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heniareth · 3 years

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I was really curious about what your opinions on the DAO companions are :) I know we have talked about some, but I'd love to hear more and about the others as well :D I hope it's ok to pose this as an ask :)

Sure! That sounds like a ton of fun. This might be a long one tho. Mind you, this is not the finished version of the answer. I'd like to link stuff and add a cut, but rn that's not possible. I'll update it when I can.

Edit: I have updated it ^^

Let's go alphabetically bc why not.

Alistair:

Sweet guy. So sweet. There was a moment when I was hard pressed chosing between him and Zevran (alas, Zevran won). Also, he's weirdly tall according to the wiki? How did I not notice that before?

Let's get a bit more serious now, Alistair is a great guy. The only reason he's not the hero of the story is because he doesn't want to. He has all the qualities of a leader: he's good at dealing with conflict (as evident with the conversation with the mage at the beginning. He gets where he wants to get without antagonizing the mage, but without allowing him to trample all over him). He's a solid tactitian and knows how to make allies (he suggests to use the Grey Warden treaties, after all). I bet if he was in the leadership position, he'd even not bicker with Morrigan. His moral code is pretty tight; some might say too tight, but I think it's less about the moral code and more about learning to judge people by their actions, not by the labels they fit into (Morrigan is a proud apostate and therefore bad. Wynne is a humble circle mage and therefore good). He also has a bit of a black-and-white way of seeing the world. I empathize a lot with Alistair, especially with his experience with the Chantry and his subsequent reluctance to deal with it. I really wish I had gotten to know more about concrete experiences he had during his training as templar, but he seems reluctant to talk about it (gee, I wonder why).

Since I've only played the game once, I haven't really picked up on Arl Eamon's abuse towards him, which apparently exists (Isolde, however... I mean, even if he were Eamon's illegitimate son, he's a kid, ma'am, he didn't exactly get to chose his parents. So that's so not okay). Alistair's way of speaking about them both, however, is either sign that he has not come within a hundred miles of acknowledging how much it hurt him, or that he's already gone through the whole process and has decided to forgive them. The latter shows a very strong character; yes, he relies on the approval and leadership of others, he has his issues, but he's already started working on them.

That being said, irl Alistair would be like a little brother to me. I'd tease him relentlessly (all in good fun and I promise to stop if it makes him uncomfortable, but he's just so teasable). I still wish the videogame gave him the chance to take important decisions for himself. But that, of course, would somewhat defeat the point of the game.

Leliana:

Another sweet, sweet person. Her singing voice is amazing. Her belief in the Maker inspires me (I'm a religious person and seeing religious characters represented in a positive light is Very Cool. It's also sometimes a source of discomfort, because the Church has done a lot of very messed up stuff and positive representation can sometimes veer into apologetics for things that should not be excused, but that's a whole other can of worms. The bottom line is that religious characters sometimes work for me and other times don't and Leliana works for me very much bc she's an outsider inside the Chantry).

Leliana is best friend material, tbh. I'd love to get to know her irl, discuss theology and philosophy and maybe even politics? She makes mistakes and has prejudices, but, tbh, so do I. And I do get the feeling that she tries her best to learn. From the times she intervenes in a conversation between the Warden and an NPC, she shows herself to be compassionate and open to the needs of others. What I get from her character is that she genuinely wants to help, which is something that I adore of her. I suspect that she sometimes has a hard time deciding wether she's a good person or not. She has killed and seduced and worked for a morally dubious person, and she doesn't show the same nonchalance about it as Zevran (though they both do discuss their line of work in very... professional terms). This is, however, more of a headcanon than actual factual canon.

I also very much enjoy her girly side, like her interest in shoes and dresses. She's one badass woman who also looses her cool about the latest fashions in Val Royeaux. I like that. Between her and Alistair, a non human noble Warden has as good a help to navigate the Fereldan court as they're going to get. Leliana is also, I can't forget that, clever and insightful. It'd be easy to write her off as the innocent chantry girl, but she's so much more than that. Her kindness is paired with foresight, I think. She knows that taking on the trouble to help now can go a long way in the future. I just have a lot of respect for her.

Loghain:

This one's gonna be short bc I didn't recruit him. He's an amazing villain and would probably be a great Warden as well. He reminds me of Denerhor from LOTR; once a hero/stewart of his people, ambition and desperation have driven them both down a terrible path. I have also only little idea about his past. People say he lost a lot, and I believe it wholeheartedly; it doesn't excuse the fact that he plunged the country into a civil war in the middle of a Blight. I don't have a lot of sympathy for short-sighted politicians. I wish he hadn't made himself regent. That's what I take away from his character.

Edit: One thing I forgot to mention that really impressed me was his death. I had Alistair duel him (that was a rough duel), and then it kinda just jumped to a cutscene of my Warden nodding and Alistair executing him. That didn't sit well with me. I didn't want to kill Loghain, and less so in front of Anora. But what impressed me was that Loghain just accepted it. That takes a whole lot of guts. Compare that to Howe's death, and how he screams out that he deserved (more, probably, or anything but death) and it's crystal clear who the more noble of the two is. Loghain strikes me as very lawful neutral, and any neutral alignment has the particularity that it can be dragged towards good or bad, sometimes without the characters noticing it (which is interesting from a DnD perspective; neutral is often concieved of as just as stable as good or evil, but that may not be true. But that's a different post). Anyway, Loghain's death was impactful.

Morrigan:

I could kick myself for not maxing out her approval in the first play-through. I got to enjoy a bit of her friendship by the end of it and boy was even that little bit worth it. Friendship with Morrigan is something that is hard-won. It's all the more precious because of that.

Morrigan is full of paradoxes, I think. She's incredibly wise in some ways, yet also very short-sighted (”just kill them, don't solve their problems”. Morrigan, dear, I'm not going to gain a lot of allies if I kill everybody who poses a problem to me). She is so intelligent, but emotionally... not so. She knows so much about some things, and very little about the next. She's incredibly wilful and knows what she wants, but follows Flemeth's orders all the time through. She hungers for power and independence, yet craves closeness, but won't allow herself to have it. She asks you to prove yourself to her and is extremely critical of your actions, I think, because she's afraid. She bites the hand that feeds her because it might hit her next.

Like with Eamon, I haven't managed to catch the undercurrent of abuse that seems to permeate Flemeth's relationship with Morrigan. Except there are signs, because there must be something Morrigan is scared of and who has instilled all that rage in her, and that's Flemeth. Also, she clearly hates/does not care about her and wants her dead (unless killing Flemeth was part of Flemeth's plan as well? Hm.)

Morrigan is that one person who you are nice to, continuously, because nobody else is. And suddenly she becomes less cold. And then friendly. And suddenly you're asking yourself why everybody hates her, because she's a really good friend! I just wish the other companions came to a similar conclusion, especially Alistair and Wynne.

Oghren:

They did this man dirty. He has such great lines and I'm convinced he was a great person before Branka disappeared. He has that dwarven warrior spirit, and while he looks like Gimli, some of his most impactful lines remind me of Dwalin or even Thorin Oakenshield himself. He could be so noble had he gotten some character development, damnit!

Oghren as he is written is somewhat disgusting. I hate the lechering comments and the drunkenness. And still, I don't hate him because of those amazing lines he has when he's actually sober. It's frustrating and I'll give him that character development myself if the game won't. I strongly associate the song Whiskey Lullaby with him, bc that's how he would have ended up if the Warden hadn't taken him along (warning: the song talks about suicide and alcoholism). Like I said, they could have done such cool things with his character. As he is written now... it's just sad. Moments of lucidity drowned in alcohol and creepy jokes. As you can see, I don't blame the character for either. The alcoholism happens all too often irl. The creepy jokes... I put that one on the writers' tab.

I actually think Oghren could have been a great mentor figure (I know, I shock myself as well sometimes). Next to the Grey Wardens, the ones who know most about fighting darkspawn are the dwarves because they have to deal with them constantly. Especially a warrior caste dwarf like Oghren could have brought a lot of that invaluable knowledge to the team, especially since there are no Grey Wardens in Ferelden but two extremely green recruits. Next, you get the chance to give Oghren the command of the teammates you leave behind in the battle of Denerim with the reason that he has lead men into battle before. Where did that suddenly come from? Oghren should have been right up there telling my Warden that they were doing this wrong, that they needed more food (and booze) and a confident leader to keep the armies they've called together going. Oghren should have been able to tell my civilian city elf who got recruited into the Grey Wardens a six months ago how one leads an army. How one presents oneself to inspire confidence, how one doesn't crack under the pressure, how one gets the leaders of said armies (some who hate each others guts i.e. Dalish elves and humans) to work together. And, last but not least, Oghren could have had a great story about grief. This is a man who has lost most of what made him (and what he hasn't lost he's spilling down the drain with every mug of ale). This is a man who, if you take him into the Deep Roads, has to see what his wife did to his family, how his wife got absolutely obsessed, and can be forced to kill said wife or watch her die. All Wardens loose their home and families at the start of the story. It would really have rounded the whole narrative out if the Warden and Oghren could have recognised their grief in each other and hashed it out somehow. Such as it is, Oghren is a depressed drunkard and there is nothing we can do about that. I find that frustrating.

Rascal (a.k.a. Dog):

Best boy. 100/10. I wish we had gotten to see the reaction of the different origins to the mabari (because elves probably have a whole different experience with them from mages or humans. And dwarves just... I think they straight up have none? XD). Other than that, no complaints. The name Rascal was the one I gave my dog because you have to be a right rascal to survive what he did and play the pranks he plays. Smartest breed in the world indeed.

Shale:

Shale is one of those characters that I recruited rather late in the game, so I haven't had the chance to explore their personality and worldview, really. I didn't even get to take them to the Deep Roads (this will be ammended in playthrough nr. 2). As such, I don't have particularly strong opinions on them (or her? The wiki refers to Shale as 'it', but that sounds weird). But, because I know so little about Shale, I have a lot of questions. First, what were they like before they were a golem? Shayle, as she was called then, was the best warrior of her time if I remember correctly. Why did she become a golem? Was it to be able to eternally protect her people? Was the sarcasm the golem Shale exhibits also part of the dwarven warrior Shayle or did that come later (if for thirty years you have nobody to talk to but yourself, you better be entertaining. And I can imagine how it could make somebody terribly jaded as well).

Next, how attached is Shale to their golem form, exactly? According to the banter, they infinitely prefer it to a squishy fleshy form. If that is the case, however, why go to Tevinter to try and become a squishy dwarf again? It's not like that process could be reversed if they wanted to become a golem again; if Shale survives to the end of the game, the Anvil of the Void is destroyed and Caridin is dead. Was the whole spiel about their indestructible form a façade? It might have been, but not because Shale actually disliked their form. I think it would have more to do with the loss of their memories and with the very invasive experiments and alterations of Shale's body made by the mage Wilhelm. The loss of memories means that Shale is unable to remember life as a fleshy creature. They might be deflecting by pretending that they didn't care for that experience anyway because of the superiority of their golem form. The modifications made to their form by Wilhelm would have alienated them from their body. In light of this, it's significant that Shale asks the Warden to decorate their form with crystals.

All of this is, of course, pure speculation. I may have easily missed or forgotten details that would disprove the above thoughts. All in all, I like Shale and I hope we meet them again in DA4 (given that it's mostly set in Tevinter). It's a liking from a respectful distance, because Shale is tall and made out of rock and also way more experienced than I will ever be (they are literally the oldest member of the Warden's little Blight fighting squad).

Sten:

Sten is another person I'd keep a respectful distance from physically. That seems to be the what he would prefer, at least. I've enjoyed his character a lot, especially because he seems pretty clear-cut at first, but slowly lets the nuance of his person show (gruff and stoic, but then he has an eye for art, a sweet tooth and he likes cute animals). It's also very interesting that there's no moment when you learn "the truth" about him the way you do with Zevran or Leliana. There's no big reveal about his life under the Qun before coming to Ferelden. He says he was sent to monitor the Blight, but honestly? If neither Ferelden nor Orlais knew there was a Blight, how could the Qunari know? I think he's lying, and he takes his secrets back with him when he leaves Ferelden. And yet I think I know him enough to say that a Warden who has become friends with him has nothing to fear from Sten.

One thing I find very interesting about Sten is how he thinks. His conversation about how women can't be soldiers has been analysed a lot on this page I think. He seems to be arguing based on a different paradigma than the one the Warden has. He also seems to have a very clear-cut view of the world. What is fascinating to me is that, when arguing with the Warden and learning about their culture, he is not necessarily becoming more lax about his worldview. I think it's more likely that he is expanding his paradigma, the structure of thought through which he understands the world. I don't think that he is now convinced that women can be warriors as well. I think he rather understands that, in Ferelden, the relationship between occupation and gender is different than under the Qun. Which of the two he thinks is more right or more agreeable, I have no idea. I'm also not very interested in that. But I find it fascinating how he always seems to be looking on quietly, gathering data, classifying it and trying to fit it into his understanding of how the world works. I wouldn't be surprised at all if his original party was a scouting party to see how vulnerable Ferelden was at that moment to outside forces. One thing I don't understand with all of this is why he urges the Warden to meet the Blight head on. No smart soldier would suggest that, except if they are foolishly proud (and Sten doesn't seem like that kind of guy tbh). I get that the Warden takes way longer to gather allies than expected because they first have to solve all of their allies' problems. But surely Sten sees the need to have allies? Is he just that impatient? Does he have a death wish (à la, I lost my sword and am without honour, better to die sooner than later and in glorious battle)? Was he his group's previous commander and is he now having trouble following somebody else's orders? Or maybe it's his way to make sure the Warden knows what they are doing? To push them into becoming the self-assured commander their allies will need once they're all gathered? I really don't know. I like the last option best, however.

For me, Sten is my fellow, more experienced soldier. Like Alistair, he can potentially be the Warden's brother in arms, but he's definitely the older brother here. He probably doesn't take kindly to tearful confessions of how hard everything is, but I feel like he's otherwise a solid rock to lean on. I feel like the Warden can trust him to do what is necessary and count on him no matter what, especially after they get his sword back. His devotion from that point on is honestly so powerful.

Wynne:

Wynne was such a support for my Warden (except with the whole conversation about love vs. duty and that she may have to choose between Zevran and ending the Blight and that she should therefore break up with him. Wynne had a point. Astala was so not willing to sacrifice her relationship with Zevran. But the whole conversation came at a point where she was already so disillusioned that she blew up in Wynne's face (”can i please just have one (1) nice thing????”)). But all in all, Wynne is great.

She has a lot of flaws. She was very marked by her life in the Cricle and, for all her age, she has little experience living outside of it. She is also a conformist despite her strong moral core. In a way, her ability to find peace with her lot in life impresses me deeply because it speaks to a lot of strength of character. Sadly, however, strength can be ill applied and used to suppress. I think she has convinced herself that the Chantry is right under (almost) all circumstances to be able to rationalize the life that mages live. She's had her son taken away from her as a baby and an apprentice killed. Her reaction seems to have been to convince herself that this was right, or for the greater good (and now I'm thinking about the Guardian's question at the temple of Andraste's Ashes; are you wise or do you just repeat what others have told you? The answer is not as clear-cut as it might be). This is why she is so irritated by Zevran and Morrigan. By aligning herself with the Chantry, she is, in her eyes, good. Zevran and Morrigan are not; they do not conform to Chantry morality and they defend themselves tooth and nails against somebody who would try and convert them. This is something Wynne never allowed herself to do; she always did the "right" thing and it has cost her so much. I'm not saying she was right (it would probably have done her some good to rebel from time to time, and to trust her own gut instinct more), but in light of this, it hardly surprises me that she's so judgamental. She has to be, or she would be forced to confront all the evil she has not fought against all those years and all the hurt that has been caused to her by the very institution she protects (and thank God she only tries to argue and can appreciate it when people have found a good life outside of her comfort zone. If she tried to convince by force or, for example, drag her former apprentice back to the Circle... boy oh boy that would get ugly). If you think about it, Wynne really is a good example for what happens if you live by a philosophy of always choosing the lesser evil.

Something that I keep forgetting over her grandmotherly and dignified character is how damn powerful she is. She has escaped the carnage at Ostagar; HOW!? She protected those mage apprentices in the Circle tower for God knows how long. In the battle of Denerim, she wades through an army and comes out alive on the other side. The wiki lists her age at 40, I think, but that doesn't make a lick of sense unless 75 years of age are the Fereldan equivalent to 100. This lady, about whom people make grandmother jokes, did all that. It's impressive.

Zevran:

You know, I would really love to know what Wynne thinks about the events at Kirkwall in DA2. It might be a disaster for her, or it might pave the way for one last bit of character development. She certainly didn't want to return to the Circle after fighting the Blight. That may be an indicator of some change in her stance on the Circle of Magi.

Edit: I forgot that she is what the Circle considers a literal abomination! Holy cow, how could I forget that?? Anyway, her conversation about what being an abomination means is so... heartbreaking, actually. It's so tentative. So careful. "Am I an abomination? Am I the same thing that has killed my students? The same thing as Uldred? Am I lost and damned? Did I invite this spirit in? Is this my fault?" Like wow, Wynne is going through something huge right there. I love it. I have to continue playing the game to see what it ends up as, but it's fascinating and such a huge thing that she allows the Warden in on that.

Ah, Zevran, my beloved (he has stolen my heart so much it's not even funny anymore). He's funny, he's charming, he's so so loyal and it breaks my heart. Zevran is the one about whom I've read most meta: these three wonderful posts for instance, as well as this one about his possible lack of scars, and this one about his lack of freedom. All of these have influenced my opinion of him and they are great reads.

I have talked about Zevran with you before, so I'll just skip to the new stuff. I have come to conclusion that Zevran is an artist at heart. This is totally not biased by the fact that I also do art, but hear me out. One of his preferred gifts are bars of silver and gold. While those have the obvious utility of basically functioning as money (they can be sold to any silversmith or goldsmith and their value is pretty stable through time and in different countries), there's also this from his codex: "Zevran shows an affinity for the finer things in life—hardly surprising for an Antivan Crow—but his appreciation can be more poetic than he lets on. A simple bar of refined silver or gold, uncomplicated by a craftsman's hammer, is elegantly valuable." Tell me that is not an artist's eye that sees that gold and sees the beauty in it. Then, there's also the meta about Zevran the Seducer which I linked above and link here again. It talks specifically about how he lets himself enjoy the target and be seen in his enjoyment. Tell me that is not an artist's eye that beholds the beauty of something he is set out to destroy. Even his talk about his assassinations show this. He talks about it as an art, the way somebody would talk about the brutal intervention in stone that produces a sculpture. Yes, it's a rationalization of the act of killing and yes killing is still wrong. But he doesn't go on about it on a moral tangent the way Alistair or Wynne would (”this person was bad, killing them was necessary”) or even through the argument of survival like Morrigan would (”it was either them or me and it sure as Hell wasn't going to be me”). He talks about the pleasure of a job well done, of the satisfaction of striking the precise point and executing a plan to the perfection so as to minimize chances of discovery and to make a clean death possible. And pleasure in seeing and in doing, this I firmly believe, is absolutely fundamental for an artist.

My favourite part about my Warden and Zevran as a pairing is that Zevran precisely brings out that ability to take your pleasures as they come and to really savour them. Fighting the Blight is tough; it's so important to find good things amidst the chaos to stay sane. If Astala saves Zevran from himself by offering him a place to stay and a purpose, Zevran saves Astala from herself by keeping her from running herself into the ground trying to save the world.

There are some things I don't like about Zev. The incessant flirting, for example, sometimes makes me uncomfortable (it becomes enjoyable for me once the Warden and him are in a relationship, but before that? Nah, no thanks). I wish he would also leave the other female characters alone (and there's so many more shameless comments of his aimed at Morrigan, Leliana or Wynne than at Alistair or maybe even Sten).

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And that's my take on the Origins companions (this was rather long. Whew ^^' I hope it was still readable and that you enjoyed it!!) Thank you so much for the ask!! It's been a joy thinking about this. I was worrying at first that the less prominent companions like Sten or Shale wouldn't get as much content but... well XD

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fulokis · 3 years

Text

Wrote this little dadneto in the MCU thing, so have fun. ‘

____

Erik Leshner stood in the collapsed building, next to the bomb siting on the floor looking harmless. He could barely look at the destruction around him. He had left his children in their hands, two of the only people in the world who knew why he had to abandon the twins. Now they were gone, their bodies lie somewhere underneath the rubble their last breaths long gone from their lungs.

The songs of war had moved into the distance, leaving their path of destruction in their wake. A path that his children had been right in the middle of. Erik wanted to scream, to tear the broken building off of its foundations and throw it far away. But deep down he couldn't, he was still too numb from hearing about the tragedy. Not only that but he couldn't destroy the resting place of the Maximoffs no matter how hard he tried.

Irena and Oleg, Erik wasn't even sure how he had known them. Perhaps it was through Magda, or perhaps he pondered he had known one of their parents a long time ago. Either way he knew them and despite being so closed off, liked them. They liked him too, by some twisted logic they trusted him and adored him like family. So when he ended up at their door asking them to take the twins, the only reason they hesitated was to make sure Erik had been sure of the decision.

Erik had never been sure of the decision. Now standing here among the wreckage he felt even less sure, as if he had made the wrong one. One of thousands of wrong decisions that he had made in his life. One of many more yet to come. Still Erik couldn't help but wonder how any of this would have turned out had he decided to keep the twins with him. He told him self over and over again that the outcome would have been worse. He could have had an attachment to them, and then have them ripped away from him. Just like so many other people he had cared for throughout his life.

Erik turned to face the giant hole in the building. Snow and ash fell on his hair making it look much more gray than it was. The smell of the cold mixed with the smell of burning wood and plastics from the nearby rubble where buildings once stood. Erik couldn't help but turn again to take a look over the destroyed apartment, hoping to find the bodies to give them a proper burial. All he could see were the shattered remains of items that had belonged in the apartment. Most items held little to no significance, a broken TV playing some sort of sitcom, the couch where they had told the Maximoffs that they were expecting, the small guest bed strangely still intact.

Erik took a double take, the bed as he had remembered it was hardly steady. For it to survive the initial bomb blast was nothing short of a miracle. An extremely unlikely occurrence considering there was what appeared to be a defective bomb sitting right next to it. That's when he noticed the room itself was not nearly as damaged as it should be. One side had been obliterated, whilst the other remained almost perfectly intact. The other three small rooms of the apartment seemed to be gone themselves, with nothing but piles of concrete in their place.

Erik walked over slowly to the bed and closed his eyes in relief as he heard the squeak of a terrified child from under the bed. Erik chose a slab of concrete to sit down on, trying to make himself less intimidating to the child underneath the bed "Its okay I'm a friend." He said in broken Sokovian.

"You don't speak Sokovian that well." Came a young boy's voice from underneath the bed.

"No I don't. You however speak English quite well for someone your age."

"I'm not young your just old." The child said sticking his face out slightly eyeing Erik with curiosity.

"Peitro don't." A second child's voice came out from under the bed, much softer than the boy's.

"It's okay I don't bite." Erik said, releasing some of the tension in his shoulders. They had both survived, and since they had survived one or both of them had manifested their powers.

"What are you doing here?" The boy asked still timid but not nearly as much as his sister.

"I was looking for survivors Peitro." Erik said.

"Hey how'd you know my name!" Peitro yelled.

"Your sister told me." Erik replied knowing he just lied to his kid.

"Oh." Peitro said, inching further out from under the bed, "You look funny, kinda like the people on the TV."

"Peitro!" The girl cried slapping him on the arm.

"Wanda what was that for?!"

"You don't know if we can trust him, besides that wasn't nice." Wanda said.

"You can trust me Wanda." Erik said, "I won't hurt you I promise."

A DVD case flew out from underneath the bed, clearly propelled by something other than a child's physical hand. Erik attempted to dodge the object but failed when it veered off what appeared to be its projected course, hitting him in the shoulder. Wanda peaked out a bit testing the water trying to see if Erik was telling the truth. "You promise?" She asked hesitantly.

"I promise." Erik said reaching a hand out. The girl slid from under the bed into the pale light of the street lamps reflecting off the snow. Erik had expected her to be covered in bruises and cuts, but all he could see was dirt and grime. "What day did this happen?" He asked softly his heart sinking as Wanda took his hand. She looked pale, and it was clear that she hadn't had any food or water in a day or two.

"Friday." She said a distant look in her eyes. Erik could feel his heart clench, last he had checked his watch it was one in the morning on Monday. These children— his children had been stuck up in the building for two full days. Sitting waiting for either the bomb, the exposure, or the lack of food and water to kill them. Erik silently cursed as a tear ran down his cheek. "Are you okay?" Wanda asked.

Erik took his free hand and wiped the tear away, "I'm okay." He said to her trying to reassure himself that he wasn't about to lose it and add to the chaos. "A little ash in my eye that's all."

"What's that?" Peitro asked pointing to the tattoo on Eriks wrist.

Erik looked down and slid his sleeve up a little more so that the twins could see. "I'm an orphan like you." He said quietly, "Some very bad people took my parents away from me. Then they gave me this tattoo and told me to work. There was a lot of killing, and a lot of families were torn apart."

"Are we gonna get torn apart?" Wanda asked.

"No." Erik said, "You two won't because I know you two will stick to each other like glue."

Wanda turned to face Peitro and the boy nodded. "Are you going to take us with you?"

Erik felt his heart sink. That was the exact question he was asking himself. "No, I can't. My work doesn't leave me much time for family."

"What do you do?" Peitro asked.

"Why are you here then?" Wanda asked.

"Slow down." Erik said aiming the comment towards his son than his daughter. "I work on top secret missions for the US government. Missions that don't allow me to have a family." Erik said knowing he was yet again lying to his children. "As to your question Wanda, I knew your parents."

"I would remember you." Wanda said.

"I knew your parents a long time ago, before you were born. I'm sure I knew them as very different people than you did. When I heard about what had happened I had to see. I'm glad the two of you are alive."

"Barely." Peitro said "I'm starving."

"How about this, I take you back to my hotel room and you can clean up and sleep? I'll take you two to the orphanage in a couple days." Erik said knowing it was a stretch. The truth was he needed to make himself scarce soon otherwise the authorities would find him, an occurrence that was sure to become nasty.

"No." Wanda said, "We go to the orphanage in the morning."

"I understand." Erik replied. He did understand, to the twins he was a stranger. A stranger looking to use them rather than it being out of the kindness of his heart. They were probably right, had they been any other kids he would have used them, or even disregarded them and left them to die.

"What now?" Wanda asked.

"Tell us a story!" Peitro said, running to where the bookshelf used to be at a slightly inhuman speed. "Aww they’re gone." He grumbled running back to his sister and Erik.

Erik smiled softly, Magic and superhuman speed, just what the situation would have needed. Magic was in the twins veins, and their mother was quite gifted with her magic. Speed on the other hand seemed to be a new addition to the mutant tree, but that didn't mean that it wasn't predictable. After all Peitro had seemed to be constantly moving around in the womb, and the one time Erik had called Irena, she told him they couldn't stop Peitro from running off.

"Do you have any stories?" Wanda asked looking at her father.

"Yes I do Wanda. Not in books though, stories in my head."

"Tell us one!" Peitro yelled.

"I know the perfect one." Erik said standing up and sitting on the guest bed back against the wall. He patted next to him and one twin sat on either side of him. "A long time ago there was this group of people..."

"Is there any action?!" Peitro asked.

"Why is it always fighting?" Wanda asked "Why can't you accept a peaceful story about people?"

"Shh, there's plenty of both." Erik consoled the twins before starting the story again. "This group of people were fighting for people like them, people who were different."

"Different how?" Wanda asked.

"These people had powers, abilities beyond your wildest imaginations. They fought so others like them and their children could live in a world that accepted them. Some of them looked different, and had strange appearances. Some of them looked like you or me, but had powerful abilities that one would never be able to guess."

"Like flight?" Peitro asked.

"Yes like flight." Erik confirmed the soft smile returning to his face, "They created silly little names for each other, each one embraced a part of who they are. They called themselves the X-men."

"Are the X-men real?" Wanda asked.

"Maybe they were. This was so long ago no one is quite sure. I doubt if they were real they are still around anymore." Erik said pausing to collect his thoughts. It had been so long ago on the beaches of Cuba where he had stood, in his mid twenties and full of rage and anger. That man that had stood there was gone, replaced with a much more dangerous combination of those primal emotions.

"Keep going?" The boy asked leaning in closer to Erik.

"Only if you don't interrupt any more." Erik teased.

"We won't we promise." Wanda said sending a glare towards her brother.

Erik continued to tell the twins the exploits of the X-men. How in the end they saved the world, and how they were held as heroes among the people they had fought so hard to gain acceptance from. How in the end they were forced to keep themselves a secret for fear that they would be hunted down despite their heroics. How even though heroes can do all the right things sometimes life makes them walk a different path.

Erik finished the story and looked down. Both twins were snoring softly, having fallen asleep likely for the first time in days. Erik couldn't keep in the tears, he could feel as they ran down his face. The cold making the trails of moisture they left behind burn on his skin.

He still remembered the last time he had held them like this. Three days after they were born Magda had come down with a fever. Three days after that she was dead, not even the hospital was sure what had happened. Erik still could feel as both newborns were in his arms fast asleep unbeknownst about their mother in pain and agony next to them. He could still feel the tears as he watched the doctors rush in to try and save her. The numbness when it was all over and when the sun rose. He still felt the pain, sometimes as if it were happening all over again.

That was the first time the twins had lost their parents. Erik knew he changed after that, he always knew he would. Now sitting here holding the twins he realized they never even knew that they had lost their parents before. For them this was the first time they had experienced this, pain that lasts for a life time. Erik had given them up so they wouldn't have to experience this in the event he got into some trouble he couldn't simply solve with magnetism. Ironically that didn't save them. The act meant to save them and let them be children had failed.

So what was stopping him from taking them home? Living a quiet life somewhere? Erik knew the answer, he was afraid. Afraid to loose again. He knew that if he knew them, and then lost them things would go bad very fast. He didn't want that, Magda, his mother, anyone who had loved him, didn't want that. The anger and rage he held would explode, and Erik knew that if he were to explode the world might not be around anymore.

Peitro stirred a bit, and Erik looked down to make sure he was still asleep. Both twins looked a lot like their mother. They had inherited the dark brown hair and the same shaped nose. Peitro's eyes were just like Magda's. Wandas eyes were like his own, as well as her personality. Erik feared for her, not about what had happened but rather what would happen and what events might set her down an even darker path than the one she walked.

Erik sighed, exhausted from finding his way to the small country. He had seen the news, the several city blocks leveled by bombs. Thousands dead by the estimates and thousands more injured. He had come as fast as he could, unfortunately he feared he was not fast enough.

He pulled both twins in closer to him, in the hopes that his body heat would be able to keep them alive for the next few hours. Neither one seemed to mind or maybe they were to tired to even care. For a second Erik could imagine that they were at the little home he and Magda had bought, sitting in the room with the skylight watching the stars. But they weren't and they never would. Erik placed a small kiss on the top of each twins head before drifting off to sleep himself.

Hours later he was woken by the flashlight of a Red Cross worker. Erik wasn't expecting them to have shown up, but it was for all the better considering the twins had to go back into normal society. Although most people would write the story of him floating the three of them in the air down to the ground as the overactive imagination of a child.

The volunteer that had climbed over the building started speaking Sokovian. Erik could barely understand them, and neither twin was up, "Ich spreche Deustch." Erik said without thinking.

"Um." The young woman said, "Do you speak English?"

Erik chuckled, "Yes I speak English."

"Are you hurt? Are either of your kids hurt?" She asked, slowly trying to remember the right sounds to say.

"No. The kids need food and water though." Erik said softly looking at the twins. They looked worse than they had previously, something Erik attributed to the lack of light at night.

"You are fine?" She asked confused.

"Yes, I'm a friend to their family." Erik said.

"You were not here when the bombs dropped then?"

"No." Erik said.

"Can you carry them?" The woman asked signaling some people at the bottom of the building.

"Yes." Erik said, "One at a time though." The woman nodded at him and Erik stood up sliding Peitro to lie on the bed while scooping Wanda in his arms. Erik nodded at the young woman and she helped direct him to the edge of the building where there was a makeshift rope ladder. Erik took hold of the ladder with one hand holding tight onto Wanda. Erik climbed down carefully trying to protect Wanda from the wind blowing snow and ash their way. Erik made it down and placed Wanda on a makeshift bed in the back of a pickup truck. Erik repeated the same thing with Peitro nearly falling a couple times due to the wind.

Erik placed Peitro next to his sister and looked at the two of them sleeping peacefully next to each other. He sighed knowing what had to come next. He didn't have the heart to wake them up, they needed their sleep. "Don't loose each other." He started to whisper to them "Don't let anyone push you down. Stand up for one another and stick together. The world is hard and cruel, having someone by your side will soften the blows. I wish I did. Don't forget who you are either, don't loose yourselves to the pain and rage. Just remember who you are and you'll be fine."

Erik stood up and looked at the young woman who had climbed down after him. "Can I trust you'll get them somewhere safe?"

"You are not taking them?" She asked confused.

"No." Erik felt his voice crack, "I can't." The woman nodded at him and the small band of volunteers packed up the area. Their sweep had yielded no one except the twins and there was no reason for them to stay in the area. Erik watched as they climbed in the back of the truck protecting his kids. He watched as the trails of exhaust disappeared off into the distance. That was it he knew, he was lucky to even get this chance. For the second time in his life Erik Lehnsherr had abandoned his children, and this time he was even less sure of his decision. But now it was over, he would never see them again, and he knew that was for the best.

#dadneto #wanda maximoff #pietro maximoff #erik lehnsherr #magneto #Scarlet Witch #quicksilver #fanfic #mcu #xmen #x-men

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twinxyjinx · 4 years

Text

My Mom

Plot/Prompt: Water

TW: panic, car crash, almost drowning

Reblogs are appreciated

You can also read it here on AO3!

_____________________________________________

Tony doesn’t see it coming.

Neither does Peter, who is seated shotgun in an older, less attention-attracting car. A car that Tony had decided to take on a drive around the woods. It wasn’t often he got to spend time with Peter. Especially since after the whole snap and war; plus his retirement. Giving up his title as Iron Man had left a lot of interviews to fill his time as well as getting more comfortable living life with a now prosthetic right arm. Phantom pains plagued him like the black death and it wasn’t uncommon that he would wake from nightmares.

It wasn’t uncommon that he wasn’t able to talk to Peter either. Now that the kid was back, he was jumping right back into the whole Spider-Man business. He’d been stopping thugs left and right and helping a few people who got displaced after coming back from the snap. He even helped set up a few shelters for those people; as his alter identity, of course. He was doing a lot of good and trying to help out as much as he could. Not to mention he also had school breathing down the back of his neck.

Unlike some of his classmates, he was still the same sixteen-year-old Peter as when he had been snapped. If he hadn’t, maybe he would’ve been in college by now or even graduated. He was smart, however, and school didn’t seem to worry him as much anymore. He was more focused on “saving kittens from trees” and “teaching a thug or two a lesson.” Tony had snorted at those phrases, but Peter had been all too serious about them. While the kid hadn’t sustained any serious injuries since getting back on duty, there had been a few close calls.

Tony had been watching through the suits cameras when it happened. He’d watch a guy point a gun at Peter from almost two feet away and had practically screamed when the gun went off. Luckily, his “spidey-senses” went off and saved him. It didn’t save him from Tony reprimanding him, however. Nor did it save him from getting knocked around a few times. Even if Tony had retired Iron Man, he hadn’t retired as Peter’s mentor. He kept an eye out on the kid, and it wasn’t uncommon to have him get knocked out mid fight.

He’d always bounce right back up onto his feet, however. It was always a relief to hear him complaining about how hard he got hit or how the guy he was fighting smelt like dead raccoons. A favorite insult of his was “they smell like that old dirty sock pile in the corner of my room that I still need to wash.”

In other words, life was good. Tony had Morgan and Pepper and their alpaca named Gerald. They had a nice private cabin that “uncle Happy” and “uncle Rhodey” - as dubbed by Morgan - visited every now and then. There was even the rare visit from Sam and sometimes Clint and his family. Bucky had come during one of the visits, though he lingered in the car outside. No matter how much Sam asked him to come in - as well as Tony even inviting him inside - he had flat out refused.

He lost almost all contact with Strange after the fight. Sometimes the sorcerer dropped by to talk about a few things that were far beyond even Tony’s understanding. It still intrigued him, however, to hear the former surgeon talk about realities and how time worked. As infuriating as he had been when they first met in his sanctum, Tony had grown to like his company over a cup of coffee.

Then there was Thor who dropped by the least. He’d gone with the group of so-called “Guardians” and hardly came to say hello. It wasn’t that big of a deal, but Tony had to admit that he missed his presence at times. But Pepper was always there to fill it in. Morgan too. Gerald helped a little bit with it, but he was more of a “come chew my sleeves off” type of alpaca. But he liked this life. It was more relaxed and he got to enjoy normally sitting around and talking with friends. So that was why he decided to catch up with Peter through a car ride.

“So how’s arachnid-man going for you?” Tony hummed, removing one hand from the wheel of the car to turn down the radio that had been playing AC/DC at a moderately loud volume. Peter tore his gaze away from the window, snorting and rolling his eyes. “It’s Spider-Man, mister Stark… and it's going good. Kinda boring, not gonna lie.” He explained, slouching back against his chair. Tony fixed him with a bewildered expression before averting his eyes back to the road. “Aren’t you enjoying not having to deal with a giant purple nutsack?”

“Ew.”

“That’s what we called him during the whole five years thing.” Tony rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Parker. You’d be - what - twenty-one now? You can say no-no words… unless your Aunt doesn’t let you.” He teased, earning a gentle punch on his prosthetic arm. “I say ‘no-no’ words all the time! And it's just… there’s a lot of responsibility now with everything and sometimes it gets overwhelming.” Peter shrugged, biting his bottom lip. “So it’s not boring?” Tony asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No. It’s overwhelming… are you losing your hearing?”

“If you make one more old man joke I am going to lose it.” Tony threatened through clenched teeth, keeping his tone light and sarcastic. Peter snorted, looking back out the window. “I’m terrified… no, truly! I’m shaking in my custom baby seal leather boots.” He waved his hands in front of himself. “Is that a reference to something?” Tony almost challenged, looking over at Peter. “Why yes it is, mister Stark. And you were cultured like me, you’d- DEER!”

“Deer!?” Tony parroted frantically, his gaze snapping back onto the road. In their path stood a buck, head high and eyes wide. It was caught right in their headlights and it didn’t seem like it was going to move anytime soon. Clenching his jaw, he grabbed the wheel tightly with one hand and pulled one hand back. He slammed it down on the horn, holding it there as his car screamed out a monotone bellow. However, it still didn’t move.

Desperately, Tony grappled with the wheel and began to turn it rapidly to the right. The tires screeched against the ground as the car veered, the end twisting to the left. A horrible thump followed as the car continued to swerve right towards the edge of the road that led down a slope that wasn’t too steep. However, it was still steep enough to bring the car tumbling down. The honking came to an abrupt stop as the car swerved over the edge and went barreling down the slope. The metal crunched and groaned under the barrage of force. The windshield wipers began to flail back-and-forth as the hood of the car popped upright.

And suddenly, it stopped… and they began to lower into the ground?

No… No, no, no. They were in a lake. Clenching his jaw through the pain that stabbed at his ribs and wrists, he slowly craned his head to the right to catch a glimpse of Peter. It was clear he was still breathing, but his head drooped lifelessly against the window. A thin trail of blood trickled out of his nose and there was a nasty gash on the side of his head. Stomach churning, Tony nodded and laughed unsteadily. “Alright… alright we’re okay. We’re gonna get out of here.” He muttered, almost to himself, as he reached over and shook Peter.

“C’mon buddy… open those eyes for me.”

A low groan sounded from Peter’s lips and his eyes flickered open dazedly. Tony immediately sought out his eyes and exhaled a shaky sigh of relief seeing that they weren’t dilated or glazed over. “What…” Peter whispered, blinking a few more times before he noticed the water now lapping at the edge of the windows of the car. His eyes stretched wide and he began to fumble for his seatbelt, breath hitching as terror made his movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

“Woah, woah, woah! Calm down!” Tony urged, unbuckling himself as well once he heard the click of Peter’s buckle. Shaking his head furiously, Peter grabbed at the doorknob and frantically tried to push the door open. “No, no, no! I can’t- I can’t do this water is- no, no, no!” He ended off in a cry of desperation when the door wouldn’t budge. Tony was both grateful and unsettled by that. While it kept the cold water out, it also meant the car sinking further and putting them in a more dangerous situation

“We gotta get out, mister Stark. I can’t do this- I can’t-”

“Deep breaths, buddy. Just breathe for a minute and explain why you’re all riled up.” Tony murmured, looking towards the front window to watch the black water slowly lap at the cracked windshield. Peter inhaled shakily and exhaled, nodding. “Uh- I haven’t been- I can’t put my head underwater. Or the surface because e-everytime I do, I panic and- the river- the Vulture- and it- it’s really scary.” He ended in what was barely a whisper as Tony nodded softly.

“I gotcha kid. But that’s not gonna happen this time. We’re gonna get out of this.” Tony reassured, nodding and raising his eyebrows to beckon Peter to nod back. After biting his bottom lip, Peter nodded shakily. “Y-yeah… Got it…” He trailed off at the terrible sound of cracking. Both of their gazes flashed towards the windshield as the black water washed over it and drug the car down. It was growing darker the further they sunk, but more and more cracks formed along the glass until an ear-splitting shattering sound met their ears.

“Oh my god oh my god!” Peter reeled backwards as the icy cold water rushed in, pooling on the floor of the car. “No, Peter! This is a good thing! That’s our way out!” Tony explained, slowly shifting to sit crouched on the balls of his feet on his chair. “Let the water fill the car up and then you gotta swim. Swim like your life depends on it.” He continued, looking over at Peter. He couldn’t make out his face anymore, but he could see him nodding his head. A surge of icy water at his knees made Tony gasp out loud, followed by a string of “fuck that's cold fuck oh shit fuck that is so cold.”

“Swear jar.” Peter whispered softly as the water continued to rise up to Tony’s chest. He began to tilt his head back, shivering and flashing a glare in Peter’s direction. “Not the time kid… get ready to take a deep breath.” He blinked his eyes rapidly as he reeled his head back further. The water began to lick at his Adam's apple, and soon began to rise up to his chin. Sputtering, he opened his mouth and sucked in as much air as he could before forcing his head under.

The world was thrown into darkness and everything became muffled. He could hear bubbles swishing around him and besides him, which he assumed to be Peter trying to move. Reaching out blindly, he clasped onto either Peter’s arm or leg, squeezing his eyes shut more when Peter’s hand found his. He kept his movements little to nothing to not waste too much oxygen as he pushed himself off the back of his seat, pulling Peter with him.

After a moment of floating forward, he began to churn his legs. He pulled his hand away from Peter’s and waved his arms. His chest felt tight and his lungs started to burn for air. For a moment, he feared he would be too slow. Then, he breached the surface. He threw his head back and his eyes shot open as he gasped, blinking rapidly against the droplets that trickled down his face.

Besides him, he heard a splash and someone else gasp for air. Wading in the water, he looked over at Peter who was spitting water out of his mouth and blinking his eyes rapidly. Relief flooded his chest and he exhaled shakily, jabbing his nose in the direction of the nearest shore.

“C’mon kid.”

#whumptober2020 #no.12 #water #marvel cinematic universe #Iron Man #spider man #spider son #iron dad #Irondad and Spiderson #spiderson and irondad #tw: car crash #tw: almost drowning #tw: panic #peter parker #tony stark #not endgame compliant #tony stark is alive #deers suck #writing

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quillfulwriter · 4 years

Text

You Will Live Ch. 1: Enbarr | FE3H AU

Word count: 1900 (4 to 16 minutes) | Rating: T | Note: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers | Main Characters: Ferdinand, Hubert, and former Black Eagle students | Ship: Ferdibert

—————–

Smoldering flame mixed with the tang of magic and turn of summer into autumn in the air. The city had been evacuated, of course, so the only dead within the walls were beasts and willing soldiers ready to defend Her Majesty’s cause no matter their odds. This was, for them, a matter of patriotism or principle in devotion to their Emperor. The soldiers still standing fought with as much spirit as they could muster even as their allies fell.

Hubert’s own magic reserves were dangerously depleted, but he would not yield. His post was the final line of defense between the invading forces and the Enbarr castle. He swallowed and his throat was dry, but he still smiled coldly at the soldiers from the church, Kingdom, and Alliance forcing their way towards the gates. Beyond him was Her Majesty and all the hopes she sacrificed so much for. Hubert would sooner die than relent here, of all places.

Your Majesty.

The calling spell only worked in a certain range, such as the Empire’s capital, at least for Hubert. That was all he needed in this moment.

How goes the battle, Hubert?

She counted on him not for good news, but accurate reports. This would hardly change now.

Poorly, I’m afraid. We will fight to the last.

The distant fizzle of silence was a telltale sign that Hubert was struggling to maintain the spell. The archers breaching the defensive line were taking up his focus instead, an act he knew Her Majesty would approve. It was only sensible.

Withdraw into the castle if you must, Hubert.

Of course, Your Majesty.

He dropped the connection on a lie. To retreat here would be to allow this filth into her castle to take her life. In this number, Hubert had to confess they would almost certainly succeed regardless of where he went. That did not dissuade him from the fight in the least.

He drew on the dark magic he refined in service to Lady Edelgard, bracing for the mounted units charging toward him. Most likely, he’d already been flanked by stealthier classes and this last stand would be over soon enough. But he would be sure they earned their invasion. Clouds of dark purple energy swirled around his arms, wisping away at the edges as the first soldier came through the archway.

In a sweeping gesture, several glowing spears of energy appeared above the soldier and the glyph flashed at Hubert’s feet as the spears pierced the enemy and left them slumped over on their horse. That was the last charge he had for Dark Spikes, and his advantage against cavalrymen was exhausted.

Naturally, it was in that state and when the wear of battle screamed in all of Hubert’s being that none other than Ferdinand himself rode over the hill. His alliance changed at the bridge of Myrddin and what letters he dared send to the Empire following that were swiftly destroyed by Hubert himself. To think he’d respected him, sat with him in the tea gardens like they were friends. Hubert made a fool of himself by going out of his way to purchase tea as a gift for the former Prime Minister, just as Ferdinand had been for purchasing an overpriced imported coffee during a time of war as a gift for Hubert.

He was a sight in battle all the same. Blood clung to the ends of his free-flowing hair, grown long in his adult years. After all this grueling combat, his posture on horseback was as pristine as in his regular training. Ferdinand von Aegir would gloat for ages if he only knew that Hubert would concede in his final moments that he was, in fact, the noblest of nobles in the most respectable sense no matter where his allegiance fell.

What a shame he would not get that insight even in Hubert’s final words.

“Running into you in the capital like this—I have to say, it's almost sentimental.” How easily the teasing banter came, as if this was just another walk to the gardens or conference hall. For once, Ferdinand did not smile.

“Hubert. She must leave.”

Just who was he trying to convince with such a dry response? Hubert scoffed, the spell brewing in his palm at the ready. No different than Ferdinand’s javelin. He came prepared for the deed, it seemed.

“You really think you can make her?”

All those years trying to best Edelgard with the goal of providing her guidance if she went down the wrong path, and then it was Ferdinand who veered off course. Normally, Ferdinand could be made to realize he was mistaken. But it was far too late for that now. Barely able to stand and still holding the last defense to the castle, Hubert had to believe as much.

“It does not matter what I think. Those are my orders.”

Hubert’s spell was his answer, and the javelin glancing past him was the reply. The blur of spells and Ferdinand’s attacks were impossible to track after that. Hubert’s eyes throbbed with overexertion and he could taste coppery blood. He wouldn’t hold on much longer now. Even the mages stationed to his left had staggered towards his location at some point and collapsed, arrows buried in their backs.

Beyond their corpses, a familiar archer drew back on her bow. She came out of her room for this? Such progress.

“It’s over, Hubert.” Bernadetta kept her arrow trained on him, pointed and intense, but her eyes were soft. Pitying, perhaps. “Please just… Don’t make us hurt you.”

He chuckled and she shivered just a bit. Well, it would appear that her instinctive fear of him didn’t change. “Then surrender.”

“C’mon,” Caspar came up on the other flank, tense but still too relaxed for a battlefield. Was there nothing between shouting like a madman or talking casually for Caspar? It was a miracle that he survived this long. “You’re too smart for this. Beating you up now, it’s… kinda unfair.”

Hubert laughed again, or tried, but it came out as more of a wheeze. If they were going to join forces against him, he’d prefer it was in actual combat. To collapse and die from simple blood loss wasn’t how he imagined his end.

“Come to your senses, Hubert.” Ferdinand spoke from horseback, the tip of his spear red with Hubert’s blood. In fairness, he had his own injuries from the last of Hubert’s spells in turn. The duel had been far from one-sided. “Our forces are inside the castle. Stand down.”

That sentence ran through Hubert like a hot blade. Behind him, soldiers must have slid through the moat to escape Hubert’s attention during their fight. How could he have been so lax? The glyph of the communication spell lit up in his eyes, likely invisible to the others at this distance.

Your Majesty, the enemy—

I am aware, Hubert.

I will be there shortly.

But he couldn’t and Her Majesty knew that as well as he did. The forces would not have made it inside if Hubert was at his full strength. Just sustaining this spell was depleting what little reserves he had left. If his former classmates saw the concern on his face, they had the decency not to insult him by saying it.

You will do no such thing. Stand down, Hubert.

Edelgard, no—

Not again. This would not be the same as her time in the Kingdom while he suffered in the Empire: it would be far worse. If he lost Lady Edelgard a second time with no way back from it, Hubert had no concept of what he might come next. Her victory was everything to him, but if she was ordering him to surrender, then…

Please, Hubert, follow this last order from me. You have walked this path with me and made it all that much brighter for it. All I need from you now is to know that although I will fall here today, you will live your own life.

If Edelgard made her mind unavailable for contact through the force of her considerable will or if the worst had already come to pass when the spell broke off, Hubert had no way of knowing. Not yet. The stone bridge almost certainly bruised him as he dropped to his knees, coughing blood up onto the pale surface.

“Uh, Linhardt!” Caspar’s strained, his inflection rising as it did whenever he was excited or stressed. How long had it been, but still Hubert could read them so clearly. As if they never left.

Hubert clenched his hands into fists against the bridge, scraping them on the stone enough to hurt through his gloves.

“What now?” Linhardt’s presence was impossible to pinpoint, even as unmistakable as his sighing tone was. The injuries Hubert sustained were too great for his body to maintain even that simple function.

Ferdinand dropped from his horse with a clank of armored greaves. “Hubert!”

At least when he spoke then, it wasn’t with the empty distance from before. Ferdinand talking without some buoyant emotion was too foreign to tolerate for long. Hubert wouldn’t have much time left to wait either way, he supposed.

Then the cool dispersion of a Physic spell washed over him.

“No, leave me—” He reached up with a stained glove, trying to wave off their assistance. He wanted to fall with Edelgard. It was his purpose, the path he’d chosen. The healing spell did restore him to the point where the taste of blood was fading, but the strength to stand still escaped him. He could still end this with his devotion intact.

“We couldn’t do that to you.” Bernadetta’s timidity was back in full force as she stepped up beside him on the bridge.

Another wave of enemy soldiers rushed by, unstoppable as a flood and leaving him with a weight as heavy as being buried alive. Why did they show him mercy? Didn’t they realize this was the cruelest fate even Hubert could imagine? Another healing spell from Linhardt was joined by Bernadetta’s slender hand hovering on his shoulder. He didn’t have the venom to shirk her off in this state.

“Her Majesty, her victory—” The edge to his voice was less cutting and more desperate than he desired.

“I am sorry, Hubert.” Ferdinand had knelt in front of him at some point. His curling locks swam in Hubert’s vision, blending with the warm tones of his uniform. On the opposite shoulder from Bernadetta, he rested his hand and gave a reaffirming squeeze. How dare they do this to Hubert. How dare Ferdinand show him this compassion here, now. “I wish it hadn’t come to this.”

And yet, through the indignant spite, Hubert reached up to grab onto the front of the former Prime Minister’s shirt. Feebly, even according to his own account.

“Please—” He hoped they were satisfied to be the only ones to hear him beg for Her Majesty’s life. There was nothing they could do, no more than he himself could. Lady Edelgard and Hubert alike knew this end was always a possibility. But when it came, he expected he would meet his death before allowing anyone to even come close to Edelgard. He would sooner die; Hubert swore to himself. But with the actual moment here, Hubert instead held onto Ferdinand, felt the single trail of wetness on his own face, saw the pulsing darkness at the edges of his vision—

“What’s going on, Lin?”

“Oh, he’s passing out. But he’ll survi—”

—————–

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ironbound-praetorium · 6 years

Text

A Place to Start Over

Tirisfal still smelled like blight and ash even days after the Horde and Alliance clashed at the gates of Lordaeron, but it didn’t deter any member of the Praetorium from venturing out in the hopes of finding those left behind to ruin. Raelin Dawnsorrow, above all of them, had stood at first hand witness to the atrocities committed under red and blue banner. As days bled into one another , he raced across the tree line in an endless grid pattern ferrying civilians back to the trio of ships that hovered over the landscape. Only when he was commanded to sleep did he fall into his rack and nightmares about those he hadn’t been able to reach in time.

The Ironfist had a soft heart, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it was directly centered on the children of the world, as he hardly thought it was fair they had to deal with adult concept like war and unnecessary death. It was a direct result of his own tragic past with regards to his younger siblings whose ashes now lay peacefully in the Dawnsorrow mausoleum. Those losses had driven him near to madness, but purpose had been found in knowing he could stop others from suffering the same fate… if only he was strong and fast enough.

Thankfully, Raelin had an ace up his sleeve when it came to the speed necessary to grid out Tirisfal and search block by imaginary block for those left in the wake of the war machine. Dalis, the Ironbound protodrake had been encountered in Ulduar when the world’s heroes sought the release of the Titan stronghold from the grip of the Old Gods, but it had been fate which brought the two together. They’d weathered a hundred battles together since that day, and not once had their trust wavered, even when words between them were entirely absent.

It was that trust that kept Raelin steady as Dalis veered hard to the right and made a beeline for a outcropping of trees along the eastern border of Tirisfal. Shifting his weight, the ginger elf laid flat against the drakes back as the air rushed over him and bright blue eyes scanned the ground for whatever target they were after. It could have been up to three miles away knowing how keen draconic eyesight was, but the pungent smell of decay and smoke signaled they were far closer.

Their target was seen as the drake maneuvered to a clearing a short distance away, landing with a thud that shook the ground and caused loose and burning limbs to fall. Dalis wasn’t even fully settled to his haunches before Raelin was off his back and striding for the burned out remnants, his loud voice sure and strong as he announced his arrival; a necessity given the volatile climate he was current in.

“I’m here to help! Hello? Anyone here?”

Long strides carried him up the broken stone path, though the moment he reached the door long ears flicked in response to the sudden knowledge that he wasn’t alone. Raelin knew better than to make any sudden moves, as war gave way to paranoia for many, and he rather liked his head attached to his body.

“Just here looking for civilians that need help…Silver Hand…promise I’m not here to cause any ha- oh shit…” Turning around slowly as he spoke, the Ironfist’s eyes went wide as his ‘company’ was viewed clearly.

Five childlike figures clad in mud streaked rags formed a half circle around the Ironfist as the scent of ichor stung his nose. Undeath had not been kind to any of them, as protruding bones and missing parts came more clearly into view. Ligaments and sinew hung limply from one’s arm where clearly an axe had tried to lop off the offending limb, while another’s cheeks were stained black from the dangling eye that clung only by a bundle of nerves. Their injuries were substantial, yet not one of them seemed to register the pain, as no doubt the shock of everything they had seen had muddled their minds to the most base of responses.

“Hey there…” Raelin began, slowly beginning to crouch down in order to not tower over the diminutive figures. “M’dragon over there seemed to think you guys needed some help, yeah?” His voice, while usually littered with vulgarity became soft and quiet as he offered a hand outward. “M’name’s Raelin...”

The smallest of them, a little girl who couldn’t have been anymore than 6 when she rose as a Forsaken, began to take a step forward as if she would accept Raelin at his word but was blocked by the lanky boy who stepped in front of her in a protective way. His spindly fingers curled against his tattered pants as hollow eyes stared down the large man while the others seemed more fixated on Dalis, who had intentionally gone very still as to not frighten the poor creatures.

“Your eyes are blue…” the ‘leader’ said, his raspy voice cracking as if he was perpetually stuck in the throes of puberty.

“Mmm, they are...but not here under the Alliance banner, see?” Moving cautiously, the Ironfist shifted upwards to tug on the Silver Hand tabard that was displayed over his chest, tapping one finger against the closed fist. “I don’t much like red and blue, always preferred yellow… like in sunflowers? My Ma used to grow them in our gardens back in Eversong when I was younger…”

Skeptical to be sure, the boy took a step forward to inspect the tabard with a narrowed gaze while the small girl’s voice piped up in garbled tones. “I like flowers...”

“Yeah? My favorites are blue roses…” Raelin offered, casually glancing to the others who remained wary of him as he reached to flip up the edge of his tabard where the aforementioned flower was embroidered.

The tension in the air was palatable, as it always seemed to be when dealing with the Forsaken, as they were not at all inclined towards dealing with the living. Drawing in a deep breath, his forearms settled on his knees as he looked between them all with a faint smile cast across his rugged features. “How about you let me take a look at all your hurts, and then we see about getting you to a safe place, hrm?”

“We’re not fucking children, you idiot!” Taken back by the temper that came out of nowhere, Raelin’s eyes shifted back to the leader with both brows raised in response. It hadn’t dawned on him until that moment that they’d been stuck in this perpetual state of youth for gods knew how long and that he’d gone about the whole situation in entirely the wrong way.

Lifting his hands again, a helpless shrug was given with a crooked grin. “Oh, well good… means I don’t gotta watch my fucking mouth. Guess you’re just going to have to forgive this big dumb elf for making that mistake and let me make it up to ya, yeah?”

“And how th’fuck is some Quel’dorei bastard going to do that, hrm? Drag us off and put us in chains to be held at the mercy of the Boy-King?” countered the leader of the small group as steps were taken closer to the elf in defense of his companions. “No-fucking-way that shit is happening. We didn’t want no war t’begin with!”

“Actually, was kinda thinking we’d go take a little ride on my dragon to a big shiny ship in the sky… get ya injuries seen to and a hot meal? I mean… if chains are your thing, good on ya… but not exactly too pleased with ol’Anduin and his puppet master Greymane at the moment, so...” Raelin kept his tone nonchalant as he moved to lean against what remained of the house, again holding his hands out to the small contingent.

“Fuck that flea-ridden asshole, deserves to be skinned and mounted!”

“Well…I can’t argue with that…” Raelin laughed which seemed to ease the group from the precipice of violence. “However, none of us are getting away with that anytime soon… so, how about we make sure we get to see that day come and raise an ale to the ol’bastards death? “

“Where will we go?” questioned the ‘little girl’ as she moved closer to Raelin, reaching to flip up the edge of his tabard and trace the rose stitched neatly into the fabric.

“Most of your people I’ve been giving lifts to end up in Silvermoon…” the Ironfist stated, watching their displeased reactions scrunch up little noses and set their lips into grim lines. “….but I mean if you’re really after getting away from the war, I know a pretty decent spot to start over…”

“At what cost?” Another of the ‘children’ asked, stepping next to the girl to put a protective arm around her shoulders.

“No cost… just have to want to live in peace and not play into the faction crap the world would have you believe is necessary…” Raelin said, shrugging his shoulders as he shifted to accommodate the curious inspection of his tabard.

“How do we know you’re not feeding us a line of shit and plan to throw us in the Stockades?” It was a viable and logical question that, unfortunately, Raelin didn’t have an answer to.

“You don’t…suppose it’s a leap of faith in that regard. Just going to have to trust this big stupid elf if you want to get the fuck outta here and away from the bullshit going on. Question is…. Do you really want to?” Shared looks and silent understanding brought all five to nod their heads as Raelin crouched down to look eye to eye with the small girl and offered the crook of his arm as any gentleman might, causing a tittering of laughter to slip out in raspy tones. “Shall we then, my lady?”

One by one, the Ironfist lifted the injured and tattered Forsaken ‘children’ onto the back of the massive protodrake and gave them each a small loop of leather to hold onto. After climbing on himself, the Praetorium communication stone was pulled from his pocket as Dalis lifted into the air. “Commander, got an intake of five Forsaken on the way… give Bri a heads up for me?”

“Bri’s on patrol with Cora…but I’ll let Tanner know to give the medbay a heads up” came Maladir’s tired voice as the small party raced across the skies towards the awaiting Sanctuary City ships and what was hopefully a decent and peaceful future for the refugees at the Ironfist’s back.

(( @sanctuary-city-wra @kelladen @silverfall-patriarch for mentions/involvement))

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