#the name 'barn owl' comes from people leaving small holes in their barn for the owls to fly in through | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cicada-bones · 3 years

Text

The Warrior and the Embers

Chapter 6: The Queen of the Fae

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The princess froze, her body seizing up even more violently than when Rowan had surprised her in the alley. Maeve just stared her down, a snake at a mouse.

The girl stepped back, instinct taking over as she attempted to flee. But instead of stepping back through the threshold, she hit Rowan’s hard, unyielding body. He sent a gust of wind behind them, shutting the door with a soft, violent click.

Neither female broke their stare, and Rowan knew that his queen was measuring the girl, weighing and calculating. Tasting her scent and feeling the power writhing in her limbs. Just as he had.

The girl’s fear leaked out of her like smoke, spilling from her form and filling the room with its noxious scent. Her hands were shaking violently, her body trembling against his.

Rowan could feel her shoulder blades digging in the muscles of his chest, the sharp points of her elbows in his sides. Before the girl even thought of moving towards his queen, or of stretching her fingers towards the lethal daggers strapped to her hips, Rowan would know. And would act, cutting the girl down before she could blink.

Her heart fluttered like hummingbird’s wings, and her breaths were shallow and ragged. She was too incapacitated to react in any way – either with violence or with deference.

With barely a sentence, his queen had utterly decimated the girl, rendering her incoherent. The bravado she had so easily carried in her stance and spat out with her every word now withered and died as she was reduced to a husk of herself. Rowan had seen it time and time again; people shrank, were condensed to their very essence when forced into the place between fight and flight, when they were given no options.

No matter how familiar the princess was with fear, no matter how she had trained or worked these past years, she had not been prepared to face his queen. Not been prepared for the sheer force of her presence and her power.

Rowan almost laughed at himself. The girl couldn’t pose a threat to his queen, never could. She had no ace up her sleeve, was hiding nothing that they couldn’t detect. Powerless, and a complete waste of his time.

By contrast, Maeve was fearsome and eternal, radiating an ancient grace. Her pale skin glowed in the faint moonlight, and her dark eyes glittered like pools of the night sky. Even in this dingy room, his queen radiated, magnificent.

Rowan waited for her to speak, for the orders to come that he had longed to hear ever since first laying eyes on the girl in Varese.

But Maeve remained silent, her pale fingers folded in the lap of her gown, the ever-present barn owl once again perched on the back of her chair.

The princess breathed in and out slowly, steadying herself. The potency of her fear diminished slightly, the copper tang fading from the air of the small office, and uncovering her true scent.

As it had in the alley, her scent tugged at him. A fading brightness masked by sweat and muck and horses. It bit at him, brushing the ice in his limbs with weak sparks and waning embers. He ignored it, discomforted.

Then the princess spoke, in a small, but hard voice. “Aelin Galathynius is dead.” A new emotion emanated from her, disgust and hatred and…grief.

Rowan tilted his head ever so slightly. Hmm.

Maeve just smiled. A promise of violence. A promise of victory. She knew the Heir of Fire was powerless, and hers to do with what she would.

“Let us not bother with lies.”

The girl’s nostrils flared at his queen’s words. A stubborn rebuttal. She didn’t believe it was a lie – to her, Aelin Galathynius was dead. As Rowan had known, the princess had truly turned her back on herself and her birthright when she became the assassin. Aelin was not hiding, she was gone. Celaena Sardothien stood before them.

Maeve watched the girl, reading her every emotion like words off the page. The Fae queen was rapt, focused and intense. She had not once glanced Rowan’s way, her eyes utterly fixed on the assassin. Rowan couldn’t remember the last time his queen was so engrossed.

She wanted this child desperately. Craved her. Coveted her. And for what, Rowan did not know.

The girl was still pressed hard against Rowan’s form, as if his body was a wall. Rowan saw Maeve’s eyes flick between them, noting the connection. Though her gaze was empty of anything he could decipher, Rowan pulled away from the girl and leaned against the doorway, under the guise of preventing any escape.

Maeve’s eyes gleamed, some hidden knowledge flashing there.

Rowan’s brow narrowed in response. But of course, nothing more appeared on his queen’s face. Maeve was more than skilled at playing these games – a master of manipulation. She would explain when and if she wanted to, and short of that, Rowan would have to wait. There was no use in speculating.

Silence spread between them like ice. Sharp and cold and inescapable. But his queen just sat and waited for the girl to make the next move, her black, depthless eyes burrowing a hole in the princess.

Rowan could feel Maeve’s dark power flowing around her like an invisible black cape, churning and spiraling like smoke, or liquid obsidian. Nightmare made flesh.

Though the princess’ fire was tightly contained, locked behind iron bars, her embers had stirred to the surface. Her fear had drawn the sparks like bees to honey, or flies to a corpse.

Together, the three of them filled the space with light and dark and cold, the scent of power overwhelming the small room. Three of the most formidable Fae in the world, convened in a half-rotted office in a secluded, run-down fortress in a forgotten corner of the world.

The girl’s breathing was still ragged as she bent at the waist, bowing low. But Rowan doubted she was finding her humility at last. It seemed that she had decided to actually play his queen’s game, apparently not realizing that there was no way to win it.

Maeve was still smiling as the girl rose. “I suppose that with a proper bath, you’ll look a good deal like your mother.”

Another strike at a possible vulnerability – first Aelin’s name, now her family. But now the girl seemed to be more in control of herself, and didn’t react to the verbal blow. Instead, she smiled faintly and said, “Had I known who I would be meeting, I might have begged my escort for time to freshen up.”

A tentative initial volley, deflecting the real taunt and instead drawing Rowan into the battle. He remained silent, anger bubbling in his stomach, while Maeve glanced at him. She seemed to gauge the resentment, the hostility between the two of them. Something lit up behind his queen’s eyes, as understanding fell into place.

Rowan’s lips tightened imperceptibly. Maeve knew something, was planning something, there was something he was missing…

“I’m afraid I must bear the blame for the pressing pace,” Maeve said. “Though I suppose he could have bothered to at least find you a pool to bathe in along the way.” The words were light, teasing. Maeve was enjoying herself.

“Prince Rowan—” He felt the jolt of the girl’s shock as Maeve continued, “—is from my sister Mora’s bloodline. He is my nephew of sorts, and a member of my household. An extremely distant relation of yours; there is some ancient ancestry linking you.”

Another move to put the princess on uneven footing, for the pleasure of making her squirm. Not that they actually shared any blood – Mora and Mab’s lines had become so diluted over the millennia that the princess was probably more closely related to the royal families of Melisande or Eyllwe than the Whitethorn family.

The girl remained calm however, rallying herself. She spooled her arrogance back into her body until it once again draped over her frame and coated her every word, the way one pulls on a comfortable and familiar garment. Then said, contempt dripping from each word, “You don’t say.”

Brat. Rowan tensed at the girl’s derision, but Maeve just casually responded. “You must be wondering why it is I asked Prince Rowan to bring you here.”

The girl bit her tongue. Maeve’s eyes shone.

“I have been waiting a long, long while to meet you. And as I do not leave these lands, I could not see you. Not with my eyes, at least.”

Maeve had the power of foresight – the power to see beyond the use of her eyes, across nations and into the future. His queen had undoubtedly been waiting for this girl since long before her birth, and Rowan couldn’t help wondering just how long in the making this incongruous meeting had been.

To the Fae, years could feel like weeks. To one as eternal as Maeve, time warped into shapes completely separate from mortal understanding. Maeve could have seen the princess of flame coming centuries ago, before her line had been sired, before her family’s name had been established. She had perhaps been waiting for the heir of Brannon to rise since his fall all those millennia past.

The princess’ eyes were cold, calculating and impassive, as Maeve continued. “They broke my laws, you know. Your parents disobeyed my commands when they eloped. The bloodlines were too volatile to be mixed, but your mother promised to let me see you after you were born.”

Rowan could remember that time for himself – his queen’s cold fury at their disobedience, and then her long, slow anger at their mounting disrespect, the insult of being ignored.

Maeve cocked her head, eyes tightening. “It would seem that in the eight years after your birth, she was always too busy to uphold her vow.”

The girl’s breathing sped slightly, her eyes intent and her body rigid, seemingly saying, Yes, and it was for a damn good reason.

A broken vow – an unfulfilled debt. These were things significant to the Fae, notions that still held weight after decades of time had passed. Within Fae customs, such debts were passed on through bloodlines, until payment was reaped or the debt fulfilled. And one to Maeve, to the Queen of the Fae herself, would incur the very highest cost.

“But now you are here,” Maeve’s face darkened, her lips curling. “And a grown woman. My eyes across the sea have brought me such strange, horrible stories of you. From your scars and steel, I wonder whether they are indeed true.”

For the first time that evening, true interest sparked inside Rowan. What had the spymaster shared with his queen that she had kept from him?

“Like the tale I heard over a year ago, that an assassin with Ashryver eyes was spotted by the horned Lord of the North in a wagon bound for – ”

“Enough.”

The princess interrupted, her teeth clenched and her eyes hard. She glanced back at Rowan, gauging his intent expression, which he quickly rearranged into dull indifference. She shot him a sharp look, obviously saying, Mind your own gods-damned business. Rowan’s eyes narrowed.

“I know my own history.” She turned back to Maeve, who was wickedly amused, her spear having found its mark. “I’m an assassin, yes.”

This time, Rowan couldn’t stop the snort that passed his lips. Assassin she may be, but she hardly lived up to the tales of Celaena Sardothien. Nor was her profession a point of pride as she implied. Killing for money wasn’t even equal to common soldiering – no matter her level of supposed proficiency or renown.

“And your other talents?” Maeve pushed, her nostrils flaring as she pulled in the girl’s scent, confirming what she already knew. “What has become of them?”

“Like everyone else on my continent, I haven’t been able to access them.” A flat, emotionless answer.

“You are not on your continent anymore,” Maeve purred.

Fear once again began to radiate from the princess, her muscles tensing as her body went taut. Her every molecule seemed to be screaming at her to run.

Maeve’s eyes lit up with malicious pleasure. “Show me,” she whispered, her voice filled with longing. She shot a spear of power towards the girl, enveloping her in darkness. Coaxing out the fire.

The girl’s fear mounted to heights previously unknown. The air was coated in copper and ashes, filled with her terror and anxiety. Wildfire simmered below the surface, straining, reaching, stretching –

The darkness in Maeve’s eyes spread, filling the space with gloom and smoke as she poked and prodded and sliced at the girl, peering inside her skull and testing the bars hidden within.

Rowan waited for the girl to start shaking again, for her to submit and grovel at his queen’s feet, for her to break.

But instead, the girl just breathed, deep and even, her eyes hardening into bricks of solid gold and clenching her hands into fists, reaching for the daggers at her hips.

Rowan’s body went taut as the tension mounted, waiting, anticipating –

Maeve interrupted, her low laugh cleanly slicing through the tension in the small room as the darkness swiftly retreated. The pressure of the princess’ wildfire receded as her fear fell back under her control.

“Your mother hid you from me for years,” Maeve said, continuing her other line of attack. “She and your father always had a remarkable talent for knowing when my eyes were searching for you. Such a rare gift—the ability to summon and manipulate flame. So few exist who possess more than an ember of it; fewer still who can master its wildness. And yet your mother wanted you to stifle your power—though she knew that I only wanted you to submit to it.”

The words were delicate, her voice imbued with that perfect combination of playfulness and dominance. The girl’s embers roiled beneath her skin, aching to meet the challenge in his queen’s eyes.

Maeve sliced yet again, eyes burning with malicious pleasure. “Look how well that turned out for them.”

The game was getting very, very dangerous now, very close to an explosive climax. The girl spoke low and intense, from deep within herself. “And where were you ten years ago?”

Maeve pushed the blade in deeper, softly responding. “I do not take kindly to being lied to.”

Shock. Pure, unadulterated shock pulsed from the princess.

Rowan let out a small, wry smile. No, his queen did not, and she knew exactly how to take revenge, to eke out her price. The princess had already paid her debt to Maeve, though she had not known it at the time.

Rowan had wondered why Doranelle had done so little while their brethren in the west had fallen. He needed wonder no more.

“I do not have more time to spare you,” Maeve said brusquely, now that the winning hand had been played. “So let me be brief: my eyes have told me that you have questions. Questions that no mortal has the right to ask—about the keys.”

The girl was slowly recovering from the shock and pain, but still she opened her mouth to speak, desperate.

Maeve held up her hand, silencing her. “I will give you those answers. You may come to me in Doranelle to receive them.”

“Why not - ”

The world came to stop around him as a growl slipped past Rowan’s lips, icy, vicious anger rippling through him. Finally he understood. Finally, he grasped what he had been missing.

Maeve wanted the princess to come to Doranelle, to the center of her realm, under the guise of providing her with whatever this was that she sought. But Maeve did not allow mortals or demi-Fae into her city unless they had proven themselves. Unless they had shown power and control sufficient enough to be permitted.

That was why Rowan had been pulled from the eastern post, why Fenrys had not been called to collect the girl.

Rowan was going to have to train her, to teach her how to control her power until his queen was satisfied with her abilities. Maeve wanted him to hone a weapon for her, to discover how sharp it would be. And who better to teach an heir of fire than a prince of ice?

Maeve plowed on, ignoring Rowan’s sharp retort. “Because they are answers that require time, and answers you have not yet earned.”

“Tell me what I can do to earn them and I will do it.”

Foolish girl. Isn’t it known in the human lands that one does not make such bargains with the Fae? Even now her arrogance astounded him. How could she be so spoiled and selfish to believe that she would be an exception to such a rule? That her aunt would not force her to pay an iron price for such a reward?

Maeve was just amused. “A dangerous thing to offer without hearing the price.”

“You want me to show you my magic? I’ll show it to you. But not here – not – ”

“I have no interest in seeing you drop your magic at my feet like a sack of grain. I want to see what you can do with it, Aelin Galathynius – which currently seems like not very much at all.”

Maeve wielded the girl’s true name as a chef brandishes a knife, skillfully piercing the hide of her prey. “I want to see what you will become under the right circumstances.”

“I don’t – ”

“I do not permit mortals or half-breeds into Doranelle. For a half-breed to enter my realm, she must prove herself both gifted and worthy. Mistward, this fortress, is one of several proving grounds. And a place where those who do not pass the test can spend their days.”

Half-breed. Another barb, another weapon. Not that he had any sympathy for the girl at the moment, still seething from the realization of how he would be forced to spend the next few months. Or, gods, years –

“And what manner of test might I expect before I am deemed worthy?”

Maeve turned to Rowan, meeting his hard eyes with her amused ones. “You shall come to me once Prince Rowan decides that you have mastered your gifts. He shall train you here. And you shall not set foot in Doranelle until he deems your training complete.”

Maeve’s gaze intensified as she beheld Rowan, infusing her tone with command. He held his anger on a very, very short leash, nodding slightly to his queen and master, to confirm his understanding.

He was to remain at this outpost, for years if necessary, assigned as watchdog for Maeve’s new pet princess. Teaching her table manners and her ABC’s while her other blood-sworn did the actual work of protecting his queen and country.

Rowan remained motionless while pure fury roiled beneath his skin.

It was strange. The emotion was not unusual, but its intensity would have unnerved him had he had any room within himself for another sensation. It had been so long since he had felt anything with such strength. But this foreign princess was so insanely maddening, so infuriating, that she burst through all his icy walls like they were glass, or water.

Still, he kept tight control of himself, concealing the storm raging within. But he thought Maeve had sensed it anyway, as she smiled and turned back to the princess, who was saying, “What I need to know isn’t something that can wait – ”

“You want answers regarding the keys, heir of Terrasen? Then they shall be waiting for you in Doranelle. The rest is up to you.”

“Truthfully,” the brat blurted, desperate. “You will truthfully answer my questions about the keys.”

Maeve’s grin widened. “You haven’t forgotten all of our ways, then. I will truthfully answer all your questions about the keys.”

The princess hesitated, then asked, “What manner of training – ”

“Prince Rowan shall explain the specifics. For now, he will escort you to your chamber to rest.” Rowan’s teeth locked together, barely containing a vicious snarl. But he would do as his queen commanded. He had no other choice.

The girl hardened once again, intense and commanding. Forcing her way through the cloud of fear that had begun to surround her. “You swear you’ll tell me what I need to know?”

“I do not break my promises.” Rowan’s lips tightened. No, Maeve never broke her word. She expertly whittled away at it, until it bent and swung in a light breeze. Maeve would tell the girl the truth, but which truth? Who was to say.

“And I have the feeling that you are unlike your mother in that regard, too.”

The girl’s teeth clenched as she bit back a violent retort, the dig at her family doing its work, another blade in her hide. She breathed, little more than a stuck pig, and then made one last attempt, one final play in their game.

“To what end? You want me to train only so I can make a spectacle of my talents?”

But then Maeve smiled wickedly, triumphantly, and played her final card.

“I wish you to become who you were born to be. To become queen.”

And Aelin Galathynius turned on her heel and stepped out of the room, without another word.

···

Masterlist / Ao3 / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

#WatE repost

12 notes · View notes

iellarenuodolorian · 4 years

Text

Mandoctober Day 11

Sorgan

Words: 1.5k

Pairing: DinDjarinxFemaleMandalorianReader

Summary: Reader catches up with Din and learns about some new changes in his life.

Warnings: mentions of jealousy and fighting, there isn’t really a whole lot in this chapter its fairly tame *shrugs*

Sorry this is a day late, I’ve been feeling a little burnt out with working every day this last week, and the stress of flying for my sisters wedding this weekend isn’t helping my mentality either.

~9ABY

Another clan successfully resupplied and a crisis averted. You were exhausted, it was more work than you thought it would be to keep Mandalorians from breaking out into civil war in these new blended clans. Why couldn’t they put aside their personal differences and come together as Mandalorians so that the Tribe could rebuild and take back their rightful place in the Galaxy.

With the Darksaber having been lost years ago, and no plan to get it back any time soon, all of the clans were struggling to not start petty fights with each other. Making your job harder.

Bo-Katan had asked her Nite Owls to do their best in keeping the clans supplied, and to trust her. She said she was putting together a team and a plan but she couldn’t share the details. She needed everyone to trust her and that she would bring the Darksaber home, even if it was the death of her.

As you sat in your cockpit, ready to put in coordinates for home to resupply your own ship, your comm pinged with an incoming voice transmission.

“Cyar’ika, it’s me. If you get this, I’m sending you coordinates to a planet I’m currently holed up on. I have some… developments, I need to tell you about. We’ll be waiting.”

A coded text message followed at the end for you to decrypt. It took less than a minute to decrypt and send to the navicomputer, and when the computer told you the name of the planet, your mind blanked. You had never heard of it before. Which was no small feat, considering Mandalorians had established secret bases on an astounding number of planets in different systems.

Pulling up the file from the Holonet, you discovered Sorgan was on the list of “uncharted planets” in the Galaxy. There was nothing on this planet. There was no significant import or export trade, there was no certified port, there weren’t even any heavily populated cities. How did this planet slip through the cracks? It would be perfect for a clan in hiding.

Your mind flashed back to the last words Din had spoken, “We’ll be waiting.” WE?! Who is this “we” he is speaking of? Other than you, Din had never really been overly friendly or one to take on traveling companions just for fun. Just what you wanted to think about on the hyperspace journey to Sorgan…

Once you arrived in system, you pulled up the frequency to track the Crest, hoping he still hadn’t discovered the tracker. But you couldn’t get a return ping. That was odd. Just one more mystery to solve, because you loved mysteries.

You decided to start in the most heavily populated area you could find, which wasn’t saying much. All the buildings were primitive, made from mud and smaller tree limbs and the people inside the huts were just as primitively dressed. You felt sorry for planets like this that lived without even the most basic of technological advances to make life a little easier.

You had opted for a less conspicuous disguise, leaving your beskar’gam on your ship, wearing simple trousers with a standard issue blaster strapped to your thigh, standard boots with your vibroknife tucked into the side, an ordinary shirt and vest with pockets for all your hidden detonators and spare power packs, and a scarf to hide your face. You had also painted your face with strategic tattoos to help hide your real identity since you had taken your helmet off.

When you walked into the cantina, everyone stopped to stare at the new stranger for a while. Apparently they didn’t get many outsiders. Good thing I didn’t walk in here in full beskar’gam everyone would definitely remember that. And then I’d be in even more trouble. Picking a table in the corner where you could see the entrance, you sat down and prepared to wait and see if you could overhear any useful information. You ordered food and drink from a chatty waitress, and settled in to wait.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take long. No sooner had you finished eating when this shiny silver, walking weapon walked through the door. He seemed familiar to you, but you couldn’t figure out what it was. He walked closer, and you saw that it was the same blaster Din preferred to carry, his weapons belt was set and stocked the way Din liked, even his bandolier was the same, complete with the small pouch for written sentimental messages above his left collarbone.

“Nice disguise.” Said a voice that sounded exactly like Din’s. He sat down in front of you, making himself comfy and acting like he owned the place.

Leaning forward to stare into the familiar helmet visor, you barely whispered, “Djarin?” The slight tilt of his helmet to the left told you that you had guessed right.

“Come on,” he stood up and offered you his hand. “I have some surprises for you.”

Once you walked out the door, you saw a repulsorsled waiting. It was loaded up with supplies, and this curious looking silver pod. Making yourself comfortable on a few crates next to Din, you settled in for the ride.

“So where did this shiney new set come from?” You asked Din.

“It’s a good thing we have a while before we get to the village…”

Din told you about how he had risen to be the top bounty hunter in his Guild. How he had been given a job directly from a Client, with a reward of beskar. After teaming up with a droid, “No way, you HATE droids!”, to take out the guards around the asset, Din discovered that the asset was in fact a child. He had to rebuild the Crest because Jawas had managed to break in and steal most of his parts, and when he turned the asset in to the Client, he had a change of heart. Children are to be protected at all cost in Mandalorian culture. Children are the future and without passing on traditions and armor the Mandalorians would cease to exist. He knew he wouldn’t be able to live with his decision of just turning over an innocent child for Maker knows what, so he went back and rescued the child from an Imperial safe house and was now on the run. He knew it would only be a matter of time before another hunter showed up to try and steal the Child from him.

Din entered a command on his vambrace, and the silver orb that had been floating next to you opened. And this small green thing stared into your soul with its dark brown eyes. “What is it?” You asked Din as you continued to stare at it.

“I don’t know. All I knew was that I couldn’t leave it to be a science experiment for the Empire.”

When you arrived at the village, you were surprised to see all the children come running out to greet you. It seemed like Din was a hero to the village, everyone just seemed to adore him and the green child.

After helping unload the supplies, Din showed you to where he and the child had been sleeping. “A week ago we helped run off a local band of raiders. Wasn’t anything too difficult, but you know how plans go. Sometimes they don’t always go exactly like you think.”

After dinner, you sat outside the hut with Din and watched all the children in the village playing together. Listening to their delighted laughs and cries of surprise and watching them chase each other around made you envious of their innocent little lives. And now you understood why Din had stepped up to help protect the village. Looking at the children, you knew you would have done the same thing.

“Have you thought about leaving the green one here?” You asked Din.

“If I knew he would be safe and well looked after, I could consider it. I know the life of a Mandalorian is one that I wouldn’t force upon anyone.”

A short while later, a beautiful woman with long dark hair and dark, expressive eyes came walking over with the child fast asleep in her arms. She passed him off to Din, who nodded his helmet at her in silent thanks. You could tell that there was some sort of connection between the two of them and you weren’t sure if you were feeling hurt, jealous, or proud. Hurt, because he had found someone else to keep his heart company in your absence, jealous because she was more beautiful than you, or proud because you realized she was a more than capable woman and could probably hold her own against you.

As Din turned to head into the barn, she gave a small smile and said, “Welcome to our village. I hope you enjoy your time here. We will be forever grateful to him for showing us how to defend our home. My name is Omera, by the way. I hope you have a pleasant evening. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. And thank you, Omera.”

You spent the night curled up next to Din, your heart full after so many months apart. You took in all of the textures, smells, sounds, and tastes that were just uniquely Din. You knew you couldn’t stay for more than a couple days, but everyone needed time off with loved ones, and you intended to make the most of a few days with Din.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

As always, thank you for taking the time to read my silly little story 💙💙

Previous Chapter -> Next Chapter

#mandoctober #the mandalorian #din djarin x female reader #my fics

3 notes · View notes

jinmukangwrites · 5 years

Text

Cub

((I promise I had this named Cub before Ort posted their fic!!!!! I swear I’m not purposely naming this fic after theirs, just the title “Cub” works really well with this fic and what im going for and i really dont want to change it. if ort wants me to change it i will))

Prompt: it's not exactly how the prompt wants it, but I had a lot of fun writing it so I hope you'll be happy with this.

Summary: He's the Hero of the Wild, it's only fair that the creatures get to know him.

Notes: this is the most fluff you guys are going to get out of me. There is angst, but not a terrible amount. I had to put a certain hc in this fic... I had loads of fun with the perspectives, it's interesting trying to write in the mindset of creatures instead of humans.

Warnings: brief mentions of physical/emotional abuse towards a child from a parent, extreme fluff, both emotional fluff and animal fluff, Jin struggling to write happy things, Jin struggling to not kill Wild, Jin being Jin.

-o-o-o-o-

On a clear, bright, and beautiful night, something magical happens. There's a house sitting in the middle of a field of golden wheat, miles from any cities or civilization. The castle is a far off dream, though the people who live in this house don't mind one bit.

Animals don't usually come here, the scarecrows warn against the birds and the men have bows and arrows. The wolves know by now that the sheep in the barn are off limits, the foxes know that the cuccos are well protected, the rabbits don't dare to nibble on the crops for fear of an arrow piercing their hearts. They make their homes in the forest and they don't go near that house, but tonight… they get a feeling. Something important is happening.

The stars are bright as the stag and his herd step carefully through the golden fields, the moon glitters in the alpha wolf's eyes as his pack approaches through the shadows. The birds land on the roof of the house and bats flutter around. Not a single animal attacks each other, not even the mother bear who arrives with her cubs give the boar a second glance. A squirrel scrambles up the wall of the home and pokes its nose against the glass window from the ledge it sits on. The inside of the house is bright and warm, and across the room is a cracked open door, a man sits besides it with his head in his hands. There's yelling and swearing on the other side of the door, though it's not terrified, it's full of pain but also love.

A beautiful creature jumps up besides the squirrel, it's fur glows and it's eyes are bright and wise. It tilts its head the moment the screaming turns into an infant's healthy cry. The man jumps from his chair and runs into the room, and there is a glimpse of a woman laying exhausted in her bed as a dirty and red baby screams as a towel is wiped across it's squirming body.

Oh, the animals think, this is very important.

-o-o-o-o-

A child, just a toddler. His hair is growing long, the owl thinks. Too long for normal Hylian boys his age, though the owl supposes that's nothing out of the ordinary, the child is very special.

The owl sits upon an apple tree branch and watches with wide and very wise eyes as the child swings a wooden sword against a scarecrow in the field. He has gotten the sword as a present from his father just a few days prior and already the child is exceptional at swordplay. The owl thinks that one day the child will grow up one day to become a very, very strong man.

"Link!" The mother calls from her house, her stomach is round, heavy with another miracle, "you're father is leaving! Come wish him goodbye!"

The child looks up from his swordplay and grins before it sprints away towards his home. He dances around the fathers legs, lifting their tiny arms and tugging on the tunic of the father. The father smiles and riffles the boys hair before he fixes the sword strap around his shoulder. "You be good to your mother," he says, "and maybe someday you'll come with me."

"Honey," the mother says, there's a tightness to her smile but the father laughs and kisses it away.

"Bye daddy! Bye bye byeee!" The child sings and the father runs a knuckle over his head kindly. The child grins and waves the little wooden sword in the air.

"When I get back, I'll teach you how to use that, okay?" The father says. "You'll become a knight like your old man."

The mother's lips thin but she doesn't say anything because the child is cheering now and hugging his father's legs tightly.

Then the father leaves not long after, and life continues as normal. The owl hoots and flies away.

-o-o-o-o-

The boy is hurt, the fox relizes. She was going through bushes, looking for a rabbit hole or an easy mouse to grab, when her ears perk up to the sound of a cry. Now, she's no fool, she would never approach a child of any species. Mothers can get furious easily, and fathers are quick release their fangs and claws. Hylian children are on a whole other level.

Yet, this boy is alone. She can see him curled up in front of a tree sobbing into his hands. The smell of blood hits her nose and sends the hairs on her back standing. She gently pads forward, careful to not step on any twigs and let herself be found quite yet. As she gets closer she can see where the smell of blood is coming from; there's a long slice going down his arm, allowing precious fluid to escape and stain his sleeves. It looks painful, she wonders what could have hurt a child so small.

The boy continues to cry and no mother or father are coming to comfort him, so she decides it's safe to do so herself. She lets her paws drop more firmly onto the ground and the boy looks up at her with the bluest eyes, rimmed red from his tears. She continues towards him and lays down next to his head, he continues to watch her with silent tears streaming down his face.

She yips at him, trying to tell him that he will be okay, but Hylians cannot understand animals. He seems to calm down though and he smiles at her. He hesetatly reaches out and she allows him to stroke her head. She lifts her snout and gently licks at the wound on his arm, he doesn't move away from her.

After she's content with cleaning his wound she scoots forward. The boy takes the invitation and gathers her into his arms and cuddles her close to his chest.

"Thank you," he says, and his voice is so mature for a Hylian his age.

They stay like that for quite awhile, comfortable and content, his eyes slowly drying, until a voice breaks through the air.

"Link!" A woman calls out, sounding worried.

"Link! Get over here!" A man shouts.

The fox jumps out from his arms and he makes a distressed noise, but the fox knows she cannot be around when the parents find their cub. They will think she hurt the child, and they'll lash out without any hesitation. She jumps into the bushes just as two adult Hylians come into view, sprinting. The mother grabs at the child and cups his face, talking quickly and worriedly as the father stands off to the side, breathing hard and looking angry.

The father's hand lashes out and grabs the child's arm, looking at the exposed wound roughly, too roughly. The fox almost jumps out and snarls at him when she sees the child wince.

"I taught you how to block that move," the father growls and the fox feels her hackles rise. She doesn't like how the child looks down, as if ashamed.

"Don't get mad at him," the mother snaps and tears the child away from the father. She looks at the cut, more gently. "He's three-years-old, he can't use the sword like you."

The father glares down at the woman. "If he's going to be a knight, he has to start now and work hard."

The mother returns his glare and gathers the child into her arms, picking him up and placing him on her hip. "Who says he has to be a knight?"

"If he's my son he will be," the father says. "You want to be a knight, right Link?"

The small child nods slowly and the mother frowns as the father grins triumphantly.

The mother and father begin to walk away back towards where there house must be, arguing back and forth, and the fox is left sitting there, watching as the child pokes his head over his mother's shoulder, waving sadly.

-o-o-o-o-

Goats are not very intelligent creatures, but they do really love their owners. They love the grass they get fed, they love their haircuts, they love their exercise. As long as they have space to roam and a source of food, they will love most everything. The farm they live on belongs to a nice family of four. They see the oldest woman and her youngest daughter the most, but sometimes the male and his son come into the fields to fix the fences or pull weeds.

Right now, the big male is holding up a bit of the fence as the son wraps a strand of wire around it to keep it standing. The goats all shift with each other and look at the fence with little interest as they continue to munch on the yummy grass.

"We will leave to the Zora's Domain next week," the adult male speaks, his voice is low and gravely, some of the goats flick their ears to it.

"Harvest starts next week," the son says softly. It's a bit deeper than the last time the goats have heard it, though not like any of the goats care. The grass is too delicious.

"And?" Male asks.

"Well… I was thinking I could stay this year… and help Mom and Angie out."

There's… some sort of tense atmosphere that blankets the land. Some of the goats lift their heads nervously as the grass somehow doesn't taste the greatest anymore. One goat looks at the two owners in anxious curiosity. The adult male is staring at the son with a tight jaw. His posture almost reminds the goat of a wolf or something like it.

"Your relationship with Princess Mipha is very important," the adult says slowly, "it is why the Captain invites you every year."

"Yeah but-"

"Don't interrupt me," the adult snarls and the son backs up with his hands raised in surprise. The wire snaps and the chunk of fence falls to the ground with a crash. Both the adult and the son fall silent. The goats look to and from each other, some making nervous baying, others kicking the ground. The adult rubs his face and takes a deep breath. "You are coming."

"I want to help mom-"

"Link, you're coming."

"But the harvest-"

"LINK!" The adult snarls and a goat jumps and runs a few feet in a random direction. The son falls silent, his mouth shuts with a snap. The adult glares at him before he sighs. "You have to go on these things if you want to be a knight, son."

The son looks down to the ground. Mumbles. A goat flicks its ear, though it's not like the goats are interested in what has been said anyway.

"What was that?" The adult asks.

"I… don't want to be a knight… anymore..."

Smack.

The goats bay loudly in surprise and a few jolt as if they're about the run away in terror as the son falls to his backside, his hand on his reddening cheek and eyes wide.

"You will be joining me to the Zora's Domain," the adult says, his voice eerily steady and calm, "do you understand?"

The son nods and slowly stands up. A goat goes down to munch on the grass again, thinking that maybe the weird tension has finally calmed down.

"Tell me the rules."

"D-don't get in anyone's way."

More goats go back down to the grass.

"And?"

"Don't talk unless told to."

The grass is very good.

"And?"

Very, very good. All the goats are eating again, as they should.

"Make you proud..."

-o-o-o-o-

The stable dog's name is Cherry, and he's a very good boy. That's at least what his master has told him. He likes to spend his time laying in the sun and getting pets from guests. The horses are all very nice to him though the cuccos are a bit rude. He once tried to play with one and he got his nose pecked. Cuccos are mean.

He hears movement behind him and he opens his mouth, panting excitingly. He loves guests. They like to pet him and give him food. He gets up and spins around to see a blond haired boy swinging a sword back and forth in silence. The boy is very interesting, he looks almost like a kid but he acts like a grown up. He's always standing quietly and doing what he's told, though Cherry has caught the boy staring at him multiple times.

Right now, the boy is alone. The sun is going down and most guests are getting dinner or going to bed. Cherry wants to play with this one.

Cherry shakes out his fur and pads over to the boy. The boy blinks down at him and swings his sword again, though he stumbles just a little. His jaw tightens and he looks above Cherry to an imaginary target and ignores the dog.

That won't do. Cherry wants to play.

Cherry jumps in the air and barks, but the boy just scowls and continues his practices. Won't do. Won't do at all. He lets out a whine and falls onto his back, kicking his legs in the air and letting his tongue loll out cutely—the way most guests find adorable—and he wags his tail when the boy looks down at him again.

Finally, the boy smiles and puts the sword away after he looks around him and sees that there is no one else around. Cherry squirms in victory when the boys hands go onto his stomach and start rubbing gently. Cherry can already tell that the boy is very kind. He loves this boy already.

"Link," a deep voice growls.

The boy jumps up like he's been burned and spins around. Cherry twists his body to see a man standing a few feet away looking very angry. Cherry rolls to his feet and whines but the boy ignores him and folds his arms across his body. Cherry instantly quiets down, knowing something bad is happening.

"Did I tell you you can stop practicing?" The man asks. Cherry doesn't like this man. Cherry does not like him at all.

"I'm sorry," the boy says quietly.

It's silent for just a second before the man suddenly lunges and punches the boy in the gut, or he would have if the boy hadn't whipped his arms out and expertly blocked the blow. Cherry scrambles backwards in surprise and barks, but he goes ignored as the man continues to attack the boy.

"Da- sir," the boy grunts as he blocks another ruthless blow. "I'm tired- can we-"

"Did I give you permission to speak!?"

The boy shuts his mouth with a click and the brutal fight continues. Cherry's tail sinks down beneath his legs and fear makes him whine. The man is still attacking and the boy is slowing down and starting to get hit. Cherry likes the boy, and it makes his whole body flinch when the boy takes a blow to the stomach, bringing a whimper out of him.

Cherry is a good boy. Cherry doesn't bite guests. But something takes over him and suddenly he's launching himself at the man. His jaw snaps closed around an evil arm and the man howls in well deserved pain.

-o-o-o-o-

"You pulled the sword?"

Izzy, a cat who lives in the castle, stops when she hears the hushed voice somewhere down the corridor. Curious, she pads forward and sits when she sees a man talking down to a young man. In the young man's arms is the most beautiful sword Izzy has ever seen… not that it matters. It's just shiny. She kind of wants to go over and swat at it.

"You know what this means, do you?"

The young man nods, his fingers are trembling. Strange, though that's not important to Izzy.

"You will bring the family name fame for years to come. This is what I have been training you for. What has the King said?"

"I'm to become Princess Zelda's personal appointed knight."

The man laughs and rubs his chin. Getting bored, Izzy brings her paw to her face and licks at her toes.

"Amazing. The rules are even more important now, son, don't forget them. You must keep up the image I have made for you now more than ever."

"Yes, sir."

The man reaches over and ruffles the young man's hair, but the young man simply stands still and stoney faced during what should have been an intimate gesture. Okay, now Izzy has completely lost interest in what's going on. She yawns and turns to leave.

-o-o-o-o-

The vulture is a sign of death, and he thinks there is plenty signs of that right now, but he's not dumb. The thing bringing death is evil and it won't let him eat, it will just kill him too. The sky is red and fire blazes and he just wants to fly away, but he's blinded by a golden light as he flies, a strong, powerful, hopeful golden light. It scares him more than anything, he doesn't stick around to find out what the light was.

-o-o-o-o-

The wolf is the most powerful creature in the wild, or that's what this wolf thinks. He wonders alone and hunts alone and is perfectly content doing so. The world is so wide and he's the king of it. He owns the forest, he owns the ruins, he lives and goes where he wants because no one, not even the monsters, will dare challenge him.

He has his territory, anything that goes in it dies.

He's wondering his forest, looking for a bite of food, when he sees something he rarely sees anywhere. A Hylian.

It's male and skinny and wearing horribly tattered clothes, not providing a smidge of protection for it's ugly bare skin. It is walking like a newborn, stumbling and panting. The wolf narrows its eyes. He's seen starvation before, and this Hylian clearly is suffering from it. Many have, he's seen so many Hylians collapse and whither away in the past few years.

Yet, this one seems special, important, even as the Hylian trips over its feet and lands on the ground hard. Even as it stills and clenches it's fists and screams into the dirt in anguish.

The wolf should kill it. Put it out of its misery… but that feeling that this one is special sticks around stubbornly. He growls to himself and turns away.

The sun sinks lower to the ground by the time he returns. The Hylian is still there, completely still, just blinking. The wolf sighs through the dead rabbit in its jaws and walks closer to the Hylian. It looks at him, startled, but too exhausted to do anything. The wolf sets the rabbit carcass down and the Hylian does nothing but stare.

The wolf huffs. Of course. The Hylian needs a fire to eat meat. How pathetic.

He turns and picks up a stick in his mouth, feeling humiliated but also that he needs to do this, and sets it down next to the Hylian. He goes and picks up another, and another, and another, until there's a small pile by the Hylian. Now it's up to it to eat. The wolf can't start a fire, he can't bring the Hylian all the way there.

He sits down and stares as it slowly blinks, then it's hand lifts and it's pushing itself up so it's sitting hunched back against a tree. With hands shaking, the Hylian reaches into its bag and pulls out a small black rock and a dagger. It takes a few tries, but soon there's a fire and the smell of cooking meat.

The Hylian eats, and when it looks up again, the wolf is gone, having finished what he felt he needed to do.

-o-o-o-o-

The horse is annoyed. Here she is, just wanting to nibble on the grass when all of a sudden a skinny person jumps on her back and grabs her hair. She's strong, she's wild, and he's weak. She kicks him off and he goes flying. She huffs and glares at him, but he's grinning and standing up from where he's landed, mud splashed against his face, making him look untamed.

She snorts and trots a distance away and continues to eat, but that's interrupted by the same skinny body and impish grin. She bucks him off and is extremely satisfied when she sees his own face screw up in annoyance. Good. He better be annoyed. It's only fair since he's ruining her lunch.

She trots away again, third time's a charm. Or it should be. Because once again the small body jumps on her back and clutches onto her hair. She doesn't even react. She just turns and glares at him.

He gives her a look, letting her know that she's not going to get rid of him.

Sighing in defeat, she shakes her head and let's him soothe her hair behind her ears. It kind of feels good... Though, the moment the small body gets off hers she's going to sprint away. She'll let him think he's won for now.

He rides her all the way to a small stable in the middle of the field. She can feel him get ready to jump off and she's about to bolt when he suddenly loses balance and tumbles hard onto the ground, an apple rolls from his hand.

Intrigued, she goes towards the apple and ignores the little person as he scrambles to his feet and brushes off his pants. He grabs the apple before she can get to it and holds it up in a teasing manner.

"If you want apples, you have to stay with me."

She glares at him. Who does this boy think he is? Does he really think she can be bribed with apples?

She eats it. Gets a new saddle. He calls her Zoie. As long as she gets apples she doesn't care. No, she doesn't care for the small person at all…

-o-o-o-o-

The cub is freezing, the bear thinks. The clouds rush above them and rain pelts down, soaking the world. Even she is cold, and she has thick fur to protect her. But this cub doesn't have fur, he's naked except for the strange cloth on his body. She can see him shivering beneath a tree canopy, rubbing his hands and glaring at the grass. The poor cub, she thinks.

She's about to leave it at that, she has her own cubs to think about back at the cave. She has to get food for her own, not this strange cub who looks like he won't survive the night with this rain.

Oh whose she kidding?

She goes through the undergrowth and approaches him. The moment the cub sees her his eyes widen and he jumps to his feet, a sword is drawn.

Not that it would do anything to her, he's weak and she's strong. The fear in his eyes confirms that he knows this. The wolves think they own the land, but the bear owns the wild. Nothing is stronger than she is.

She continues to approach and he sinks down to the ground, as if accepting his fate, but she doesn't bite his head off like what he must think. No, she grabs him by that strange cloth behind his neck and starts to drag him like she would with any other cub. He makes a surprised noise and a strange protest, but she ignores him and continues to gently carry him over to her home in the face of a cliff.

Her cubs make excited noises when they see the one in her mouth and they accept him willingly when she lays down and pushes them all against her, trying to keep them all warm. The strange cub stays very still for a very long time before she feels him relax and slowly fall asleep. She huffs and memorizes his scent, he's hers now. A child of the wild. He has a long road ahead of him, she's sure. But… she just knows he'll do just fine. Call it a mother's instinct.

-o-o-o-o-

The birds love to fly, but there is one place they never go. It's that really tall pointy thing in the middle of the fields. There's evil that lives there and strange monsters that like to shoot fire from their eyes. No way, they would like to keep their feathers on their bodies thank you very much.

But one day, that evil goes away with a grand explosion of golden light. It's so pure, and so beautiful. They watch as the great beast is taken down and destroyed, as light returns to the land. They fly, fly towards that structure and they wonder why they thought it was evil. It isn't, it's just a building. As they fly, they see a small Hylian. Two of them. One with a beautiful sword on it's back and the other with the face of a goddess.

Something special has happened, they think. Something very, very special.

-o-o-o-o-

"Wild, don't-"

The sound of a Hylian's voice is all the warning the stag gets before he's pounced on. Legs straddle his body and hands grab at his horns and he runs.

There's laughter coming from the person on his back, but the stag isn't happy at all.

-o-o-o-o-

For all of Wild's life, he has known the animals. They have always been there for him when people weren't, they have always brought him comfort, food, shelter, something to kill the boredom. He feels connected to them, even the ones he kills for food. He whispers thanks to them as he ends their lives, and he promises not to waste a single bit of their bodies. It's the least he can do, he thinks.

He's the Hero of the Wild, after all. The wild is his home, and the creatures that roam it are his brothers and sisters. It's strange, he knows, but he wouldn't ask for it to be any different.

#jin writes #fan fiction #linked universe #hero of the wild #fan fic #botw #legend of zelda #animals

607 notes · View notes

coyotefaced · 5 years

Text

it’s amazing what someone can remember from the early stages of youth. jesse had never been an exception to the rule, and like all children, he had suffered that bout of childhood amnesia, where the brain begins to solidify and lock in those learned behaviors and toss out every useful memory up until that point. sometimes though, brief glimpses crop up every so often. it’s not remarkable in many cases and certainly not his, but the developing brain of a child is a hazardous thing to impart wisdom to, especially when you’re intent on scaring them out of their minds, making them eager to crawl into their parents’ bed for comfort against the crawling dark.

he does, however, remember being small. he remembers a tile counter of a nasty yellow color, he remembers the cutting board, he remembers not being able to see over it. he remembers the sandwich, it was peanut butter and strawberry jelly. he remembers the knife handle dangling over the edge of the counter.

but aside from that thirty-three year old memory, he remembers a woman, with dark, copper skin and white hair and bright primary colors. he remembers loving her. he remembers saying something, loud enough that she hushes him. he remembers ‘they’ll come and snatch you in the middle of the night if you aren’t a good boy’ he remembers being told about deer that move like men out across the grasslands, with too big eyes, without tails.

it’s one of those things that he’s pushed from his mind, unconsciously hoping that it would be lost in the years following.

______________________________

she’d been one of those late bloomer types from the earlier part of the century who got too deep into things she’d read on the internet. that’s what his dad had said, when he’d found them again, holed up during a montana winter. there’d been so much built up horror and appropriation from more than a few people looking to make a quick buck on whatever native folklore they could get their hands on, that she had also fallen victim to it with an ounce more credibility. she’s probably still in her rocker.

and yet, the words still echo, an itch in his ear canal that never quite goes away.

the thought had resulted in a rabbit hole of information on private browsers in public libraries in a corner of the room where he might be seen as a regular, run of the mill asshole who looks like he might fit in with the wrong kind of population. the arm doesn’t help, doesn’t ease into the sunglasses and ball cap disguise he’d opted for ( only on top of clothes he reserves in the back of his duffel, sealed up for the rare laundry day ) and ultimately, probably looked like a fool.

he’d done more research than he wanted to on the subject. most results were retellings of forum stories, specifically tailored to scare people instead of present the facts and origins for a few million views. a bunch of misinformation. great. but what he can find is enough to confirm sneaking suspicions that his grandmother was at least a perpetrator of these stories in the north, away from the actual origins of the beasts but it at least assuages fears that he might dig up, affected by fictions in the night. he packs up and leaves town, no one any the wiser for his being there.

he forgets most of what he’d learned on the hypertrain heading south.

______________________________

somewhere in arizona, the winds change.

he knows the hazards of a desert that would have him freeze to death rather than be baked alive, especially as the calendar wound down to that awful, fateful time of year where every outcome became a might bleaker, but he is if nothing else, a survivalist. he knows how to handle himself well, and the quiet edging into fall was usually a welcome change, and signaled that the move to the southern hemisphere should soon begin.

but still, he enjoyed the red canyons that felt more like a home than any snowy ranch ever could, and his camping was never an issue, so long as he kept discreet about it. it was never really hard, he observed the rules for once in his life like any sane, decent person should do on national park land, though he can’t even be sure if it was a national park. people never touched this area. the reports of gang activity, especially this far south and into unknown lands was enough to deter most hikers, and with the incompetence of the local law it was a perfect place for unknowable deeds. the wild west was still indeed wild, once you hit the no man’s land.

the anonymity was nice. the night sky away from the metropolitan areas where it was easier to blend in, though easier to be recognized, was nicer. the lack of light pollution meant that outside of the smoggy valleys of the west coast and the cloud cover of the east, he had the best view of the night sky that anyone could ever ask for. he doesn’t worry about the nearness of the cliff face, even at twenty feet he doesn’t mind, he’s always been a sound sleeper and there was no reason he should change now, but even as he watched the sun set over the jagged tooth of the valley and plains below him there’s an unease that settles into his bones. he pretends that he doesn’t notice.

besides, there are worse dangers in deadlock territory, worse ways to die than a cougar run up, especially with his reputation. but anything quick would be ideal to… perhaps being disemboweled by a mountain cat.

a coyote choir lulls him to sleep, and he dreams about his grandmother, wearing a cougar skin. it talks.

_______________________________

perhaps it was the dream that woke him up. perhaps it was the wind. perhaps the shriek that came from the canyon below, the scent of rotting meat, he’d fallen asleep plenty of times to the cries of pest animals, raunchy coyotes, dying animals, elk whose bellows were more or less the loudest and most chest jolting bass you’ve ever heard a deer produce. no, perhaps, it was the sensation of falling that had nearly done him in.

he was staring, bleary eyed and disoriented over the edge of the canyon. he didn’t know it, not yet, but when his senses finally roused him, he took three careful steps back, each between twenty or thirty heartbeats and finds himself reeling back towards the abyss he’d awoken to. there’s a ringing in his left ear. distantly, there’s a shout, a scream, like the wheezing rattle of a voice being dragged on wet stone. That alone sends him crouching back, keeping low for fear of being seen, or worse, heard as well.

he hadn’t been in the area for some time, but those teenage ghost stories always seemed to come back around when it was most convenient for them to impart as much terror as possible. he sinks into the lean to with his eyes on the edge of the rock, waiting for something to come up from the darkness below. waiting for anything that could be aimed at, shot, and killed. he was, if nothing else, good at that.

nothing came. for hours, nothing came but that continued, wet screeching that stopped, and started again every ten minutes or so. It would scream, scream for a minute, and then abruptly stop. he was beginning to think, or at least hope, that it was a barn owl, or a -- a deer that had been chased off a cliffside. pronghorn were plentiful out here anyways, that had to be it, maybe that cougar he’d been fearing from earlier had its way with a kill. once the rising sun had painted even the faintest glimmer of gold into the depths of the ocean of night, it stopped.

jesse watched, waiting along that cliffside for the next call.

he left the area as quickly as he could, packing up, breaking down, covering his tracks. he was in san joaquin by late afternoon, and picking up a line to panama by night. somewhere bright, and noisy, somewhere away from the open expanse, for just a moment. just a day. That’s all.

___________________________________

everything eventually ends up in the gorge. even on this stretch, far north of the old haunt.

a week later, the skeletal remains of a 38 year old woman were found not a mile from the campsite, far down the side of the canyon and nearly to the bottom. coroners had ruled her death an accident, and speculated she had been there long enough to die of thirst. the resulting injuries of her fall had broken several bones, and wounds that suggested that some large animal had taken advantage of her misfortune. although, the scratches on her ribcage were inconclusive with usual predator behavior.

she is speculated to have been down there for at least four months. no suspects have been named.

6 notes · View notes

alienslikedmyfantasy · 5 years

Text

My exciting morning.

By exciting I kind of mean stressful. So my Dad took my sweet pup for a walk in the woods this morning. Our new outdoor stray cat has to be held so be doesn't follow them into the woods, so I held the little "Fuzzwad" as my Dad likes to call him, and waited a few minutes before setting him back down. So far it was a normal morning...that is until my Dad got back. He was stressed and told me to look up the phone number to a "Blandford Nature Center" because he had found an injured owl. He said it was big and that he or she had been caught in some barbed wire and must have been stuck here all night.

I tried to call four times, but my phone is apparently broken and permanently says "No Signal". I tried and tried but it wouldn't call. My screen just glowed back at me with the word 'calling' and a deafening silence. My anxiety went into overdrive and I yelled to my Dad and explained the situation. He called them instead and they told him what to do and another number to call.

He told me to call this new number and tell them what was happening. But the problem was, the number was either busy or nonexistent. I immediately yelled to my Father and put the phone on speaker so he could hear the dreaded repeating tone.

He was on his way to cut the barbed wire away so he could bring the poor, injured owl back and told me to keep trying. I tried calling that number (with his phone) multiple times and it finally said it was a nonexistent number.

So I called the first number again and told them of my predicament. The lady was very kind and gave me a new number to call. I was so grateful I called immediately after I hung up.

That phone number gave me another number. "If you are wanting to explore..." etc. etc. Then it said "If this call is about an injured bird, leave a voicemail."

That voicemail was so embarrassing. I stammered and spluttered through the whole thing but I managed to get the message across.

"Hello, I'm using my Dad's phone. He found a big owl caught in some barbed wire by its wing and it is bleeding. There is some wire tangled around its wing. We live around *location* and need help. Thank you here is the number to call back."

Since I don't know his number off the top of my head, I fumbled for my phone until I found his number. It had been about 5 seconds of silence but it felt like an embarrassing eternity. I left the number and hung up.

That's when I made the mistake of locking his phone to which I do not know the password. I was losing my mind! I put on some boots and a coat and headed out to find him to tell him what I learned.

That's when I saw him walking down the path with a big, metal trash can. He brought the can inside and told me about the ordeal.

He got out there and found the owl again. The poor thing was hanging by his wing. Exhausted and injured, the owl would snap its beak in retaliation, but did not fight with much effort. With strong feet, the owl kicked at my Father, but my Dad cut the owl out, not the wire wrapped around its wing, but around it, so he could take it away from there. He wrapped the owl in a pink and white striped towel, set it gently into the trash can, and carried it home.

The trash can set in front of our stove, with a weaken owl sitting inside. He didn't move or make any noise. This worried me because I love animals so much and I hated that the poor owl was in pain and I was so scared that it might die. Dad said that the pwl was bleeding and it still had wire I its wing.

My Dad called back and called more numbers, each one having another number to call. And after what felt like forever, he had a number text him about the owl trying to help him. Dad opened the can while I took a picture. The owl was smaller than I thought, but that was because it was folded up and cuddled into the towel. It looked up at me with such beautiful eyes and such an incredible face. I had never seen an owl up coose before and it was amazing. It was a barn owl, or at least we think it was.

I was trying to take a picture of the poor owl when we got a call from one of the numbers. They knew the person who was texting and needed a photo. They talked to him and told him where he could take the owl to get he help it needed.

Dad knew he couldn't take the owl in a trash can. Not only was it too big for him small car, but it wouldn't have enough air. The phone people told us to use a cardboard box so I ran in and grabbed a target box. We poked holes into the sides for air and the box was ready to go.

We just needed to put Bucky in the box. I decided Bucky was a good name. Better than Barney which I had thought about. So Bucky the Barn Owl it was. Yes like Bucky Barnes.

Dad opened the can again, and looked at Bucky. Bucky looked at him. Dad picked Bucky up and I have never heard such a strange noise. Bucky was clicking its giant beak at Dad. It was incredibly loud. I was so impressed. Once in the box, we taped the top shut so Bucky couldn't attempt escape.

My Dad got an address and is now driving with Bucky in a Target box in his car an hour away. I just hope Bucky will be okay. Updates to come including the picture we took.

5 notes · View notes

bugcthulhu · 6 years

Text

@tyrantisterror even more local freakies your way, mostly from Asturian myth

Llamarguiellu: A bog-dwelling creature described as black-skinned and deformed, with bulging white eyes, covered in boils and dung. Crawls on the mud at night, surrounded by a host of frogs, newts and snakes. Despite appearances it is incredibly shy and submerges at the first sign of being spotted.

Paparresolla: Child-eating beast whose presence makes one pant involuntarily. “Mouth bleeding, guts out, tail dragging” according to one saying. Lets out terrifying screams, can fly and likes cold, dark places such as church towers or attics. Typically female, but both genders exist

Papón: “Big Jowls”. Has a bloated stomach and a jolly appearance, but is extremely gluttonous and takes children from their houses at night to swallow them whole. One version ditches the pretense and describes it as enormous, with blazing eyes and a stomach “like an oven”

Patarico: Gigantic beings of immense strength, a single eye and excellent sense of smell. Live in the mythical island of Eonavia and devour castaways. Sometimes likened to the irish merrows.

Manona: A large, hairy, terrifying disemboided hand that haunts houses. Squeezes the neck and chest of sleepers, giving them nightmares.

Ingalius: Possesses young children and causes to grow excessively thin or pale, stunting their growth. Considered a kind of goblin

Death Rooster: A black rooster with a white crest whose crowing kills whoever hears it over the span of a day. Upon death a single green worm emerges from its corpse and over time grows into a new one.

Careto: Small monkey-like things that dwell in snowy mountains and cause avalanches to kill hikers

Zamparron: Ogre with insatiable appetite capable of stretching and/or shrinking its body to pass through even the smallest crevices.

Gamusino: Basically the same thing as the American “snipe”, an extremely elusive mystery creature. One regional variant has it as an ungodly delicious fish.

Dip: A large, shaggy dog that comes out at night to feed on the blood of livestock and drunkards

Disemboweler: Inhabits corn plantations and lives up to its name whenever it encounters anyone tresspasing them.

Crupecia Beast: Either a lion-headed bird with bull horns and four breasts, or a seven-headed red dragon with ten horns and a candle on each head. Scares children in forests.

Grumante: Massive giant with a single long arm to snatch mountain hikers. Sometimes can bring forth storms, sometimes they’re warlocks capable of rousing Cuelebres out of their caves

Pecau Sabadiego: Demonic entity with massive horns and membranous wings. Can be driven off by reciting a complicated religious chant (Sabadiego is actually a kind of baloney, so this guy either looks really gross or causes stomach pains, i dunno)

Malino: Tiny invisible spirits/imps that enter the bodies of people by the thousands while they’re digesting food and torment them to death. Can blend with shadows.

Pauto: House spirits that remove anything they perceive as an obstacle to their “protegees” so they may reach their wishes. Invisible, but one variant has them take the form of a black beetle. Usually kept inside a matchbox.

Repunte De Las Medias Blancas: Something like “Repunte of the White Socks”. A sea monster that prowls near cliffs and rises up with the crashing waves to snatch anyone near the edge

Torollino: Tiny forest creatures, mostly a furry head with various horns. Sleep in tree holes most of the time, spend the rest chasing each other, bumping into things and pulling pranks on passersby, like nipping at their heels or slapping their butts if they lie down to sleep

Busgosu: Satyr-like being that protects forests. Benevolent with sheperds, but loathes lumberjacks and hunters. Inflicts a deadly disease by kissing

Tentiruju: Goblin that can turn invisible and rubs young women with mandrake leaves to make them rebellious

Curuxa: A barn owl that stalks deathly ill people and sings about their upcoming demise “NEXT IS YOOOOOU! NEXT IS YOOOOOU!”

Guaxa: A horrible, wrinkled hag with glowing eyes that breaks into houses and tears into the necks of sleepers with her single fang to drink their blood night after night until they die

31 notes · View notes

turnupswritessometimes · 7 years

Text

A Tangle of Strings - Ch2

RISE OF THE BRAVE TANGLED FROZEN DRAGONS HOGWARTS!AU FIC

Summary: Rapunzel Corona’s facing her family history and identity, Merida Dunbroch’s hiding her secret Quidditch activities from her mother, Jack Frost is somehow a Head Boy, despite being in his fifth year, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third is hiding a dragon in the Forbidden Forest and Anna and Elsa Aren-Delle are switching places. To top it all off, OWL and NEWT exams are looming. But the strings of fate have tangled them together and something much bigger than all of them threatens Hogwarts.

Word Count : 6,044

Chapter Two : [Looking for Trouble]

It was dusk by the time they reached The Leaky Cauldron, which was actually convenient as Eugene wouldn't have been able to land if there were still tons of muggles milling around outside.

Rapunzel shakily climbed off of the broom, her hand slipping into Eugene's as they walked into the pub. The events of the last three hours hadn't seemed real. She was sure that she had fallen asleep on the broom and dreamt the whole thing.

But no. Her hair was gone. A fact she was consantly reminded off as Flynn checked them in until the first of September - the day they would return to Hogwarts. She was so nervous that she kept going to fiddle with her hair, to start a plait that she didn't have time to finish, to tuck it behind her ear. It was still a start to feel the few inches of brown that were left. A huge weight seemed to be off of her shoulders - figuritively and metaphorically and she wasn't sure how to take it.

Suddenly, fingers were snapped under her nose and she blinked as she came out of her thoughts.

"Blondie," Flynn had called loudly, then he'd dropped his voice. "I was saying that I can only afford one room - that okay?"

"Oh, um, yes," Rapunzel managed to reply, her cheeks red.

On her shoulder, Pascal nudged her cheek and she scratched his head with her forefinger absently.

"Good," Flynn said. Maybe just to fill the silence. "Let's sit somewhere."

So Rapunzel followed him through the dim lighting, swerving past flailing arms and bustling people until Flynn found an empty table, pulling a chair out for her. He flopped into the opposite one, running his hands through his usually carefully crafted hair.

They sat in silence, looking around them at the interesting company. Listening to odd snatches of conversation.

After a time, Rapunzel's eyes turned back to Flynn Rider. His gaze was hollow and distant and his hand was resting on his chest, his fingers twitching slightly.

Half because she wanted the comfort, Rapunzel slipped her hand over his, stopping his fourth finger from rhythmically tapping on the table.

His fingers folded under hers and she thought she heard him sigh.

"It's been a long day," she murmured. "Should we just get some rest?"

Eugene's eyes slipped to hers. He took a deep breath.

"Sure, blondie," he said, then he seemed to look at her hair again. "Um, I mean...sure."

Rapunzel managed a weak smile.

It seemed an effort for Eugene to get up from the chair and they walked in silence up the rickety, narrow staircase. The only thing that remained constant was their linked hands.

The room was small. Just enough room for a bed, chest of drawers, bedside table and a dusty lamp.

Eugene took a pillow and insisted on sleeping on the floor, his travelling cape pulled over him. Rapunzel tried to protest, but was too tired to keep it up. She collapsed on the bed, her fingers finally slipping from Eugene's, and was asleep within an instant.

Morning light streamed through curtains they had forgotten to shut. Rapunzel stirred, fancying Eugene's arms to be around her, but not wanting to open her eyes and find herself disappointed.

Her thoughts wandered. It was basically this time last year that they had met. A few days into term with Rapunzel wandering through the halls, trying to find her class but feeling completely lost.

A boy had suddenly burst through a tapestry to her left. A boy with messy hair and a glint in his mischevious eyes. And a Slytherin tie.

Rapunzel had shrank back against the wall. The other Hufflepuff's had been honest - Slytherins weren't that bad, the only people who really hated them were Gryffindors; but stay on their good side because they hold a grudge.

He had still terrified her.

He had stared at her too. His eyes on her hair, which, though considerably shorter then, trailed down to her ankles easily.

"I think I lost them," he panted, as though she were his partner in crime. It gave her a thrill. She was going to get dragged into trouble. Into an adventure.

Like her tween novels!

"Lost who?" Rapunzel had squeaked.

There were sudden shouts from behind the tapestry.

The boy heard too. He stiffened.

Then he had grabbed her wrist and pulled her along the corridor. Her hair tripped her up and fell in her eyes and her heart had pounded.

Without warning, the boy pulled her behind another tapestry, revealing a small cubby hole behind it. She had pulled her hair in after her like rope, smothering both of them.

Their hands were clasped over their mouths and they were breathing heavily in the darkness.

Footsteps had thundered past, with yells of "Ryder! You liar - you bloody cheat!" but disappeared down the hallway.

He had lifted the tapestry and the two stood in the hallway, half-giggling breathlessly.

"I'm Rapunzel," she had said, holding out her hand. The boy had blinked at it, then fixed a charming smile on his face.

"Ryder. Flynn Ryder," he had said, shaking her hand. "But you can call me Flynn."

And she had. Everytime she saw him she dropped what she was doing to talk to him. She hadn't realised how much of a nuisance she had been. But he never said anything. He treated her with somewhat amusement at first, seeing how long he could string her along for, but then he had started to like her. He treated her like a mate, didn't flirt with her like he did the other girls and they had started to beg her for tips on getting her attention.

That had never been her concern. All she had wanted was a friend.

And she still had one, even though they had kissed and she wasn't sure where their relationship would lead to now.

She hesitantly opened her eyes and her heart leapt when she saw that Flynn's arms were around her. The sheets were half-tangled around them and Rapunzel still had one leg resting on the mattress. She didn't know whether she had been pulled or just fell.

At her stirring, she felt Flynn's breath on her neck.

"Mornin'," he mumbled.

Rapunzel rolled to her back, feeling immensely lighter.

"I'm here," she whispered, mostly to herself. "I'm actually here."

Eugene groaned and sat up, rubbing an eye with the heel of his palm. He fixed his dark eyes on her.

"Let's just...just not get into the crazy mother, and the dying, and the kidnapping." He said. His morning voice was husky and deep.

"Kidnapping?" Rapunzel echoed, sitting up as well. It felt odd not have to worry about catching her hair. Her head felt so light. All of her felt so light. "I'm not a kid."

Eugene's only answer was the raise of an eyebrow.

"It was my birthday yesterday!" Rapunzel told him defiantly. Then she frowned. "Oh, it was my birthday yesterday."

"You had other things on your mind," Eugene shrugged. Then he smirked. "Aw, you would have broken a law for me."

She frowned at him.

But then he placed a kiss on her forehead and she found herself smiling.

"C'mon," he said, standing up as slowly as an old man. "Let's get you a proper birthday celebration."

Rapunzel's 'birthday' celebration lasted the few days they had left before they returned to Hogwarts. It mainly featured ice cream, Eugene holding her hand as she read for hours and little kisses whenever no one was looking.

As the first of September came rolling around, Rapunzel found herself getting nervous. Eugene was popular at Hogwarts, and though she had friends, she was mostly ignored. What if he started ignoring her? Or wouldn't see her? Or called it off between them?

He was at her side when they passed through the barrier to King's Cross. But then a ginger-haired Slytherin called out to him and he dropped Rapunzel's fingers. It felt like cutting a string. A life-line.

She recognised the Slytherin from the Quidditch team - a chaser who's name escaped her. The only reason she had ever woken up in the freezing cold and sat in the stadium for hours was to support Eugene.

They ended up sitting in a compartment with the Slytherin. The two beaters Rapunzel recognised as well, the Stabbington Brothers who shared half a brain between them. They had always seemed to have beef with Eugene, though it was waved off so many times Rapunzel never could keep track. In truth, the three of them made her feel uncomfortable. But she stayed because every so often Eugene's eyes would catch hers and his smile would change ever so slightly to be reassuring.

As the train was leaving the station, however, there was a knock at the compartment glass. Rapunzel's heart leapt as she saw two girls looking in at them, one grinning wildly and the other looking nervous.

"Elsa," she waved as the compartment door was opened. "Come sit with me."

"Elsa, it'll be fine," Anna's owl was rocking precariously on top of her luggage as she bounded down the station.

Elsa followed as quickly as she could, pushing her own trolley. She wished she was her barn owl, and could look in every direction for trouble.

"I really...Anna, he's in my year," she said.

"So?" Anna turned, her trolley resting on the step up to the train. "I hang out with you enough, don't I?"

Elsa opened and closed her mouth in an attempt to think of something to say.

Anna disappeared onto the train and she desperately followed. Because she knew what kind of a guy Hans was - heard the way he talked about women - and had to protect her baby sister from him.

When Anna had first started going to Quidditch matches, Elsa had assumed it had been to support her. After all, they were both chasers on their respective house teams; and Elsa always cheered Anna on as hard as she could.

It turns out, Anna had a crush on Hans. And he had strung her along like a duckling. A gullible little duckling. He made a fuss of her in front of his friends and made her feel special and ocassionally threw a rose her way to keep her keen.

And Anna was falling for it.

She was deaf to Elsa's protests, checking in every compartment until she found the one with him in. She tapped on the glass and started waving and at that point Elsa stopped trying. Maybe she could back away...maybe they wouldn't have seen her.

"Elsa," a voice called. A cheeful voice. A voice unaware of the damage it just caused. "Come sit with me."

Elsa turned, and for a moment didn't recognise the girl calling to her. She had Rapunzel's glittering green eyes, rosy cheeks and bow shaped lips, but her hair.

Rapunzel's hair had made Elsa's white-blonde colour seem normal. Her blonde hair had been long in their first year, and before the summer it must have been twice her height.

But now it was shorn, barely reaching her ears and curling like wet paper at the ends. It had turned a chestnut colour, like autumn leaves.

It suited her. Startingly so. Elsa found her cheeks warming more than usual when she looked at her.

Unfortunately, Hans was looking between them both.

"Oh no, I don't think so," he drawled. "We don't need someone with the magical control of a first year to sit with us."

"She's on the Quidditch team as well," Rapunzel murmured, frowning slightly.

"She was," Hans said. There was a nasty glint in his eyes - Elsa wondered how she was the only one who could see it. "But we'll have to hold new trials this year, what with a new captain and all. Who knows if Elsa will still get in."

Something told Elsa that no matter who was the captain of Ravenclaw, Hans had made sure she didn't have a chance of getting in.

"Oh yeah," the other boy in the compartment - Flynn Rider, suddenly spoke up. "You're the captain of Slytherin, aren't you?"

Hans only have a smug nod in return.

"Don't be silly, Hans," Anna finally spoke up, that simpering puppy-love grin appearing on her face. "She's my sister - she's as good a flier as I am."

"And who lost to Slytherin last year?" Hans asked her sarcastically, earning a chuckle from the Stabbington Brothers.

"I-I let you win," Anna pouted, and Hans' expression seeemd to soften. He held out a hand to Anna, who's expression immediately changed to one of ecstasy. She giggled like a fool as she was pulled into his lap.

Elsa was left dithering in the passage, now with two lots of luggage.

Rapunzel was still smiling at Elsa, though now she seemed unsure.

Flynn Rider also caught her eye, and he gestured with his head for her to move on. But his eyes were more concerned than spiteful.

Despite his warning, she waited just a moment too long.

"Elsa," Hans said. His tone was still warm, but there was an underlying nastiness under his words. "No offence, but - we don't want any sudden snow-storms."

She felt her face redden at the memory of her fourth year charms class being asailed with snow when she had started to panic about the complexity of a spell.

"Yeah, I'm not really in the mood for hail," one of the Stabbington Brothers - Elsa could never tell them apart - grunted. His brother laughed, even though it wasn't that funny.

Elsa had pushed that disasterous Quidditch match from her mind, but now it swam in front of her like a dementor. Her fingers felt cold and she clenched her fists in an attempt to stop it.

"It wasn't her fault, Hans," Anna said, her voice was still lighthearted - taking it all to be teasing. Anna never was very good at reading a room, especially when her long time crush had his hands on her waist.

"I just wonder how she got top marks last year but is a complete disaster when stressed," Hans shrugged, turning the 'nice-guy' tone back on like clockwork when he looked at Anna. "We must have sat the coldest OWL exams ever."

"I don't think so," Rapunzel suddenly spoke up. Then she saw the way the boys - even Flynn - were looking at her and her mouth snapped shut.

Elsa's stomach had dropped. A familiar cold was creeping up her wrists - cold of rejection and humiliation and shame.

She could see frost starting to snake up the doors of the compartment - which filled her with even more dread. She knew Hans' sharp eyes would spot it too.

She closed her eyes - wishing it all to stop.

"Would you two bring Anna's luggage it for her?" Hans' voice cut through Elsa's fear.

The Stabbington Brother's had stood, each lumbering towards Anna's cases, effectively blocking the door from Elsa. The meaning couldn't have been clearer.

"I'll uh, see you later, Anna," she called meekly, unable even to see her sister.

As she headed down the hallway, she heard an indistinct voice and men's laughter.

The bar of her trolley was suddenly covered in ice.

As soon as she saw an empty compartment, she dived in and pulled her glove on. She forced herself to take calming breaths. To calm down.

A complete disaster.

She had to repress all of the memories at threatened to swallow her, otherwise...

Complete disaster...

... ... disaster.

She was a disaster.

The compartment door suddenly opened and she jumped out of her skin. For a moment she hoped it was Anna - come to sit with her after all. Or even Rapunzel.

But it wasn't. It was a girl in her year, looking at her with just as much shock. Elsa recognised her - a prefect with grades almost as good as hers - Toothiana.

Unlike Elsa, she was popular despite her oddities. Despite reading the Quibbler, and 'talking' to fairies, and seeing creatures pulling the carriages to Hogwarts. Maybe it was her hair - dark with blonde highlights that shone green and blue when light hit them. Maybe it was the way her violet eyes glittered like stars. Or maybe it was her warm laugh and easy going demeanor.

She was everything that Elsa wanted to be.

"Oh, Elsa," Toothiana said now. "I thought this was an empty carriage. I was just looking for somewhere to sit before the Head of House meeting."

"You're," Elsa was finding it hard to breathe, much less talk. "...Headgirl, then?"

"Yes," Toothiana smiled, showing her perfect, dazzling white teeth.

Elsa had to look away. It was near impossible to swallow.

Toothiana sat across from Elsa, streching her legs out - seemingly effortlessly tanned. She was already wearing her uniform.

"It's cold in here," Toothiana commented after a moment.

"Sorry," Elsa said automatically, her face beetroot red as Toothiana gave a tinkling laugh.

"It's not your fault."

The words made Elsa pause.

Was it? Not her fault?

She thought it was - in this case she knew it was her uncontrollable feelings that had made it so cold in here.

But having strong magic wasn't her fault...was it?

She wished she was Anna. Then she could fit in. Be normal. Just like everyone else.

"Elsa-" Toothiana continued. "I wanted to try out for the Quidditch team this year-" understandable, she flew everywhere. "-But I'm too scared to go alone. Try out with me?"

"Me?" Elsa stammered. They weren't friends, they hardly spoke to each other and yet - Toohiana wanted Elsa to try out with her. "Sure."

She had said it before her stomach dropped. Hans' words came rushing back to her.

Who knows if Elsa will be able to get in?

Jack had felt bad to ask so much money off of Merry.

But he quickly forgot his guilt when he saw his little sister with brand new robes standing by her trunk. She'd fit in. She'd be fine.

"I'm still so shocked you managed to find these - they look like they've never been worn," their mother gushed, her cheeks pink.

"Yeah, it was a bargain," Jack winked at Mary, who giggled conspiritorally.

The two smiled at the camera; that awkward sibling smile when Jack had to stand with his hand on her shoulder and she had to not punch him.

"Okay, that's done, can we go?" Mary begged impatiently as soon as the flash went off.

"I want to take another one in case - oh, Jack!" their mother looked with despair as Jack's hair turned snowy white once again.

"We're going to be late," he said in his defence, pausing to noogie Mary before grabbing the floo powder.

They travelled to King's Cross, their mother forgetting her anger when she realised she wouldn't see them until Christmas, at least.

Jack, however, just felt jumpy. Like someone was going to jump out and laugh at him for believing the Head Boy badge. He had slipped it into his pocket when his mother's back was turned, but it seemed to be ten times heavier than it should be.

He jumped straight out of his skin when someone all but jumped on his back, yelling practically incoherently. In fact, he yelped. Like a dog.

Then, whilst his sister was laughing at him, he tuned into Merry's Scottish accent and forced himself to relax.

"Yeah, I've got your bloomin' broom," he muttered, shrugging it off his shoulders.

Merry practically snatched it from his hands, eyes wide.

"Where's your mum, then?" he asked.

"Ah, I said I'd be fine on my own this year," Merry shrugged, carefully placing the broom on the top of the already heavily laden trolley and starting forward to the wall.

Jack resigned himself to following, his little sister giggling in his ear and Merry chatting a mile a minute in his ear.

"If that's all..." Jack said slowly, one hand on Mary's shoulder to steer her away.

"Actually, Jack, I was thinkin'," Merry said from behind him. He surpressed a sigh and turned back. "Could you sit with me?"

Jack nodded. He knew it better than to make a big deal of it. Merry was friends with everyone in the class, sure, but Merry wasn't really close to anyone. At Christmas it was always family time; Jack just assumed that was first priority.

But maybe Merry was just awkward - weird for a pureblood - but the 'flying ban' was even weirder.

"Right, Mary," Jack said, ruffling his little sister's hair just to annoy her. "The best way to make friends is to go into a random carriage and say all the others are taken."

"I know. I'm not the one who has trouble making friends." Mary stuck her tongue out at Jack, before she headed down the platform, her trolley clattering in front of her.

It was true. Jack was on good terms with everyone but he didn't really have any friends.

Except Merry. He guessed.

They found a compartment on the train and locked the door to stop first years coming in. Then Jack relaxed and leant back. Merry was starting at the broom like it was the Holy Grail.

There was a comfortable silence as the train pulled out of the station and started chugging along.

Jack pulled a weather beaten pack of cards from his bag and the played blackjack for a bit - but Merry was awful at Muggle card games and got bored quickly.

There was a sudden crash at the window.

They both jumped. A boy's face was pushed against the glass. He hurriedly started to tug at the door handle.

"What the heck?" Merry asked. Half with awe, and half with disgust.

Jack sighed.

"That's Hiccup," he said. Their parents knew each other and as such, they always had that 'my mum buys you birthday presents, but we don't talk' relationship that was just plain awkward. It was better to pretend that they didn't know each other at all.

But Hiccup was mouthing the words 'please', and had such a genuine look of terror on his face that Jack decided to abandon the rule. He got up and lazilly unlocked the door of the compartment.

Hiccup rushed in like a rabid dog was at his heels and collapsed on one of the seats, his hand over his chest.

"Thank you," he gasped. His hand was over his chest.

"What the bloody hell was that about?" Merry asked as Jack locked the door back up. And not a moment to soon. It took everything he had not to leap back as three more faces pushed up against the glass. He couldn't tell if they had been cursed or not.

"Them," Hiccup replied. He was viewing them with an expression of distaste - like he had just swallowed a ball of wasabi. Merida was watching with a disgusted fascination - like watching a snake swallow prey on a nature documentary.

Jack recognised the three Gryffindors.

"Merry, meet your future team mates," he said. "Gryffindor's beaters, and chaser."

Merida made a face and muttered "yeah, I know who they are," then stood suddenly and swung the compartment door open with such a force that the three recoiled.

"Get out of my face before I hex you into next week!" Merry snapped, then slammed the door closed again.

The three outside the door - Ruffnut, Tuffnut and Snotlout - looked at each other with wide eyes, before they went scuttling back down the corridor.

Merida sat back down and crosed a leg over the other, muttering indistinctly.

Hiccup looked terrified, but Jack was used to it. Merry's hair matched the temper.

There was a tense silence. Then Merry stood suddenly.

"I'm going to get go changed. Don't touch my broom."

Jack turned to Hiccup with a small smirk.

"So, what was all that about?"

Merida stared at herself in the small mirror in the train bathroom. It was spotted with age and made her seem even paler. She took a deep breath, conscious of how odd the skirt felt around her legs. How tight the long socks seemed.

Her mother had insisted on a skirt this year. Now that Merida was fifteen and was becoming a young woman. She had wanted to protest. But then she remembered the contraband broom and agreed reluctantly. It was just an item of clothing. Loads of other girls wore it.

She immediately regretted the decision when she opened the train door and saw Astrid Hofferson standing there. The seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"H-Hi," she said. She always found it hard to talk to Astrid. She was just - always so cool.

"You done?" Astrid asked. She seemed so indifferent.

"Yeah, s-sorry," Merida prayed the train wouldn't rattle so much as she squeezed past.

She had almost taken two steps before she turned again. Astrid was just sliding the door closed.

"Hey, um, are you wearing a skirt this year, for school?" she asked.

Astrid looked at her like she was crazy.

"Of course."

With that, she shut the door to the bathroom. Merida paused. It was the most they had ever spoke and she felt almost blessed. Though it hadn't seemed like Astrid really cared very much.

Merida started down the train. Maybe when she joined the Quidditch team...

Maybe then...

Merida kept thinking about their conversation as she headed down the train. What if she had said this instead of that? What would Astrid have said then?

Because Merida was despereate to be friends with Astrid. To have a best friend. A best friend who was a girl with the same interests as her...

This year. She would make it happen.

Merida opened the door to their compartment with this resolve -

- And was met with hysterical laughter from Jack.

"W-What?!" she yelped. Her face felt like it was on fire. "I know it looks bad - but it's not that bad!"

"No, no, it looks -" Jack coughed as he tried to control his laughter. He looked at Merida for a moment, his eyes welling before he burst out laughing again.

"I think you look nice," Hiccup said politely. He was sat in a small huddle by the window, a book on his lap. He kept looking at Jack nervously.

"Sure - you've got the legs for it -" Jack said through fits of laughter. "But why are you wearing a skirt, Merry?"

"My - my mam wanted me to, okay?" she replied, self-consciously tugging at the hem of the skirt.

"I guess your mum really wants a girl, huh?" Jack said, still sniggering.

He stopped as an awkward silence fell over the carriage. He looked from Merida to Hiccup.

"What?" he asked.

Merida couldn't reply. She was so stunned. Eventually, Hiccup cleared his throat.

"Um, Jack? Merida is a girl." He said.

"M - Merry - Merida?" he stammered. Suddenly his eyes were as wide as saucepans, as though he were seeing her in a whole new light.

"Yeah," Merida snappped, her cheeks still aflame.

There was another awkward moment - then red suddenly flashed across Jack's cheeks.

Merida plopped into a seat and crossed a leg over the chair.

Jack was sat in a shcoked silence, staring off into space. Hiccup was trying, and for the most part, failing, to control a flurry of giggles.

"Hiccup," Merida said measuredly, pointedly not looking at Jack.

"Yes?" he seemed almost nervous.

"Can I see your charms homework?"

"Sure."

He dutifully fetched it from his bag. They hadn't really spoken before now. But they had been in the same class for the last five years and Merida knew he was good at the subject. It wasn't Merida's strong point, and she was worried her essay didn't make sense.

She had been staring at Hiccup's essay for a good minute before Jack spoke again.

"Merry's a...girl...?" he said, as though it amazed him.

"Yes, Jack," she snapped.

"How did you not know?" Hiccup asked, unable to stop himself smiling.

"Well - Merry's a guy in Lord of the Rings - right?" Jack stammered.

Hiccup just laughed again.

"Drop it." Merida said. "It doesn't matter."

Hiccup looked like he was going to object but saw the look on Merida's face and fell silent.

She wasn't quite sure what she was feeling. She was embarrassed of course, and thought Jack was a complete idiot. She wanted to laugh it off, but she was kind of offended. They were meant to be close - Jack was the only person she felt close to - but now it felt like he didn't know her at all. She was kind of angry that he had been so blind. And she was scared that he suddenly wouldn't want to hang out with her anymore.

She hoped that Jack would come up with another joke, that she could find a witty remark to say, but instead the air in the carriage become awkward. And the awkwardness just sat in the air, like a hot day.

Eventually, when it felt suffocating, Jack and Hiccup left to go and get changed. This was not the start of the year that she had been hoping for.

She sat for a moment - the countryside was turning blue and purple in the dusk.

Merida picked up her broom and left the carriage. She wanted to be alone.

Hiccup had managed to evade Jack's questions. He had made up an off-hand lie about what had happened and then none too suddenly changed the subject. And it had worked. Jack may have gotten decent marks in class, but he was hardly observant when it came to people.

Or maybe he chose not to be.

Either way, the drama with Merida had definitely set a rift between them. A gaping chasm.

Jack was thoughtful when they returned to the empty carriage. He didn't seem surprised that Merida had left.

"God," he muttered under his breath. "The conversations we've had..."

"Do I want to know?" Hiccup asked to deaf ears.

"Y'know, it actually kind of makes sense." He continued. He sat back down, so Hiccup did too. It was silent in the carriage. Jack was staring out of the window, his brows still drawn together. He was fiddling with something in the pocket of his robes.

Hiccup just started reading again, and the time seemed to pass at a snail's pace, but eventually the train rolled into Hogsmeade station.

It was full of other people, pressing against each other as they milled lazilly towards the carriages.

"Merry!" Jack called over the crowd. Hiccup saw a flash of unruly red hair, but Merida disappeared into the crowd without a reply. Hiccup spotted Astrid's blonde hair neaby. For just a moment, she turned to him - and he felt his heart stop as she was bundled into a horseless carriage.

It started moving just as her blue eyes flickered away from him.

He was okay now. He was safe. He could avoid Snotlout and the others - there were secret passages. As long as he kept his head down, he could get through this.

The sorting ceremony was uneventful. There was a distinct whispering coming from the older Hufflepuff's, but they pulled themselves together to cheer when a little girl - Hiccup recognised her as Jack's sister - was sorted into their house.

McGonagall made a speech. There was a new Defence Against Dark Arts teacher. They ate. They went to bed.

Just let year go okay, Hiccup thought to himself as he lay in the boy's dormitory. Just let everything be normal.

A day later, Hiccup knew the year wasn't going to be normal. It had started of fine - he had gotten his new timetable and he only shared charms with the Gryffindor's - and there was so much chaos trying to configure toads into todstools that he went by unnoticed.

But then he had gone to Hagrid's hut. He had been a regular visitor since his third year - since he had realised that this - Care of Magical Creatures - was what he wanted to do. He was good with the creatures - they semeed to naturally like him. They were a lot easier to make friends with than people.

(His dad, of course, didn't know about this secret passion, of course.)

Anyway, since then, he and Hagrid had grown close. If he managed to stay late enough, and not have an early start the next day, Hagrid would even take him into the Forbidden Forest. He had caught glimpses of centaurs and even a unicorn. It was amazing.

Today though, Hagrid was fidgety and pale beneath his bushy beard and eyebrows.

"There's been, uh, trouble 'ere over the summer," he said, as Hiccup sat at the huge table with a rockcake in front of him. He liked Hagrid's house - it made him feel like a child again.

"What do you mean?" Hiccup asked. He sipped tea from a huge flagon.

"Well - I might have taken - a short holiday-" Hagrid shuffled uncomfortably as Hiccup raised an eyebrow. " - Well - I thought 'e'd like it 'ere - but 'e doesn't - or maybe 'e don't like me - but now 'e's terrorising the whole forest!"

"Wait," Hiccup heled up a hand to stop Hagrid's panicked snowballing. "Who's 'he'?"Hagrid hesitated - and in that moment Hiccup heard it in the distance - a roar.

"Is that a-" he stopped short. He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Dragon." Hagrid managed to finish, though he didn't have the grace to look ashamed of himself.

Hiccup was stunned. He had only been allowed to go dragon hunting a few times, and then he had to stay in the background with Gobber and not get hurt. Whilst everyone showed off - fighting and slaying dragons - he had been stuck like a child in the hut. That was how you got honour in their community, so, needless to say that he had none.

Hgrid took his silence as a judgement and continued.

"There was a bunch o' them ruddy dragon hunters after it - and I just - I couldn't stand by and let 'em kill 'im."

Everything snapped into place so nearly that Hiccup almost fell over. He knew that dragon. And he knew who was after it.

His father had come home complaining that they had been close - so close - to catching 'a beauty' of a dragon.

But it had alluded them.

Evidently, it hadn't escaped from Hagrid's well-meaning grasp.

"I can't believe-" It. You. Hiccup stopped short, Hagrid's defences seemed to fade into the background.

The dragon that not even his dad could catch was at Hogwarts. And only he knew. If he could capture it-

If he could bring it back- Or even just a piece - to prove that he had.

The possibilities flooded into his head. He'd just be like everybody else - he'd be able to show off. He'd fit in - his dad would accept him.

He didn't even have to kill it. He could bring a small piece back.

As long as Hagrid didn't know he would be fine.

The year was not going to be normal. But it was going to be excellent.

0 notes

rupertacton · 7 years

Text

GET THE FUCK OUT OF LONDON

Having the dreams again. The city as a different city. Escape to the country. Relocation relocation. Seemingly endless city. Suburbia stretches out then coils back in on itself. Event horizon pierced. Escape velocity reached. I would move here. The pub is full of locals. Would I want to spend all my time with these people? Nothing to do but attach immense importance to small concerns. The travellers are back. You can't say anything these days. The council spent all the money on public art. It's not even art. Art to me is a painting on the wall. The sky is massive. Too big. Too much perspective. Waves crash on to the beach beneath the cottage. Clifftops. Rain hitting the windows. Step outside to look at the stars. Are they stars or the lights of ships on the horizon? Deep drag. Expel smoke. Riptides pull at the foundations of my brain. Bottles of local beer. Card games. I hate games. Unless I'm somewhere like this. Coastal path. Walking for the whole day. Freedom. People say hello to each other. Deeply unsettling. Bucolia. Unidentified birds of prey circle. Nature is brutal. We are nature. Sheep. Everywhere. I thought this was a National Park? Looks like a fucking farm to me. I've just read Feral. Will I give up this landscape for an Old Etonian's contentious vision of a future rewilded? Will I fuck. Maybe I will. It's persuasive. Snowdon. 2 hours sleep? At most. With the lads. LADS LADS LADS. Little dab of dizzle at the summit. As if this isn't exhilarating enough. Added spice though. Can't argue with that. Still haven't developed the disposable camera. Snowdon again. Just the two of us. Before. Pyg Track. We scramble up until we hit the snowline. Man at work. On lunch. Eating a sandwich. Looking at all of this. We trace the lines of distant roads as we loop back towards the car. My exploration depends on others abilities. I'm a good passenger. Paint testing station near Winchelsea. Almost magical in it's singular weirdness. Highly recommended. Trip Advisor. Bad trip advisor. Small towns on Friday nights. No one about. You could still get the shit kicked out of you if you're not careful. Guard down. Circling through cul-de-sacs to find the entrance to the woods. We walk to find a view of a water tower. Concrete outposts off A-roads. Motorway bridges. Sacred stones. Service stations as autonomous zones. Never just simply food. If it was up to me I would never leave. Everything is here. We leave. I bid a fond farewell. The break was welcome. 24 hours. 7 days a week. 365 days a year. Magical names. Taunton Deane. Leigh Delamere. Heston. Watford Gap. Pease Pottage. Incantations. The M5 just past Bristol. Terraced into the side of the hills. Views over Avonmouth. Car full of organic produce. 18 ounces in the boot. Secret location. Unassuming house. Daytrip. Cream tea. Wild mushroom risotto. Skin up if you want. Take some fudge. Made with Devon Cream. Journey back floating on a cloud. Journeys back from festivals. Stags. Keeping the driver awake. Haven't really slept all weekend. Woods near Crowborough. Back to nature. Tents pitched. Tarp shelter. DMT as the fire burns into the night. Group of kids on dirt bikes shocked by the sight of middle aged men living a post-apocalyptic dream amongst the ferns. Jake's tree. Emotions. These acres are infinite. Lundy Island. A point on the map. Wasn't sure it even existed outside of that. It does. Trust me. The journey back. Rough seas. Never been so aware of my own mortality. We survived. Just. Soaked. Friend tells us story in service station. Dark. Burger King. We console him. Rain pisses down. Islander visiting islands. Scilly. St Agnes. The Turk's Head. More than a holiday. A religious experience. We experience the sacred. One day the people will reclaim this magic from the Duchy Of Cornwall. This should belong to us all. THIS WHOLE ISLAND AND IT'S SURROUNDING ISLANDS SHOULD BE OURS. Can't ruin it anymore than these cunts with their grouse moors and shooting weekends and fox hunts and bad farming practices and subsidised lifestyles. But what do I know? Another know nothing city dweller. More islands. Hilbre. Ynys Mon. Foulness. Brownsea. Wight. Islands off islands off islands. Fractal shorelines. Retreat inland. Bad magic. Poundbury. I preferred Milton Keynes. This crowded island? Really? I walk for miles and see nobody. These people claim to love this country but I don't see them. They are in love with an idea. The actual thing scares them. It's not what they want. They want somewhere that doesn't exist. That never existed. One day I will stumble into a secret far right training camp and be used as target practice. Or some Jihadists will demonstrate some unarmed combat techniques on my person. I can't fucking wait. Deliverance. Who knows what darkness lurks just off the marked footpaths? Sacrificial altars just out of view of the picnic area. Orgies of copulation and fornication in AONB. Used condoms litter the SSSI. The Cerne Abbas giant touched inappropriately. Dorset Police are launching an investigation. Is there an equivalent of Orientalism when city dwellers exoticise the rural? I AM GUILTY. Cover me in tar. Black me up. Make me carry a burning barrel through your village. Cover me in burrs. Burn my effigy at your bonfire. TEACH ME YOUR WAYS. I'm willing to learn. Deep country. I can finally see the constellations as the sky clears. At dusk I see a barn owl silently flying across the flooded field. Reading as the sun falls into the sea. I will spare you a list of writers. I'm sure you can work it out. I won't insult your intelligence. That's about the only thing I won't insult. I've had a few at the village pub. Having a few more now we're back. Might even crack out that gear. The Rhosneigr night out. Hollyoaks in Anglesey. A snow machine. A fucking snow machine. To go with the Apres-ski theme. Men in fishing overalls dancing to Storm Queen drinking jugs of pink cocktails. The tiny village pub on the Llyn Peninsula. 18 of us. Most of us off our tits on coke. MDMA. Some of us on mushrooms. No one speaking English apart from us. 21st birthday in the function room. Banging out what sounds like gabber. In the bogs doing bumps. Pints and shots. Very accommodating. Back to the cottage to carry on. Cottages. Holiday homes. Good value if you go out of season. A base. Somewhere to cook. Hole up. Get away form it all. Decimating local communities. Pushing up prices. No wonder they used to burn them down in Wales. The way things are going it will probably start happening again. It's not tourism without a hefty degree of guilt and complicity in destruction. I am urban and English. I am scum. I love locally sourced food and drink. I will buy your chutneys and cheeses and beers. I will tell people about the wonderful little unspoiled beach and the amazingly shit but good local museum. The stunning walks. The wildlife. And then my friends will come. And their friends will come. And all will be lost. Have you been to the South Stack Cliffs bird reserve on Holy Island? Have you walked from Rye to Camber Castle? Have you walked the Broomway? What about the beach and derelict nightclub at Carlyon Bay? Have you heard seals sing on the sandbanks in the Dee Estuary off West Kirby? Have you been to the Eden Project? Reculver Castle? Taken the boat out from Poole to Brownsea Island to see Red Squirrels? Explored Canvey Island? Found fossils in Lyme Regis? The sand dunes at Climping? Walked from Deal to Sandwich? Don't miss the last train. Or it be cancelled. You might end up at Tonbridge at 2am waiting for a cab to take you back to London after being shunted around various stations in Kent for most of the night. A late train through the countryside. Only person in the carriage. You stop somewhere and a bunch of beered up locals get on. You are a target. If you can't handle the banter you're in trouble. Thank god I'm not a goth. Or black. Or in any way obviously different to them. I've got longish hair. But I'm wearing a shirt. A checked one. Like them. I say I'm on my way back to London. They all laugh. But it's good natured. Sort of. Still my palms sweat. Heart races. I'm allowed to read my book. They get off at the next station. I change at Ipswich. I read maps. Like novels. They are better than novels. The AA Great Britain Road Atlas. So many places I will never go. How do you find time to travel the world when there is so much in those pages? Essentially it will all be the same. I know this. I'm not bothered. It's the small things. The brown signs. FOLLOW THEM ALL. You will be disappointed but each disappointment will be unique. In it's own little way. Each boring museum. Each unwelcoming attraction. Each neglected Nature Reserve. I'm only half serious. As always. I've experienced such heart stopping beauty here. Beyond irony. Fuck irony. I don't leave London for a joke. The British seaside resort is amazing. Sad. Beautiful. The British countryside is awe inspiring. Wild. Managed. The interaction. Fascinating. The coast is unique. Variety of landscape. Wildlife. Treasure it. Care for it. I don't want to lose it. I want my hypothetical future children to experience at least this. At least. If not more. Rewild. Rewild your mind. It's good for you. It's good for us. Don't be afraid. It's worth it. If you live there please don't hate us. You need us. We need you. Don't lock us out. Trespassers should be welcomed with open arms. This belongs to us all.

KEEP BRITAIN INTERESTING. FOLLOW THE COUNTRYSIDE CODE. CLOSE ALL GATES. WATCH OUT FOR BULLS. WATCH OUT FOR TORIES. USE YOUR RIGHTS OF WAY. RESPECT THE LANDSCAPE. DON'T KEEP OFF OUR LAND. KEEP BRITAIN OPEN.

#nature #london #countryside #human nature writing

0 notes