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tada-no-honzuki · 2 years

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Ascendance of a Bookworm (24) Part 5 Volume 3 Chapter 3

This translation is not supposed to replace the official releases of the light novel series. Please purchase the official light novel when it becomes available!

Raimund's Research and Hirschur's Warning

A reply to our questions arrived the following day. Considering it arrived first thing in the morning, even though Wilfried only sent his letter the previous night, showed how significant the matter was.

"Wilfried, what does it say?" I asked.

"Father says he will personally discuss this matter with the royal family. We are not to do anything unnecessary. Were we to send a letter, there is a chance it will be censored, or the information may leak to those who used the truuk. Moreover, since he cannot predict how much of Ehrenfest's internal affairs we may expose in the process, he'd rather take care of it himself.” Wilfried replied.

I couldn't argue with that logic. Besides, seeing how some of Ehrenfest's scholars were familiar enough with truuk to recognize it, it was possible that some Sovereign scholars of the same generation might come to the same conclusion without our help.

"Above all else, if truuk was really used to control the Sovereign Knights, it means there is a traitor inside the Sovereign Knights Order or among their close associates." Wilfried continued. “He doesn't want to expose us to any more danger. He also says he still needs to discuss the details of you performing the star binding ceremony at the next Archduke Conference with the Zent, so he plans to address this matter at the same time."

Nodding along as Wilfried read the letter aloud, I conceded to leave the matter to Sylvester. If someone were to ask me where and how I learned about truuk, I would have to tell them about Georgine at some point. However, I didn't know the fine details that led to this winter's purge, nor did I know what and how much I was allowed to reveal about Ehrenfest’s internal affairs. I had a feeling they would most certainly scold me for revealing too much if I tried.

"Anyway, he stresses multiple times we shouldn't do anything unnecessary. So be careful, Rozemyne." Wilfried concluded.

"I know,” I said. “I'm going to Professor Hirschur's lab today to discuss the last details of our research with Ahrensbach.”

"Okay. I've decided to assist Ignaz and Marianne with their research. It’s going to take a lot of mana to improve the quality of the magic paper after all."

I soon left for Hirschur's lab, carrying the letter I wanted Raimund to send to Ferdinand. Joining me today were Lieseletta and Gretia as my attendants, and Theodore and Laurenz as my guards. Everyone else was busy preparing for the Interduchy Tournament.

Brunhilde was the central figure leading the attendant apprentices, and my scholar apprentices were busy finishing the presentation of our joint research with Dunkelfelger and Drewanchel. Finally, Rihyarda was busy coordinating with Ehrenfest to prepare for Ferdinand's arrival.

“Leonore and Matthias are going to the library to study up on feybeasts today. I cannot deny that Leonore's knowledge saved our asses last year.” Laurenz said as we walked to Hirschur’s lab. “And Judith is practicing her long-range shots. Her accuracy can completely turn the situation around.” Theodore laughed and nodded proudly. Knowing everyone was giving it their all, I resolved to match their efforts.

"Professor Hirschur, are you there?" Lieseletta inquired as we arrived. Raimund soon opened the door a crack while hurriedly smoothing down his disheveled black hair. He likely hadn’t left the lab much in the last few days to prepare for the Interduchy Tournament.

"My apologies, please wait for a moment longer.” He said. “We're almost ready.” For a moment, his gaze was glued to the wagon behind me, watching it like a hawk. Then he closed the door again, causing Lieseletta to giggle.

"It seems they still have not finished, even though I warned them last night and this very morning that you'd be visiting today." She said. I was sure they had prioritized their research last night, then rushed to clean up after receiving Lieseletta's Ordonanz this morning.

When the door opened again, they were both clean. As I stepped inside, I asked Raimund about the progress he had made. "How is your research going?”

"I received permission to publish the research on the magic recording tool and any magic tools meant for the library.” He answered. “If it's not too much trouble, I would like you to make a proper copy of this one, Lady Rozemyne.”

Not only had he improved the magic tool that would light up at the specified time, but as part of their research on Schwartz and Weiss, he had improved a magic tool that allowed one to search for books and materials. Apparently, if you didn't want it to move and talk like Schwartz and Weiss, it saved a lot of mana.

“I’ll be publishing some of my own research alongside his,” Hirschur added. “Since Ehrenfest's research scene is thriving this year.” Normally she would publish her research in Ehrenfest’s spot, but since we did so much joint research this year, she had decided to take advantage of Raimund and publish her work in Ahrensbach’s spot.

"As valuable as this research is, it is a bit plain though.” She sighed. “Compared to your research on ways to receive the divine protection of the gods and your research on ways to create magic tools with Ehrenfest paper, I doubt our research will draw all that much attention. There are very few libraries after all.”

Hirschur explained that the magic tool for searching books and materials would likely draw some attention of researchers because the tool was relatively easy to make and manage. But no matter how pleased I was with the tool, apparently, it wasn't very eye-catching research.

"In other words, we need more libraries. In that case, I shall… " I began, to be cut off by Hirschur.

“You can leave that to the trend of the times. If anything, finish the proper copy of this tool as soon as possible.” She said.

… “more importantly”!? That’s mean!

My master plan to increase the number of libraries was rejected before I could even finish my sentence. I dropped my shoulders, then turned my gaze to Raimund.

“Raimund, Ehrenfest wants to create a book that automatically returns to its bookcase as part of our joint research with Drewanchel. I was hoping to use the magic circle that you corrected for me. Is that okay with you?" I asked.

"You'll be using Ehrenfest paper and a magic circle you created yourself, Lady Rozemyne. I don't think it's necessary to get my permission..." Raimund said. His blue eyes blinked at me in confusion.

He wasn’t just being humble, he seriously seemed to believe that. I quickly reminded him that not everyone had the necessary skill to simplify magic circles like he did.

"I'll make it clear to everyone that you improved the magic circle.” I declared. “If you don't sell your name while you can, you won't be able to find any patrons in the future and succeed as a researcher.”

Even though he didn't get along with his family and was relatively poor for a mednoble, Raimund absolutely didn't understand the value of his skills and talents. Had Benno heard him today, I was sure he would have yelled "Don't give free handouts!" with a thundering ferocity.

“I've heard that Lord Ferdinand made quite a sum of money selling the results of his research at the Royal Academy,” I said. “Don’t underestimate your value, Raimund.”

"...I'll be careful." He muttered.

"Lady Rozemyne, that's enough talk about money,” Hirschur interjected. “If he just follows my and Ferdinand's example and sells his research results, he should be able to earn enough money to cover his expenses. That’ll do. There are only a few days left until the Interduchy Tournament, so stay focused."

I thought it was amazing Hirschur could sustain herself by selling her research results whenever necessary. Though I got the feeling she was the type to sell herself short, I decided to keep that to myself.

“Have you reported to Professor Fraularm already?” I asked instead.

“I've already shown here the prototype,” Raimund said. “So that’s all settled. She kept nagging me when I came to deliver the final report though."

Apparently, she had told him there was no reason to present it as joint research with Ehrenfest, considering Raimund had done all the research and any checks were performed by Ferdinand, his teacher. Considering I had barely taken part in the research, he was told to simply list me as a collaborator instead. When he objected he could not have made the prototype without my help, she had bitterly replied: "Let's see what Lady Detlinde and Lord Ferdinand have to say about this."

“I'm happy to say Lady Detlinde backed me up because the name of her fiancée was tied to the research publication,” Raimund said.

After our tea party between cousins, Detlinde had apparently chastised Fraularm "I was horrified to learn you still haven't delivered the reports! I never felt more ashamed in my life! I am to be the next Aub Ahrensbach, you know!". Maybe that was why she suddenly delivered our reports to Ferdinand, I mused.

"Say, Raimund. What is Professor Fraularm like in the dormitory? Do all Ahrensbach's students accept her tyrannical personality?”

“As long as you or Ehrenfest aren't involved, she isn't quite as loud,” Raimund explained. “It appears her older sister fell on hard after she was implicated in the Count Bindewald incident and punished accordingly. Professor Fraularm blames Ehrenfest, and you, for her sister’s misfortune. It seems that Lady Georgine has offered various benefits to Professor Fraularm to make up for the inconvenience though."

…whoops, for a moment there I wondered who Count Bindewald was. He is that noble who looked like a giant toad and went on a rampage in the temple, right? Yeah, anyone related to him is no good. We'll never get along. Better give up.

If one knew why they were being targeted, it was easier to avoid trouble.

“I guess that's why she seems to get along so well with students who act hostile to Ehrenfest.” Raimund continued. “Like those students who could not participate in the ceremony because they were blocked by Schutzaria's shield.... "

Though not all scholar apprentices hailing from Ahrensbach were blocked, two of them were. While avoiding eye contact with me, Raimund went on to explain that "They had been speaking ill of you for a while already, Lady Rozemyne. As former Werkestock nobles, they are holding a grudge against Ehrenfest, and you, for refusing to aid them with mana".

On top of that, they seemed to be angry that they were embarrassed in front of royalty. It seems that Fraularm was consoling them by criticizing me in turn, strengthening the unity between her and the students in the process.

"Of course, the scholar apprentices who were allowed to participate reported on the proceedings of the ritual and the importance of obtaining the gods' divine protection, so it's not a view shared by all Ahrensbach's students.” Raimund continued. “The value of Lord Ferdinand, the former high priest of Ehrenfest, has in fact quickly risen among them.”

"Is that so?” I said. “I'm glad to hear I've been of some use to Lord Ferdinand." That’s when I gestured Lieseletta with a smile. She quickly handed Raimund my letter for Ferdinand.

"Please deliver this to Lord Ferdinand,” I said. “It includes a list of things he needs to prepare for his stay during the Interduchy Tournament, so I'd like you to deliver it as soon as possible.”

Raimund accepted the letter with a nod. “I see, I'll head back to the dormitory while you are brewing the magic tool, Lady Rozemyne."

As I nodded in understanding, Hirschur blinked in surprise.

"Oh my, Lord Ferdinand will be attending the Interduchy Tournament?” She asked. “Not just the graduation ceremony to escort his fiancée? Ahrensbach doesn't have any Archduke Candidates to keep an eye on things, do they? Is it all right for him to be away for that long?”

Ahrensbach had two Archduke Candidates, Detlinde and Letizia, both were underage. Though he was still from Ehrenfest, Ferdinand was already taking care of most paperwork. If the presumably ill Aub Ahrensbach and his first wife Georgine were attending the Interduchy Tournament, Ferdinand most certainly would have had to stay behind in Ahrensbach.

As I titled my head in question, Raimund explained “Ahrensbach has several former Archduke Candidates turned archnobles, they take care of things in the Archduke’s absence. While the title of Archduke is necessary to conduct Interduchy politics, it's not needed to temporarily look after the duchy’s internal matters. I also heard that there won't be any immediate issues if the foundation magic isn’t supplied for a day or two. Am I wrong?"

"Certainly, even if you don't supply it for a few days, it won't have a significant impact on the foundation magic.” I agreed. “However, in Ehrenfest there is always someone present who can supply mana to the foundation just in case something happens. …it’s another one of many differences between our duchies, it seems."

…I barely understand the common sense of nobles as it is! To know there are differences between duchies as well! That makes it even harder!

As Raimund left to send the letter, I started brewing. The search tool in question was actually one that Hirschur had originally designed. To be honest, when she had asked me to make it for her, I wanted to scream: "Just make it yourself!". However, when she promised me "I will give it to you after the Interduchy Tournament. I don't need magic tools for a library." I enthusiastically got to work.

…I can have a search system in my library!

I casually chatted with Hirschur as I put the ingredients that she prepared into the pot and mixed them together. Of course, our only common topic of interest was Ferdinand.

"...so, then Detlinde said that she wanted him to pick her up on the morning of the graduation ceremony, like in the Royal Academy Love Stories,” I explained to Hirschur. “That's why Ferdinand decided to stay the night in Ehrenfest's tea party room. Because he couldn't stay in Ahrensbach's dormitory.”

"Oh my, I can hardly believe that Lord Ferdinand would go along with that..." Hirschur said with a bitter smile. As I muttered in a sigh, "Yeah, it's hard to keep Detlinde happy," Hirschur whispered, "I suppose he really misses Ehrenfest." at the same time.

"Huh?" I looked at Hirschur in surprise.

“If not, he would have used some sugary words and phrases to manipulate Detlinde into letting him stay the night at Ahrensbach's dormitory while leisurely doing research in my lab,” Hirschur said. “It appears he is missing Ehrenfest so much he's even willing to sleep on a sofa in the tea party room."

The words of Hirschur, who knew Ferdinand better than I did, made me feel happy and sad at the same time. In short, Ferdinand was so messed up, that the words "I miss doing research" written at the end of his letter actually meant "I want to go home".

"I will welcome Lord Ferdinand with all I have." I declared with determination.

"Then, please give him this,” Hirschur said. “It is a copy of the research material on Schwarz and Weiss, and some additional material I put together.”

Wait, wouldn't it be cruel to give Ferdinand all these research materials when he had specifically written in his letter he could not afford to immerse himself all night in research in Hirschur's lab?

"Professor Hirschur, do you intend to rob Lord Ferdinand of his sleep?" I asked.

"I could say the same about you, Lady Rozemyne.” Hirschur replied. “Lord Ferdinand must have held his head in agony all this time, don't you think? You invited royalty to attend the dedication ritual and played a game of wife-stealing ditter with Dunkelfelger.... Don't you think you gave him plenty of reason to lecture you all night?"

Her words insinuated it would be in everyone’s best interest if he immersed himself in research all night rather than losing sleep lecturing me. I felt the blood drain from my face.

“The fact that royalty participated in your ceremony will most certainly be a popular topic during the Interduchy Tournament and graduation ceremony,” Hirschur mentioned. “I know of several teachers who are looking forward to your research publication. It will most certainly be the research to attract the most attention this year. I am sure Lord Ferdinand would like to know more too."

"Ugh..." My shoulders dropped in despair, as I once again realized our reunion was likely to become one long lecture. I needed to make him compliment me somehow.

Lieseletta smiled at me as I fell deep in thought, then turned to Hirschur while pouring her a cup of tea.

"Professor Hirschur, how do the other duchies perceive Ehrenfest?” She asked. “After the dedication ritual, Lady Charlotte was met with excessive praise and smiles during the tea parties she took part in. We certainly expected that other duchies would try to butter up to her to some extent, but after our ditter match with Dunkelfelger, all bad rumors suddenly seemed to disappear overnight. It is quite unsettling."

This hadn’t only happened in the tea parties attended by our Archduke Candidates, but also in any tea parties attended by our scholar apprentices and attendant apprentices. Gretia nodded in agreement with Lieseletta's words.

"The lesser and middle duchies that were unable to participate in the dedication ritual were complaining left and right, but ever since the ditter match their attitude did a one-eighty.” She said. “Yet it's clear as day that some of the lesser and middle duchies are still harboring malicious intentions behind their smiles. If you have any information, as our dormitory supervisor, please tell us."

Hirschur lowered her eyes, as if deep in thought. “You were personally addressed by the Zent and discovered how to receive the divine protection of the gods before anyone else did. It is only a matter of course that other duchies would feel less inclined to insult you to your face. It's only natural they would try to reap some benefit from Ehrenfest's connection to royalty."

The flat tone of Hirschur's statement suggested it had absolutely nothing to do with her. Then she looked up at my attendants, “However, you're picking up on the lingering grudges behind the smiles, I see. As far as I am aware, Ehrenfest's reputation isn't all that favorable. Aside from all the rumors about the Aub, it would seem some people felt screwed over by Ehrenfest at the dedication ritual."

To take part in the joint research, each duchy was required to play a grueling match of ditter against Dunkelfelger. But then, when they thought they had earned the right to take part in the ritual, I used a divine instrument to prevent anyone with ill intentions from participating. It hadn't been a royal order; I had willingly agreed to the Sovereign Knights Order's demand in an attempt to improve their impression of me.

“Dunkelfelger and Ehrenfest both had a hand in the events, so it's obvious both duchies would incur some ill will,” Hirschur said. “Though it feels like it's all being directed towards the far weaker Ehrenfest.”

"I see...We must stay on guard in many ways." Gretia murmured. Hirschur gave a grave nod in response.

"You may not remember this, but until a few years ago Ehrenfest was one of the bottom-ranked duchies,” Hirschur warned us. “As a result of the shifting politics, the duchies on the losing side fell down the ranks and Ehrenfest’s rank went up while it did nothing. Within a relatively brief period of time, Ehrenfest escaped the bottom and established connections with royalty. You're probably the target of more envy than you think.”

I remembered that Cornelius had once told me "The Royal Academy is now completely different from when I was in the lower grades". I clearly didn't know how Ehrenfest had been treated when it was a bottom-ranked duchy.

"Until last year, people said that Ehrenfest's trends wouldn't last, but this year the voices claiming that Lady Rozemyne singlehandedly raised Ehrenfest's rank are getting louder.” Hirschur continued. “The other duchies must have realized that you are the cause for Ehrenfest’s continues stream of trends, the joint research with the greater duchies, and the connections with royalty.”

"...none of that is something I could have done by myself." I objected. Be it raising our grades or starting the printing industry, I couldn't have done it by myself. It was only possible thanks to the countless people aiding me.

A somewhat stern look appeared on Hirschur's face. "Indeed.” She agreed. “You can't do anything by yourself. However, none of it would have happened without you either. Please be more self-aware."

I was a female Archduke Candidate who came in first every year. I had bountiful mana, knowledge of various fashions and technologies, the divine protection of many gods, and a connection to royalty. Even though I was engaged, Dunkelfelger still had tried to obtain my hand in marriage.

“I would like to see what Ehrenfest will become with you at its center, Lady Rozemyne,” Hirschur said. “However, you must be careful. Don't lose sight of your surroundings.”

"Yes.” I said as I kept mixing ingredients together.

"I sent the letter." Raimund announced as he returned. The moment he noticed the table was already cleaned up and Hirschur was eating, he let out a pitiful scream.

"I have set aside your share, Raimund." Hirschur said. Raimund promptly regained his composure and sat down to eat. Lieseletta, who was serving them, posed a question to Raimund as she poured his tea.

"Lord Raimund. I'm curious. Will you be displaying the recording tool as is? Don't you think it would be cuter to display it as shumil stuffed animal?"

I remembered the stuffed animal Lieseletta had made for me. It certainly was much cuter than the bare magic tool and I had an inkling it would draw more attention that way.

……Speaking of which, I asked her to make one for Lady Letizia.

"At the suggestion of Professor Fraularm, only you and Ferdinand will be listed as the researchers, right?” She asked. “However, if we put the magic tool into a stuffed animal, everyone should be able to tell at a glance that Lady Rozemyne took part in this joint research too. Don't you think the very idea of putting magic tools into stuffed animals is very Lady Rozemyne-like? I'm sure no one else in this lab would think of that. It'll be incredibly cute."

Hirschur nodded in agreement as she listened to Lieseletta's proposition.

"It's true that the idea of embellishing a magic tool is not something I, Raimund, or Ferdinand would think of,” Hirschur said. “It will be an effective means to counter Fraularm's plan. We shall announce that Lady Rozemyne was the one who made the actual magic tool. As long as it won't interfere with my research, you can do as you like."

Having secured Hirschur's permission, Lieseletta turned to Raimund with anticipation. The pressure she exerted with her smile was impressive. I didn't expect Raimund had the strength to refuse my attendant who had so kindly prepared him a meal.

"I don't mind, but will you be able to finish it before the Interduchy Tournament?" He asked.

"Don't worry. It's already almost done, so I'll give it to you on the day of. If we exhibit both the bare magic tool and the shumil stuffed animal, we should be able to please both the ladies and the gentlemen." Lieseletta suggested with a lively smile on her face. Though her mouth said, "Let's use this cute shumil to make Lady Rozemyne's involvement clear.", I couldn't help but feel she cared more about displaying the cutest shumil ever, than establishing my involvement.

Upon returning to my room, Lieseletta finished the white shumil stuffed animal at once. The recording magic tool would register its owner’s mana and record their voice while they poured mana into it. Since I had planned to gift this shumil to Letizia, my mana was already registered to the magic tool. I fell into thought as I held the white shumil in my hands.

"What kind of message shall I record?” I mused. “Since it will be displayed at the Interduchy Tournament, I can't add any of the warnings meant for Lord Ferdinand I had planned on."

If I did that, he'd certainly pinch my cheeks the moment we reunited. Even I knew it was a bad idea.

"Lady Rozemyne, Lady Rozemyne. Don't you think it would be lovely to have a gentleman declare his love for you by gifting you such a cute magic tool?" Muriel suggested with a rapt look in her green eyes.

This world's declarations of love held no meaning to me, no matter how they were delivered, but I was likely an exception. And it would certainly make it painfully obvious it was not Raimund's idea.

"That sounds like a good idea,” I said. “Let's ask one of the men to record some sentences."

"Lady Rozemyne, I will carefully select some declarations of love from the Royal Academy Love Stories!" Muriel said with a gleeful smile.

I nodded. Since I absolutely didn't understand the beauty of the confessions riddled with references to the Gods, I decided to leave it to Muriel. Together we headed to the common room, where Muriel immediately started flipping through Royal Academy Love Stories to select the most beautiful love confession.

"Matthias, Laurenz.” I called. “Either one of you will do, but could one of you record the love declarations that Muriel selects into this shumil?"

I had accompanied her to the common room with the express purpose of making this request. Theodore and Roderick still sounded too young, so if possible, I wanted to leave the recordings to Matthias or Laurenz. I couldn't help but think it would have been nice to have Hartmut here right now. I was certain he would have gleefully recorded the sentences without a trace of embarrassment.

While Matthias stared at me in shock, Laurenz simply replied: "Sure, I don't mind.", accepting my request without any fuss.

"Then, I'll leave it to you, Laurenz..." I said.

"Wait a minute, Laurenz. You plan to record those sentences right here?" Matthias said, gesturing at all the people in the common room in a panic. I felt for him. Laurenz casually shrugged his shoulders.

"It's not like I'm confessing my love to a woman, it's like reading a book, right? I don't think it's anything to get so flustered about... "

"Well, I don't think these are words you should speak so casually."

To Matthias it was not a laughing matter. As much as I enjoyed their exchange, Muriel was impatiently waiting with a smile of anticipation for one of them to record the sentences.

"Anyway, Laurenz if you would?" I said.

"...I apologize I cannot fulfill your request, Lady Rozemyne." Matthias said as he took a step back, the regret clear on his face. I didn't think it was anything to feel bad about, but Matthias evidently felt depressed.

"Matthias, you are useful to me in many other ways. We all have our strengths and weaknesses. Focus on what you can do, not what you can't." I said.

"...I thank you for your understanding."

I recorded Laurenz's voice while feeding my mana into the magic tool. As expected, the declarations of love so carefully selected by Muriel heavily featured the gods, and I had no idea what they meant. Love confessions were clearly not my cup of tea, so I decided to record a message advertising our books at the end. I was going to convince everyone to buy Ehrenfest's books.

"Whether you want to swoon over romantic declarations of love or are looking for a lovely confession to steal the heart of the person you love, Royal Academy Love Stories is the answer. Royal Academy Love Stories will be sold this Summer in Ehrenfest. Bloodcurdling Ditter Stories, a collection of Knight Stories, and the History of Dunkelfelger will be released at the same time. Please look forward to it!"

…hopefully, more people will become interested in Ehrenfest's books.

#Translation #P5V3

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beinmybonnet · 4 years

Text

29th June 1613 - London, England

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?

“He went to the trouble to have a draft carried all the way to Brandenburg for me, the least I can do is attend the opening night.”

Andromache rolls her shoulders into her partlet. “The least you can do maybe. Why am I doing this?”

“Because you missed me. And because you cried when we saw Othello.” Yusuf replies, looking sideways at her. Curbing the inevitable objection, Quynh squeezes Nicolò’s arm and strides forwards to overtake them. He lets himself be dragged after her, taking care not to tread on her skirts.

“I love the theatre. Plus, we’ve spent the last week sleeping in a shack in the Dales. This,” Quynh waves her free arm over the bridge rail, “is a nice change of scenery.”

London Bridge is teeming with people, the warmth of the bustle settling like cinders into his skin. The city writhes in its haste. Against the far bank of the Thames tall buildings strike against the horizon, the old Southwark Priory still reaching high in spent pride. Buildings are painted pale with dark beams striking bold across them. It is beautiful in its own way, Nicolò thinks. Inelegant, but unique.

“It wasn’t that bad. I still think we should have stayed a little longer, at least until-

“Andromache we’ve slept in nicer caves.”

Quynh glances back over her shoulder meaningfully, brow rising. Andromache shrugs. A smile, although few would recognise it. They step down onto the riverbank as one, turning east.

Nicolò nudges his shoulder into Yusuf as they pass the gardens. “You fail to mention you sent that script back with corrections.”

“Revisions. Small ones.” Yusuf’s voice is low, his expression impish. “Barely noticeable.”

“Ah, here we are.” Yusuf waves Andromache forward into their usual first-floor booth and steps back to allow Quynh to pass. Nicolò pauses, peering up the stairwell.

“Full house.”

“First performance. Trust me, this will be one to remember.” Yusuf is bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet, and it makes Nicolò want to tuck his chin over a bobbing shoulder.

“You’d think the city would be a bit more subdued,” Andromache settles herself on the bench tucking thick plum skirts around her calves. She happily accepts a bag of roasted hazelnuts from Yusuf as he passes her to stand at the balcony. “They’ve only just recovered from their last bout of plague.”

“Exactly! This is the power of art.” Yusuf beams, arm sweeping wide. “Look at these people.” All around them the crowd is seething with anticipation, the noise growing as the wait goes on. Children scramble in the lower level of the yard for better vantage points, clawing their way up the beams supporting the lower galleries. People are shouting and laughing and drinking, the sound cocooned tight within the impressive structure. A man swings a laughing boy up over the mass, and a small group of women pressed against the stage begin shouting a suspicious sounding rhyme, pointing across the pit. Before they can finish a man in the gallery beneath them roars his response across the yard.

Nicolò’s brow furrows. “Clot-pole? I don’t…”

“She’s calling him an idiot,” Andromache supplies, “and insulting his hat.”

“It is a bit much.” Quynh’s leaning over the balcony to get a better look. “I think she’s accusing him of, err – short-changing her. Last night.”

Still grinning, Yusuf peers over beside her. “Oh, she’s quite angry. Here we go.” He sounds delighted. What looks like a parsnip sails over the head of the crowd. “A pity, she’ll want those for the third act.”

Quynh’s now bent almost double over the bannister and Andromache reaches to steady her without looking. “Isn’t this sort of thing that made the man move half of the troupe over to Blackfriars?”

Yusuf shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Ah, William has become far too prudish in his success. The engagement of the audience is the nature of theatre.”

“Engagement?” Nicolò smirks as something below meets its mark with a splat and a shout.

“Well, you cannot deny their enthusiasm-”

Quynh reappears with a whoop of triumph clutching her prize; a browning cabbage intercepted in the air. She rotates the rotten vegetable in careful examination. “Excellent.”

Yusuf raises his hand in hopeless protest as Nicolò leans back in his seat, eyeing Quynh. “10 crowns says you can’t hit the stage from here.”

She snorts derisively.

“20 if you can take King Henry off his feet.” Andromache counters, rising slightly to gauge the distance. Done, Quynh agrees happily, settling beside her and tucking her cabbage under the bench. Yusuf mutters an exasperated appeal for help to the heavens and Nicolò quickly tugs him down into the remaining space with a hand over his knee.

The parting of the stage curtain prompts the dropping of remaining projectiles and an enthusiastic cheer from the crowd. The herald clears his throat, steps to the edge of the stage and spreads his arms.

The first and happiest hearers of the town,

I come no more to make you laugh; things now,

That bear a weighty and a serious brow,

Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe,

Such noble scenes as draw the eye to flow,

We now present. Those that can pity, here

May, if they think it well, let fall a tear;

Be sad, as we would make ye

“Oh, so a comedy?” Quynh says brightly and Yusuf shushes her.

The first actors emerge from the wings in their velvets and the tale takes flight.

In all this noble bevy, has brought with her

One care abroad; he would have all as merry

As, first, good company, good wine, good welcome,

Can make good people. O, my lord, you're tardy:

Yusuf is mouthing the words soundlessly, engrossed.

There are many things Nicolò has enjoyed about visiting theatres over the years. He will readily admit this performance is an enjoyable one - the young man playing Buckingham is particularly charismatic, the audience viscerally immersed in his indignation. The actors proudly deliver their lines and their story to an increasingly hypnotised audience.

But the play itself has never been what really draws Nicolò to this place. He glances sideways again and immediately, expectedly, loses the thread of the plot. In this moment the talent on the stage could never hope to hold his interest as he sits beside this man. Yusuf has lost himself entirely to the unfolding tale, gaze flitting from figure to figure calling below. Passion alight in his eyes. The arts do this to him in a way Nicolò has seen nothing else in all their time together. They have walked familiar paths in gallery halls for hours on end, Yusuf’s eyes roving walls of painted expression. They’ve sat in houses of the dying and listened to children bringing comfort with songs of naivety. Literature, dance, poetry, music; in all their changing forms they have always arrested Yusuf in his entirety.

These things give people freedom Nicolò, true freedom, he had once said. Free of limitation and expectation, in art people reveal their true selves. It is beautiful.

For Nicolò, that beauty is reflected blindingly in Yusuf’s own experience. To watch him like this for the rest of his given days would see him depart this earth achingly grateful to his God.

But Yusuf feels his distraction and leans toward him. “You’re missing it,” he murmurs, smile pulling impossibly wider. Unbridled delight is etched at the edges of his eyes, and Nicolò wants to trace his fingertips over the creases. He only realises he has reached out and done so when Yusuf captures and kisses his palm. “Watch the play.”

“It is a story still within living memory, I know how it ends,” Nicolò whispers.

Yusuf will not have it, nodding towards the actors. “Watch them tell it.”

Anne Boleyn is drifting across the stage, hand at her chest and Nicolò turns dutifully back to the performance.

Was he mad, sir?

O, very mad, exceeding mad, in love too:

But he would bite none; just as I do now,

He would kiss you twenty with a breath.

This time it’s Yusuf’s eyes that flicker back towards him and Nicolò hears silent words in the curl of his lip. Twenty kisses in a single breath. A risky venture, no?

Nicolò hums, his thoughts mirrored beside him. We shall see.

Good lord chamberlain,

Go, give 'em welcome; you can speak the French tongue;

And, pray, receive 'em nobly, and conduct 'em

Into our presence, where this heaven of beauty

Shall shine at full upon them. Some attend him.

You have now a broken banquet; but we'll mend it.

A good digestion to you all: and once more

I shower a welcome on ye; welcome all!

King Henry VIII emerges from the curtains with a flourish, the actor clearly taking great pains not to stumble in breeches that billow around his knees. The theatre bursts into applause as a round of trumpets sound, and they shout their approval at the blast of a canon from the rafters. The actors move to their marks to begin the scene in earnest, and Andromache leans forward with interest for the first time.

“See, I told you! With the funding now available, they’ve really spared no expense,” Yusuf is still clapping. Andromache hums noncommittally sitting back, but her eyes are suddenly bright with curiosity.

“Quynh, if you’re going to win your money, I suggest you do it now.”

“Why? I was going to wait until the trial scene,” she replies, confused.

From his place beside her Nicolò can see clearly that Andromache is struggling to suppress a smirk. “Well, there won’t be much left by then.”

“What?” Quynh looks down the bench at him. He shrugs. Andromache sighs around her growing amusement.

Seconds pass before she speaks again.

“They’ve set the roof on fire.”

He doesn’t need long to piece together what’s happened. There’s a thin plume of smoke rising from the inner curve of the roof and within, a flicker of light no bigger than that from a candle waving gently in the rafters. The canon. They wadded the canon, he realises. The little flame wafts higher in the breeze. The crowd is oblivious, too focused on the stage to be looking upwards. He taps Yusuf’s thigh.

It does take a moment. “Oh dear.” Yusuf looks back and forth between the roof and the stage, face falling. “Well maybe-

There’s a loud pop as the flame meets eager fuel. It dances up into the thatch lining the hooped roof and flares wide and greedy. Whip fast, it licks across the reeds consuming them in crunches and cracks that have people now looking skywards and shouting. Those in the highest galleries rear back as the fire completes its rapid circuit of the roof. By the time the actors have abandoned their attempts at continuing and stand dumbstruck on the stage, the theatre is ringed in an ominous halo of flame.

“Yusuf, unless your intention is a repeat of ’54…” Quynh trails off sadly, holding her cabbage.

Clumps of lit thatch are beginning to drift into the standing audience and the pushing and shoving follows in earnest. One man charges through the crowd braying, his breeches alight. Andromache stands looking decidedly more cheerful. “Come on, we’ll help them clear the pit.”

Nicolò follows suit, a hand falling to Yusuf’s shoulder. He has to work to quell an absurd urge to laugh; Yusuf is glaring at the roof with all the stubbornness of a chastised child. He squeezes gently, sympathy winning out. “I’m sorry.”

“Canons, who on earth thought canons in a wooden building was…” Yusuf trails off, glancing up. “Nothing to be done I suppose.” He holds out his other hand. “Shall we?”

Drawing Yusuf up behind him, Nicolò moves out into the stairwell twisting up into the higher galleries where people are starting to pile down in haste. An older man stumbles in the rush and he reaches out to steady him. “Careful, sir. Head out towards the river.”

The man nods and quickly hurries on pressing his handkerchief to his mouth. The next woman through the door snatches her arm up to her chest before he can move to offer any assistance. Dirty papist she spits as she veers away. Yusuf tenses, a hard line pressed at his back. Nicolò just dips his head.

“Please hurry.”

By the time the flow of people has ebbed the flames are beginning to consume the ornate stage pillars. The curtains masking backstage catch like parchment and blaze furiously. “We should make sure the galleries are clear,” he says, “you take the east, I the west?”

Yusuf eyes the roof timbers warily. “Five minutes. No more.”

In the end it only takes Nicolò four minutes to usher the last stubborn gamblers from the gentleman’s room. The fact that the smoke has now crept down to waist level speeds this along nicely, and they hurry to the stairwell hunched and coughing. Nicolò stays low, following them down the last steep flight when his foot catches on something in the darkness, almost putting his hand through the adjacent wall in an attempt to steady himself. There’s a man slouched in the corner, limbs sprawled wide and snoring. An empty bladder clutched to his chest. The strength of the brandy fumes punch through the dense smoke to further sting at his eyes and his irritation almost threatens to outweigh his conscience. Almost.

By the time he staggers out into clear air dragging his oblivious charge Nicolò know he’s been much longer than five minutes. Behind him there’s a crash which sounds very much like the galleries have finally given in and collapsed. Sounds like, because his eyes are clenched shut, burning and watering. Pressing his hands to his knees, he tries not to gag on the tar in his throat.

A hand settles on the back of his neck whilst another cups a palmful of water to his face. Nicolò winces.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps, “He’s heavier than he looks.”

He can hear Yusuf grinding his teeth but his response is surprisingly placid. “Rinse your eyes.”

Yusuf presses a water skin into his hands and moves away. When Nicolò’s vision has cleared he spots him back near the eastern entrance, patiently shepherding two enraptured boys further from the fire as they gape at the sky. Even for one who has seen much, Nicolò must admit, it is quite a sight.

The playhouse’s cylindrical shape has moulded the fire into a twirling steeple of flame inside the structure, now reaching twenty feet clear of the building itself. The Globe resembles an enormous cauldron struggling to hold its roiling contents. It belches clouds of thick black smoke as its rim splinters and cracks under the pressure and heat. What’s left of the thatch continues to feed the furnace, keeping the flames bright and fierce.

Quynh appears, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow to steer him away. She leads him to a grassy curve of the riverbank where people are congregating in groups and beginning to resettle on the ground. From one muse to another, the audience remain eager spectators, gasping and whooping as the bones of the building begin to break, sending up showers of sparks. Yusuf and Andromache join them just as the walls start to keel inwards.

“You were right, definitely one of his more memorable works,” Andromache announces as they sit. “Perhaps my favourite.”

“Yes, I’m so very glad you enjoyed yourself.” Yusuf’s tone is flat, but his eyes roll indulgently.

Quynh settles herself back against Andromache’s bent knees, facing the playhouse. “We can still make a night of it. We get a bottle of wine, some pastries. Watch the sunset.” Her voices softens slightly and she levels her gaze at them. “You really must go so soon?”

He looks to Yusuf, who nods. “We have passage on a ship to Antwerp. She leaves on the tide tomorrow morning.”

Quynh’s sigh is dejected. “You won’t consider staying just a little longer? We’re moving on to…” she trails off, peering up at Andromache – Devon, she supplies, “We could use your help relocating these women. The trials are becoming barbaric.”

Yusuf shakes his head, surveying the crowd. “I’d prefer not to tempt fate. London is not at its most welcoming for us presently.

Nicolò quirks his lip. “You mean for me.” Ah, he sees now. The woman from earlier is stood just a little further up the bank, clutching at well-dressed man and pointing at them. Yusuf stares back unflinchingly. Nicolò feels him shift to further block her line of sight to him.

Then he turns back to meet Nicolò’s eye and speaks firmly. “For us. If a place does not welcome you, it does not welcome me.”

Quynh has watched the exchange carefully and suddenly sits up. She clears her throat and calls out loudly enough for those nearest to turn. “Thou art a boil, madam, a plague sore!”

Andromache snorts and the woman raises her fan to her face appalled, tugging on her husband’s arm. It has the intended effect on Yusuf though and his grin returns to its proper place. Nicolò feels a familiar rush of affection for Quynh and her unfailing ability to put people at ease.

“King Lear,” Yusuf says proudly. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“Of course she was,” Andromache interjects, “It’s a magnum opus of insults.”

Quynh grins up at her. “Oh, you worsted-stockinged knave.”

The retort is instant. “Brazen-faced varlet.”

“Ancient ruffian.”

Andromache shrugs. “Accurate.”

Their laughter comes in easy unison and Yusuf’s expression is unbearably soft as he watches them. “It won’t be for long,” he promises.

Quynh pulls her eyes from Andromache and nods. “Probably a sensible choice at the moment. You do look violently Venetian Nicolò.

He wrinkles his nose, affronted. “I do not-”

Yusuf is reaching for his face, so he pauses his protest for the gentle pass of a thumb over the bridge of his nose. “It’s your profile my love.” Yusuf’s tongue darts out over the pad of his thumb before it returns to rub more firmly at his nose. “Which currently is very sooty.”

With his hands still upon Nicolò’s face he murmurs. “Oh but what a piece of work is this man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel,” Yusuf blinks, his sincerity blinding, “in apprehension how like a god.”

It’s all Nicolò can do not to rub his flushed cheeks into Yusuf’s palms like an alley cat.

Andromache arches a refined brow at Quynh. “Nicolò gets a Hamletian ode to his soul, and I get ‘ruffian’?”

Quynh rocks onto her elbow in the grass without missing a beat. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Mayhap a smouldering playhouse, ablaze in righteous flame?

“Likened to a smoking wreckage, how romantic.”

Nicolò would laugh but Yusuf is still holding his gaze and his face, everything else muting around him. He does this; bestows his love in soft declarations that leave Nicolò stunned, and then holds him steady until the words perfuse. Nicolò loves him so much he feels he might combust, with all the ferocity of the fire at his back.

Centuries before, he had allowed his disbelief to ask a question once, and only once. The intensity frightening him. Could a gift such as this truly be his eternal?

Nicolò smiles at his world and whispers.

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and gives life to thee.

held in the embers on ao3 at theexistentialteapot

part one of this series can be found here

#god this one took years off me #but it's done!#thank you bones for the final shove over the finish line #i am so soft for this found family #and they deserve happy memories #yusuf would 1000% have been a theatre kid #the headcanon is lodged #userbones #usermarwan #tusermj #tuserceleste #the old guard fic #the old guard #mine

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dreamingofscully · 4 years

Photo

6x18. “Milagro” - X-Files Rewatch

Lots of analysis below. So much to unpack with this episode. An EXTREMELY significant episode for Scully related to her feelings about and relationship with Mulder. This analysis goes into more depth in general, rather than a stream-of-consciousness observational post like my others tend to be.

Also, fanfic! I have a post-ep that I’d love y’all to check out that I wrote a while back in attempt to explain what happened with Scully in-between Milagro and The Unnatural.

Bated Breath (AO3), rated G, 2198 words M/S UST, Post-episode (Milagro) Mulder drives Scully home from the hospital.

Onwards for analysis and speculation.

The soundtrack for this episode is amazing. Love the beating heart that Mark Snow incorporated.

At the beginning, the symbolism of Padgett removing his own heart. It reflects the emptiness of his heart, his incapability of having love, but the burning passion he believes he is capable of, with which he pursues Scully.

At Padgett’s stare, Scully is creeped out, but she is also curious. That someone would look at her so boldly and with such obvious lust, when she’s tried to think of herself as separate from such things for so long.

Padgett wills things to happen, using his writing as a tool, a FOCUS, to channel his powers. He manifests things - the psychic surgeon (representing Padgett’s dark side), the lightbulbs not working, etcetera. He uses his creepy stalker insight to profile how people will act, then writes about it, but he can’t alter emotions, only manifest what is already there. (If he could make people think and do whatever he wanted, he wouldn’t have given up so easily when he recognized Scully’s love for Mulder.)

Mulder and Scully sitting close on his couch.

Padgett suggests that Scully sticks to science and facts because otherwise she’d be viewed as weak and soft. Perhaps this is partly true for other people, but NOT for Mulder. Padgett doesn’t know her history, what she’s afraid of, the real reason she’s kept herself from believing for so long. However, Scully IS influenced by Padgett here - she stands up for herself (makes herself tough instead of soft) when Mulder makes her schedule for her and goes off to do her own investigation.

The burning heart tale that Padgett tells Scully: “Christ came to Margaret Mary his heart so inflamed with love that it was no longer able to contain its burning flames of charity. Margaret Mary... so filled with divine love herself, asked the Lord to take her heart... and so he did placing it alongside his until it burned with the flames of his passion. Then he restored it to Margaret Mary sealing her wound with the touch of his blessed hand.”

He wants to reenact this story with her, not realizing that her heart already belongs to another.

As Padgett tells Scully intimate details of her life it makes her incredibly uncomfortable. She’s an intensely private person, only lets in a few people. But here is some stranger who seems to KNOW her. How did she not know she was being watched? What other things does he know? It would bother her from a professional point of view as well as a personal one.

That someone thinks of her this way - a purely physical attraction rather than something cerebral and mutually respectful like she has with Mulder - it unsettles her. But his influence makes her more aware of her desires, the feelings she’s walled away for so long and hasn’t let herself acknowledge.

The conversation between Mulder and Scully in the autopsy bay is very interesting. Scully is VERY OPEN about what just happened between her and Padgett, something that is pretty unusual for her. She admits to being frightened, she tells him that this creepy guy knows “too much information and intimate detail”, and then openly challenges Mulder to do something about it. Scully KNOWS what Mulder will do.

Mulder’s uncomfortable almost-smile when she tells him. How fucking real is that. I don’t know about you guys but I find myself smiling at the most inappropriate circumstances, so this hits home for me. (Thank you DD.)

Mulder and Padgett try to intimidate each other in the elevator. Don’t fucking mess with Scully! Mulder’s brooding walk down the hallway. 🔥 🔥 🔥

The love scene. Padgett writes what he wants to be true. He can influence the thoughts of others but cannot control them like Modell - only an encouragement in a particular direction, a manifestation of emotions already present. Scully’s disgust and fear is tempered by her curiosity of the strange and mysterious neighbour, which is why she ends up at his apartment. Padgett misinterprets her intellectual interest as romantic in nature.

“Loneliness is a choice.”

The implication: she can choose, at any time, to NOT be lonely. That she knows she’s lonely. What’s holding her back? This season was SHIT for Mulder and Scully’s relationship, but an undercurrent for her throughout the years she’s been his partner - fear. She’s scared to take that last step, to have him know all of her. For fear of death, of losing him. Being alone is safe.

Padgett talking to her like she’s an object, something to serve his writing rather than someone with a CHOICE. Another thing that reveals the emptiness of his heart.

The fantasy that Padgett has about Scully is meant to happen after she enters his apartment. The mugs in the fantasy are the same ones they drink coffee from, and in the fantasy they are still steaming hot. The lamp doesn’t light because it is off in the dream (another example of his ability to affect the physical but not the emotional).

I love the symbolism of Scully looking out the window in Padgett’s bedroom. She’d see something similar out of Mulder’s apartment, just slightly different. But enough to make a difference. She feels desire, she has love in her heart, but only for Mulder. Padgett can never be a replacement, no matter how many words he writes.

Padgett believes they are headed to the bed, to the love scene he described in his writing. I don’t think it would happen even if Mulder hadn’t interrupted them. Regardless, Mulder is a wild card - he didn’t account for him to burst through the door, didn’t write about him, so Mulder can act independently, outside of the story.

Mulder’s jealousy at seeing Scully there with Padgett. He’s tense, tearing through his pages, heedless of the destruction he’s causing, handles Padgett roughly. Mulder manifests his frustration as aggression, and this time it’s extremely personal. From now on the interactions that Mulder has with Padgett are filled with tension. You can see that Mulder just wants to fucking MESS with this guy. Part jealousy, part protectiveness.

Padgett’s assertion that the characters choose the writers. Does he believe that Scully chose him? That the psychic surgeon isn’t merely a manifestation of the evil and emptiness in his own heart?

In the jail cell, Mulder moves forward to intimidate Padgett but Scully’s touch instantly pulls him back. This is Padgett’s first glimpse at the connection between Scully and Mulder. Up until now he’s only been observing Scully by herself, and listening to them talk in Mulder’s apartment. Now, though, he realizes in their FIRST INTERACTION in front of him, that she is in love with him. All the things that he’s seen regarding Scully’s interest in him have been misinterpretations.

Mulder confronts Scully in the hallway about her part in the book. Just a note that Padgett watches their interaction here as well, confirming his initial thoughts about Scully’s love for Mulder. I think he’d also realize Mulder loves her back, but in Padgett’s mind, who wouldn’t?

“You know you're in here, don't you?” - Mulder “I read a chapter. What does he say?” - Scully “Well, let's just say it ends with you doing the naked pretzel with "the stranger" on a bed in an unfurnished fourth floor apartment. (pause) I'm assuming that's a priori, too?” - Mulder “I think you know me better than that, Mulder.” - Scully

Mulder’s look while biting his bottom lip. Scully’s licking her lips here, too. Hnnng. 🔥 🔥 🔥

After realizing Scully can’t love him, Padgett writes this: “Grief squeezed at her eggshell heart like it might break into a thousand pieces its contents running like broken promises into the hollow places his love used to fill.”

A parallel to how Padgett is feeling himself. Or “thinks” its how he should feel, if he had a heart.

Mulder and Scully standing close at the graveyard. Scully touches his back when getting him to back off from the suspect.

Their argument - taking opposite sides.

Scully is compelled to feel less negative about Padgett, and doesn’t feel he is capable of murder, he’s just strange and mysterious. Also, she wants to believe that it’s just an innocent attraction. (Please PLEASE let someone normal be attracted to her for once!)

AGENT SCULLY IS ALREADY IN LOVE. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

Padgett is looking DIRECTLY at Mulder when he says this. Afterwards, Mulder takes a quick look at Scully, who has a very vulnerable expression on her face and does NOT look at him.

Padgett’s statement makes Scully’s feelings REAL - they are something that EXISTS in the world. She can no longer deny it, push it away. Also, the fact that Mulder is RIGHT THERE, that he KNOWS, too.

Things can’t go back to normal, especially after the ending of the episode. I don’t think Scully wants them to. I think she chooses not to be lonely.

Padgett starts writing and talking to Naciamento/his dark self. His subconscious knows what story needs to be told. He needs to steal Scully’s heart to place it next to his, to have her in death if he can’t have her in life. This is the ending that only makes sense for this story - he wrote it to have her fall in love with him, for them to be together, but now it’s impossible.

Padgett’s comment that Scully has been “trying to get his attention”. Through her interest in Padgett? This is possibly a misinterpretation, but it also might be something she’d do, though subconsciously. In my headcanon, Scully’s been trying to get Mulder’s attention for fucking YEARS, so perhaps he is correct. She wants Mulder to see her as someone with needs and desires, not just his partner.

They sit closely on Mulder’s couch for the surveillance.

The difference between Scully on Padgett’s bed, and Scully on Mulder’s couch (bed). At Padgett’s, she’s sitting up straight, very uncomfortable, like she could leap up and aim her gun at his head if he tried anything strange. At Mulder’s side, she falls asleep because she’s so trusting and comfortable with him.

Padgett wants to prove he can love, so he uses whatever power he possesses to sacrifice himself and heal Scully. From the burning heart story: “he restored it to Margaret Mary sealing her wound with the touch of his blessed hand.”

Destroying the book and thus destroying his dark self isn’t enough. Scully is already hurt, bleeding everywhere. He also needs to heal Scully, and does this through his sacrifice. This is the reason I believe that Padgett’s powers come through himself, he doesn’t really need his typewriter or even a physical copy of his stories to manifest them, he just uses them as a crutch. Perhaps it was how he developed his powers - his insight into human nature through his writing.

When Mulder hears the gunshots, he rushes back to Scully. It’s interesting to think that Mulder nearly cost Scully her life. Her bullets may not have killed Naciamento, but they summoned Mulder, enabling Padgett to burn the book, sacrifice himself and thus save Scully. In essence, she saved herself despite Mulder’s innocent interference.

“A chance to give what he could not receive.”

Instead of killing her, Padgett decides to give her the gift of life and love. He knows she loves another, that her heart is full of love unlike his own empty heart.

Scully’s breakdown.

She was about to die. It was the closest she’s come and in the most horrifying manner. Death is her greatest fear.

Being faced with something obviously supernatural (shooting Naciamento to no effect, being wounded then miraculously healed) would also make her confused and vulnerable - not being able to explain what happened and put it in a box.

The emotions she’s been trying desperately to repress have been brought to the surface this entire episode.

More speculation/final thoughts:

This season has dealt with Scully’s fears quite a bit, but mostly with her inability to accept paranormal/unexplainable phenomena. She also holds another fear - death. And it’s consequence? She’s afraid to let people in, let them close. After her remission, she tried to take the chance - to let Mulder closer, to give her heart to Emily. When she’s burned by taking these chances, she buries her feelings again. She’s too scared to take another chance, and the tension between them lately has not been conducive to any sort of positive change in their relationship. The emotions brought to the surface in this episode come bursting forth at the end. Scully doesn’t try to hide them. She lets Mulder see her whole heart, her whole self - fears and all.

Through sharing her entire self with him, Scully’s changed. She can’t go back to pretending and hiding. Her fear about dying, about getting too close, doesn’t matter. I think that Scully’s lightness in the preceding episode (“The Unnatural”) shows how far she’s come.

She reveals her vulnerabilities to Mulder, her softness; his embrace of her as she lets her walls down is cathartic and freeing. Scully knows what she wants, and now her love is “out there”, a tangible thing that they are BOTH aware of. No more second-guessing, misinterpretations.

Later in season 7 (“all things”), when Scully has her breakthrough about her beliefs, she has a similar cathartic experience (her vision in the Buddhist temple). In this episode, her breakthrough is emotional and related to her feelings about Mulder instead of intellectual/spiritual and deeply personal.

I think this episode is where I diverge from much of the fandom in terms of its significance to the MSR and Scully. I don’t think they can go back from this (along with things that happen with Mulder in the next episode). I’ll talk about a few more things in my “The Unnatural” post. If you disagree, that’s fine, but… I just love the idea of them having more time together, and I like the way my theory works! <3

If you want to know more about what I think happened after this episode, I’d love it if you’d read my fic “Bated Breath”. I feel that it expresses my thoughts pretty well about what I thought Scully went through, and where Mulder was as well.

#xfiles #x-files #x-files rewatch #x files rewatch #msr #msrheadcanon #mulder and scully #fox mulder #dana scully #top 10 episodes #season 6 #MEGA ANALYSIS

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noitsbecky127 · 4 years

Text

local teenager has no value for her own safety

Inspired by @holamayan‘s post here.

Take off your shipping goggles, and do not put them back on until this is done.

AO3 link here.

Word count: 1561

It’s a pleasant surprise to Martin when Captain Savlian Matius bursts into the chapel, followed by guards. They’re alive, and that means there’s hope.

”The gate is closed,” Matius announces, and Martin’s eyes widen. The Oblivion gate has shut? But…

”How?” Lenka asks. “What did you do to stop it?”

”They didn’t do anything.”

The young girl who comes through the doors then, however, is a significantly less pleasant surprise. She’s clad in chainmail armor, save for a helmet. The tips of light brown pointed ears poke through her dark hair, and the bow she carries is easily more than half her size. A wood elf, then.

She’s barely sheathed her bow when Martin speaks. “Why isn’t this child in the refugee camps?”

“She arrived after the gate opened, Brother,” Matius explains. “We told her to go to the camps. She…went the other way.”

”I closed the gate,” the girl says, as nonchalantly as if she were saying, I bought some more arrows.

Martin’s mouth opens and closes for a few seconds before he manages, “You…closed the gate?” He saw some strange things during his Sanguine days, but a slight elven girl who can’t be more than seventeen or eighteen closing a gate to Oblivion takes the cake.

”That’s what I said, isn’t it?” The girl scowls. “In any case, I’m lookin’ for a Martin. You know where he is?” Her voice is laced with a noticeable Valenwood accent.

“I am him. What do you need?”

The girl sets her jaw. ”Captain, give me a moment. I need to talk to Martin here.”

Matius frowns. “It can’t wait? The city is overrun by daedra.”

”As a matter of fact, no,” she snaps, “it cannot wait. I will only be a couple of minutes.”

The girl strides purposefully over to him, takes his wrist in a surprisingly strong grasp, and leads him to a corner, out of earshot of everyone else.

”What do you wish to speak of?” She asked for him by name, not just for a priest, so she can’t need healing or anything of the sort. No, what the elf wants is something specific to him…but what?

”Okay, Martin.” She lets go of his wrist, looking up to make eye contact. “I can’t tell you a lot—we don’t have much time, and even if we did, I don’t know much. But what’s important is that the Emperor told me to find you.”

“The Emperor…excuse me?” That’s outlandish for about five different reasons, least of which being that there isn’t any situation where the Emperor, Divines rest his soul, would tell someone, much less a young girl, to go find a random priest in Kvatch. “The Emperor is dead. Are you...feeling alright, child?"

"No--I'm not crazy." She sighs. "Look, I know this sounds outlandish, but—just listen, okay?"

"...okay." Martin's still not entirely convinced that she knows what she's talking about, but he has a feeling he should at least hear her out. If she is out of her mind, he probably shouldn't leave her to her own devices right now.

”You have to come with me,” the elf says. “We need your help.”

He might laugh, if the situation weren’t so dire and so terrifying. “You don’t look foolish, but if you’ve come to me for help, you must be. Look around, child—what good is a priest right now?”

What she says next, hissed out through clenched teeth, turns his world upside down.

”Martin, you’re Uriel Septim’s son."

For a moment, Martin is convinced that he's heard her wrong. She must have said something other than telling him that he's the late Emperor's son, because that's ridiculous.

Then that moment passes, and he realizes that that's exactly what she said. "I'm sorry—you think the Emperor is—was my father?" She's mistaken, she has to be. She's a child; they make mistakes all the time. He knows who his father was, and he knows he wasn't the emperor of Tamriel. "You must have the wrong man. I am a priest of Akatosh, and my father was a farmer."

The girl’s ear twitches. "I'm not mistaken. The daedra came here looking for you."

Martin’s already reached the height of bewilderment, but if he hadn’t, that would have put him there. “You're certain?" She gives a tight nod.

He takes a step back, trying to process this. "All this destruction…the entire city burnt…to get to me? Why?”

She gives him a pointed look, bright green eyes narrowed.

"...because I'm the Emperor's son?"

"He knew you would be in danger," she says by way of a response.

"You spoke to him, before he died?" She keeps talking about him as if she did, but when would a teenager have an audience with Uriel Septim?

"I—yeah, you could say that." Martin would expect her to elaborate, but she instead continues, “He told me to find you.”

He has about a million questions, but the one he asks is, “How can I believe you?” This is all ridiculous—him, a Septim? He’s the son of farmers, not an emperor. The daedra could have attacked for any other reason.

The girl scoffs. “Why would I lie to you? Why would I walk to Kvatch from the Imperial City, close an Oblivion gate, and fight my way through a daedra-infested city, all to mislead you about who your father is? What would I get out of this?”

He has to hand it to her—she’s logical. Maybe he has no reason to believe her, but she has no reason to lie. And despite every ounce of sense he has telling him that this can’t possibly be true…

”I don’t know,” Martin relents. “It’s strange—I have a feeling you might actually be telling the truth.” He shakes his head. “So what does this mean? What do you want with me?”

”Honestly, I’m not sure,” she confesses. “I’ve just been told to bring you to Weynon Priory. Jauffre can explain everything to you.”

Weynon Priory. Martin’s been, a time or two—it’s right by Chorrol. A day or so northeast, if you travel without stopping.

A day or so that he can’t spare, not with Kvatch in this situation.

”No.” The girl’s shoulders tense, clearly taken aback at his response. “I’m sorry, but whether you’re telling the truth or not, I won’t abandon these people to their fate. You and I can go to the camp for now; once everyone can leave together, I’ll go.”

”Understandable.” She nods. “I’ll meet you back there once this is done, then.”

”Once this is done?” Martin frowns. “What are you talking about? You should go now.”

”Well,” she shrugs, “someone has to save this city, and I’ve got more experience fighting daedra than any of the guards.”

”Wait—hang on." He knows what she's saying, but that can't be it. "Matius?” The captain looks over. “You’re taking a child with you into a dangerous battle against creatures from Oblivion?”

"Oh, for Y'ffre's sake." The girl scowls. "I think if I survived Oblivion itself, I can survive some daedra on Nirn.”

"But--"

"Anyhow, we can't spare any more time. I'll meet you at the camp, okay?" She unsheathes her bow, striding over to Matius. Whatever she says to the captain, Martin can't make out.

"Akatosh, protect her," he mutters. He's pretty sure asking Y'ffre might be more appropriate, but he probably doesn't listen to Imperials, so Akatosh will have to do.

Martin's sure she's perfectly capable of surviving this. He just thinks she shouldn't have to.

True to her word, after Matius gives the announcement that Kvatch is safe, the wood elf jumps down into the camp. (Yes, jumps. It's a ten-foot drop from where she leaps off the hill, but she sticks the landing. Wood elves are certainly nimble.) She walks up to Martin.

"So," she says, adjusting her long ponytail, "the daedra are gone. Kvatch will be alright. Will you accompany me now?"

Martin’s not sure how okay he is with a kid having been involved in all of this, but still, he can’t help but smile. “Even if I weren’t already willing, I can’t exactly tell you no, after everything you’ve done for Kvatch.” Closing the gate, driving off the daedra…he may think it’s not good for her to be doing it, but he can’t deny the nobility of it. “So yes, I’ll come with you to Weynon Priory, and I’ll hear out this Jauffre.”

Maybe it’s the biggest mistake of his life, but he can’t exactly ignore this, can he? The elf strikes him as the type to not take no for an answer, anyhow.

Her lips twitch in a sort of half-smile, and she says, “Wonderful. Do you have any business to take care of, or can we leave now?” She turns her eyes down to her arrows, which she’s cleaning off.

Martin considers for a moment, “Nothing that won’t be here when I return.” Before they head out, there’s one thing he should ask her while it isn’t too awkward.

”I don’t suppose you have a name?” He doesn’t want to keep calling her child—he gets the feeling she doesn’t appreciate it.

The girl looks up from a steel arrow. “I sure do. Anialith Springbrook.”

Anialith Springbrook. It’s a nice name. A pretty name.

”Well, Anialith,” Martin says, “lead the way.”

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reureuby · 5 years

Text

// Role Reversal AU //

Dumbass idea where Raye is the bastard daughter to Uriel Septim VII, and Martin is the Hero of Kvatch! I’ll be tagging any and all things referencing this AU with #Reversal AU!!

Below the tab details:

> 4 points on the brief history on Raye Septim

> 4 [oints on the brief history on Martin

> 11 points highlighting the important moments during the Oblivion Crisis

If you have any suggestions or questions feel free to shoot me an ask!! I love hearing what people think about this sorta bs I write :^)

Brief History on Raye Septim

> Raye, orphaned by Uriel, lived in Kvatch with one of the local guards. She was a sweet little child that always used to draw things for her dad and go with him everywhere

> She used to attend her adoptive fathers training sessions and was always so fascinated by the swords he used to wield. Her dad let her hold a dagger and she loved it so much

> As she grew up, she trained to become a swords-woman and part of the guards of Kvatch. Unfortunately, she was turned down because of her aggression

> The day the Oblivion gate opened in Kvatch, her adoptive father was brutally slain by a dremora. She ran in to fight, regardless of what the guards told her NOT to do. Now this connects with “The Highlights of the Oblivion Crisis”

Brief History on Martin

> Martin lived with his wealthy family in Kvatch, where he read tons of books and taught himself about the history of Tamriel

> He turned to worshipping Sanguine and performed various pranks towards citizens of Kvatch and neighbouring cities.

> 3E433, Martin had accidentally killed a few of his colleagues in a severe prank Sanguine tasked him with and was pinpointed as their murderer. He was sentenced to 30 years in the Imperial City prison

> Full of confusion, Martin followed Uriel out of the Imperial City prison and attempted to help protect him as best he could. Martin is then tasked with taking the amulet of kings to Jauffre in Weynon Priory which he agrees to.

Highlights of the Oblivion Crisis

> When Martin reaches Kvatch, he’s informed that Raye has already gone through the gate of Oblivion in order to close it. He panics and runs in after her. She hadn’t gotten far through Oblivion when he finds her, she’s tending to the aid of an injured Kvatch guard. Martin attempts to tell her about her relation to Uriel Septim, but she shuts him up and tells him that she won’t listen to him until this gate is closed, and the remaining people of Kvatch are safe. They travel together through Oblivion, fight off the daedra and seal shut the gate to Oblivion. When they return to Kvatch, a panicked Martin now tells her about her heritage as the future Empress of Tamriel. She initially laughs it off, but her gut says to trust him. (holy heck that was a long point)

> When Martin needed to go and fetch the Mysterium Xarxes, Raye begged to go alongside him. Jauffre, Martin, and the other Blades denied her as they couldn’t afford to lose her. As she waited for Martin to return, she would spend her time training with the other Blades so that she could keep her fitness going

> One time Martin comes back, Raye can see that he’s struggled physically against the daedra and other enemies. She takes the opportunity to force Martin to train with her so that he can defend himself better. She spends at least 2 hours a day training Martin, teaching him how to judge his attacks and how to swing his weapon without using up all his energy. The two begin to bond as they fight amongst each other :^))

> When Martin is tasked to find the people spying on Cloud Ruler, Raye manages to sneak out of Cloud Ruler and follows him on his job. Martin eventually notices her following him and calls her out on it. She laughs, claiming that she only wanted to make sure he was actually using the techniques she’d taught him. He brushes it off as a joke and offers to take her around Bruma as a chance to escape from her imprisonment in Cloud Ruler. She accepts and they end up drinking themselves silly before crashing at Martin’s house and sleeping together

> Martin comes back from retrieving a Great Welkynd stone to see Raye dressed in the Emperors Cuirass and Jauffre storming off. She notices Martins arrival and announces her grand plan to obtain a Sigil Stone. He’s very concerned by her choice, but he respects her decision and follows her

> She and Martin travel to Bruma first in order to gain permission from the Countess of Bruma. She reluctantly agrees to the deal and suggests gaining the help of the neighbouring cities. Raye and Martin travel around Cyrodiil together, gaining the respect of the other cities and gathering valiant fighters to help defend Bruma.

> Raye valiantly leads the defense of Bruma and assists Martin in anyway she can. As Martin goes to obtain the Great Sigil stone, Raye stays back and fights off the incoming daedra. She watches as some of the fighters are slain during the attack, this causes her great concern and she silently prays that Martin will return safely

> Martin returns with the Great Sigil Stone! The fighters cheer and celebrate amongst themselves, but Raye? Raye drops her weapons straight away and instantly runs to hug Martin. She’s so grateful that he lived and came out perfectly unscathed. Raye and Martin return to Bruma to the celebrating the victory! They both stick super close to each other as they go around celebrating with the citizens!! By the time most of the citizens are gone, Martin and Raye are finally hitting an adrenaline crash and end up crashing overnight at Martin’s Bruma home

> It takes her a week, but Raye finally manages to figure out how to open the portal to Paradise. Martin launches himself in and disappears into the portal. Having thought it’d be a few hours wait, Raye becomes extremely worried about him as she impatiently waits days and days for him to reappear in the main hall. Almost 2 weeks later, Martin returns to Cloud Ruler with the Amulet of Kings tightly in his grasp

> Martin gets Raye to Chancellor Ocato and the daedra invasion begins in the Imperial City. Panicked, Raye and Martin fight their way to the Temple of the One where they know she could light the dragonfires. However, as they make their way there through the daedra, she realises it’s too late to light the dragonfires now and must now destroy the amulet of kings.

> When they reach the Temple of the One, Raye knows that she most likely won’t survive the battle against Mehrune Dagon and finally drops the news that she’s pregnant to Martin. Their final conversation goes something like this:

R : “I won’t be around much longer Martin, but I must assure you it’s all for the safety of you and Tamriel. Thank you, for being the closest friend I’ll have ever had... and the father of the child who will never be born”

M : “Wait, did you just say child? Raye... you’re not-”

R : “Yes, Martin... you heard right. However, we can not stay to see Tamriel be rebuilt, but I know I can trust you to see parts of it through in our honour. Unfortunately we must go before it’s too late, the dragon awaits us. Farewell my dearest Martin,”

#reversal au #hok raye #martin septim #oblivion #god that was long #long post #it took me ages to figure this stuff out but ayy

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wonderalwaysland · 3 years

Text

A day of sad songs

Well...

So I’ve been feeling kind of sad these days

I miss him even tho I don’t really know him, that’s quite silly but that’s the truth. And it’s been a year (it was around this time last year) since I had this sign of him. It has changes a lot of thing, me in particular and the way I view the world. I can’t help but be thankful about that.

I’ve been thinking about that (the sign not the world, but I’ve been thinking about it however my post isn’t about it now) a lot and my feelings and opinions changed a lot.( I was accepting it then denying it and it was kind of a roller coaster) But I still find myself coming back to him in my thoughts and I guess I have finally settled with my feelings( like anyone can ever be). Yeah, I realize that I do love him and I call him (my) Dream boy apparently ( but I’ve started this tradition? recently). And I’ve seen him in my dream(I think it was him) and I felt that he likes me( but I was embarrassed and kind of ignored him hahaha). Btw it was a few weeks before the sign. Lucky for him I don’t have a crush or someone I like (well, except for him now). After the dream I even daydreamed about him a bit, I thought it’s actually nice to have someone who likes u.( I would have been weirded out before.) And that’s the main reason I call him Dream boy, because I daydream about him a lot. Well, I enjoy daydreaming in general so yeah. But now I apply to reality as well, he inspires me and I have learned to live more in real world and in current moment. And that’s also because of him(partly tho), well I say he’s the reason for all these to happen to me so yeah I tell he’s the part of all these changes in me. (and if u ever happen to read it( I hope we will meet, right?) you should know that I love you and has done so even before our meeting/ I’d like to write more about it but I forgot what I was just thinking)).

Actually I have an idea of who he is(or might be) but it doesn’t make it any easier(or better?). That was my main reason for denying it. I mean at first I thought woah that’s funny and didn’t really quite believe it. and at that time I haven’t really changed but I was gradually doing so. Truth be said I have always wanted to change, be braver and more confident(and some other things). I didn’t really understand myself and denied some parts of me. Now I love me and accept myself for who I am and I guess I am healing( or that’s what they call it). Yeah, a lot of thing have changed for me. Thank you. I am really happy about that.

These days I realize a lot of things are repeating (I mean they say Everything new is well-forgotten old) and I see that some things from when I was a teenager and I liked or did are repeating or becoming popular( I’m not sure how to explain this but I just thought so) and me too, as I’ve accepted everything in me I found myself remembering the things from that time and actually enjoying them instead of just being bitterly nostalgic. And as u can see I kind of call my inner world a Wonderland and I really love it. But now instead of just enjoying other people’s creations I really want to create something myself (but I am just lazy sometimes, meh ;( ) It’s ok to be lazy tho, I decided that my sense of life is to enjoy life itself and if being lazy is part of it then why not be lazy haha. But seriously I better work on it and on my courage too( I still find myself taking things too seriously sometimes which prevents me from taking action).

And u know what?You inspire me ( Dream boy I mean, I still find it a bit embarrassing to call u that or idk how to explain this feeling), But people ( and u who reads it, idk who will read it, if anybody will at all) inspire me too, they are interesting, right? Since the major change(that basically broke me and made new me(how cheesy lol)) after or before? New Year I had find my passion in life, like my way kind of. And I’ve been looking for it, but how was I supposed to see it when I could quite be myself. I was blind, really. Now that I started seeing everything in new light I had so,any ideas, which mostly feature Dream boy ofc. Yeah, that’s why I’m telling u that u inspire me,and when I denied this connection(well I guess it is one after all) I felt bad or sad and had not inspiration. So u see, there is no benefit for me to deny u, so I decided to embrace and accept it. (that’s a joke haha, I really love you and that’s the main reason :)) But now I feel sad when I really want to hug u or tell u something or just be with you and feel your presence near me(omg I=my eyes are wet now, even the thought makes me cry somehow haha :’)) but I daydream about u and it actually makes me happier and not so sad. I wonder what u are feeling too, but it’s not like I can ask u now *sigh*. I guess u feel mostly the same, but I want u to be happy tho, with or without me. Truth be said, if you are the person I think u are I can just check social media and see if you are saying something there, but if you are not then it’s senseless, right? I am afraid to be mistaken tbh. But I still partly associate u with that person, maybe u have similar personalities or same hair? Idk. Maybe when I meet u I’ll know. But if I never meet you I can still daydream about u, which really will make u a Dream boy, hah. Still u’ll be my second favourite person( i know that’s not quite right to tell it that way , but I reaally love u so much). I guess u are wondering who is the 1st person?well, it;s me ofc. I love me the most and I guess u should know that. But I love almost the same amount so might as well say we are both on the first place ;)

Every time I hear love songs I think about u and I actually think about u everyday. Recently I have read the translation of lyrics to Euphoria. U know when i didn’t the words before I felt really offended at this line:” Won't you please stay in dreams, yeah?” Like what? so u want me to stay in dreams? u don’t want to meet me? That’s what i thought. But it dawned on me that it might mean that he asks(not like he is the one who wrote the song but still) her to not leave the dream where they are together (that’s why translation and communication are important haha). Now that I know the translation I really like it, it’s sweet. and bitter as well actually. But it quite describes my feelings and that’s wow

“ You are the sun that rose again in my life The return of my childhood dreams I don't know what this feeling is Perhaps I'm also in a dream Dream is a blue mirage in desert A priori from deep inside of me

....

Even if the ground cracks Even if someone shakes this world Don't let go of the hand you're holding Please don't wake up from the dream” (https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/bangtanboys/euphoriathemeofloveyourselfwonder.html)

( I woke up tho and we weren’t holding hands but it quite resembles that dream I had)

Relationship between humans are as complicated as they are simple. I have no idea what happens when we meet (if we meet, but I think we will, why not at least. I mean other ppl do meet so we have a chance of meeting each other too, considering I have never dated anyone(!) and I’m 21. Not that dating is the most important thing in our lives, but all the guys I liked somehow disappear from my life. Well, i might be at fault too but I blame it on u and the destiny, seems like I can’t help but meet u at this point, now that I know u exist. I wanted to live alone till my death already but here u came and changed my life so suddenly). So speaking about our meeting. Idk if I will still remember u in a year or two (how optimistic of me, right?lol) but that’s an approximate date of when we meet or at least supposed to. I guess I’ll remember u but maybe won’t be thinking about u every day. Well, ofc I won’t tell u all these things i wrote here, I’ll wait a year or two until I’m sure it’s u or until I trust u or ready to open up completely, idk. No idea, Let’s not talk about the future yet. For now I just love u and dedicate this post to you, Dream boy.

p.s. Alexander 23 - idk you yet ( song that describes this situation perfectly except for chorus, nobody’s selling me at least, is it u tho?)

p.p.s. I love you

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golemqueen · 7 years

Text

One-shot: The Tragedy of it All

When Sirius Black broke into Hogwarts castle on Halloween, twelve years after James and Lily were murdered, he went to find Remus Lupin. Canon compliant (I hope!).

ff.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12553035/1/The-Tragedy-of-it-All

ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11361594

Full text under the cut.

Remus couldn’t bring himself to attend the Halloween feast.

Every fiber in him was exhausted from last night’s transformation, every inch of him wanting nothing more than to turn in early, perhaps with a cup of tea and an old book. At least, that’s what he told himself the reasoning was. If he was honest, it was because of the last Halloween feast he’d attended.

Sirius and Peter had bewitched the floating jack-o-lanterns to sing Christmas carols; James had transfigured the Great Hall’s ceiling so fog hung low over the tables, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the room. He and Lily had sat shoulder to shoulder, squinting through the fog to try and make out what they were putting onto their plates.

“What part did you have in all this?” he remembered her asking, holding a dinner roll up to eye level for inspection.

He had responded, something along the lines of “Don’t drink the pumpkin juice”. She, of course, having no sense of self-preservation and an infuriating about of curiosity, proceeded to down her glass, and for the rest of the feast joined the majority of Hogwarts students in emitting black and orange bubbles from her mouth.

Something fell over in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, jolting Remus out of his memories. Pressing his hands to his face briefly, he stood and went to investigate. The door to his office opened onto a small balcony overlooking the room, dimly lit at this late hour, and initially nothing seemed amiss.

Until he noticed the shadow at the bottom of the stairs.

“So,” said a voice from Remus’ dreams. “You did finally become a teacher, Moony.” For a split second, nothing but blank shock registered in Remus’ mind. When he saw who it was, gazing up at him from the classroom floor, his first instinct was to fling himself down the stairs, sore joints be damned, and crush Sirius Black in a hug.

But that was no longer possible.

Remembering where he was, when he was, Remus raised his wand. It was a half-hearted gesture, more out of requirement than real fear of threat. Because if he were to be attacked by Sirius Black, Remus didn’t think he would be able to defend himself. Would be able to hurt the man—for there was no denying he was a man now—whose face was submerged in shadow, whose voice was full of regret and tired humor.

He didn’t know what to say first. He should send a Patronus to Dumbledore, alert the school. He should stun Sirius, kill Sirius, but he didn’t. Remus just stood there, staring.

“Why are you here?” Remus heard himself say. His voice was hoarse, like it usually was after his vocal chords were bent out of shape by transformation, but there was something more. Something that sounded a little too much like heartbreak.

“Would you believe me if I said it was to see you?”

“No,” Remus whispered. A lie.

Sirius took a step forward, into the light. His hair, once so carefully groomed, was lank and matted, hanging to his elbows. Torn, frayed, graying robes. His once-handsome face sallow and thin. Sirius’ bedraggled and broken appearance was what struck Remus the most. Sirius was a ghost of himself, and it was entirely plausible that this ghoulish man had indeed killed his best friend, because this ghoulish man could not be Sirius Black.

“Don’t move,” Remus said, pointing his wand again insistently. He hadn’t noticed his arm falling, the shock of Azkaban’s effect weakening his limbs. “Don’t take another step towards me.”

Sirius held up his hands. “Remus. You need to listen to me—”

“I don’t need to hear anything,” Remus spat, his despair and shock melting into pure rage. Maybe it was the proximity to the full moon, but his usually calm disposition was giving way to an anger that was as foreign as it was invigorating. “You killed them. You killed them! James—Lily—Peter—did we mean so little—did we mean nothing?” His voice was a hiss, his normally eloquent manner of speech reduced to shards of words and fragments of phrases. Remus’ lungs felt on the verge of collapse, fury shaking his limbs, and he fell to his knees, drowning in confusion. He wanted to kill Sirius, he wanted to throttle him, he wanted Sirius to embrace him, he wanted Sirius to reveal that it was all a joke, James and Lily and Peter were alive, he wanted Sirius to attack him, he wanted Sirius to kill him, he wanted to let it happen.

Sirius had somehow ended up in front of him, hands tentatively outstretched. “Please, Remus. Let me explain—”

Remus was on his feet again in a heartbeat, the anger in his veins surging forward. His wand was pressed between Sirius’ eyebrows. “Get out,” he said. “Before I call Dumbledore. I don’t know how you got in here, unless...” Remus’ eyes widened as comprehension dawned, and he wondered how he continued to underestimate Sirius’ genius, even after all this time. “The Grim. Harry mentioned he saw a great black dog—Merlin, Sirius, that was you?”

“You can’t tell,” Sirius said quickly. “If you tell them I’m an Animagus, they’ll know you had something to do with it.”

Footsteps outside the doorway, shouts out in the corridor.

Remus made a decision. It was instinct, years of playing lookout, years of trust and laughter and love that he could not, would not forget. No matter how hard he tried.

“Get in.” He grabbed Sirius’ shoulder, roughly shoving him into his office and shutting the door. “Muffliato.” He turned back to Sirius, who was gazing around the interior as though he’d never seen anything like it before. “Give me your wand,” Remus said.

Sirius didn’t argue, passing it over. “Thank you,” he said.

“What’s going on out there? Did someone see you?”

“I...guess you could say that.”

Remus pressed a hand to his forehead, and it was like they were sixteen again, arguing about some stupid prank Sirius had pulled. He didn’t let himself think about what could happen, the consequences of his actions. Just for this moment, he let himself pretend. “What did you do?”

“The Fat Lady wouldn’t let me in.”

“You’re not a student. You don’t have the password.”

“Usually she loves me.”

“Sirius, you’re a wanted murderer.”

“You had to remind me?”

Remus found himself smiling, and that was the worst part of it. He turned towards the tank with the grindylow, watching the creature to hide the tears springing to his eyes. “You said you would explain.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “Of course. It might be...a little hard. So bear...bear with me, please, Moony—”

A harsh knock at the door. Remus and Sirius stared at each other, eyes so wide it seemed the world was reflected in them.

“Remus? Remus, are you in there?”

“McGonagall,” Sirius said, wistfulness creeping into his voice. That voice...the regret...it was intense guilt, but the kind of guilt only the innocent have. Guilt for factors outside their control. Guilt for what they could have done.

Remus yanked open his wardrobe, shoving Sirius unceremoniously into it and shutting the door. After casting the most impenetrable protection spells he could think of (self-preservation, he rationalized), Remus quickly refilled and reheated his teapot, just in case of Priori Incantatem.

He was always covering James’ and Sirius’ asses, even now.

Remus flung the door open to reveal a harried McGonagall. “Sorry,” he said, trying to hide how flustered he was. “I think I fell asleep. It’s been a rough few nights...” he tried to add a wry twist to his lips, like he didn’t know what was coming. Like he didn’t know the turmoil with which the castle must be boiling over.

“Black is in the castle,” she said. Her face betrayed no emotion, no fear. But there was a flicker in her eyes Remus could only describe as pain. “He attacked the portrait of the Fat Lady, we’re moving all the students to the Great Hall. All the teachers are supposed to patrol...” Professor McGonagall trailed off as she took in his haggard appearance. “Remus,” she said, but it sounded like a sigh. “Go back to sleep. Dumbledore won’t mind.”

“It’s quite all right,” Remus said quickly. “Of course I’ll be right down.”

“No,” McGonagall said forcefully. “You will take care of yourself, Mr Lupin. Besides...” she lowered her voice. “Severus is trying to convince Albus that you’re somehow helping Black into the castle, given your...history.” She had the grace to look apologetic. But Remus knew it was genuine.

His heart gave a lurch at the semi-truth. “All the more reason for me to help in the search.”

“My answer is final. You will go to bed. You may not be my student anymore Remus, but you’ll listen to me, if you know what’s good for you.” With that, she turned and left, back down the stairs and out of his classroom.

Remus shut the door to his office. “Well,” he said to the seemingly empty room. “It would appear you’ve been spotted.”

“I don’t have much time,” Sirius said, tripping his way out of the wardrobe. “I don’t have time to tell you everything, Remus, but you have to believe I’m innocent. You know I would die before betraying any of you.” He peered into Remus’ face, and it pained Remus to see how much of his youth had been sapped from him by the dementors. “You do know that, right?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Remus said heavily. “Why are you here, Sirius?”

Sirius’ face darkened. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Harry?”

Sirius’ head jerked up. “No. Yes. I’ve been watching. Not in a creepy way—though, I guess, everything I do now is creepy.” He gave a humorless laugh, more of a croak. It clanged around Remus’ chest like a physical thing, battering his heart. “Harry...is he happy? Does he have friends?”

Remus didn’t want to answer, but something tugged the words out of him. “Sometimes,” he said. “The dementors affect him more than most, but given his past...” he saw a flicker of pain on Sirius’ face. “He has friends. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.”

It was like someone had lit a fire behind Sirius’ face, and the light shone through his eyes. It was the only part of him that truly looked alive. “Weasley? Molly and Arthur’s youngest?”

“Second youngest, now. They have a girl, named Ginny.”

“A girl,” he said, marveling. “They’re all in Gryffindor?”

Remus found himself smiling again. “Naturally. Ron and Hermione argue all the time, about his rat and her cat...it makes me miss school.”

“His rat,” Sirius whispered, and Remus had lost him. “Of course.”

“Sirius?”

“I have to go,” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more. I have to go.”

Remus’ eyes narrowed. “You owe me more than that.”

“I don’t know if I can see you again,” Sirius said, but his mind was a million miles away, Remus could tell. He had that faraway look, like he always had when planning something. “But I swear to you on—I swear to you on Harry. I will tell you everything that happened. I promise.” He stepped forward, and the intensity in his gaze was back. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

Remus nodded, closing his eyes and swallowing. He heard Sirius transform, heard heavy paws padding across the room to bat at the door handle. Remus opened the door for him, waiting until he was out of the classroom to shut the door again.

His room looked exactly as it had not ten minutes ago, before Sirius entered his classroom and turned his life upside down. Remus eyed his wand. Could he Obliviate himself? Could he bring himself to do it?

The answer, it turned out, was no. How could he make himself forget, if there was even the slightest possibility that Sirius was innocent?

If Sirius was innocent. That glimmer of hope, that ray of possibility Remus had never allowed himself to see. It now seemed more feasible than ever, because why would a guilty man act as Sirius had acted? If Sirius was innocent, then what happened on Halloween twelve years ago?

Halloween.

Sirius had broken into Hogwarts to find him on the anniversary of James and Lily’s deaths.

It could have been a cruel joke.

But Remus suspected—no, hoped—that it was because, like Remus himself, Sirius didn’t want to be alone on the anniversary of the night their worlds were blown apart.

#my writing #harry potter #sirius black #remus lupin #harry potter fanfiction #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #hp #marauders #marauders fanfic

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crystalracing · 5 years

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We sit in a park near Kings Cross, next to a church and a graveyard, and Marvin Sordell takes a deep breath. He feels ready, but this is not easy. Sordell is a former Premier League footballer, who now plays for Burton Albion in League One, and he is a writer. This dual identity shapes him. Professional football has scarred Sordell; and the secret world of writing has helped him.

A sunlit September afternoon leaves dappled little shadows around our feet as his words flow. Everything else falls away beneath this gripping, distressing and ultimately uplifting story. Sordell suffered from depression for years, even when being bought and sold for millions of pounds, playing for England Under-21s and representing GB at the London Olympics, and he endured misconceptions and racism. At his lowest he attempted suicide; but he has found a way to live again.

The 27-year-old has been hurt by the harsh business of football but he still loves the game. He also loves to write, both poetry and prose, and has completed his first book, Vulnerable Exposure, which he has yet to submit to a publisher. He begins by talking about his poem, Denis Prose, an anagram for depression.

“That was one of my first poems,” he says. “I wanted to make depression real so people can understand how you are fighting for control over yourself. Depression consumes you and sometimes you submit to it. Lots of emotions snowballed and became one big thing inside me. It felt like I was overtaken by another entity. It was then that I wrote Denis Prose.

“The poem follows my journey from the training ground to my home. I wanted to personify the emotion while the car represents my body. Inside the car we have myself and a passenger, Denis Prose, representing two sides of my consciousness. The journey starts on as a sunny day but it becomes dark and rainy. There is a shift in emotion and a struggle for power. Denis Prose takes charge. The poem ends in suicide because depression is so powerful it tells you: ‘This is the way out. I’ll take control and everything will be over.’”

Sordell spoke to people at one of his former clubs about his tangled emotions. “I said I’m missing my friends and family. But I told them I still wanted to be there because playing football was all I wanted to do. The moment you go onto the pitch the depression disappears. But the problems were getting worse because I wasn’t being picked. I had no release.”

The striker stresses that every manager should select the players he believes are best equipped to help his team win. But he makes a telling point about how clubs fail to help players who feel jettisoned. “That led me to me being more downtrodden, more disappointed. I’ve always been hard on myself and I’m not generally confident. As I’ve grown older I’ve got better – but when I was younger, without a support network, it felt cold and lonely. I felt stuck.”

Sordell pauses before speaking even more openly. “I have to say this because it’s important. Without naming names, at one of my clubs I was also seeing a doctor. She recommended I go to the Priory to recover properly. I said, ‘I don’t think you realise what I do for a living. It’s not possible to leave a football club for a few weeks. They paid good money to sign me. They pay me good money, so I can’t just go. But I’ll ask them.’

“I didn’t end up doing so. I wasn’t sure how they would react to me needing to go to the Priory and then, not long after, my mum phoned. She said someone from the club had called. They told her I was thinking of going to the Priory but the message was clear. ‘You can’t do that. You must focus on football.’ I don’t know how they knew. I was shocked.

“I was learning to play the piano and cook creatively. I was spending my free time being expressive. I would post interesting images on Instagram. It seemed better than going to bars every day. And he said to my mum I must stop playing the piano, stop cooking and focus on football. I thought: ‘Playing the piano is productive. I have to cook to eat. How can this be bad for my football?’ But that was their mentality towards me. People saw an attitude problem because I didn’t banter with the players and coaches. When I got home I often sat in the dark.

“It’s difficult in this industry to be honest without it coming back to bite you. Once I was told I was going on loan regardless of what I wanted. I was told to take a pay cut, and if I stayed the circumstances would be a lot worse than if I left. I didn’t speak to the manager – he spoke to my agent. I tried to see the positives because it’s a fresh start, an opportunity to play football.”

Sordell’s depression became so acute he tried to kill himself in August 2013. “On one occasion,” he says softly, “I tried to overdose on tablets. I took all these tablets and went to sleep. It didn’t work, thankfully. When I woke up I was shocked, annoyed. Some people would say, in that situation, they feel born again. I just thought: ‘What now?’

“I was so drained. People think I should be fine. I’d played at the Olympicsand the European Under-21 Championship. Played in the Premier League. On good money. But it didn’t feel like that. I went to training the day after. I didn’t tell anyone. The first time anybody really understood was when I sent my book to my friends, my mum, my sister and my wife. The only person who knew I was struggling was my wife. But when she read the book she said: ‘I didn’t know it was that bad.’

“Until I started writing I struggled to express my emotions. So my wife said: ‘That’s enough. You need to see this [psychiatrist].’ I went to see her and broke down. Even I didn’t understand it until then. I’d thought: ‘I’m just annoyed because I’m not playing. It’s nothing.’ But it felt like layers and layers were coming away until I was left with a real open version of myself.”

Medication had helped initially because, as Sordell says, “I was at breaking point. But I reached a stage where I stopped taking it. I felt so numb on medication.”

Writing became a different form of medicine for Sordell. “I felt dead inside for a long time – and writing gave me a way to get emotions out. I have no idea where I would’ve gone, where I would’ve spiralled to, if not for writing. I probably wouldn’t be playing football. I’d heard too many people saying, ‘He’s too difficult or miserable.’ It’s different now. Finishing the book became a way to own my story. It felt liberating.

“I said to my friend: ‘I don’t know how people are going to take it, a footballer writing poetry. It’s weird.’ He said: ‘You’ll never know until you find out.’ So on [2017’s] World Mental Health day I tweeted the Denis Prose poem and people opened up to me. I was taken aback but people identified with it. They were also struggling. It felt so powerful.”

Sordell has also overcome the racism he experienced for Bolton against Millwall in October 2012 and later that same month while representing England Under-21s against Serbia in Belgrade. “Everyone knows what Millwall was like so I was shocked to discover I was the first person to report racism at Millwall. Most footballers know about that section at Millwall. If you are on the bench and warming up, you’re getting abuse – whether you are black or white. The club have moved that section now. I played there again at the end of last season and I scored. They boo me, they call me names and I just smile.”

He describes the notorious match in Belgrade as “surreal. I remember hearing this noise and thinking: ‘What on earth is that?’ I passed the ball and it went out for a throw-in. Danny Rose took it and the whole stadium was making monkey chants. I thought something would happen because it was on live TV. But two of our players, Steven Caulker and Tom Ince, got banned for a game for being sent off while the Serbian FA was fined a pittance. Nothing was done.”

Sordell shrugs. He remembers “my first experience of playing football was in a Sunday league team. I was very young and and the manager said to my mum: ‘We’re not picking your son because he’s shit.’ That’s brutal. The manager’s son was the goalkeeper, and I was playing in goal. Maybe that had something to do with it. I ended up in the B team. We got to the final of the tournament and the A team got knocked out. But I was upset. My uncle took me to the aquarium to cheer me up.

“Football’s as ruthless now as it was then. The rewards are high, but so are the risks. A lot of people may not understand because they see the money top players make. But it’s harsh and every move is a risk. I found it difficult when I was younger because you can’t easily be yourself in football. We have no freedom of identity. I’ve always been Marvin Sordell, the footballer. Your whole life is contained and dictated by football. It’s not healthy.”

Sordell seems mentally healthy today and, as he says, “I’m writing a presentation to take to the FA and PFA. It’s about mental health in football. Thirty years ago when someone had a physical injury they were often told to man up. Now they say: ‘If anything’s wrong with you, go to the physio. No risks.’ But with mental health it’s still a case of ‘Man up’ most of the time. Eventually, we’ll change that attitude.”

Does Sordell still struggle with depression? “There are moments that trigger it. But I understand how to manage it emotionally. I write about how I feel. Sometimes it’s just two lines or sometimes it’s a long rant. It helps. And I’m getting better talking about it. So I’m getting there. I’m also definitely enjoying football. I’ve played 200 games as a pro and I never thought I’d play one. So everything is positive.”

Sordell takes out his laptop and shows me the short film he and his friend, Maxwell Harris-Tharp have made about the haunting presence of Denis Prose. His voice, reading his poem, resounds as we watch the hooded figures of himself and a friend on the screen. Sordell looks at the park’s adjoining graveyard and smiles at the strangeness of our ending up here by chance. I ask to see the film again.

We watch the ghosts of his past retreat still further. Afterwards, I ask Sordell about his hopes for the future. “The biggest thing for me now would be to speak to someone about my book. I’d like to get to that point where, rather than just being ‘Marvin Sordell, Footballer’, you see ‘Marvin Sordell, Writer.’ That would be beyond any accolades. It would mean I’ve gained a real freedom of identity. I’m a footballer when I play football – but I’m also a writer. I’m a person with more than one identity. When you put them together you have the real me.”

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#football #sport #burton albion #marvin sordell #depression

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