.”

“I repeat to you, Sir Knight, that I know you not, and that no man wearing chain and spurs ought thus to intrude himself upon the presence of an unprotected lady.”

“That I am unknown to you,” said De Bracy, “is indeed my misfortune; yet let me hope that De Bracy’s name has not been always unspoken when minstrels or heralds have praised deeds of chivalry, whether in the lists or in the battlefield.”

(...)

“Proud damsel,” said De Bracy, incensed at finding his gallant style procured him nothing but contempt—“proud damsel, thou shalt be as proudly encountered. Know, then, that I have supported my pretensions to your hand in the way that best suited thy character. It is meeter for thy humour to be wooed with bow and bill than in set terms and in courtly language.”

“Courtesy of tongue,” said Rowena, “when it is used to veil churlishness of deed, is but a knight’s girdle around the breast of a base clown. I wonder not that the restraint appears to gall you: more it were for your honour to have retained the dress and language of an outlaw than to veil the deeds of one under an affectation of gentle language and demeanour.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

As you can see, Rowena knew since the beginning that De Bracy kidnapped her dressed as an outlaw and later came dressed as a gallant knight as her rescuer. Such a brilliant plan Maurice.... You can’t fool my clever girl Rowena!

And since his fake gallantry didn’t work, De Bracy tried to convince Rowena by threatening the lives of Wilfred and Cedric.

When the Bois-Gilbert and De Bracy performed the abduction of Rowena, they also abducted Cedric, Athelstane and the Jews Isaac of York and his daughter Rebecca.

Unbeknownst to Rowena, Athelstane and Cedric, who helped Isaac and Rebecca on the road, a wounded Wilfred was hidden in the Jews’s litter. And when Bois-Gilbert and De Bracy stormed upon them, only De Bracy inspected the litter and recognized the wounded Wilfred.

So, faced with Rowena's firm reluctance to be his bride, De Bracy threatened her with handing the wounded Wilfred over to the cruel Front-de-Beouf, Wilfred’s rival for the Barony of Ivanhoe:

“Wilfred here!” said Rowena, in disdain; “that is as true as that Front-de-Bœuf is his rival.”

(...)

“Save him, for the love of Heaven!” said Rowena, her firmness giving way under terror for her lover’s impending fate.

“I can—I will—it is my purpose,” said De Bracy; “for, when Rowena consents to be the bride of De Bracy, who is it shall dare to put forth a violent hand upon her kinsman—the son of her guardian—the companion of her youth? But it is thy love must buy his protection. I am not romantic fool enough to further the fortune, or avert the fate, of one who is likely to be a successful obstacle between me and my wishes. Use thine influence with me in his behalf, and he is safe; refuse to employ it, Wilfred dies, and thou thyself art not the nearer to freedom.”

(...)

“Cedric’s fate also depends upon thy determination,” said De Bracy, “and I leave thee to form it.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

At that point, at the possibility to lose the lives of her guardian Cedric and her beloved Wilfred, Rowena burst desperately into tears:

After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the aid which was nowhere to be found, and after a few broken interjections, she raised her hands to heaven, and burst into a passion of uncontrolled vexation and sorrow. It was impossible to see so beautiful a creature in such extremity without feeling for her, and De Bracy was not unmoved, though he was yet more embarrassed than touched. He had, in truth, gone too far to recede; and yet, in Rowena’s present condition, she could not be acted on either by argument or threats. He paced the apartment to and fro, now vainly exhorting the terrified maiden to compose herself, now hesitating concerning his own line of conduct.

“If,” thought he, “I should be moved by the tears and sorrow of this disconsolate damsel, what should I reap but the loss of those fair hopes for which I have encountered so much risk, and the ridicule of Prince John and his jovial comrades? And yet,” he said to himself, “I feel myself ill framed for the part which I am playing. I cannot look on so fair a face while it is disturbed with agony, or on those eyes when they are drowned in tears. I would she had retained her original haughtiness of disposition, or that I had a larger share of Front-de-Bœuf’s thrice-tempered hardness of heart!”

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the unfortunate Rowena be comforted, and assure her that as yet she had no reason for the excess of despair to which she was now giving way.” But in this task of consolation De Bracy was interrupted by the horn, “hoarse-winded blowing far and keen,” which had at the same time alarmed the other inmates of the castle, and interrupted their several plans of avarice and of license. Of them all, perhaps, De Bracy least regretted the interruption; for his conference with the Lady Rowena had arrived at a point where he found it equally difficult to prosecute or to resign his enterprise.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Rowena's tears demolishing de Bracy's determination and turning him into a puddle of shame, reminded me of Sansa taming a far more dangerous beast, the hound, when he attempted to rape her during the night of the Blackwater Bay Battle.

But De Bracy’s graceless interactions with Rowena didn’t end there, the best part was Rowena’s coup de grâce after she was rescued by the joined forces of Cedric, the Black Knight and Robin Hood & Co.

Again bowing from her palfrey, Rowena turned to depart; but pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was to attend her, was also taking his leave, she found herself unexpectedly close by the prisoner De Bracy. He stood under a tree in deep meditation, his arms crossed upon his breast, and Rowena was in hopes she might pass him unobserved. He looked up, however, and, when aware of her presence, a deep flush of shame suffused his handsome countenance. He stood a moment most irresolute; then, stepping forward, took her palfrey by the rein and bent his knee before her.

“Will the Lady Rowena deign to cast an eye on a captive knight—on a dishonoured soldier?”

“Sir Knight,” answered Rowena, “in enterprises such as yours, the real dishonour lies not in failure, but in success.”

“Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,” answered De Bracy; “let me but know that the Lady Rowena forgives the violence occasioned by an ill-fated passion, and she shall soon learn that De Bracy knows how to serve her in nobler ways.”

“I forgive you, Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “as a Christian.”

“That means,” said Wamba, “that she does not forgive him at all.”

“But I can never forgive the misery and desolation your madness has occasioned,” continued Rowena.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Rowena annihilated De Bracy. And she did it with her armor of courtesy.

HARPS ARE WEAPONS

At this point of the story, I found this little parallel about the power of music and songs:

“I promise thee, brother Clerk,” said he, “I will ask thee no more offensive questions. The contents of that cupboard are an answer to all my inquiries; and I see a weapon there (here he stooped and took out the harp) on which I would more gladly prove my skill with thee than at the sword and buckler.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

“I also planted the notion of Ser Loras taking the white. Not that I suggested it, that would have been too crude. But men in my party supplied grisly tales about how the mob had killed Ser Preston Greenfield and raped the Lady Lollys, and slipped a few silvers to Lord Tyrell's army of singers to sing of Ryam Redwyne, Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. A harp can be as dangerous as a sword, in the right hands.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

Harps are weapons indeed.

REBECCA

Art credit: Edouard Henri Théophile Pingret

And now, at last, let’s talk about Rebecca. Not so much tho, because she is a readers’ favorite and many pieces have been written already extolling her many virtues.

Rebecca was the daughter of Isaac of York. Her father and her were Jews. She was a healer. She treated Wilfred’s wounds and saved his life. She fell deeply enamoured of him. But despite the obvious physical attraction, her love was unrequited.

Rebecca also inflamed an unbridled passion in the Templar Brian de Bois-Gilbert, who wanted to possess her and tried to force himself on her many times, without the slightest success.

But I would like to comment a few scenes from Rebecca that reminded me of Sansa.

First, her suicide attempt at the face of rape:

“Remain where thou art, proud Templar, or at thy choice advance!—one foot nearer, and I plunge myself from the precipice; my body shall be crushed out of the very form of humanity upon the stones of that courtyard ere it become the victim of thy brutality!”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

The mention of the eventual destruction of her body made me think of a similar passage from Sansa:

Perhaps I will die too, she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If she flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the singers would write songs of her grief. Her body would lie on the stones below, broken and innocent, shaming all those who had betrayed her. Sansa went so far as to cross the bedchamber and throw open the shutters … but then her courage left her, and she ran back to her bed, sobbing.

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

Second, Rebecca’s prayers for her enemies:

Another name glided into her petition; it was that of the wounded Christian, whom fate had placed in the hands of bloodthirsty men, his avowed enemies. Her heart indeed checked her, as if, even in communing with the Deity in prayer, she mingled in her devotions the recollection of one with whose fate hers could have no alliance—a Nazarene, and an enemy to her faith. But the petition was already breathed, nor could all the narrow prejudices of her sect induce Rebecca to wish it recalled.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Wilfred wasn't a real enemy, but not so long ago he had hurt her feelings with his change of demeanor when he realized she was a Jewess (that’s why she called him “an enemy to her faith”). But she was grateful he saved her father from a great danger, she healed his wounds and she had fell for him, so of course she prayed for his well being.

This scene is similar to Sansa praying even for Tyrion and the hound the day of the Blackwater Bay Battle:

She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. She sang for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunken King Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin, for all the brave knights and soldiers who would die today, and for the children and the wives who would mourn them, and finally, toward the end, she even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound. He is no true knight but he saved me all the same, she told the Mother. Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him.

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa V

But we all know that, unlike Wilfred to Rebecca, Tyrion and the hound paid Sansa’s kindness with abuse.

And there will be a third scene to comment later.

LOVE TRIANGLES

As you may have already noticed, IVANHOE is full of love triangles. Some of them very similar the main ASOIAF love triangles. Let’s talk about them:

Wilfred - Rowena - Athelstane

In this triangle, Rowena is Lyanna Stark, Athelstane is Robert Baratheon, and the role of Rhaegar is played first by Wildred, who crowned Rowena as his Queen of love and Beauty during the tourney at Ashby, and later by Maurice De Bracy, who abducted Rowena after the tourney, and put her on a castle tower.

Athelstane fighting against Wilfred with his battle-axe at the melee, reminded me of Robert fighting Rhaegar with his war-hammer at the Trident.

Much later, during the Battle at Torquilstone, Athelstane thought that Bois-Gilbert was abducting Rowena again, and snatching a mace (similar to a hammer) from a dying soldier, run to fight the Templar knight. But unlike Robert killing Rhaegar with his war-hammer, Bois-Gilbert was the one who broke Athelstane’s mace and killed him (apparently):

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, but not cowardly, beheld the female form whom the Templar protected thus sedulously, and doubted not that it was Rowena whom the knight was carrying off, in despite of all resistance which could be offered.

“By the soul of St. Edward,” he said, “I will rescue her from yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die by my hand!”

“Think what you do!” cried Wamba; “hasty hand catches frog for fish; by my bauble, yonder is none of my Lady Rowena, see but her long dark locks! Nay, an ye will not know black from white, ye may be leader, but I will be no follower; no bones of mine shall be broken unless I know for whom. And you without armour too! Bethink you, silk bonnet never kept out steel blade. Nay, then, if wilful will to water, wilful must drench. Deus vobiscum, most doughty Athelstane!” he concluded, loosening the hold which he had hitherto kept upon the Saxon’s tunic.

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay beside one whose dying grasp had just relinquished it, to rush on the Templar’s band, and to strike in quick succession to the right and left, levelling a warrior at each blow, was, for Athelstane’s great strength, now animated with unusual fury, but the work of a single moment; he was soon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert, whom he defied in his loudest tone.

“Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom thou art unworthy to touch; turn, limb of a band of murdering and hypocritical robbers!”

“Dog!” said the Templar, grinding his teeth, “I will teach thee to blaspheme the holy order of the Temple of Zion”; and with these words, half-wheeling his steed, he made a demi-courbetteeh towards the Saxon, and rising in the stirrups, so as to take full advantage of the descent of the horse, he discharged a fearful blow upon the head of Athelstane.

“Well,” said Wamba, “that silken bonnet keeps out no steel blade!” So trenchant was the Templar’s weapon, that it shore asunder, as it had been a willow twig, the tough and plaited handle of the mace, which the ill-fated Saxon reared to parry the blow, and, descending on his head, levelled him with the earth.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

But Athelstane wasn't really dead. Three days after his supposed death he appeared to his own obsequies like a ghost.... Asking for food....

Something similar happened to Dunk in The Mystery Knight, when he remained unconscious for several hours after a joust and everyone believed he was dead.

And this “resurrection” in IVANHOE of course reminded me of Jon Snow coming back to life in The Winds of Winter....

Rowena - Wilfred - Rebecca

This love triangle, somehow reminded me a bit of Catelyn - Eddard - Ashara. Mostly because there are still people that claim that Eddard never loved Catelyn and his true love was Ashara. There is also the fact that Eddard met Ashara during the tourney at Harrenhal, the same way Wilfred and Rebecca met at after the tourney at Ashby.

This love triangle also reminded me a bit of Elia - Rhager - Lyanna. At some point, Prince John even suggested the idea that the tourney’s champion must crown Rebecca, who was a Jewess, in order to offend the Christian Saxons. But Wilfred wasn’t a Normand, and he crowned Rowena, the Saxon Princess, offending the Normans instead.

Now, as I mentioned before, most of the readers wanted a Wilfred and Rebecca happy ending romance, just to be left disappointed at the end, when they read that Scott decided that Wilfred marry his first love Rowena. This “ships-war” was so intense that in 1850 another British author called William Makepeace Thackeray (the author of Vanity Fair), published an IVANHOE fan-fiction named “Rebecca and Rowena: A Romance Upon Romance.”

But in order to make Wilfred and Rebecca’s union possible, Mister Thackeray made Rowena a hateful woman, always reminding her husband that Rebecca loved him, then Mister Thackeray killed Rowena (Wilfred marries Rebecca after Rowena’s death) and his worst crime, Mister Thackeray made Rebecca convert into Christianity, which was, in no way, a good idea... Rebecca is, until today, so much admired precisely because she was not willing to renounce her faith in order to live a more advantageous life. Shame on you Mister Thackeray, shame on you!

The Italian composer, Gioachino Rossini, was smarter in adapting IVANHOE to an opera of the same name. He merged Rowena and Rebecca into one character named Leila:

The plot, derived from Sir Walter Scott, takes place in Great Britain and involves the enmity between the Saxons and Normans in the 12th century, with Ivanhoe (tenor) being the (disguised) son of the Saxon Cedric (baritone), enemy of Norman Brian de Boisguilbert (bass). The Muslims Ismael (baritone) and his daughter Leila (soprano) take refuge in Cedric’s castle, since Boisguilbert is pursuing them and is in love with Leila. All ends well when Ivanhoe duels with and kills Boisguilbert, and Leila turns out to be Edith, long-lost daughter of Olric, the last descendant of the Saxon kings. Ivanhoe and Edith are allowed to wed, with Saxons and Normans joining together in celebration against the French invaders.

[Source]

It’s not perfect, but it’s better than Mister Thackeray’s disproportionate contempt against Rowena....

My dear Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York, has always, in my mind, been one of these; nor can I ever believe that such a woman, so admirable, so tender, so heroic, so beautiful, could disappear altogether before such another woman as Rowena, that vapid, flaxen−headed creature, who is, in my humble opinion, unworthy of Ivanhoe, and unworthy of her place as heroine. Had both of them got their rights, it ever seemed to me that Rebecca would have had the husband, and Rowena would have gone off to a convent and shut herself up, where I, for one, would never have taken the trouble of inquiring for her.

—Rebecca and Rowena: A Romance Upon Romance - William Makepeace Thackeray

And it gets even worse....

Sounds familiar?

Bois-Gilbert - Rebecca - Wilfred

This is the most tragic of the love triangles from the IVANHOE, because Bois-Gilbert’s passion for Rebecca was unrequited, because Rebecca’s infatuation with Wilfred was also unrequited, and because despite Wilfred’s physical attraction to Rebecca, he expressed more passion for chivalry itself than for Rebecca, and because he hadn't forgotten his love for Rowena either (He mentioned Rowena’s name in every dialogue he had with Rebecca). Not to mention the evident change in his demeanor towards Rebecca after knowing she was a Jewess.

Wilfred performed an grand gesture of gallantry for Rebecca near the end of the story, but he did it mostly for the love of chivalry itself than for her. He was enamoured of being a true knight and Rebecca played the part of the perfect maiden in distress. But when he opened his eyes from that fantasy, he chose a peaceful domestic life at his homeland with his first love Rowena.

This conflict of the heart was also reflected in King Richard - Coeur de Lion, when he, thanks to Wilfred’s insistence, decided to reveal his true identity at last and renounced to the fantasy of being a knight errant in order to do his duty as King and rule his country.

But Rebecca remained in Wilfred’s mind as a frequent memory, she represents the recurrent fantasy of an adventurous life as a knight errant in foreign lands.

WITCHERY

And here comes the third scene from Rebecca that reminded me of Sansa. The accusations and rumors of witchery.

Bois-Gilbert’s overflowed passion for Rebecca made him commit serious mistakes, and the worst of them was taking her to Templestowe. He, a knight Templar, who vowed to remain unmarried, took a young girl to a preceptory of his Order, secretly and without the allowance of his superiors.

And when the presence of the young beautiful Jewess Rebecca at Templestowe was known to everyone in the Order, since the Templars didn’t want to soil their reputation as decent devoted men, they decided to blame the girl:

If we were told that such a man, so honoured, and so honourable, suddenly casting away regard for his character, his vows, his brethren, and his prospects, had associated to himself a Jewish damsel, wandered in this lewd company through solitary places, defended her person in preference to his own, and, finally, was so utterly blinded and besotted by his folly, as to bring her even to one of our own preceptories, what should we say but that the noble knight was possessed by some evil demon, or influenced by some wicked spell?

—IVANHOE: A Romance

The Templars used Rebecca’s healing abilities against her and declared her a witch.

They even forged false testimonies, twisting real facts in order to accuse her of witchery:

Not to be behind his companion, this fellow stated that he had seen Rebecca perch herself upon the parapet of the turret, and there take the form of a milk-white swan, under which appearance she flitted three times round the castle of Torquilstone; then again settle on the turret, and once more assume the female form.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

This passage about Rebecca morphing into a swan and flying from a castle turret, reminded me of the folk legends that were born after the Purple Wedding about Sansa morphing into a direwolf or winged wolf, and then flying away from a tower window:

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

“The dwarf’s wife did the murder with him,” swore an archer in Lord Rowan’s livery. “Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jaime VII

Despite all the false accusations against her, Rebecca persisted in her innocence and demanded a trial by combat. If her champion lost, Rebecca would have been burned at the stake.

Rebecca’s trial at Templestowe got me thinking about the possibility of Sansa being put on trial. Her head is wanted for the kingslaying of Joffrey after all, and all those folk tales about her were born precisely after Joffrey’s death....

TRIAL BY COMBAT

Rebecca’s trial by combat is one of the last events of IVANHOE. The Templars’ champion was Bois-Gilbert, and at the last moment, after Isaac's pleas, Wilfred, still in recovery from his wounds, went to Templestowe to be Rebecca's champion.

At the end, Wilfred didn’t do much because in the middle of his fight against Bois-Gilbert, the Templar died. He just died. Probably from a heart attack. Very accurate, since his passion for Rebecca was always unrequited, undesired by her and impossible by their circumstances. A doomed passion.

And this trial by combat of course reminded me of the very particular trial by combat depicted in The Hedge Knight, more precisely, a Trial of Seven. Seven champions against seven champions. One party in favor of Dunk, accused of hitting a royal although while defending a young maiden from the abuse of said royal. The other party in favor of Prince Aerion Targaryen who broke the fingers of the Dornish puppeteer Tanselle, after she played a tale where a puppet knight killed a puppet dragon....

Dunk didn’t get to find seven champions to fight for him, the trial was about to start and he had only six champions, but at the last moment, a “Black Knight” came to fight in his favor. Said “Black Knight” was Prince Baelor Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone himself, willing to fight against his own blood, because Dunk’s claim was fair. Baelor was a real true knight, in the same fashion of King Richard - Coeur de Lion, fighting against the Norman lords that favored his brother Prince John.

And while Bois-Gilbert was the unexpected death in IVANHOE, Prince Baelor Targaryen was the unexpected death in The Hedge Knight. The only thing in which they can be compared, since Bois-Gilbert was the main villain of IVANHOE, while Prince Baelor was a real true knight. It must have been his maternal Dornish blood.

WHEN DO YOU EVER FIND FOLLY SEPARATED FROM VALOUR?

Knight and fool imagery

Art credit: Milo Winter

IVANHOE is not only full of love triangles, but it’s also full of knights that are truly fools and fools that are truly knights.

As I said before, if you want to find the real true knights of the story you need to look in the direction of Wamba, the actual fool, and Gurth, the swineherd. They were also slaves, property of Cedric the Saxon, which made their role as true knights even more compelling.

Meanwhile the supposed true knights....

Look at De Bracy’s foolish delusions of being a true knight through deception:

“I tell thee,” answered De Bracy, “that it will be the work of a few hours [abducting Rowena], and I shall be at York at the head of my daring and valorous fellows, as ready to support any bold design as thy policy can be to form one. But I hear my comrades assembling, and the steeds stamping and neighing in the outer court. Farewell. I go, like a true knight, to win the smiles of beauty.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Now look at Wamba the fool, teaching some lessons to King Richard - Coeur de Lion, still disguised as the Black Knight:

“Content you, Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When valour and folly travel, folly should bear the horn, because she can blow the best.”

“Nay but, rogue,” said the Black Knight, “this exceedeth thy license. Beware ye tamper not with my patience.”

“Urge me not with violence, Sir Knight,” said the Jester, keeping at a distance from the impatient champion, “or folly will show a clean pair of heels, and leave valour to find out his way through the wood as best he may.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

Here we can see how Wamba the fool, was more observant and watchful of their surroundings than Coeur de Lion:

“You will not harm me, then?” said Wamba.

“I tell thee no, thou knave!”

“Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it,” continued Wamba, as he approached with great caution.

“My knightly word I pledge; only come on with thy foolish self.”

“Nay, then, valour and folly are once more boon companions,” said the Jester, coming up frankly to the Knight’s side; “but, in truth, I love not such buffets as that you bestowed on the burly Friar, when his holiness rolled on the green like a king of the nine-pins. And now that folly wears the horn, let valour rouse himself and shake his mane; for, if I mistake not, there are company in yonder brake that are on the look-out for us.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

More words of wisdom from Wamba the fool:

“What, Wamba, art thou there?” said Richard; “I have been so long of hearing thy voice, I thought thou hadst taken flight.”

“I take flight!” said Wamba; “when do you ever find folly separated from valour? There lies the trophy of my sword, that good grey gelding, whom I heartily wish upon his legs again, conditioning his master lay there houghed in his place. It is true, I gave a little ground at first, for a motley jacket does not brook lance-heads as a steel doublet will. But if I fought not at sword’s point, you will grant me that I sounded the onset.”

“And to good purpose, honest Wamba,” replied the King. “Thy good service shall not be forgotten.”

—IVANHOE: A Romance

The knight and fool imagery was also present in Arthurian Legends, as we can see here:

Dagonet, the fool, whom Gawain in his mood Had made mock-knight of Arthur’s Table Round, At Camelot, high above the yellowing woods, Danced like a withered leaf before the hall. And toward him from the hall, with harp in hand, And from the crown thereof a carcanet Of ruby swaying to and fro, the prize Of Tristram in the jousts of yesterday, Came Tristram, saying, “Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?”

(...)

And little Dagonet on the morrow morn, High over all the yellowing Autumn-tide, Danced like a withered leaf before the hall. Then Tristram saying, “Why skip ye so, Sir Fool?” Wheeled round on either heel, Dagonet replied, “Belike for lack of wiser company; Or being fool, and seeing too much wit Makes the world rotten, why, belike I skip To know myself the wisest knight of all.”

—The Last Tournament, Idylls of the King - Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1859 - 1885)

A tournament? A fool and a knight? It seems that not only IVANHOE has influenced GRRM to write about tourneys, fools and knights.

This fool and knight imagery is very present in ASOIAF, not only in the main books but also in The Hedge Knight.

The story about Florian and Jonquil is an important theme in The Hedge Knight novella, in parallel with the tourney. The story of Dunk’s infatuation with the Dornish puppeteer Tanselle develops around the knight and fool imagery from the tale of Florian and Jonquil that Tanselle performed with her puppets at Ashford Meadow.

This morning the puppeteers were doing the tale of Florian and Jonquil. The fat Dornishwoman was working Florian in his armor made of motley, while the tall girl held Jonquil’s strings. “You are no knight,” she was saying as the puppet’s mouth moved up and down. “I know you. You are Florian the Fool.”

“I am, my lady,” the other puppet answered, kneeling. “As great a fool as ever lived, and as great a knight as well.”

“A fool and a knight?” said Jonquil. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Sweet lady,” said Florian, “all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned.”

It was a good show, sad and sweet both, with a sprightly swordfight at the end, and a nicely painted giant. When it was over, the fat woman went among the crowd to collect coins while the girl packed away the puppets.

Dunk collected Egg and went up to her.

“M'lord?” she said, with a sideways glance and a half-smile. She was a head shorter than he was, but still taller than any other girl he had ever seen.

“That was good,” Egg enthused. “I like how you make them move, Jonquil and the dragon and all. I saw a puppet show last year, but they moved all jerky. Yours are more smooth.”

“Thank you,” she told the boy politely.

Dunk said, “Your figures are well carved too. The dragon, especially. A fearsome beast. You make them yourself?”

She nodded. “My uncle does the carving. I paint them.”

“Could you paint something for me? I have the coin to pay.” He slipped the shield off his shoulder and turned it to show her. “I need to paint something over the chalice.”

The girl glanced at the shield, and then at him.

“What would you want painted?”

Dunk had not considered that. If not the old man’s winged chalice, what? His head was empty. Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall. “I don’t … I’m not certain.” His ears were turning red, he realized miserably.

“You must think me an utter fool.”

She smiled. “All men are fools, and all men are knights.”

—The Hedge Knight

The night after the first day of the tourney Prince Aerion Targaryen assaulted Tanselle. Alerted by Egg, Dunk struck Aerion in defense of the girl.

Dunk was imprisoned after the incident for striking the prince, but Dunk claimed he was only following the knightly vows to defend the weak and innocent. That was the reason why Aerion demanded a trial of seven to clear his name. Prince Daeron Targaryen also claimed to have been injured by Dunk, so Daeron made a claim against Dunk as well.

Dunk, who was often called Dunk the lunk (short for “lunkhead,” a fool), probably a bastard, someone not allowed to damage any royal, defended the weak and innocent even against an evil prince, because that’s what true knights must do. That night at Ashford Meadow, Dunk became a de facto knight.

Dunk was a fool to strike a prince but he was also a true knight to defend the innocent girl. Dunk became Florian the Fool.

In the main books, the character most associated with knight and fool imagery and Florian and Jonquil is Sansa Stark.

The stories about Florian and Jonquil are Sansa Stark’s favorite songs:

“Father, I only just now remembered, I can’t go away, I’m to marry Prince Joffrey.” She tried to smile bravely for him. “I love him, Father, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies.” —A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

She pulled a chair close to the hearth, took down one of her favorite books, and lost herself in the stories of Florian and Jonquil, of Lady Shella and the Rainbow Knight, of valiant Prince Aemon and his doomed love for his brother’s queen. —A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

Home, she thought, home, he is going to take me home, he’ll keep me safe, my Florian. The songs about Florian and Jonquil were her very favorites. Florian was homely too, though not so old. —A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

Sansa Stark has these stories and songs so deep in her heart that she resorts to them at crucial moments.

Indeed, when Sansa defended and saved Dontos Hollard’s life, she used the knight and fool imagery to reason with Joffrey.

The king stood. “A cask from the cellars! I’ll see him drowned in it.” Sansa heard herself gasp. “No, you can’t.” Joffrey turned his head. “What did you say?” Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn’t meant to say anything, only … Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm. “Did you say I can’t? Did you?” “Please,” Sansa said, “I only meant … it would be ill luck, Your Grace … to, to kill a man on your name day.” “You’re lying,” Joffrey said. “I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much.” “I don’t care for him, Your Grace.” The words tumbled out desperately. “Drown him or have his head off, only … kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please … not today, not on your name day. I couldn’t bear for you to have ill luck … terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so …” Joffrey scowled. He knew she was lying, she could see it. He would make her bleed for this. “The girl speaks truly,” the Hound rasped. “What a man sows on his name day, he reaps throughout the year.” His voice was flat, as if he did not care a whit whether the king believed him or no. Could it be true? Sansa had not known. It was just something she’d said, desperate to avoid punishment. Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. “Take him away. I’ll have him killed on the morrow, the fool.” “He is,” Sansa said. “A fool. You’re so clever, to see it. He’s better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn’t he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn’t deserve the mercy of a quick death.” The king studied her a moment. “Perhaps you’re not so stupid as Mother says.” He raised his voice. “Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you’re my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy and dress in motley.“ — A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

Sansa was a fool to defy a king but she was also a true knight to defend the innocent drunkard knight. Sansa became Florian the Fool.

Littlefinger took advantage of this event and Sansa’s love for those stories and sent Dontos Hollard, a defenestrated knight turned fool, a poor version of the legendary Florian, to help Sansa escape King’s Landing.

“I prayed to the gods for a knight to come save me,” she said. “I prayed and prayed. Why would they send me a drunken old fool?” […] “The singers say there was another fool once who was the greatest knight of all…” “Florian,” Sansa whispered. A shiver went through her. “Sweet lady, I would be your Florian,” Dontos said humbly, falling to his knees before her. […] “I vow, with your father’s gods as witness, that I shall send you home.” He swore. A solemn oath, before the gods. “Then…I will put myself in your hands, ser.”

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

Sansa can easily play the role of the fair Jonquil, but Dontos was a false Florian only pretending under Littlefinger’s commands in exchange for gold.

Read more about Sansa Stark, the tourney at Ashford meadow and Florian and Jonquil in this post:

THE BLACK PRINCE WITH THE WHITE GUARDIAN - Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, the Tourney at Ashford Meadow and the songs about Florian and Jonquil.

MISCELLANY

Art credit: Frank E. Schoonover

And finally a less detailed little list of parallels and similarities between IVANHOE and ASOIAF that I found during my re-read:

The tourney at Ashby had a political background

Prince John and his Normand lords organized the tourney in order to gain the love of the natives of England by giving them entertainment in the form of sport games: jousting and melee. Prince John was conspiring to usurp the Throne of his brother Coeur de Lion:

In this manner did Prince John endeavour to lay the foundation of a popularity, which he was perpetually throwing down by some inconsiderate act of wanton aggression upon the feelings and prejudices of the people.

—IVANHOE: A Romance

This is repeated in The Hedge Knight and The Mystery Knight.

In the first tale, The Hedge Knight, the tourney at Ashford Meadow was organized to let Prince Valarr Targaryen shine in the jousting. His father Prince Baelor Targaryen was a renowned jouster, unlike Valarr, who, very curiously, only got easy adversaries during the lists.

In the third tale, The Mystery Knight, the tourney at Whitewalls was organized by rebels supporters of the Blackfyres. It was supposed to mark the start of the Second Blackfyre Rebellion, leaded by Dameon II Blackfyre, who first appeared in the tourney as the the hedge knight John the Fiddler.

The ancient English word “anon”

Before IVANHOE, I had only read the word “anon” in ASOIAF. The word is only repeated three times in a couple of Jon’s chapters from ADWD:

"You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon." "Anon?" teased Jon. "When we were children." She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. "As you know well."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon X

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

But in IVANHOE is plenty used, since the books was published in 1819. And I also read the word in some other ancient works cited here: Le Morte D'Arthur by Thomas Malory (1485) and Idylls of the King by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1859 - 1885).

Character names

GRRM has used some of the IVANHOE character names in ASOIAF. Here a few examples:

Cedric the Saxon: Ser Cedric Payne, cousin of our dear wee Podrick Payne.

Brother Ambrose: There is plenty of Ambrose-s in ASOIAF, The Sworn Sword and the Mystery Knight. Here is one of them: As for Elinor, she was promised to a young squire, a son of Lord Ambrose; they would be wed as soon as he won his spurs. —A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

Wat Tyrrel: There is plenty of Wat-s in ASOIAF and The Sworn Sword. And Tyrrel sounds pretty similar to Tyrell.

Tybalt: In IVANHOE, Wamba the fool sang a song with these lines: “O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet” - “Compared with these visions, O, Tybalt, my love?” - “But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love.” Tybalt sounds pretty similar to Tybolt, and there was a Tybolt Lannister in The Hedge Knight.

Rowena: In the Appendix of AGOT we find out that Lady Rowena Arryn was the cousin and second wife of Jon Arryn.

And this is the end.

See you anon!

#IVANHOE #ASOIAF #Sansa Stark #jonsa #GRRM #Sir Walter Scott #Alayne Stone #Queen of Love and Beauty #Tourney at Ashby-de-la-Zouche #Tourney at Ashford Meadow #The Hedge Knight #Knight and Fool Imagery #Florian and Jonquil #Tourney at Harrenhal #The Knight of the Laughing Tree

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ialwaysknewyouwerepunk · 3 years

Text

perfect now - a close reading

only pure and true love for this one. it’s soft and sweet because the one he wrote it for is and needs cheesy uncool romcom soundtrack-worthy affirmations and it’s the most wonderful thing oh my the flurries

some album booklet art for your viewing pleasure

((just a warning for below: while the lyric analysis was kept fairly neutral and close to the words and their meaning, more and more parallels did ensure me larrying out by the time the analysis kicked off so if you’re not into that, you can skip this one!))

⟼ check out @bluewinnerangel ‘s magnificent post with all the parallels to 1d/h&l bc it’s exhaustive and was a source for mine <3 thank you again for your service <3 bc this song really is a fanpiece of every song that has been important to them throughout their career so far, whether they wrote it or not, and it’s honestly kinda impressive

SUMMARY

you’re sad and i love you so much i will do anything to make that undone but while you’re sad know that i sill very much love you and you’re also strong enough to conquer all of this on your own but i’ll be by your side anyway

lyric breakdown ft. the many parallels, incl. little things, through the dark and wmyb

what this says about louis, his partner and the relationship he is in

never gonna dance again frenzy

identity

louis is a marvellous majestic sonofabitch basically <3

walls, track 10

～ little things “you still have to squeeze into your jeans, but you’re perfect to me”

You don’t feel pretty and it’s hard to miss

later lyric: “like a neon sign” - i see through you trying to hide away your insecurities

I wish that you could see my point of view As someone staring back at you

“you” is also staring at him, but perhaps is too insecure to realise how mutual the adoration is

i wish i could get you out of your own negative spiral and give you a look at yourself from my perspective

～ wmyb “everyone else in the room can see it, everyone else but you”

～ wmyb “right now i’m looking at you and i can’t believe you don’t know you’re beautiful”

～ little things “you never love yourself half as much as I love you, and you’ll never treat yourself right darling but I want you to. If I let you know, I’m here for you, maybe you’ll love yourself like I love you”

On Friday night when we’re all out I turn to you and you’re looking down And you don’t wanna dance I know you love to dance You never stop given half the chance

heavy echoes of kmm again, but the opposite: the “nightmare on the dance floor” doesn’t want to dance

when “you” is confident rlly not being subtle with who i think that is, they love to dance <-> tpwk “feeling good in my skin, i just keep on dancing”

“i know you love to dance” = i know what you love bc i love you

“given half the chance”

～ tpwk “giving/given second chances”

given a chance tattoo, making another appearance (see below for more tattoo meltdowns)

Just keep your head up, love, keep your head up

term of endearment <3

～ dlibyh

this album is full of encouragement to keep going and as much as it gives me life it ruins me

Don’t hide away, don’t ever change

“be happy, proud”

～ “just hold on”

“pick someone who’s supportive”

Keep your head up, love, keep your head up Don’t look away, don’t look away

don’t look away from me

～ through the dark “and I can see your head is held in shame”

Cause everybody’s looking at you now, my, oh my

they have the stage to themselves / new career paths they’re doing on their own

could also mean ppl they’re going out with are looking at them, which “you” interprets as sth negative, which makes them self-conscious, while they’re actually admiring them bc they steal the scene

～ wmyb “you’re turning heads when you walk through the door”

I guess some queens don’t need a crown And I know why Even when your tears are falling down Still, somehow, you’re perfect now

“you” is royalty to louis, to put it simply

they don’t need something on their head to make it known to everyone else - they’re a queen and everyone knows it

gendered: female - also used in drag contexts - the only time L has used any gendered word to identify his partner on the entire album (more on this below)

～ steal my girl "she's been my queen since we were sixteen" can't believe i forgot this one thank you @mortalenemiestolovers for reminding me!!!

～ falling

～ through the dark “you tell me that your tears are here to stay”

You never do, but if you asked me to I’ll tell the truth lying next to you

“you” never asks for affirmations directly, but by saying shit like their pants are too tight make it clear enough to L that they do need to hear once in a while that it’s not true

Cause you’re the only one when it’s said and done You make me feel like being someone

Good to you even at your worst

～ always you

i love you so much you are a force of life to me, and even when you hate me i want more

～ drag me down “If I didn’t have you there would be nothing left, the shell of a man who could never be his best. If I didn’t have you, I’d never see the sun. You taught me how to be someone” (sung by louis first, harry second)

～ through the dark “even if you scream and shout, it’ll come back to you and I’ll be here for you

You steal the scene and it’s unrehearsed

reference to working on a stage - their natural presence wins everyone over - that charisma is never manufactured

Don’t you wanna dance? Just a little dance I’ll never stop given half the chance

L keeps encouraging them, will also not pass by any chance to dance with them

Every insecurity, like a neon sign, as bright as day If you knew what you were to me You would never try to hide away

“it’s hard to miss”

L sees through them trying to hide their insecurities, pretend to be strong

～ through the dark “but I know you were only hiding”

SYNTHESIS

Perfect Now is not a fan favorite and I am so not here for that discourse, so please do not pester me with negativity about this chocolate drop of a song.

As others have pointed out, the parallels with other songs written by Louis, Harry or for One Direction are extremely present. Especially Little Things is echoed loudly, but there’s so much more to be read, as you’ve seen. These are songs that are clearly near and dear to Louis, bc he wrote them or bc performing them was special, like with Little Things and What Makes You Beautiful. A lot of the same emotions come back in Louis’s writing, so much so that you can’t help but see the larger story behind it all. Throughout Walls you can hear him singing about not giving up and holding your head high despite hardships, and if you look back at his earlier writing, it’s always been there. Through the Dark is an early and striking example of this style of Louis song: you’re sad and i love you so much i will do anything to make that undone but while you’re sad know that i sill very much love you and you’re also strong enough to conquer all of this on your own but i’ll be by your side anyway

basically through the dark’s chorus:

Oh, I will carry you over Fire and water for your love And I will hold you closer Hope your heart is strong enough When the night is coming down on you We will find a way Through the dark

It is very clear that Louis is faced with a partner - I can freely say it’s Harry now right? are the antis gone by now? i think so - that struggles with his body, with his identity, with how he wants to present himself vs how opinions on that might push him down and dampen his spirit. Louis, always the supportive boyfriend, then tries his best to make him see the light, while keeping that space for his sadness, his struggles, or their joint struggles. Accept the sadness but don’t lose your heart to it.

I’ve linked @bluewinnerangel ‘s post at the start of this post, but I need to stress how good it is once more as I also shamelessly insert a screenshot from it here bc it makes me feel a lot and summarizes perfectly just how deeply Perfect Now is woven into the history of their lives, relationship and especially “you”s/Harry’s personal struggle with their identity/body/confidence...

Because yes, i absolutely think these tattoos are being echoed in the song. “Never gonna dance again” as a lyric and then as a tattoo on Harry’s legs like shackles around his ankles represents the sensation of shame, of being stuck, bc of your desires, bc of your sexuality. Obviously we can never know why Harry got the tattoo, as in what experience pushed him to choose those lyrics or what exactly he recognizes in himself, but it’s safe to say it’s about the struggles of being queer and navigating relationships with that identity and with others.

Most importantly, the sense of shamelessly dancing, dancing like no one’s watching, dancing together with your lover, as a celebration of self, life, love, is the key here. Harry got that tattoo ages ago, at a time when he undoubtedly felt way more stuck. When he couldn’t dance freely the way he wanted to and with whom he wanted to. Perfect Now is a reminder to him, an encouragement to still dance if he wants to, no matter what people say or think. Significantly, then, Harry’s own Treat People With Kindness heavily features that same sentiment, but in an extremely positive light: i have found a place (in life and in myself) where i feel like i have given and was given second chances and now i dance bc i finally feel good in my skin.

Louis has obviously been there from the start, or at least from when or before Harry properly started experimenting with/questioning how he likes to present and how he identifies as. Before he ever dared to consider pulling on a pair of women’s skinny jeans, never mind a ball gown. Louis has seen him limit himself as well as being limited by others ofc and has always seemed to have been there, with a secure hand on Harry’s back, to encourage him. Even at a time when boys wearing nail polish or skirts was unthinkable. Just remember how much encouragement Harry needed when growing out his hair; Louis literally joined him. yes this might make me cry okay i need to stop bc i’m going off track and this is just becoming a larry breakdown while i was trying to hype up this beautiful song.

What I’m trying to say is: Louis has always seen all of Harry. He’s always had his back, no matter what. He’s loved every part of him. And now, on a completely gender neutral album, in the sweetest, softest song off of the entire thing, Louis puts in the word “queen”, and that is so very deliberate it makes me want to scream. It’s Louis confirming his love again and again while affirming the multitudes contained by Harry, including everything involving his gender journey. brb crying

It’s a raw Louis, an honest, sweet, kind, loving partner, and both of them are fucking lucky to have each other, and I also wish that all of us end up in a caring and wholesome relationship like that. I truly do.

#wow i thought this one was gonna be easier #i always do why do i think that???#every time i look closer into l's lyrics i see more depth #this is all just a perfect mushy mess so it's on brand for me #perfect now analysis #lyric analysis #my posts #parallels

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thechekhov · 4 years

Note

So glad you decided to play Undertale! I think it would really suit you so I’m so happy you got into it! Could I have your thoughts about the game? I would LOVE to hear them. I’m ALL for long essays and rants, that’s my jam, but even just a small review from you would make me ecstatic!

Alright alright alright alright.

I am ecstatic that someone asked because I have a lot to say AS ALWAYS.

I’m gonna try to keep this readable, I swear. Will add pictures in between to keep things interesting.

However, due to the length this will SURELY achieve, AND due to spoilers (and yes, laugh at me all you want, the game has been out for 5 years) I’ll put this under a cut. Read at your own (f)risk.

Metagaming - the game plays YOU

When I first started Undertale, I ‘knew’ these things:

there’s a stabby one with a knife, their name is chara

there’s a flower everyone hates

something something sans something something

and the last, and perhaps most important thing

you can spare your enemies to avoid killing them

The thing is. The THING IS.

I did not realize how pervasive this strategy was. My thought at first was ‘okay, so I don’t have to kill EVERYONE.’

I had no idea that the reality was that I didn’t have to kill anyone.

I’m sure many others have already said this, but Undertale kind of changes the way you think about other games. It forces to you examine simply fighting your way through the RPG by introducing completely non-murder-y ways to resolve issues. This conversation-based combat style is not the first of its kind, I’m sure, but it’s also incredibly well done. It ties into the story, it ties into your decisions.

It ties into your decisions SO MUCH that it changes everything else in the outcome.

Undertale is a game well known for breaking the 4th wall. However, it does so in a strangely eerie, heart-wrenchingly real way. It teaches us that there are other solutions to conflicts - and it really... it really TEACHES us, you know?

Which is funny because to be honest, it took me a while to get the lesson.

(You may already be fully aware of this but yes, my first True Neutral Route was extremely organic. I legitimately had no idea that there was even more than one ending. I was just stumbling about er... killing. Out of habit.)

The beauty of this is that the game drives home that point even more effectively because I was fully unaware of my own bias. I had assumed that some enemies would require killing - DESPITE TORIEL SPECIFICALLY TELLING ME TO TALK TO THEM, and the entire Ruins tutorial being about Mercy. I killed the Dummy on accident (granted, it was due to me pressing the key too fast a few times) and didn’t think much of Toriel’s disapproval. I killed a few monsters because I saw my level was low and decided to automatically grind a little bit.

By the time I got to Toriel, I was still not comfortable with the mechanic. I knew I could Spare her somehow - after all, she was a kind monster, and clearly an important character - but the Spare option didn’t yield promising results the first few times I chose it. I ran out of patience and decided that maybe... maybe it was like pokemon!

Maybe I had to get her health down to a certain level before she would allow me to pass through.

Funny thing though.... you know what happens if you attack Toriel one too many times? Even if she has most of her health left?

Yeah uh... it activates that one-hit-KO thing from No Mercy Route.

So of course, what happened? I hit her one too many times... and killed her! And of course, immediately panicked and reset.

I got back to my previous save, Spared Toriel PROPERLY this time, and walked out of the ruins only to be confronted with my own reliance on the magical ‘redo’ button which was... apparently... not that magical.

Because it WASN’T a clean redo. Flowey apparently remembered.

The idea that the game would KNOW about my previous attempts beyond the save file snapped me out of my casual Undertale playthrough. I realized that something was up - this game was not going to be like the others.

I think it was from this point on that I tried to be more careful, but again - I still hadn’t quite gotten the memo about not killing. I took down a few monsters around Snowdin. And when I got to Papyrus, I grew frustrated about not being able to beat him (I ended up losing several times and coming back to try again) and went off to grind SOME MORE because I figured that could raise my HP and increase my chances of holding off long enough to Spare him.

(The incredible thing about this game is that actually, raising your level gives you only a slight advantage. You can be level 1 and carrying no items, and as long as you’re relatively proficient at dodging the bullet hell style projectiles you will have no issues.)

Anyway, the point is that I realized I could spare the big monsters and did so readily - but I didn’t bother to spare many of the smaller ones.

I figured it didn’t matter.

And then I successfully evaded Undyne, gave her a cup of water, etc... and then went to her house to meet Papyrus, fully expecting her to befriend me anyway.

And you know what happened?

“She said she won’t hang out with a murderer.“

I think that probably hit me the hardest at that point in the game.

I had a bit ‘....oh’ moment at that point because I realized that the game would punish me for killing even the ‘not-important’ civilians of the Underground. It wasn’t about just sparing the ‘boss monsters’. My actions had consequences beyond just the ‘elite’ characters that we all tend to focus on.

Because yes, it made sense. It wasn’t about just Undyne - why WOULD she randomly be my friend after I killed tons of living beings?

From there on, I spared everyone, but didn’t reset. I decided to see how it would unravel.

The thing I want to talk about, which is a little difficult, is that...

It took me that long to learn that kindness was the answer. And that, in itself, ends up being a metaphor.

It’s difficult to be kind if you have not been show how to be.

It’s difficult to change the way you behave (in a game or out of it) if all you know is using other methods.

It was hard enough to spare Toriel before I realized I had to just be very patient and trust that her attacks wouldn’t hit - though at first I thought she would just kill me!

It was hard to avoid Papyrus’ attacks and I had to die several times before I successfully got through it.

It was near impossible to fight Undyne because I legitimately had no idea Fleeing was an option. I struggled for ages at her stage, and I had to ask for help to understand what I could do.

And that’s actually honestly very true to life as well.

Being kind takes risk. Being kind takes effort. And sometimes, being kind means asking others HOW to be kind.

When you choose to be kind, you risk being hurt, and you risk being trapped (Toriel). When you choose to be kind, you need to expand a lot more energy to succeed (Papyrus). When you choose to be kind, you need to sometimes reach out to others to show you how to properly do it (Undyne).

The rest of the playthrough probably went about as you expect. I completed the game, didn’t kill any Boss Monsters, fought to the end and... got that really unsatisfying Neutral Ending which felt strangely bittersweet.

And of course, after I was done, I was prompted to go back and do a proper Pacifist Run. Which I did. I learned about the background of Determination, about Chara and Asriel... and about how everything came to be the way it was.

The thing that gets me the most about this game is how it serves as a direct parallel to how we use videogames. In fact, Undertale is a videogame... about videogames.

Chara appears to be a direct metaphor for the people that use videogames to escape - to cope with whatever happened to them in The Overworld. Bad family life, or bad relationships or whatever we suffer - escapism through games is not, in itself, a new theme.

Chara arrived in Undertale by dropping themself down a hole in the mountain, perhaps even seeking to end their life. They dropped into a world which offered them comfort and companionship, a new family and a new life - but in the end, their nature was destructive because their means to finding a solution inadvertently used other people as fodder. Asgore, Asriel - they used everyone else to complete their plans. It wasn’t about forming connections - it was about Completing the Quest.

I wonder - did Chara even HAVE access to a MERCY option?

Was their world one without the option of sparing someone? Did they only have the choice of acting - and was Mercy in the hands of whoever attacked them? I wonder how difficult it might have been for them. I wonder how that, in itself, shaped their perception of the world.

I wonder if that’s why, during the No Mercy run, people recognize you as Chara? If they come back and attach themselves to your resonating DETERMINATION?

If this is true, was MERCY perhaps created later, brought into existence once Asriel himself made the choice to NOT fight, to turn back and flee, even after being attacked by humans in the Overworld?

(It would be a nice parallel to Asgore DESTROYING the Mercy option when you enter the fight with him...)

...

In the end, I think Undertale is about many things, including video games.

But it’s also hurting - and being hurt.

It’s about how trauma can shape us, how we deal with feeling grief, and loss, and depression - and not being able to feel anything.

It’s about how we focus on goals and use DETERMINATION to keep going - even when whatever it is that’s driving us no longer has any SOUL.

It’s about how our action have consequences, but they also carry the weight of a choice, and how powerful those choices are, and how powerless we feel when we aren’t given a choice - not to fight back, nor show mercy.

I think that’s probably the reason this game resonated with so many people. It really brings something we love about videogames to the forefront - that ability to fight back, to have full and total control of our own lives...

And it also shows us how having that endless loop of repetitive grinding and fighting with zero consequences can lead to an incredible hollowness and make us numb to how we interact with real-life people.

Anyway.

Good game.

#Anonymous #undertale #flowey #toriel #frisk #chekhov draws undertale #chekhov writes a text post

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kyberphilosopher · 3 years

Text

Atonement

Requested: yes.

Word Count: 4193 Cal must deal with the consequences of his comrades deception and injuries, while they must deal with what this means for their relationship.

Atonement is the concept of a person taking action to correct previous wrongdoing on their part, either through direct action to undo the consequences of that act, equivalent action to do good for others, or some other expression of feelings of remorse.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Once upon a time, Anakin wasn’t all bad. But maybe that was why he died. After that, there wouldn’t have been competition for someone that was all bad, or at least somewhat worse than Anakin was alone.

Not that Anakin was a complete and utter angel. You knew, not better than anyone but still enough, that Anakin wasn’t all good either. And sure, most people aren’t, but your Master wasn’t most people. Far more talented and powerful was he than the other Jedi Knights, but far more unhinged was he who could not control himself. Anakin was the latter.

The other Jedi seemed to pity you. It wasn’t as if Anakin Skywalker was always inherently kind on you. You weren’t funny like Ahsoka, or respectable like Obi-Wan. In fact, Anakin had a suspicion that there was something inside of you that reminded him of his mother. Thus, he was cold. And he rarely bothered to teach in the way that people deserved to be taught.

He doesn’t like me, you remember thinking. He never will.

You had been the perfect padawan. You were certain you had done everything right. And yet, Anakin’s stare was icy, when he bothered to look your way at all. Where had your Master gone after the Purge anyway?

Your eyes open slowly.

Light peels across your vision, smeared from the art of being tired. Once your lids are widened, the back of your right hand lays across your forehead lazily. You had been dreaming, hadn’t you? But what had it been about? And why did it seem so hard to remember?

Maybe it was about your Master again, you realize as you exhale. No- ex Master now. But maybe it had been about him. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

You’re a Clone Killer.

Eyebrows crease with a twitch. You’ve laid in bed with too much comfort now. It’s time to get up. Stars, but the bed is warm and your legs are tangled in your comforter just right. When’s the next time you’ll get to feel this relaxed and sleepy?

Must’ve been the worst Padawan in history.

“Shit,” you whisper with closed eyes. Yes, now you’re more than certain that it’s time to get up. Comfort doesn’t matter today.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The restroom door hisses to a close behind you. Rubbing the back of your neck, you begin your sluggish march to the ships deck. You can already smell Greez’s cooking wafting from around the corner. What is that? Sausage and... is that eggs?

Your pants scuff against each other, sweatshirt twisting with the reach of your arm. As the floor transitions from metal to stiff rug, you pull your chair out.

“Ah, good morning sleepyhead,” you hear Greez’s voice call out to you. Your eyes remain sleepy, gazing down at the table. Doesn’t even look present, Cal observes as his eyes flick over your face.

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sun today,” Dritus continues from the stove. One of his four hands flick the pan over the stove up with an explosive sizzle. “Be careful you don’t make me feel bad, so I don’t feel inclined to give you more of my food.”

“I slept in too late,” you mutter, half to yourself.

At the other side of the table, Cal’s stocky form is hunched over. One of his hands is wrapped around a cup on the table, which is covered in cold perspiration. Soft ginger hair falls back as he looks over you. You could feel his pretty, kaleidoscope eyes from the other side of the universe. He doesn’t say anything, though, and you’re too tired to play the “What’s He Thinking About?” game right now.

“You’re damn right you did,” the Latero says. “Cal here was just about to go and check in on you.”

You swallow quickly, glancing up at the man parallel to you. Cal is looking over at Greez, given you a clear view of his jaw and the scar that stretches over his neck. He’s beautiful. He always has been. You can feel your ears start to burn, and you look away almost immediately.

“Thanks,” you say instead, finally pulling your hand away from your neck. Without even realizing it, your intelligent orbs look to Cal again. This time, however, your eyes meet. Electric pulses run through you, tickling from your neck to your pelvis. And, true to your nature, you brake gazes immediately. “I think I’ll skip out on breakfast today.”

“Seriously?” Greez whirls around, dumbfounded. “But... breakfast is the most important meal of the day!”

That’s true. Ever since you gained the privilege of having Greez Dritus the wanted Latero to cook for you, breakfast had been far more likeable. He always knows how to add the perfect amount of spice and flavor without coming off as overbearing. But there’s something in the back of your throat, crawling up to the tip of your tongue. A name of an old master, and the dream that you can’t remember.

“I’m just not hungry,” you push yourself out of your stool and slide it back under the table. Cal watches your form jog down the steps and disappear into the cockpit, his lips parted and near pulling into a frown.

“Wonder what her problem is,” Greez’s raspy voice calls into the air.

“Let her be,” a mature female voice breaks as it rounds the corner. Cere emerges from the hallway by the stares, her watchful eyes also glued on the cockpit archway. “She’ll come around.”

Will you? Cal wonders. You’ve always been a bit tight lipped in the grand scheme of things, but today the anguish is peeling off of you like steam. You seem pale in the way that conveys sickness. The dark circles under your eyes are wise, but tired. Maybe you’re just ill.

It’s not that far off. As you flip switches around on the console pointlessly, all you have to think about are these hands that disappointed your Master. Calloused, rough fingers. Raw palms from holding your saber. Clever, but never enough.

You exhale through your nose, your shoulders sinking.

Oh, that’s right. That’s what happened to your Master.

How could you have forgotten that?

“Rough night?”

You perk up at the sound of his voice, but don’t turn around. It’s not that you don’t want to look at Cal, it’s that you feel to ashamed of yourself to even try it. You don’t deserve to look upon him.

“Just feeling sick,” you mutter so hoarse he can barely hear.

“Is that the truth?”

Your eyes widen stiffly. One heel at a time, your feet turn around until you are facing your companion.

Time slows as you look at Cal. His soft orange hair billows in the air conditioning, kaleidoscope eyes twinkling with wonder. The freckles, the jaw, the chapped pink lips. He is beautiful. The way he looks at you now makes you feel guiltier than usual.

Why don’t you just tell him? Tell him you know the person who’s responsible for that scar on his stomach. Tell him you were trained by him. Tell him about your nightmare last night, how you woke up in cold sweats. But you can’t. You just can’t.

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely, eyes glued to his.

Cal steps forward suddenly, almost losing his balance. His soft, pink lips come dangerously close to yours. You can smell his scent, turning your jaw to meet him instinctively. But it was just an accident.

He steps away to regain his balance. The only sound in the room is that of the air vents.

He wasn’t going to kiss you.

Cal stays still, firm. “I hope you feel better,” he says in the same tone as before, though far more sincere.

And he turns away and walks out of the room, leaving you alone with only the air to comfort you.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The leaves crunch under boots as they do. Twigs snap, pebbles crumble. Dirt scuffs against each shoe.

Above you, the Kashyyyk trees whisper in the wind, allowing pools of sunlight to fall in between the loose spaces of green. The breeze tickles at the skin on your arms. It’s a nice day. But this is still not enough to improve the sick feeling in your stomach.

Maybe you really were just a failure of a padawan after all.

“Hey,” the boy beside you calls. “Look up there.”

You raise your head, squinting through the thin, rainbow rays of sun. Up ahead of you, over a steep drop that could be anything from a river to an abyss, is a great mechanical building. It’s sleek and gray, standing out against the natural beauty. This itself is enough proof of Imperial presence.

“I thought they would’ve left by now,” you mutter, slightly in awe. Birds fly over the fort as if it didn’t bother them for a second, and the waterfall nearby doesn’t cease its babbling. “Why haven’t they left by now?”

“Only one way to find out,” Cal tells you after some seconds of silence.

Something rushes through the air then- a gust of wind that only you seem to feel. It’s haunting and low, like it has it’s own voice or musical theme of doom. It’s almost impossible to tell whether it’s a warning, a promise, or some kind of mockery, but it feels dark. More importantly, it feels like a message. But Cal doesn’t move a muscle. Only his orange locks billow in time with his lashes, which close slowly.

“Wait,” you break the quiet. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

The boys eyes are furrowed when his head turns to you. His pale green eyes flash briefly in the sunlight, but the twinkle of confusion and curiosity remain after the flash disappears. “Why not?”

The rush of wind slows until you can barely feel it anymore. The words are on the tip of your dried up tongue, but you’re not even sure what they are. What can you say to explain your... your fear? It’s more than just intuition or a gut feeling. It’s something you know for a fact, and you have the evidence, but you can’t even hold it.

“It’s dangerous,” you decide, your bottom lip shaking too quick to notice. You say it almost casually, almost as if it were obvious. And of course, it is. Thus the flaw in your attempt.

“Most things are,” Cal replies.

Just then, the pitter pattering of little metal feet tap against the dirt and mulch comes to life. It completely cuts away what little presence the ominous air had left, only allowing BD-1′s happy little whirs to clearly ring through.

Cal’s hands rest on his hips as he turns his head to look at his partner. He squats to the ground with his little calm smile. “Would it make you feel better if I sent BD to scout ahead?”

It wouldn’t at all. All you can think about instead is your little scrapped friend getting his sliced clean off with a long, red blade. Cal wouldn’t even be able to fix him.

“BD, go on ahead,” Cal tells the machine. He scratches along BD’s head for encouragement, and the creature doesn’t even seemed miffed before hopping off into the leaves and trees until he’s completely out of sight.

“I don’t- I don’t think-” your hands ball to fists at your sides. A lump forms in your throat like an invisible bubble, or a heavy ball clogging your airway.

“Y/N?” Cal’s brows furrow once more as he twists and stands again. “You look pale.”

Another wave of wind flows through. It’s the same as before- cold, threatening, filled with something angry and sad and warning you to never have to feel it for real. However, your partner feels it this time too.

His eyes leave yours and drop to the ground behind him as he twists in concern, looking around for whatever could be the cause. Subconsciously, his right hand lifts from his side to the right side of his ribs. Your eyes widen in understanding, but you wish so badly it was anything but that.

“Do you feel that?” Cal calls out to you, still trying to locate the presence that doesn’t even exist.

Yes, you think as you watch the boys other hand slip over his saber. I feel it.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Anakin wasn’t always evil. Whether or not he’s even evil now is up for debate. But for as long as you knew him, in your eyes at least, he was your hero. Not because he helped you, which he didn’t, or because he wanted the best for you, which he didn’t care about. But because he was strong, and someone to look up to. He’s the knight in shining armor that every little boy wants to be like when they grow up, and the warrior every feminist wants to be equal to. Anakin Skywalker was, by all means, a dream.

So then why is this the worst you’ve ever felt?

“Master?” your voice wheezes out. There’s a storm all around you, a personal tornado for the three of you that makes everything but roaring hard to hear. Rapid blinking helps to keep the dust from your eyes every few seconds, but not enough. It’s starting to sting.

“Stop,” you hear another voice say, but it’s muffled with chokes. “Stop...”

This isn’t Anakin. This is a man of metal- obsidian and iron and cooled magma. There’s not a single inch of flesh showing. The cape, whipping wildly in the wind, is the closest thing to organic. It’s tattered, and the wind gives the illusion of it bleeding away like inky smoke.

“Join me,” False Anakin calls. His fist clenched with determination, a red glow brightening up the area. “Serve your master.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

And from Cal’s position, you just look plain pretty. Kind of distraught, with faded eyes and slightly knitted brows paired with a frown. Your hair is sort of billowing in time with the storm around you, along side that weapon on your belt. Really, you look sad.

Cal’s fingers dig into the dirt and sand beneath his body. His whole form feels like it’s going to rip away into dust, like Vader doesn’t want him there. And of course, he doesn’t. He hasn’t even given Cal a glance. That being said, his whole stomach feels entirely enflamed. Especially that one special place where he’d felt Vader’s touch before. Now Cal knows that you must’ve been touched by him as well. It’s the worst feeling in the world.

“Don’t,” he chokes. Cal gets a mouthful of dirt in the process, but he doesn’t even register it. “Y/N-”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“-will come back from this.”

Your eyes open. They feel stiff and dry, like how you imagine a mummy’s would. The light over head is blinding and white, with flecks of rainbow bouncing off it at the sharper edges. You do not react in any way.

Internal bleeding of the stomach, one impalement scar on your right side. There is a long, long series of blisters and torn skin across your shoulder from being tossed and dragged across the ground. Then there’s the slit over your left eye which makes it impossible to open. You might as well have lost it.

Some people would’ve been happy to just be alive. Fighting Darth Vader? Fighting Anakin Skywalker? And surviving it? Well, not everyone gets that privilege. But for some reason the appreciation isn’t coming to you. Maybe you should’ve died back then as some kind of last apology.

“I know they will.”

You hear footsteps from beyond the doorway become more and more faint, until you can’t even hear them at all. The metal door hisses open. There’s a few footsteps against the floor, then a sharp pause.

Your head rolls to your right lazily. A young man stands before you. A cute redhead with a broad chest and wide, shocked pale green eyes. Underneath them are mauve rings- dark circles and bags- and chapped pink lips.

Cal opens his mouth to speak, and then spins around. With the flick of your wounded fingers, the entrance to the room closes and seals itself shut with a click. The cute redhead is still, his back away from you.

Maybe because of the loss of some other senses, your Jedi one’s have heightened. The intuition inside of you is reading his color- his entire aura- something you could’ve sworn you weren’t able to do before. There’s so much anxiety from him. Enough to make up from the lack of anxiety you have right about now.

“You’re awake,” he speaks. You can sense his voice about to crack. “I should tell the others.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cal,” your raspy voice croaks. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

He turns around to look at you, one foot at a time. His eyes are downturned tiredly, but mostly from sadness. The corners of his lips are annoyed from your words. “You’ve been asleep for two weeks,” Cal says. “Didn’t know if you were coming back.”

You don’t say anything.

His use of the words ‘coming back’ sting. Just two simple words, which to you feel like they mean something far more deep and sinister. Almost as sinister as yourself.

“Are you okay?” he proceeds to question, though you both know it’s just out of politeness.

“I can’t see out of my eye.”

“Do you know why?”

You don’t move. You’re quiet yet again.

Cal’s voice raises frustratingly. “Do you know why? You let someone put a lightsaber to your face just so you could smash in their helmet!”

“I don’t remember that.”

“He stabbed you in your stomach!”

Cal’s never raised his voice at you before. You wish you were more upset about it. His tone alone is enough to make a sinking weight appear in the pit of your stomach. But you can’t cry. You can barely feel anything but both relief and emptiness. Not once in those two weeks did you dream about either Anakin, or Vader.

“I watched him pick you up and slam you on the ground! I watched you die about a million times out there!”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” you mutter hoarsely. And you mean that, too.

“I thought that...”

Don’t. Don’t tell him.

“I thought that I was going to hurt you.”

Silence fills the room from corner to corner. Even whatever air that once came from the vents has come to a complete halt. Maybe every system in the galaxy has stopped its turn.

“What?” Cal asks, now much softer. He takes a gentle step towards you, his eyes desperately locked to your own.

You glance down before back to him. “I was his apprentice before the purge. Don’t ask Cere about it- he never talked about me. I doubt there was even paperwork to confirm it. I thought this was coming but... I wasn’t sure.”

Cal takes another step forward.

“He never liked me. And then on Kashyyyk... he...” You swallow down the shame for a moment. “He told me he wanted me to be his apprentice again. For real this time.”

“So you fought him,” Cal partially pieces together.

You swallow again and look down to your hands.

“Cal, I fought him because I wanted to go with him. I saw my- I saw the future he was talking about. It was good for me. I was happy... sort of.”

He’s finally close enough to sit on the end of the bench that you didn’t even process lying on. There’s concern in his eyes as he listens, and he doesn’t dare take them off your face. It makes you feel like even more of a coward.

“But I didn’t see you there, too. I didn’t see anyone there. I thought maybe I... I thought maybe I had killed you.”

Cal opens his parched lips slightly, and then closes them.

“And I really don’t want to kill you.”

Cal looks away. From here, sitting up slightly so you didn’t choke in your sleep, you can make out freckles on his neck. They stretch over his tendons, across his jawline. They’ll no doubt stretch over that scar from his jaw down on the other side. His long lashes move as he blinks. His hair looks softer than ever.

“After the battle I carried you away. After it was done you just... looked at me. And then you collapsed, and I had to carry you.”

Silence.

Cal gets up.

“Cal?” you call, louder than you meant.

The boy turns back to look at you.

“I...”

Is he prettier than before?

“Do you hate me?”

Cal creases his brows.

“Do you... are you going to talk to me again?”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak.

“Don’t say it, if you don’t mean it. I was trained by the most dangerous person in the galaxy. By your biggest enemy. I... lied to you about it. I almost killed you, Cal. You can hate me.”

“Do you think I hate you?”

Your eye squints, and finally it glosses over as it wells with tears. “Yeah.”

Cal Kestis. Man of your dreams. Hero of everything. Angel of infinity. Please, don’t hate me. You have every right to, I know. But please- please don’t.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” he finally whispers, looking down at the floor. “Maybe you should’ve told me, but... I think deep down I already knew.”

A questioning look appears over your features, but Cal answers before you can ask. “You’d been acting off for weeks, Y/N. Those nightmares were about Vader, weren’t they.”

“Yeah. They were... Do you... think of me any differently?”

Please.

“...No. I don’t know if I could ever do that to you.”

“I couldn’t think of you differently either,” you say after a moment. You throat is getting scratchy, but it’s hard to care.

“I care about you, Y/N,” he tells you, sincere but calm. “You know that don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t have carried me if you didn’t care, Cal.”

“Y/N on the morning of this whole thing I wanted to kiss you,” he snaps, his hands limply swinging with urgency. “I should’ve kissed you.”

So many emotions in one conversation.

“You can still kiss me now that I’m clean with you.”

Cal looks at you for a long time, his tired, bright eyes searching for something in your stillness. Then he looks down.

“It’s okay, Cal. It’s part of my atonement.”

He looks at you for a long time again. The corner of his lips twitch upwards for just a second. It puts you at ease somewhat, with a warm feeling spreading in your stomach finally.

“You’ve got nothing to atone for,” Cal says. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Y/N.”

You have nothing to say. No words come to your dry tongue, although your lips hang open like something will come out. Nothing does. You just look at your redhead, who’s tired and distraught, but has more clarity and love than he ever has in his entire life. He won’t raise his voice to you again.

Your palm dances again as you look to away. The door finally opens again, and Cal forgot that you had initially even caged him in here.

“You can go now.”

It’s quiet. You can hear shuffling, slow footsteps like maybe he doesn’t want to leave. “Can I kiss you when I get back?”

Even while looking at the wall right next to you, your face goes hot and pink.

“Maybe,” your husky voice answers. And when you turn to look back at him, he’s already looking at you with a genuine smile like a little boy getting a big present that they can’t believe. That’s how he sees it, anyway.

“I don’t hate you, Y/N,” he suddenly says. “I could never hate you.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Idk if I’m happy with this or not? I ran into a bunch of writers block with this I don’t know why. Sorry it took so long to put out anyway. I also might change it to better fit the request because that’s really the most important thing to me and with finishing it after literal months I might’ve lost sight of the whole point. Idk though. Cal is a cutie.

TAGLIST: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @haztory @fanficsforheartandsoul @kit-jpg @ahsokatano-thetogruta

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nah-she-didnt · 3 years

Text

JILY AUGUST CHALLENGE | @nah-she-didnt vs @floreatcastellumposts

summer + ok so I almost drowned in the sea whilst body boarding and yeah you saved me but hEY don’t laugh

Read here or on AO3

Lily Of The Sea

Absolutely mental. He must have been absolutely mental to agree to any part of this.

First, there was the fact that he had chosen to spend a week in Wales with Remus when he should have been training for football season. That decision alone would surely ruin his life when he showed up back at school completely out of shape and got booted from the team.

Second, while James liked spending time with one of his best mates, Wales was bloody boring. Remus lived in a charming little cottage with his charming parents in a charming town that had absolutely nothing for a couple of teenage boys to do. There wasn’t even a damn cinema for them to waste away in for the summer. Really, how did people live like this? It was only out of sheer boredom that he’d agreed to spend the day at the beach in the first place. He usually made it a point to avoid the beach at all costs, but these were desperate times indeed.

Herein lay James’ third, and stupidest, decision. He must have been absolutely bloody mental to agree to wade out into the frigid mass of water before him that was the sea.

He turned to throw Remus another reproachful look. “Do I have to do this?”

“Yes!” Remus called over from his spot on the shore. He looked perfectly content, and dry, as he watched James’ slow march to his certain death. “Your fear of open water is, frankly, embarrassing. It’s high time you nipped it in the bud.”

James winced as the water lapped at his shins, blistering his sun-warmed skin with icy cold. “I thought you said you were right behind me?”

Remus grinned. “Oh, you don’t need me. You’re doing brilliantly.” James couldn’t help but notice the mirth in his friend’s voice.

It was true, he did harbor an embarrassing fear of the sea. And why shouldn’t he? The water was so dark you could barely see three inches below the surface. Surely some unknown horror came closer with every step.

James swore loudly. “Rem, I hate this. It’s bloody freezing!”

“It’s the Irish Sea, what do you expect?”

“Damn the Irish then!”

“Mate, you’re English, I don’t think you’re allowed to say that.”

And so, James plowed onward, cursing Remus under his breath. The water was now up to his knees. He could feel the hair on his legs standing at attention as goosebumps emerged from his skin.

However, as he became more and more submerged, something in James began to change. The water was so cold it nearly took his breath away but it also filled him with a new resolve. It wasn’t so bad, really. He could do this.

With that thought, he plunged forward, brought his hands together above his head, and dove straight into an oncoming wave.

He hadn’t been prepared for how quiet underwater was. He was vaguely aware of the wave crashing above his head, but the force of it merely rocked him backward gently. He tried his best to open his eyes but the saltwater stung so fiercely that he shut them tight again. After a few moments of floating beneath the waves, James found his feet below him again and pushed up toward the surface.

He heard Remus’ triumphant whoop as his head broke the surface. He straightened up, embarrassed to find that the water was only about three feet deep, and shook his hair out of his eyes like a dog. “There,” he shouted in Remus’ direction, “I’ve done it. Now, will you come out here with me, please? I don’t need a bloody babysitter.”

Remus sighed loudly. “Yeah alright. Plus, if you drown, I’m sure you’d rather be saved by a fit lifeguard than by me.”

“Too true.”

They spent the next half hour lounging in the water. It was still freezing cold, but James found that it did not bother him so much now. The sun, in a rare moment of favor, had decided to shine bright and warm on the beach today. Remus showed James how to lie back and float so that his top half could be drenched in warmth while his back half rocked with the waves. The effect was actually quite lovely. Perhaps he wasn’t so mental after all.

It was at this very moment that he heard the muffled sound of a whistle.

“Wha-?” James said stupidly as he sat up from his float, pulling his head and ears out of the water so that he could hear properly, “what was that? Remus?”

But Remus was gone. It was only then that James realized how far he had floated from the safety of the beach. He was at least twenty yards away from the shore now, and Remus was not only a few feet away as he previously thought. James whipped his head around frantically. “Remus!”

“Riptide!” Remus’ voice called from somewhere behind him. He turned to see his friend scrambling up the beach through the surf. “Swim parallel to the beach! Now!”

Shit.

This was why he avoided the ocean. What the hell was a riptide? It certainly didn’t sound good.

James flapped his arms wildly as he swam, trying his best to stay parallel to the shore. Now he could feel the pull of the water on his body, coaxing him further and further out into the vast sea. He had to keep swimming. He had to, otherwise how on earth would he be able to murder Remus?

“You’re a bloody bastard, you know that?” James screamed to his friend as he fought against the sea, “You made me come out here!” He was closer to the shore now, almost at the wave breakpoint, only ten yards from where Remus stood.

“I know, I know, keep going!” Remus called, “You’re almost there.”

James fought with all his might to keep swimming. He really was out of shape after all, but he forced the thought from his mind as he struggled. Nearly there.

Finally, he made it back to the shallows. He stood with a great effort and began to stagger drunkenly toward Remus. “I can’t believe you left me out there alone! You smug toss-”

WHAM.

The wave hit James squarely in the back, knocking him hard into the rough, rocky beach.

His cheek caught the edge of a sharp rock. He felt his skin rip and sting fiercely, but he had bigger problems before him. The strength of the retreating wave was dragging him, helplessly, back into the deep. He tried to stand but he had no idea which way was up. The fall had knocked the wind out of him, and for a moment he truly wondered if he was about to drown.

Then, suddenly, there was warmth. Hands - yes, small, warm hands - wrapped protectively around his chest. Then there were arms, a torso pressed against his back. The last thing he felt before everything went dark was the mysterious body pulling him up, up, up.

...

“Is he dead?”

“Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not. Look at him. He looks dead.”

“He’s not dead, you idiot. He’s breathing just fine. What did you leave him out there for? He can barely swim.”

“We were floating! I didn’t know how far he’d drifted.”

The first thing James noticed was the warmth. His whole body tingled with a warm glow in sharp contrast to the freezing water. The water. Where was the water?

James snapped his eyes open. Two blurry faces swam above him. Remus, who looked concerned, but James only had eyes for the other face that hovered above him. A girl’s face. A very pretty girl’s face.

James blinked. “Am I dead?”

“Apparently not,” Remus sighed, “Christ, James, you really know how to make a scene.”

James barely heard this comment. The girl continued to stare at him, her brow furrowed. She didn’t look all that excited to find that he was alive. The more she looked at him, the more James felt that he’d seen this girl somewhere before.

“Who are you?” He whispered up to her. He hadn’t meant to say it, but he still wasn’t sure that she was not a dream.

“Hold still.” She spoke with a practiced, authoritative voice as she turned away from him to rummage through a red bag at her side. She withdrew a white package that she tore open with her teeth, pulled out a wet cloth, and brought it to his face.

James gasped as the cut on his cheek seared with pain. “Ouch! Blimey, what is that?”

“Rubbing alcohol,” she said, again with that focused voice, “don’t want it getting infected. What month is it?”

“Uh-”

“Evans, let him rest,” Remus protested, “he’s just had a shock.”

The girl shook her head. “We’ve got to make sure he’s not concussed. The month, Potter, what month is it?”

“August,” he said stupidly, “it’s August.”

“Who’s the Prime Minister?”

“Wilson.”

“What’s your name?”

“James Potter, what’s yours?”

This seemed to surprise her. The look of concentration slid from her face as she regarded him cautiously. “Lily.”

James squinted up at her with curiosity. “Of the valley?”

Get it together, you prat said a voice in his head, what a stupid thing to-

To his surprise, she smiled, and his heart did a backflip. “Yeah, sure.” Then she shook her head as if to rid herself of the distraction. “You’re going to be fine. Can you stand?”

James nodded and allowed Remus to pull him roughly to his feet. He steadied himself and reached instinctively up to his throbbing cheek. Lily smacked his hand away.

“What did I just say about infection? Blimey, maybe you are concussed.”

James wracked his throbbing brain. Everything was still a bit fuzzy, but now he was sure that he’d seen this girl before. “How did you know my name?”

Lily shot Remus a knowing look. “We go to school together. In Scotland. Remember?”

James felt his cheeks grow hot. That’s how he knew her, he’d seen Remus hanging around with a cute redhead before. “Ah - yeah, ‘course. Sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

She shrugged as she bent down to pack up her first aid kit. “Why would you? I’m not a footballer, not a posh kid, no big deal.”

James frowned. “I have plenty of friends who aren’t footballers or ‘posh kids,’” he said as he made quotation marks with his fingers. It was hard to keep the defensive edge out of his voice. She made him sound quite shallow. He motioned earnestly toward his friend. “Take Remus over here.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“Anytime.”

“Look,” Lily straightened back up, a look of annoyance on her face, “I’m sure you’ve got lots of friends and all, I just meant that we don’t exactly run in the same crowd.”

“But you know Remus. I heard you call him an idiot before.” James glanced at Remus, who looked like he wasn’t sure if he should stay for this tense conversation or disappear back into the safety of the water. “He only lets his very best friends call him that.”

Lily raised her eyebrows. “Really? His friends sound swell.”

Remus, still looking uncomfortable, finally cut in. “We knew each other before school,” he said quickly, looking from James to Lily, “from when we were kids.”

Lily nodded. She was starting to look downright testy now, but James could not for the life of him figure out why. “I used to spend the summers here with my aunt, and we met as kids. We used to go swimming on this beach all the time.” Her face softened at the memory. “It was lovely, actually. I used to love to swim. Haven’t had much time for it lately, until today.”

“Why not?” James persisted. It seemed that every question he asked did nothing more than to elevate her already defensive mood. He couldn’t help it, he had to keep talking to her. Had to keep making her cheeks flush like that.

Lily jerked her head back toward the lifeguard stand. “Don’t have much time, I spent most of my days working here ‘till sunset.”

“Ah,” James pulled what he hoped looked like a sympathetic face, “I see. Not a fun way to spend a holiday, I can imagine.”

Very unfortunately this seemed to be the worst thing he could have possibly said.

“Yeah, well. Some of us have to work to live.” She caught Remus’ eye and said with purpose, “Right. I’ll see you at school, Remus.” And with that, she turned and stalked away, leaving a very stunned James in her wake.

...

“You really cocked that up, huh?.”

“Cheers.”

“No, I mean it. Now she probably thinks you’re some stuck-up, rich brat. Really excellent job on that one.”

“I’m leaving.”

Remus laughed as he grabbed James’ elbow and pulled him back down to sit on the beach. “Christ, you’re touchy today. I’m sorry I almost let you drown, alright?”

James stared out over the glowing pink water. The sea was no less ominous even in the light of the early sunset. He could still feel the waves lapping at his shins, the force of the water smacking his bare back, the pull of the water as he struggled beneath the waves…

He shook his head at the memory. He was safe now, anyway. Thanks to Lily.

“Do you think I’m a stuck up, rich brat?” He refused to look at Remus as he asked the question. Instead, he picked up a large, rough stone and chucked it into the water.

Remus put a hand on his shoulder. “No James, I don’t think that. I think you’re a kind, loyal, and caring rich brat.”

James laughed. “Cheers, mate.”

“Anytime.”

“Give her some time and Lily will see it too. Speaking of...” Remus nodded in the direction behind James.

He turned to see Lily Evans walking toward them. She had pulled a pair of denim shorts over her red lifeguard’s bathing suit, slung a large blue tote bag over her shoulder, and held a half-melted vanilla ice cream cone in each hand.

“Hiya,” she offered as she took a seat next to Remus. James couldn’t tell if it was nerves or embarrassment that kept her from meeting his eyes. “These are for you two. I’m sorry I was a bit harsh before. I mean, you did almost drown, after all.”

James smiled as he accepted the ice cream. “Thanks. And thanks for this, too.”

Remus, however, waved her away as she offered him the cone. “No thanks, I don’t eat dairy.”

James frowned. “You love dairy. I’ve seen you put away an entire wheel of brie in under ten minutes.”

Remus shook his head and stood up, stretching. “No, really. Can’t stand the stuff. I better go find something else more digestible, leave you two alone to talk.”

Lily shot him a dirty look. Remus could not be more transparent if he tried. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

But Remus was already walking back up the beach. “Too late, see you in a bit!”

“Rem!” James called to his friend, but he merely waved his arm wildly over his head in farewell.

They sat in silence for a few moments with only the crashing of the waves to break the tension. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. James watched her fidget as he finished his cone. He wondered if it were uncomfortable to sit in those shorts with the back of her legs pressed against the small, jagged rocks that made up the beach. But he couldn’t let himself think for too long about her legs.

“So,” she broke the silence with what sounded like a great effort, “why can’t you swim?”

James sighed. “Oh, let’s just say it’s none of your concern,” he couldn’t bring himself to admit something so embarrassing, “why don’t you like posh kids?”

Lily, to his surprise, laughed. “None of your concern.”

“Are you sure about that? Since I’m apparently an insufferable rich kid maybe I can provide an inside scoop.”

Lily did not laugh this time. Instead, she stared out over the ocean, her vivid green eyes suddenly orange, reflecting the sunset’s light in the choppy water. “I’ve got a friend from school. Well, a friend from home, really. He’s like me, doesn’t have a lot of - of money, and stuff.” She was starting to shift even more now, clearly uncomfortable. James opened his mouth to stop her, but she plowed on. “He made some not-so-nice friends at school. They care a lot about status and all that, so he doesn’t want them to know anything about his home life. Doesn’t want them to know about me.”

James blinked. He’d known this girl only two hours, and he’d seen her in about fourteen different emotional states. He was quite sure he liked them all and wanted to see even more.

“That bullshit,” he said emphatically, “if he doesn’t value you then he’s an idiot. What a prat, giving up a true friend just to social climb.”

Lily smiled sadly. “You’re right, of course. Still hurts, but you’re right.” She shrugged, trying but failing to seem unphased. “Anyway, I think that’s why I was a bit, uh, prickly earlier. Forgive me?”

James just waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’d be prickly too if it were me. He sounds like a disappointment.” He smiled at shyly, glad that they were approaching something like a friendly conversation, “plus, Remus assured me it wasn’t my finest moment either.”

She smiled again, and another shockwave shot through James’ body. “I forgive you. Friends?”

“Friends with the girl who saved my life? Absolutely.”

Silence fell between them again, but this time the air around them seemed more relaxed. Lily seemed to have found a comfortable position at last. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands placed on the ground behind her, propping her up toward the sea. She had her eyes closed and her head leaned back like she was savoring every roaring crash of waves or whiff of sea air.

“How can you not just love the sea,” she sighed, leaning her head back even further as she sunk into her surroundings, “I don’t know what I’d do without it.”

A few seconds passed before James realized that, at some point, he would have to stop staring at her to answer. “I guess it’s just not for me. You make it look pretty good, though. The sea, I mean.” he said quickly. Very smooth.

Lily, thankfully, ignored his comment. “Tell me the truth,” she turned her head to fix him with an intense look, “why don’t you like the ocean? I shared my trauma, now it’s your turn.”

James sighed. “Alright, I suppose I owe you. I’ve got to warn you, it’s pretty embarrassing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

James paused, trying to decide at the last moment if there was any possible way to tell her the truth and still be respectable in her eyes. There wasn’t.

Finally, he looked at her. “Have you ever seen a movie called ‘Jaws’?”

She pursed her lips, obviously trying not to smile. “Uh, yeah James. I think everyone’s seen that one.”

“Well,” he closed his eyes, preparing for her worst, “I had nightmares for weeks. I don’t know why, but it really got me. I could barely walk through campus puddles on a rainy day. Kept thinking some bloody shark or something was gonna come up, grab my ankle, and pull me in.” He opened one eye to cautiously scan her reaction. “Well? I’m mad, aren’t I?”

He was shocked to find that she was not laughing. Not much, anyway.

“It’s a completely rational fear,” she said thoughtfully, staring out across the blazing water. The sun was almost entirely set now, and soon they’d be engulfed in night. “It’s the fear of the unknown, innit? The anxiety that there’s something unseen lurking around the corner. It’s why people are afraid of spiders and centipedes. All the hidden things that might be there to hurt you. It’s why we wish we could see the future, to be sure that everything is going to turn out alright.”

He knew she was right. He followed her gaze out over the waves. It wasn’t the water that scared him. Wasn’t the searing cold, the slippery rocks underfoot as he plunged further and further into the deep. It was the unknowing, the darkness below him that scared him shitless. “Lily Evans, you are very wise.”

“I know.”

They were silent again, but not uncomfortably so. A strange sense of serenity washed over him. He wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what was out there.

“I could help, you know,” Lily said without looking at him. Instead, she seemed very interested in picking at a hangnail on her thumb.

James raised his eyebrows. “Help me? With swimming?”

“Swimming, the sea, all of it,” she chanced a glance up at him. She really did have the most staggering green eyes he’d ever seen. “I’m pretty good out there, and you clearly need help.”

James laughed. “That bad, am I?”

She grimaced. “Yes, that bad.”

He sighed and glanced back toward the sea. The sun had fully started to set now, and the pink and orange waves looked as menacing as ever. “I dunno… I’m not keen to repeat my near-drowning.”

“Oh, come on,” she winked at him, “a strapping lad like yourself should have no problem swimming in there.”

Strapping? She thought he was strapping?

James forced himself to focus. “The sun’s almost set. What if it gets too dark to see?”

“So?” She pushed herself to her feet, then offered his hand to pull him up. “You can’t see through the water anyway. What’s a little more unknown going to hurt?”

She helped pull him to his feet then began unbuttoning her shorts. James had the self-control to look away, though his hands shook just a bit as he removed his own t-shirt. Together, fully outfitted in their swimsuits, they marched toward the now-purple water.

“Don’t worry, we’ll go slow,” she murmured as they reached the shoreline, “I’ll hold your hand through the whole thing.”

James smirked, “Figuratively, of course.”

As if to spite him, she grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. With a jolt, James remembered that very hand on his chest not two hours ago, pulling him up and out of the same water they charged into now.

“The trick,” Lily said decisively as she stared out at the breaking waves, “is to choose the right moment. You have to wade in past the break line between waves. If you time it wrong, you get creamed. That was your problem last time.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem. Ready?”

“Actually,” James hastened, suddenly feeling sick. He wanted to drop her hand and run back, but he found that his skin felt glued to hers. “I think not. Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine being a coward for the rest of my life.”

“Not a chance!” She cried, gesturing out over the water, “Look how far you’ve come! You can’t go back now. I’m not going to let you drown.”

James tried to shoot her with a mischievous grin, but he knew it more closely resembled a grimace. “Promise?”

“Promise. Go!”

And so, Lily pulling at his hand, they sprinted out into the shallows together. The remains of the previous wave rushed merrily alongside their feet and legs as they sprinted into the water. James did not stop running until he could feel the water at his collar bones, his feet skimming the bottom of the seafloor. He felt around with his toes. No sharks or monsters as far as he could feel.

“See?” Lily laughed and splashed him a bit with water, “it’s not so bad. Jump!”

He turned to look just in time. A wave was coming at them fast. He barely had time to push off the ground to sail over it. The two of them soared through the water, over the wave, and back down again as it crashed onto the shore behind them. He laughed with glee and disbelief. His lungs felt icy cold as he gulped down air to keep himself from panicking. It felt like flying, and James suspected he’d been meant to fly all his life. This was easy. This was wonderful.

Suddenly, a wave larger than the rest descended upon them. “Alright, James,” came Lily’s confident voice as she squeezed his hand tighter, “we have to go under this one, alright?”

“What?” He just managed to yell before she pulled him under the wave. Again, there was that eerie stillness, only this time James wasn’t alone in the silence. Lily’s hand was still warm and sure in his own.

And so they flew through the water, dodging and riding and floating over the waves. It was exhausting work which was not made any easier by their fits of laughter every time the other received a faceful of icy water. Finally, when the sky had turned a deep navy, they dragged each other back out of the surf and onto the shore.

Brilliantly illuminated stars scattered across the night sky as they threw themselves back down on the beach. Lily reached into her large tote and produced a beach towel that they shared, taking turns to wipe the saltwater from their eyes and faces. They had barely talked the whole time they swam, just laughed, and gasped for air.

“See?” Lily sighed as she flopped back onto the beach towel, “I told you it’s lovely out there.”

“I stand corrected,” James said as he laid down next to her. He could see her chest and stomach rise and fall with the effort of breathing. “You were an excellent teacher. You’re not Lily of the valley, you’re Lily of the sea.”

She looked at him with a look that he’d come to learn meant she was about to make fun of him. “Have you been thinking of that line the whole time?”

“No!” James said with mock indignation, “No, it’s true. You made me see what all the fuss is about. Thank you.”

Lily grinned at him. She turned onto her side to face him, her head resting on her outstretched arm. He could see her freckles even in the dim light from the stars. He hardly stopped to think before he leaned in, his mouth inches from her own. He could feel her breath, still coming in sharp gasps, against his lips. “Do you think it would be alright if I kissed you?”

She smiled, and his whole body lit on fire. “I’m going to insist that you do, Potter.”

Her lips tasted like the sea. Her hair, when he took the back of her neck into his hand, was coarse and tangled from their swim. The shock of her warm hands on his cold, bare chest nearly caused him to cry out, and she smiled into him. God, she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

It was impossible to know how long they stayed entwined in one another. James had lost all sense of time and space. All he knew was Lily. He knew he could stay like this forever and be just fine.

Unfortunately, Remus had other plans.

“OI!” Came the shout from the darkness. Lily and James jumped apart in alarm. Remus stood a ways up the beach with his arms crossed. It was hard to tell in the dark, but James would bet anything that he was smirking. “You’re not snogging my best mate down there, are you?”

“No!” cried James and Lily in unison.

“That’s what I thought. I hate to break up the party, but James, we’ve got to move. Mum will flip if we get the car back late.”

James nodded. It was a horrible thought, leaving Lily, but he’d seen Remus’ sweet-tempered mum angry only once before. He didn’t wish to repeat the experience.

“I’ve got to run,” he whispered apologetically to Lily. He grabbed her hand in the darkness, and for a moment they could have been back in the water, soaring over waves together. “I’ve got a few more days in town, then back to school. Can I meet you here again tomorrow?”

Lily beamed at him. “That sounds lovely. Maybe at school I’ll even allow you to be seen with me.”

He laughed, then kissed her once more. Remus’ exaggerated cough told him that it was, really, now time to go. “Do you need a ride home?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got my bike. See you tomorrow, then.”

His chest felt like it was fit to burst. They could do this all again tomorrow.

“See you then, Lily of the sea.”

He turned before he could see her roll her eyes again and made his way up the beach toward Remus. He put his hands in his pockets and tried his hardest to stifle the grin that was permanently etched upon his face.

Perhaps he wasn’t so mental after all.

#jilychallenge #we made it folks!#Feeling very clever bc I'm late but it's still technically august #nina writes #jily oneshot

55 notes · View notes

sepublic · 3 years

Text

“It was all just a dream” Illusion?

With how Illusionists have the terrifying ability to basically gaslight people and make them question reality, but on a scale unprecedented with all sorts of manipulation (jeez no wonder Odalia has no issue with the twins in Illusions), and VERY messed-up thought incoming here;

But what if we get a scene where the head of the Illusionist Coven encounters Luz… And as a very meta acknowledgement of those edgy “It was all just a dream” theories, tricks Luz into thinking so? What if the Illusion Head trapped Luz in a simulation, where she wakes up to find out that everything about the Boiling Isles, all her friends and experiences- It was all just a dream!

Maybe Luz acknowledges the trope as she did with how Isekais end with a return home for our protagonist… Pointing out this is VERY funny but not at all true, and a really dumb and edgy take anyhow! But the Illusion Head messes with her perception of reality, because again… Gus might be a teen prodigy but he’s still a kid younger than the rest of his classmates! What could a fully-experienced Illusionist, the head of his own coven, and presumably without morals as an agent of Belos, accomplish?

It could be a dark parallel and contrast to Witches before Wizards… Not just in how the episode opens with Luz happily realizing it WASN’T all a dream, but also- Adegast tries to lure in Luz with her perfect fantasy, but she accepts reality as she is and dispels his lotus eater world! But then this… THIS messes with Luz and plays into that character development! She’s used to being disappointed, she learned to accept that things weren’t as great as they were… So when being told that it really was all just a dream?

To Luz, who’s struggling with trauma and a bit more cynicism as of late… This might just feed directly into her insecurities, as she questions and doubts herself- Is she REALLY fighting the illusion? Or is she just in denial again, and she needs to accept the truth like she learned to beforehand…

And, this could lead to a character moment where Luz basically learns to dream for herself again- To recognize that yeah, not everything is how she hoped it’d be… But there ARE good things in this world! It isn’t for nothing, and Luz? She learns to be more grounded for REAL this time… Previously she fooled herself with optimism, but now? Now Luz has fooled herself with negativity, assuming the worst, thinking she’s a terrible person and the others just barely tolerate her…

She went too far in the other direction, so now Luz can balance out these takes- Things aren’t perfect, but they aren’t terrible. Yeah Luz has some room to grow, but she’s not the terrible person she thinks she is, she IS loved, and she’s allowed to hold onto and appreciate what she’s accomplished, all of her progress and effort! It isn’t wishful thinking, it’s real, and she won’t let anyone, not the Illusion Head nor herself, tell her it isn’t real!

Again, it’d be a wonderful cap-off to Luz’s whole deal with perceptions, learning to love herself; Not be too positive, but not too negative either. It’d be such a nice parallel to an incredibly early, since-the-beginning episode, and cement another nuanced look at the whole fantasy and realistic expectations lesson. She’s still growing and adapting here, and Luz can accept that things ARE better for her, that things have improved, she’s done good things, and people do love her, actually.

…Conversely, perhaps we might also see the Illusion Head play into Luz’s desires here. Maybe to adapt to Luz’s defiance, or not- Perhaps he plays up Luz’s wish to see Camila, to be accepted by her mother… Which is a neat contrast to our first Impostor Camila rejecting Luz, now we have one who fully accepts and loves her! And obviously the real Camila would as well, Luz will recognize that… But this isn’t real!

Still, caught between not wanting to relapse into wishful thinking, and her own dreams being waved in front of her… And Luz might just be further confused. Is she playing into what she wants but isn’t real, or is she being too negative? It’s a mix of what she DOES want, and what Luz dreads… Like real life, and that’s just all the more confusing and traumatic.

Maybe Luz gets taunted with Camila rejecting her, or a vision of an ‘ideal’ version of herself that Camila actually likes… Maybe even a look into Creepy Luz? It could lead to a dark moment where Luz insists that this isn’t real… Only to find Creepy Luz after all, and have a crisis- Maybe wondering if she ever DID leave the illusion, if she’s been trapped all along… If the truth was being told? Maybe dismissing Creepy Luz as fake, only to see she’s very much real, and so is Camila’s preference, etc.

The Illusion Head might show Luz what’s going on back home, or illusions of her friends talking behind her back, about how they never really liked Luz anyway… And we could get a sweet moment where Luz is reminded of her genuine moments with them, potentially by said found family, as she scrolls through all of their kindness for her, such as the palistrom wood, Amity’s kiss, Willow and Gus’ Conformatorium protest… And Luz realizes and remembers that THIS was very much real, and she can’t be fooled here!

It could also lead to a very cathartic moment where Luz reunites with her friends and accepts them with all her heart, so happy and relieved and whatnot… Just a very nice resolution, even as Luz holds everyone’s hands, hugs them hard, to assert that this IS real and not some trick, and finding comfort in that, in all of the little senses familiar to her about her friends, that are stimulated as reassurance. The smells, the textures, etc., it’s all there and it’s very much real, and it keeps Luz grounded and at home here.

Just… With how Luz’s whole schtick is dividing fantasy between reality, I think an interaction with Illusions could be a VERY fun and clever episode- And get very twisted and messing with the viewer’s mind, as they question how much real and what wasn’t, if the ending is actually fake, and to what degree? An ending cliffhanger where at least one thing ISN’T real after all… Or something was unnoticed amidst the mind tricks, etc. Maybe even Luz and the audience wondering if she’s already been in the simulation, for a while…

Again, anything that makes you question reality and perception, and struggling to interact with your world because you can’t even tell if it’s real or not- That is by far one of the most terrifying abilities ever, and I wouldn’t be shocked if the Illusion Head has genuinely traumatized people with his spells.

#the owl house #the owl house luz #luz noceda #illusions #speculation

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13atoms · 3 years

Text

Slippery Fingers [Dhawan!Master x Reader]

Took longer than I expected, and I haven’t written smut in forever so forgive it being a little rusty, but here’s the Dh!Master smut which (barely) won the oneshot fic vote!

Also sorry if you’re a massage therapist, we’re on a different planet so I’m hoping the now-defunct word ‘masseuse’ is still in-vogue there!

Contents: Happy Ending Massage from an alien, Smut, Jealousy, yet another unsuccessful trip to a spa planet. [8k]

“You never take me anywhere fun!” You had pouted, pushing the Master’s buttons as he researched yet another scheme.

In truth, he did take you places fun. At least, places he thought were fun. But in all of time and space, there had to be more relaxing ways to have fun than overthrowing monarchies and trying to instigate political disasters.

He’d tried taking you hiking, once, but both of you had complained an hour in. He was bored, you were too sweaty, and no one was enjoying themselves. He’d teleported the pair of you back to the TARDIS, and you’d robbed a weapon store instead.

Still, you were determined he should take you somewhere fun.

The Master’s raised an eyebrow, a concealed smile making his lips twitch.

“A theme park, a beach, a… um… a waterpark? I’ll wear something revealing?” you teased, knowing he would never take you up on the offer.

The flirtation the two of you engaged with was frustratingly endless – just a bit of fun.

You relished in the way his eyes couldn’t meet yours, as he considered your suggestions. Maybe imagined them, too.

“Sounds boring,” he finally commented.

“What’s boring about a little hedonistic fun?”

He smiled, striding across the outback-interior of his TARDIS to finally meet you beside the console. Good. Co-ordinates were being set, the screens displaying a stream of impossibly fast information in a language you couldn’t read.

The Master was planning something.

“Hedonism is about pleasure, dearest,” he ground out the last word, and it made you smile.

You refrained from making the ‘old married couple’ joke that so many strangers made on your travels, because it rang a little too true.

“Yeah?”

“And if you’re in the mood for hedonism, you won’t find that pleasure in an amusement park.”

You raised your eyebrows, leaning against the console very intentionally, so his fingers had to brush your hip to flick the switches he needed. He shot you a knowing glance, as his hand lingered a little too long.

“Where will I find pleasure, Master?”

For a beat he paused, his lips parted and somehow inviting, mere inches from yours. Then he leant forwards, only to whisper.

“A spa.”

You felt the tension in the room pop, blown-bubblegum pierced by a pin and flying back into your face. Sticky and shocking and unpleasant. It took you a second to remember where you were – and who you were with. A retort came uncomfortably slowly, and you startled as the TARDIS began to dematerialise.

“Still trying to get me in a bathing suit?”

The Master winked.

As you stepped off the TARDIS, you found yourself in a stiflingly warm room, reaching for the Master’s arm subconsciously as he offered it.

All around you was a plush whiteness, creams and sterile surfaces somehow designed in such a way that the space felt both perfectly welcoming and clean. The TARDIS door locked quietly behind you, disguised as an inconspicuous cupboard, as the Master chose a direction to walk.

“This is one of the most exclusive spas in the whole quadrant – horrendously expensive.”

“Want to split the bill?” you teased, knowing damn well he’d never let you pay for anything.

Not that you could. What was the currency here? Credits? You’d never even considered it.

He gave you a laugh, tightening his hold on your arm as a lavender-skinned member of staff walked past you in mint-green scrubs, politely avoiding looking at you. They were a clear foot taller than the Master, and you tried not to stare.

“I hacked their systems to check,” the time lord boasted, “and it’s the quietest day they’ve ever had. We’re the only patrons.”

“That doesn’t seem very time-travel safe,” you chided, remembering the phrase from the countless times he’d warned you against doing something to change a timeline.

He rolled his eyes, and you couldn’t help smiling fondly.

“It’s okay when I do it,” he sniffed.

Finally, you had found some kind of reception desk.

With nothing more than a smile and a few nods to the softly-spoken receptionist, you watched as the Master handed over a payment stick and arranged everything. You found yourself handed a dressing gown as white as the rest of the décor in this place, and so fluffy and warm you immediately pressed it against your face, much to the Master’s fond amusement.

“It’s really soft,” you explained, and he rolled his eyes.

“Go get changed.”

In the end, the cubicles you were offered to for changing were adjacent, and you were quite glad you didn’t have to offer any kind of gender-segregated spa-experience. The Master chattered away as the two of you showered and changed, spa employees silently arriving to administer all manner of hair and skin treatments before you enjoyed the rest of the facilities.

Hair conditioned and skin moisturised, you emerged from the cubicle to see the Master in just a dressing gown – mirroring yours – and the sight made you strangely uneasy. It wasn’t often he dressed down. Certainly never willingly, as far as you could remember. With conditioner combed into his hair and beard, a treatment across his nose, he had never looked less threatening.

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh which he clearly expected, already glowering at you.

“Come on,” he complained, heading for the next room.

He didn’t offer you an arm, but he did hold the door open. As you brushed past him, you noticed they’d combed the hair treatment into his eyebrows. You wondered if choosing the quietest day in history hadn’t been – as you assumed – for your benefit. His pride seemed a little wounded.

“It’s good to relax!” You reassured him, holding out your arm. He ignored it.

“For humans, perhaps.”

You leant into his shoulder briefly, trying to wind him up.

“Even big scary time lords need a break! Though, you do have a disappointingly tame interpretation of hedonism.”

“I was thinking of bodily pleasure, darling.” he purred, “I’m sorry if this doesn’t meet your exacting standards.”

Trying to ignore the rush his implication sent through you, you kept your eyes trained on the soft carpet ahead. How do they keep it so clean? I suppose no one wears shoes here.

“But I’ll ask you to reserve judgement until you’ve seen how good the massage therapists are. I believe on earth you might call it sinful.”

With a contented hum, you walked with him to the open treatment room.

As you sat in adjacent chairs, you realised just how naked both of you were, both adjusting your robes to cover yourself as a receptionist approached. She explained everything rapidly, and the Master nodded in understanding. You trusted he would reiterate anything important – you were distracted by the bare slice of his thigh he kept fidgeting to cover.

In lieu of clipboards they handed you tablet-style devices, which seemed familiar enough. The prices of the treatments seemed huge, but the Master told you to ignore them. Maybe the currency here was just inflated. The Master never seemed bothered, at any rate.

He was scrolling through his own options, and you knew he struggled to allow himself to go through anything that might seem self-care-y. The parallel massage tables set up ahead of you seemed to suggest you would be in the room with him, and privately you hoped he might allow himself to relax, to trust a highly-skilled stranger, with you right there.

“What are you getting?” you asked, curiously looking at his screen.

The options were all described luxuriously, with various options for oils and smells and styles, different firmnesses of touch and different problem areas the therapists could focus on. You were settled on some focus on your left thigh, the lingering ache of a muscle there had been bothering you since you’d fallen running from an enraged palace guard last week. Besides that, you had no idea what to select.

“Just something standard,” the Master told you non-committally, and you marvelled at how embarrassing this seemed to be for him.

Then, something caught your eye.

“What are these options?”

You pointed on your own tablet, pointing to one of the most expensive options at the bottom of the page.

Indulgent twenty-minute full body muscle release with Lerimoya blossom oil, Akesian-style massage and skin treatment. Completed with sexual release and relaxing cool-down.

The Master’s jaw seemed to clench minutely, but you pretended to ignore it.

“Exactly what it says,” he told you curtly.

You scrolled back up to the top of the options, taking a moment to consider his bluntness. You had to admit… there was something very tempting about it. Getting yourself off on the TARDIS made you nervous – a living ship with a consciousness watching you bite back moans as you masturbated a deeply un-erotic thought each time you remembered it. But this was clinical. Self-care.

The Master was a ceaseless flirt, but seemed unable to deliver on his gazes and winks and comments. You needed something.

“Isn’t that… taboo here?”

“As common as a back rub, love.”

His curtness hadn’t ceased, and it irritated you for some reason. So much for being relaxed.

The time lord had impatiently clicked some arbitrary option at the top of his list, no doubt the shortest massage he could get away with. He was already clicking his tongue, holding the device out to be collected by the receptionist. You took a deep breath.

He was always telling you to take what you want and be hedonistic. You scrolled down quickly, selecting the option, selecting the areas of your body which hurt (not least that damn thigh) before holding out the device.

You could feel his eyes on you, your cheeks burning, and some deep part of you igniting at the thought of what was about to happen. You were looking forward to it, you realised. So much.

“Chosen something expensive?” he ground out, the joke landing flat as his tone seemed oddly monotonous.

“If you’re paying, then of course.”

It was only as the tablets were taken gently from you by a kindly receptionist that you remembered the massage room would be shared. A screen seemed to have appeared silently between the massage tables, and you hoped your look of appreciation was understood by the alien.

There was something surreal about being asked to undress just a screen away from the Master, knowing he was doing the same on the other side, mere feet away as the lights dimmed and incense burned.

The spa workers were softly spoken and considerate, putting you at ease immediately as you lay down, feeling acutely aware of your body against the table. You weren’t sure where to put your arms, fidgeting, until warm oily hands smoothed them down by your sides, and you fought your instincts in order to stay still.

You wondered how the Master was doing. He wasn’t the best at letting other people touch him. At being vulnerable. He hated leaving his back exposed, always afraid someone would stab him in it.

You thought, for a moment, about trying to talk to him.

Would that be rude? Would it help him?

But talking felt uncomfortable, laying like this, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

As large, warm hands started their work on your bare back, you let all thought of conversation go. You closed your eyes, feeling the smooth, gentle release of your muscles as they were expertly relaxed. The larger frames of the aliens here seemed to make them strong, pressure spread across fingertips which felt human-enough, the smell and warmth of the room tempting you near sleep, wringing soft noises of approval from you which you didn’t bother to conceal.

The time seemed to stretch on forever, in a delicious, in-urgent way you rarely experienced with the Master. He was always in a rush, unable to stand still even with a time machine.

This was, you conceded, luxurious and hedonistic: pleasure above all else. Pure self-indulgence. The pursuit of nothing but feeling good.

You could almost forget he was there. Soft music and the gentle movements of the massage therapists were the only sounds, until suddenly he was there again. For seconds at a time, in small noises, his presence seemed looming. The shifting of his beard against the table beneath him, a grunt of discomfort as a knot was released in his back, once a snap to not touch my neck.

He settled, soon enough, his treatment seeming more painful and intense than yours. You could hear the slap of skin onto his, the breath forced from his lungs as a considerable force was applied to his body. You tried to tune it out, each time the masseuse seemed to be hurting him. Likely by his own choice, you lamented. It was short, too. Your massage therapist had only just begun to work on the ache in your thigh, doing a marvellous job of easing the pain, when his massage was slowly finished.

Your body felt as though it was melting into the table, pleasantly warm with the oil and the heat of the room. Only because you strained your ears, you heard his masseuse leave the room, with a gentle instruction to lay still until they returned.

It was strangely difficult to enjoy the rest of your massage as you wondered what he was thinking about, just laying there. You had feared he might ignore their instructions and move, but he seemed to be behaving himself for the day.

A gentle murmur of “turn over for me” brought you back to your body, made your eyes snap open and a sudden rush of blood to the head caused you to feel disoriented.

“Take your time,” the massage therapist coaxed, as their soft hands guided you in turning slowly, careful not to let you fall off the table.

You had forgotten what was coming next.

The low murmur of something indiscernible started, a humming noise you soon tuned out, as hands found their way across your stomach. You felt yourself clench at the contact. This was different. Slower, more sensual touches, beyond the realm of what you would consider professional. You bit your lip, toying with stopping the treatment early, until you realised the source of the quiet buzzing.

As one huge hand began to knead at your breast, the other reached for the slipperiness between your legs.

Vibrations against your clit made you gasp, their expertly firm touches pulling you lazily yet inevitably closer towards orgasm. Your entire body felt dragged along with the certainty of a current in a river, moved as surely as gravity, pleasure growing stronger and stronger. As fingers pried your willing, limp legs apart, you let your hands roam your own oily skin, no longer caring about the noises you let slip past your lips, the quiet begs for more.

The calls of yes, please, fuck.

For a second, the Master’s fidgeting pulled you back into the room, making you gasp. But then the buzzing sped up, rubbing fingers joining it, and your mind went blank.

The Master grit his teeth, knowing nothing good could come from letting you tick that stupid box. It had been a kind of dare, a test of whether you’d actually do it. He thought he’d been playing good odds, in truth, even as a feeling of something uneasy had risen in his stomach at the thought of it.

A happy ending massage.

Or rather, you receiving a happy ending massage.

Perhaps he’d underestimated his own fondness of the pure art pleasure seeking, because his barely-relaxed body was already tensing again just listening to the hum of whatever tool they were using to finish the complete sexual release you had requested.

The whole time that damn alien had been abusing the muscles of his back, he had been wondering what you’d selected. If you actually had the nerve to go through with it. The treatment was popular here, he knew. In fact, the spa was famous for it. Famously good at it. Human anatomy and human pleasure were close enough to theirs that the richest interstellar-travellers from earth colonies would begin to arrive just a few years from the date he had chosen. They would all be seeking out the exact treatment which had caught your eye.

A strange thing to be famous for, he supposed, but popular. Certainly lucrative, and – was that moan?

It felt like it lasted an eternity, listening to how those… creatures finished their supposed-treatment, moans and calls and staccato words leaving your voice with a keening, sensual desperation he had never heard from you before. The slick sounds of your body had accompanied the buzzing of that device in the most insufferable symphony he had ever heard. He had considered leaving, so many times, gritting his teeth and trying to school his body into nonchalance as you finally came. The Master tried to block it out as you moaned, and laughed, and thanked the massage therapist, and apologised for thanking them… joked with the alien, no doubt glowing and coated with sweat and oil, flushed, your pants filling the room alongside contented hums.

He wondered why he couldn’t stand it.

“I’ll leave you for a few minutes to calm down,” the massage therapist had told you gently, and he had grimaced as you gave a breathy, giggling reply.

“I think I’ll need it.”

Then they were alone. And nothing should have changed dammit, and yet everything had. And he damned Rassilion and all those other bastards who decided time lords should be sexless and uncomfortable naked because fuck nothing had prepared him for this, no matter how much he pretended he was nothing like them.

He loathed to admit when humans were better than him at something, but in this situation, he longed to be the kind of species who could meet your eye after this.

You laughed again, suddenly, airily, and he wondered if that was supposed to be some kind of cue for him to say something.

Something witty.

Something clever.

Something him.

“All okay?” he choked out.

He was still on his front, and frankly dreading standing to change, and he wondered how you were laying. On your back, still, he presumed. All sticky and sweaty and mile-a-minute heartbeat like humans tended to be. He could smell pheromones from here, loathing his body for how he was reacting.

Yet another reason to dread standing.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” you called back, so obviously sated and giggly from just your voice.

“It was exactly what you chose, love.”

The pet name sounded unnatural, forced, and he prayed you were too whacked out on hormones to notice. The spa worker slunk back into the room, and he took a moment to hate them, to hate those fingers which had been slippery and clever all over you. His stomached clenched as he wondered if they’d been inside of you.

As the lavender and mint form disappeared between the divider, the Master shoved his face roughly back against the table.

This room is too hot, he grumbled silently to himself, stupid human temperatures.

He wondered if you were cold, your skin risen in goosebumps, or if you were warm. Pliable. Slippery and soft and –

“How are you feeling?”

“Perfect.”

He could hear the stupid smile in your voice.

“Glad to hear it, if you’re ready to stand for me…”

The Master couldn’t help the furrow of his forehead, the dig of his fingernails into the soft surface of the table. Then he heard the matching gasps of you and the massage therapist, half-way pushing himself up to run around there and save you from whatever had happened and… you were fine.

Laughing, apologising for being lightheaded, saved from falling by the spa worker who had righted you. They were coaxing you to be slow, to be careful, and suddenly the Master was remembering the times he’d bellowed at you to go faster. To push your human physiology, to keep up with him. He could hear his own rough shouts, loud and harsh enough that they had made everyone around you wince with sympathy.

Then, he wondered why those thoughts were in his mind. And why that pang of guilt was making his hearts ache.

His damned masseuse had come back, no doubt from a smoke break or a lunch break or whatever these purple creatures did, helping him quickly into his robe. They offered him far less comfort than your massage therapist seemed to think was appropriate, still fussing and saying goodbye on the other side of the stupid divider.

He waved them away with a curt “good, yes, thank you.”

Then, he found himself looking straight at you.

And he couldn’t stand it.

The Master led you from the room with a military stride, taking some twisted pleasure in how you jogged to trail behind him.

“I can see why this is so popular,” you smiled, legs a little weak and your entire body feeling raw underneath your gown.

The Master ignored you.

The softness of the material was slightly tacky against your oily skin and you pulled it closer as you trailed behind the Master, enjoying a slight giddiness and feeling lightheaded, toes digging into the carpet as you took slow steps.

He seemed in a rush to get to the pool, swinging the door open, ignoring you as he let it swing closed after him.

The cloudy water of an oversized pool was pink tinted and sweetly aromatic, none of the chlorine smell you would expect on earth. You took in the fragrance with an indulgent sigh, refusing to give up your relaxation, even as a nagging feeling refused to leave you.

The Master was unhappy.

He waited for you to look away before quickly sliding into the water, chest-deep as he rested his elbows against the poolside behind him. He looked straight ahead as you disrobed and slid into the water beside him, the emptiness of the whole complex striking you yet again, as a sole employee passed whisper-quiet through the room.

The high vaulted ceiling was as simply designed as the rest of the complex, beautiful in its simplicity, and you looked up at it as you moved slowly through the warm water.

“Are you okay?” you asked the ceiling, hoping the Master might deign to answer instead.

He hummed, something affirmative and insincere. You let yourself float back, buoyant in the cloudy water, your toes breaking the water near the Master. He regarded you with a judgemental curl of his lip, before fixing his eyes on the wall opposite.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The Master didn’t reply, he just scoffed. You pouted, the water lapping at your face, paddling to stop yourself drifting into him.

“Just trying to have a conversation,” you grumbled.

Your words rolled off him like the sweat off his forehead, oil and water mixing on both of your skin, the heat of the room just a few degrees shy of stifling.

“Does this feel warmer to you, because you’re colder?”

He nodded. You rolled your eyes at him, finally standing in the water, crouching a little to keep your shoulders covered by the flat surface of it. You waded towards him, closing in on his personal space until the underwater bump of his leg against yours made you stop.

“Too hot?”

“Fine,” he ground out, rolling his head back towards the side of the pool.

You glimpsed the sweat and oil on his neck as you let your eyes drift over him, knowing he wouldn’t catch you while his gaze was trained on the ceiling.

“You’re in a bad mood.”

“I’m not.”

“Are.”

He gave an exasperated exhale, pinching his nose, and you watched the movement of his shoulders as he shifted his weight. You’d never seen so much bare skin, and you couldn’t help staring.

Sidling closer to him, you felt the brush of your leg against his once again, not recoiling. The Master tensed, and you ended up beside him by the pool.

“You are.”

All but whispering in his ear, you grinned as a shudder passed through him. The Master didn’t find it as funny, flopping his arm back beside him, wincing as it brushed your bare breast. He pulled away at lightspeed, shaky and sudden in his movements. You were getting to him.

He kept his lips tightly sealed, teeth clenched, making the muscles of his jaw bulge slightly beneath his beard.

A door opened, intended to be quiet but deafening in the tense room.

The Master snapped his eyes open at the noise, before moving away from you. He ducked his head underwater, rubbing product and oil from his face, before re-emerging with his fringe plastered to his face.

You laughed as he tried to brush the hair from his eyes, and that was the final straw.

“You’re insufferable sometimes,” he snapped.

The Master marched to the side of the pool, soaking his robe in his eagerness to cover himself as he climbed the steps, turning to face you for just long enough to reveal something unsettling in his glare.

“I’ll wait in the TARDIS. Don’t hurry.”

His curt words remained in the room longer than him, echoing as the door closed itself softly behind his indignantly retreating form.

“Grumpy,” you sighed to the vaulted ceiling, floating on your back, and wishing that high ceiling housed the consciousness of the TARDIS.

At least when you argued on the TARDIS, you knew the ship was (usually) on your side. Maybe her gentle hum would have alleviated your guilt.

You managed to float in the pool a little longer, swimming for a bit, trying to relax. It was no use. With a mournful last duck under the water, you emerged from the pool, not hurrying to cover yourself now you were alone.

What had the Master been so pissed off by, you wondered. Hadn’t he known what this place was like? His research was usually meticulous – in fact you suspected he tended towards places he had been before when planning days out for you. Was it the nakedness? The touch of a stranger, in that massage parlour? Or simply the strangeness of a place devoid of stress and terror and chaos.

You’d thought about your life with him a lot, of late. About how you couldn’t just keep seeing the darkness of the universe. Perhaps it was naïve, but you had hoped that his recent movements towards flirting with you might have been the start of a few nicer trips. Of something a bit… more with him.

But he was acting like the bastard you’d first known, no longer softer, kinder, towards you.

Somewhere the two of you had taken steps backwards. And now he was fighting with you at a spa, of all places.

You pulled the robe tighter around you, gave a passing member of staff a tight smile, as you found the cupboard door which led to the TARDIS.

Deep breath, you told yourself.

Stepping into a different dimension always felt a little disorientating, but the TARDIS was your home now. Welcoming in her warmer, yellow light as the door closed behind you and cut off the spa’s true white lights and pristine décor.

You saw the form of the Master the second you stepped inside, the first thing your eye was drawn to. He was in a different gown, a thicker, longer one. Dark purple like his coat, and just as modest in its coverage.

He was leaning heavily on the console, hunched over with his hair messily towel-dried and barely styled. He’d clearly made some attempt, then gotten frustrated.

“Sorry for being annoying earlier,” you tried to weakly joke.

The Master didn’t even turn to regard you, he just tensed his shoulders, leaning defensively closer to the ship’s console.

“You still reek of that oil,” he spat, “and hormones.”

Even across the room, you took a step back from him. You pulled self-consciously at the neck of your robe, hoping he couldn’t see how genuinely shaken you were.

You couldn’t reply, biting down a surge of emotion at his rejection and turning from him, inspecting a side table by the door. The TARDIS sent a wave of comfort through you, but it only made things harder.

Highlighted what her pilot wouldn’t give you.

After a few seconds of silence the Master whirled around, a furrow in his brow.

“Say something.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You had nothing to say to him.

He strode closer to you, and you stepped back again, closer to the doors.

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, an uncertainty in your tone which made the Master take pause.

“Why?”

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know why you were meant to be sorry.

“For upsetting you. Whatever I did, I…”

You trailed off as the Master regarded you for a second, something approaching genuine conflict on his face as he fully took in your appearance. Wet hair, dressing gown tightly around your skin, shivering from the change in temperature… you wondered what he saw.

He sighed heavily.

“‘Whatever you did’?”

The words weren’t cruel. It was a question. But he could be terrifying, even in a bath robe. And you watched his eyes, looking for a trick or a spark of something more troubling.

He was searching your eyes too, looking for sincerity. For some kind of comfort.

“You took me there, and I really don’t know what I did… why you hated it so much. But… I’m guessing it was my fault.”

To your surprise, he pulled you into a gentle hug, cradling your head as he pulled you near to him. He wasn’t squeezing you, your bodies hardly touching. He was just… holding you close to him.

“I don’t like being touched,” he mumbled, his words over your shoulder, like they were trying to evade being heard.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you into –”

“No I just… I don’t like you being touched. Either. It makes me nervous.”

“Nervous?” you echoed back to him.

You felt his fingers twitch against your head, tightening and loosening slightly.

“Maybe… I just… I couldn’t stand them touching you. Or seeing you. I wasn’t expecting that.”

In the silence which passed between you, you wondered if he was mulling over his own words. If he even suspected what you heard in them, the vivid green between the lines of what he’d said: jealousy.

“If there had been anyone else there, other guests, I would’ve made us leave. But you seemed happy and…”

He was struggling. Struggling to articulate himself, maybe even struggling to come to terms which his own motivations.

While bragging and flirting and banter came as easily as breathing to the time lord, sincerity was something much harder.

“You didn’t like being vulnerable?” you prompted, afraid to push him too much.

Something like an awkward, coughing laugh happened in the back of his throat – you only heard it because you were so close to him.

“I suppose you could say that.”

Snaking your arms around him, you pulled the Master closer, feeling your bodies properly together between thick material. He sighed indulgently, and you smiled, face hidden from him.

“You should have said. We could have left,” you tried to comfort him, “tell me, next time. We’ll just leave.”

He gave you the silent treatment again, though you suspected this time it was not unkind. He just genuinely didn’t know what to say.

You tried a different tact, returning to something more familiar.

“You really hate how I smell?” you teased.

He groaned, and you squeezed him just to make him groan more.

“You don’t smell like you.”

That was sweet, you conceded, rubbing his back in a few soft, gentle sweeps across the towelling of his dressing gown. He gulped.

“Did you enjoy your massage?” he asked suddenly, and edge to his words which made the question seem suspiciously loaded.

You tried not to let your wariness show, holding your posture perfectly still.

“I did. It was… intense. Good though. How about you?”

He gave a low laugh, and the knot in your stomach grew tighter, pulled taught by his sudden change in demeanour. He was holding you. In the way he might hold a hostage, not a friend. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, made you open your eyes and look across the TARDIS for any sign of danger.

You couldn’t know it, but you suspected that if you tried to walk away his tensed arms would stop you.

“My massage wasn’t nearly as satisfying, if the noises you made were anything to go by, love.”

The laugh you forced was barely loud enough to leave your lips. You felt the Master’s breath on your neck.

“Tell me what they did to you, love.”

“It was just… um… massage oil. And… they did my back. And rubbed that muscle I was complaining about, the one in my thigh. It feels a lot better now, actually.”

The Master stood silently, waiting. More, you could hear him thinking, more, love.

“They turned me over, massaged my front, and then they did the happy ending bit,” you laughed, awkwardness creeping into your tone where you tried so hard to suppress it.

“How did they make you feel?” he asked, an edge to his voice which barrelled straight past the boundaries of flirtation he had set before.

His voice was gravelly, seductive, each word painfully intentional as he whispered the syllables in your ear.

“Good,” you choked out, and he shook his head with a quiet, dark chuckle.

“No, darling, tell me what they made you feel. What did they do?”

Your mouth was dry, the TARDIS and your robe too hot, constricting against your sensitised skin.

You could feel yourself getting wetter, clenching, the faintest, most frustrating waves of pleasure in your clit. The Master was tense all over, and as you fidgeted, you felt him, hard against the front of your thigh.

“They hid you from me. Behind a barrier. Tell me what they did to you.”

In some deep part of your mind, a part which wasn’t clouded by lust and overwhelmed by the Master, pieces clicked into place. How he hated being exposed, but hated you being exposed more. His curtness, after you asked someone else to touch you. You damned him for being too proud to admit what he wanted, before you sought out pleasure elsewhere.

“They made me relaxed,” you began, “so relaxed. With these strong, gentle touches. All over. And then they turned me over, and I was so relaxed, I didn’t even notice how turned on I was getting.”

You paused, hoping the Master wanted to hear your words. That this was what he was asking for. His ragged breath told you enough. In his silence, he seemed to be begging for more. As you spoke, remembering the moment, you could feel your body responding to the memory. Growing wetter at saying it all out loud, at the knowledge the Master was desperately hanging off every word, his own arousal matching yours.

“When I was on my back, it was more oil. All over. Across my chest and my stomach and dripping between my legs and that was when I remembered what I had asked for.”

His grip on you tensed, his body thrumming with energy as it seemed to encircle you, and you forced yourself to conceal a smirk.

“The touches started on my stomach. They were teasing me, working me up. Then they moved to my nipples – I think your massage was done by then,” you pretended to think about it, and your tangent made him press his body against you insistently. You could feel that delicious jealousy, almost making him growl, as you paused.

“The oil was amazing. It smelled amazing and felt… so good. I don’t know if there was something in it, or if the masseuse was just that good,” you felt him shift again, privately delighting in how worked up he was getting.

“Then they had this toy thing. I never saw it, my eyes were closed, but… it was wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better, I can’t even remember it I just…”

“Came.”

The Master’s hoarse voice felt like it was in your very head, and maybe it was, his telepathy sending a powerful jolt through you as you felt his arousal and jealousy and anger for just a second.

“You let them touch you… those aliens, those strangers –”

“You’re an alien too,” you reminded him, another rush of irritation rushing forwards from him.

“I am the best alien you’ve ever met, love, and you’d do well to remember that.”

He was so close to you, and your skin was so hot, you shivered at the snarl in his words.

“I was right there, and – ” he fumbled for words, and you smiled, pulling against his grip a little so he could see. His eyebrow raised in disapproval.

“You were right there, and what?” you challenged.

The Master shifted on his feet, his arms loosening around you, before he leant in again. His beard brushed the softened skin of your cheek, nuzzling, the slight scratch making you shudder from the rawness of it all. He inhaled deeply, pressing his nose into the swathe of skin beneath your ear, tutting with a condescension that sent a jolt of heat down your body.

“You still reek of sex. Even more now, darling. Do you want to go back? Cheat on me again?”

“I wasn’t aware we were in a relationship.”

With a bitter laugh, his hands found your ribs. Their grip was higher than they ought to be, brushing the underside of your breaths over the robe, squeezing just a tiny bit too tight. You reached for the belt of his robe, your own threat held between your fingers as you assessed the flimsiness of the knot he’d tied.

His fingers dug in tighter.

“Then I’d better make you aware,” his words came out as a threat, but you didn’t feel intimidated. The muscles in your abdomen clenched, and he noticed, fingers spreading wider on your ribs. “Can’t have you going elsewhere again.”

He was teasing, but you wondered if he had perceived what you did as cheating. His surliness made it seem that way.

“Think you can convince me?” you muttered, already far more focused on the roaming of his fingers, closer to the opening of your robe.

“Obviously.”

He stepped away, and you missed the contact already, searching his dark eyes. They were unfocused with lust. Flickering lazily and obviously to your lips. His robe had loosened slightly, a sliver of chest hair exposed below the smooth skin of his neck, and you didn’t bother to conceal the bite of your lip as you trailed your eyes down across his body.

“It really bothered you that much?”

In lieu of an answer, you found your head cradled in his hands, fingers haphazardly strewn across your face and head as he pulled you in, his lips against yours. When the Master kissed you, it was everything you’d imagined. His lips were intense and firm and bruising, but not rough. The fingers wrapped around your skull were firm, intense, but not painful. Not aggressive, not trying to hurt you, just demanding all of you.

The rest of the day melted away, the TARDIS’ presence disappeared, until all your senses could perceive was him. You could feel the wetness of his lips as he kissed you so desperately you thought he might sob, hear the sound of his breathing, the squeak of your shoes on the floor as he dragged you closer still to his body. You couldn’t smell anything his skin, the oil and the water from the spa mixed with sweat and the TARDIS’ laundry detergent and him.

Even the press of his fingers on your head made you close your eyes, focussing everything on the Master.

Your fingers fumbled to reach him, hold him somehow, finding the neck of his gown and pulling, blindly reaching to run your hands across his chest hair while you fought to open the gown further. Through where he was kissing you, you could feel his amusement, the smile which threatened to break your kiss as his hands slowly released their hold on your head.

With a slight tug at his chest hair you finally broke the kiss, pulling away as he hissed at the pull of your fingers across his

You thought you should probably say something, as the two of you stood panting, eyes glazed with want, but there were no words which could serve this moment.

Your fingers went back to the belt of his robe, tugging greedily until the knot was almost free. As you were about to undress him completely, his hands covered yours, holding them in place against the slight swell of his stomach.

“My room,” he demanded curtly, though the words came out stilted and strange as he fought to catch his breath.

“If its closest,” you agreed, happy to fluff his ego in exchange for that sincere, indulgent smile which spread across his face.

In a strangely sweet gesture, he reached for your hand, pulling you eagerly towards his room. You had never been in the space before, but you barely had time to appreciate it. The dark mahogany of the furniture and the scattered books, stolen goods, and components were completely ignored by the Master as he tugged you by the hands towards a four-poster, shoving blankets and books aside. When the bed was clear he pulled you bodily around in a wide circle, before shoving you back onto the bed with a boyish grin.

Unable to resist his glee, you let yourself flop back, the robe riding up and opening at the neck, much to the Master’s delight. He was quick to try and get the white fabric off you, one deft motion undoing the belt at your waist, pulling it open down the centre with a flourish that made you roll your eyes fondly at him.

You had expected a smartass comment, some kind of brag or joke, but instead he sank over your torso. Lips pressed to the gap between your breasts, he was astonishingly serious.

The room was silent aside from the sounds of your breathing, the gentle smack of his lips as he kissed his way down your body, and the sincerity of the moment took your breath away.

The Master wasn’t a man easily moved to reverence or seriousness, not by beautiful palaces or ornate temples or tragically burning civilisations. He always had a cruel remark, a joke.

His astonished silence meant more to you than words ever could.

When he reached the slope of your pubic bone, he looked up at you, hands flat on the bed either side of your hips.

“Can I fuck you?”

Your voice shuddered as you told him ‘yes’, a ‘please’ wrung from your lips as his tongue found your clit.

He looked up at you again through long eyelashes, seeming somehow, despite the context, surprised.

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” you repeated.

One hand reached down for his chin, stroking the line of his jaw in a mute reassurance. He smiled softly, lips pressed tightly together.

Your gentle touch on his jaw followed him as he moved up your body to kiss you again, gently, with all the veneration which seemed to have overcome him since the console room. His soft lips against yours made you groan, and he paused for a second, as though afraid you might suddenly be made of delicate porcelain and shatter from the gentlest pressure. You kissed him back harder and relished in the rumble of a moan from deep in his throat.

Then he was standing, eyes refusing to flicker from staring into yours, pulling your legs astride his hips and slipping his fingers into the wetness between your legs, fingers methodically stretching you for him.

“Good?” he asked, fingers toying at your entrance, refusing to find the nerves you wanted him to be playing with.

You nodded, trying to be patient.

“Good.”

With one last look of wonderment, he lined himself up and sank into you. You broke his eye contact, throwing your head back, whining at the stretch of him inside you. His hands reached to hold your legs, a thumb stroking across your thigh, before he gently started to move.

“Good?”

“Good.”

He thrust slowly, almost tentatively, as though trying to convince himself he wouldn’t hurt you. His pace gradually quickened, desperation growing on his face as pleasure built inside of you, until suddenly you were holding yourself in place on the mattress and the Master was grunting with the force of his hips meeting yours. Your feet dug into his back, supported by his hands holding your legs up, one arm thrown over your eyes as the other desperately tried to stop him from shunting you further up the bed.

All you feel was him, the desperation in his thrusts, the tightening of his hands on your thighs as you subconsciously clenched around him, your desperation mounting in tandem with his.

“Tell me,” you panted, a fistful of his sheets clenched painfully tight as he pounded into you.

“What?”

He was barely there, you realised, uncomprehending and stupid with pleasure. A groan ripped from his throat as you shifted your hips, his hands gripping your ass to keep you in place.

“Tell me you were jealous.”

“Furious,” he grunted.

“Because you were jealous,” you ground out, feeling the Master reach between your legs, distracting you with the roughness of his fingers across your swollen clit.

You arched your back, uncovering your eyes to glare up at his sweaty face, his eyes trained hungrily on your body. As he looked up to your face, neck and stomach clenching with the strain of keeping up the furious rhythm of his thrusts, you laughed at the grin spreading wide across his gritted teeth.

His fingers on your clit fumbled for a moment, before letting you reach down to take over, your own slippery fingers barely needing to work across your clit before you gasped at the break of pleasure washing over you, the Master’s hips stuttering, struggling to stave off his own orgasm.

As you came down, he slumped over you, fucking you more and more erratically until he was coming inside of you, fingers scrambling to grip onto your body any way he could, pulling you closer as he gasped for air. You couldn’t help watch, mouth hanging over and sweat mixing with his, marvelling as he finally softened and caught his breath on top of you.

“Since it seems to really matter to you,” he mumbled into your neck, “I’ll say it. I was jealous.”

You laughed. He was heavy on top of you, his chest crushing yours as he laughed too, face pressed to the crook of your neck. You could feel his teeth against the sensitive skin connecting to your shoulder, the wetness of his mouth as he laughed, exasperated and high from the hormones.

“You were jealous!” you teased breathlessly, the words making a barest attempt at being sing-song, before his lips pressed against your neck gently.

“I was jealous,” he replied soberly, his hair brushing at you as he fidgeted, taking his weight off you a little. His legs were intertwined with yours, and you could feel the contractions of his muscles as he moved. “So, unbelievably, jealous.”

Even as you dedicated his words – this moment – to memory, you could feel sleep pulling at you. You sorely needed showers, and food, and probably water, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“So we can’t go back?” you asked airily, if only to feel the rumble of a short, exasperated laugh in the Master’s chest.

“Absolutely not.”

“What if I want a massage?” you whined, pouting for show, then gasping as the Master teasingly pinched at your hip.

“Then you’ll have to ask me.”

You pinched his hip in retaliation, his thigh jostling yours as he fidgeted irritably.

“Hm, I can live with that. If you’re any good.”

He was halfway to sleep too, tugging a displaced blanket across the pair of you blindly with his free arm.

“I’m the best, darling. Obviously.”

#dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #fic #13atoms #smut #writing smut in second person is always so weird #i feel like im gaslighting the reader #alexa play Gaslighter by The Chicks #this was meant to be like 2k #how did this happen

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wagner-fell · 3 years

Text

Spiders Are Ugly And Other Lies Capitalism Has Told Us (part one)

“Dad,” Astrid called out, shutting the coral coloured front door behind her. “Are you home?”

She dumped her cream tote bag spray painted with the words ‘Washing Machine Heart’ in big, rainbow letters onto one of the stools facing the granite countertop. The rest of the Merry Hoes followed suit. It was weird seeing a person as chaotic as Astrid in such a calm environment.

They were all spending the summer in LA with Astrid and her Dad. It had taken a while for Kevin to convince his family it was a good idea. Especially because he and Blessica had finally put years of pinning behind them. Making out on Kit’s bed at Mina’s third birthday party certainly wasn’t the way they had envisioned it but as the longing was over with, they were happy.

The Chu’s didn’t love the idea of their son living in a different country for three months with his girlfriend but we’re on board once Kevin assured them there was no possible way Blessica could get pregnant.

Kit wasn’t officially sleeping at the Yang’s but at the Institute with his boyfriend. Julian wasn’t so thrilled about the situation but Emma was. She was positively ecstatic about having a training partner as skilled as Kit was, courtesy of Jem and Tessa. Though staying a thirty minute drive away (on the wrong side of the road, Mari noted) wouldn’t keep Kit away for long. Even now he was with them instead of having his own reunion make out session.

Speaking of making out…

Mari rested their chin on the top of Astrid’s head and wrapped their arms around her middle. “Why don’t you show us your room while we wait for your dad to get home.”

It was kinda perfect, Mari often remarked, that she realized her feelings for their best friend weren’t so platonic as she previously led herself to believe at the same time they and Kit realized they were better off as just platonic.

Astrid hit her hand playfully. “That’s not fair!” she whined! ”How dare you take advantage of my constant hornyness when my God-fearing Presbyterian father could be in the next room? Shame! Shame on you, shame on your family, shame on your cow.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s ‘dishonor’”, said Kit, who didn’t even look up from his phone when he addressed her, “but go off I guess.”

Astrid looked like she was questioning all her life choices up to this point. “A white boy knows Mulan better than me.” She shook her head in disgust. Mari could feel the loose hairs of her girlfriend’s ponytail ticking her exposed collar bone. “Mulan.”

Mari laughed before softly brushing their lips against Astrid mop of bleached strands of pastel yellow, pink and blue mixed magnificently with her natural inky black.

“Is hornyness even a word?” Kevin wondered aloud as he observed the knickknacks placed at even intervals utop the kitchen cabinets. Blessica was with him. She was gazing at one of a crab steering a ship when she spotted a slim piece of paper taped below it.

“Ast,” she called. The both looked in her direction, despite Blessica needing the attention of one. “Your dad says he won’t be home till seven. Emergency at work.”

“Which leaves us more than enough time to pack and head over to meet Ty, Dru and Thaìs at the arcade,” said Kit. He finally turned his phone off and shoved it into the back pocket of his ripped jeans. “Marstrid can do the ol’ devil’s tango then catch up to us.”

‘Marstrid’ wrinkled their noses. “I thought we agreed on Astari, Christopher.”

“Astari sounds gayer,” confirmed Kevin, his eyes never leaving the miniature decorations.

“Not to be rude but why does Astari sound gayer?” asked a visibly confused Blessica.

“Because,” answered Mari, unraveling herself from Astrid to slide onto one of the bar stools and reaching into the Jolly Rancher jar, blindly searching for a green, “Astari has ‘star’ in it. Star equals astrology. An obsession with astrology is the price you pay for the gay agenda. Besides, Marstrid sounds like an old southern lady.” Then she furrowed her eyebrows and swiveled to face Astrid. “Southern is Texas, right?” Astrid nooded, a smile so big the Cheshire Cat would be jealous.

Without looking, she stuck her hand in the jar and pulled out a green apple flavoured hard candy on her first try. She held it out to Mari, who snatched it out of her hand with an angry huff.

“Hey, Ast, where do you guys keep the crisps?” asked Kevin when he finished inspecting all the knickknacks.

“Uh, under the barbecue sauce, I think.”

Kit’s eyes lit up. “So I’m sitting there”- Astrid understood what was happening in just enough time to quote- “barbecue sauce on my titties” in unison.

Mari put her head into their open palms, still sucking on the pity candy. “Why is this my type?”

“Are you sure this is the right place?” asked Blessica as Kit attempted to parallel park outside the location Ty had texted him to meet at. Key word, attempt. When Tessa had taught him to drive, he’d been such a disaster at parallel parking she had instructed him to ‘take the underground when tight spaces might be a possibility.’ Which he prided himself in doing. But this was America and the underground was called the subway, so, technically, no rules were being broken.

“Yes, Blessie, I’m certain.”

“Okay. Just checking cause a few turns back the GPS said-”

“Blessie!” He nearly crashed into the car in front of him.

“Right. Shutting up.”

When Kit managed to park with minimal damage and the three were about to exit, the voice of Nicki Minaj boomed from his pocket. Ty was calling him. He accepted the call, putting it on speaker.

“Hello Tiberius.” There was giggling from the other end of the line. A groan soon followed it.

“It’s been a year,” came the annoyed voice of Dru. “Get over your British kink already.” Kevin’s laughter echoed from the backseat.

“Hey Ty!

“Hi Kevin.”

”Hey Dru!”

“Fuck off.”

“Ouch. Why do you feel the need to hurt me so?” Blessica laughed.

“Hey…Thaìs?”

“Here,” replied Thaìs cheerfully.

“Are you here yet,” asked Ty.

“Uh, yeah! We were just getting out of the rental car when you called. You didn’t tell me it was going to be crowded. I had to parallel park!”

“What are you talking about?” interrupted Dru. ”There are only four cars in the parking lot.”

“But,” Ty countered, “there are lots of Billy’s Fun Zones’ around here. You guys must have got mixed up and taken a wrong turn. I could have sworn I sent you the correct location on GPS.” Maybe Ty said more on the subject but Kit could hear anything or see anything except the superior smirk Blessica was giving him.

He covered the speaker. “Not. A. Word.” And no word came out of her mouth the entire ride to the correct Billy’s Fun Zone but the ‘I told you so’ look on her face spoke loud enough.

Kit slid back into the booth next to Ty, handing him his pretzel. Ty kissed him on the check in gratitude.

Dru and Ty were right. About this one being empty. He told him he had heard about it from Alyssa. Her pack frequented it often. They were left alone because, well, there was no one else there to bother them.

“Where are Astrid and Mari?” he asked.

“Fucking. I think. Or maybe just making out. I’ll know which one when they finish.” When Ty gave him a puzzled look he continued, “Astrid describes it all to me in full detail. I honestly don’t know whether she doesn’t have a filter or she just needs someone to scream to about how amazing Mari is.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

“True, true.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Ty picked up the conversation again. “When Thaìs first met Astrid, she had a huge crush on her. They got along great. I always thought they would end up together. Or hook up at the very least.”

“Huh, that’s funny,” observed Kit.

“What is?”

“When me and Mari split, I was planning on trying to set them up with Thaìs. But then I caught her ans Astrid making out in a storage closet at school. Which, in hindsight, was pretty stupid cause they were in there so I wouldn’t be sad Mari moved on when I opened the door in the first place avoiding her to call you.”

“Hmmmm.”

The gears in Ty’s head were visibly turning. Kit loved watching this process. An idea was forming in his boyfriend’s genius mind, he could sense it.

“What is their stance on monogamy?” he asked finally.

“Um, fuck, hold on. Mari sent me this whole speech about it.” Kit scrolled through his phone at a rapid rate before he saw what he was looking for. He cleared his throat and began reading aloud.

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:52 AM: monogamy is just another lie capitalism has fed us

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:55 AM: like, for example, the notion that house spiders are ugly and to be feared

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: it’s just to sell bug spray

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: same with monogamy

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:56 AM: pointless!!!

Mari_da_bisexual_whore, sent 1:58 AM: in conclusion, if I want to join a polyam cult, who tf is the government to stop me?

Kev-Kev, sent 2:01 AM: mari please go to sleep

Bless-ing_to_the_world, sent 2:04 AM: ^^^^^^^^^^^

Mitski_my_love, sent 2:05 AM: preach!

Mitski_my_love, sent 2:05 AM: go off queen

By the time Kit was finished with his dramatic reading, Ty’s plan was fully formed.

“That settles it! We are going to play matchmakers!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alyssa, Ty’s friend mentioned is @thechangeling OC, not mine.

@the-blackdale @the-wckd-powers @adoravel-fenomeno @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @illusions-give-reasons-to-live @ithurielkeepsgettingkidnapped @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @sofiatheskeleton @cncnbr @its-taff @noah-herondale-lightwood @maxboythedog @arangiajoan @shelvesofgold @book-dragon-not-worm sorry if I missed anyone LMK if you want to be added or removed from The tag List!!

#mari machado sotomayor #mari machado #mari the werewolf #tiberius blackthorn #dru blackthorn #ty blackthorn #drusilla blackthorn #blessica reyes #the merry hoes #kevin chu #astrid yang #kit rook #kit herondale #thais pedroso #the secrets of blackthorn hall #the wicked powers

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beautifulterriblequeen · 3 years

Text

B2:S - Chapter 3

Much of this series will be about the differences and additions in the novel version, and how they contribute to my understanding of story canon. But there will be character appreciation, the odd theory and headcanon, and suchlike as well.

Here be Lujanne, Callum, Rayla, Ezran, Bait, and Soren goodness!

Spoilers for Book Two: Sky below.

Lujanne having excellent fitness for all her walking around the Moon Nexus, and she's so energetic that Callum has trouble keeping up with her! She seems like those active grandmas who almost never stop moving, who have a lifelong supply of endless stamina. It makes me wonder if Lujanne will need that level of fitness for some upcoming conflict.

Callum feeling really hungry over not eating grubs and then still deciding he'd rather be hungry. It makes me wonder all over again how Lujanne got to the point where she eats grubs, considering that other Moonshadow elves we know of back in the Silvergrove don't. I still love my hc that the giant leech ate all of Lujanne's moonberry bushes and she's taking her revenge. Whatever's going on there, Callum is definitely not at that point yet.

When Lujanne asks Callum how he knows she's real, he thinks to himself that he'd put up with just about anything from someone who was going to teach him magic. That's a great parallel and foreshadowing for Viren's student/master relationship with Aaravos! And it's telling that neither student gets exactly what they hoped to get. Lujanne doesn't actively teach Callum any spells, because she believes he can't learn Moon magic at all. Aaravos does offer Viren power, but it takes him to some very dark places - literally and figuratively - and the cost is terribly high.

Callum sees a moon shape among the ruins, and Lujanne explains that the Moonhenge layout is an intricate rune that uses the structures themselves as part of its symbols and power. That's apparently a thing even with ordinary Moonshadow villages like Hollow Wood in the east, which is the coolest idea I've seen in a while: city planning as magic runes!

Yes, that's the same shape as the pendants Ethari made for himself and Runaan. Protection? Home? Feelsiness? A sense of safety and belongnig for all cycles and seasons?

Wonder what this Moonhenge rune stands for, then, and how much of this landscape is included in that rune. I bet it's more than we think!

But it makes sense now, how toppling the stone pillars would disable the spell the druids would cast to connect with the Moon Nexus lake. Breaking the infrastructure of the Moonhenge breaks the rune.

There's a physical sensation involved with the visuals that Historia Viventem brings up! When that one ghostly druid walked through Callum, he felt icy cold. Like in ghost stories. I really wonder about what exactly Historia Viventem is doing when it activates. It shows truth, "what really happened here?", so it must have some kind of time-related element, maybe tied to how the moon always repeats the same cycles or something. But it also seems to draw on the spirits of any living people involved in the flashback, because Callum could physically feel that wispy shape passing through him. So very interesting!

Orrr... is that all wrong, and there's something else at work with this spell than time? Maybe the world beyond life and death can act as an imprint of the things that have happened in the living world, and the spell that Lujanne (and later Callum) casts taps into that place, with perfect recall. I'm looking really hard at the sentence that says "dozens of translucent elf ghosts" and "phantom Moonhenge" and "lost in their own world" here.

Lujanne says more here than in the show about the world beyond life and death, being her mysterious Moonshadow-mage self. She says that "beyond" and "between" might both apply to where this other plane of existence is, and she doesn't much care which. With all the relativity swirling around this place, and not much in the way of empiricism, it's sounding like perhaps multiple conflicting ideas might actually coexist in such a place, allowing more ideas to fit there than we might normally believe is possible. Which is a fascinating bit of worldbuilding. Basically, every headcanon anyone has ever had about the Moon Nexus could all be true at the same time, for all we know.

Oh oh oh, Callum coming in soft with a secret wish! He takes one look at the Moonhenge and immediately thinks of finding a way to see his mom again! Poor boy, my heart! I'd say that could be another interesting parallel with Viren, but then, who wouldn't hold that sentiment?

Oh my, is this another breath of life into Ye Olde Ley Lines headcanon? Lujanne mentioning the Nexuses again, so soon after talking about the runic design of the entire Moonhenge, makes me wonder if the six nexuses are in fact giant runes. On Earth, the places where ley lines cross are called nexuses, and there are those who believe those points got marked with ancient structures, like Stonehenge and many many others. If Xadia were crossed with magical lines which naturally formed nexus points where they met, and if powerful magical runes were built across those entire areas, well. That would be cool beans, fams. Can I smack a map of Xadia and release a spell like Luz Noceda does? Because ngl that is my first instinct here.

Lujanne has got to be missing some grandkids to spoil, right? The way she's always whipping out cake and ice cream for Callum, and she's so grandma-ish about it. Headcanon about her being Runaan's mom aside, she is canonically lonely and she's very sweet to Allen and Ellis and I think she's missing whatever family she once had in the past. She may never get to have that family back, so she's finding a new one among the humans who live nearby, and I think that's sweet. Found family isn't just for the young.

But Ellis is straight up gonna be her fave, I bet, because she didn't turn up her nose at Lujanne's illusion food!

Ezran and Bait have a lot more to their relationship than was visible in the show, and I'm so excited by it! Ez can tell by looking at Bait's colors that he's not truly jealous of Zym, even if he's really grumpy about the dragonling taking up his favorite human's time.

And Ez thinking a lot about his dad and the things he's taught him. They're soft leadership material, and I love that so much! "Pick your battles" and the importance of encouragement. Ahh, my heart. Ezran, you're going to be such a good king.

But wait a second: both times that Bait gets extra grumpy in Zym's first training session, Ezran has just mentioned something about flying. Guys, I think Bait wishes he could fly, really badly. And that's his biggest problem with Zym, and with Ezran teaching Zym to fly, instead of Bait who doesn't have wings so. Bait is so old that his secrets have secrets, and I'm really curious how flying fits into them now!

Rayla, Dramatic Assassin: "I need to patrol for dark forces." That's what Lujanne called the source of the purple wisps that found them. I wonder if that's an official term all Moonshadows know, or if Rayla is just taking her cue from a veteran Moon mage. And I wonder how far Rayla is falling into the apparent pattern of "one mage, one assassin", since she does spend a lot of her time patrolling without being asked.

When Callum tells Lujanne that he was bad at prince stuff, and she asks if he didn't give up and got good at those things anyway, it's an opportunity for Callum to embrace subverting his parents' expectations in favor of seeking his own path, which is a primary theme of the show. But Lujanne is a couple generations older than Callum, at the very least, and I have to wonder what her upbringing was like. Is her version of success the one she took? Was she bad at magic once too, but she persisted? She is very soft and doesn't want to kill anyone.

Maybe Lujanne had dreams of doing something else with her life, but she felt she had to pursue the destiny that others handed to her, so she studied magic as hard as she could, and she did get good at it, but using it to defend Xadia from humans is not what she wanted to do with her life. Whether there's a parallel between her and Ethari on that point, there's one between Callum and Ethari, I think. How much of your life are you willing to let others direct for you?

LISTEN I WAS DYING AT THE EAR BREAD SCENE OKAY

This is my new favorite Soren and Claudia moment ever. Soren loves him his bread, okay. Even as earplugs for Claudia's sleep ocarina tune. The fact that it's "super effective" makes me think of a Pokemon defense. The fact that he learned it at camp, where he also learned about Moonshadow Madness, is hilarious. Later on, Corvus doesn't know Soren by name, but I still love the idea of Corvus being a kind of Strider-esque camp instructor, filling the ears of his young charges with all kinds of useful tactics like ear bread for magic spell songs (which actually seemed to work as intended), and warnings about the enemy elves' blood-themed tactics (which may or may not come back around in BH)

I thought they were gonna go in a kind of deep direction when Soren still wanted his ear bread back, but then he just. Eats them. Just noms them. I love this kid. Give Soren all the bread!

#book two: sky spoilers #book two: sky #b2:s #tdp spoilers #ToX spoilers #gloaming glade spoilers #lujanne #callum #rayla #ezran #tdp zym #soren #tdp claudia #tdp bait

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lys-lilac · 3 years

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The Realization of Importance

Part (3/3)

Let’s end it.

A/N: This is to say that all the characters and the main story line belong to Voltage Inc. Only the fictional story is a work of mine, as well the fictional characters, Hana, Touma and Akari. Also this story is based on dream event, because I had this as a dream many days ago. It might be a little different from the usual genre, a little more angsty, so this little girl wants to know your honest opinions about the work. Be honest and do let me know what you think. But, if it feels a little bit dreamy or weird, you can discontinue reading from here.

Part 1 II Part 2

Part 3/3

Hana: ?!

Standing behind me was none other the man I loved the most, Kasumi. But, why is he here? His face is looking as cool as a cucumber. And, is he smiling? I hurriedly get up from my seat.

Hana: Kas- Err, I mean Chief Kasumi! What are you doing here?

Kasumi: Listening to your conversation.

Hana: ...I- Well, I am not MC.

Turning my head where I put the hairpin to his side, I show him my ‘recognition symbol’ or whatever.

Hana: I am Hana, the new resident.

Kasumi: I know that.

Hana: ?

Why? Just as I am trying to focus on my work, why does he drop such lines? What work has he with me? I rack my brains for a possibility.

Hana: Oh, are you here to talk with Touma?

Tucking on my white coat and holding me like a scared child, Touma slowly ducks his head to the side. I knew that Kasumi loved children, like he played pictionary with Sora that time. So I decide to give it a try.

Hana: Touma, he is the head of EICU, Dr. Kasumi. You can talk to him. He really is good person. Oh yeah, we might play pictionary together!

Kasumi: ...

Probably not expecting the response, Kasumi’s eyes go wide. Did I say something wrong? Wait, don’t say me... This event has already happened here already. If that’s the case, I might be in knee deep water right now.

Hana: I thought that Touma might like to draw, since he is good at gardening and sightseeing, so I asked. That’s it.

Kasumi: Touma, I know you can do it. And as she said, we can play pictionary anytime you want. But, I have a request to make.

Touma: What is it?

Kasumi: Can I accompany you to the visit to your garden?

Hana: What?!

Okay. I seriously need to check my mental health now. Am I really in my senses? What in the world did I hear just now?

Hana: But, we shouldn’t trouble you. After all, your schedules might be packed. And what about Dr. MC?

Kasumi: She has a lot of study to do. Besides, I want to see how this resident handles the case.

So it was just as a mentor... I see. Although I would have felt pangs in my heart at this time, I feel relieved, although I don’t know why.

Touma: I would be happy to!

After finishing our drinks, I drop Touma to his bed, and go towards the CSD (Cardiovascular Surgery Department). But, Dr. Kasumi is following me. I was sure that was not the case at first, as both CSD and EICU were in the same direction. But, instead of turning to the opposite side in the fork, he turns in my direction. WHAT IS GOING ON?! Oh god, stop, my heart...

Hana: Dr. Kasumi, I need to ask something. Do you have any work at the CSD? I can help you out with the menial tasks, if you ask.

Kasumi: ...

The silent intimidation! His dark prince cape never slides from him!

Kasumi: I need you to meet me in the outside in the evening. I have something to discuss with you.

...aand, there he goes, not listening to me. And, why the heck is he calling me to join him in the evening? The more I try to clear out my mind, the more it becomes tangled with his words. Guess I have no choice left. Maybe it’s something related to Touma?

Hana: ...Alright.

[Evening: Seimei Medical University Porch]

As I am sitting on the bench after completing the post OP rounds of some patients, a chilled can of coffee hits my cheek.

Kasumi: Here.

Holding two cans of coffee in his hands, he gives me one, and takes a seat beside me. Surprisingly, it’s my favorite flavor, mocha.

Hana: So, what is it that you wanted to talk about?

Kasumi: ...

Gazing at the children playing at a distance, he remains silent.

Hana: Dr. Kasumi, I am not a psychic that I can read your mind by telepathy. You have got to say something.

This time also, the response is nothing. Giving up, I look up at the sky, which is painted with a hue of orange and yellow. Gradually, the Sun sets, leaving a pinkish violet band spread in the horizon.

Hana: Look, Dr. Kasumi, the Belt of Venus! Now, you have to say the reas-

What leaves my mouth leaves me surprised. Clasping my mouth with my hand in order to shut it, I slowly move my fingers around the coffee can.

Kasumi: MC.

Hana: Dr. MC? What happened to her? Is she busy today?

Kasumi: You are MC, right? And that name ‘Hana’ is just a false one. Am I wrong?

Hana: You are getting it all wrong, Dr. Kasumi. Look at this hairpin, I am the new resident, not MC...

Kasumi: And what if I say that the hairpin you are wearing is the one you bought when you went to the zoo with me?

I can’t even dare to say a word. What exactly am I supposed to say? That “I am MC, I don’t know what’s going on here” ? I try to push another excuse.

Hana: This hairpin is common here! I think that Dr. MC may also have one at her home. Look, Dr. Kasumi, you might need some rest as you may be overexerting yourself. I will go and inform Dr. Kyogoku, okay?

As I get up from the bench, a sudden grab of my arm makes me stop.

Hana: ?

Kasumi: At least let me justify why I think of you as the MC.

Why those pure eyes? Was his pull not enough? Those eyes are my weakness, and I can’t resist his words.

Hana: Ok, I will listen to you.

Kasumi: Until yesterday, I was unsure myself that which one of you was my MC. The way you said that you are a new resident, all of us had no choice but to believe it as the truth. But when I saw you talking with Touma, that made me clear of your identity. Because my MC is a little childish, likes to get acquainted with patients, and...

Hana: and?

Kasumi: No wonder where you are, I can always recognize you.

His fingers intertwine with mine, and as I am about to reply, Kyogoku comes from the building.

Kyogoku: Kasumi, we have got hold of her true identity.

Without any delay and without loosening his hand, he drags me with him, and we all leave for the EICU. My mind which had turned to mess after all the things he said, was not working at all, so I stay silent to know the truth.

[Evening: Seimei University EICU]

There was she, Dr. MC. All the other doctors were also there. But, why were people from Metro Police Department standing there? And that to, handcuffing her? What the heck was going on while I was outside? Just as I was thinking, a police speaks up.

Police 1: Finally, this miscreant got caught.

Police 2: We are sorry for all the trouble she caused. We will make sure she gets the ‘reward’ for what she had done.

Police 3: Thank you for the help doctors! No wonder you all are jewels! Now, give us the permission to leave.

What the WHAT?! No one was in shock as me. She, A MISCREANT? So, inso and dreaming were not the reason?

Hosho: I am glad to see our MC back!

Takado: Oh, and how foolish of us to think that the silent impostor was this idiot. Never in life.

Ekuni: She didn’t even falter when we threw jokes on her.

Matsunaga: And here I thought, we are going to get two talented doctors... Although I am happy that you are the only precious girl of the EICU.

Kyogoku: Butthead, now you know who you are right?

{A/N: Now, Hana is the actual MC, so no need to use the fake name, otherwise who knows what will Kasumi think of me... ^^;)

MC: God, can anyone please explain what is going on... I might just pass out from the overdose of information.

Kyogoku: Apparently, she was a die-hard fan of Kasumi, or whatever it may be, and was super jealous of you. So she arranged all of this. Went through a plastic surgery to look exactly like you, changed your documents by adding a false name, just to take your place.

MC: Then, how you all figured it out?

Hosho: It was Kasumi who first told us that something was weird.

Takado: That how the office, which is a place of damn banters, was as silent as the sea. Although it was peaceful, it felt wrong.

Ekuni: She didn’t know her own schedule of scrub ins, and didn’t lash us out.

Matsunaga: And most importantly, I was not satisfied her response when I asked her to join me during breaks.

Kasumi: We all are aware of your behavior and your nature, so it was not long till we figured it out.

Kasumi: MC?

Ha... haha, my life. I will not hesitate to say that it is more intense than what happens in mangas. One can do this much only for jealousy?

MC: Thank god, thank god you all remember me. Here I thought I was in a parallel world and no one recognised me.

The doctors could sometimes lead me to release smoke from my ears out of fury, but nonetheless, they cared for me, and that’s what of value to me the most.

[Some days later: Touma’s garden]

{A/N: Again, a random picture}

Touma’s surgery is a success. On the day of the surgery, Kasumi volunteered to accompany me in it, as his schedule was open for the morning. The good thing is that he can still walk and talk, although now in wheelchair for some days of recovery. Me and Kasumi, to fulfill our promise to Touma, were leaded to Touma’s garden on the day we paid a home visit to him.

Can I say that the place is paradise? Tulips, lilies, hydrangeas, pansies, daffodils and all the varieties are lined in rows. Adjoining to it is the fruit garden, and beside it is the vegetable one. Huh, did I even know how to plant a sapling when I was of his age? Answer: no.

As I was appreciating the beauty sitting on the cool grass, a small flower is tucked into my hair. It is a Syringa Vulgaris. In other words, a small lilac.

Touma: This looks pretty on you.

MC: Oh, thank you Touma.

But, just after that, a flower crown is placed on my head.

Kasumi: And I think this looks even prettier.

MC: ...

My cheeks flare up crimson. Aww, just how cute are these two, adoring me like that! I can just float in the sky out of happiness,

MC: Thank you.

MC: Oh, but I wanted to ask something.

Kasumi: Sure.

MC: If you realized that I was the original piece, then why didn’t you recognize me in the office?

Kasumi: That’s because the other you submitted your reports just before you came. Did you notice that when you were about to submit the papers in your hand, it was not the original but only blank papers?

MC: ...No! Now that I think about it, I was so heartbroken at that time, that I didn’t even glance at it. And probably, she might have done it when I was in post OP rounds, and my documents were all laying on the table. Ah, the headache I felt there might be due to her making me unconscious using chloroform, because I found myself in the closet. God! And here I was thinking that I fainted due to overwork!! That chick, grrr...

Kasumi: Pfft, as expected.

MC: Don’t laugh at me! Well, how did you find the clue then? Even I was confused of my own identity. Didn’t your thoughts waver?

Kasumi: I got the first hint by the hairpin you had. I was pretty sure that it was the same one that you bought when we went to the zoo, and that you always kept it in your bag. But when I asked the other you about this, she just made excuses that she had left it at home. Further, you mentioned about Sora and also exclaimed when the Belt of Venus appeared, so my confirmation was strengthened.

MC: A prodigy you are, aren’t you?

Kasumi: No.

MC: Huh?

Kasumi: No matter which different identity you own, or wherever you may be, I can always recognize you, because you are the most important person to me in my life.

Seeing my blank face, he chuckles and a soft touch lands on my lips, like a feather fluttering on my skin.

MC: The same goes for me too. I can always recognize you anywhere, because you are the one I love the most.

As I see the dandelions dancing in the wind, the flowers, fruits and vegetables bathed with sunlight, and the smile of Kasumi, which I yearn the most, I realize something. That I am important to him and so is Kasumi to me. No matter whatever may come, I will always stay by his side, and support him with all my heart.

END.

{Author’s trivia: I actually woke up just after the scene where Kasumi realizes that she is his MC. So, I just added the after plot, to complete it.}

That’s it! I am telling you, I was myself feeling butterflies when writing the end part. So I am sure, the story will appeal you just like it appealed to me. Pure nature of Kasumi, dipped in honey felt words. But gahh, it felt so dramatic, the police and all... Let me know what you think. If any requests, feel free to drop it in the suggestion bowl. Have a good day ahead, and give your best everyday, just like our dark prince!

~Lys

#romance md #romance md: always on call #rmd #toshiki kasumi #kasumi toshiki #sentaro kyogoku #munechika takado #tetsuya hosho #kaede ekuni #eiichi matsunaga #voltage inc #love 365 #100恋+#100シーンの恋+#hana #touma #akari #fictional work #lys's writings

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k7l4d4 · 3 years

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Kamen Rider Info and Ideas (Feel free to ignore)

As a huge fan of Kamen Rider, I always wondered about ways it could be expanded, and maybe not improved so much as become More. So, right now, I am gonna make a list of Kamen Rider Series, starting with Black and RX, and continuing all the way to the Reiwa Era! Everybody clap your hands!! *Cricket noises* Okay, here we go!

Kamen Rider Black, and its sequel, Black RX, details the journey of Kohtaro Minami, or Minami Kohtaro for those who prefer the traditional Japanese naming conventions, on his mission to defeat Gorgom, an ancient tribe/organization that has evolved into a cultic terrorist organization bent on world domination. While still holding to the Showa era’s tradition of having Cyborg Riders, Black and RX were the first in which, aside from Kamen Rider Amazon, the supernatural played a prominent part in the powers of the riders, as Kohtaro and his stepbrother Nobuhiko were the designated heirs to the leader of Gorgom, the Century King, and infused with the relics that contained his power, the Kingstones. Both Kohtaro and Nobuhiko were infused with the Kingstones, in the attempt to convert them into the Villains Black Sun and Shadow Moon, with only Kohtaro managing to escape.

One of the things that I felt could’ve been at least a little better in regards to the series was if Shadow Moon could regain his original self and rejoin the path of justice. It would’ve also been pretty cool if Shadow Moon gained his own upgraded form, which did actually happen in tie-in novels and manga, and if either or both of them gained the ability to unleash a final form that drew upon the power they wielded as the New Century Kings. Ah well, that’s what fanfiction is for!

Kamen Rider Kuuga details the battles of Yusuke Godai, the successor to the ancient warrior of justice, Riku, as the Kuuga. Kuuga’s powers are derived from Growth, allowing him to access a variety of forms and powers based on what he needs to grow into, and can be bolstered by mystical energy sources to ascend even further! Yusuke’s enemies are the Gurongi tribe, ancient monsters who abandoned their humanity to satisfy their love of death and conflict, and wished to have all of humanity become as dark and twisted as them, with the “honor” of being the Gurongi to start the process going to whichever of them managed to win their tournament, in which the Gurongi Tribal-members all battled to the death as a whole.

One of the things that bugged me a little, was that Kuuga never fully evolved all his forms, and that his true final form was even used in his series! I mean, seriously, what!? Once again, budget concerns limit the awesomeness of a series before it can bloom, sigh.

Kamen Rider Agito is the story of Shoichi Tsugami, a young amnesiac who belongs to an offshoot of the human race known as the Agito. Agitos possess incredible psychic powers and exist in a perpetual state of evolution, adapting to the changes in themselves and the world around them at an incredible rate.

My only real beef with this series was the limited number of forms Agito had as compared to Kuuga, and that one of the Extra Riders had the lazy name of Another Agito. You heard me right. All in all, not to bad, but a little frustrating.

Next up, Kamen Rider Ryuki, which also served as part of the inspiration for the list. Honestly, with how much I plan on covering JUST for Ryuki, I’ll probably leave this off after this and pick up more tomorrow. Ryuki is one of the first series in the franchise to fully exploit the nature of multiple riders, and basically invented the concept of Dark Riders, which I will also explain.

Ryuki involves the Rider War, a conflict taking place in the real world, and a parallel realm known as the Mirror World, populated by unfeeling monsters known as, you guessed it, Mirror Monsters, which must constantly kill when in our world in order to remain stable, or at least they are allegedly supposed to. The Rider War was a conflict set up by a man known as Shiro to revive his dead sister, under the guise of a tournament to the death for a reality-warping wish, which Shiro wanted for himself. The war brought together 13, yes you read that right, 13 Riders, all with variances in their styles and abilities. This selfish conflict is partially, if not entirely why I said that introduced Dark Riders properly to the franchise; Dark Riders are individuals who bear the same transformative powers of Kamen Riders, but instead of using them to fight against the wicked and monstrous, are instead put towards their own selfish ends, and none of them are the type of individual you wanna run into in a dark alley.

The Riders of Ryuki derived their power from two things, their Contract Monster, a Mirror Monster that they formed a bond with in order to exist without needing to bring about death, and an Advent Deck, a Deck of Cards that harnessed the power of the Mirror Monster it bonded to and allowed the Riders to survive in the Mirror Realm, which is inherently fatal for humans to be in. One of the key aspects of Advent Cards is how they work, each one draws and harnesses an aspect of the Contract Monster it is connected to, or wields a power specifically to fight other Advent Riders. Now, before I get to my thoughts and ideas, I am going to list each Rider from Ryuki, as well as the nature of their Advent Decks and fighting styles.

Shinji Kido: Kamen Rider Ryuki himself, and contracted to the fierce Dragon-Type Mirror Monster, Dragonredder. With a Dragon on his side, you’d expect him to be the powerhouse of the group, right? HAHAHAHAHA no. Shinji stumbled upon the Rider War by near-complete accident, and, being the nice guy he is, decided if he was going to be a part, he would protect the bystanders from the conflict and ensure as many of the Riders made it out alive as he could. Easier said than done. Out of all the Riders, Ryuki has the least straight-forward fighting style, not helped by his incredible clumsiness, with his deck emphasizing the ability to have as many options as possible; jack of all trades master of none, but better master of none than master of one.

Ren Akiyama: Kamen Rider Knight, and the contract holder of the Bat-Type Mirror Monster, Darkwing. He comes across as aloof, cold even, whose only in it for himself, but in truth he decided to enter the war to save the life of his ill fiance. Knight’s fighting style blends straight-up direct combat, and subterfuge based war tactics, with his deck emphasizing this by providing him with both weapons and special abilities that optimize getting the drop on his foes. Hmm... themed after a bat, a knight, and mixing close combat with dark and spooky tactics. Now where have I seen THAT before?

Masashi Shido: Kamen Rider Scissors, a Dark Rider, and the contractor of the Crab-Type Mirror Monster, Volcancer. A corrupt cop and detective, Scissors took bribes and cuts in illegal dealings, and used his Mirror Monster to liberally dispose of witnesses as he pleased. He ultimately died when his contract was destroyed and Volcancer turned on him. Despite his practices necessitating subterfuge, Scissors’ fighting style is rather extravagant, emulating that of a gladiator, with his deck providing cards that mix heavy combat with putting his enemy into an unfavorable situation to seal the deal, fitting for a backstabber.

Shuichi Kitaoka: Kamen Rider Zolga, one of the neutral and later heroic elements in the war, and the bearer of the contract for the Minotaur-Type Mirror Monster, Magnugigas, a colossal bio-mechanical behemoth. A shady lawyer with a lot of wealth, Zolga was diagnosed with fatal cancer, and desired to become immortal to continue living his lifestyle forever. While initially uncaring and selfish, he ultimately came to see the value in others, and lamented all the criminals that walked free due to his actions, hoping Ryuki would win. Cunning, intellegent, and crafty, Zolga’s fighting style favors both heavy defense and massive firepower, burying an enemy in a storm of blasts while he hunkers down, with his deck further emphasizing this with a bevy of long-distance combat cards and barriers.

Miyuki Tezuka: Kamen Rider Raia, a fortune-teller beyond compare, he enters the war to save lives and honor his deceased friend, and bears the contract of the Stingray-Type Mirror Monster, Evildiver. Raia’s fighting style places heavy importance on movement, offering cards that can offer him superior movement, and uses a whip as his principle weapon.

Jun Shibaura: Kamen Rider Gai, an utterly selfish and monstrous beast of a man, he wields the contract of the Rhino-Type Mirror Monster, Metalgelas. A prodigy of computers and gaming, Gai sees the death match that is the Rider War as nothing more than a game, and the fighters as players he can wipe out at his leisure. Gai’s fighting style is a straight up rush of overwhelming force, with his cards emphasizing interfering with his opponent’s options to force them to fight him directly and his brutal power of himself and his Contract Monster gives him an edge.

Takeshi Asakura: Kamen Rider Ouja, and the main Dark Rider of the series, holder of the contract for the Snake-Type Mirror Monster, Venosnaker. A sadistic monster to his core, Takeshi killed his own family as a child, and left a bloody trail in his wake for years, remorselessly cutting down anyone who falls in his path in his bloodlust. Despite his seemingly simple minded nature, Ouja is immensely cunning, favoring a sadistic fighting style that emphasizes causing as much pain to his enemy as he can before they die at his hands, and he is far from afraid to get his hands dirty. Ironically, Ouja has one of the weaker decks in the war, bearing limited options to fight with, Ouja thrives due to his sheer brutality, fighting ability, and utter ruthlessness. “Fun” fact, unlike the other Riders, Takeshi never realized that a wish was up for grabs, he was just having a good time! When he finally learned that the winner got a wish, he decided his wish would be to have ANOTHER Rider War, so he could kill another pack of warriors! Ouja’s deck does have two solid advantages over the other riders; Ouja possesses extra Contract Cards, meaning he can add other Mirror Monsters and their powers to his deck, ultimately deciding to save them to take the Mirror Monsters of the Riders he kills, with his other big trick his Unite Card, which allowed him to COMBINE his Mirror Monsters into the horrifying Chimera-Type Mirror Monster, Genocider (ain’t that a name).

Odin: Kamen Rider Odin, a Rider not designated Dark only due to the fact he doesn’t have enough of a mind to be one, and wielder of the Phoenix-Type Mirror Monster as his Contract, Goldphoenix. Odin is unusual, in that he is essentially a puppet, a brainwashed shell that acts as Shiro’s representative in the war that occupies whatever body Shiro gives the Contract to. Out of all the Riders, Odin has the greatest immediate strength, allowing him to overwhelm just about anything in ideal situations, and if things go wrong, Odin (along with Shiro) can REWIND TIME to reset the war until Shiro gets the outcome he wants, only giving up when he accepts that he won’t be able to bring his sister back.

Satoru Tojo: Kamen Rider Tiger, a man who wants to be a hero, and wields the power of the Tiger-Type Mirror Monster, Destwilder. Tiger is a broken individual, lacking a LOT of basic understanding in regards to people, he wavers between good and evil in his desire to be a hero due to his incomprehension of what it means to be heroic, ultimately becoming a hero when he selflessly sacrificed his life to save a father and son about to be hit by an oncoming truck, finally realizing what it truly meant to be a human in his last moments. A highly inexperienced fighter, Tiger often lost, which didn’t help his instability, forcing himself to rely on ambushes to win, his deck favored close-range melee and offered him support in the form of ice attacks.

Mitsuru Sano: Kamen Rider Imperer, a self-styled mercenary rider, and wielder of the multi-type contract allowing him to command the power of the Gazelle-Type Mirror Monsters, with Gigazelle serving as the leader of his horde. Imperer was raised to believe that wealth was what was most important in life, completely missing the fact that his idea to be a mercenary in the Rider War was impossible as all but one of the contestants must die for it to complete and you cannot quit either. After falling in love, Mitsuru seemed to be realizing that there is more to life than money, he tragically died before he could act on his new views, trapped in the Mirror World, reaching out to the image of his love, screaming in fear. Imperer’s fighting style makes use of boxing, and bum-rushing his enemies with his massive swarm of Contract Monsters.

And, because I am starting to grow tired and this is REALLY LONG, I am gonna finish this later today before I burn out.

#kamen rider #kamen rider franchise #kamen rider series #kamen rider ryuki #observations #feel free to ignore this

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verobatto · 4 years

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Destiel Chronicles

Vol. LXVI

It was a love story from the very beginning.

You are the one in my heart (Part II)

(11x13)

Hello! I bring to you another meta from this collection – the second part! We will keep talking about broken hearts and how in love Dean is with Castiel. I know you love this topic. And I just decided this will have a third part because I have so many things to say...

First of all, I want to say thank you to @destielle , she's the beta reader of this mess. Thank you for making my meta look so pretty 😘💕💕

Cheating and love triangles

Episode 11x13 is titled 'Love Hurts' and it fits perfectly because, remember how Dean felt so hurt when Casifer tried to use him as bait? Okay. We all agree he suffered a heart break then, and that’s why the Banshee could get to him. Now, this episode talks about broken hearts, too… but also about a cursed kiss: Amara's kiss.

The episode opens with a husband cheating on his wife with their babysitter. It’s a love triangle functioning as a Destiel mirror, but they add in some spicy confusion to the subtext: Melissa (the depressed wife) is the Cas mirror, we have Stacey, the babysitter, for Amara and Dan as Dean.

So when we have Stacey saying: "Ew, I can taste her mom lipstick…you’re telling her tonight, right?" we get the mirrored thoughts of Amara after kissing Dean, who is, too, already taken, compromised – bonded with Castiel.

And when Dan says: "I told you it’s not that simple. Mel and I…we’ve been together since we were your age. We have a house, a baby…we have a whole life together." He's talking about marriage, a serious commitment, which works as the perfect parallel to Dean and Castiel’s long-term relationship.

So when the Qareen appears in the form of Dan and rips Stacy's heart out from her chest (and vice versa a little further into the episode), we are still talking about broken hearts. But we get confused because Dan admits his love for the babysitter, and therefore could never hurt her. Because you don't hurt the one you love (obviously if Dean had listened a little closer to Dan, he surely would have recalled that nefarious chat with Casifer where he proposed to put Dean in danger).

So, going with the assigned roles, let’s say if Dan is Dean and Stacy is Amara, does that mean when Dan is saying he loves Stacy, not his wife, that Dean loves Amara, and not Cas? No. Not at all. Because the upcoming scenes and what Dean says by the end of the episode will clarify: THE KISS AMARA GAVE HIM IS A CURSE AND HE IS NOT IN LOVE WITH HER.

Now, I want to share with you my beta's clarifying thought, that calmed my shipping heart...

"Hi, destielle here, rudely taking advantage of beta’ing to add a thought: I think the babysitter merely posed as a temptation, something Dan tried out because it’s kind of forbidden and dangerous and therefore exciting, plus conquering a girl stimulates his self-worth but - breaking up with his wife never really was a heartfelt intention. Because getting it on with the babysitter is not only a clichée, but also only fun for a little while, because everything, in the end, will lose its newness and therefore allurement and so I suspect he knew that sticking to what he has, a long-term thing that lasts, is the better road to go by far. Plus there’s a difference between true love and excitement induced infatuation. The ladder will fade, love will last and grow stronger bc it’s built upon a solid foundation."

This is so true, and couldn't be more agreed! Thank you Hannah! 😚💕

The Cursed Kiss

This was a very blatantly straight forward episode, because first it was opened with a recall to AMARA's kiss to Dean. And then they showed us how the Qareen’s curse jumped from one to the next victim via kiss. So, you have a deadly kiss, a cursed kiss… The mark of Cain’s kiss, darkness’s kiss, AMARA's kiss… that wasn't love, that wasn't good. AMARA's kiss is dark, bad, cursed and deadly.

AMARA's kiss poop? 🤣

Who's in Dean's heart?

We already know the answer, but let's dig into it anyway…

The first scene with the Winchester brothers takes place in the Bunker's kitchen the morning after Valentine's day and Dean is having a hard time trying to restore himself… he's walking funny on his way to the fridge… if you know what I mean. But mostly we wonder why that is. He's not the guy for a one-night-only-girl anymore, so what was the matter? And immediately after that question we asked ourselves Dean says this to his brother…

Sam: Is that a hickey? (Dean spits out his food)

Gif set credit @spnwhenever

Dean: And? It was valentine’s day. I can’t help it if I’m a hopeless romantic.

Sam: You got half of that right.

Dean: Just doing my civic duty. Helping all the single ladies. You know the best thing about February 14th. You don’t have to be Mr. Right. Just Mr. Right Now

Sam: That’s classy

Is this the old Dean talking? Nope, definitely not. It’s Mr Dean ‘Broken-hearted’ Winchester talking. And we get it now… Saint Valentine's day, he wasn't with his Mr. Right (Cas)... He just took what was right in that moment. It’s very very sad. But Dean needs to frame it more classy, to make it more cool.

Now, I want to talk a little about Melissa. When she realizes she maybe went too far with her spell, she turns to Dean and Sam, and she says this…

Melissa: yes. A return to love spell. All I had to do was chant it and seal it with a kiss. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I swear. I just wanted my husband back.

This is sad too, and gives us, if we take that as a feeling mirrored from Cas, a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he said ‘Yes’ to Lucifer in the cage. And again it’s the motive of the CURSED KISS, one with dark intentions… we already learned AMARA's kiss is bad and not good, but now we get even more confirmation of this when Dean kisses Melissa, taking the curse on him that way. WE GET IT WRITERS!

Gif credit @clairvoyantsam

Sam: So the curse is transmittable?

Just like Cain's mark, the curse, the kiss, the love spell, all of them are transmittable.

Sam: Apparently not in him. The person who holds the Qareen’s heart is the one who commands it.

Sam is giving us a lot of clues here: Who has AMARA's heart? Dean. But who has Dean's heart? Castiel. So Dean can direct his own will to reject AMARA's offer. And this is the secret why DEAN CAN RESIST HER.

So, with this statement in our heads, let's analyze the Qareen’s and Dean’s encounter…

The Qareen takes the form of people’s darkest desires. So… he took AMARA's shape.

The Qareen sensed Dean's longing in his heart, but it failed in personifying it. Because Dean's darkest desire is not dark, it’s full of light, but is hidden, because it’s so repressed. His deepest is a secret, it’s his love for Castiel.

Amara: Who I am doesn’t matter. The real question is who are you?

Dean: What do you mean who am I?

She can't read him, Dean Winchester is a mystery, she can't get to his true feelings, she can't reach them. Dean has them sealed away very, very deep down in his soul. Like a treasure.

Amara: You’re a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel. Except it’s cloaked in shame. When it comes to this, you can’t help yourself, so why fight it. Just give in.

When she says Dean Winchester is a mystery it’s because she really can't read the truth in him, but she knows it’s somewhere in there. She feels it, but can't quite grasp it. And she says 'it's clocked in shame.' Because it is, because Dean Winchester is ashamed of his feelings for Castiel. He knows he shouldn't feel how he feels for his best friend, for a ‘man’, for an angel. He thinks he doesn't deserve him. So, when the Qareen touches herself saying 'when it comes to this, you can't help yourself, so why fight it. Just give in.' It’s simple when it’s about women, when it’s about a curse, a love spell, the attraction is there, the curse is there, he knows it, but they're not Mr. Right. They're just there… the girls on Saint Valentine's Day are available and Amara is almost irresistible because of the curse. But Dean Winchester doesn't give in to that because he loves Castiel.

And then, Qareen!Amara can’t rip Dean's heart from his chest. Because she is not the one in his heart.

We need more evidence? What about this last dialogue between Sam and Dean…

Dean: It was Amara

Sam: That surprise you?

Dean: That doesn’t surprise you?

Sam: Honestly?

Dean: Honestly? You seriously think the sister of God is my deepest darkest desire?

Sam: She isn’t?

Dean: No! She can’t be!

Gif credit @samwinchesterlesbian 👇

Dean puts all his fierceness into these words, BECAUSE HE IS SURE! HE KNOWS POSITIVELY IT CAN'T BE, BECAUSE HE LOVES CASTIEL.

Sam: Why not?

Dean: Why? Because if she is that means that I’m…

Sam: Means you’re what? Complicit? Weak? Evil?

Dean: For starters, yeah

Dean is afraid of the power Amara has over him, that’s it.

Dean: Standing here right now, every bone in my body wants to run her through. Send her back to that hole she crawled out of. But when I’m near her, I don’t know. Something happens and I can’t explain it, but to call it desire or love…it’s not that. I’m screwed man. We wanna kill the darkness. We need to kill the darkness. And I don’t think I can. I’m sorry to do that to you, ya know, but when it comes right down to it…

The most important thing here is that Dean is aware of the curse, of the power, he knows what Amara does to him, and he is sure that it is NOT LOVE. How can he be sure that it’s not love? BECAUSE HE KNOWS WHAT LOVE IS, BECAUSE THERE'S SOMEONE IN HIS HEART ALREADY, AND THAT'S CASTIEL.

To Conclude:

If the episode with Mildred showed us Dean was pining for someone, telling us Dean is in love with someone, then this one is yelling in our faces that person isn't Amara. And if it’s not Amara plus ‘cloaked in shame’, and Dean has gotten his heart broken recently by someone we know, we are talking about the same person: Castiel.

So it’s logical! And we made the equation just like the writers wanted us to solve it: DEAN WINCHESTER IS IN LOVE WITH CASTIEL, BUT HE'S ASHAMED OF THIS FEELING. AND AMARA HAS A DARK POWER OVER HIM THROUGH A TRANSMITTABLE CURSE: CAIN'S MARK. CANONICAL FACTS! But yeah, I'm not discovering a new world here...

I hope you liked this mess. See you in the next one!

Tagging @metafest @magnificent-winged-beast @emblue-sparks @weirddorkylittlediana @michyribeiro @whyjm @legendary-destiel @a-bit-of-influence @thatwitchydestielfan @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @lykanyouko @evvvissticante @savannadarkbaby @dea-stiel @poorreputation @bre95611 @thewolfathedoor @charlottemanchmal @neii3n @deathswaywardson @followyourenergy @dean-is-bi-till-i-die @hekatelilith-blog @avidbkwrm @anarchiana @dickpuncher365 @vampyrosa @foxyroxe-art @authorsararayne @anonymoustitans @mybonsai1976 @love-neve-dies @wildligia @dustythewind @wayward-winchester67 @angelwithashotgunandtrenchcoat @trashblackrainbow @deeutdutdutdoh @destiel-is--endgame @destiel-shipper-11 @larrem88 @charmedbycastiel @ran-savant @little-crazy-misha-minion @samoosetheshipper

@shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @mishtho @dancingtuesdaymorning @nerditoutwithbooks @mikennacac73 @justmeand-myinsight @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @tenshilover20 @teddybeardoctor @pepevons @helevetica @isthisdestiel @dizzypinwheel @jawnlockwinchester @horsez2 @qanelyytha

@imjustkipping @destielle @agusvedder @spnsmile @shippsblog @robot-feels

If you want to be added or removed from this list, just let me know.

If you want to read the previous metas From s11, here you have the links: Vol. LXII, LXIII, LXIV, LXV.

Buenos Aires, June 16th 2020 18:45 PM

#destiel #destiel chronicles #destiel meta #Supernatural meta #season 11 meta #vol. LXVI

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sepublic · 4 years

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Agony of a Witch...

…This episode. It BROKE me.

I was afraid this episode would be intense, but my heart is GENUINELY beating, like Belos’!

Where… where do I begin.

Lilith cursed Eda. She really did. She said there was more to the story, and asked Eda to explain herself first… I remember speculating that if it HAD been Lilith, what would’ve been the motive?

Either way, Luz is OUT FOR BLOOD in this episode. Can we… can we appreciate that she felt like she had to pay back Eda for anything, as if just being in her life wasn’t enough? And that in her last moments conscious, Eda made this clear to Luz? Luz is someone who’s always thinking about what she can do for others, that sometimes she forgets herself. She underestimates how much she can mean to OTHERS, and now…

She KNOWS how much she means to Eda! And it’s tearing her up inside that she FAILED Eda, that she wasn’t good enough… She must feel like a failure, because her attempt to heal Eda got her captured and cursed! And she must hate herself, and King waiting for her… That cold twist on the ending title! I knew this episode was Agony of a Witch, but it really was TRUE agony.

I feel like I’m hyperventilating, I almost feel faint… I feel like CRYING, I can’t remember if I’ve ever felt this intense before! The intensity of that duel with Eda and Lilith, Eda really IS the most powerful witch in the Boiling Isles! What’s interesting is that Willow doesn’t directly dispute this, she merely states that Belos is the most skilled…

Does this have to do with ‘wild magic’, not being restrained by a coven binding? Or is it something more… Eda is glowing with a golden power and summons some sort of Owl Deity, is this the effect of the curse? Is the curse her physically manifesting the power of this being that she’s the avatar of? But Lilith caused the curse, but then again we don’t know WHY the curse was placed… Was it just to restrain her magic? What was Lilith doing…

This episode was a fucking nightmare for me. The intensity, the FEAR in my heart seeing that flashback of Eda, asleep and so happy… Only for her older sister to open the door, the FEAR in my heart… The BETRAYAL, of a little sister being cursed by her older sibling, it was like something out of a horror movie… This episode BROKE me, I’m shaking I really am I swear…! It’s almost hard to breathe, I…

Why Lilith, WHY?! You clearly cared so much before, was it just guilt? What was your reasoning?! Why the HELL would you curse your own sister?!

And Belos! Emperor Belos himself… He’s got a coldly mechanical, yet viscerally biological feel to him, I know I keep invoking Bionicle but it really IS like it, that biomechanical aesthetic! I was right, I WAS RIGHT, that the chasm in the titan’s chest, that the subject of its heart would come into play… It seems that Belos himself penetrated the titan’s sternum and built this mechanical, iron-lung castle around its heart, having total control.

Why? Is it control the power of the titan’s bile, the magic flowing from its heart? When Belos gets agitated, the heart starts beating faster… Is he the Titan, reincarnated? Or is he a usurper, seeking to control the Titan? To direct the flow of its magic… Could he stop the flow entirely? Does he control bile, or ALL magic, period…?

I love his mechanical voice, something about him is just… It’s CREEPY, it’s eerie, like he’s barely holding himself together, when he cracks open that creature and gets back his sight… Is he dying, is he incredibly ancient? Has he attached himself to the titan’s own heart and bile to survive? Why does he want control, he claims to be able to speak with the Titan…

…And so can Luz. More parallels between him and Luz, no doubt. Does he mean well, his VA called Belos ‘misunderstood’ in a sense… Regardless, he is WONDERFULLY creepy, and the way he’s drawn, the shots of him watching silently, it was TERRIFYING… He claims to be the most skilled, does this relate to knowledge from the Titan itself? What of its BRAIN…?

Oh, god. What if the Titan is DYING, and this Iron Lung castle is meant to keep it alive? Or worse… What if he’s trying to resuscitate the Titan, but with himself in control? Just like Makuta from Bionicle… And he needs BILE to do that! Bile to power its veins, to course through… And what of that furnace, that chimney? What is it burning…

…Oh god. Remember those jokes about witches being burned? And what Belos alluded to rogue witches without a coven, and what would happen to Lilith?

Is he harvesting them for bile? Burning them as fuel, as energy to power something?!?

This episode TERRIFIES me, holy fucking shit. What’s interesting is that the Coven System itself is apparently new, relatively speaking, only about fifty years or so… Eda describes bile magic as having been around long enough for glyphs to be forgotten, but was it really? Did Belos… Did Belos harvest the titan’s bile and graft it to the hearts of others as well?!

And the atmosphere, the mood around his castle is just so HAUNTING and foreboding… My heart is still racing, people.

Anyhow, I… I like the beginning, we get to see how messed up Hooty can be beneath it all! And it’s funny that King gets to pop out of the cake first, but not Gus! Eda was making the cloak for Luz, was it in preparation for the day she’d be unable to take care of her? I love the touch of Luz not wanting to go the castle because of the kind of person Belos is, but going just for EDA… And poor Amity! Her broken leg really DID stop her… Maybe that was for the best, though. I don’t think her heart could’ve taken seeing her crush defy the very order she strives to join. On a side note, maybe I’ll need to update my Boscha fic to include the detail of her leg still being broken…

Belos calls the pre-Coven System the Savage Ages, but was it really? This reeks of colonialism. Whatever he is, I feel like if the mask were to be peeled back, it’d be a scenario of a robot being punctured and explosing FLESH inside… Flesh, I suspect, may not be so well-put together. Flesh barely holding itself together, cooped up inside a metal exoskeleton, more a tin container and a prosthetic than anything… There’s something so disgusting about Belos’ vibes just from this brief clip, like he��s both organic and mechanical, I love it!

I like the touch of Luz having been in an eating contest, she’s always so wild like that! And jeez Lilith… Her elitist bias really shines here, with how she regards Luz and just tells her to go back to her own world…

Also, the chest gem is finally acknowledged! Apparently it’s connected to Eda’s magic, after all, or an indicator based on how much the curse is advancing. What do gems do? Are they merely a fixture of the bile sac, or something more? Could Belos’ castle be his attempt at recreating one?

What’s interesting is that the relics from the ‘Savage Age’ are deemed useless by Lilith, and the Healing Hat so quickly burns and she just dismisses it! Given how she sees this but isn’t at all concerned about Eda not being able to be healed, I imagine Belos had another method and she knew of it…

And JEEZ Lilith, I had a feeling that you had the flaw of feeling like Eda’s true family and prioritizing what you knew for her as an older sister, feeling more entitled to Eda than Luz!

I wonder why the relics are weak… ARE they weak, the Greenthumb Gauntlet seemed somewhat powerful? Or did Belos just drain them of power, or maybe they’re fakes? I thought it was sweet for the Oracle orb to say that Gus is always his best self, but now I’m afraid its guidance may not have been so accurate after this revelation…

Goodness. I’m WEAK. This episode had an increasing sense of foreboding that made my heart race, more and more, slightly easing only to go back to full-pumping! Which makes sense, given the heart-motif of this episode and the setting…

I’m… I’m done y’all. Peace. I am BREAKING.

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philcoulsonismyhero · 3 years

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Fic Writer Interview

I got tagged by the excellent @astriiformes Ages ago to do this fic writer interview thing, and I’m finally getting around it! So here goes...

Name:

Mairi (sounds like 'marry'), Kamemor over on AO3 (after a particularly cool Romulan politician in a Star Trek novel, if you were wondering)

Fandoms:

Currently, I'm writing a lot of RWBY fic and that's unlikely to change because I'm deep in Special Interest Hell with no signs of coming up for air. In the past, I've also written a bunch of stuff for Criminal Minds and The Flash/DCTV. I've got a lot of other fandoms, but those are the main ones I've written for.

Two-shot:

Assuming this is asking if I've ever written one, technically no. But I do have a series (Just Hold On, a RWBY fix-it) that currently consists of two fics which could stand alone as they are, although I have plans to continue that one for quite a few more fics if I can find the motivation and time. And I guess I also have a couple of fics that I could have split into two chapters because they switch from one POV to another about halfway through. I like to stick to third person limited POV, and that means I often have section breaks when I want to switch from one character's perspective to another's, and for a two-person scene that usually means two sections. But I like the oneshot structure, and usually I don't feel like what I'm writing is long enough to split into chapters.