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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years

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Wound By a Key

I was given the opportunity to collaborate with the marvelous, amazing, talented, fantastic @spielzeugkaiser for this story/piece and it was SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for drawing something so amazing, thank you for sharing it with me, and thank you for this fun collab!

Based on “The Music Box Song” from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang

---

The first thing Geralt noticed, as he led Roach down the main road of the little hamlet, was how oddly quiet everything was. There were a few people meandering in the marketplace speaking in low tones, but otherwise the midday streets were empty. It was unusual. Especially for springtime.

He heard the small pocket of villagers speaking as he passed them, their curious and nervous gazes following his every step.

“Do you think that’s the White Wolf?”

“Look at his hair! Who else could it be?”

“Do you think he’ll be able to break the spell?”

He reached the door of the town’s only inn and tied Roach’s reins to the hitching post outside. He gave her an affectionate nuzzle and a few quick pats before ducking through the low wooden door, the villagers’ pointed conversation pushed to the back of his mind for now.

He needed food and lodging, first.

“Afternoon,” the innkeep nodded. Geralt nodded back and took a seat at the bar. The rotund, middle-aged man turned to face him, not a glimmer of fear or apprehension tainted his welcoming expression. “What can I do for ya, traveler?”

“I’ll have a tankard of ale, please; and stew if you have it. I also need a room for the night and a stable for my horse.”

“Two full pieces of silver will get you all of that and a bath to boot,” the man offered. Geralt gave a small, grateful smile and pulled two silvers and a copper from his purse, setting them on the counter directly in front of the beaming innkeep.

“As a thank you for your unexpected but welcome kindness.”

“Appreciated, sir.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt was just bringing the first spoonful of venison stew towards his mouth when his gaze caught on something behind the bar. His eyes narrowed and he looked down at the food suspiciously. Perhaps the man had been a little too kind to a Witcher. Maybe the kindness in his eyes really was just a well-practiced act, after all.

“Where’d you get that lute?” Geralt asked. He’d almost asked - Where’d you get Jaskier’s lute? - but that would have revealed too much.

“Oh, right. I had nearly forgotten about the lute,” the man frowned and shook his head. The Witcher caught a whiff of relief and sadness drifting off the stranger and grew even more confused. “That’s a tragic tale, really. Not good for a traveler’s appetite.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a Witcher. I’ve seen and heard a few unpleasant things in my life.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” the innkeep chuckled. “But that’s just because I’m not a very observant person. If you’re a Witcher you might just be able to help the lad out. Would you care to hear the bard’s tale and see if it’s something your Witcher magic could fix?”

Geralt nodded and took a bite of stew, convinced that the man wasn’t actually trying to rob or kill him (or both). “Go ahead, then. Who is this bard and what horrible fate befell him?”

“A few weeks ago, just after the second thaw, children from the village started going missing at night. They’d come back at midday, their faces pale and their limbs heavy like lead weights. They would sleep for days before they could get out of bed again, and they were incredibly weak. When that bard wandered through on his way to find his friend, he heard of our blight and followed a child into the woods one evening, determined to solve the mystery and stop the madness.”

“Hmm.”

“Turns out it was the Fae -” Geralt’s head snapped up. “- And they were making the children dance all through the night for their entertainment. The faeries would make them dance until the poor little dears were totally exhausted and only had enough strength to wander back home. The bard offered to dance and play for them for two full days in exchange for the childrens’ freedom… and they agreed.”

“Fuck.”

“You sound invested in the lad’s wellbeing,” the innkeep raised an eyebrow. “I can take you to see him, if you’d like.”

“He’s here?”

“Sort of,” the man rubbed his hand up and down the back of his neck and the scent of anxiety spiked through the air. Geralt shook it off, determined to finish his meal before attending to his foolish friend and companion. “The Fae weren’t exactly happy about his interloping, you see. They accepted his terms and let him play for the full two days, and the children have been safe ever since, but they didn’t return him the way he left. Apparently the faeries decided that it would be more fun to curse him a little bit and watch the aftermath play out.”

“What is a little bit, exactly?”

Geralt had never heard of just a little bit of cursing. There were either dire consequences or death on the other end of curses and neither one were fitting ends for Jaskier’s colorful, too-short life.

“It would be best if you finished your food, Sir Witcher. If you’re as close to the bard as I think you are, it’ll spoil your dinner to see him like this.”

---

The alderman ushered his two impromptu visitors inside and closed the door quietly behind them. He gave Geralt a slow, calculating once over. “So I take it you’re a Witcher, eh?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ve come to break the fae’s curse on this bard?”

“Depends on the curse.”

“Apparently he knows the lad,” the innkeeper added helpfully. Geralt glowered and pulled his hood back away from his face.

“I haven’t actually seen him yet, but it’s very likely that this bard and I are acquaintances.”

“Right this way, then. I’ve kept him out of the children’s hands. I didn’t know if the singing and dancing routine would still make him tired or not and I wanted to be safe; for all the help he did to rescue them from those dastardly faeries, the villagers certainly seem to enjoy turning the key and making him perform.”

Geralt grew more and more worried with every word that passed through the alderman’s lips. Singing and dancing routine? Turning the key? Making him perform? What had the faeries done to his stupidly caring friend in return for his bravery? What kind of curse had they placed on the silly, fun-loving human?

The three men crossed through the manor’s sitting room and dining room and into a clean, empty storage room that ran against the very back of the building. Positioned in the center of the floor was an enormous, intricate music box. The figure standing up from the top was facing away from them, so Geralt took a moment to inspect the stand itself.

The square box was carved around the bottom edges with buttercup blossoms and had paintings across all four sides, depicting the childish, storybook version of Jaskier approaching the Fae in the woods, his two nights of dancing and singing, his transformation, and, as they came around to the front panel at last, his imprisonment. The doll on top of the stand was Jaskier; or it had been, once upon a time.

The bard looked only slightly different in his current accursed form, but it was enough to unnerve the usually stoic Witcher. The blue of Jaskier’s eyes was misty and glazed over. Glass, Geralt realized. He suppressed a horrified shudder at the thought. His eyes look like they’re made of glass. His skin was pale and when Geralt reached out to caress his arm (bent stiffly at the elbow much like a jointed doll’s would be) it felt waxy and too-smooth. Inhuman.

Jaskier’s body was bent slightly forward at the waist, both arms resting oddly at his sides with the elbows bent at ninety degrees. Two circles of rouge brightened his cheeks and his eyes had been lightly lined to make them seem wider and more doll-like. A wreath of colorful flowers had been pinned into his hair and the blue silk doublet Geralt had last seen the bard wearing was nowhere to be found.

The Fae had clearly taken their time with dressing and decorating him. His waist was cinched into a colorful corset-style vest that tied up the front with little blue silk bows and his legs were outfitted in tight-fitting, navy blue breeches that buckled just below the knee. His hose was off-white and complimented the shapely curve of his calves and ankles. He was wearing the buckled, heeled shoes of a nobleman and they shone with polish. There was nothing holding Jaskier up, which meant that the curse itself was keeping him upright and in place.

The Witcher turned to glare at the alderman, his emotions finally boiling over at the sight of his bard’s transformation. “Did the Fae tell anyone how to break the curse?”

“We think the answer is in the song.”

“The song?”

“When you wind the lad up he sings a little song. He’s standing on a music box, after all.”

“Hmm.”

The alderman approached the side of the box and wound the large key jutting out, twisting until he was red faced and the bronze-painted peg would turn no more. He released the key and stepped back to join Geralt and the innkeeper where they stood with their backs against the far wall.

A few soft, tinkling metallic notes played through the room before the doll came to life. Jaskier’s back straightened and his arms reached out towards his audience in jerky little movements. Every time one of his joints extended or shifted there was a loud wrenching sound as the inner workings of the music box manipulated his limbs in time to the melody.

Jaskier’s bright, lilting tenor flowed forth as he danced mechanically atop his pedestal. He turned in a slow circle, his arms reaching up and around as if seeking an embrace as he sang:

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That's wound by a key.

“How can you tell

I'm under a spell?

I'm waiting for love's first kiss!”

Geralt blushed as the doll-Jaskier reached directly out towards the space where the Witcher happened to be standing, almost as if he was reaching out for the true love he sought to break his spell. Geralt’s eyes met briefly with the wax figurine’s and he felt his heart skip a beat. Jaskier is so close and yet he still doesn’t see me. The Witcher gave a heavy sigh and shook his head as the bard continued his automatonlike performance.

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!

“Yearning, yearning

While I'm turning around and around…”

The tune faded away into nothing again and Jaskier fell silent. His torso drooped forward. His hair fell into his eyes and Geralt reached out to move it away without thinking, letting his fingers brush the bard’s painted cheek as he pulled back. “So do you know anyone who could possibly free him? He only has a few days left.”

“What?!” Geralt snapped. He spun to face the innkeep with a thunderous look on his face. “What do you mean!?”

“The curse has to be broken before the end of the month or he’ll be stuck like this forever.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you tell me that first?” the Witcher snarled. He gazed hopelessly at his friend and clenched his fists at his sides.

It was so much easier to kill monsters. It was so much easier to break curses when they were placed on princesses or nobles or foolish peasants who had meddled where they shouldn’t. But Jaskier had been doing a good deed without being prompted and he had done it all alone without Geralt there for backup or protection. The stupid bard had rescued an entire village’s children by offering himself to the fae and now… now…

Geralt sighed and shook his head. He needed to think. He needed to breathe.

“I’m going to contact some friends and see what we can do,” he finally said. “But first I need rest. May I return to my room at the inn?”

“Aye. Good luck, Witcher.”

“Hmm.”

---

Geralt tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

Two glassy blue eyes kept following his every move, searching for him in the dark.

He knew he had to rescue Jaskier, the only problem was finding someone who loved him enough to break the curse. The Witcher rolled onto his back and glared at the ceiling. Dawn was only a few hours away and he’d failed to get any sleep or meditate deeply enough to rest. He kept hearing those words, high and breathy, echoing through his head over and over:

“You cannot see...

How much I long to be free,

Turning around on this music box

That's wound by a key!”

The thought of anyone else kissing Jaskier sent a tight, angry buzzing sensation flickering beneath his skin. He bristled. He frowned. He… He was jealous. The moment Geralt tried to picture Essi Daven or Priscilla or that one foolish Count with ashy-blonde hair and broad shoulders he’d caught the bard with late one night even coming close to kissing Jaskier, the Witcher felt the urge to growl and bare his teeth. He wanted to curl around the music box and snarl at anyone who came too close for his liking. He wanted to wrap Jaskier in his arms and keep him there forever, where he could hear the bard’s heartbeat and feel his warmth.

An unnerving thought.

He’d always been a very possessive lover.

Fuck.

But what if he tried to kiss the bard and the spell didn’t break? Then he might lose Jaskier regardless of whether or not he woke up. If Jaskier’s curse dissipated at the hands of another and he knew that Geralt had kissed him, had acknowledged his love for the bard and faced it head on and failed, then the Witcher might break down forever. Without Jaskier, what reason was there to return to the inn or the campfire at night? Of course there was Roach, but once she died he didn’t have to seek out another…

He could just disappear like many of his Witcher brethren often did.

Geralt groaned and rose to his feet, slipping on his boots and cloak as quietly as possible. He crept through the sleepy town under the blanket of night and snapped the lock off the alderman’s back window. He gripped the lower sill and took a deep, steadying breath before heaving it open.

He had to try, at least.

He had to know.

The Witcher climbed silently into the storage room and walked in a slow circle around the music box. Jaskier was standing perfectly still, the painted smile on his face and the silk flowers in his hair looking as brilliant as ever, even in the darkness. Geralt stood in front of his cursed friend and sighed quietly.

“I wish you didn’t have to find out just how much I care about you like this, Jaskier. I wish I could have told you about my rather prominent and passionate feelings before any of this nonsense had happened. If I fail you now, if you don’t wake up because this love is one-sided, I’m sorry. I want you to know that I’m so incredibly sorry for not being able to love you enough to save your life.”

With his soul bared and his confession carefully whispered into wooden ears, Geralt reached up and placed his palm against the bard’s waxy cheek. He had to stand on tiptoe in order to reach Jaskier’s mouth with his own and the position made him feel strangely vulnerable. He tried not to think about it as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against the smooth, painted wooden mouth of the music box doll that had once been his most faithful friend.

He pulled away after a lingering moment of contact, shaking his white hair out of his eyes. A few terrifying seconds ticked past and nothing happened. The Witcher was about to cry out in frustration and disappear out the window again when he heard a shallow breath being drawn. His worried amber gaze snapped up and met, for the first time in far too long, a pair of bright blue irises that flashed with recognition and confusion.

Geralt held out his arms and caught the bard just as he went limp, his body exhausted from being held upright for so many days on end. He felt like a pile of crumpled laundry in the Witcher’s arms, all deadweight and no control over his limbs at all. “Are you alright, Jaskier?”

“Hnn.”

He was still waking up from the spell and likely had no memory of what had happened. Geralt bit back the pang of bitter disappointment that threatened to echo through his heart; he had no real claim over Jaskier and it wasn’t fair to make one now. Not if the bard didn’t remember his declaration.

“Let’s… Let’s get you back to the inn and get you taken care of, Jaskier. I can tell the others about the broken curse in the morning.”

“Do you mean it?” Jaskier rasped. His head lolled against Geralt’s shoulder and he glanced up with tired but frightened eyes, “Do you really love me?”

“Hmm. Yes.”

“Good,” the bard managed to shift closer despite his full-body exhaustion. “I love you, too.”

“No more running off and trying to save people by yourself.”

“Well you aren’t always around to help, Geralt, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’ll be around from now on,” the Witcher asserted. He pressed another quick kiss to the bard’s lips and watched as Jaskier blushed and stuttered in his firm bridal carry. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

---

“Geralt please stop humming that song.”

“I can’t help it! It’s so catchy, it just keeps getting stuck in my head. Will you sing it for me? Maybe that will help.”

“Fine,” the bard muttered, settling down next to the fire with his lute. “Just once.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt sank into his meditative kneel and closed his eyes. A smile played at the corner of his lips and Jaskier pretended not to see it.

“What do you see,

You people gazing at me?

You see a doll on a music box

That’s wound by a key.”

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wheres-ever-given-now · 3 years

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June 12, 2021 (again)

hey lads

uhh

that there...

that there is MOVEMENT!

by my rough eyeballing estimate using the little scale there, I'd say that's about a hundred miles or so of movement!

SHE'S UNDERWAY!!!!!

LADS THIS IS IT!!!! WE'VE WAITED FOR SO LONG

we waited for six days with baited breath when she was wedged in the narrow bit. we hoped. some of us that she'd never be freed, with that nagging sorrow that she inevitably would. some of us that she'd be freed as soon as possible, with that growing fear as each day passed that maybe she wouldn't. then, she was dislodged, refloated, free at last. we cheered. we mourned. we felt it was done, that we could move on.

but then... we couldn't. she wasn't free, she just was no longer stuck. now she was held. we all, no matter which side we had been on, were now rooting for her to be let go. we all wished for her to sail the open seas once more. we wrote posts, made memes, created entire blogs, all on the subject of her freedom. but nothing. we waited for 100 days. for 100 days she sat. for 100 days we hoped. some of us nearly gave up hope. some of us abandoned it altogether. not all of us though. some of us held strong to the hope that she couldn't remain there forever. she had a dutch port to arrive at.

and then we recieved news, after nearly 90 days, of a preliminary settlement. our flames rekindled. our hopes burned anew.

and then, for nearly two weeks, nothing more. some of us began to lose hope once more. but then, after 100 days of being not allowed to leave, she left. she was finally free. she left the canal for the first time in 106 days. it was a glorius day. we finally saw our hope fulfilled, our fears banished, and our lives brightened. and then she sat still for five more days, sitting, waiting, acclimating to the sea once more. and then, after 110 days of delay, she began her journey once more

she's finally on the move.

#ever given #she's finally free

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medicus-mortem · 3 years

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@ikkaku-of-heart answered [+]

He’d known the young pirate was coming, even before he’d made his way up the rocky path to the lighthouse. Partially due to Observation Haki, which despite his age was still as keen as it had been on the Grand Line. But also because Ikkaku had told him, breathless and excited and nervous. She’d practically babbled the whole story to him, how Captain Trafalgar Law had offered her a place on his crew. She’d be leaving Joras to become the engineer aboard a submarine. But more than that, she’d be a pirate.

A dangerous life for a young woman, but still better than being stuck on Joras.

So, sitting in a wooden chair on the porch, Neptune the dog dozing at his feet, Tomasu observed the young man who’d cheekily announced himself. Lanky, early twenties, looked like he hadn’t slept in a week or more. More casually dressed than the pirates back in his day. A sword nearly as long as he was tall. Glinting gold eyes shadowed by a spotted hat. Honestly, he didn’t look like much.

But looks weren’t everything. Ikkaku had told him about how the lad had cut off that shit stain’s head but hadn’t spilled a drop of blood. How the head had kept screaming and cursing.

A Devil Fruit user, and with a power Tomasu wasn’t familiar with. Plus, that arrogance wasn’t just the natural cockiness of youth; this was a man who knew he was strong. A leopard prowling through the jungle, secure in the knowledge that he was the apex predator.

Tomasu’s own lips mirrored Law’s behind his greying, bushy beard, sharp grey eyes glimmering in amusement and challenge. “Oh, aye, is that so? What makes ya think I’m just going to sit back and let ya? Ya wouldn’t be the first cocksure bastard who thinks he can just waltz up and take what’s not his.” The chair creaked as he got to his feet, pointedly cocking the shotgun he’d kept at his side. Neptune didn’t even stir; this strange man wasn’t a cultist. His master would have already fired his gun if he thought he was a real danger to them.

The dog’s instincts were proven right as, after a moment of staring Law down, Tomasu relaxed, flipping the gun’s safety back on. It likely would have been useless, anyway. Those with Devil Fruit were generally better dealt with using a Haki-enhanced blade or fist, and that was better done at close range. Besides, killing the lad now would break his granddaughter’s heart. He refused to steal her freedom right when it was finally within her grasp.

Gun lowered, he gave a casual shrug. “But Ikkaku’s already packing her things, and I won’t stand in my girl’s way. Not when you’re going to get her off this fuckin’ rock. So, ya’ might as well come in, have a drink, and tell me exactly how you’re going to keep her safe on your voyage. Then I’ll decide whether or not I should break your neck and feed your corpse to the sharks.”

Turning to go inside the cottage attached to the base of the lighthouse, he paused and grinned fiercely over his shoulder. “Oh, and watch your step; there’s a few bear traps hidden here and there. Keeps the riff-raff off my damn property.”

Law could have waited for Ikkaku on the Polar Tang. Her goodbyes are her own affair and for now this is just a job. If her grandfather was as dismissive and cold to her as everyone else on this island then perhaps he would have just let her grab her things and met back up on the submarine but the way she had spoken of him made Law realise that he actually cared. That maybe her getting whisked away all of a sudden wouldn’t sit right with his new recruit. Better to meet the man and let him see who he’s entrusting his granddaughter’s care to.

So far this sight is exactly as he imagined. Grizzled old sailor, manning an isolated lighthouse with his massive dog at his side, shot gun within arm’s reach. Couldn’t get more Joras than that, at least not from what Law has seen of this grim island. He will be very happy to see the last of this place. Time to get the near perpetual damp out of his clothes. The question is if he’d be leaving with his brand new engineer or not. The way Ikkaku’s grandfather rises from his creaking chair with an ominous click coming from his now cocked gun, you’d think the answer to that question would be a no.

But this is a test. An attempt to see just what he is made of and that amuses him. Law doesn’t budge from his spot on the rocky path. He leans on Kikoku, posture relaxed as golden eyes peer up at Tomasu, meeting that challenge with his own. A dare for the old man to act and see just what happens, but he doesn’t act. He wasn’t going to. The gun is lowered and the man shrugs. Law’s head tilts, an eyebrow arching at the old man’s next words.

Just what he wanted to hear.

The threat gets a chuckle as he straightens, Kikoku returning to its customary place on his shoulder. Gramps throws a warning in his direction and Law’s grin slips into one of mischief.

“No need to worry ‘bout me. I’m good at avoidin’ traps,” he says, summoning a Room that stretches from him to the inside of the cottage. A twist of his fingers has him vanishing from his spot to reappear right at Tomasu’s side, a small pebble being the item he switched places with.

“You’re probably expecting some bullshit promise ‘bout how while on my crew no harm will come to a single hair on Ikkaku’s head,” Law starts his tone becoming far more serious. He strides into the cottage behind the old sailor, moving over to the table and making himself comfortable once inside. “But I’m not gonna say that. She’s joining a pirate crew. Not gettin’ injured just isn’t realistic, especially not when accounting for my ambitions, but I can guarantee I will heal any injury or sickness she might get. I’m both captain and doctor of my crew. So she’ll be under my care in every sense of the word.”

#ikkaku of heart #Captain's Log // Threads #Captain of Hearts // Canon Verse #Gramps has Words

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muse-oleum · 4 years

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The Flower Shop, part 3

Kingsman - Harry Hart x Fem!OC

Part 1; Part 2; Part 3;

Hey folks! Here’s the third installment of my series. I hope you enjoy it! We’re getting into it, finally. Also, I’ve just added another prompt list that you can find here, go give me some inspiration!

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: none

The camelias shivered in the evening wind. By their place on the windowsill, they overlooked the entire room, with its large bed, desk and the man sitting there.

Harry’s books and notebooks had all been lost when his house was bombed to the ground, so he’d had to start again. Over the course of the past few weeks, he had purchased several anthologies and was still looking for new publications on the subject of entomology.

He missed his old notebooks, relying entirely on the scribbled pages of the battered pad he’d used during his time away.

Harry rarely referred to his time as an amnesiac entomologist as anything else except his “time away.” He was still grappling with the strange sensation of having recovered his life but he wasn’t so sure now, after so many months wishing for freedom to go find his butterflies, which life he wanted to lead.

Kingsman had been his home for decades, ever since he’d left the army to become a secret agent. But before that? He’d been so invested in becoming an entomologist that it almost surrounded him in a shroud of wing dust for the rest of his career. His home was full of them; his head was full of them; and his heart was full of them.

None of his friends had ever understood his passion for the small insects. To be honest, Harry himself did not understand it fully.

His father had been very fond of gardening, and his mother never allowed him to squash any insects he found in his room. Even if it was the biggest spider in the world - at least to the eyes of a little boy - she would just pick it up in a tissue and let it free outside. He had always supposed his interest came from them. But now, looking back on how he had cleaved to his ephemeral friends, he wondered if the root for his interest did not run deeper.

Perhaps he was fascinated by their transience? The manner in which their sense of purpose carried them to their death? He envied that. The whole of the animal kingdom, except humans, seemed to have a purpose. Harry had lost his and didn’t know how to regain it.

Sighing, he turned off the nightstand lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Before falling asleep, he remembered his promise to Rebecca to come fix her garden shed. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. At least, he had that to look forward to tomorrow.

Monday ----, 9 a.m

The chime of the doorbell accompanied Harry’s entrance into the flower shop. At the end of a cold February month, the sight of so many blooms was a welcome start to his day.

“You’re an early riser!”

Rebecca stood at her cluttered counter, snipping twigs off small branches. Harry watched, strangely fascinated, as she arranged them in an elegant bouquet. She seemed to know just where to place them.

“It’s for a wedding,” she said, matter of factly. “Apparently, the bride is fond of forest weddings and decided to go for a woodland theme.”

“A forest wedding in February? Good luck to them.”

Her singsong laugh echoed through the shop.

“Yes, the groom seemed rather resigned, poor chap. Let me just finish with this one and then we can go look at the shed.”

Harry followed, calling after her, “I didn’t bring any tools, I hope you’ve got something I can work with?”

Rebecca popped her head out of the shed. “Come and have a look for yourself. It’s in quite a state, but it still stands. My dad was strangely proud of that.”

Harry fit his broad-shouldered frame inside the small shed as best he could without towering above her. Rebecca caught his eye as he attempted to squeeze himself in, chuckling slightly.

The shed was small, built out of wood that had begun rotting many years ago. Daylight filtered through cracks along the walls and dust shimmered in the air. In the corner, a box of tools, its bright red colour contrasting strangely with its surroundings, was waiting patiently for its next use. Rebecca had arranged a large pile of fresh wood and wooden panels next to it, probably to restore the cracked walls.

“It’s dismal, I know, but the roof is still in a really good state so i’d hate it to collapse entirely.”

Harry gently pushed against the walls. The wood cracked and moaned but it held. The problem was the rot, which had weakened the overall structure.

“I’m afraid if you want it to stand for any number of years, we have to tear it down completely first. The wood is rotting. Best to rebuild entirely.”

Rebecca nodded, biting her lips nervously.

“I don’t want to ask you to do that, I thought it just needed a few repairs. But tearing it down and rebuilding it is a job for my brother; he loves to demolish things to rebuild them.”

A small part of Harry’s heart - which he refused to acknowledge - rebelled at the idea.

“Nonsense, I said I’d help and I will. We will just need a lot more wood than that.”

Wednesday, some weeks later ----, 6 pm

Dropping by Rebecca’s shop had become part of Harry’s routine. Nearly everyday after work, he’d go in, buy a few flowers and go. Every weekend, he’d drop by and work on the shed. He was grateful for the distraction it provided and, slowly, began to acknowledge that Rebecca had wormed her way into his heart.

Harry Hart had never dared to think too much about love. The Kingsman code was explicit: no attachments, no weaknesses. Eggsy and, on occasion, Merlin, had expressed how incredibly stupid and bigoted the Gentleman Guide was but the former Arthur had been uncompromising.

Kingsman was slowly adapting and changing, especially after Poppy’s missile catastrophe. A new Arthur had yet to be found but under the capable supervision of the older agents, amongst which Harry and Merlin, the newer recruits were coming into their own. Kingsman was still not operating at full capacity, what with the HQ and the London shop in ruins, but it was getting there.

Exhausted, Harry shook out his umbrella outside the shop before coming in, tucking it neatly in a corner. It had been a long day: recruits to assess, Merlin to check on (he was adjusting to his wheelchair but threw a few dignified Scottish tantrums along the way) and paperwork to work through.

The smell of freshly cut flowers greeted him and, immediately, he felt better. March had brought an early spring and the blooms were peeking shyly from under their green little sprouts.

Harry heard a commotion in the back room and, nerves on alert, made his way slowly towards the garden. Carefully popping his head in, he saw Rebecca, on the ground, looking under the sofa and murmuring soft words of encouragement. Eventually, a small kitten emerged, sniffing her fingers curiously. He meowed a few times, noticing Harry by the door, and meowed even louder, asking for food.

“I believe this little lad is hungry.”

Rebecca gasped, nearly bumping her head on the sofa.

“Harry! You scared the living daylights out of me!”

He held his hands up, taking one step in, chuckling slightly.

“My apologies. You looked terribly busy.”

The shabby little cat, meanwhile, completely disinterested in the antics of those two humans, had made his way towards the kitchen, no doubt drawn to the smell of soup hanging in the air. One or two loud meows later, a large bowl full of ham and leftover meat had been placed for him by the table and he happily forgot all about everything else.

“I found him in the street this afternoon. It was cold and he was shivering and crying, so I brought him in. He wasn’t a fan of being carried somewhere new and he hid under that couch for a solid hour before you came in.”

“Well, he’s one lucky cat.”

Rebecca laughed softly and shook her head, her long curls bouncing around her forehead. Harry resisted the urge to tuck one behind her ear. Tying an apron around her waist, she made her way towards the stove to check on the soup.

Harry observed her, sleeves rolled up to reveal creamy skin, feet tapping lightly to no rhythm in particular, curls pinned up by a clip, out of the way. He felt his heart give a little tug and, unable to stop himself, took a few steps towards her.

She didn’t seem to notice, absorbed in diagnosing what exactly was missing from the soup. The warm smell of tomatoes made Harry’s mouth water. He could tell what was missing from that distance.

“Have you added basil?”

She looked up at him, noticing his closeness, and a pretty blush spread over her cheeks. She tasted one more spoonful before smiling broadly, dashing out of the door and back again. She came back with a shriek, shaking the droplets out of her hair. Harry couldn’t contain his smile.

Suddenly, as she was taking off her boots, a sparkling flash of blue caught Harry’s eye. Looking more closely, he froze. There were two blue butterflies, Adonis blues, flying around her head. One settled into the mass of pinned curls, the other kept looking for a perch.

Harry’s heart soared. how he had missed his butterflies! Their gentle movements mesmerized him and, unconsciously, he took a step forward. He didn’t notice the curious look Rebecca shot him when he reached up to touch one of the butterflies. She didn’t stop him, didn’t move, as if she knew something was happening that she couldn’t see.

Harry felt the flutter of the butterfly’s wings on his fingers and smiled. Rebecca had never seen him smile like that before. He had never smiled happily, always offered small, sad, smiles. She wondered what it was that made him so happy tonight.

The moment ended when their eyes met, Harry blushing furiously and taking a step back; Rebecca reaching up to touch her hair, her blush deeper than before.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“I’ve never seen you smile like that.”

Her tone was curious, not displeased. Harry couldn’t help but answer honestly:

“There were butterflies around your head. Blue ones. I’ve always loved blue butterflies.”

Rebecca frowned slightly. Butterflies? In this season? Surely that was impossible, and she would have seen them. Harry lowered his eyes to the ground, realizing how utterly mad that must have sounded. He was ready to take his leave when she said:

“I love blue butterflies too.”

Taglist: @justawriterinprogress; @tonystrksslut; @emilyyblackkk; the-sea-belt; @flybi91

Comment below if you want to be added to my HH taglist!

#harry hart #kingsman #harry hart x oc #harry hart x reader #harry hart x fem!oc #the flower shop #part 3 #original work #kingsman: the secret service #Kingsman: the golden circle #fanfiction #kingsman fanfiction #original character #original female character

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mistdrinkersblade · 3 years

Text

Culmination

It’s time.

The heavy winds of Zadnor’s plains whipped his hair back harshly. Sand and dirt and ash beat against his clothes, but it didn’t bother him for a moment. Syla was ready. Nothing and no one could deny him this moment.

In the past few weeks, Syla had spent what time he had to spare amongst the members of Bozja’s resistance. Though at first it seemed like a far fetched dream, their movement had gone from a torch in the night to a roaring blaze. Fighters and supporters from nations all around rose up to aid their cause: stopping the Garlean Empire’s defected IVth Legion. Everything, every single moment, had led up to this. To this fruition.

The heavy leather armor he sported, a gift from “Bajsaljen Ulgasch, was designed to mimic the look of Bozjan aesthetics. And though it wasn’t his homeland, Syla proudly wore them. The large gunblade clipped to his back was another, but this one carried far more significance. It was a symbol of freedom and liberation to be driven directly into the IV Legion’s heart.

Syla stopped approach, turning his head for just a brief moment to see his allies. A small menagerie of fighters, of all creeds and races, had banded together behind him. As their goal loomed in the distance: the Dalriada. The IV Legion’s gargantuan airship, now permanently grounded thanks in part to the resistance’s clever plot. The hulking behemoth smoking from their attack as its crew could be seen scrambling like ants. Clearly preparing for a fight. And one was certainly on the horizon. Just as he was about to give the order to march, Syla’s ears picked up something. Footsteps. Armored ones. And all stepping in rhythmic unison.

He knew what was coming. It was him. He was here.

Without a second thought, Syla quickly drew his gunblade as several of his fighters prepared their weapons as well. The wind storm had kicked up so much dust it was obscuring their view of the path ahead. Only the sound of boots marching in unison growing louder face any indication. So in turn, he decided to make the first move.

“GABRANTH!”

His voice carried as hard as he could make it, throat straining from the volume of his shout. He wanted to be heard. He had to be heard. To shout above the raging wind for all to hear and to convince himself he was ready. It all came down to this moment. “COME OUT, YOU COWARD! FIGHT ME!”

It was now. This was the culmination of four summers. Four summers since that night.

“So. You’re the one causing all of this noise. And for what?”

The man’s voice almost rattled from inside of his helmet as he stared the pair of viera down. The halls of Castrum Valnaini were empty, save for the three men in the armory. Syla Mistdrinker, one of the Dalmascan resistance fighters who had made a name for himself recently. Vali, one of his companions, a tall and slender black mage with flowing silvery hair.

And Legatus of the IVth Legion, Noah van Gabranth.

Having been fed up with Lente's Tears’s indirect tactics as of late, Syla and a few of the more impatient members had concocted a scheme of sorts. Rather than starve the beast from their homeland, they preferred to cut the head off. An assassination of the sitting ruler, Grabanth. Even though it had been in violence of direct orders from their superior, they took matters into their own hands. Fran might have been furious when they returned, but that might be cushioned if they presented the Legatus’ helmet.

But things were different now. Face to face with the man who held the entire country by iron grip, and the two men of twenty summers could do naught but almost quake in their boots. His sleek, intimidating armor deterred them for only a moment before Syla spoke up. “Noah van Gabranth, we are here. To make you pay. For everything you’ve done to Dalmasca, you must answer with your life!”

And with that, the young viera charged at Gabranth, wildly swinging his axe at him in an almost supernatural frenzy. But it was short lived, as Gabranth’s quick swordplay quickly and easily deflected the oncoming axe to the floor. A few chunks of stone leaping into the air as Syla’s axe smashed into them, only to be swung back around. His companion, Vali, gripping his staff tight to unleash a rain of fire on the armored man, but almost seemed to have no impact. It was going to be a long, long night.

“Come now, is that truly the best you have to offer? I had thought you wanted to kill me.”

Gabranth stood poised and elegant, pointing one of his twin swords at the pair of viera. Mere moments of combat with someone so skilled had felt like entire eons.. “I will admit, boys. You show promise, you show skill. And most importantly, you show potential.” The echo of his voice from inside of his helmet drove Syla mad, but he could do nothing but guard himself as he panted. He had exhausted almost all of his strength trying to kill him, again and again. But he had only done so much as dent the Legatus’ armor.

Blood dripping from his face as he cupped it, one of Gabranth’s sword strikes had cut deep into his left cheek. “B...bastard…” Syla huffed, trying to take one more swing, which was deflected yet again. “But no discipline! You charge in alone, with little allies to cause distraction. And for what? To kill me? You should know better. You should know your limits. And you now will pay the price for such steep arrogance.”

The clanking of armor echoing as the Legatus moved in closer, weapons poised for one final strike down. That was, until, a brilliant flash of light filled the room. Vali, having fished out a small, makeshift bomb he had concocted earlier, smashed it on the ground. A loud, high pitched boom and a flash of light filled the room as the black mage grabbed Syla by his arm. “Move. Now!” He nearly screamed at him as he scrambled to his feet.

Half leaning on his friend, Syla grunted as he hoisted to his feet. He could only turn his head to see Gabranth growing smaller in the distance, attempting to recover from the blinding bomb. The redheaded viera could do nothing but try to keep up and shudder. He was bloodied. He was worn. He was fighting back tears and anger and unbridled rage. The Mistdrinker had failed.

“Now, that’s not a very nice thing to say, lad. Say, where’s your manners?”

Syla’s memories shattered in an instant. He had gotten distracted, but no more. The viera’s head shot up once he heard that voice. No. No, no no. It couldn’t be.

As the opposing group finally marched out of the storm, the viera’s eyes settled on the front figure. His leather gloves gripped to the handle of his weapon so tight they both sounded like they threatened to break. Syla gritted his teeth to the point for a moment he feared he might break one. His anger and fear swelled up for a moment and then sank along with his heart all in an instant.

Standing where the IVth Legion’s Legatus should have been standing was the older hyur man. Lyon rem Helsos.

“Expecting someone else? Sorry to piss in your tea, lad.” Lyon spoke up, the Pilus prior cocking his head to one side and then the other. His hand on his hip as if he were having casual conversation. And with two dozen imperial soldiers standing behind him, weapons at the ready. Syla took an instinctive step forward, which caused a number of Lyon’s soldiers to almost spring into action. And they might have, were it not for the Beast King’s hand jutting outward as if to say “Stay where you are. Or else.”

“Where is he? Where’s Grabanth, Helsos?” Syla barked at the older man, he couldn’t hide the anger in his face. His demand causing a laugh from Lyon as he casually picked at his teeth for a moment. Was he taking any of this seriously?!

The hyur picked his head back up with a smug look as he gestured back towards Syla standing opposite. “You see, our dear Noah is a very busy man. So busy in fact, that he couldn’t even make it. Had to oversee something back allll the way in Dalmasca.”

“LIAR!” Syla wailed, almost lurching forward for a moment as he interrupted Lyon’s speech. The fire burning in his eyes only focused on the older man instead. His outburst only earned a sneer from the Beast King, who in turn laughed heartily. “Oh, full of rage today, are we? Don’t worry, lil’ rabbit. I’ll still play with you!” With a hefty grunt, Lyon swung his axe over his shoulder and loudly cracked his neck as he jerked his head side to side. “After all, I do still owe you for Lacus Litore. And what you did to my precious beasts.” He stared at Lyon in long, angered silence for what felt like days. Gabranth...isn’t here? He’s not here? No, that’s. That’s impossible. He’s lying. He’s lying…

“E-Even if he’s not….” Syla grunted, stammering on his words at first as he tried to compose himself. He couldn’t show weakness, not to anyone. “We have a goal to accomplish today. You can either surrender yourself to us. Or…” He grunted, pointing his gunblade towards the hyur in front of him. “I can beat you to bloody consciousness and drag your senile old body back to put your arse on trial! And that’s if I don’t feel like cutting an old man down where he stands right now!”

The hatred and acid in Syla’s words fell on Lyon’s ears, making the old man grin wicked. This was what he was waiting for. Not some skirmish against a few untrained men. But a worthy, challenging opponent. This was what the Beast King craved. Waving his axe in return, Lyon clicked his tongue and shifted his stance. No more playing around, from either of them. Without a moment’s passing, Syla sprung forth off of one heel, launching himself like a bullet towards the hyur.

Lyon, in return, mimicked his movements and the two clashed. Metal against metal, gunblade against axe, as their weapons met and the two men poured their strength into the struggle. The groups behind each of them took that as a signal and began their attack, a skirmish breaking out around the Beast King and the Mistdrinker.

The assault on the Dalriada was about to begin. Bozja’s fate hung by a single thread. And a new chapter in history would soon have its bloody start.

#Syla Mistdrinker #Syla Drabbles #(i'm emo after Zadnor okay)#(this whole scenario has been on my mind literally since day 1 of Bozja and i'm FERAL)#(also I just wanted to write out some of Syla's feelings and anger)#(I will now proceed to die of embarrassment in my hole!#(also excuse any typos i'll probably re-re-edit it i get into a writing frenzy sometimes)

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teruthecreator · 3 years

Text

okay everyone shut up leave me alone Jack Frost (1979) maplekeene au under the readmore i have to get it out of my head or else i won’t be able to sleep

argo is jack frost bc blue skin and desire to be seen/appreciated by others. they call him “jack frost” bc of the original bearer of the title--jackal--who they nicknamed jack frost

jackal retired from the position of going down to the human world and making sure winter happens, and then argo picks up the position

father winter is hieronymous bc it’s a bigass dude with a beard like. c’mon. EITHER THAT or its mother winter so it could be shebrie. i haven’t thought deeply about this part

snip is hieronmyous and holly is firbolg. they both know far too well about argo’s obsession w the human world and its inhabitants

elisa is fitzroy but his motivations and personality are completely different (since elisa suffers from Female Rankin/Bass Love Interest Disease).

he isn’t outwardly “in love” with winter and jack frost more than he just enjoys the season because of the freedom it allows. it is also the season his mother enjoyed the most (in past tense bc in this one...she dies! for good reason i’ll explain). he does kinda “talk” to jack frost a lot, since he hasn’t got many friends and he quite enjoys walking around the woods alone. this is how argo comes to know and become slightly enamored with his mortal lad (i say mortal bc i’m still working w the fantasy races--aka a good excuse for argo to keep his blue skin)

kubla kraus is the commodore. big asshole man with a beard. controls everything by being a lying, cheating, evil bastard. has no friends. yeah that’s him alright

sir ravenal rightfellow is buckminster!! and his importance to the plot is Completely Different from the movie. i will explain now:

okay so PLOT is that argo is jack frost, the winter spirit who comes to nua (aka january junction) to make sure winter runs smoothly. he is fairly new at this job (the original jack frost being jackal, who has now retired in the land of the winter where all the winter spirits live. he’s sorta argo’s mentor in jack frosting and warns argo not to get too attached to the mortals, but argo’s heart is simply too kind for that to not happen.

argo develops a very deep love for mortals and their mortal ways, but is saddened by the fact that he cannot participate in their fun. winter and winter again, he returns to this poor village and gives them the means of living and joy, but he can’t even reveal himself to them!!! because he’s a winter spirit and mortals cannot see winter spirits. so it leaves argo feeling sorta dejected, even as he continues to watch the mortals he’s grown so fond of

fitzroy, on the other hand, is a native to this village. imma just call it January Junction bc i like that name a lot. he grew up here with his mother and father (though his father very quickly excused himself from the picture because i hate stable fathers <3). fitzroy and his mother are as poor as anyone else in the village--which is to say Very Very Poor since kubla commodore owns all the money and supplies in january junction. then, when fitzroy is about 13 or so, his mother suddenly falls ill and dies. before she passes away, she tells fitzroy that there’s documents in the kingdom about a week’s travel (by horse) away that he’ll “need when he’s older”.

for a very long time, fitzroy doesn’t know what that means

in any case, he ends up being taken in by gordie and his husband to grow up with rainer, his childhood friend. though he eventually becomes acquainted with other kids around january junction that he hadn’t really socialized with before (buckminster and leon, rolandus, zana, rhodes), he finds himself more inclined to solitude.

especially during the winter, the season when his mother passed away

despite the sadness of it all, fitzroy doesn’t find himself so glum when he’s out amongst the woods. winter is just so...beautiful. almost ethereal. he’s known about the myth of “Jack Frost” for years, so he begins just...talking to him. well, “talking”, since jack frost isn’t Real.

once argo becomes jack frost (right around when the two are like. idk 18), though, he becomes the recipient of these rants.

that’s when argo’s infatuation with mortals becomes a very deep desire. not bc he’s like In Love w fitzroy or anything (not yet), but because he feels like he really has a friend in fitzroy!!! someone is out there who actually cares about him!!! and talks to him about things!!! even if argo has no way of responding

so one year (aka the year the movie takes place) argo is especially despondent about this, when kubla commodore nearly kills fitzroy in his ignorance

if you’ve never seen the movie, kubla kraus rides a mechanical horse onto a frozen lake and nearly kills elisa by making the ice crack and send her careening towards a waterfall. assume that happens here

argo saves fitzroy by freezing over the waterfall and fitzroy exclaims “oh, jack frost, where would i be without you?” sorta just like an exclamation. but argo takes this to heart. where Would fitzroy be without him?? he’s been around this guy for so many years!!! hearing him vent about not being able to afford knight school, losing his own dream while buckminster and rolandus run off to live it for him. offering him advice (that fitzroy cannot hear) when fitzroy expresses how much he Hates doing manual labor for no pay. even being a (frozen) “shoulder” to cry on when the grief becomes too much!

and where would Argo be without fitzroy??? the man has practically become the sole reason argo gets excited for winter anymore, and he worries about the half-elf the whole year after.

so argo makes a decision that day, heads back up to the winter realm in the clouds, and begs father winter to let him become mortal

father winter is, of course, Not willing to let argo do that because he knows how mortals can be. argo argues that it isn’t fair that he has to spend the rest of his eternity watching these mortals live, get older, fall in love, and appreciate his work--all while he just watches silently, unloved, in the background

father winter is moved by this and grants argo mortality for One Winter under this condition: if argo cannot find One literal reason to remain mortal, then he shall return to his spirit form.

(this is a slight divergence to the original condition of “you must obtain a house, a horse, a bag of gold, and a wife” bc i’m modernizing it slightly okay it’s not just abt marriage now)

argo is confused by the wording, so father winter goes on to give him examples: finding a job that is meaningful, finding a person who loves him, etc. and then argo is off

before he leaves, he says goodbye to higglemas (also known as “snip” since he makes the snowflakes) and the firbolg. snips gives him his lucky pair of scissors that have the word “snip” etched into the side of them. yes this will be important

argo goes back down to earth, becomes a mortal, and crash lands in the woods where fitzroy is

fitzroy is slightly baffled to see just a random stranger in the middle of the woods, but the dude seems lost and Very confused so fitzroy offers to warm him up and help him out back in january junction. fitzroy lives in a sorta commune situation with leon, rainer and zana (they’re engaged), rhodes, and rolandus and buckminster (whenever they come home). the group welcomes argo in warmly and argo finds himself feeling right at home with this crowd of early-to-mid-twenty-year-olds

argo almost introduces himself as jack frost--as he is known by myth--but catches himself before he can reveal that. he calls himself “argo snip” (bc of the scissors and the fact that his name is actually argo), a tailor in need of business. rainer--a seamstress herself--is more than happy to have someone else in the town to work on fabrics with, and the shop that rainer runs in the house expands to allow argo’s tailoring business

while this is happening, father winter tells higgs and firbolg that they have to go down there and make sure argo doesn’t die. so now they’re human and they end up finding argo at the house. higglemas introduces himself as higglemas wiggenstaff, and the firbolg just doesn’t say anything and lets argo come up with the name “bud holly”. they are now Also tailors, which is good bc argo cannot sew.

for the few months of winter, argo enjoys life in january junction quite a bit. though things are kinda bleak, since kubla commodore owns all the gold, the town keeps itself in high spirits during the winter. argo and fitzroy Especially end up bonding during this time, and fitzroy’s solitary walks through the woods soon find themselves one additional member.

this is about the time where argo realizes “ah fuck, i think i’m in love with this fool”, which is when he realizes the One Meaningful Thing he’s meant to live on the mortal world for: fitzroy

fitzroy, meanwhile, also finds strange feelings developing for the eccentric genasi. but he’s a lot more emotionally constipated, so he won’t say much about it yet.

it’s a few days before christmas and argo and fitzroy are talking alone--the house empty for some reason (a rarity but a blessing). fitzroy is embroidering something that argo’s recently sewn as they talk, and he accidentally pricks himself with the needle. argo immediately reaches out and cradles his hand, which is when fitzroy notices for the very first time just how Cold argo is. argo laughs it off and claims that it’s bc he’s “cold-blooded” but fitzroy just sorta laughs and goes “i never said i minded...”

for some reason, this causes argo to look up at fitzroy, and the two realize how close they’ve gotten since argo grabbed fitzroy’s hand. the two are flushed, nervous, but argo dares to move forward to finally capture those lips in a--

BANG! the door flies open as a shorter man, clad in gold armor, stands in the doorway. fitzroy jumps up--first startled, then elated--as he realizes Sir Buckminster Eden has finally returned home!!!

argo reads this reaction the Entirely Wrong Way and is instantly jealous of buckminster. poor, poor idiot doesn’t realize buckminster and rolandus have been doing circles around each other since they were teenagers...

then it’s christmas!!! everyone’s too poor for gifts so they hand out invisible ones (like the movie), but buckminster has an Actual gift for fitzroy (which argo, again, takes the completely Wrong Way). the gift is a sealed parcel from the royal parliament, instructing that fitzroy Cannot open it until he is 24 years of age. fitzroy’s birthday just so happens to be the day after christmas, and somebody is Very Aware of this fact...

...that person? oh, it’s kubla commodore, of course! who kidnaps fitzroy later on that day when his guard is down. kubla commodore throws fitzroy in a dungeon and keeps the parcel amongst his many piles of gold, determined to keep its contents away from the one intended to see them

argo finds out about the kidnapping and the whole group is sprung into action to save fitzroy. but, since argo has none of his winter magic, he isn’t really able to be the help he wants to be. buckminster--having knight training--is able to scale the mountain quicker than argo, fight off the k-nights, and break fitzroy out of the dungeon.

argo doesn’t know this because he attempts to scale the mountain from the other side with higgs and firbolg, where he is captured by the remaining k-nights. now They’re locked in the dungeon as kubla commodore vows to send a thousand k-nights down to january junction to “wipe out the insubordinates”

argo has no way of breaking out of the dungeon because he has no magic. so, in a moment of desperation, he calls back to father winter to turn him back into a winter spirit. he returns to his jack frost form--which is incorporeal--and begins to freeze over kubla commodore’s castle (try saying that five times fast)

with argo back as a spirit, higgs and firby aren’t needed as mortals, so they return to the land of winter to do their winter work

meanwhile, in january junction, fitzroy is Freaking Out that they can’t find argo in this freak blizzard. he tries venturing out into the tundra himself, but buckminster and the gang holds him back, telling the half-elf that they’ll look for argo when the storm clears

oops, the storm doesn’t clear! because argo keeps up the insane blizzard for the duration of winter (though he focuses a majority of the intense weather on the castle to seal kubla commodore inside). eventually, though, father winter notifies argo that spring is soon approaching. argo is like “why” and father winter explains: “okay so basically a tiny useless groundhog comes out of his hole every year and if he sees his shadow then winter dies immediately”

who’s the groundhog? why, it’s Gotta-Go Gary!! who argo scares the living shit out of to make 6 more weeks of winter happen

after the extended 6 weeks are up, father winter tells argo that winter will end at noon on that final day. argo is like “if winter ends, then kubla commodore is going to Kill Everyone” and he bargains with father winter to be mortal once more (since he Still has till the end of winter to find his One Meaningful Thing) to set things right.

he goes back down, defeats kubla commodore (too much to explain, shenanigans is how i can describe it best), and realizes he has everything he could possibly ever Need now to offer fitzroy in exchange for his hand in marriage

you see, argo learned during his time as a mortal that marriages have dowries? and now he suddenly has a castle, a horse, and all the town’s gold in his possession so that seems dowry enough. also he thinks marriage is the only option to prove to father winter that Love is a meaningful thing enough to be mortal for

however, when he finally gets to january junction, he sees...a wedding?? who’s getting married?? and then he sees buckminster in his suit of armor, looking rather pleased with himself, and argo immediately assumes that buck and fitz are getting hitched

he storms over there and rants at buck about how He’s the one in love with fitzroy and how much He sacrificed to ensure fitzroy’s safety and happiness. and buckminster is like “woah, woah, woah, friend!!! one, uhhhh where the Fuck have you been??? two, rainer and zana are getting married dawg. fitzroy is right over there, helping rainer with her dress”

just as argo spots fitzroy, fitzroy spots argo. and Boy does fitzroy look Pissed. he storms over to argo, ready to chew him out, when suddenly the church clock begins to sound and argo looks panicked. he grabs fitzroy by the shoulders and is like: “i don’t have time to explain much but i have a house a horse and so much gold to offer you if you agree to marry me right now”

fitzroy is like “???? hello??? what??? first off, where the HELL have you been. two, marriage??? m-moving a little fast there huh--” and argo is like. freaking out bc he knows by the final sound of the bell he will be a spirit forever and so he just very quickly explains how He’s jack frost and he trapped kubla commodore in ice for the whole winter so he wouldn’t come down here and kill him and everyone else and if he doesn’t prove to father winter that his love for fitzroy is enough to want to remain mortal then fitzroy will never see him again. and fitzroy is like. flustered honestly but also rlly panicked bc like. he’s 24!!! he doesn’t wanna get married bro!!!!

basically he’s like “argo i--i Do love you, but. marriage? it doesn’t have to be that Now like--we have time!!” and argo is just like. split-second decision says “kiss me” and fitzroy doesn’t even hesitate in doing so because Dang he’s been thinking about that for A While

and as the final gong sounds and argo’s form begins to shift, argo breathes a final winter’s breath into fitzroy.

then something...changes. argo realizes, as the bell begins to fade, that he hasn’t phased through fitzroy’s body. and as fitzroy feels this cold air pass through him, he suddenly finds himself...unable to feel the chilly hands cupping his face. when they part, argo realizes what has happened.

fitzroy doesn’t look Too much different, but he’s definitely changed. his skin glows only barely, his eyes have a ring of winter-blue around the iris, and there’s a streak of snow-white in his hair. his outfit has also become a glittery, royal-looking affair--COMPLETELY different than the formal peasant clothes he was in seconds before

meanwhile, argo has returned to his jack frost attire and look, but he can still be seen!!! by everyone around him!!! and by fitzroy!!!

turns out, father winter saw that argo would be unhappy as either human (with friends and his love, but none of his friends or the satisfaction of giving people winter joy) or spirit (with his job and spirit friends, but without his mortal friends and love) and basically turned him into a demigod. demispirit? half-and-half. and, in order to guarantee fitzroy would be able to travel between the places, he Also made fitzroy into a partial winter spirit.

all of their friends are like “oh shit did you two kiss??? also why do you both look so fruity” and then the wedding happens. they hold the reception in kubla commodore’s castle, where fitzroy is finally able to read the parcel!!!!

what does the parcel say?? well, turns out fitzroy’s mother was a descendant of a line of royals. and, though she was not signficant enough to rule an entire kingdom, her father had granted her ownership of the village she chose to raise her son in. the kubla was only supposed to be a temporary position, until fitzroy’s mother was settled down enough. but kubla commodore liked his wealth too much!! so he poisoned fitzroy’s mother and made sure to keep fitzroy Extra poor so he’d never have the ability to find the proof of inheritance himself. when buckminster became a knight, he swore to fitzroy that he’d find these documents fitzroy’s mother mentioned on her deathbed.

okay so ending shit. fitzroy gives ownership of the village back to the people. wealth is dispersed, things are fixed, everyone is happy. buckminster and rolandus get together, rainer and zana take over the castle and turn it into a BIG ol spot where those without a home can have lodging, and everyone is happy. fitzroy is Finally able to travel and see the things he’s never gotten to see, while also achieving some of the “bringing people happiness and safety” thing that came w his desire of being a knight by helping argo spread winter throughout the world. the two of them sorta go back-and-forth between their cozy little cottage in january junction, going across the globe to maintain the cold, and going up to the winter realm to see higglemas and firby and father winter.

they’re in love, everyone is happy, rankin/bass Bite My Ass

just kidding i love you and your silly little movies

#taz graduation #maplekeene #ignorance cloud on #I WASNT GONNA TAG IT W THAT BUT THEN THE POST GOT TOO LONG SO. IDK.#IM DISEASED. BITCHES HELP.#its almost 4 am thank God i dont have zooms tomorrow #also im not editing this so if its not coherent just...idk. jsut take it

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

The Night Oliver Branch Died

CW: Drowning, threats with a gun, discussed/referenced noncon of a minor, discussed pet whump/dehumanization, oliver branch is gross but hey he dies in this one so, related note: character death

Tagging Chris’s crew just because I feel like you’ll all appreciate this: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump

READERS: Tell me if you guessed it before reading this!

TIMELINE: Takes place in the future of Chris’s timeline, when he has been free for years and has enrolled in college.

The night Oliver Branch died was absolutely ordinary.

He spent some time going over the notes for the trial, sitting in his nicely appointed but perfectly modest three-bedroom home, scanning his handwritten planned remarks for the press while he ate a light dinner of soup and salad. The cook left for the night, and Oliver was the only one in the house.

Well, or so he thought.

It used to bother him, but honestly he didn’t mind the solitude any longer. Years spent with a full staff, worries he had to constantly consider at all hours of the day and night, natural disasters and economic downturns and everything else. It was nice just to take a deep breath, smell the candle burning in the center of the table, a soft sweet magnolia smell that reminded him of his childhood home.

After the trial, perhaps he would move back home. He’d lived in this state for twenty-four years, was its governor for eight of them, but he felt… a bit tired of it all. He wanted to go back to a place where people moved more slowly, wandered the streets after church in pale linen suits in the summer with the ocean air a constant truth of everyday life.

They would know, of course, about his disgrace. But they would be polite about it, keep it to themselves. He had the sense that while the scandal would follow him, it would be easier to ignore in a place where people keep their secrets safely behind closed, locked doors.

Oliver had done the same, once upon a time, only to have the secret simply walk away when someone else opened the door.

He sighed, sitting back, looking at his half-finished soup with a wistful sort of sadness.

Honestly, he couldn’t complain. He was just grateful to be out of prison, living in his own house with his own cook and the cleaning woman who comes by twice per week. Almost back to normal. Once this trial was over, of course, he’d sell the house and move back home, and it would all be just fine.

He took a deep breath and picked up his notes, handwritten in a series of different ink colors to differentiate which part of the speech he was in. It helped him to memorize if he thought of the colors. The only one he didn’t like, but used, anyway, was a deep teal ink in the paragraph where he admitted to what he did to his beautiful boy.

His beautiful boy, who had ruined himself with freedom, just as Oliver had always known he would. Some people were meant to be kept, they could not be trusted to keep themselves. His Baldur had been one of those, he had known the moment he’d been shown the intake photo, of the pretty boy curled up in a corner of a plain white room, hands up over his face in some attempt to protect himself.

We believe this will suit your specifications, the email from Ms. Renfod had stated in flat, clean prose that could never have encompassed the perfect leap in Oliver’s heart at the sight, the excitement that ran through him from scalp to toes at the fear and tears in big green eyes. We have recently acquired this individual as a result of a deal involving a family member. No inconvenient missing persons report, Mr. Branch. Perfect confidentiality, no complications. We believe he will require three and one-half months of training, plus two weeks extra for final preparations. I have attached a price list for added fees.

God, what a sight, the pretty thing before they’d taken him from himself, before he’d been delivered smiling and silent and still in the dead of night to Oliver’s door.

Honestly, what a loss that he was roaming around like some wild animal now.

Some people needed a keeper, and every time he had seen his beautiful boy since his liberation it had only emphasized to Oliver how badly Baldur needed the right sort of keeper. This new one, the tall young man with his threats and curses, clearly wasn’t doing a very good job.

Well. That was fine. Not his problem any longer, and soon enough Oliver would stand up at a podium before the press, looking at all their little recorders, and he would tell everyone exactly who Christopher Stanton was and what he had been. Oliver’s disgrace would be total, but if he played this right, Baldur would never go anywhere again without no longer being able to hide behind his earrings and awful hair and the patch of scarred skin where his barcode once had been.

Baldur might have gotten away from him, all those years ago, but Oliver intended to ensure he could not get away from what he had been made to do, to be. One did not stop being a pet, once they were made into a thing to be used for pleasure, there was nothing else for them to be.

Baldur might have delusions otherwise, but Oliver could ruin those, for him, just like his boy had ruined himself.

Kicked out of his fancy little college for his fake identity, maybe even charged with it. All his new little friends would know who he was. It was the last bit of pettiness Oliver intended to allow himself to indulge in before he returned back to his hometown and let Baldur’s fragile new life come down around his ears.

Oliver smiled, trailing fingertips over the teal ink, the exact shade of Baldur’s hideous dye job. He still had a PI on retainer, taking pictures of his pretty boy out living his life. Oliver liked to keep tabs on his old flames, just to ensure they were keeping quiet, keeping to themselves, living nice respectable lives.

Lately, with his reduced income, he’d had to cut that down to tracking Baldur alone.

Christopher Stanton. Oliver snorted. Awful name. Hardly did any justice to the perfect line of his cheekbones, the still-gentle curve of his jaw, the nicely full lips that would no doubt still part just so with a press of the right fingertips-

“Daydreamin’, are we?” A strange male voice asked, and Oliver looked up to stare down the barrel of a gun.

His heart stopped, eyes caught by that circle of infinite black surrounded by unfeeling metal, and then he raised his eyes to see a man he had never seen before. He wasn’t very tall, draped in heavy clothing that disguised his body type, though he seemed a bit on the muscular side. Perfectly average face, difficult to describe to any law enforcement, blondish-red hair cut in a flattop, narrowed eyes, smattering of freckles. Too far to see the eye color.

Robbers, really? Tonight, of all nights?

Oliver put both palms carefully down on the table as his heart began to pound. “Can I help you?”

His voice was admirably steady, and he was more than a bit proud of himself for that. He did not visibly tremble or shake, but he was deeply, deeply aware of that gun. He could see the safety was off, the man’s finger resting lightly around the trigger.

“You can,” The man said, with a hint of amusement in the blocky lines of his face. It came out more like ye can, an accent Oliver couldn’t quite place. Irish, maybe? “Hearing some rumors, about someone planning to testify next week. I was hoping’ you’d be able to disabuse me of such a disturbin’ notion.”

Oliver blinked, caught off-guard by the man’s friendly, personable tone even as the gun never faltered but it’s position held pointed directly at him. “If you work for WRU-”

“Oh, I don’t. No, as heartbreaking as it is, lad, Rossi’s group got the WRU rejects pipeline all sewn up, don’t he? Clever fuck. And I am a good many things, but I’m not a man stupid enough to cross Giovanni Rossi. You don’t put that man in a bad mood and walk out alive, do you?” Once again, the word slipped into ye, and Oliver was sure now that the accent was Irish. Faded, with the local accent flattening the vowels and roughing up the consonants, but the Irish was there nonetheless.

It occurred to him that it didn’t really matter if he identified his accent, because he almost certainly wasn’t going to walk out of this alive if the man was so easily dropping names.

“I wouldn’t know. If you’re not with WRU, I don’t see why there’s-... there needs to be a problem,” Oliver said, without moving, barely even letting his lips form the wounds. His heart still pounded in his chest. His dreams of moving back home by the coast, to Charleston’s beauty and grandeur and age, were rapidly feeling like scraps of tissue paper dissolving in water.

“You’re not just testifyin’ about the company, now, are you?” The man sighed, pulling a chair out on the other end of the table, sitting down without lowering the gun, keeping it trained on Oliver, just shifting it slightly to aim directly into his chest.

Oliver had taken a few courses in self-defense, back in the day. Aim for the center mass, the easiest thing to hit. People in movies can nail an arm or a leg with accuracy but in real life it’s rarely so easy. Aim for something lethal.

“The trial is about the company,” Oliver said, voice shaking, his own genteel accent thickening the more the fear settled in.

“It is, at that,” The man said, nodding. “But it’s not only about that, either, is it?” He snapped the fingers on his other hand, and Oliver jumped nearly a foot in the air as he realized there were two other men standing behind him he hadn’t even noticed. They appeared on either side of him, one of them picking up the papers on the table and moving them over to the man, who gave a soft, polite thanks and looked them over.

Suddenly, Oliver’s different ink colors for different aspects of his speech seemed… superfluous. He was never going to give that speech.

“What else is it about?” Oliver asked, breathy. He was going to die, and he’d always hoped for one more chance to visit his parents’ graves. Spit on them once or twice, leave flowers, and go. He’d always hoped…

Something occurred to him.

“Is this about my Baldur?”

The man’s face twisted in an expression of utter, absolute disgust.

“Is that it? Did his new keeper send you to-”

“No. Oh no, fucknuts, no.” The man laughed, looking over the papers, flipping through them idly with one hand as his associate stepped back, one of them lurking on either side of Oliver, hands pressing steadily into his shoulders to keep him right where he was. “No, no. I’ve nothin’ to do with that young lib boy. Know of ‘im, though. We keep an eye out, on our own. It’s been a long, long time, but… I owe a debt.”

“A… A debt?” Oliver’s voice caught in his throat.

“Indeed.” The man set the papers down, and for a moment, Oliver could have sworn there were tears in his eyes, emotions that played openly across the man’s utterly nondescript face. Grief, anger, sadness all warred there.

The hands on his shoulders tightened.

“Long time ago now, but I don’t forget, do I? Ah, look, here ‘tis.” The man tapped his finger in the teal paragraph so carefully written on the third page of the speech. “Here’s our lad. Tristan.”

“Tristan-... are you talking about Baldur?”

The man snarled, and Oliver flinched back against the back of his chair, waiting for the burst of sound and the bullet and his own death. Nothing came, and after a moment he opened his eyes. The man had settled his expression, but it was with effort - the anger was still clearly visible. “I’m not talkin’ about your bullshite pet name in the slightest, you sack of shit. No, I’m talkin’ about my friend’s boy Tristan.”

Oliver swallowed, and offered, “I believe… I believe he goes by Christopher now. I could give you his address-”

“We know where he lives, gobshite.”

“Then why are you here-”

“I told you, my debt. You’re an awful thick, aren’t you? We’re not the type to abduct a wean, although that never gave your like a pause, did it?” The man tapped his gun on the table, the first time it had truly lowered since Oliver had first realized he was here. Oliver let out a breath of relief.

“What is your debt, exactly?” His voice was still airy, but he tried to sound calm, in control. Never moved his hands. “I still have some funds the courts are not aware of, perhaps we could work out a deal-.. I have a safe upstairs-”

“Not that kind of debt. I had to stand by when my mucker and his wife got his face shot in by our own boss, no less, but I’m the boss, now. Took a while, took too long. I’ve had to wait and wait and wait, but me and my lads here, we’ve all owed Paul Higgs a debt since, Lord, has it been nearly a decade now? And I intend to pay it tonight.”

The man smiled, briefly, at Oliver.

“Couldn’t stop Paul’s boy from the sufferin’ already inflicted, but I can ensure you don’t say a word about him ever again, can’t I? Ah, no, we can’t have that. He’s got a good life now. Nice boy, all grown up. Hair’s a bit bollocked but who are we to judge, hm? He’s got himself a nice life goin’ and I intend to ensure he does his da proud, just like he would’ve if he weren’t forced to fuck you, you depraved bit of dogshit on my shoe. Fucking a child. A boy. What’ve you got to say for yourself?”

Oliver didn’t even bother to open his mouth. He understood that any attempt at self-defense wasn’t needed or even wanted. He understood that probably there was absolutely nothing he needed to say, ever again. He closed his eyes, lips moving in some dim form of prayer.

“Ah. A man of God, then?” Oliver looked to see the man pull a rosary from underneath his shirt. “That’s a fuckin’ laugh, considering what you’ve done. But, hey, He’s forgiven worse, I imagine. Tristan might even forgive you, too, he was always too good a boy for it all. Too bad for you that I don’t forgive shite.”

“If you’re going to shoot me,” Oliver said, barely able to get his voice above a whisper, “then do it.”

“We’re not going to shoot you, idjit.” The man rolled his eyes, giving his companions an exasperated can you believe this? look. One of the men, the one on Oliver’s right, laughed. “They’d trace it, we’d have to deal with the law, and honestly I am just not in the mood to pay any cops off this week. I’ve already paid Rossi off to keep him from gettin’ pissed at me, although he’s a man who understands the value of family, I think he’d have let us anyway. Still, never hurts to grease a palm, does it? What we’re going to do, Mr. Branch, is drown you. Your bathtub’s chock full of river water.”

“What?” Oliver swallowed, jerking forward as if to push himself up, but the hands on his shoulders pushed him back down. “H-how-... why-”

“When we dump you in the Trelawney,” The man said, calm and easy, “your lungs’ll already be chock full of its water. Nothing unusual about that, hm? Just another child molester dumped in that chemical swamp where he belongs. My mucker’s boy-... I couldn’t help him. I’ve owed Paul for that, we all have. This is my organization, now, and I will ensure Paul’s boy’s name never leaves your lips again.” The man snapped his fingers and Oliver shouted as he was dragged to his feet by the other two, kicking out, knocking his chair over with a clatter.

Just beyond the window were a hundred other houses, lights on in some, families laughing in front of their televisions. Utterly unknowing as their neighbor was dragged upstairs to his own master bathroom, to a custom-made clawfoot tub absolutely full of disgusting, muddy river water dredged up and brought here and Oliver had never even known they were in the house.

They held his head over the water as he screamed for help.

The leader leaned back against the sink, lit a cigarette, took a long drag and let the smoke float over his face. His eyes were green, Oliver realized with a kind of hysterical panicked giggle. His eyes were green.

Like Baldur’s.

“W-wait-, wait-... one question, just one, one question-”

The leader held up his hand. They kept Oliver’s head a few inches above the brackish water in the tub.

“Paul Higgs-... Baldur’s-... the boy’s father.” Oliver could barely breathe, barely get out the words. He was going to die, why was this question so important? Still, he couldn’t stop himself from asking it. “The boy’s-... just a friend?”

The leader snorted, flicked his cigarette onto the bedroom carpet through the bathroom door. A trail of thin smoke began to rise. “Paul was my best friend, yes,” He said flatly. “His da and mine were cousins. The looks run in the family, don’t they?”

“Why… why now? Why not before? When he was-... why only now?”

The man’s lip pulled to the side in a sneer. “Had to wait ‘til the company couldn’t protect you, didn’t I? You’re not a client now, Mr. Branch. Just a bit of blood on Karen Renford’s shoes. Loose thread. You’re not the only one keeps tabs on runaways, you know.”

“What?” Oliver’s eyes widened, the muddy water giving him a strange, distorted, half-transparent view of his own reflection. “What, what are y-you-”

“Ah, it’s not worth explaining this shite to him, is it?” The man rolled his eyes. “Renford knew where he was. She knows where all the runners are. She’s not going to let you fuck the company just to get your fifteen minutes, gobshite. I hate that insufferable bitch and she’s the one who made Paul’s boy into a pet, but I know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth even if the one given’ it should probably be shot herself.”

“Wh-why-”

“Shut your feckin’ hole. We may not have the pleasure of a regular contract, but I was happy to accept this little job free of charge. Everyone gets what they want, don’t they? Paul’s boy gets his nice little life for keeping, Renford gets the blood out, and I get to make up to Paul what I couldn’t do back then. Ah, Tristan was a sweet boy. Bit of a wild thing, but…” The man sighed mournfully. “Well. We all lose people, in this business, Mr. Branch. I’m sorry to’ve lost him but I’d never think to take him from what he’s got. I’m no monster.”

Laughter bubbled in Oliver’s throat, and he barely held it back. No monster, but you’ll kill me, will you?

“Tonight, everyone gets what they want.”

“I wanted Charleston,” Oliver said, staring into the brownish silt-soaked water, thinking of the blue of the ocean, the waves battering the shore, white-capped on rougher days, the salt-smell of the sea. His mother’s hands holding him, sitting on his father’s shoulders, before it had all changed. “I, I wanted Charleston.”

The words were more plaintive than he intended them to be.

“Sad for you,” The leader said without sympathy. “The heart bleeds. Perhaps you should’ve kept your wee dick in your pants and not touched our friend’s boy, then, hm? Bit late for that, though. Hope the Good Lord’s feelin’ His mercy today, pervy fuck, ‘cause you’ll see none from us.”

He snapped his calloused fingers, and Oliver’s head went under the water. He’d jerked in a final breath just before, and as he held it - lungs burning, time running out - Oliver had only a single remaining defiance. His last thought, before he had to pull water into his lungs, before the thrashing and the choking and the final blackness that pulled him under, wasn’t of Baldur at all.

He was found in the Trelawney River, the water in his lungs a perfect match for the water around him. His bathtub had been recently cleaned, but that wasn’t suspicious, as his cleaner had been there only the day before and Oliver rarely took baths. His dinner table was clean of any sign of his final meal.

There were no papers on the table, or anywhere in the house, detailing his intended speech to the press. Those papers were burned and the ashes spread on the graves of Paul and Veronica Higgs, along with a fresh spray of daisies, Ronnie’s favorite flower.

Oliver Branch’s testimony could no longer be given, due to his untimely death.

The suggestion that he had killed himself because of the shame of his own actions made the rounds in the press, followed by certainty in certain spaces that he had been murdered to protect WRU on Karen’s orders.

Perhaps a handler had done it, the rumors went, sent by the strange emotionless Karen Renford, who sat on the stand and spoke with perfect diction and a total lack of feeling on the particulars of her job, and who had never once set off a lie detector in her life. Perhaps a pet liberation member had finally snapped - there had been an incident years ago with someone who had beaten Oliver nearly to unconsciousness, maybe that person had hunted him down again.

Maybe Karen had killed him herself.

The rumors went in circles, but no one ever guessed the truth.

Oliver’s final defiance was known only to him, and went with him to the grave he was eventually buried in. His final thought was simply of the crash of a white-capped wave against the shore.

Oliver Branch died thinking not of his crimes, but with the ocean behind his eyes.

#death of a villain #original fiction #drowning tw #gun tw #threats with gun tw #chris the strawberry blond romantic #oliver branch is gross #but also very dead now #so that's nice #whump #character death tw #creepy whumper #villain death #did anyone guess 'paul's mob friends'?#karen renford #wru #box boy #box boy universe #box boy multiverse

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onwesterlywinds · 3 years

Text

Where Flood Waters Ran

Part of my Godhands series, set roughly in the year 1544 of the Sixth Astral Era - thirty-three years before Hydaelyn’s present-day, and thirteen years before Ala Mhigo’s fall.

GODHANDS IS NOW ON AO3! If you like it, send over some kudos!

Despite all their digging, Ashley and Marco might well have been the last people in the Undercity to learn in full what had happened to Elza. The Blackram Knights had taken her deep into the Iron Maiden for more than a week, mere days after she'd offered her hideout to two teenage boys in need of shelter. The screams had been horrific, or so they'd heard, and the smell of gore and shit had overtaken the Undercity's lower reaches by the end of it. To finish with her, the Knights had welded an old Skallic diving helmet over her head, leaving her with a few slits in the metal through which she might eat or drink or breathe, and only then had they released her from their captivity.

For a dubious mercy, Elza was not yet dead, and yet much of the Undercity seemed to have written her off as such. She had attended no meetings with her fellow sigil-bearers; none of the young ones had taken errands from her. No one spoke to her wellbeing, let alone her whereabouts. She was a living ghost, a memory most had already seen fit to discard.

"We have to go find her," Ashley whispered.

They could speak with some freedom from their present surroundings. It was Flood Day, and a throng of nearly two score shouting children had gathered in one of the great storerooms up a ways from the ancient canals, both to avoid the black water when it surged over its banks and to have a proper vantage for when it did. The littlest ones had settled into some massive game of tag with rules Ashley didn't pretend to understand, except that in such tight quarters, it seemed to mimic the ebb and flow of the river not so very far below them.

Ashley stared out across the room, to where K'tobha and some of the other boys were tearing apart shipping crates apparently for the hells of it. "She helped us at our worst. It isn't fair for her to take the fall for us."

Marco's face was fixed in an uneven scowl; he made no attempt to keep his face pleasant for the children, as he so often did. "If she's keeping her head down, there's nothing we can do for her," he said. "She knew what she was doing when she helped us, and she's got her reasons for staying away now."

"Why can't we go to her?" Marco turned to him as if to tell him off, but he pushed on. "I know she's not stupid enough to still be in her hideout, but she can't be that hard to find, with that thing over her head-"

Ashley cut himself off as a familiar shape sidled up alongside Marco, his face cloaked in shadow until the moment he clapped a hand on Marco's shoulder.

"It's pointless," Hawthorne said by way of introduction. "Overheard Palolo, the little shite, telling a few Blackram Knights all about that 'careful' conversation you had with her ma about Elza's meetup with the Maiden." Then, with one of his signature grins, he added, "You fucking loudmouths."

Marco swung an elbow toward Hawthorne's general direction, albeit without much enthusiasm; the boy dodged the swipe easily and reappeared at Ashley's side. "Anyway, Elza's off to wherever she's off to, and the Knights know you're looking for her now. They were staking out her place when I passed by just now; think they're hoping to find her first to get the jump on you."

Ashley let out a growl of frustration so loud that a few of the nearest children turned to him, momentarily distracted from their play. "How can they just let him do this?!" he fumed. "Any of them!"

"Listen." The voice was low, and he nearly mistook it for Marco's - but it was Hawthorne, deadly serious for perhaps the first time in Ashley's memory. "Marco's got it right. Elza knew what she was getting herself into. You think she'd lose her man, and her boy, and still think Blackram couldn't touch her?"

"No."

"Fuck no," Hawthorne confirmed. "Best thing you can do to repay her now is keep the hells away. She isn't dead - and with a bit of luck and a whole lot of minding your own business, she could stay that way."

With a hearty blow to Ashley's back in farewell, Hawthorne left the chamber, dodging a charging throng of sprats as he did so. For a time, he and Marco stood in witness to the chaos, both of them with their arms crossed tight over their chests. It would not do to leave so soon after an argument - especially not when anyone sparing them a whit of attention might guess what they had fought about - but far more practically, neither of them had anywhere better to be.

"I felt the same way when Sigrid died," Marco said to him at last. "Was so mad I couldn't even grieve her. The other sigil-bearers all knew the bastard had an eye on her, and they did fuck-all to keep him away from her. ...Even Elza."

Ashley mentally thanked him for not saying Blackram's name aloud, as Hawthorne had. "Were the two of you close?" he said, softly. "You and Sigrid."

Marco shook his head in vehement denial. "We didn't ever really talk. But she did a lot for me, 'specially when I was a lad: letting me stay in her territory up by the palace a few times, and always giving me coin for my tips, even when we both knew they were worthless. Probably kept me alive more than once."

"Hells, that's something," said Ashley.

His remaining thoughts scattered as a child careening away from the others tripped into his side; he immediately reached for his pockets to ensure their integrity and, for a blessing, found them uncompromised. Together, he and Marco revisited their familiar silence.

The patterned batiks of a Fist-in-training reemerged through the crowd to lean beside Ashley once more, and Ashley's only indication that this was Gelva and not Hawthorne was the prodigious depth of her scowl from under the hood.

"Since my brother won't shut up-"

Marco gave a little snort of laughter. Gelva's frown deepened, but she did not turn to face him. Whatever reason she had for joining them, it wasn't to start a fight.

"I have no idea where I'd start looking for a deposed lord with no options, who's got the Undercity's worst dogging her steps, and who's already had every last secret beaten out of her. By her own account."

His heart leaped, despite himself. Despite everything. "You're saying-"

"Not a single fucking word out of you, or I'm gone. If I'm saying anything, it's that Dad's been keeping a new shipment in one of our warehouses. I told him it was useless and more trouble than it's worth, and he called me an idiot for it. So there's that."

Ashley could only stare at Gelva's face as he rushed to piece together the implications of her words. "Thank-"

"That's a word," she snapped. She left as quickly as her brother had, albeit in much more of a huff and with less resistance from the crowd around them.

His ears were ringing long after her departure. When he stared over at Marco, he saw some trace of hope on his features as well. Still, Ashley could not concentrate through the noise and cheer around him, and his mind and heart were unable to settle.

"I'm gonna go," he said to Marco at last. "Need some sun."

"'S probably past midnight by now," his friend reminded him.

"Some fresh air, then."

He pushed off the wall and stretched as he waited for an opening in the children's game to make an inconspicuous departure. Before that chance arrived, a cry tore through the tunnel outside the storeroom. Every head turned, almost in unison, to note its origin, and a man in leathers threw himself through the doorway, drenched all over and sporting a deep gash to his bare forearm.

"Marco!" he yelled, then- "Marco's friend! Crusader, in the canal!"

The storeroom settled into an odd calm. As Marco ran for the door, with Ashley following close in his wake, the children seamlessly cleared a path for him.

"Barricade the doors!" Marco shouted over his shoulder. "Big ones up front, little ones in back - you know how it goes!"

The man who'd shouted the warning nodded and staggered in, back toward the ruined crates to lend himself to the defense, while Marco and Ashley slipped past him to meet the danger head-on.

The floodwater was already lapping over the canal's banks, stretching wide across the white stone of the landing station a few ilms deep. On the opposite side of the rush of dark water lay two bodies with a heavy net floating near them; between him and Marco and the current, a towering suit of ancient armor turned.

It was wrought entirely of metal and somehow no less hideous for it. It had no head, let alone any semblance of flesh to speak of - and yet the longer Ashley stared at it, the more clearly he could envision a ghastly face twisted in agony, and a frame racked by the spasm and twitch of rogue muscles, driven by whatever fell magicks compelled the armor to attack.

"AIM FOR ITS CORE!" Marco called - and at those words, Ashley's eyes fell upon a glowing, pulsing crystal, smaller than his own clenched fist, hovering at the center of its two massive pauldrons.

"How the fuck are we supposed to reach-"

The crusader raised a greatsword covered in glowing runes and charged, the ringing of its steps dulled by the floodwater lapping out across the stone hall. Marco feinted to its right and submerged himself in the shadows; the armor's torso pivoted, tracking him with nonexistent eyes.

Ashley ran at it from the side. The core lay in position well above the height of his head: he could perhaps reach it if he extended his arm in full, though doing so would expose nearly the full length of his body to the crusader's blade. Almost as an afterthought, Ashley drew his knife from his waistband and stabbed into the closest available gap between plates of armor, somewhere near where the crusader's thigh would have been. A dark swirl of aether, thick and shimmering like oil, gushed from thin air and a hellish roar burst forth to resonate against the walls, and then the crusader raised its arm-

"ASHLEY!"

A gauntlet collided with his ribs and sent him flying, stunning him even before he landed hard against the wet stone. The whole side of his face seared with pain, his nose and mouth stifled with blood and saltwater. Somewhere from up above came the slosh and clang of the crusader's steps, getting closer and closer - then an otherworldly hum.

A deep purple magick enveloped his arm and subsumed his knife. Ashley braced for some new agony to reach him, only for the magick to fade almost at once - and when it did, his knife's blade dissolved into the water beneath him in a shower of rust.

The crusader took another step closer, and another, and all the while Ashley staggered to his feet in a vain effort to ignore the screaming pain along his side. He had no weapon and could not retreat back to the storeroom without the crusader following him, without it reaching the children.

From dead ahead, Marco loosed a loud cry and leaped onto the crusader's back. He fought the armor's movement with all its strength, straining to hold just one of its arms, and yet the other arm reared back as if preparing to gore him.

At once the pain retreated to a place within Ashley's control. He lunged forward and grabbed the crusader's sword arm in both his own, standing fast even as the flood water surged against his legs and the monster howled in outrage.

He could barely see Marco, covered in sweat, leaning over the crusader's headless shoulders; he watched his friend stab once, then twice, and miss both times. Then the crusader shuddered with some desperate strength, and it was all Ashley could do to continue pulling at the arm with the greatsword, diverting its swing away from Marco at all cost.

He did not see Marco land the finishing blow. He only knew the crusader was defeated when it lost its strength, when its sudden lack of resistance sending him lurching forward. One by one the plates of ancient armor splashed into the water at his feet - and when he turned around to ensure Marco's safety, his friend stood with his chest heaving, holding up his knife, upon which was skewered the crusader's dark and lifeless core.

***

As Ashley returned up to the canal storeroom to try to find something for his face, a handful of Undercity leaders had already arrived to take stock of the crusader's defeat: a Duskwight matriarch, a merchant clad in blue who swept several of the children into his embrace, and the respective keepers of the Laurel and Kalmia Sigils. When the storeroom became too crowded for comfort and the only healing to be found was a grimy rag from a nonetheless well-intentioned little girl, the pair of lords followed Marco and Ashley back down to the canal, where the water had already risen up past their ankles. As Marco helped him splash water onto his scraped cheek, the lords worked in tandem: the Laurel Sigil leader, a conjurer with a halo of dark hair, chanted over the empty armor and scattered consecrated salt in wide but calculated circles; the Kalmia Sigil's keeper, a tall and imposing warrior with a crossbow strapped to their broad shoulders, traced out the crusader's battle in the gouges its sabatons had left upon the stones of the landing.

The warrior glared over at the other side of the canal, to where the bodies of the crusader's two victims lay entwined in their own net. "Idiots," the warrior whispered, then: "That cave-in up by Aster's has closed off the other bank, and there's no chance of crossing the water until the flood subsides. We'll have to let the river take the corpses and pray for the best."

"Mmm," the conjurer responded. "I don't like the chances of them coming back."

"We're talking ghosts at worst, Dagmar. Things don't come out of the river. The only reason that armor did was because those scavengers decided to test their luck on Flood Day." They shrugged. "I'll take it with me, if it makes you feel better."

Dagmar frowned but nodded. The warrior procured a length of rope and set themself to binding the crusader's empty armor into a single tight bundle.

"Wait," said Marco. The warrior did not stop their movements. "Dagmar, Neele. We have to talk."

"Shhh," Neele, the warrior, shook their head. Neither they nor Dagmar looked at him or at Marco; they were pointedly staring up toward the ceiling, or at some intricate tilework along the canal wall. They might have resembled Heart-Seers for their lack of eye contact, were it not for the fact that they were not listening - not to the water, not to the stones, and not to anything the two boys in front of them were saying. "You lads did good work today. That's forty-five children you've saved."

Ashley managed to take a single step forward without his hip giving in to the pain. "What are you-"

"You've every right to hate us," Neele continued, looking down the tunnel where the rush of water disappeared, "for how things have transpired. I'm sorry we weren't there for Elza, and I'm sorry we can't be there for you."

Marco let out a strangled sound that might have been the beginning of a growl of frustration; instead, he spoke only one word. "Why?"

The conjurer, Dagmar, spoke up for the first time. "It's quite the omen," she said. "I, too, have forty-five souls in my care. At least for now. Forty-five souls to cull the Undercity's legions of undead, and that's with the Knights picking us off at a whim. If I cross their master, we'll doubtless pay an even greater price."

"The last time I opposed Blackram at the Quorum," Neele chimed in, "one of my border-fighters went missing the first day. Then two. Then four. We're strapped as it is, but I'd be a liar if I gave you any reason for keeping my hands clean of you save that they're my people, and I'll do whatever I must to keep them alive."

"And this way," Dagmar added, blinking pointedly up at the ceiling, "we never saw you."

Marco shook his head. "Listen," he said, and his voice wavered with a desperation Ashley had never heard from him before. "Ashley won't bring you any trouble."

"Marco," Ashley interjected.

"I don't care if you leave me be, but just give him a chance, and-"

"You're not that daft, lad," said Neele. "Trouble's all he'll bring - Blackram's already seen to that. And the longer you stick with him, it won't matter how many young ones you save: you'll only bring trouble, too."

With that, Neele hoisted the bundle of armor over their shoulder, and they and Dagmar left the canal as one. Marco paced the landing for another minute, until the flood reached up to their knees.

"I can just-" Ashley began.

"Nah," Marco said, albeit without his regular levity. "We'll find somewhere to collapse. Good thing we don't need their permission to watch each other's backs, right?"

#Godhands #Ashley Rosenheim #Marco

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dopescotlandwarrior · 4 years

Text

Beauty Chooses II-Chapter 7

All my thanks to @statell for your unending help

Previous chapters on AO3 Ch-1 Ch-2 Ch-3 Ch-4 Ch-5 Ch-6

Chapter Seven- Culloden Moor

I thought Murtagh had gone to bed, but here he was again kneeling in front of me. I saw a fear in his eyes I had never seen before. He took my hand and my tears poured down my face not wanting to hear what he came to tell me. No! He will be home any minute, I screamed in my head.

“Lass, it’s time to discuss a probable explanation for Jamie’s absence. Ye need to be strong like never before, ye ken?”

I saw him through watery eyes and shook my head side to side. In my head, I was screaming at him to shut his mouth, but I knew I could not stop this insanity, whatever it was.

“It’s likely Jamie has been press-ganged into service for Prince Charles. They will secure his service with threats against you and Faith. He will be convinced he must serve and lead men into battle or ye and Faith will be killed.”

I couldn’t breathe suddenly, and my hands flew to my back reaching for my corset laces. I was panicked and feeling the dizziness of oxygen depletion. Murtagh pulled my jacket off and quickly pulled my laces enough for a deep breath. I held my skirts to my face and sobbed like I would die from this broken heart. When I could steady myself, I looked up at Murtagh.

”If Jamie fights on Culloden Moore he will be killed, and we will be next.”

“I believe Jamie will find a way to escape and we have to be ready to disappear with him. We can hide out until a ship will have us. Don’t lose faith in Jamie lass, he will find his way back, and alive.”

Murtagh went to bed and I stayed in the parlor all night, waiting for Jamie to return, waiting for my heart to start again, waiting for an inkling of hope all was not lost. I did not see my bedroom for three days because I was waiting for Jamie. I didn’t eat or speak to anyone other than Faith. On the third day, my lack of sleep drove my sanity away. I saw Jamie out the windows, working or feeding horses. I jumped up and down, so happy to see him safe. Running outside I would not be able to find him, and my despair would return. During dinner the third night, I saw Jamie walk down the hall and screamed with joy running after him. When he couldn’t be found I crumpled into the wall and fell to the floor. I remember nothing after that except Faith nursing at my breast and then darkness.

I woke up terribly stiff during the night and was shocked to see Murtagh in the corner chair, elbows on knees, staring at the ground. He looked so sad.

“Murtagh?”

“Thank Christ, yer awake lass. I need to ask ye, please find yer strength. Yer family needs ye desperately now, please don’t go back into yer long sleep.”

“How long have I slept?”

“two days Claire.”

“Dear God, what’s happened in those two days? Murtagh, I’m so sorry I left you holding down the house. Are the animals okay? Misses Crook and Glavia?”

He nodded yes to all my questions and filled me in on the news of several skirmishes with the British that the Jacobites had won. The Scottish troops were assembled for training and preparation of the coming battle. British troops were massing for the one-sided battle that would bring Scotland to her knees.

“Claire. Do we stay or do we go?”

I looked at him wide-eyed like I had not considered leaving Jamie behind. I couldn’t speak because this reality was outside my ability to endure. Leave him behind. Take his daughter and run away from him.

“I cannot.”

Murtagh told me to think about a plan, we needed a plan, or we would all be killed when the red coats came to wipe-out the families of the traitors. Murtagh left my room and I walked hunched over looking at the ground. I wanted to lay on the floor and just wait for Jamie to come home. But I had to move and save my daughter and two dear friends who trusted me to lead them to safety.

My days were filled with chores and fear. The British had requisitioned a great many resources in Scotland to be used to murder Scottish men fighting for our freedom. They had seized most of the ships that we would need to find passage to America, and the chance to get away became slim to non-existent. On April first I hung my head and cried for Jamie to come home. Seventeen days to escape my love, it’s time to find a way.

Murtagh and I were exhausted trying to fill Jamie’s shoes; when I could no longer stand it, I climbed the hill and found my tree. I sat on the ground and ran my hand over the place I would wake up day after day and Jamie’s smiling face filled my mind. It was transporting. I closed my eyes and let those memories drift through my mind, making me forget he was gone. The dipping temperature woke me hours later and I staggered to my feet feeling my breasts achingly full trying to remember the last time I had nursed Faith. I was running and misjudged the hill, running straight off the edge, and flying through the air before tumbling to the bottom.

“Claire!” Murtagh pulled me up. “I’ve been lookin everywhere for ye lass, are ye alright?”

All I could think of was Faith as I ran to the house and up to the nursery. I came in wide-eyed to see Glavia hold a cup to Faith encouraging her to sip the milk. Misses Crook was behind her with a big encouraging smile.

“What are you doing?”

“Teaching the little beauty to drink from a cup and look at her!”

I felt betrayed and suddenly left out. I had hardly seen my daughter except to nurse her in the past three weeks, and here she was learning to drink without me. Glavia was nothing short of a miracle since the day she delivered my baby. I loved her and knew she meant only the best for Faith, so I kept quiet.

When Faith saw me, she reached out calling, “mama up. ” Glavia held her hands while she took bold steps toward me and I sank down to the floor to witness this miracle. Faith was breathing hard and smiling as she came to me. I held out my hands and caught the second love of my life holding her to me and wishing Jamie was here to see this.

On April 13th, Murtagh again went to the docks and returned with nothing. He was starting to pester me about the plan. It was time to go and I knew it. I couldn’t think with the battle on our heels; I would rather sit in a corner and pray for Jamie’s safety.

On April 17, 1745 I sat on my bed and watched the sun come up through bloodshot eyes. It was almost over and the greatest man I had ever known would raise his sword against the muskets, carbines, pistols, cannons, and 35-inch swords of the British army who will outnumber the Highlanders four to one. I sobbed and hugged Jamie in my head. Trying to say everything I thought I had a lifetime to say. Please hear me Jamie. I love you, until the end of time, wait for me in heaven, feel my love.

Jamie was in battle uniform in the quiet of the sunrise. He knew the battle would be lost today and his worry over Claire and Faith nearly crippled him. He had tried to escape twice and paid dire consequences at the wrong end of the whip. He pulled Claire into his mind and when he saw her wide golden eyes and beautiful face, it broke him. He walked the field they were camped in trying to stay ahead of the guards posted to him day and night. He just wanted to be alone with the Sassenach and Faith one last time.

In his mind, he touched her cheek. I hope yer on a fast ship to America my love, far away from the devastation to come. I hope ye remember me always. The man who loved ye like ye were the sunrise itself. It has been this lad’s honor to love ye and I humbly thank ye lass.

All day, Murtagh and I carried supplies high into the hills where we would hide in a secret cave barely big enough for one person. On my third climb, I fought my skirts and strangulating corset, finally throwing my armload to the ground I walked back to the house.

“Misses Crook! Kindly assist me with this hateful corset.”

I climbed into the attic with Misses Crook looking like I was the worst sinner she had ever seen. To be walking around the house without my corset was just not done. I was pleasantly surprised I was not panting for air from my efforts and set about looking for clothing I could wear. When I emerged, I wore breeks, a linen shirt, boots and a hat with my hair stuffed neatly inside. The next ten trips up to the cave that day were far easier.

I had a steady stream of tears on my cheeks throughout the day. I was so tired I could not move anymore. The battle was over and Jamie was dead, my dreams were dead, my world was dead, and this century was dead to me. We hunkered down in the cave and slept fitfully all night wondering if Lallybroch was being raided and if we would ever see it again.

The next day I passed out salted fish and jerky to everyone except Faith who was nursed as always. I told everyone we were leaving this place, today. Gone were my refined manners and speech, I addressed them like a New Yorker, and I was taking them home to my century. One way or another.

I crept into the barn after hiding to watch the house for ten minutes. I saddled Brimstone quickly with shaking hands and held my breath. I led her quickly out into the long grass and then mounted and galloped into the woods. I told her how sorry I was, but we needed speed and urged her to keep running. When I tied her to a tree at the bottom of the gorge, I heard thunder above my head and a second later, rain. It came down in buckets soaking me through. I held my ears from the loud claps of thunder and sat on a large rock to wait the storm out, never so defeated in my life.

I stared at the rocks, as far as my eyes could see. Normal, round, ugly rocks that held no magic to get us to safety. I continued to stare at them and saw the pounding rain hit them with force. Pieces of sand and dirt were knocked away and slowly the outer crust of dirt melted away by the pounding rain to reveal a beautiful, brilliant blue! I screamed and jumped up to lift the rock into my sack, smiling ear to ear.

There were more and more pieces revealed by this miracle rain and I gathered them all into my sack and tied it my saddle. If the magic was still there, we would escape sure death today. I galloped home with renewed hope slowing to a quiet gate as I approached the estate. The rain continued and the house was crawling with redcoats.

I pulled the tack off Brimstone and told her to go home, then I ran for the big hill to join my family and get us to a safer time. I saw several redcoats in the hills above Lallybroch and luckily avoided being seen. As I approached the cave my heart nearly stopped when I saw Murtagh, Misses Crook, Glavia, and my darling Faith, being pushed out of the cave, the swords of two British soldiers were at their backs.

I was breathing so hard I thought I might pass out, so I sat low behind a tree and calmed my breathing. I prayed for the strength to do this and prayed to Jamie to help me know when to run to my family. The minutes were like hours as I watched the sadistic soldiers torture Murtagh and leer at Glavia. She was so scared and my heart broke for her. There was nowhere for the group to run as the soldiers were in front of the path that led down the hill, they were captives awaiting execution.

When the soldiers huddled to discuss the murder and rape of Glavia, I made a run for my “family” holding my finger to my lips to shush them all. I held out my hands instructing us all to join hands tightly, and not to let go under any circumstance. I didn’t bother with whispering anymore. I reached into the sack and pulled out the biggest blue stone yelling at them not to let go!

Two muskets were raised and aimed at my head and the balls were fired into thin air, we had vanished leaving the soldiers staring ahead, mute with shock. I clung to Glavia and Murtagh and felt the whole group jettison away from this time. I concentrated on modern Scotland and Lallybroch, envisioning how it was when I left.

When I became aware of the others again, we were standing in front of Lallybroch on a warm sunny day. I pulled Faith into my arms and kissed her awake. My smile was so big it hurt until I saw the terrified faces of Murtagh, Glavia, and Misses Crook. The women were crying uncontrollably and clinging to each other. I put my arms around them and told them we were alright.

“We made it! I’m sure of it. Please trust me, it was the only way to save all of you. We are at Lallybroch, two-hundred and fifty years in the future. I am a time traveler, and this is my time. I know it’s a lot to take in, but we would have died horrible deaths at the hands of those soldiers. This was the only way. I’m sorry it was such a shock. I am not happy about being here, but you are all alive and hopefully, I’ll get you back to your time, when it’s safer.”

The house looked incredible as we walked toward it. It shined with new windows and paint, fences repaired and whitewashed, and a garden! I wondered if I brought us to the wrong time and we were about to walk into someone’s home. My poor startled friends were huddled together, scared shitless, and looking suspiciously at me.

“I’m so sorry, please forgive me for not telling you before we made the jump. There just wasn’t time. Please, don’t be afraid. This is safest place you could hope to be. I don’t remember the house looking this way so I’m going in first to make sure it’s empty. I gave the estate to my best friend before I went through the stones to stay in your century with Jamie.” Blank, fearful faces looked at me. “It’s a very long story and I will tell you everything in due time.”

I knocked on the kitchen door and said hello! Nothing. The door was locked so I walked around the house counting to the third window. I reached high and felt a key. Thank you Joe, I thought, for always being consistent.

I returned to the group huddled at the front of the door and held them back as I unlocked the door, telling them I would check the house and then let them in. The kitchen was completely updated and smelled like fresh paint. It was so lovely. I crept through the room and noticed the fire pit and cauldron had been replaced with a contemporary stove. When I looked up, I stopped dead in my tracks.

On the counter was a cell phone plugged into the wall for a continuous charge. I picked it up with shaking hands and pushed buttons until it lit up. The phone app was on and a phone number had been punched in. I hit the call button and held my breath. I knew the line connected to someone and my heart pounded waiting for a hello.

“Pet.”

When I heard his voice the last two months of worry and loneliness crashed down on my head and I held on to a cabinet to keep from falling.

“Joe!” I wept, uncontrollably. The millions of minutes I held back my emotion for the good of the group came bursting forward like a damn broke and I sobbed his name over and over again.

“I am close, and I am coming pet. Please be there. Please.”

The line went dead and I staggered to the door to let everyone in. I was holding a paper towel under my nose as Misses Crook pinched it trying to understand what it was. I took Faith from Glavia and we walked through the house that had been repaired, retrofitted for electricity and plumbing, and furnished. Each bedroom had a bed, dresser, lights, and other assorted furniture. I avoided Jamie’s room knowing I would lose it completely, wanting to spare Faith that scary sight. Joe had thought of everything including a crib for Faith and an extra bed in the nursery for Glavia. When I left him almost four-million dollars it was intended for his education not restoring Lallybroch. Right now, I couldn't be happier.

It was overwhelming to us all and we gathered in the kitchen so I could show them some of the benefits of the twentieth century. I could see they were starting to withdraw from the shock of being transported to another time where their house still existed. Wait for a plane to fly overhead, I thought.

“I’m sorry you all got the fright of your life, truly sorry.” I looked at Murtagh who was white-faced and quiet. “We are safe here. Many years in the future. No wars, no clans, and … no Lairds. I lost my control at that point and my tears flowed for several minutes.

“But! Here are some nice things you can enjoy while you are at this Lallybroch..” I opened the door to the refrigerator; it was well stocked with drinks in cans, including beer, but no food. The freezer was stuffed with dinners, side dishes, minute meals, and everything else Joe could get into it. I pulled Misses Crooks hand to the frig and put her hand on the cold cans. She gasped and pulled her hand away holding it close to her body with wide eyes. I turned on one of the burners and held Glavia's hand above it until she snatched it back feeling the heat with no fire.

I pulled a beer out for Murtagh and watched his eyes light up when he drank it down. I pulled juice out for Misses Crook and Glavia and watched their surprise when they tasted the liquid. I tipped a juice to Faith’s lips and she took a tentative taste scrunching up her face at the bold flavor. Her little arms reached for the can every time she swallowed and the laughter from that was our first relief from the stressful shock.

The next modern marvel was the bathroom and the updates were stunning. The house had four bathrooms that I could see and figured another would have been built into the master bedroom making five total. I took a tumbler from a kitchen cabinet and led them all into the downstairs bathroom. First I flushed the toilet causing them all to jump back and gasp. I turned the faucet on and blew them away with the column of water that poured out on my command. Next, I filled the glass to the brim and poured it into the toilet, wadding up some toilet paper and dropping it in before flushing it away.

The confusion on all their faces suggested I oversimplified this particular room. I thought for a minute and announced “the chamber pot” creating nodding heads and affirmative oohs and ahs. They were hustling out of the bathroom when I pulled them back to see one more miracle. I pushed the shower curtain open and turned on the shower with hot water. I pulled Glavia’s hand to the water and she nearly screamed with her shock as the water came out hot. After each person had felt the water, I decided it was time to rest.

Murtagh vanished and I led Glavia and Faith to the nursery where I nursed my daughter and soothed Glavia’s nerves. Faith was out like a light and I kissed Glavia’s hands promising her we would be alright and she would return to her own time. I begged her to lay down while Faith slept and then left her. I walked through the lower level appreciating everything Joe had done to the house. It was spectacular. I threw logs into the fireplace in the parlor and then ran for the ringing phone.

“Joe?”

“So it’s true. You’ve come back. Thank God you’re safe.”

“Baritone!” Are you coming? Please say you’re coming!”

“I am pulling up to the parking garage at the airport as we speak trying to overcome my shock at hearing your voice. Are you alright Claire?”

My chin was quivering so hard I grabbed it to hold it steady. “I lost…and then they were…I found the stones… red coats drew their weapons….found our cave…Jamie died today.” I gripped my stomach and bent over to endure the sobs that came. Baritone kept talking to me about things that were non- threatening. He kept up a steady stream of chatter that finally calmed me down.

The voice changed and it was Joe talking to me in his soothing big brother voice. They were boarding a plane in London for a one and a half hour flight. I gripped the phone like a lifeline and whined myself back into sobbing when Joe had to hang up. The plane was taking off for Scotland. I put the phone on the counter and stared at it. The popping fireplace sounded like home and it calmed me, so I just stood in the kitchen and listened. I realized that this was the hardest day of my life and I was not in my right mind. I walked into the parlor and sat on the couch staring at the fire feeling the tears roll down my cheeks.

Someone was calling my name. Two voices calling me and my eyes flew open looking for Jamie. I ran into the kitchen and right into Joe’s chest feeling his arms come around me and hold me possessively. He didn’t let me go but walked me back to the couch and gently pushed me down. I looked at him and felt my heart in my throat. My friend, my dearest friend was here, holding my hands and smiling.

Baritone kissed my cheek making me look up at his beautiful face. He was even more breathtaking than before and he looked at me with such compassion. My brain must have shut down because all I could do is look from one to the other. When I finally said something it was ridiculous.

“These are lad’s clothes because I had to climb to the cave over and over this morning and my corset was about to kill me.”

Joe nodded his head like he understood completely. “You found the rock pet.”

“In the pouring rain, it melted the dirt and sand from the rocks, and they were bright blue, so I took them all and begged Brimstone to gallop for all she was worth.” Remembering the scene when I arrived at the cave stole my voice again and made my heart pound.

Joe rubbed my arm and spoke in an upbeat tone. “And when you got back you pulled everyone to your own time?”

“I had one chance to get to them and I was so scared. I started a couple of times and then went back behind the tree. The soldiers were going to make Murtagh watch and then kill him too. I just ran for them when the soldiers were distracted. I shouted for everyone to hold hands tightly and not to let go. I saw the rifles pointed at my head and then heard the wind in my ears as we were pulled away.”

“Jesus Pet. That just happened today and look at you holding the world up for your group. You are amazing.”

I looked at Joe and thought, really? I’m amazing even though I feel shattered and small at the moment? Baritone fetched a whiskey bottle and glasses and we all had two shots in front of the fire. Joe never let go of my hands and Baritone did not leave my back. As the whisky warmed me on the insides I started to relax until I heard Faith cry. I ran to the stairs and found Glavia making her way down. Faith held her arms out to me and I hugged her close.

Glavia stood ramrod still when she saw Joe and Baritone. They both stood while I introduced them and urged Glavia to join us for a whisky and talk. The next one to show himself was Murtagh and I was so happy to see him, pouring his drink and introducing everyone. Joe and Baritone were very nice to everyone, but they could not take their eyes off Faith. She was well-rested and full of happy energy when she stood up in my lap. She looked closely at Joe and babbled at him quite insistently pointing her finger at him. We laughed at her antics until she lunged herself at Joe. He caught her easily and let her sit in his lap. It was obvious Joe was not doing what she wanted so she pressed her head against his chest sitting very still.

I watched my darling girl and wondered if she was looking for a voice she knew from some other time. I asked Joe to talk continuously for a few minutes and nodded to Faith. He launched into everything that happened since I walked through the stones. Faith kept her little head pressed to his chest, eyes drooping as she listened. When she was sound asleep Joe just held her sleeping form, and I was loving him for it. Baritone asked if she normally goes to all new people. I explained my theory, she was looking for the voice she heard daily as she grew in my womb. “That must be what he sounded like when we would cuddle in the morning.”

“This is the first time I haven’t been totally pissed off hearing about that because it’s so fascinating.”

Baritone showed bigger changes than Joe. Maybe because I knew him less in the beginning, but he had definitely changed. Confidence had replaced the confused Brainiac, and his body had filled out quite nicely. They were both stunningly handsome, confident in their own skin, and radiated love for each other. I felt the bottom of my stomach fall and my tears gush as I dropped my head and looked at my lap. I cried openly and Joe squeezed my hand encouraging me to let it out.

“Jamie’s dead. They took him a month ago and pressed him to service. He led his men into battle today, at Culloden Moore and he’s bleeding out on the field right now and doesn’t know how much I love him.”

It was the horrifying image in my head, all day, and I spoke of it before I knew what I was doing. I saw Joe reach into his pocket for a small bottle of pills while Baritone filled my glass with a shot of whisky. I picked my glass up, only to have Joe press it back to the table.

“Not so fast pet, we all need a glass so we can toast.”

Joe put something back in his pocket and filled the glasses, then we toasted to our safe landing while the tears continued to run down my cheeks. I noticed Murtagh was watching me and I tried to smile through my watery vision. I looked at him and saw Jamie right next to him smiling at me. He said, “I love ye, I need ye, please help me Sassenach.”

I gasped and shot up from the couch feeling my legs give way and strong arms pulling me up. I was in the dark feeling peaceful when I heard his beautiful voice. He was calling to me, asking for help, saying he didn’t want to leave me. I was face to face with Jamie in the blackness. He told me I was heroic today and he was never so proud. Then he told me that Donus and Brimstone would starve. He asked if I could take them to the new world. “Please Sassenach.” I promised I would. He told me to never return in the light of day, they were waiting for me, but it was safe at night. He touched my face.

“I will hang on until I know yer safe mo chridhe, save the horses.”

I fell into the black velvet and Jamie held my hand for a long time. "Wake Sassenach!" I sat upright on my bed blinking my eyes in the dark. I smelled Jamie and knew he was with me. I felt my way to the bag of stones thinking I would walk over hot coals to save the horses. When I felt two shards, I put them in my palms and closed my eyes concentrating on Lallybroch in 1745.

The wind lifted me and carried me far away very fast setting me down in the field near the house. I stayed low and worked my way to a tree behind the barn, watching. When I started to move to the barn, I heard Jamie’s voice say “wait!” I froze and dropped to the ground. A red coat came out of the house and pulled his horse that was tied in the dooryard. He mounted and rode away. I let out the breath I was holding and continued to watch. My fear was taking over and I shook with it. “Don’t be afraid, take the horses mo chridhe.”

I ran to the barn panting with the effort. I threw their tack on, saddles, pads, and bridles tying the reins in a knot. Then I attached leads to both, pulling them out of their stalls to stand in front of me. I placed a shard in each palm and pressed them against each horse's chest, concentrating on Lallybroch in 2019. I had wrapped the leads around my waist so they would not separate from me and quickly pulled the ropes away and led them to the barn. We were back and it was daylight. I carried buckets to an outside spigot and hauled the water back for them looking around for some stored food, finding none.

“I know you guys are hungry and I promise to get you food right away.” I hugged them both and left the barn, looking around the estate for the first time. The fields were planted! As far as the eye could see rows were plowed into the dirt in preparation for the spring seeding. Joe was a marvel with all he had done which included leasing the fields for planting. It was time to wake him up to find some food for the horses and people now in my charge.

I looked at the jeep parked on the side of the house, probably there to avoid shocking someone who wandered outside for some air. I smiled, which felt so foreign to my face. I was still high on Jamie helping me and looked up at the sky like I would see him looking down. I started to cry and forced myself to walk back to the house.

Murtagh was sitting in the kitchen with a beer and fruit juice opened in front of him. He startled when I walked in and his face looked so sad. He got up and hugged me for a long time. I knew both of our hearts were breaking and I hugged him back.

“The horses are here, in the barn. Jamie woke me up and said they were starving so I went and got them.”

Murtagh looked shocked and then stern. “No more of that lassie, home must be crawlin with red coats and what would we all do if you get yerself killed?”

“I am going to teach you what to do, just in case. Someone besides me needs to know the way back. Besides, I was safe with Jamie last night.”

Murtagh looked at her with sympathy and shook his head wondering why the stones allowed her passage when Jamie would be killed in less than two short years. He would choke the life out of the witch when he returned. “I’m goin out to check on the horses, lass.”

I felt Murtagh move away from me but didn’t hear where he was going. I built a fire to add some normalcy to the morning as people came downstairs after a night’s sleep. Misses Crook practically ran downstairs with a look of fear. She had slept right through the afternoon and evening and must have been startled in this strange place. I hugged her and begged her to relax and trust me. She walked into the kitchen and called me a few minutes later.

“I found no cauldren and where do I make the fire?”

“Well, they never make fires in the kitchen in this time.” I bent down to pull out the biggest pot in the cabinet and placed it on a burner. I opened all the cabinets looking for dried goods and soups. When I found the container of oatmeal, I read the directions, poured hot water into the pan and sprinkled a quarter of the oatmeal into the boiling water. Finding hot pads, I moved the pan to a cold burner and stirred the oatmeal. The whole operation took ten minutes.

Misses Crook watched everything I did and then looked into the pot and gasped. “What is this, magic? I’ll no be cavortin with the devil to make breakfast, ye can be sure of that.”

I stopped her gently and explained it was simply advanced technology and food science and had nothing to do with the devil. I filled a bowl for her and encouraged her to eat it. She was so overwhelmed, and I saw her eyes, red-rimmed, for the first time since our meeting a year ago. She was so scared and my heart broke for her.

“Let me show you how to make coffee. It’s fun and fast.”

I told her what to pull out, how to measure, and fill the pot with water, then pour it into the machine and turn it on. She seemed to do better when she was put to a task. I would have to remember that.

“Misses Crook, I brought the horses here last night and they are starving. I would bet a paycheck someone grew alfalfa in one of those fields last year.”

“What is a paycheck. What is alfalfa?”

“It’s horse food actually. When they harvest it, some people turn it into cubes with a large machine called a combine.”

I knew it was hopeless to make her understand such a leap in technology, so I grabbed her hand and pulled her outside. It was warm enough to go without cloaks, so I nudged her toward the field and started looking for the cubed food leftover from last year. I knew there was a lot of spillage and it would have been frozen through the winter. We might get lucky and find a field with leftovers from last year’s harvest. We hunted, crossing two fields before Misses Crook yelled for me. She held a perfect Alfalfa cube in her hand, and I let out a whoop with a smile.

It was on. Like an Easter egg hunt, we searched the field for more cubes. Murtagh came to ask what was lost and we filled him in. Misses Crook’s cheeks were pink from the cool morning and her excitement. Glavia waved her hand from the kitchen door and I ran for my daughter.

“What is happening in the field?”

“We discovered horse food cubes and the horses are starving.”

She watched Murtagh lift a cube in the air with a rare smile on his face. I sat on the stairs to the kitchen and laid Faith at my breast.

"Glavia, we could use your sharp eye to find more."

She was smiling with excitement and took off running for the field. As Faith filled her little belly, I watched the three of them get lost in this game with smiles and laughter making them forget for a little while.

“Morning Pet, how is my girl today, good?”

So like Joe to provide the only answer that was acceptable. He looked out at the field and three people dancing around holding something up in the air. He blinked several times and asked me what they were doing.

“I brought two starving horses back last night and they are finding food for them. It was a great thing you did, leasing out the fields for growing. You are brilliant Joe.”

He looked me in the eye for a long minute. “Are there two horses in that barn now?”

When I nodded yes, he took a deep breath. “Where did they come from?”

“I went back and got them because they would have died.”

Joe put up his hand to stop me and then put his hand around mine. “Pet, did you go back to 1745 last night to bring these horses back.”

“Yes.”

His eyes were closed for almost a minute as he wrapped his head around my truth. I realized he had believed everything I had told him so far. At least I thought he did.

“Take me, please.”

“I cannot during the day. There are many red coats waiting for me so we can only go at night. I will take you Joe.”

I felt a tear slide down my cheek and then another. My heart ached to kiss Jamie good morning and the pain that pressed on me, knowing I never would again, crushed me to my tears. I asked Joe to help in the field, looking for cubes. I needed to lay Faith down in her bed and then sob into a pillow.

Joe ran for the field and I carried Faith to her bed before laying in Jamie’s room where I let it go. My body shook with my sobbing and I felt a warm hand on my back that was so comforting and so familiar.

"Jamie! Jaaamiiiieee! I can’t bear this pain, I want to go with you! Please God let me die with him.”

I felt him pull me down and his warmth wrap around me. I could hear his breathing in my ear until I fell asleep, a dreamless, healing sleep that lasted for hours.

“Help me Sassenach.” I heard his voice in my dream and panicked myself awake. I sat up on the bed and noticed the room was darker with the late afternoon. I stumbled downstairs and blinked at everyone sitting in the kitchen together while Faith entertained. When she saw me her arms were raised. “ma-ma-ma-uppy”

I pulled her to my breast, wishing I could feel Jamie now, so he would know I was taking care of his daughter. Instead, I just blinked at everyone while Baritone filled the kitchen with the delicious smells of lasagna and garlic bread. I figured someone had gone shopping and wondered how the jeep was received.

“The horses,” I said as my memory of searching for food came back.

Misses Crook beamed and announced they had found enough cubes to last several days.

“I ordered from the feed store in Edinburgh Pet. It will be here tomorrow. I didn’t know what to get so I asked for grain, and hay.”

He was watching Faith nurse and I kissed his hand. “Thank you.”

A plate was set in front of me and I put a forkful in my mouth. It was so delicious I closed my eyes and I chewed while my mind filled with images of Jamie on the battlefield. My eyes slammed open and I shot out of my chair. How could I eat and enjoy food when Jamie never would again?

Faith was out for the night, so I made my way to Jamie’s bed, holding the pillow in front of me, clinging to it. I knew then I could not bear this pain for long. It would kill me and that would be a relief. Somewhere far away I heard the word “NO” whispered on the wind. I laid in the dark and prayed that Jamie would feel my love.

I was dreaming of teaching Faith to count hay cubes when I heard him, “Sassenach, wake up.”

I could not see the hand in front of my face it was so dark. My feet touched the floor and I felt him calling me back to Lallybroch. “Jamie, are you alive?” A whispered “help” was what I heard. I jumped off the bed and grabbed my bag stopping suddenly when Joe’s request came back to me. I searched the house for him finally finding the basement room that he converted into a bedroom. I approached the bed and touched Joe. He gasped and turned to see me.

“Pet.”

“I am going back tonight. Do you want to go?”

He was pulling his clothes on within seconds, feeling around for his shoes. He said nothing. He stayed very close, and when I told him to cling to me, he did.

The same rushing in my ears and feeling jettisoned away while I held tight to Joe’s arms. We landed in the field outside Lallybroch and I pushed Joe to the ground. He was hyperventilating and I whispered, “breathe slowly Joe.” I waited until his breathing normalized and felt him grip me in the pitch dark.

“Did we go back in time Pet?”

I had scanned the property looking for red coats and barely heard him. I could tell it was much later in the night when this land is devoid of movement or sounds from a human. My eye caught something new in the dooryard and I squinted to make the shape out.

“Help”

I took off running as fast as I could. Not looking for red coats, not caring if I was shot in the next minute. Jamie was in that shape, a wagon, asking me for help. I ran up on the wagon, left in the front of the house. I jumped inside and fell on his back, listening for breath. I knew there would be red coats laying in wait around the property, so I was silent. Joe was next to me somehow, he flipped Jamie over and felt his neck. He whispered in my ear, “take us all back right now Pet.”

I pulled Jamie onto my outstretched legs and linked my arm in Joe’s as the shard was pulled from my pocket and my eyes closed to the image of modern Lallybroch. As we were pulled away at warp speed I clung to Jamie and Joe, praying we found him in time.

In the yard of 2019 Lallybroch, Joe went to work on Jamie. He grabbed my hand and begged me to get Baritone and then go to my room. I took off for the lower bedroom bursting in to find Baritone sitting on the edge of the bed. I pointed, “Joe needs you, please.”

Baritone passed me in a streak and I stood there, panting, wanting to go to Jamie but Joe made me promise to stay away. He was already a doctor and I had to put my absolute trust in him. I waited until I heard them bring him in. It sounded like they were in the kitchen. My ears strained to hear each word and nuance and the tears came down.

“Jamie, can you hear me? Are you with me? Jamie!”

“I am fighting.”

I grabbed the wall as I spun to the floor. I heard Murtagh’s voice, yelling at Jamie and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I ran to the kitchen and saw all the men around Jamie. Baritone was doing chest compression while Joe was breathing for Jamie.

“Oh dear God,” I ran to the table where they had laid Jamie. On the other side of Joe, I put my mouth next to his ear and told him how proud I was that he survived and came back to me. I poured my love into his ear and did not let myself speak any negative, just encouragement to fight, for me, for Faith, for our promises. I did not notice all that Joe was doing and how Baritone and Murtagh were helping. I was alone with my husband speaking my love and my faith in him, feeling drunk on the hope he would take a breath on his own.

“Jamie?”

“My love.” Was but a whisper.

“Fill your lungs with air, RIGHT NOW!”

Jamie made a strangulated sound as his chest rose and he breathed deeply. Joe was overjoyed and pressed a stethoscope to his chest and pressed a finger to his neck.

I had pressed Jamie’s head against mine, like I wouldn’t allow him to leave me. With the jubilation in the kitchen, Jamie and I held each other in the blissful quiet of a secret place in my mind. His hands held me close, shaking at first, then gradually feeling stronger, possessive. He gripped me to him and whispered, “my beauty.”

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

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Saorsa, Chapter 27

A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. Jamie finally acknowledges what we knew all along, and Claire takes a bath.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

Shearing sheep hadn’t changed much in two hundred years, Jamie thought as he hefted another startled ewe from the shearing pen and pinned her to the ground with a well-placed knee. Murtagh mentioned that some of the larger farms used a mechanical trimmer, but they both preferred the time-honoured method of metal shears, sharp as daggers. Today was their third day. Jamie’s shoulders and arms were throbbing from the constant effort, but they were almost done.

“Tis good fortune we’re having a bonnie spring,” Murtagh commented as they broke for a drink of fresh water from the well.

“Aye. I need tae be on the road wi’in the week, if I’m tae be back a’fore the bairn arrives.”

“I’m surprised the mistress is allowin’ ye tae go at all, wi’ the way she fusses o’er ye like a wee whelp.”

Jamie’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to defend his masculine honour against the truth in the old man’s claim. He caught the twitch of Murtagh’s lips through his heavy beard. He cuffed him on the shoulder, laughing at himself.

“She’s lining ‘er nest, ye ken. I reckon she needs me tae practice upon, a’fore the we’un gets here,” he quipped.

“Oh, aye. I’m sure tha’s it.” Murtagh’s sarcasm was so thick, you could serve it on toast.

Jamie groaned as he lowered himself into the armchair in their bedchamber, trying to reach down to untie his laces and failing miserably.

“Here, let me,” Claire offered, before realizing she couldn’t bend over the growing bulk of her belly.

“We’re a fine pair. I’m too lame and ye’re too big a’bout the middle.”

“Speak for yourself,” his wife retorted as she carefully lowered herself to the floor. She gently eased off each boot, then proceeded to unbutton and draw his trews down as well. He sighed and cupped her jaw as she began to gently knead the bunched muscles of his thighs.

“Careful, Sassenach. Ye wouldna want tae start somethin’ ne’er of us is in fit condition tae finish,” he warned, feeling himself stir despite his bone-deep exhaustion.

“Wouldn’t I?” Warm eyes gleamed up at him. And then, more gently, “Lean back.”

Unsure what was being asked of him, he complied by letting his back fall against the cushions, his long legs stretched on either side of where Claire knelt on the floor. Having never accustomed himself to the modern notion of underclothing, he was naked from the waist down and hardening quickly below the flimsy hem of his linen top.

Leaning forward so that her moist breath seeped between the buttons of his shirt and over the fine hairs of his belly, Claire began to run her hands languorously up and down his legs, reaching higher with each pass.

“Sassenach,” he warned, and then more urgently, “Claire.”

“Shhhh,” she whispered, before her fingertips brushed against his baws.

“Christ!”

“I’ve never done this before,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself. “Tell me if… well… if it doesn’t feel good.”

And before he could wonder what she meant, she was lifting his shirt, exposing his very emphatic endorsement of whatever she was planning. A tentative moist swipe against the head, where it lay aching against his quivering belly, and then a sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced. It was the humid welcome of her sex combined with the nimble manipulation of her fine-boned hand, and yet so much more than the sum of those parts. A lightning bolt of sensation shot up his spine, lighting the back of his eyeballs with colourful explosions. A senseless groan burst from his lungs.

Between the exertions of shearing and the elaborate logistics of making love to a woman almost eight months with child, it had been nearly a week since he’d last lain with his wife. A lifetime, in the bountiful feast that marked their newborn marriage. He wasn’t certain it would have made much difference, though. Anything that felt this absurdly good was certain to be over soon, lest it kill him with pleasure.

As it was, it was mere minutes after first feeling her mouth around him before he knew the end was nigh.

“A dhia. Sassenach. Mo nighean donn. Christ, please, ye must…”

Whatever pleas he was trying to utter were lost to the onrush of his release, racing from his body with the force of a gale, whipping around to slam his head backwards as he groaned in blissful agony.

When he was next able to focus, Claire was carefully unbuttoning his shirt. She extended her hands so that he could help her to her feet. He rose as well, naked and blushing to the tips of his ears. Whatever had just happened, he felt compelled to apologize, if only he could do so without alluding to the actual event.

“Sassenach…” he began.

“Let’s get you washed up, shall we? It’s been a long day.”

He was still new to the art of reading his wife’s unspoken wishes, but this one was plain enough. She did not want to discuss or debate the propriety of what they’d just done, probably a bit shy herself. They would leave it here in the murky shadows of their bedchamber, where it could visit with the other nameless wonders they’d released inside its walls. He followed her docilely from the room.

One modern amenity Jamie had absolutely no qualms about embracing was indoor plumbing, and the associated boon of having a bath whenever a bath was needed or desired. Claire lit thick-trunked tapers in the washroom, formerly a servant’s room adjacent to the laird’s quarters. Bent over the billows of steam that rose from the gushing copper pipes, she reminded him of a painting of a water nymph he’d seen as a boy, all translucent skin and bonnie curls.

He gingerly lifted his legs over the high-backed tub and grimaced as the water seared his skin.

“Too hot?”

“Nah. Jus’ right.” He extended his hand gallantly, as though assisting a lady from her carriage. “Join me?” he offered, before adding, “If ye dinna think it immoral.”

Something about the scene struck them both as a trifle ridiculous, and they snickered.

Claire slipped her nightgown over her shoulders, letting it puddle around her feet, before carefully stepping into the water, holding onto Jamie for balance.

“Now what?” she challenged, eyebrow raised.

“Now I hold onto ye. Ye and the little one.” They sunk together into the steaming water.

She found a resting spot between his legs, forehead tucked under his jaw. Jamie amused himself by scoping up palmfuls of water and letting them loose to roam across the hills and valleys of her torso. Time slowed, as did the vigilant beating of his heart. The water cooled and one by one the tapers guttered, and still they did not move. It was in those peaceful moments, with nothing but the silky stroke of water, the honey whiff of candle wax and the quiet stirrings of a new life beneath the taut skin of her belly, that he realized he loved her. Not in the demure, fitting way that a man was meant to love his wife. But in a pivotal, essential way that was as integral to him as breathing and as endless as the tides.

“Ye’ll watch o’er her? Make certain she is no’ rebuildin’ the castle nor tilling the fields by hand, or whate’er stubborn notion settles in her hard heid?”

Murtagh had heard this request, or others very similar, every day for the past fortnight. It spoke to his forbearance that he produced his standard response without a flicker of exasperation.

“Aye, lad. I canna promise ye she willna be stubborn, but I’ll see her safe.”

It was the best he could hope for, and the primary reason Murtagh was staying behind at Lallybroch rather than accompanying Jamie on his journey to Galashiels, much to Claire’s vocal displeasure. She only acquiesced when it was agreed that Rupert would join him as far as Edinburgh, ostensibly to visit relatives. Jamie had an opinion on the true reason for Rupert’s sudden interest in leaving the Highlands for the first time, but he wouldn’t be sharing it with Murtagh.

Fourteen bales of wool were loaded carefully into the estate’s hay wagon. Weighing over a tonne, it would take both Clydesdale plow horses to drag the load over two hundred miles to Galashiels, near the border with England. Rupert would drive the wagon while Jamie rode his favourite horse, Donas.

The smoothest, most direct route southward was available to them only after nightfall, when motorized traffic was forbidden on the roadways on account of the blackout. That meant they’d do most of their travelling by night, which posed its own challenges. In addition to a small bag of provisions and spare clothing, Jamie was also armed with a dirk and a pistol, though he longed for the familiar heft of his broad sword.

The whole trip should take two fortnights, a little less than a month. The plan was to leave immediately after Easter, so he could be home by late April with time to spare before the Duke of Sandringham’s visit and Claire’s confinement.

In the early morning hours the day before his departure, Jamie crept out of the castle while everyone was still abed and walked up the hill to his parents’ graves. He was pleased to note that the exertion no longer winded him; that he had regained his previous strength. He owed that to Claire; that and so much more. She had given him back his freedom when he thought he was trapped in amber. Offered him a place to stand when every other foothold was lost. She was his redemption. Saorsa.

He knelt beside the graves, now cleaned of moss with bluebells sprouting between the stones. Resting his forehead against the cool stone, he began to pray. That Claire might be safe. That the bairn be healthy. That his voyage be swift and without peril. And selfishly, that he be the kind of man his parents would be proud of in this strange new world.

#my writing #outlander

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pokeasleepingsmaug · 4 years

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The Heart of a Family

You can thank @just-random-obsessions for this one.

Summary: After the battle of Dunholm goes sideways, Sihtric is captured by Kjartan and Sven. Trigger warning: torture, abuse, injuries, idealization of death, heavy angst. AO3, if you prefer Sihtric can't remember how long it’s been since he's seen the sun, though he knows when night is because that's when Kjartan and Sven leave him alone. He pleads with Nott to make the night last forever. He does not think he could endure another day in Dunholm.

…..

It breaks Uhtred's heart to remember the look on Sihtric's face as they dragged him away. He hadn't even screamed, had barely flinched. He'd just looked like he'd known this was coming all along, like his taste of freedom was too good to be true.

But he and Ragnar and Brida have spent the last two weeks coming up with a plan. They have to be careful, Dunholm will not fall easily. But they know its weaknesses now, Sihtric's knowledge with their own firsthand sight. Besides, Sihtric is his man, and Uhtred can't leave him to die in Dunholm.

…..

It is fitting, Sihtric thinks, that once his mother's screams echoed through Dunholm, and now his own do, too. He did not scream at first. But when fists had no affect on him, they switched to other methods of beating.

Sihtric's forearms are covered in burns, the smell of his own sizzling flesh is thick in his nostrils, and Sven laughs as he holds the red-hot knife to Sihtric's skin once again.

"I should cut off your head and send it to Uhtred Ragnarsson," Sven taunts, his ugly face inches from Sihtric's, breath sour with ale as it hits Sihtric's nose. Sihtric strains against the leather straps around his wrists. They are the only things holding him upright, now, and he uses them to straighten his back, the whip-marks burning, and spit straight onto Sven's cheek.

Sven sinks a fist into his gut, and for the first time in his life, Sihtric hopes he will not be able to catch his breath.

…..

When Sihtric is left alone with his thoughts, he can pinpoint the exact moment the attack failed. It is his fault. He did not know Kjartan had hired mercenaries.

Every time he is left alone, he remembers the horrible tightening of his gut when the reinforcements spilled from the great hall. He remembers being surrounded, the bellow of Kjartan screaming that his son should be taken alive, to come back into the heart of his family, where he belongs.

Four sets of hands like iron bands clasped his arms, but still he nearly escaped. He had met Uhtred's eyes from across the courtyard, and he thought, for the briefest of moments, that his lord was coming for him.

But then everything went black, and he awoke in the chamber beneath the hall where Thyra had been imprisoned for so many years, his skull throbbing, a bloodied knot on the back of his head.

He does not blame Uhtred and Ragnar for leaving him behind, better to lose one useless man than a whole company of warriors.

He just wishes Uhtred had thrown an ax into his skull before he fled the fortress.

….

Sihtric is so thirsty that even his eyes feel like sandpaper. He keeps them closed as often as he can, because every blink is an agony. He focuses only on the squeaking and shuffling of nearby rats, and tries to guess how many hours it's been since Sven left. He's drifting in and out of wakefulness, though he cannot call it sleeping. It is more like dropping into oblivion, like the sun suddenly disappearing behind thunderclouds, and he hopes that soon, the corpse-goddess will embrace him with her one rotten and one living arm. He will accompany her gladly.

He opens his eyes against his will. He swears his mother is there, her edges blurry in the darkness, her hands soft on his hair, his face, his burnt arms and whipped back, the dislocated knee. Has she come to collect him? Can a pagan go to the Christian heaven if his mother has become an angel?

Sihtric uses what he thinks must be the last of his strength to reach out to her. She vanishes. He is so thirsty that he weeps without tears.

He is still weeping when Kjartan descends the ladder and hangs his lantern on a nail in the wall. Kjartan crosses his arms over his broad chest and glares down at his bastard offspring, eyes emptier and colder than winter oceans. "You are too like your mother, boy, but unlike her, I will break you."

Kjartan yanks him to his feet and binds his wrists into the leather straps.

When Sihtric can barely breathe through the blood in his nose and mouth, Kjartan cuts the straps and watches Sihtric crumble into the bloodied straw covering the dirt floor. Sihtric can't stop the groan that falls from his lips when Kjartan kicks him in the stomach.

Kjartan laughs, and this is the only time since he has been taken captive that Sihtric does not want to die. He does not want Kjartan's laughter to be the last sound he hears.

….

They will attack at dawn. They have spent a month planning and marshaling forces, and Uhted is afraid it may have been a month too long. He fears every morning that he will find Sihtric's head at the door of his tent.

But he never has, and Uhtred hopes they are not too late.

…...

He is always disappointed when he wakes up.

The sounds of a scuffle drift through the thick walls of his prison, but he does not think anything of it. Conflicts are common in the fortress of Kjartan the Cruel. His eyes drift shut again.

He wishes his mother had taken him with her.

….

Sihtric thinks, with relief, that he must finally be in Hel, or that maybe Freya has favored him and taken him to Folkvangr. He is lying on furs, and surely Kjartan and Sven would never allow such a thing to happen, not when they were so close to killing him.

His stomach sinks when he realizes what must be happening. They've ordered him nursed back to health, so they can bring him to the brink of death once more. Is this their plan for him? To keep bringing him to death and saving him from it, only to bring him to it again?

Sihtric will not allow it to happen. All of the slave-girls know him, he will plead for death. Perhaps the girl tending to him will take pity on him. Maybe he can ask it as a favor to his mother; she helped so many of them in any small way she could.

He tries to open his eyes, to speak, to plead for death, but instead he only drops back to sleep.

…..

Sihtric is closer to death than Uhtred has ever seen a man before, but Brida has knowledge of herbs and a willing assistant in the form of Finan, so Uhtred clings to the hope that he will live.

He was barely recognizable when they carried his unconscious, emaciated body from his prison, and if not for the faint, racing pulse and the erratic rise and fall of his skinny chest, Uhtred would have thought him dead already.

It has been five days and they are still in Dunholm because Sihtric is far too frail to travel, but Uhtred can barely enjoy the relief of finally having avenged his father and freed his sister. He does not think he will breathe easy again until Sihtric's eyes open.

…..

Sunlight slants across his eyelids, and he opens them without thought. He is alone in a bedchamber, lying on clean furs. His body aches, but it is the ache of healing, and not of fresh injuries. He is no longer thirsty.

Sihtric hisses as he forces himself into a seated position, and a man that he hadn't noticed sits bolt upright from a pallet on the floor by the bed. "Take it easy, lad." The lilting accent is soothing, the voice soft.

Sihtric's throat constricts, and he can barely choke out the man's name. "Finan?"

"You didn't think we would leave ya to die in Dunholm, lad?" Finan smiles down at him, full of understanding, and Sihtric knows he does not need to say that he will never doubt again.

The Last Kingdom Masterlist

#the last kingdom #the last kingdom fandom #the last kingdom fic #sihtric #sihtric elflaedsson #sihtric fic #let's be danes ⚔️#let's be danes

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geekgemsspooksandtoons · 4 years

Text

Bioshock Rebirth Part 1 told in a humorous way

Showed this to @feckinatlas like some of the others. I had this in my draft oh wait. Yeah this is part of my Bioshock Rebirth AU, my reimagining/reboot of the Bioshock franchise. While I don’t wanna write a full on novel because I’m lazy like that. Yet I wanted to make a funny recap. Originally this would of been part 1 and 2. But I decided to keep as 1 right now.

Basically was inspired by stuff like the ByteSize recaps of The Last Of Us. So if you want to know the full story but keep it short. Despite some parts seem long and deep. Yet this is told in a humorous way. Hopefully you enjoy it. Including the night before I am uploading this. I decided to add Booker’s parts because I imagine him as a boss.

Part 1.

Archie: My aircraft was shot down and now it crashed into the ocean near this lighthouse! What the Hell is all this!? Andrew Ryan? An underwater city called Rapture? Weird looking people trying to kill me? Weird diving suit monsters with drills? Little girls holding giant needles? What the Hell is going on down here?

Atlas: Oy lad! My name is Atlas. I’m the leader of the rebellion going against Ryan. He’s an asshole and I made the distress call. We need to take Ryan down and we need your help.

Archie: Okay man who I trust and grow to admire as a father figure who reminds me of myself. Hi two ladies.

Daisy: Hey there I’m Daisy. I’m Atlas’s 2nd in command and....I guess I’m gay with Diane.

Diane: We had a weird history.

Archie: Ah no judgement there. :)

Atlas: Now we need your help rescuing this young girl Ryan has imprisoned. We don’t know why she’s imprisoned but we need to save her.

Later.

Elizabeth: I’m Elizabeth and I want to go Paris! But I’m stuck in this tower. :( But you’re real and that’s so awesome! :D

Archie: Hi Elizabeth! I’m here to rescue you!

Bluto: Who in the fuck wants her out!?

Archie: AH SHIT HE’S A BIG DIVING SUIT MONSTER!

*When they get out.*

Elizabeth: Oh my God it’s so great out here!

Archie: Oh crap I’m starting to like her.

*As they explore Rapture more.*

Atlas: Ah crap they’re working like a team! She’s using these small tears to help him out while he shoots stuff!

Elizabeth: I feel like I’m gonna lose my mind and go crazy seeing all this death and unpleasant stuff. :( Especially after meeting that Steinman guy.

Archie: You’re going to be alright. Nothing is gonna hurt you. Don’t become apathetic. We’ll get through this together. :)

Elizabeth: I feel comfortable with you. :)

Atlas: Now since that Big Daddy is dead. Put that Little Sister out of her misery!

Archie: Oh Hell no man! There has to be another way!

Brigid: Do not hurt my little ones. Hello young man and young girl. Use this thing to free them from their torment.

Archie: Ah thanks lady. :)

Atlas: Don’t trust her Arch! She’s responsible for them!

Archie: But she’s trying to help them! :(

Booker: Argh! I work for Ryan’s personal guard! You’re Atlas’s Dog. I’ll send my troopers to get that girl back. Including I’ll wonder if I should capture or kill you!

*After going around unpopulated and some populated parts in Rapture for nearly a week.*

Archie: Ah man Tenenbaum’s safehouse is pretty nice. And these Little Sisters are kids and are great. :) Yet Brigid seems weird around. Especially she looked like I looked familiar. Even Atlas did so too. And sometimes he says these three words sometimes and my head hurts.

Later.

Julie: These are my franken trees.

Archie and Elizabeth: Woah!

Later.

Cohen: I’m Sander Cohen and I’m a weird and disgusting artist guy!

Archie: Ugh I don’t like him.

Elizabeth: Me neither.

Jasmine: Hi I’m Jasmine and I’m a stripper. :)

Archie: This Jasmine lady is very nice. Glad we were able to rescue her.

Later.

Bluto: Argh! Give me back Elizabeth! I’m trying to protect her!

Archie: We need to stop the Proto-Daddy! We have to kill him.

Elizabeth: No I can’t kill the closest thing I had to a protective brother.

Archie: I understand that Elizabeth but we have to stop him or he’s gonna cause more death and destruction. I would love if there was another way. Including there’s no turning back if you have to stop him.

Elizabeth: I understand but let me be the one who has to put him down. I’m not going to enjoy this.

*Puts him through a tear that sends him into space as he falls from orbit.*

Bluto: Nooooo! You were my best friend Elizabeth!

Elizabeth: :(

Archie: I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure he was a great friend. *Hugs her to comfort her.* You’re still a good person.

Booker: Argh! That’s it boy scout let’s fight! Why the Hell aren’t you mutating? Why are you so badass? How are you able to kill so many of my troopers with some what ease! Fight me boy scout! I’ll show you how a real soldier fights!

Archie: Okay gruff old man!

Booker: No you beat me! I just want my daughter back! She’s the only important thing in my life! She deserves better than this. :(

Elizabeth: You’re my father.

Archie: I’m not gonna kill you because while you’re an asshole. You don’t wanna hurt children and you still love your daughter. Now let’s go Elizabeth.

Later.

Atlas: Alright Arch we’re close to getting to Ryan. How about you go to Ryan and take him down. Whether you kill him or not. I’ll take care of Tenenbaum and Elizabeth since they trust me a lot. Even though with Tenenbaum she still doesn’t trust me fully.

Archie: Thanks Atlas. You’re a great friend. :) Now excuse me while me and some others go to Ryan. You can take care of the two closest people I’ve known in my life. I’m sure they will be in good hands.

Later.

Archie: It’s over Ryan!

Ryan: A man chooses. A slave obeys. A broken slave has no purpose. You’re a broken machine who’s entire life was a lie.

Archie: Bullshit. >:(

Ryan: Would you kindly? Familiar phrase.

Archie: Ah my head hurts AND OH MY GOD ATLAS KEPT USING THAT PHRASE AND I’VE BEEN SEEING WEIRD SHIT LIKE ME WANTING TO KILL YOU!

Ryan: Yes he has and you saw that Fontaine was involved in your process. Now beat me to death with this golf club so you can prove you’re just a slave.

Archie: Hell no old man! >:( *Takes the genetic key and goes back to Atlas.*

Later.

Archie: Atlas how did you know of the WYK plans?

Atlas: I don’t know what you’re talking about boyo? But hey did you know Elizabeth’s lips taste like strawberries? She tried to kiss me you know.

*Atlas gets knocked out by a wrench and Archie finds the two ladies tied up.*

Elizabeth: Oh my God you came back! I found out I was born full of ADAM!

Brigid: Yes he did thank goodness you came back. Atlas terrorized us!

Archie: I’m here to save you two from Atlas because he’s been lying to me about a lot of stuff. *His radio gets called.* Hello?

Atlas: Code Yellow. >:)

Archie: AHHHHH! I’m slowly dying and it’s more raw now! My life is flashing right before my eyes!

Elizabeth: Oh no Archie! :(

Brigid: We need help and have to find the stuff to stop him from dying! We owe it to him!

Archie: I’m slowly losing my mind! I’m dying! I’m remembering everything! Andrew Ryan! Frank Fontaine! Yi Suchong! Brigid Tenenbaum! Jasmine Jolene! the Lutece twins! Johnny Topside! What the Hell happened to me!? What is my life!? I’m remembering everyone I met in Rapture! I’m not 23 and actually 5 years old!? My name is Jack Ryan!? What the Hell happened to my life!?

After that he wakes up.

Archie: Brigid knew who I was! I’m angry! >:( She had a hand in ruining my life!

Elizabeth: Archie no! I forgave Brigid! Please don’t hurt her!

Brigid: Ah yes you’re pointing a gun on me that I made sure has no ammo. I think you finally remember everything. :(

Archie: My real name is Jack Ryan. I’m actually 5 years old. I literally was ordered to snap a puppy’s neck by Suchong. Frank was gonna use me to save Elizabeth and kill Ryan! You were one of the people responsible for ruining my life!? And you didn’t tell me when you found out it was me!? I’m not a actual human because of what you, Fontaine, and Suchong did to me! I was supposed to be a slave! What the Hell did Johnny Topside do to me!? >:O

Brigid: Yes I had a hand. But I feel great shame. You were meant to be a sleeper agent. But Johnny discovered you. He couldn’t handle the idea of someone like you going through that. So he kidnapped you, punched Suchong in the face, and he had help reprogramming you. I felt empathy as well. This happened when I realized what I did to the Little Sisters. Me and him changed your life. We gave you the name Archie. While the Lutece twins made sure you were in a place where Fontaine could never find you.

Archie: Johnny did that?

Brigid: Yet due to the experiments done on you. Along with you going through military training. You became stronger than you ever were. Yet it was your own choice to become a soldier.

Archie: Woah.

Brigid: Fontaine used Johnny’s death as propaganda. As if Johnny was the first to rebel against Ryan. In a way he did. But the truth was that all Johnny wanted for you was a normal life. In a way he was practically the real Atlas in a way. Since Atlas was inspired by him. Including some of Johnny’s traits and memories went to you in a different way. He became a slave to give you freedom. And I feel terrible that I couldn’t save him. :( You don’t have to forgive me.

Archie: I forgive you. ;_; *Breaks down crying as Brigid, Elizabeth, and the Little Sisters hug him. Because before this. He showcased he was more human than he ever was.*

Later.

Archie: We gonna stop Frank!

Atlas: Oy you fucking mistake! You were the closest thing I had to a son! You were meant to be my Ace In The Hole! Yet you didn’t kill Ryan! You got too close to Mother Goose, the Little Magician, those brats, and anyone else! Johnny Topside ruined everything! Tenenbaum betrayed! So you know what, I’m gonna take the woman you’ve grown to love! She and all the ADAM in this city are gonna make me a lot money! You are gonna die alone because you have everything I didn’t have!

Archie: Johnny Topside was more of a father than you ore Ryan could ever be! >:(

Atlas: That’s it time for the disappointment wrench! >:(

*Hits him with the disappointment wrench.*

Elizabeth: No! ;_;

Atlas: My secret is out! I gonna get the Hell out of this city! Everything’s gone busto!

Archie: We gonna save Elizabeth! He has the genetic key! We need to kill Frank Fontaine!

Daisy: We the remaining rebellion can help you!

Archie: That’s great! But I’m worried we may need some Little Sisters help to free Elizabeth! I don’t want to put them in danger.

Brigid: Don’t worry I’ll trust you and we believe in you. We’ll help however we can.

Later.

Archie: It’s okay Elizabeth! I’m coming! Holy shit Frank is that you!?

Atlas: I’m half transformed by this ADAM and using some power from Elizabeth. Now time to go mano a mano against you.

*Both men just scream battle cries at each other as they fight to the death.*

Atlas: I’m so angry at you! I’m gonna beat you to death! Meaning you can’t save this woman you’ve grown to love!

*Miranda, Sally, and some Little Sisters free Elizabeth so she can use a tear on him.*

Atlas: Ah crap! 0_0;

*Archie screams a battle cry as he stabs Atlas in the chest with a ADAM syringe and hangs him brutally down a glass ceiling. Resulting in the death of Atlas/Frank Fontaine.*

Archie: Hooray we did it! :)

Elizabeth: Yes we did it! :)

Daisy: Fontaine is dead! Ryan is gone! Let’s make Rapture a place where a community can safely live at. :)

Archie: I’m not alone anymore too. I have a family now!

*Two months of changing stuff as much as they can. Since there is the scary risk if Rapture is found by the surface.*

During that time, relaxation, relationships developing. Also this.

Jasmine: I’m sorry that I sold you for money. I know you must hate me.

Archie: I forgive you. :) I understand and you’re my birth mom.

Jasmine: Thank you. ;_; *They just hug each other.* I’m so proud of you.

#bioshock #bioshock rebirth #bioshock au

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