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hannahssimblr · 4 months

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Chapter Fifteen (Part 2)

“I can’t stay long.” I remind him as we settle into a bench facing the pond where normally a hundred ducks and swans strut and swim about but today is frozen and still like glass. The frost on the bench instantly melts and soaks into the seat of my jeans, sending a shiver through me.

“I get it.” He says. “I just feel like I need to explain myself, like, what was going on with me on Saturday.”

“I’m all ears.”

“It’s complicated. Stuff is just a mess at the moment I…”

“Family stuff, like?”

“Yeah. It’s been a bit all over the place with my dad’s… estate, I suppose, if you can even call it that.” He takes a steadying breath. “It’s like, not even a huge deal it’s just, like…”

I feel a mini surge of sympathy for him, it really must be so difficult to lose a parent, even if he wasn’t close with his father, it must be a lot to have to handle. “What’s all over the place?” I ask him. “Money stuff?”

“Well like, he didn’t have any actual money. I think he had probably a hundred and ten euros in his account, so split three ways between his kids we’re getting a cool thirty seven euros off of him.”

“Oh.”

“Everyone is just going mental, fighting over his stuff, not that he had much of that either but his car is worth something, his TV, and like, the things that don’t matter to me but matter to my sister, like photos… ”

“You can’t have any photos?”

“No. He was living with our aunt when he died, and she’s completely nuts. She won’t let us have anything. She won’t even let us come into the house to look through his things, as if it’s worth shit to her. She called the guards on my brother Darren for going over to try and talk to her about it, says my dad would have wanted nothing to do with us, which I suppose is fair enough on Darren’s part, he’s been a bit unpredictable over the years, but my sister Millie was only two when he left us. She never did nothing to him, she just wants something of his to have.”

“It sounds really messy.”

He shoves his hand into the front of his hair and pulls it, revealing more of that dark brown regrowth at the roots. “So it’s just this, and my ma is crying down the phone to me all the time because when Darren gets into trouble she just loses the plot, and when she starts crying so does Millie, and I never have time to do anything ‘cause I just deal with them and work and go to college and then try and do all my assignments and it’s way too much.”

I put my hand on his shoulder, sensing that he’s about to spiral. “It’s alright.” I say. “You’re just doing what you can.”

“And the only way I can get through my shift is to do a bump of coke, otherwise I feel like I’d collapse” He barrels on. “And then I kind of lose control of that sometimes too, and on Saturday, like, me and one of the other lads got ketamine…”

“It’s alright.” I interject. I don’t really want to know the details of exactly what he did, preferring for that particular part of his life to remain a mystery to me.

“I shouldn’t have come to your birthday when I was like that, I’m ashamed of myself. I shouldn’t even be doing things like that to myself so that I can run away from my life.”

“It’s fine, Dean.”

“It’s not really fine. I can’t deal with the feeling like I’ve messed something up here.” He points to me and then himself. ‘Like you’re not gonna want to hang out with me anymore.”

I sigh. “It’s not… It’s not only you, Dean, and the way that you were, I think it’s all of it. I’ve been having realisations in this last week, like, that I feel unhappy about myself lately, and that I don’t like who I am when I hang around with Marnie and Fiona. It’s been so nice to be home with just Claire and remember what it’s like to have an actual friend who… enjoys having me around.”

“Marnie and Fiona are rotten, I don’t like hanging out with them either, they’re just posh girls who don’t get anything about what it’s like to have to work for things.”

“Yeah, well, maybe, but I’m tired of all of the bitching, of them talking behind each other’s backs all the time. I don’t want to be a person like that anymore, it makes me feel hollow.”

“Yeah but you aren’t like them. You’re different.”

“Lately I don’t feel like I am.”

“You’re a nice person, Evie, anyone can see that. You put up with a lot of bullshit. You can stop hanging out with them, in fact, I’d actually love it if you stopped, because that way I wouldn’t have to hang out with them either.”

I eye him distrustfully. “Why did you start coming out with us in the first place?”

The corner of his mouth twitches up. “To get to you, obviously.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah seriously.”

“You put up with people you didn’t like just to be around me?”

“Of course.”

I watch his face for any signs of dishonesty but if there are any I don’t spot them, and that’s when I feel my defences start to fall away. The tension in my spine softens and I lean back into the bench. “So you like me.”

“Yeah.”

“You still like me?”

“I do.”

I look at him, and he looks at me, and I begin to realise that I have no idea what to do. Never in my life have I experienced a situation where someone has openly admitted to liking me, to my face, and I haven’t wanted to run away and hide from them.

“So…” I venture. “Where do we go from here?”

He lifts his ankle to rest on his knee and gazes out over the frozen pond contemplatively. “We can just keep doing what we’re doing, I’m not really in the headspace to take on anybody else’s baggage right now. No offence.”

“Okay.” I say with hesitation, but he guides me through the murkiness with him, because I am flailing. “We can hang out, but like, I don’t think I want to be your boyfriend or anything like that, if that’s alright with you.”

“I get it.” I feel a slight thrill at the suggestion of being involved in something casual. I am never casual, I don’t simply go with the flow, everything always must be agonised over, but how exciting will this venture be for me? Evie Kilbride: in a casual relationship. “What does that mean though, exactly?” I find myself asking, because despite my best intentions I can’t quite let go.

“What do you mean? We’ll be casual.” He says it like it’s somehow obvious, and I shake my head. “Like, no, what are the terms?”

He laughs awkwardly, clearly not thrilled about having to explain something so rudimentary to me. “We can hang out and hook up, but I am not your boyfriend.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “What do you think it means?”

“Will you be seeing other people?”

“Do you think I’ll have the time to?”

I smile. “Okay so what now, should we shake on it?” I hope he’ll pick up on the humour in my tone, even though he never does seem to be able to tell when I’m trying to be funny.

“Why would we shake on it?”

“Never mind.”

We kiss instead.

An hour later when I arrive back at the apartment Claire and Shane are right where I left them, sprawled out on the couch watching a film. They look cosy together, curled up with their arms linked and her head resting on his shoulder. She looks around and smiles sleepily when I come in the door. “Hey babe, how was your walk?”

“Good! I did a long loop of the town, so now I’m pretty tired.” I quickly hide the Mulan book behind a backpack by the coat rack.

“Come watch this movie, we’re just starting it.”

“What is it?”

“Miss Congeniality.”

“Claire’s choice.” Shane hastens to explain as I come over to perch on the floor in front of them. Claire’s hand reaches down almost instinctively and starts massaging my scalp with her fingers. The gesture is so comforting and sends lovely shivers down through me and I instantly unwind and let all my muscles soften. I peel off my socks and hold my cold feet, hoping to bring some warmth back into them after being sunk into the snow for hours.

“You’ll never guess who came by earlier.” She tells me.

“Hm?”

“Dean.”

“Oh no, really?” I murmur. “What did you do?”

“We told him you weren’t home and then we got him to leave. I’m so glad you weren’t here.”

“Me too.”

“Hopefully he won’t show up here again, it was just so weird.”

“Mm” I say. “Well I’m glad you got rid of him eventually.”

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#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #writing #fiction #romance #sims4 storytelling #sims 4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 2

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dogmomwrites · 2 years

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Find the Words!

Somehow this game just doesn't get old! Thanks so much for the tag, @saltysupercomputer! I'll be passing the tag (softly!) along to @jjm-blogspot, @sleepyowlwrites, and @written-in-starlight, as well as keeping it open to anyone else! Your words will be confuse, determine, hesitate, dismiss, and startle. If you can't find one, you have to include a fun fact about your WIP, character/s, or your writing process!

My words were door, rotten, night, tall, and lovely

Door

Avalanche chattered and wiggled, telling him to continue the belly scratches, but he went over to the fridge and opened it instead.

Their mother began rubbing Avalanche’s belly for him. “You know, a day at the park does sound nice. What do you think, Riley?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Nothing else to do. This is a ghost town now.”

“It’s not a ghost town,” she said, fighting back a sigh.

“When I got deployed, I had like, thirty friends and six little brothers and sisters here. I come back and only Jimmy is left. College took half my friends and half my siblings. Work took the other halves. It’s like no one took time off for me.”

“Jess and Steph took time off, but they left before you got here,” Jimmy reminded him.

Riley stood, indignant. “Fuck Jess and Steph! Jonathan at least had the decency to not come up at all! Am I not important to you people anymore?”

“Ay yuu,” Avalanche said, desperately scrambling to her paws to jump on him and give him hugs and kisses. “Ay yuu, ay yuu, ay yuu!”

“At least someone still cares,” he grumbled in between her sloppy kisses. Scooping her up, he carried her to the door. “Come on, let’s fucking go.”

Rotten

“That’s just our rotten luck.” Hank huffed a sigh. “You could’ve at least tossed Blue off of a cliff or something.”

Flolly hopped up onto Hank’s shoulder, his long tail sticking straight up behind him. “You say you’ve lost your friends?”

“Yeah, why?”

As soon as he heard Flolly speak, Seen shifted to hide behind Raavi. “They talk?”

“We can find them for you!” Flolly announced in a grand tone, not hearing Seen.

Hank blinked. Then he blinked again, and once more for good measure. Each time, it seemed he was able to stamp down the rising aggravation until he could finally speak in a somewhat calm tone. “Why didn’t you mention that before—I’ve said I’ve got friends in here at least eight times!”

“I was not paying attention,” he said with an unapologetic shrug. “But I am now, so I offer my help!”

Night

“What is it, lad?” he asked, his tone different than usual. Gentle and kind. Friendly, not the captain’s tone he always used with the others.

Raavi wondered for a moment if he was the only one on the team who had heard that tone. Nightwish had worked with his father on several occasions and had even accepted the invitation to dinner at their house twice. Though Raavi had never considered himself friends with Nightwish, it occurred to him that he might be the only one of all these soldiers who’d seen the captain smile. “Why am I here?”

Nightwish frowned. “Ye dinnae think ye should be?”

“No, sir, I don’t,” Raavi confessed. “The Mierrones are dangerous, even for someone like you. What good can I do? I’m not even a soldier.”

“Forgive me if Ah’m wrong, but have ye nae been training to be?”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Then?”

“What if I mess up?” he asked. It was a question that had been bothering him since Tobias told him he’d be joining the team. What if he messed up? What if he got someone hurt, or worse, killed?

Nightwish looked at him, his eyes black as night in the shadow of his brim. Raavi held his gaze, feeling small and insignificant before him. Then the captain leaned forward and said, “Ye move on.”

Tall

Marrick was a man of intimidating size. Over seven feet tall with a deep barrel chest and forearms as thick as Arial’s entire body, he barely fit in the matisse. His eyes matched his auburn hair and he sported a trim anchor beard. He smiled at them as soon as he sat up. “Hm, good morning all. Where is everyone?”

“Asleep,” Nuka said from his perch on the matisse behind them.

Marrick frowned, his bushy brows bunching together. “Then why are you four up an’ about?”

“Because of him.” Arial pointed to Aero, who scowled back.

Still frowning, Marrick swung his legs over the side of the matisse to step out of it. Reaching back in without looking, he retrieved a massive war hammer, the handle of which was almost as tall as he was. When he let the head drop to the floor, it landed with an alarming boom that echoed in the still room. He towered more than a foot over Aero, who wasn’t used to people being taller than him.

“Holy shit,” Aero said. “You are a large man.”

Marrick tried to hold onto his glower but his mustache twitched and his eyes shone with amusement. A second later and he was laughing, a rumbling baritone. The kind of laugh that made everyone laugh with him. “Hm, I’m surprised you noticed. Most people don’t.”

Lovely

Couldn’t find it, so fun fact!

Books 1 and 2 of the Castle series have only a two-page difference in length, and that was entirely coincidental. Castle 1 comes out to 367 pages and Castle 2 ended up being 369 pages (on google docs), with Book 2 being just over 1k words longer

#writer #writers #writing #writeblr #writerblr #writblr #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #writer community #writing community #creative writing #tag game #tag games #find the word tag

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sopxhiea · 3 years

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Lush

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: Alfie shows the wild girl around and he’s surprised to find out just how quickly she picks up on things but before he can do anything about it, she pulls at the ropes she’s set him up on.

Part 1 | Part 2

“This is an excellent time for me to go missing.”

“Are you going to get me into bed or what?”

Keep them on their toes.

That’s what the lady had said, that a woman needed to keep a man on his toes if she wanted him to stick around. It made it more thrilling according to the old lady, it made it far more exciting than if she were to just give the man what he wanted, the sweet kiss of release.

The kiss could be obtained in many ways, a woman’s body was a world of wonders and it could entice any man if she were to use it correctly, to her advantage.

And maybe that’s when it all started.

The windows on the lines of the street were mostly closed due to the chilly morning weather, the thin layer of snow made no difference to those who chose to reach their destination by feet but it added a whole lot more to the spirit that was coming around with the new year. There were no more kids playing around the streets anymore, just the sound of laughter from the inside of the stone cold houses.

Alfie’s broad form walked in front, with a curly haired and fidgety man following behind. They seemed to fit well together in a sense when you compared their auras, Alfie was composed and the curly haired man was certainly not. Your footsteps trailed behind them, they were much taller than you in comparison so it took you a while to catch up to their speed.

There was no cane in his hand today, no sign of physical weakness as his eyes looked around for the cheery sound of kids playing around but there was none, just the dead silence birthed by the cold of winter, or something that felt too cold to bear.

He heard your lighter footsteps trailing behind, no feeling of uneasiness as he led you to his infamous bakery. You had offered to come and he had no opposition to that, although Ollie had many but he’d chosen to not listen to the lad, which mostly proved to be a mistake but he was hoping it would pay off this time.

Ollie had taken one look at you, and even though he hadn’t seen you before, he knew who you were. Word traveled fast around Camden, especially if it was about a young woman who just wouldn’t behave. The gossip’s description of you checked most of the boxes, the lad thought. Your eyes were as bright as they’d said and he was sure there was no one else around Camden with your delicate features.

He was sure it was you, the infamous wild lady.

You were much younger, though. You didn’t behave in a way that he’d seen girls your age do, you carried yourself with more maturity but he’d almost overlooked all that when you’d flashed him a smile.

He’d felt his throat dry up and he almost forgot how old you were. Poor lad, Alfie thought when he saw the state Ollie was in when you’d started speaking to the man with a wicked smile. Alfie was glad the lad hadn’t seen you dance or he wouldn’t be able to control him from god knew what. Any man would have nothing but trouble keeping their hands to themselves when it came to you.

“We’re going to the distillery?” you spoke once your feet were in line with Alfie’s as he walked down the street to where the ‘bakery’ was.

You weren’t stupid. Alfie knew that but his eyes still widened when you said it.

Only people who worked in the same line of business knew what Alfie did, most of them at least. He’d killed people for less and he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard you refer to his bakery as a distillery, Ollie’s eyes widened too but the lad was too busy trying to figure if Alfie was going to pound your head onto the cement or just warn you off and he decided on the last option, Alfie didn’t hit women.

“What the fuck did ya’ just say, lass?” he spoke, leaning down to face you which made you smile faintly. The man was at least twice your size.

You upped your volume and made motions with your hands in the air like you were talking to a grandpa and not a thirty year old man, Ollie almost snickered while Alfie watched you with bewildered eyes. “I said, Are we goin-”

He cut you off quick enough, your hands stopping mid-air when he started speaking in a lower tone than usual which only made you wanna bite your lip.

“Where the fuck did ya’ hear that?” he asked, genuinely curious for a second before you bit your lip and all his energy went south. He gulped and you chuckled, he was just a man after all.

“Word travels fast, Mr. Solomons.” you said, emphasising on the last word and you watched his eyes go deeper than usual, some animalistic urge taking over him before he realised that he was standing right in front of the factory.

“Don’t I fuckin’ know it. he said under his breath before putting his large hand on the small of your back and pushed you towards the wooden doors of the entrance.

And you were in.

The inside was bigger than what it seemed on the exterior, the two factories were connected from the inside, most of the inside space absent from any doors. There was a wooden stair that led up to somewhere but you couldn’t see it from where you were standing. You saw barrels, dozens of them as men carried them around.

“Nice place.” you whispered but Alfie heard it, it only brought a smirk to his lips. You weren’t so stupid to think to believe that a man like Alfie could only make profit off of protection or ‘bread’, there had to be more and this was it.

Alfie walked in front as he led you through the corridors of the distillery and it was obvious that having women around was not so common, especially none like you. No one said anything and you soon came to realise that it was because you had come in with the boss and not on your own. Some did give you strange looks, seeing as you were half Alfie’s age and almost half his size and yet Alfie seemed to not mind it at all.

Everyone had different moral codes, so did a gangster.

His office was the space the unknown stair led to, all smelling of musk and power like he did. You were sure he had a vanilla scent somewhere in there but it was hard to tell, he didn’t give you openings to lower your guard, not really.

The inside of the office had no decorations, just piles and piles of papers and a shelf just for drinks but you noticed that none of them were rum, just whiskey and other strong drinks. You were sure there was at least a couple guns hidden somewhere but you had pushed him far enough already for the day even though Alfie didn’t seem to mind all that much.

You sat on one of the chairs in front of his table, all wooden but worn out unlike the ones in his home. The space had the same atmosphere as his living room which made you think that he spent entirely too much time around his office, Ollie would vouch for that. Taking your gloves off with your teeth, you didn’t realise he had been staring with a smirk on his lips.

You truly were something else, he thought.

He had seen your classmates, girls around your age who spoke in a posh accent and curtsied each time they greeted someone. They didn’t speak unless they weren’t asked something and they sat in a proper way like Annabelle had taught all of you to do. But you didn’t do any of the things they did, quite the opposite.

It only enticed him further.

“You know..” you spoke, a charming smile on your lips as Alfie watched your lips move. “This is an excellent time for me to go missing.”

Alfie’s roaring laugh was the only thin that could be heard in the air after that.

He was a lethal man, you knew that and so did everyone who lived around London. You’d hard of the things they did, although it wasn’t quite clear which ones were true but you were sure he had killed many before and that didn’t bother you all that much but it would if that were you.

And it could very well be you in that given moment.

With no one to come with you, no one to follow or keep you company, you were in his office with his assistant. It was his place, not a place of comfort like his home but a place he’d killed before and you knew that for a fact as you eyed the blood stains on the wooden furniture, it was faint and small but you knew what blood looked like on wood.

You were in the lion’s den and he was staring right at you.

But you weren’t a sheep, and he seemed to forget that for a second.

“I ain’t gonna do anythin’, luv, believe me, yeah.” he spoke with a low smile as he searched through some papers, seated on his big chair with you in front of him.

“I don’t have a reason to...” you spoke with raised eyebrows as he watched you, hand on his beard and you kept on speaking. “..but why wouldn’t I believe in a gangster.” you spoke, eyes landing on him at last and you saw a hint of a smirk on his plump lips.

Alfie understood the weight of your words but he knew you didn’t mean them. You wouldn’t be in his office, sitting the way you were if you had. And he had heard of the lads you hung out with, some of them known criminals just for the thrill of it, he knew you weren’t afraid of him in the slightest bit so he just raised his eyebrows.

“Ya’ ain’t fuckin’ afraid of me, I know that, yeah, I do.” he spoke in a monotone voice, as emotionless as he could muster up and you just clicked your tongue once he was done and looked around while speaking. He wanted to kiss you, he concluded.

“I refuse to be afraid of you.” your voice was soft, like how he’d heard woman talk to babies as if you were cooing him. He didn’t like to be treated that way but he’d let it go, it was you after all.

And it was the full truth, he was sure of that.

Alfie knew you had lied to him a couple of times already but your sweet words covered the rest and he saw no reason to poke at it, you did it exceptionally well. But you were telling the truth now, the full and bare truth for him to know and he knew it for a fact because you’d stopped smiling and just stared at him with stern eyes.

“Alright.” he spoke, feeling his throat dry at the way you looked at him but a man like Alfie was hard to fluster, although you’d done it couple of times already. “Fuckin’ brave of you, that ‘s.” he spoke under his breath but you’d heard it, it was loud and clear.

You didn’t look for praise or approval anywhere, your record would speak for that. If anything, you looked for discontent in people’s faces, it made you think that you were doing something worth the risk but seeing Alfie approve of your recklessness awakened something in you, something you weren’t ready to name yet.

“How much of your income comes from this place?” you asked, genuinely curious as you tried to put two and two together. He had a big house, multiple maids and a distillery, he also had people pay for him for protection and so you figured, he was loaded.

He didn’t answer, just stared at you with hard eyes. Alfie had killed for less and he was not planning on shooting your pretty brains out but you were pushing it, you both knew it. You crossed your legs and uncrossed them again, pulling his attention elsewhere but he was quick to compose himself, it was quite impressive of him.

“I just figured, since you have other....side businesses, this is just a small part that provides your entire income. Is it not?” you spoke in a sweeter voice than before. You knew he would pull a gun on you soon if you kept going this way which gave you all the reason to.

The sparkles in his eyes were something else.

You shot him a smile as he remained silent. You had hit the nail on the head but he wouldn’t tell you that. He tried to figure out just how you got to where you were but soon realised he had taken you home the first night which would give you sufficient information about his wealth but you seemed far too quick to pick up on the distillery side of the business.

He chose to pay no attention to it for the time being.

He pulled a glass bottle from one of the shelves, the one that was hidden behind all the whiskey and foreign drinks. You eyed the crystal glass he filled with the brown liquid. You didn’t really drink rum but a gangster was offering you the glass so you’d take it.

You took the glass from his hand, your fingers feeling the cold material of his gold rings for a split second before you chugged it down, instead of taking a sip like most people did. Alfie then could tell that you really did drink, just maybe not rum. You grimaced afterwards, the liquid tasted different than what you were used to.

“It’s too sweet.” you spoke while licking lips and he watched at first. A scoff followed afterwards.

Alfie sold these out like crazy and there you were, a thing half his size telling him that the drink wasn’t good enough for your taste. He then thought that maybe you were as posh as the rest of the girls in your school but the way you swallowed the drink in one go told him afterwards. His eyes dropped to your cheeks, now a bit more flushed compared to usual and he made a mental note of always offering you a drink so that you’d look as pretty as you did after you’d chugged the drink.

He then remembered how old you were, despite the way you looked at him, and scratched the idea.

“Ya’ don’t fuckin’ like it then, hm?” he asked, leaning on the desk by his elbows and you watched the way his rings caught the light in his office before you met his eyes.

“I don’t usually go for rum..” you spoke, eyebrows scrunched and a look of distaste on your pretty face as you looked at the glass in your hand before putting it on his table. “But yours is okay.” you spoke, seeing no reason to lie.

You didn’t like rum, whiskey was better and did the job a bit faster but Alfie’s was alright. You could even grow to like it, you thought, if he kept you around long enough.

He smiled then, a sweet grin on his face as you looked at him through your eyelashes. He was a hard one to crack, you gathered, but that wouldn’t stop you. You’d make him wait anyway but not before confusing the man. Men liked to be told what to do, you knew that. Especially if it was by a little young thing like you.

Well, at least most men.

“Mr. Solomons..” you spoke, a little pout on your painted lips and he swore you would kill him, you would run a man like him in a heartbeat and he was more than willing to give you the opportunity. “Are you going to get me into bed or what?”

Alfie considered.

He wanted to, oh god he so badly wanted to. But you were young, old enough to know what you wanted but still young, he knew of the danger you possessed. You’d ruin a man of Alfie’s wrath and you didn’t even need to fuck him for that, all you’d do is to kiss him once and he’d do anything, he thought.

He knew that you’d had your fair share of lads around London, he’d heard. He wasn’t sure how much experience you had in bed but he was sure you could take it, whatever he had in stock for you. He was sure that you weren’t all talk and no play, that you could very well paint a picture from his fantasied only if he were to ask nicely.

“That why you’re ‘ere, pet?” he spoke, hand tugging at his beard as he looked at you through lustful eyes. That wasn’t the reason and you wouldn’t fuck him right at that given moment but you wanted to, and that was rare.

You’d toy with him and push all the buttons he had but there was no denying that you were attracted to the man. Maybe that was why you’d make him wait longer, torture every nick of his soul before he surrendered. It sounded fun but you also had your limits and seeing him riled up like this didn’t help.

You smiled at the nickname first and then at his face, he was a sight to see.

“Depends.” you spoke, loud and clear as his hands brushed through his beard. You were never too tired to play the games and as dangerous as Alfie was, he was still a man.

“On what?” he spoke in a heartbeat. He was thankful Ollie wasn’t here to hear the conversation, Alfie didn’t have the upper hand for once and he had no intention of telling anyone that.

“On how long you’ll last.” you said, telling him the full truth. You didn’t usually tell men that but Alfie clearly stood out. You smiled then, liking the way his eyes widened for a second before he nodded thoughtfully.

Alfie knew the game you were playing. Most women, hell, most people were too dumb or scared to play it and he soon came to realise that you already had him on the ropes. He’d been the one to take you to his home, the one place of comfort the very first night and he was the one seeking you out today when he came over to your school. You were just waiting and he’d done everything you’d expected him to do, with a little delay but he was still a man.

And he’d been the one to take you to his office, the one to give you the rum and the one asking when you’d sleep with him.

He cursed at himself for being so blind.

This was how you got man, and all that property and business. He was sure no man had ever lasted longer before and he was right but that didn’t mean that you didn’t have any more cards to play. You were just getting started for all he knew.

“You, yeah, are far too fuckin’ dangerous, pet.” he spoke, eyes glossing over yours and you delivered him your sweetest smile with a small wink.

Checkmate.

He lost.

Only this round, he told himself. He’d only lose this one time.

“So?” you spoke in a breathy voice and he found it hard to stop looking at your lips.

God, he was fucked.

But it didn’t matter, he realised. Alfie always had the upper hand, he was the one to end a conversation and not the other way around but he found out that he didn’t mind changing the dynamic if it was for you.

And it didn’t matter from which angle he was looking at this situation, he was the one who lost and you’d won, in all of the realities of the scenario. He sighed once more, hand glossing over his beard but not quite brushing through it like it had been. One look at you, the rum on the table and your pretty hands that were decorated with paint and he had made his decision.

He’d wait on his toes.

You’d make him anyway but he liked it better if it was his choice. He took one good look at you, from head to toe as you sat in front of him with a smirk he had grown accustomed to and came to the conclusion that you were worth the risk of danger that came with it, as a flip side of the coin.

You shot him another smile as you spoke, your delicate features turning into one of satisfaction and content.

“Say, Mr. Solomons, what would you like me to do while I wait. I assume you have loads to do.” your voice was sweet as your hand signalled at the papers before him.

He shook his head, cleared his throat and began speaking. “Nah. This is nothin’, pet. I’d much rather talk about you, yeah.” he said, not using a curse word like he usually did because you were the one controlling the ropes and he didn’t like having his buttons pushed, he was sure you’d do just that if he didn’t give you your way.

“Well, I’m gald we finally agree on something.” you spoke as you giggled and he joined with a snicker of his own.

You’d be the death of him, and he knew.

And so the game of question for question started again, but this time there were no unanswered questions and a lot more risks taken from both sides.

----

Tagging: @clairecrive @parkbearum @sourirez @vetseras @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum @fuseburner @r-rose08 @innerpaperexpertcloud a/n: If I forgot to tag anyone, do let me know please!

I did read all your lovely comments on the last part and forgive me for not replaying to all of them but I wanted to say thank you for leaving the sweet comments and I’m so so glad you guys like this one! I will keep them coming <3

And happy Holiday season! <3

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years

Note

Daenerys's heart is a dragon not like Cersei's heart who was Tommen has belong to someone else, and even Sansa's heart will be herself.

I got this ask in reference to this post that I wrote back in 2017, especially this quote:

Someplace no stag ever found … though a dragon might.

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne III

I don’t really get your message Anon, I didn’t mention Dany’s or Cersei’s heart in my post. So, I will repeat my point for anyone interested:

“Where?” Brienne slapped another silver stag down.

He flicked the coin back at her with his forefinger. “Someplace no stag ever found … though a dragon might.” Silver would not get the truth from him, she sensed. Gold might, or it might not. Steel would be more certain. Brienne touched her dagger, then reached into her purse instead. She found a golden dragon and put in on the barrel. “Where?”

—A Feast for Crows - Brienne III

From this last quote I want to rescue this line: “Someplace no stag ever found… though a dragon might.” These words are talking about stags and dragons, not silver and gold, just the animals that the coins bare on one side. The stag is the sigil of House Baratheon and the dragon is the sigil of House Targaryen. And this makes me think about the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, where the first and the fifth of its final champions belonged to these houses. And according to this theory: “When you look at the names of the champions’ families and the fact they fight for a 13 year old maid, especially with the family Hardyng, we find out that they correspond strongly with Sansa’s suitors in A Song of Ice and Fire.” (*)

So, following the pattern established by the five final champions of the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, I believe that the stag in this line represents Joffrey Baratheon (Sansa’s first betrothed), while the Dragon who might find Sansa is Jon Snow, the Targaryen Champion (Sansa’s actual betrothed). This last idea is going to be developed throughout this post.

(*) I would like to make some precisions: 1) The events of the Tourney at Ashford Meadow developed in ‘The Hedge Knight’ novella. 2) The champions are the final five after the first day of jousting. We don’t know the results after the second day of jousting and the third day was the Trial of Seven. 3) The queen of love and beauty at the beginning of the tourney was the 13 years old daughter of Lord Ashford. The champions weren’t fighting for her, the final five champions after the third day of jousting would decide if they crowned a new QoLaB or not.

(…)

Let’s go back to this line: “Someplace no stag ever found… though a dragon might.” In the text the word ‘someplace’ refers to where Brienne’s supposed “sister” is -the beautiful highborn maid of three-and-ten that has blue eyes and auburn hair-. But in the history of ASOIAF universe, the word ‘someplace’ could also refer to the heart of a Stark girl.

Joffrey and Jon, Jon and Joffrey. I have a theory about them, I called it the ‘JoJo Theory’. Maybe one day I will turn my thoughts on them into words. But for now, let’s talk about these two in relation to Sansa.

Joffrey and Jon are supposed to be the sons of two best friends: Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark respectively. But none of them are really that. And I think they both were living the other’s life. I mean, Joffrey took Jon’s real place in the world, as Jon took Joffrey’s.

Joffrey, who is supposed to be the trueborn son and heir of King Robert Baratheon, is truly a little shit bastard, the illegitimate child of Jaime Lannister. And he is the vicious, despicable type of bastard as well.

On the other hand, Jon who is suppose to be the baseborn son of Ned Stark, is actually the son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and the last Targaryen heir to the Iron Throne. And he is the very opposite of the vicious, despicable Joffrey. Jon is brave and has a noble heart.

Also note that the real fathers of Joffrey and Jon are the men who Cersei and Lyanna choose over Robert; that is to say: Jaime and Rhaegar.

So, reading again this line: “Someplace no stag ever found… though a dragon might.”, we know that in the past that line was true, as Robert Baratheon never found his way to Lyanna Stark’s heart unlike Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. And it could be true again, in the future, as Joffrey (no stag) never really found his way to Sansa’s heart, but Jon (who is also a dragon) might do. Let’s see:

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Jon was obviously jealous of Joffrey, in the same fashion he was of Robb. Joffrey was ‘trueborn’, a royal prince, the heir of the Iron Throne, with a place of honor at the table just below the dais where the King and Queen were seated, handsome, taller than him despite being younger, and on top of all that, Joffrey got the beautiful radiant girl by his side. Jon just couldn’t believe why, while having all of that, Joffrey and his pouty wormy lips gave Winterfell’s Great Hall a bored and disdainful look.

You don’t believe Jon was jealous of Joffrey? Read this then:

“Then you saw us all. Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella, my brothers Robb and Bran and Rickon, my sisters Arya and Sansa. You saw them walk the center aisle with every eye upon them and take their seats at the table just below the dais where the king and queen were seated.”

“I remember.”

“And did you see where I was seated, Mance?” He leaned forward. “Did you see where they put the bastard?”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon

I know that in this scene, Jon was trying to convince Mance that he really wanted to join the freefolk. He was trying to deceive him and infiltrate into the enemy’s camp. Despite that, the things Jon said to Mance at that moment, rang true. So in the end, Jon did convince Mance and he ended up joining the freefolk, as a covert mission entrusted to him by Qhorin Halfhand.

Still you don’t believe me when I said Jon was jealous of Joffrey? Listen to Sansa herself then:

“What did you think of Prince Joff, sister? He’s very gallant, don’t you think?”

“Jon says he looks like a girl,” Arya said.

Sansa sighed as she stitched. “Poor Jon,” she said. “He gets jealous because he’s a bastard.”

“He’s our brother,” Arya said, much too loudly. Her voice cut through the afternoon quiet of the tower room.

—A Game of Thrones, Arya I

Now tell me that Jon saying ‘Joffrey looks like a girl’ is not proof enough of Jon Snow being obviously jealous of the crown prince.

But Jon Snow who knows nothing, except, maybe, that Joffrey is truly a little shit, has no idea that Joffrey was living his life.

And his sisters cousins, Sansa and Arya, unbeknownst to him, expose this truth to Ned while talking about Joffrey’s hair color (note that Ned always knew who Jon’s real father is):

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

“Sweet one,” her father said gently, “listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me.”

“He is!“ Sansa insisted. “I don’t want someone brave and gentle, I want him. We’ll be ever so happy, just like in the songs, you’ll see. I’ll give him a son with golden hair, and one day he’ll be the king of all the realm, the greatest king that ever was, as brave as the wolf and as proud as the lion.

"Arya made a face. "Not if Joffrey’s his father,” she said. “He’s a liar and a craven and anyhow he’s a stag, not a lion.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

"All three are Jaime’s,” he said. It was not a question.

“Thank the gods.”

The seed is strong, Jon Arryn had cried on his deathbed, and so it was. All those bastards, all with hair as black as night. Grand Maester Malleon recorded the last mating between stag and lion, some ninety years ago, when Tya Lannister wed Gowen Baratheon, third son of the reigning lord. Their only issue, an unnamed boy described in Malleon’s tome as a large and lusty lad born with a full head of black hair, died in infancy. Thirty years before that a male Lannister had taken a Baratheon maid to wife. She had given him three daughters and a son, each black-haired. No matter how far back Ned searched in the brittle yellowed pages, always he found the gold yielding before the coal.

“A dozen years,” Ned said. “How is it that you have had no children by the king?”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard XII

I can clearly imagine Ned thinking about how he had to hide Jon Snow, the heir of the Last Dragon, as his bastard; while Joffrey, an actual bastard, was living the life that could have been Jon’s, had Rhaegar prevailed over Robert.

This kind of ‘switched at birth’ case between Jon and Joffrey and the possibility of Jon being Sansa’s fifth Targaryen betrothed, is actually foreshadowed in the Books. Let’s read this passage from Sansa’s first chapter in ACOK:

The morning of King Joffrey’s name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. “What do you think it means?” she asked him.

“Glory to your betrothed,” Ser Arys answered at once. “See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace’s name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey’s Comet.”

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. “I’ve heard servants calling it the Dragon’s Tail.”

“King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son,” Ser Arys said. “He is the dragon’s heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey’s ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies.

"Is it true? she wondered. Would the gods be so cruel? Her mother was one of Joffrey’s enemies now, her brother Robb another. Her father had died by the king’s command. Must Robb and her lady mother die next? The comet was red, but Joffrey was Baratheon as much as Lannister, and their sigil was a black stag on a golden field. Shouldn’t the gods have sent Joff a golden comet?

— A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

See? From “Glory to your betrothed,” to “King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son” “He is the dragon’s heir” Every word from Arys Oakheart’s mouth evokes Jon, not Joffrey. Joffrey is not a dragon, far less the dragon’s heir; he’s not even a stag.

If Joffrey had truly been the son of Robert Baratheon, he indeed would have had a bit of Targaryen blood, because Robert’s grandmother was the Princess Rhaelle Targaryen, but that’s not the case.

And the red comet could never be ‘Joffrey’s Comet’ as Sansa correctly pointed out when she said: “Shouldn’t the gods have sent Joff a golden comet?” The servants were right; the red comet was related to dragons, just as the person who knows everything in ASOIAF stated emphatically:

Bran asked Septon Chayle about the comet while they were sorting through some scrolls snatched from the library fire. "It is the sword that slays the season,” he replied, and soon after the white raven came from Oldtown bringing word of autumn, so doubtless he was right.

Though Old Nan did not think so, and she’d lived longer than any of them. “Dragons,” she said, lifting her head and sniffing. She was near blind and could not see the comet, yet she claimed she could smell it. “It be dragons, boy,” she insisted. Bran got no princes from Nan, no more than he ever had.

Hodor said only, “Hodor.” That was all he ever said.

—A Clash of Kings - Bran I

Sadly the last part of this passage from Sansa’s first chapter in ACOK, also foreshadowed the Red Wedding. The Lannisters once more would take her family from her; this time Catelyn and Robb.

But let’s stick with the good part, the part where she is called the betrothed of the dragon’s heir, that is not Joffrey, but Jon Snow, her own Dragonknight, her Black Knight of the Wall, her dark haired prince hiding in the north. We can only hope that this time the betrothal will end in a real marriage, because Sansa’s betrothal record isn’t so good thus far:

Joffrey Baratheon (the Psychopath Bastard), the betrothal was broken.

Willas Tyrell (the Cripple), the betrothal was cancelled.

Tyrion Lannister (the Imp), the marriage was not consummated.

Harrold Hardying (the Arse), the betrothal still stands but the bride is Alayne Stone.

Jon Snow (is dead but on the third day he will rise again from the dead).

But against the odds, I believe Sansa will wear a Targaryen Cloak, and under that protection, she will slay her enemies.

***

I wrote this three years ago. I think it needs some adjusting here and there, but the main idea is there and I hope this time is clearer.

Good night.

#anon ask #jonsa

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jinkies-its-a-writer · 6 years

Text

Dirt and Roses || Bruce Wayne

Pairing: Pre-Batman!Bruce Wayne x Reader

Word Count: 1,533

Warnings: Secondhand Embarrassment - like a lot :)

Prompt: Based on this - (Eventually)

Listen While You Read: All You Never Say

Notes: Part 2 - Mud and Daisies

“Alfred, who’s that?” Bruce gazed out the spotless window onto the grounds below, the glaring summer sun causing his brow to furrow in response.

“That would be the most recent addition to the gardening staff, Master Bruce.” The butler replied curiously, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Most recent?” He questioned halfheartedly, his attention divided between the conversation and the mystery figure a couple of stories below.

A gleam appeared in the older man’s eyes. “Yes, Ms. Crawford retired and personally recommended Ms. (y/l/n).”

“Hm” The young man, lost in thought mumbled something inaudible under his breath, the gears in his mind turning a little too quickly for him to keep up with.

“Pardon?”

The younger turned slowly, lulling his body back into reality. “Nothing, Alfred. Have the car pulled around, I’m heading out.”

“As you wish, Master Bruce.”

A week after the (unbeknownst to you) conversation, you knelt before an intricate garden of roses, pulling out weeds as you had been for the past two hours. Being thorough was exceedingly important, but it tended to also be quite excruciating. Your uniform, although lightweight, was damp with a layer of sweat, and your hands were getting sore from the same repetitive motions. It was a beautiful day, but not a single cloud had passed in front of the sun for at least thirty minutes and constant exposure to the heat was making your head feel numb.

“That boy was watchin’ you again. You’d think a lad like him would’ve been taught some proper manners, but it’s plain as day he’s got the hots for you.” The older woman working a few feet away from you glanced in your direction, raising her eyebrows in anticipation of a response.

Your cheeks were hot, but you didn’t know if it was from embarrassment or sunburn. “I’m sure he’s just keeping an eye on our work ethic, Mrs. Evans.”

She let out a slightly irritated huff. “I’ve been working here a lot longer than you lass, and he ain’t never watched my work ethic this closely before.”

“Well, I am new… I mean if I were him I’d want to make sure a new hire like myself was doing their job right.” You grabbed a handful of weeds and stuffed them into the barrel beside you.

“I’ve never been wrong before, and I say this guy is definitely feeling something for you, girlie.” She winked at you before refocusing her attention back on the intruding plants.

You sat up rolling your eyes and wiped the waterfall of sweat on your forehead away with the back of your glove. “Well that’s all fine and dandy I guess, but I highly doubt anyone with as many options as him would find anything of worth in me.” You gestured behind you towards the front of the mansion, emphasizing your point. “I mean rich people just don’t go and fall for the people working for them… especially not me. I’m not extraordinarily beautiful. Or just plain beautiful. Or even pretty. I’m just average. Average, and sitting here all sweaty and worn out and gross and making sure his flowers look pretty. What sort of appeal would someone with my status have to a billionaire? And let’s use our extremely over exaggerative imaginations and say he did like me. It’s not like he’s going to accomplish anything by sitting up there in the air conditioning with a nice cold glass of lemonade, and just watching me.” You grabbed your water bottle to take a quick swig now that you had finished your impromptu speech.

“No, he’s not.”

You choked on the cool liquid as it hit the back of your throat, making a highly unladylike sound in the process. The voice didn’t belong to your coworker, and it seemed to be emanating from behind you. Whipping around you provided your employer with a sheepish smile.

“Mr. Wayne!” Your words seemed to pull the corners of his lips downwards in disappointment.

You were having an internal meltdown and had no clue how to handle this situation. It would have been bad enough if he was just a normal guy, but this was a billionaire. A billionaire who employed you, and had just caught you talking about him behind his back.

A few anxiety-filled seconds later he cleared his throat. “I did not mean to eavesdrop, Miss. (y/l/n), but I was wondering if you would care to share a pitcher of lemonade with me.”

The corners of his mouth seemed to twitch in response to the awestricken look that must have been present on your features.

“Uhm…” In the corner of your eye, you caught the older lady nodding and giving you a thumbs up. “I… I’m on the clock…?” Well, apparently the rational side of your brain was working just fine.

Surprise flashed over his features and was replaced just as quickly with a smirk. “Is that so? I guess I’ll have to see what I can do about that.” He paused, pulling back his sleeve, eyes scanning his watch before returning his attention to you. “It looks like it’s time for your break then.”

“I’ve already taken my lunch break for today.“

“Do you want some lemonade?”

“Well… yeah- I mean yes!” You couldn’t seem to keep your mind and your mouth moving at the same pace, and your words were escaping in a jumbled mess.

“Well then…” He gestured to the path leading towards the front of the mansion.

“Yeah, okay. Let me just-“ You turned around to pack up your items, but a small weight landed on our shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Uh… okay.” You turned back around, catching his crystal blue eyes in an intense gaze. He seemed to be studying you intensely while you made a fool out of yourself. He reached his hand out towards you gently, the curious glint in his eyes shining in the bright afternoon light. “Shall we?”

“Sure… I mean yes? … I mean… I’m sorry Mr. Wayne, I don’t know what’s happening… I guess I’m just a little confused…” You were positive that the heat on your cheeks was now a blush. You guessed that your whole face was probably as bright red as a rose.

“Okay, first of all, no more of this Mr. Wayne business. Call me Bruce.”

“Okay… Bruce.” The name sounds much less foreign on your tongue than what you had previously referred to him by. “I’m (y/n)… I mean you already knew that, but… you broke eye contact with him, looking down at the ground. Seriously. You are the biggest dork EVER (y/n).

“Secondly... (y/n),” he said your name slowly as if testing its structural integrity. You tried again to meet his cool blue orbs with your own. “I recently heard someone say that I’m not going to accomplish much by just sitting in the air conditioning with a nice cold glass of lemonade. So here I am to bring you to come join me.” You finally met his eyes and hoped yours didn’t convey just how overwhelmingly nervous you were to be having a conversation of this manner with your boss.

“So… you heard all of that...” You rubbed the toe of your shoe into the stone path below your feet.

“Enough, yes.” He had a cheeky grin that you wouldn’t expect someone of his … stature… to portray often.

You cleared your throat. “I believe you said something about lemonade?”

“Ah, yes. Let’s try this again, shall we?” He extended his hand once more, his palm smoother than you could ever dream of yours being.

You grasped his hand before realizing that something was a little off. Looking down you realized you had never taken off your filthy gardening gloves. “Ah!” You pulled your hand back, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, I completely forgot to take off my gloves…” You pulled them off quickly and stuffed them with the rest of your supplies. Glancing at his palm, now covered with a layer of soil.

“Here, use my apron. It should get the dirt off… mostly.” You lifted the bottom of it towards him.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll be fine.” Then to your complete and utter surprise, he took the hand covered in dirt and wiped it across his forehead.

You were shocked into silence.

“Now we match.” His grin was bursting with pride.

“What do you-“ Your fingers brushed against your forehead where earlier you must have smeared dirt across it, and apparently it stayed the entire time you had been speaking with him.

“Well I would say this has been the most embarrassing conversation of my life, but I think that would be the understatement of the year.”

“Maybe, but you know what?”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him with the thought of how ridiculous the two of you must have looked. Hands and faces smudged with dirt, you fumbling over your words like you had never spoken English before. “What?”

“For some reason, I want to have lemonade with you even more now.”

As if on cue Alfred appeared, along with some ice cold lemonade, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Bruce smile so brightly.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #alfred pennyworth #dirt and roses #jinkies-its-a-writer #batman #batman x reader #batman fanfiction #bruce wayne fanfiction #alfred #bruce #fanfiction #dc #dc fanfiction #bruce wayne reader insert #batman reader insert #bruce reader insert #dc reader insert #dc x reader

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celticheartedfangirl · 7 years

Text

Summer of Destiny -- Chapter 3 -- A Rumbelle AU PROMPT VERSE . . . . .

This fic will be based entirely on this prompt list and I will cross off prompts as they are used. And yes I’m making this a Historical AU because why not? (Also I love the 60′s history and it’s ripe with angst opportunities.) There WILL be angst. I am sorry. Yes, I also know I have umpteen other fics to finish. I’m working on it. Talk to my muse - she hates me, maybe she’ll listen to you. If you would like to submit a prompt for the next installment of this fic, my ask box is open. This is primarily a Rumbelle fic but will include a good amount of Swanfire and Papafire.

Summary: Carson Gold is a World War II veteran and small business owner living a quiet life in Storybrooke, Maine. He is a devoted father to his son, Bae. His world is about to change upon meeting his son’s friend and mentor, free-spirited high school history teacher Belle French. Rating is currently Mature but that may change to Explicit in the future.

Need to catch up? You can do that here: Chapter One, Chapter Two

I DO need lots of prompts!!!! This fic is based on prompts and won’t continue unless I’m prompted! Please see this prompt list and I will cross off prompts as they are used. If you would like to submit a prompt from that list for the next installment of this fic, my ask box is open.

Chapter 3 is based on prompt 9 submitted by @sunflowerrosedaisy: There’s a leaf in your hair.

Author's note: Just a reminder that this is set in 1967. Words that are considered "not PC" now were different then, and I'm trying to stay true to the era in which this story takes place.

Chapter 3

"So – what did you think?" Belle asked, then she took a sip of her iced tea. Belle and Gold were seated across from one another on the outdoor patio of a restaurant.

"I will admit it wasn't as bad as I presumed it would be. She made some good points," Gold confessed, and Belle smirked a bit.

"Well, I'm glad. It's not a perfect book – there are many things she doesn't address at all – I know that colored women aren't exactly fond of it, and rightly so. I guess not everything can change at one time no matter how much you think it should."

"People are slow to change. It's our nature to want things to be as they always have been."

"It's also our nature to invent, to create, and to see that sometimes – we were wrong."

"Yes – there's that as well." Gold took a sip of his drink, and a furious gust of wind rushed through the patio as he did so. The napkins that were on their table blew off, and Belle got up and chased them, retrieving all but one.

"Well, that came out of nowhere. Got to love Maine weather." Gold smirked at her, and suddenly Belle reached out toward him and brushed his hair a bit, and Gold's eyes widened with surprise. "There's a leaf in your hair. There – it's gone now." Belle looked up at him with a smirk on her face, then took another drink.

"Oh – thank you," Gold said, looking down nervously. Both were silent for a moment, until Belle finally spoke up.

"So – would you like to do another book discussion? I really love to read and not many of my friends are as enthusiastic about it as I am."

"I – I suppose that would be nice. What would you like to read?"

"Well – Dr. King's new book was just published not too long ago; I haven't read it yet. Would you be interested in reading that?"

"Actually, yes I would."

"So you – you support the civil rights movement then?"

"Of course I do."

"So do I. Hey – a friend of mine is giving a talk at the university tomorrow, would you like to go with me and hear him? His name is Merlin – he's working on his doctorate in history. He's marched with Dr. King."

"Merlin? Like the magician in the King Arthur story?" Belle giggled a bit.

"Well, apparently, his real name is Marlon Knight but his little brother used to say it 'Merlin' and it kind of stuck – at least that's the story he tells. He's a great speaker, I think you'll like him."

"Well, that – that sounds interesting. Yes, I'd love to go with you."

"You know, speaking of great speakers – you did a wonderful job in my class. They're still talking about you. Would you consider coming back?"

"I um – I don't know what else I'd have to say."

"Well, they're really interested in the nostalgia end of the thirties and forties; maybe you could talk about some of that."

"You know, I have quite a few things in my shop that I could bring to show them. Would that be alright?"

"Oh, that sounds perfect! Can you show me what you have? I mean – in your shop." Belle blushed a bit.

"We can go there right now if you like."

"Let's do that, then. We can stop at the bookstore and get copies of that book as well." Belle stood up and Gold grabbed his cane and did the same, following her out to the sidewalk.

"This is my private collection. Things I brought with me from Scotland," Gold said as he led Belle into a small back room of the shop that was filled with an array of items not for sale in the store.

"Wow. You're really quite the collector, aren't you?"

"Well, most of these things belonged to my aunties – they raised me. They were the ones who were the collectors. I just couldn't bear to sell them; all of these things meant a great deal to them." Gold moved to an old Victrola that was sitting on the shelf. "I used to sit and play this thing for hours when I was a lad. I do have some phonograph records here and it does work; I could bring this."

"It's beautiful." Belle couldn't help but notice the spinning wheel sitting in the corner. "An antique spinning wheel? Did your aunts use this?"

"Yeah – they were quite the avid spinners. Even taught me."

"You – you spin?"

"Used to. Haven't done it in years, but – I did get quite good at it."

"I bet you could pick it up again. What else do you have? I mean, I don't expect you to drag all of this along with you."

"I've got quite a few old photos we could put on display."

"Oh, look, an antique tea set! It's lovely!" Belle picked up one of the hand painted cups and looked it over. "Did this belong to your aunts?"

"Yes, they enjoyed their tea. I do have some of their jewelry as well."

"Oh, I'd love to see that." Belle moved to put the teacup back on the shelf, but it slipped out of her hand, falling to the floor, and she gasped in horror. "Oh – oh, gosh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that!" Belle picked up the teacup and looked it over, noticing a small knick in the rim. "It – it's chipped. You can barely see it."

"It's just a cup – no matter," Gold said, taking the teacup from her and putting it back on the shelf.

"But – but it's an antique."

"Miss French, that tea set is barely worth fifty cents, if that. I keep it more for sentimental reasons than anything. As I said, it's no matter."

"Well, I – I am sorry. I won't touch anything else. I can be a bit clumsy at times."

"Yes, I do recall that. It's okay – try having a young, rambunctious son barreling through the shop for years. I promise you, Bae has broken far more valuable things in this place than a teacup."

"Well, pretty soon you'll be in the same situation with a grandchild."

"Yes – I'm afraid I will be." Gold picked up an old jewelry box and set it on the table. "None of these things are breakable, so feel free to touch them. I honestly haven't looked at these in years."

"Oh, I love old jewelry – I used to go through my mother's things all the time. See this pendant?" Belle pointed out the necklace she was wearing. "Her grandmother gave this to her on her sixteenth birthday. She gave it to me on mine, I wear it all the time."

"It's lovely," Gold commented. Belle opened the jewelry box and began to rummage through it, admiring all the trinkets inside of it. She stopped when she came across an item that clearly stood out among everything else. It was a medal, and Belle examined it closely.

"This – this is a Victoria Cross. Where did you get this?" Belle asked.

"Oh, um – that – that's mine," Gold admitted. "Forgot I put it there."

"You – you were awarded a Victoria Cross? But they're rare – they're only given for the most exceptional bravery in combat." Belle examined the medal again, then looked up at him. "You're not just a veteran – you're a war hero. This should be in a frame at your home, on display."

"I did what I had to do. I prefer not to think much about it." Gold grabbed the medal from Belle, as well as the jewelry box. "I have a business dinner to attend this evening, and I really need to go home and get ready for that."

"Oh, of course. I um – tomorrow then? How do you want to do this, you want to pick me up?"

"I suppose I could do that. What's your address?"

"Oh, I live in an apartment above the library. You know where that is, right?"

"Why do you live there?"

"Well, it's what I can afford. It's not bad – I'm hoping to move in a year or two, been saving money every month. It's kind of hard for women to find a place; most rentals want a man to sign off for you. So anyhow, the talk starts at six, so – pick me up at five-thirty then? I'll be waiting outside."

"I'll be there."

"I'm – really sorry about the cup. Goodnight, Mr. – you know, I think we've gotten to know each other well enough to not be that formal. What's your first name?"

"Carson," Gold replied.

"May I call you that?"

"I suppose that'll be fine."

"Alright. Goodnight – Carson."

"Goodnight – Belle." Belle smiled at him as she left the room, and when he heard the bell on his door jingle, indicating that she had left, he looked down at the medal he was holding. A single tear fell down his cheek as he opened the jewelry box, tossed the medal back inside it as if it was no more important than any other trinket inside, closed the lid and put the box on the shelf, hiding it behind several other items.

"Belle!" Merlin called out as he mingled through the university crowd after he had finished his talk. The crowd was populated with mostly young college students and a handful of young adults in their twenties, the majority of them black. In his perfectly tailored suit, and leaning on his cane, Gold stood out in the crowd and received a number of odd stares from many of those in attendance.

"Merlin! Hey – great speech, I'm so glad I was able to make it! Merlin, this is Carson Gold – he's a friend of mine."

"Hey, nice to meet you," Merlin said, offering Gold his hand.

"The pleasure is mine. It was a fine speech."

"Carson and I are reading Dr. King's new book – we kind of have this little private book club going," Belle said. "You know, Carson is a vet like your father – he has a Victoria Cross."

"Really? That's quite an honor, sir. My father received a purple heart. He's been my inspiration for my entire life. I wouldn't be where I am today without him."

"Well, I'm sure he's quite proud of you as well," Gold commented.

"I wouldn't know. He – he was stationed in Pearl Harbor in 1941."

"Oh. Well, I'm very sorry. I'm sure he was a wonderful man."

"Well, I've – I've got some good memories of him before he left us. I'm pretty sure he'd be quite happy with what I've accomplished. I'm the first one in my family to go to college."

"Well, it looks like you've done well for yourself. I look forward to reading your book someday."

"He definitely has a book in him, if not more than one," Belle agreed.

"Well, I'm going to bring the car around – it was very nice meeting you, Mr. Knight." Gold turned and left, and Merlin gave Belle a curious look.

"Book club?" he asked. "Really, Belle? Who is this guy?"

"He – he's a friend. I think." Merlin just stared at her. "He's the father of one of my former TA's, I met him at his son's wedding. I was looking for some presenters for my summer sessions and I remembered that his son told me about his father serving in the British Army during the war so I asked if he'd be willing to come and talk to them, and – well, we just struck up conversation from there."

"Is that all you struck up?"

"Merlin!" Belle smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "It's not like that."

"I hope not. The guy's old enough to be your father. And he dresses like a Republican."

"Not all Republicans are bad; my father's a Republican."

"And when was the last time you talked to him again?"

"Carson was willing to come to your talk, shouldn't that say enough about him?"

"You like him," Merlin said, a big grin coming across his face.

"Maybe I do. He's – interesting. And very nice. I thought you were more open minded than that."

"Hey, I'm not judging. Whatever makes you happy. We're still on for next month though, right? You're not gonna ditch me just because you got a new boyfriend, are you?"

"He's not my boyfriend. And no, I'm not ditching you, I've been working very hard on our project. I'll call you next week, we can set up a time to meet and work everything out. I'd better go, Carson is probably waiting with the car by now."

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Belle stuck her tongue out at him, then turned and left.

"Well – here we are," Gold said as he pulled up in front of the library.

"Yes – here we are. Thank you for going with me tonight, Carson. I hope you enjoyed Merlin's talk."

"It was quite enlightening. Thank you for inviting me." Gold got out of the car and moved to the passenger door, opening it for Belle.

"You didn't have to do that," Belle said.

"I understand you're a 'liberated woman' and all but there's nothing wrong with good manners."

"I suppose you're right," Belle agreed. Gold glanced up at the window on the second floor of the library. It had several large pieces of tape across it.

"Is that your apartment window?" he asked.

"Yes, it is."

"It's cracked. You should call your landlord, get that fixed."

"You think I haven't? The wind blew hard at it two months ago, I've been on my building manager about it ever since. Leroy said he's been pestering the landlord for the okay to replace the window, but so far nothing, so the best he can do is patch it till then. It's not that bad for summer, but if it's not fixed before winter comes I'll be freezing up there. To be honest, I've only ever dealt with the building manager. I've never even met the landlord, it's some corporation. CG Properties – I guess they own lots of buildings, I'm probably not even on their radar. I was promised an air conditioner in my window when I moved in – that never happened either. I gave up on that fight some time ago. You know, if I ever met 'CG' or whoever the jerk is that owns that company, I'd certainly give them a piece of my mind. They're barely one notch above a slumlord if you ask me. Honestly, I'd have moved long ago if I could afford it, but – as I told you – I can't right now. Well, I should be going – I have a class first thing in the morning. Thank you for coming with me tonight; I'll see you Wednesday then at my class?"

"Yeah – see you then." Belle lingered a bit, wondering if Gold was going to give her a kiss or a hug or anything, but there was no move on his part.

"Well – goodnight, Carson."

"Goodnight, Belle." Belle turned and walked toward her door, and she stood in the doorway and watched as Gold got back into his car and drove away.

Back at his home, Gold entered his study and opened a file cabinet drawer. He rifled through the files until he found the one he was looking for. Gold took the file and moved to his desk chair, then he sat down and opened it up. He paged through the paperwork inside of it until he found what he was looking for. It was a lease for the apartment above the library, signed by Belle French.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle au #rumbelle

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alexandralyman · 7 years

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Beyond the Horizon - Chapter 39

Fic Update - Beyond the Horizion

Summary: When Princess Emma's ship is captured by the Jolly Roger and Captain Killian Jones, she offers herself as a hostage for ransom if he will let the ship and the other passengers go. With Emma, Killian remembers the honour he once held dear, and Emma catches glimpses of the gentleman Killian had been. Against all odds, the pirate and the princess begin to fall for each other.

Read this chapter on ff.net here

Chapter Thirty Nine The Jewel of the Realm

The captain's private mess on the Jolly had gone unused for years. Back in the days when she was still the Jewel of the Realm, proud flagship of His Majesty's Royal Navy, Liam had always sat at the head of the table to preside over late night suppers of fish pie and ruby red claret from his private stock, served by nervous young ensigns in tall, starched collars and freshly-brushed coats. It was considered a high honour among the crew to receive an invitation to dine at the captain's table and they all jockeyed for the best seats closest to him, but a chair was always reserved for his first lieutenant to sit at his right hand.

"I will follow you, to the ends of the earth."

After Liam's death the room was left shut, as the newly appointed captain preferred to dine alone in his quarters without all the pomp and circumstance and wash down the fish pie with copious amounts of rum instead of a modest amount of claret. Half the time the food went uneaten entirely, growing cold and congealed on the plate while he drank in solitude by the amber light of a single lamp and tried to ignore the empty chair at his left hand.

But now the door had been opened on his order, the floor was swept and the windows cleaned, while the long-neglected table was polished and buffed to a high shine. It wasn't dinner, but he'd invited the highest ranked of the Jolly's crew, Smee and Doyle, their royal guests, the king and queen, Fergus, and somewhat grudgingly, Lieutenant Courtice, to meet with him and the captain's mess was the only room on the ship that was both large enough to fit everyone and give them privacy to discuss the next course of action. They all took seats at the long table save for Fergus, who perched on a stool in the corner while the captain's chair at the head was left empty. King David and Queen Snow White had both glanced at it and seemed to hesitate for a moment before exchanging a silent glance and choosing to sit side by side opposite Smee and Doyle.

Killian led Emma to the chair he used to occupy and pulled it out for her, holding her hand as she lowered herself down and brushing a light kiss over her knuckles before seating himself in Liam's former place. All faces turned to him expectantly and Doyle gave the tiniest nod of approval.

"New orders, Captain?" Smee asked.

He got right to the point, "The Fairy Queen has decreed that we must leave her island and return to the Enchanted Forest."

Emma glanced down at the table when he made the announcement, while her parents shared another of those looks that seemed to speak volumes without either of them uttering a word. The Enchanted Forest was their home just as the Jolly was his, and they'd been away from it for so long, all three of them. It was Snow White who finally spoke, one hand resting on her husband's arm with her fingers curled tight around his sleeve and a sudden flinty look in her eye. It was familiar, the gleam of someone who had just spotted that first glimpse of a possible prize in the distance. Unexpected, to say the least, on the face of a queen.

"So we will rendezvous back with the Mermaid's Song on the other side then?" she stated more than asked, and Killian felt his hackles rise. The other ship was presumably still waiting for them, expecting the royal family to return and resume their place aboard as passengers for the trip back. He tapped his index finger lightly on the polished teak and gave the queen and king a tight-lipped smile.

"While you and your husband are, of course, free to return to the Song if you so choose, the princess is staying here."

With me

Another voice rose at once, indignant, "Now, wait just a minute-"

"Lieutenant," he interrupted, his tone turning as sharp as a knife, "Need I remind you that you are aboard my ship at the moment and you would do well to keep your mouth shut unless spoken to and try to remain in what little is left of my good graces."

Lieutenant Liam Courtice shifted in his seat, giving a somewhat clipped nod, but the muscle ticking angrily in his jaw gave away his true feelings on the matter. Killian glanced away for a moment, feeling the sudden tension pulling his shoulders tight under his shirt. The younger man's presence on the Jolly continued to chafe at him like an ill-fitting pair of boots, rubbing him almost raw in spots and making him short-tempered and irritable whenever he spotted Courtice on the deck or passed by him in the corridors. The ghost of his brother seemed to hover over him like a spectre, he had Liam's name, the naval commission he'd worked so hard for, he even looked a little bit like him, his brown hair curling at the tips and a dusting of stubble on his unshaven jaw that made the resemblance much more striking then when he'd been clean shaven and his hair had been hidden under his hat on the Song. But at least the bastard didn't have blue eyes, both he and Liam had taken after their mother in that respect instead of their pathetic excuse for a father.

"If the captain says she stays, then she stays," Smee piped in, folding his arms across his chest and tucking his chin down towards it, giving him the appearance of a stubborn bulldog refusing to release a bone. Doyle looked faintly amused and on the other side of the table the king scowled heavily.

"If our daughter stays, then so do we."

King David folded his arms across his chest and leaned forward in the chair next to his wife, mimicking the first mate and looking no less stubborn.

"If Their Majesties and Her Highness stay, then so do I."

Courtice dared to speak again, also folding his arms across his chest with his jaw set in a way that was all-too familiar and did nothing to improve Killian's temper.

"So it's settled then," Snow White's voice was more even than her husband's but no less firm when she met his gaze and decreed with a hint of a smile, "We're all staying here."

"Fine!" he yelled, suddenly exasperated beyond measure, "Everyone's staying on the bloody ship!"

There was silence at that and Emma reached over, wordlessly touching his wrist. His hand opened and her palm slid against his, their fingers lacing together. The tension drained from his shoulders and he felt himself relax, though he still threw Courtice a black look. If he was so bound and determined to stay on the Jolly then he'd quickly learn there were no idle hands aboard the ship and he'd be assigned bilge-pumping duty all the way back to the Enchanted Forest. The thought reminded him of one of the reasons he'd called the meeting in the first place and he turned to Smee.

"Mr. Smee, what's the current status of the stores? How long before we need to make port?"

"Fishin's been good these last few days, Captain, we've laid in a fair supply of dried...well, no one knows exactly what they are but they're good eating. Cook reports that everything's kept fresh as a daisy, even that barrel of lard that he thought was about to turn rancid. Says it's like magic."

"Hmm," Killian mused, suspecting that it probably was magic, the power of the island keeping the provisions from the normal amount of rot and decay that no amount of salting or pickling could completely prevent. The same magic that had infused the hot spring, healing Emma's bruise and relieving old aches and pains he'd had for so long he'd forgotten they were even there. He'd taken a knife to the ribs once not long after turning pirate, surprised by an older crewman who got it in his head that he should be captain after drinking too much brandy pilfered from their very first prize. The man's breath had stunk like sour cherries, and his blood had been just as red when Killian had twisted his wrist and sunk the blade deep into his belly.

It was also the first time a man had died by his hand, and the shock of watching the life drain from his eyes was worse than the pain of his own injury. He'd taken the crewman's one valuable, a silver ring that he still wore on his thumb as a reminder that any of the men could turn on him, and ordered the body to be dumped overboard and the deck swabbed clean before retreating alone to his quarters to treat the slash across his side as best he could. It had throbbed for days and he had to wear a close-fitting waistcoat over his shirt at all times to help keep the bandage in place, gritting his teeth and resisting the urge to favour the injured side in front of the rest of the crew. He was captain, and he had to appear fully recovered even if he wasn't or someone else might try to take advantage of his weakened state. It had healed eventually, but the spot would still twinge at times when he arched his back or twisted to look over his shoulder. But that tiny remnant had disappeared entirely, scars had begun to fade away and he almost felt like a lad again, instead of a man so near to thirty. Even his rings looked new, the metal shiny and untarnished unlike the memories that accompanied them. He wondered if perhaps the Fairy Queen might grant himself and Emma another visit to the hot spring before they cast off, if the water had healed them once then perhaps it would let her sleep without the bad dreams that had plagued her all the way across the ocean. Even if she didn't allow it, he vowed he would find a way to bring Emma back there in secret.

"Doyle, how about the Jolly? Are you finished with all the repairs? We've got a long voyage back to the Enchanted Forest and it's the wrong time of year to be sailing east, she needs to be completely seaworthy before we leave."

The ship creaked around them, as if the old girl wanted to weigh in herself on the state of her readiness for the weeks ahead.

"She's shipshape right down to the bilges, Captain and there's not so much as a single barnacle clinging to the hull. A fair wind and we'll be cutting through the waves like a hot knife through butter."

"I agree with Mr. Doyle."

Killian turned to Emma's father, a bit surprised that he had also decided to weigh in. His wife turned to look at him and he patted her hand.

"I may not know much about ships, but I still know my way around a hammer and nails. The craftsmanship is excellent, even better than the Mermaid's Song and I don't think Eric himself could find any fault with it. In fact, I think we should look into expanding our own fleet when we get back, if the last few months have proved anything, our kingdom needs better and faster ships like this one."

The praise was unexpected and he blinked at the king while he felt a flush creep up the back of his neck, shocked to hear that he considered the Jolly to be superior to his own royal fleet. But then the Jewel has been considered a marvel in her day, unmatched in the whole of the realm. She had even sprouted wings once and flew faster than any bird...but that was a long time ago, and the Pegasus flag was nothing but ash on the wind now.

"But even so, we barely managed to slip away from the Enchanted Forest on the Song before Regina was able to get a blockade in place," King David continued, a deep furrow appearing between his brows, "We heard the rumours in every port during our voyage, no ships could get in or out without being thoroughly searched. How do you plan to get past it, Captain?"

Since the night by the hot spring when he'd come up with the idea in the first place he'd spent hours mulling it over, taking the plan apart and putting it back together in his mind while Emma was with the Fairy Queen. It was risky, to be sure, but there was no way to engage an enemy without an element of risk and he'd faced his fair share of them over the years. The king's officers, chasing after the deserter who'd stolen his ship. Other pirates, rivals for territory who were eager to take him down a peg or two by cannon fire or hand-to-hand combat. His own men, from time to time, traitors with greed in their eyes and knives under their sleeves. None had ever had magic, though, real magic, not like the sleight of hand he used in taverns to cheat at dice or cards. And now he was going to try to cheat the Evil Queen herself, with the one he valued most as the stakes in the most dangerous gamble he'd ever undertaken.

"We don't," he said, "We go in head on and give the Evil Queen exactly what she wants. For a price, of course. We'll raise the crimson flag and sail openly into port, where word will quickly spread to the queen's ears that the Jolly Roger captured Princess Emma's ship and sunk it with all hands save her and one foolhardy lieutenant."

He gave Courtice a smile at that, showing a bit of teeth and enjoying the way the other man flinched, sinking down in his seat and shoulders hunching under his uniform.

"Naturally I'll demand a hefty ransom, and insist that it must be paid by the queen herself, in person, to ensure her agents don't try to skim a bit off the top for themselves. When we make the trade, that will be the time to strike."

Killian's tone was casual but he felt the worry churning in his gut like bile, he'd never backed down from a fight in his life and he had the scars to prove it, but he'd never bet anything he wasn't willing to lose before. Now...the pull of the open sea just beyond the island thrummed low in his blood like the rolling tide, there was still time to sail away from the Enchanted Forest and Emma would be his forever, safe from the queen under the alias of Eala Jones. Liam had followed their king's orders blindly to his death, what if the same fate awaited her? He didn't fully trust the Fairy Queen, something told him that behind that doll-like face and fanciful gowns she knew far more than she was letting on about the strange prophecy that had brought them all to her land.

"The mission that will bring peace to the kingdom, and glory to the Jones brothers."

The words echoed in his mind while King David's frown grew even deeper, "Shouldn't we try to get back to the palace in secret?" he said, more a statement than a question, "If Regina knows we're coming she'll have time to prepare an attack."

"There's not a blockade we've encountered yet that we couldn't give the slip, Captain," Smee offered, sitting up a little straighter and puffing out his chest, "The Jolly-"

"The Jolly is the fastest ship in all the realms but even she is incapable of travelling overland," Killian reminded him, "It's not the blockade we need to worry about, we'd have to find somewhere to dock in secret, acquire horses, ride by night and avoid the Evil Queen's spies. But if she believes her quarry has already been caught, then she'll think herself victorious and her guard will be down."

He knew that to make his plan work it would have to look like he cared nothing for Emma, disdained her even, and present himself to Regina as the notorious pirate Captain Jones, a villain after her own dark heart. The sort of man who forced a captured princess to her knees and stole everything she had of value, her gold, jewels...and her maidenhead. He shifted a bit in his seat, the tension creeping up his spine again as he steeled himself for what was to come. The woman he loved...the woman he'd pledged himself to both body and soul...and he'd have to publicly act like she was nought but his prisoner and his whore.

Killian snapped back to himself as Emma's father continued to argue against his plan, still obviously unconvinced, "The second she knows for sure where any of us are we lose the only advantage we have, what's to stop her from just showing up like she did on our wedding day and killing Emma on sight?"

None of his crew would have dared question his orders so much and he had to bite back the rebuke that sprang to his tongue. Sailors who gave him too much lip felt the back of his hand if he was feeling magnanimous, and the steel of his sword if he wasn't. But the king wasn't under his command and he'd promised himself that he wouldn't try to provoke him too much, lest it upset Emma even more. He flicked his fingers at Smee and Doyle and they both stayed quiet as well, though he could tell from their sour expressions that they were starting to spoil for a fight.

"She won't."

It was Snow White who finally answered, her sad eyes lifting from the little patch of sunlight that shone through the window onto the tabletop to meet his. A darker, more forest green than Emma's sea glass gaze, looking from one to the other was like looking at one of the rare points where two oceans met and the waters changed. Mother and daughter were so similar in some respects and it was obvious that they were of the same blood, but while Emma was all golden sunshine and lustrous pearls, the queen was silvery moonlight and wine-dark rubies. Her thick fall of black hair was tied back from her face with a strip of leather instead of a silk ribbon like Emma's, and the corners of her red lips tilted down even as her chin went up.

"I know Regina better than anyone and while she wanted to kill me, she also needed me to feel pain. Her pain. It won't be quick, she'll want to draw it out and crush all hope like the stable boy's heart was crushed by her mother. But she might kill you on sight instead of bothering with a ransom, Captain."

He felt Emma's fingers tighten and he rubbed his thumb imperceptibly against the delicate skin over her fluttering pulse. The silver ring was cold while the memory burned as hot as the rip of the knife against his ribs all those years ago.

"Many have tried to kill me and no one's managed to tell that tale yet, milady."

Not everyone at the table looked entirely pleased by that, but he didn't give a damn what anyone thought except for the woman sitting at his right hand. Emma was unusually quiet, the shadows of sleepless nights dark under her eyes and a few errant locks of hair escaping from her usually neat plait to curl against her white neck like the fine down on a swan.

"Are you both seriously proposing that we use my daughter as bait?"

King David angrily slammed both hands on the table and stood up, the lieutenant following at once and standing at attention while Smee and Doyle both looked somewhat askance at him and the king began to pace in the narrow space between the table and the wall.

"She's my daughter too, Charming, I don't recall you dealing with the nine months of swollen ankles and the cravings for cinnamon on everything you ate."

He shook his head, ignoring the tartness in his wife's voice, "No, absolutely not, there has to be another way. Lieutenant, you know I'm right."

Courtice took that as invitation to add his unwanted opinion again and immediately parroted the king, "I agree with you, Sire. It is far too dangerous to risk Her Highness's safety in such a careless and cavalier fashion."

His brown eyes flicked to Emma, and Killian felt a hot flush of rage at the thinly veiled insult. Careless and cavalier? Every man on the crew would be armed to the teeth and he'd put himself in between Emma and the Evil Queen, for all her power and dark magic he'd never faced a foe who didn't bleed when they met the point of his sword.

The lieutenant's words only spurred the king on and he pointed at Courtice, nodding vigorously now that he'd found someone to agree with him, "Yes, exactly. We should try to contact our allies first, Thomas and Ella, Eric and Ariel, and come up with a plan together, hell, we could make another deal with the damn Dark One himself."

"Charming, sit down!"

Snow White tugged on his sleeve as more arguing broke out around the table with Smee taking umbrage to Courtice's comments and he stood up and started poking him in the chest with a stubby finger, his round face flushed with anger at the insult to his captain while he loudly proclaimed exactly where the high-faultin' lieutenant could stick his opinions. Emma's parents whispered furiously to each other, lost in their own world of old disagreements suddenly rising to the surface and ignoring everyone else as they fought.

"If you had only listened to me back then, Snow….I did listen to you and look at what happened! Now you want to make another deal with the Dark One, are you completely insane?...You were the one who said he'd been changed by love and we should listen to what he had to say...The dwarves were right twenty years ago, I should have listened to them...Now what is that supposed to mean?"

Killian was just about to jump into the fray himself and call for order when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up at a sudden change in the air. Doyle's eyes narrowed and Smee and Courtice both froze, clearly the three of them felt it too. It was like the breathless moment before lightning struck down from the heavens and made the seas boil, a crackle and swell of gathering power that dwarfed even the tallest of ships. But the oncoming storm wasn't coming from the sky outside, it was coming from the woman seated at his right hand.

Night suddenly fell, or that's what it looked like as the room went entirely dark as abruptly as a shuttered lantern. There was a startled exclamation that came from somewhere to his left and the loud crash of an overturned chair, but the words he'd been about to say died on his lips as a single point of light appeared on the low ceiling and drew his eyes up. It was quickly joined by another pinprick of light, and then another. It was like the night the fairy island had first appeared in the distance, when Emma had lit up the entire sky with a thousand tiny stars that pointed the way as sure as any chart or map ever could. He closed his eyes and saw the markings on the sextant, felt the little bumps under his fingers again instead of the smooth wood of the table. When he opened them again there were entire constellations swirling over his head and the glowing light revealed that everyone else was also staring up at the ceiling, slack-jawed and silent.

For a long moment no one moved, until finally they all blinked and lowered their heads until they were looking at Emma. Her hands were cupped in front of her and the light shone through her fingers, spilling from a living ball of white flame that she'd conjured out of nothing. She met their shocked faces head on and no one dared to speak, not even her mother, there was only the quiet lap of the water against the hull outside and the beating of his own heart, in time with each pulse of magic from the little sphere in her palm.

"No more arguing."

It was said quietly, but the order was clear and when Emma glanced at her father and added, "Papa, sit down," he did, the fight clearly going out of him as he obeyed his daughter's soft command without protest. Smee and Doyle were both transfixed, and when her gaze landed on the first mate he groped blindly for his chair at nothing more than the slight raise of her brow.

"The woman in the tavern who sold roses, she told me it took two things to find the Fairy Queen, magic and belief. I didn't know then what exactly I was supposed to believe in...but now I think I do."

"Emma?"

She looked up at him with starlight in her eyes and the memories washed over him again. The ill-fated voyage to Neverland all those years ago...he'd believed in his brother and followed him despite his own qualms about their mission, taking the second star to the right, and straight on til morning. But Liam had believed more in following orders, too stubborn and hardheaded to see what was right in front of him until it was too late.

"You believed me," Emma said, "Right from the start, you always believed me. I might be the one with magic who was born with this destiny to defeat the Evil Queen, but I didn't get to this island on my own. You brought me here."

Her parents both shifted in their seats and Smee shot a triumphant look at Lieutenant Courtice. The little ball of light disappeared in a flash and Killian blinked as the sun streamed in through the windows again, illuminating the dust in the air. Despite the crew's best efforts at cleaning, the long years of neglect had been impossible to erase completely in just a few hours.

King David let out a heavy sigh, "Emma, you know we believe you. But we have to do this the right way."

"No, we don't. We just need to succeed. I know you don't trust Killian but we need him and his crew, Eric, Ariel...yes they'd help us if we asked but you said it yourself, they're your allies. You don't think the Evil Queen will have lookouts just waiting to spot their flag?"

From the somewhat guilty look they exchanged, her parents hadn't considered that.

"We sail under the crimson flag, and we answer to no king," Doyle said, "Or Evil Queen. But we'll follow you, Captain. And you, ma'am."

A tiny smile flickered over Emma's face at Doyle's nod to the both of them. Killian met his eye and nodded back.

"Aye," Smee agreed.

"Aye!"

Fergus flushed when everyone turned to stare at him, but his jaw was set and he squared his shoulders as best he could for what lay ahead. Emma's gaze swept over all of them in turn and she stood up, holding up a hand that stopped Lieutenant Courtice halfway in his tracks when he tried to rise as well.

"We are going back to the Enchanted Forest and we are taking back what belongs to us, and if you truly believe that this is my destiny, then we're doing it my way. If you don't believe, then you can go back to the Mermaid's Song, but I am staying on the Jolly Roger. You have your allies, and now I have mine."

With that parting shot she swept out of the room, back straight, head high and she took Fergus with her with a crook of her finger. No one was supposed to leave the captain's dining room without the captain's express permission, but Fergus followed at once without so much as a by your leave. She'd claimed him for hers, had from the beginning. Allies, ever since Fergus had first tugged importantly on his sleeve with, "A request from the princess, Captain."

Guarded by a loyal knight...

"Well..." Snow White said faintly, while her husband bore the stunned expression of a man who just had his entire world turned upside down.

"Captain?" Doyle asked after a few moments of silence had passed, turning from the closed door with both bushy eyebrows raised.

Killian stared down at his hand, pressed flat against the table. He traced a bit of nonsense with the tip of his finger and tapped it on the wood.

"We set sail first thing in the morning with the tide. East, to the Enchanted Forest. Inform the rest of the crew...we're going home. Dismissed."

Doyle and Smee both rose and shuffled out at the order, trading heavy glances but keeping their mouths blessedly shut. Emma's parents were next, leaning on each other with their heads bent close and the king's arm wrapped around the queen's slender waist. Killian stood and went to the window, hearing the door click shut behind them as he stared out at the silver lagoon with one hand dipping inside his coat for his flask. The water was as still as a mirror, perfectly flat with nary a single ripple to mar the surface.

"I said you were dismissed, Lieutenant."

The chair creaked loud in the stillness of the almost-empty room, but it wasn't followed by retreating footsteps and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a grimace, wondering if there was no end to the good lieutenant's infuriating stubborn streak.

"You know, there's a price on your head in my kingdom, Captain."

Courtice was standing with his hands resting on the back of his chair when Killian finally turned around, his head cocked slightly to the side as he offered up that little tidbit of information.

"There's a price on my head in several kingdoms and three different duchies, I believe. Are you going to try to deliver me to your king and claim the reward?"

His tone was as curdled as vinegar as he spat the words and took a swig of rum, feeling it slip down his throat to burn in his belly while he stared at Courtice and wondered if the man was seriously so daft as to actually try to threaten him aboard his own ship.

"Consider it a warning," Courtice said, his long fingers flexing on the wood, "I know who you are, I've heard all the tales in the ports, I've seen the broadsheets in the taverns. Sailors love to talk, as I'm sure you know, but I haven't told Their Majesties the half of it."

"Oh? Your tongue was certainly loose enough a few minutes ago."

"The attack on the fleet at Horseshoe Reef, boxing them in and sinking two warships, the plundering of the HMS Morning Glory, the burning of Port Warwick, mutiny, desertion."

The lieutenant recited the list of his crimes as if he was being court martialed by the Royal Navy and Killian felt his lip curl in a sneer. He was guilty of all that Courtice claimed, and more.

"So you have heard of me," he said, in a voice that dared Courtice to continue. For a moment it looked like he was about to back down, his knuckles white and his throat bobbing with a heavy swallow, but he pressed on.

"And the brazen theft of a royal flagship. The Jewel of the Realm, wasn't it? She flies different colours now, but it's this ship."

Killian stiffened, hand clenching around his flask so hard that he felt his rings shift, the metal biting into his flesh, "This ship is the Jolly Roger, Lieutenant, and whatever you think you know about me, you have no idea what I'm truly capable of. I suggest you don't try to find out."

"My queen ordered me to stand guard over Queen Snow White at all costs, said she owed her a debt that could never truly be paid. Captain Powell's loyalty was to the ship first and foremost, mine was to our passengers. I was under orders not to reveal my mission to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary."

The confession brought him up short and the lieutenant's actions since coming aboard the Jolly suddenly made a lot more sense. He wasn't just an ordinary sailor, he was the queen's own bodyguard.

"Did your queen also order you to make eyes at the princess every chance you got?"

Colour rose in Courtice's cheeks but he didn't try to deny it, staring defiantly ahead with an unblinking stare.

"The tales of her beauty didn't do her justice...but it's clear that the only man she sees is you."

Something eased in his chest at that, though he kept his face hard and his gaze narrowed. Courtice might not fancy himself a serious rival for Emma's affections and Killian was certain he could easily take the man in a duel if he did try to make a play for her, he didn't relinquish any prize without a fight and Emma was so much more, the happy ending he never thought he would find after so many years of being alone, but Courtice did have something he never would again. He served an honest sovereign with pride, his name untainted by any villainous deeds. Even Liam had been declared a traitor to the Crown along with the rest of the Jewel's crew after his mutiny against the king, the fact that his brother had died before the desertion making not one whit of difference to the Royal Navy. His name had been blackened along with the rest of them, his service stricken from official records, stripped of rank...Liam was the one who'd dreamed they could be more than just common sailors, worked so hard for his commission, and in the end there was no glory for the Jones brothers, there was only the ghost of what could have been left on the bottom of the sea.

"Well, who can blame her? Startling, aren't I, some say striking, and the one thing I don't do is share. Selfish pirate, remember? You may have orders to guard her mother, but the only sword Princess Emma needs is mine. Because, believe me, Lieutenant, you do not want to come face to face with the man who set fire to Port Warwick and gutted the captain of His Majesty's new flagship open like a fish."

"Does she?"

Courtice called out his parting shot when Killian was halfway out the door, almost feeling the words hit him in the back like the bite of the whip. At any other time he would have had the lieutenant on his knees and begging for mercy in a heartbeat, like he did to the captain and crew of the Morning Glory, like he did at Port Warwick and to a dozen other ports and ships with names he no longer remembered through the fog of rage and pain and rum….

Like he did to Emma, the day they first met.

The door swung shut behind him, leaving Courtice alone in the room where he had drunk and laughed and dreamed with his brother as they sailed the high seas on higher spirits.

Hoping.

Searching.

Glory for the Jones brothers.

#cs ff #cs au #cs au fic #my fic #Beyond the Horizon

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spyvstailor · 7 years

Text

Okay, it’s as of yet untitled. I literally just wrote this first bit to see if I like it. I do, but no canon characters yet. So sorry for that. Soon though, I promise.

Prologue

“For thirty silvers, I'll tell you story.” In the darkest moments before the dawn, the thin lips of the stranger parted and a glint of silver fang flashed in the moonlight.

“For thirty silvers I'd slit your throat.” The gruff bearded man ordered as he dug through a satchel. Three other dirty bastards surrounded the fire of the small camp, eyes on the Fereldan wilds around them.

“Fifteen then?” Wenceslaus bargained softly in a highborn Fereldan accent.

There was a pause.

“I'll take your ominous silence as an agreement.”

“My monimous silence is me gettin' angry,” the dumb briggand growled.

“A song then? And if it makes you weep, then you release me.”

The leader of the men glanced at a small, rat toothed woman at his left, before shrugging and seating himself near the man's companion, a quiet, sullen Dalish Elf who had been gagged – which was all together uneccessary – since he didn't talk much at all to begin with.

The Elf rolled his eyes and scooted a little further away from the smelly highwayman on the log.

“What about thisun?” The man grunted, jerking his chin at the Elf.

“Oh, you can keep him. But he's a real bastard, fair warning.”

Sticking out his legs, the man sighed. “Well, we could use us some song before we get back to work robbin’ ya, eh lads?”

The other men nodded and grunted in agreement.

The rat toothed woman cut the bindings at the man's wrists, her dagger pointing threateningly at his throat.

“Don't try anyfing funny,” she snarled.

The man grinned crookedly. “You have beautiful eyes, has anyone ever told you that, darling?”

The dagger was jammed into the ground between his legs, very close to his manhood and Wenceslaus jerked back a little with a nervous laugh. “You're...a firebrand, I see.”

“Fink I'd like a story instead,” the man stated, resting his boots on Wenceslaus' large, lumpy pack, the only one the highwaymen hadn't searched yet. “Make it good.”

Nervously eyeing the pack, Wenceslaus cleared his throat, before licking his bottom lip.

“Well, this story begins in the Brecilian Forest...”

Chapter One: Wenceslaus' Story

“Oh, all the money, that e'er I spent,

I spent it in good company

And all the harm, the e'er I've done,

Alas it was to none but me.”

The forest was foggy, thick with mist that clung low and fell heavy across the brambles and fallen trees.

Sitting back amongst a soft patch of moss and grass, Wenceslaus idly stroked the bow of his fiddle across the strings and played a simple tune as he waited for his dinner of nug to cook over the fire he built.

The blight had taken its toll on him, that was for certain.

The rise of the blight had sent him fleeing from his home in Lothering, packing it up and heading across Fereldan for the Amaranthine Sea, but the darkspawn swarmed a curved around him and cut off his plans for heading that way. After nearly losing his horse, and leaving behind his cart and all of his junk, he was left in the Brecilian Forest with nothing but his fiddle and Hara, his beautiful black stallion.

“And all I've done, for want of wit,

To memory now, I can't recall

So fill to me, the parting glass,

goodnight and joy be with you all.”

He needed a plan.

Orlais was where he was initially heading, but then he got word of a new destination rising in the Frostbacks.

Skyhold. The Inquisition. The Herald of Andraste.

Sounded like as good a place as any.

After all the darkspawn and blighted bastards walking dead across Fereldan, someplace with high walls sounded ideal.

“Oh all the comrades that e'er I had,

are sorry for my going away

And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had,

would wish me one more day to stay.”

As he played his fiddle, his fingers faltered as a sound caught his attention.

It wasn’t the creaking of a Sylvan, but the hurried snapping of twigs just over a hill nearby.

Wenceslaus' playing slowed.

If it was the Dalish, he wasn't afraid, his ears usually earned him a casual glance of dismissal from the Dalish.

They were a gift from his father, before the man died, a Dalish Elf who had bedded his mother in a playful tryst, before dying from a fall from his horse when Wenceslaus was fourteen. Wenceslaus' father was the finest horseman in Lothering, there was no question. It was the Halla breeding, wild nature of the Elf that gave him the ability to manage horses and mounts of all shapes and sizes.

They had such fine horses.

Hara had been a gift from his father, son of his father's own stallion. The finest coal black stallion their herd had ever produced. An envy of all in Lothering.

The ears and the mount, generally had the Dalish leaving him in peace.

If it helped that much to be half Elven, Wenceslaus was tempted to get one of those face tattoos to seal the deal. Perhaps he'd join up with a clan, make it to Keeper.

“But since it falls, unto my lot,

that I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and I'll softly call,

goodnight and joy be with you all.”

The snapping and crashing was getting nearer and clearer now, like something barreling at full speed through the woods and Wenceslaus was setting down his fiddle to jump to his feet, just as a young woman clutching a leather bound book tore over the hill and rolled gracelessly to the bottom.

“Whoa, easy there, you're running like you have a herd of darkspawn,” he began mockingly, moving to help her up, eyes glancing to the hill as a small clutch of darkspawn crested the top, “darkspawn! Darkspawn!” He shouted, pushing the woman aside, in order to grab up his fiddle as she continued running off into the trees.

As the monsters descended the hill, Wenceslaus raced off for Hara, shoving his fiddle in the saddlebag, before running back and snatching up his half roasted nug. Realizing it was a fairly stupid idea just as he snatched up the twig holding the slain beast, he turned back for Hara, but thought again and glanced at the darkspawn, before looking up at the treetops as though Andraste herself was up there giving orders.

It was too late now to flee, as a darkspawn leapt for him.

Panicking, Wenceslaus jabbed the stick up and under the creature's chin, cringing at the sound of the stick entering the skull of the thing and dry heaving.

The second darkspawn swiped at him and Wenceslaus jumped back, just as an arrow came from the treetops and jabbed into the beast with a heavy, soft 'schluk', sending the darkspawn flying to the forest floor.

Taking that chance to flee, not questioning the origins of the arrow, Wenceslaus leapt onto Hara's back and urged the horse on into the woods, riding wildly away from the darkspawn.

“Maker's tits,” he cursed to himself.

Hara reared back as the stallion leapt over a bush and almost trampled the young woman with the book as she crouched there in hiding.

Thrown from his beloved mount's back, Wenceslaus tumbled to his feet and grinned at how smooth that must have looked, before remembering why he was fleeing.

Grabbing the woman without thinking, he shoved her towards Hara and had to practically shove her ass to get her up onto Hara's back.

Clearly the woman had never been on a horse before.

He was about to mount Hara as well, when a Dalish Elf dropped from the trees in front of them, eyeing them with sharp, cold grey eyes as stormy as the Frostbacks in mid winter.

“Garas quenathra,” the Dalish Elf greeted harshly, arrow in his bow aimed directly at Wenceslaus.

Sticking his hands up, Wenceslaus took a small step back. “I didn't bring those things,” he declared, motioning with his head at the woman on Hara. “Shoot her, she lead them here.”

“Bastard!” The woman spat.

“My help only goes so far, sister,” he replied. “And you ruined my dinner.”

The Dalish Elf pulled the string of his bow back further and barked, “garas quenathra?!”

Realizing the Elf saw in him a kindred, Wenceslaus searched his brain for the right words learned from his father long ago. “Emma atisha,” he tried, hoping they were the right words.

Lowering the bow, the Dalish Elf eased the string's tension, arrow aimed at the ground.

“Lin?” The Elf asked.

Wenceslaus nodded, thanking the Maker and his father and all his father's Gods for the knowledge of basic Elvish.

Getting up in his face, the Dalish Elf eyed him very, very carefully, nose practically brushing against the tip of Wenceslaus', grey eyes half hidden by brown hair fallen from a slicked back style.

“Seth'lin,” the Elf murmured, narrowing his eyes and stepping back, seemingly satisfied, brushing his hair back out of his eyes.

“Yes, well...I suppose I have you to thank for my life,” Wenceslaus replied, studying the Elf's curly tattoo that furled around his left eye and down his cheek, disappearing down his neck into the collar of his tunic.

The Elf sort of scoffed and tucked his arrow back into the quiver on his back. “Ma banal las halamshir var vhen,” he murmured.

Scowling, Wenceslaus decided he didn't feel like getting the headache from trying to figure out anymore Elven and turned to the woman with the book who still sat high on Hara.

“What are you doing out here, busting in on a man's evening meal?” He demanded.

“Mind your own life and I'll mind mine,” she snapped, struggling to get down from Hara's back.

Avoiding a kicking foot that flew at his face as he approached, Wenceslaus scowled, “I was minding my own life, you're the one who—OOF!” The woman rammed into his gut as she fell backwards from Hara's back, her elbow digging deep into his gut.

“Sorry,” the woman said a little sheepishly, clutching the book tightly to her chest.

Rubbing his lower stomach, Wenceslaus pulled a bit of a face at her, giving her a sour smile.

“Thank you,” she said, looking past him to the Elf.

“Oh, he gets gratitude and I get a kick in the gut,” Wenceslaus grumbled, mounting Hara slowly, still in pain. “I'm sure you two will be happy together.”

Glancing at the two, before urging Hara onwards, Wenceslaus touched his forehead with the tips of his fingers and brought his hand down in a gesture he learned from a man who came from Kirkwall.

“Dareth shiral,” he said to the Elf.

“Dirthara-ma.” The Elf replied simply, shouldering his bow.

Wenceslaus was about halfway back to his now ruined camp, when something struck him as odd and he turned Hara around.

He found the woman and the Dalish Elf eyeing each other warily when he returned.

“What's with the book?” He demanded of the woman.

“Nice manners,” she retorted. “Who raised you, a wolf pack?”

“Yes,” Wenceslaus shot back quickly. “And I'd thank you not to bring up my childhood with the pack, it's rather painful.” He leaned over the saddlehorn to peer down at the woman. “Seriously though, what is that? Worth darkspawn chewing on your backside?”

The woman clutched the book tighter to her chest. “It's mine, I found it rightfully.”

“Is it dirty?” He teased.

“No!” She gasped.

“Let me see it!” Wenceslaus reached for the book, but the woman was quick to hide it behind her back and stepped away.

“It's mine!”

The Dalish Elf swooped in swiftly and snatched up the book, opening it curiously as the woman made a mad, desperate reach for it.

The Elf pushed her back easily and read the book.

“So? Is it dark magics?” Wenceslaus asked the Elf.

“Uthenera,” the Elf hissed, eyes narrowing.

“What is that? Is it pervy?” Wenceslaus demanded, moving Hara towards the Elf's side.

“It's not pervy!” The woman huffed. “It's...just a book I found in the ruins yonder.”

“Ruins?”

“I'm not a scavenger,” she went on firmly. “I'm...a...”

“Apostate?” Wenceslaus finished for her. “Yeah, you look like one. What is it? Rrunaway from Ostegar, hm? The circle tower of Redcliffe? Yeah? Apostates...”

Even the Elf was eyeing her as if she was a dangerous creature who needed putting down.

“I'm not...I...no!” She growled.

Circling Hara around the woman, Wenceslaus grinned, “you know what we do with Apostates in the Brecilian Forest, girl?”

“Enlighten me,” she challenged, crossing her arms.

“Ah...” he trailed off, not expecting the woman to call his bluff. “Elf, you tell her.”

The Elf quirked a brow at him and handed the book back to the woman, who once more clutched it protectively to her chest.

“Tell her,” Wenceslaus urged. “You Dalish, you kill apostates, don't you? Tell her. Feed them to wolves,” he crowed.

“Ar glandival ghilani ma vhenas, da'len,” the Elf said to the woman.

“I don't...understand Elven,” the woman said softly, glancing between the Elf and Wenceslaus.

Realizing she wanted him to translate for the Elf, Wenceslaus grew indignant. “Oh, because I'm half Elf you think I can understand Elven!”

“You were speaking it before, you crumb,” the woman stated.

Inhaling deeply, Wenceslaus fought for a comeback, but when nothing came to his mind, he sighed and said, “he wants to guide you home...I believe. My Elvish is rusty. Seems odd for a Dalish Elf to care about guiding a woman home though...they're more likely to want your blood then your safe travel...” he pointed out, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at the Elf.

The Elf ignored his look, motioning in the direction the woman had been going and bowing slightly.

“Beware Elves who want to walk you home,” Wenceslaus murmured to the woman as he dismounted from Hara's back.

“Beware of your breath, it could slaughter an entire Templar unit,” she returned coolly.

Jerking his head back, Wenceslaus subtly checked his breath as the woman addressed the Elf.

“Thank you, but no, I'm not from around here,” she said.

The Elf stood still, eyes on her.

“I'm from...very far away...in Orlais,” she went on. “Do you...not speak our language at all?”

“Banal,” Wenceslaus said to the Elf, shaking his head. “She doesn't want you following her home, you mad bastard,” he whispered the last part. “Go back to your clan, we're fine now, thank you!” He shouted at the Elf waving him off like one would chase off a child or a mabari. “Go on! Shoo!”

Lowering his eyebrows stormily over his eyes, the Elf said, “ma emma harel, seth'lin.”

Again Wenceslaus jerked his chin in surprise. “Are you threatening me, Elf?”

The Elf reached for his bow.

It was enough for Wenceslaus to back down. “Yes, fine, my apologies.” Taking the woman up the shoulders, he politely pushed her towards Hara. “Come on, the sooner we get out of these woods, the sooner the Elf will leave us be.”

“There is no 'us',” she protested.

“Just quiet your tongue and get on the horse.”

The woman barked a clap of laughter loud enough to send birds flying out of the underbrush.

“Up,” he pushed her up onto Hara's back. “Don't look back, he's still there, just don't make eye contact. Come on.”

Purposefully, Wenceslaus guided his mount onwards, leaving the Elf behind in the woods.

#I literally wrote this much tonight.#something to do

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animorphstruther1987 · 4 years

Text

If you too want nonsense in your life, all that is required is a hit of night, a bite of awake, and no more sense than a young Bearory.

"Daddy! Daddy! Tell us a story!"

"Can't you see I'm working, girls? I'll tell you a story for bedtime. Go play outside, it's a beautiful day, and I would be outside if I could!"

"But Daddy you're always working! Can't you just tell us a short story? Please please please?"

"Alright, how about a story about how I met your mother?"

"No! That's boring! We want space pirates! And evil bad guys!"

"And we want crazy animals! With big fangs!"

"But girls, this story has all that! And not only those things, but sword fights and gun play, intrigue and exploding stars!"

"I guess, as long as lots of stars explode."

"Trust me dears, lots of everything explodes.

"The day was a normal one, wake up in my bunk, check the nav system, get a cup of caf, the usual.

"But that's where things went wrong...

"Jones! Where's the caf machine?"

"Well sir, I.. uh.. I dunno. It was there half an hour ago."

Venturing forth to the cockpit I float next to Jones. And stare at him. He stares back, shrugs, then gets back to plotting our newest course.

"Well, when did you last see it Jones? You know I need that caf."

Without taking his eyes from the nav screen he replies, the same as before, "I haven't seen it sir, not since I got a fresh cup about thirty minutes ago."

"Well, we're almost to port anyway. I'll survive the day without it, hopefully."

"As you see girls, not the best start to a day. But, I digress. We made it to port without any incident. Except a splitting headache, that is. The next day, in the station, went much better. At least to start."

"Ah. A fresh cup of caf, straight from the machine. Just the way I like it."

So, with the fresh cup, I left my berth. That's when the day started to get weird. A young lad came barreling down the hall, ran into me, bounced off the wall, and then landed flat on his butt on the ground.

"Captain! Sir, the stationmaster is looking for you! He says it's urgent!"

"I guess so, what with you barreling around like that. He say what he needs? Or just send you to crash into me?"

"He just said get there quick sir, quick as you can. Real important he said."

#Bexxelnack 5 #ep 1 #caf #things get going #get ready for more #space #writing #my writing #story #short story #ok #not that short

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rejectedusername-trashfics · 6 years

Text

Minequest- Ender Eyes: Chapter 3- Where is Ryan

Despite Achievement Hunter collectively agreeing to never touch the Minequest mod again, Ryan decided one day to try and explore the mod again. Before he officially starts, the mod literally calls out to him and asks for his return. He accepts thinking it was just a new quest, passes out, and awakes again literally back in the Kingdom of Achievement. The rest of the hunters discover Ryan’s passed out body at his desk with Minequest up on the screen. They need to go back into the mod after him to bring him back. But, Ryan will not be the same when they find him.

Sequel to Minequest

Chapter: 3/15

Word Count: 1,503

First / Previous / Next / AO3

The following morning seemed to be the beginning of a typical day at Achievement Hunter. Michael and Jack arrived to the office in a timely manner. Jeremy showed up soon after, followed by Gavin. Geoff was the last to arrive.

“Good Morning,” he greeted as he walked into the room.

Michael looked over to Geoff. “I’m kinda surprised you didn’t call us sluts, this morning,” he joked.

“Are you kidding me?!” Geoff exclaimed. H pointed over to Gavin. “Gavin’s girlfriend would probably be weirded out if he slept around.”

“Meg would be surprised if I was a bit of a tart,” Gavin said.

“Jeremy and Jack have wives,” Geoff continued.

“Who we love, dearly,” Jack added.

“Hell, you and Lindsay had a baby, relatively recently.”

“So, you decided to be nicer because the men of Achievement Hunter are faithful to their wives and girlfriends?” Michael questioned.

“It’s not me being nice, it just wouldn’t make a lot of sense to call you that. The only two of in Achievement Hunter who could even try be sluts at this point and me and Ry,” Geoff paused to scan the room for Ryan. “Where is the guy anyway? Is he in the bathroom or something?”

“I haven’t seen him this morning,” Jeremy said.

“Me, either,” Gavin agreed.

“Did he call in sick or something? Cause I’m pretty sure he doesn’t have anything else going on today,” Geoff said.

“No, he didn’t call in sick. And you may have forgotten if he actually did have something else going on,” Jack pointed out.

“No, I’m sure I would remember something like that so we could all plan around it.”

“I mean, you didn’t remember the girl from the RTX.”

“Okay no, don’t hold me to that!” Geoff interrupted. “First of all, she doesn’t work here. Second, she openly said she only expects Burnie to really remember her. Where did that even come from? Anyway, Ryan does work here, and as his boss, it’s my job to remember when he’s taking off.” He walked over to his desk, sat down, and rubbed his face. “Should I call him?”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Michael said.

Geoff nodded and pulled out his cell. He dialed Ryan’s number and waited for him to pick up. After a few seconds, a voice started. “Hello, you have reached the voicemail of Ryan Haywood. I cannot get to the phone right now, so please leave your name and number and I will get back--” Geoff hung up the phone.

“Was he not there?” Gavin asked.

“It went to voicemail,” Geoff groaned.

“Why didn’t you leave him one?” Jack chastised.

“Ryan doesn’t listen to that shit.”

“Well, what were we gonna do today? We can’t need Ryan for all of it,” Jeremy pointed out.

“GTA.”

“Ryan’s in that,” everyone pointed out.

“Battlegrounds.”

“That too.”

“Heroes and Halfwits, but I know Ryan’s in that. Play Pals?”

“This week was supposed to be a Battle Buddies week, so he’d be in that,” Jeremy explained.

“Fuck.”

“Any other ideas?” Michael asked.

“I’m gonna call him again,” Geoff replied in a slight panic. He called and it went straight to voicemail again. “FFFUUUCCCKKK!!!”

“Geoff,” Jack started.

“Running away from work isn’t like him. And if he is sick, I wanna make sure he’s okay.”

“So, go check his house for him,” Michael replied.

“I would. But the only problem with that is, I don’t know his address.”

Gavin’s hand shot up and he waved it about, excitedly, “Ooh, I do!” he cheered.

“And we can all go take care of sick Ryan,” Michael suggested. Jack and Jeremy nodded their heads in agreement.

“Guys, no. Only Gavin and I need to,”

“Geoff, please,” Jeremy interrupted. “Wouldn’t be good for Ryan to know how much his coworkers care about him?”

“He already knows how much we…” Geoff paused to sigh in defeat. “Whatever. It might be crowded, but I can fit all five of us in my car. Let’s go,” he finished as he got up to walk back to the door.

“If it’s too crowded for the lads in the back, we can always throw Gavin in the trunk,” Michael joked as he got up to follow Geoff.

“Oi!” Gavin protested.

Geoff rolled his eyes. “No, Gavin’s up front with me to help me navigate. You, Jack, and Jeremy can arrange yourselves in the back.

Gavin stuck his tongue out at Michael. “Suck my nob.” The rest of the group followed Geoff out to his car and loaded in the back of it with Gavin up in the front. After a thirty-minute drive, the group arrived at a townhouse complex. Everyone unloaded themselves from the car and followed Gavin to the right townhouse.

“So, is anyone gonna ask why Gavin knows Ryan’s address or…?” Michael began to ask.

Geoff ignored the question and rung the doorbell. A dog started barking, inside the home. Geoff’s eyebrows furrowed and he went to ring the doorbell again. Jack grabbed his arm before he could. “Geoff, wait a couple of minutes to let him get to the door.”

After a few minutes, nobody came to the door, and the dog continued to bark. This made Geoff ring the doorbell again, more furiously.

“Geoff, what if he’s not home?” Jeremy asked.

Gavin began digging around in his pockets as Geoff sighed. “I’m not sure what we should do.”

“Well, we don’t actually know if he’s missing yet, so it’s too soon to file a missing persons report,” Jack pointed out.

“My first thought was breaking in,” Geoff admitted.

“Why do you know…” Jeremy started.

“GOT IT!” Gavin exclaimed as he held up a key.

“What’s that?” Jack asked.

“A key to Ryan’s house,” Gavin said as he walked towards the door.

“Why do you have a key to Ryan’s house?” Michael asked.

Gavin stuck the key in the lock. “It’s Meg’s. She dog-sits for him when Achievement Hunter’s away, but she’s in Germany this week, so she gave it to me.”

“Oh, what kind of dog does Ryan have?” Jeremy wondered.

“Well,” Gavin unlocked the door and opened it. A large St. Bernard came barreling out the front door, knocking Gavin over, and ran to a tree in the front yard to pee. “BEOWULF! YOU KNOW HOW RYAN FEELS ABOUT YOU USING THE POTTY IN THE FRONT YARD!” The dog finished up, trotted back over to Gavin, and lowered his head. Gavin sighed as he got up to pet him. “It’s okay, we won’t tattle,” he reassured the dog.

“Guys, back to looking for Ryan,” Geoff called to the group to get their attention again.

“Right,” everyone said as they all walked in.

“RYAN!!! ACHIEVEMENT HUNTER CAME TO CHECK UP ON YOU!” Geoff yelled to see if he could get Ryan’s attention.

“Maybe you could try yelling louder,” Jeremy suggested.

“Or, we could split up to look for him,” Jack said.

“Good idea. Lads, you go look around upstairs. Jack and I will go check around somewhere else,” Geoff ordered.

“Come on, lads, let’s go look in Ryan’s bedroom to see where he, Meg, and Gav have their kinky sex,” Michael teased as he and Jeremy walked to find the bedroom.

“Oh, come off it,” Gavin whined as he followed behind them.

“We should check his office,” Jack said to Geoff.

“He likes computers and stuff, so that’s a good idea,” Geoff waved Jack along as they walked to the office, Beowulf followed behind. They got to the office to see a plain looking room with videogame posters on the wall. Beowulf walked over to the desk and whined as he rubbed up again a man sleeping at it. They took a closer look at the man and saw that it was Ryan, passed out at the computer. “Ryan, oh my god!” Geoff exclaimed as he ran in. Ryan didn’t move in the slightest. “Ryan, come on,” he said as he shook Ryan’s shoulders.

Jack walked in to Geoff and glanced at screen. He did a double take to make sure he actually saw what he thought. “Uh, Geoff…”

“What?” he asked. Jack directed Geoff’s eyes to the screen, which read Minequest. “Fuck,” he said, quietly. “LADS, I FOUND RYAN!”

A few moments later, the lads came into the room. “What, what is it?” Michael asked. He paused, spotting the passed-out Ryan. “Is he dead?”

“No, look at his screen,” he said.

The lads obeyed, and Michael and Gavin looked twice to make sure they were seeing what they thought they were seeing. “Shit,” Michael cursed.

“I--I thought we all agreed never to play that mod again,” Gavin stuttered.

“I don’t see what the big deal with a Minecraft mod is,” Jeremy said.

Gavin ignored Jeremy. “Geoff, what do we do?”

“I…” Geoff sighed. “I think we have to go back into the mod to bring him out.”

Most of Achievement Hunter groaned. Play the cursed mod again to go rescue Ryan’s dumb ass? It was another adventure that nobody really wanted.

#mqee #ragehappy #rt fanfic #fanfic #minecraft au

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mercuryazraeldrake · 7 years

Text

IV: the rest

So we killed the wolf. He tried fighting but we out matched him, even in full dire wolf form. then he tried running, but i pinned his leg to the ground with a spear. and then he tried to beg for mercy, which if you have ever seen a man go from giant fierce beast to sniffling crying prisoner is pretty fucking incredible.

Now i wanted to off the mutt, but Siege saw fit to show him mercy. so we made it very clear that if he continued biting innocent women and spreading his curse we would hunt him down, skin him and use his pelt as toilet paper. So hopefully it sticks

So picking up where i left off, i was sold to a gladiator auctioneer. i spent the next 3 months walking chackled through the dense forests of western Astoria, into the desert of Hannibala. Which was just a barrel of kittens ill have you know. Along the way we picked up plenty more young lads who were promptly chackled and thrown into line. Now this is only is only important because of two lads i met while trudging through a desert, Tristan and Xi. Tristan was short blonde kid that wouldn’t shut the fuck he talked more than i used to which is saying something. funny thing about it is the wanker made smile for the first time in almost two years.

Xi on the other hand, was a cunt. Big bald and ugly. constantly talking shit threatening and belittling us it was like our small happiness was just something he couldn’t stand for. either way he was a proper cunt.

Anyway after a solid month of walking we arrived in Hannibala City. Now at the time it was the largest city that id ever seen in my life. There wear so many people in one place and it sorta felt they were yelling, which was was pissing hillarious. the streets were liked with merchants and full of shady looking men in selling everything from jewelry, to potions, to weapons, to magic spells. women with there tits out stood in the crowded street trying to coax passing men into alley ways, while kids are running around steeling food off of merchant tables. so generally after 2 minutes in the city, i was fucking in love. after either being in a cell or in a caged death pit for 3 years walking around outside, even shackled, feels great.

So the slavers lead us through the city until we finally turned a corner and we saw it; the Hannibala Colosseum. I had never seen anything that big before in my life. a massive circular build that reach up almost touching the lower hanging clouds. They toted us through one of the large arches into the tunnels that led to the sands of the arena. They unshackled us and pushed us all out onto the sands of the large arena. They’re were about 45 of us. Some of the boys collapsed immediately, finally taking their chance to rest from the long trip. That was a mistake.

The Arena could have easily seated 70,000 people, but only about 15 old looking men sat in the bottom row of seats across of where we were. One stood a spoke, “Some of you have what it takes to grace the sands of this arena, and some of you don’t. Show us what you’ve got, thin your heard.” suddenly a panel opened in the center of the arena and a table overflowing with weapons rose to the sands.

For a moment non of us moved. Until Xi broke into a full sprint for the table. suddenly we were all running full sprint for the table. I grapped two kukris and then sprinted away from the table to get my barrings. The next thirty minutes were a blood bath. Some of us were just a lot more skilled than others. young boy littered the arena gutted and bleeding out, a fair number by my own doing. tristan was pretty lethal with a rapier he grabbed and Xi swung two maces wildly bludgeoning anyone who got close.

Just as he turned his attention to me and began his charge the man stood and spoke again. “Enough! you all have done well, truly there are warrior hiding within you all! now stand tall and proud, prepare to be chosen”

slowly each of the remaining 17 of us was selected by one of the men sitting on the front row. Tristan and Xi were picked first. I was picked last by a man with a scar through his eye.

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

[The author permitted to see the grand academy of Lagado. The academy largely described. The arts wherein the professors employ themselves.] This academy is not an entire single building, but a continuation of several houses on both sides of a street, which growing waste, was purchased and applied to that use. I was received very kindly by the warden, and went for many days to the academy. Every room has in it one or more projectors; and I believe I could not be in fewer than five hundred rooms. The first man I saw was of a meagre aspect, with sooty hands and face, his hair and beard long, ragged, and singed in several places. His clothes, shirt, and skin, were all of the same colour. He has been eight years upon a project for extracting sunbeams out of cucumbers, which were to be put in phials hermetically sealed, and let out to warm the air in raw inclement summers. He told me, he did not doubt, that, in eight years more, he should be able to supply the governor's gardens with sunshine, at a reasonable rate: but he complained that his stock was low, and entreated me "to give him something as an encouragement to ingenuity, especially since this had been a very dear season for cucumbers." I made him a small present, for my lord had furnished me with money on purpose, because he knew their practice of begging from all who go to see them. I went into another chamber, but was ready to hasten back, being almost overcome with a horrible stink. My conductor pressed me forward, conjuring me in a whisper "to give no offence, which would be highly resented;" and therefore I durst not so much as stop my nose. The projector of this cell was the most ancient student of the academy; his face and beard were of a pale yellow; his hands and clothes daubed over with filth. When I was presented to him, he gave me a close embrace, a compliment I could well have excused. His employment, from his first coming into the academy, was an operation to reduce human excrement to its original food, by separating the several parts, removing the tincture which it receives from the gall, making the odour exhale, and scumming off the saliva. He had a weekly allowance, from the society, of a vessel filled with human ordure, about the bigness of a Bristol barrel. I saw another at work to calcine ice into gunpowder; who likewise showed me a treatise he had written concerning the malleability of fire, which he intended to publish. There was a most ingenious architect, who had contrived a new method for building houses, by beginning at the roof, and working downward to the foundation; which he justified to me, by the like practice of those two prudent insects, the bee and the spider. There was a man born blind, who had several apprentices in his own condition: their employment was to mix colours for painters, which their master taught them to distinguish by feeling and smelling. It was indeed my misfortune to find them at that time not very perfect in their lessons, and the professor himself happened to be generally mistaken. This artist is much encouraged and esteemed by the whole fraternity. In another apartment I was highly pleased with a projector who had found a device of ploughing the ground with hogs, to save the charges of ploughs, cattle, and labour. The method is this: in an acre of ground you bury, at six inches distance and eight deep, a quantity of acorns, dates, chestnuts, and other mast or vegetables, whereof these animals are fondest; then you drive six hundred or more of them into the field, where, in a few days, they will root up the whole ground in search of their food, and make it fit for sowing, at the same time manuring it with their dung: it is true, upon experiment, they found the charge and trouble very great, and they had little or no crop. However it is not doubted, that this invention may be capable of great improvement. I went into another room, where the walls and ceiling were all hung round with cobwebs, except a narrow passage for the artist to go in and out. At my entrance, he called aloud to me, "not to disturb his webs." He lamented "the fatal mistake the world had been so long in, of using silkworms, while we had such plenty of domestic insects who infinitely excelled the former, because they understood how to weave, as well as spin." And he proposed further, "that by employing spiders, the charge of dyeing silks should be wholly saved;" whereof I was fully convinced, when he showed me a vast number of flies most beautifully coloured, wherewith he fed his spiders, assuring us "that the webs would take a tincture from them; and as he had them of all hues, he hoped to fit everybody's fancy, as soon as he could find proper food for the flies, of certain gums, oils, and other glutinous matter, to give a strength and consistence to the threads." There was an astronomer, who had undertaken to place a sun-dial upon the great weathercock on the town-house, by adjusting the annual and diurnal motions of the earth and sun, so as to answer and coincide with all accidental turnings of the wind. I was complaining of a small fit of the colic, upon which my conductor led me into a room where a great physician resided, who was famous for curing that disease, by contrary operations from the same instrument. He had a large pair of bellows, with a long slender muzzle of ivory: this he conveyed eight inches up the anus, and drawing in the wind, he affirmed he could make the guts as lank as a dried bladder. But when the disease was more stubborn and violent, he let in the muzzle while the bellows were full of wind, which he discharged into the body of the patient; then withdrew the instrument to replenish it, clapping his thumb strongly against the orifice of then fundament; and this being repeated three or four times, the adventitious wind would rush out, bringing the noxious along with it, (like water put into a pump), and the patient recovered. I saw him try both experiments upon a dog, but could not discern any effect from the former. After the latter the animal was ready to burst, and made so violent a discharge as was very offensive to me and my companion. The dog died on the spot, and we left the doctor endeavouring to recover him, by the same operation. I visited many other apartments, but shall not trouble my reader with all the curiosities I observed, being studious of brevity. I had hitherto seen only one side of the academy, the other being appropriated to the advancers of speculative learning, of whom I shall say something, when I have mentioned one illustrious person more, who is called among them "the universal artist." He told us "he had been thirty years employing his thoughts for the improvement of human life." He had two large rooms full of wonderful curiosities, and fifty men at work. Some were condensing air into a dry tangible substance, by extracting the nitre, and letting the aqueous or fluid particles percolate; others softening marble, for pillows and pin-cushions; others petrifying the hoofs of a living horse, to preserve them from foundering. The artist himself was at that time busy upon two great designs; the first, to sow land with chaff, wherein he affirmed the true seminal virtue to be contained, as he demonstrated by several experiments, which I was not skilful enough to comprehend. The other was, by a certain composition of gums, minerals, and vegetables, outwardly applied, to prevent the growth of wool upon two young lambs; and he hoped, in a reasonable time to propagate the breed of naked sheep, all over the kingdom. We crossed a walk to the other part of the academy, where, as I have already said, the projectors in speculative learning resided. The first professor I saw, was in a very large room, with forty pupils about him. After salutation, observing me to look earnestly upon a frame, which took up the greatest part of both the length and breadth of the room, he said, "Perhaps I might wonder to see him employed in a project for improving speculative knowledge, by practical and mechanical operations. But the world would soon be sensible of its usefulness; and he flattered himself, that a more noble, exalted thought never sprang in any other man's head. Every one knew how laborious the usual method is of attaining to arts and sciences; whereas, by his contrivance, the most ignorant person, at a reasonable charge, and with a little bodily labour, might write books in philosophy, poetry, politics, laws, mathematics, and theology, without the least assistance from genius or study." He then led me to the frame, about the sides, whereof all his pupils stood in ranks. It was twenty feet square, placed in the middle of the room. The superfices was composed of several bits of wood, about the bigness of a die, but some larger than others. They were all linked together by slender wires. These bits of wood were covered, on every square, with paper pasted on them; and on these papers were written all the words of their language, in their several moods, tenses, and declensions; but without any order. The professor then desired me "to observe; for he was going to set his engine at work." The pupils, at his command, took each of them hold of an iron handle, whereof there were forty fixed round the edges of the frame; and giving them a sudden turn, the whole disposition of the words was entirely changed. He then commanded six-and-thirty of the lads, to read the several lines softly, as they appeared upon the frame; and where they found three or four words together that might make part of a sentence, they dictated to the four remaining boys, who were scribes. This work was repeated three or four times, and at every turn, the engine was so contrived, that the words shifted into new places, as the square bits of wood moved upside down. Six hours a day the young students were employed in this labour; and the professor showed me several volumes in large folio, already collected, of broken sentences, which he intended to piece together, and out of those rich materials, to give the world a complete body of all arts and sciences; which, however, might be still improved, and much expedited, if the public would raise a fund for making and employing five hundred such frames in Lagado, and oblige the managers to contribute in common their several collections. He assured me "that this invention had employed all his thoughts from his youth; that he had emptied the whole vocabulary into his frame, and made the strictest computation of the general proportion there is in books between the numbers of particles, nouns, and verbs, and other parts of speech." I made my humblest acknowledgment to this illustrious person, for his great communicativeness; and promised, "if ever I had the good fortune to return to my native country, that I would do him justice, as the sole inventor of this wonderful machine;" the form and contrivance of which I desired leave to delineate on paper, as in the figure here annexed. I told him, "although it were the custom of our learned in Europe to steal inventions from each other, who had thereby at least this advantage, that it became a controversy which was the right owner; yet I would take such caution, that he should have the honour entire, without a rival." We next went to the school of languages, where three professors sat in consultation upon improving that of their own country. The first project was, to shorten discourse, by cutting polysyllables into one, and leaving out verbs and participles, because, in reality, all things imaginable are but norms. The other project was, a scheme for entirely abolishing all words whatsoever; and this was urged as a great advantage in point of health, as well as brevity. For it is plain, that every word we speak is, in some degree, a diminution of our lunge by corrosion, and, consequently, contributes to the shortening of our lives. An expedient was therefore offered, "that since words are only names for things, it would be more convenient for all men to carry about them such things as were necessary to express a particular business they are to discourse on." And this invention would certainly have taken place, to the great ease as well as health of the subject, if the women, in conjunction with the vulgar and illiterate, had not threatened to raise a rebellion unless they might be allowed the liberty to speak with their tongues, after the manner of their forefathers; such constant irreconcilable enemies to science are the common people. However, many of the most learned and wise adhere to the new scheme of expressing themselves by things; which has only this inconvenience attending it, that if a man's business be very great, and of various kinds, he must be obliged, in proportion, to carry a greater bundle of things upon his back, unless he can afford one or two strong servants to attend him. I have often beheld two of those sages almost sinking under the weight of their packs, like pedlars among us, who, when they met in the street, would lay down their loads, open their sacks, and hold conversation for an hour together; then put up their implements, help each other to resume their burdens, and take their leave. But for short conversations, a man may carry implements in his pockets, and under his arms, enough to supply him; and in his house, he cannot be at a loss. Therefore the room where company meet who practise this art, is full of all things, ready at hand, requisite to furnish matter for this kind of artificial converse. Another great advantage proposed by this invention was, that it would serve as a universal language, to be understood in all civilised nations, whose goods and utensils are generally of the same kind, or nearly resembling, so that their uses might easily be comprehended. And thus ambassadors would be qualified to treat with foreign princes, or ministers of state, to whose tongues they were utter strangers. I was at the mathematical school, where the master taught his pupils after a method scarce imaginable to us in Europe. The proposition, and demonstration, were fairly written on a thin wafer, with ink composed of a cephalic tincture. This, the student was to swallow upon a fasting stomach, and for three days following, eat nothing but bread and water. As the wafer digested, the tincture mounted to his brain, bearing the proposition along with it. But the success has not hitherto been answerable, partly by some error in the QUANTUM or composition, and partly by the perverseness of lads, to whom this bolus is so nauseous, that they generally steal aside, and discharge it upwards, before it can operate; neither have they been yet persuaded to use so long an abstinence, as the prescription requires.

#GulliversTravels

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readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

THE red glare of the torch, lighting up the interior of the block house, showed me the worst of my apprehensions realized. The pirates were in possession of the house and stores: there was the cask of cognac, there were the pork and bread, as before, and what tenfold increased my horror, not a sign of any prisoner. I could only judge that all had perished, and my heart smote me sorely that I had not been there to perish with them. There were six of the buccaneers, all told; not another man was left alive. Five of them were on their feet, flushed and swollen, suddenly called out of the first sleep of drunkenness. The sixth had only risen upon his elbow; he was deadly pale, and the blood-stained bandage round his head told that he had recently been wounded, and still more recently dressed. I remembered the man who had been shot and had run back among the woods in the great attack, and doubted not that this was he. The parrot sat, preening her plumage, on Long John's shoulder. He himself, I thought, looked somewhat paler and more stern than I was used to. He still wore the fine broadcloth suit in which he had fulfilled his mission, but it was bitterly the worse for wear, daubed with clay and torn with the sharp briers of the wood. "So," said he, "here's Jim Hawkins, shiver my timbers! Dropped in, like, eh? Well, come, I take that friendly." And thereupon he sat down across the brandy cask and began to fill a pipe. "Give me a loan of the link, Dick," said he; and then, when he had a good light, "That'll do, lad," he added; "stick the glim in the wood heap; and you, gentlemen, bring yourselves to! You needn't stand up for Mr. Hawkins; HE'LL excuse you, you may lay to that. And so, Jim" - stopping the tobacco - "here you were, and quite a pleasant surprise for poor old John. I see you were smart when first I set my eyes on you, but this here gets away from me clean, it do." To all this, as may be well supposed, I made no answer. They had set me with my back against the wall, and I stood there, looking Silver in the face, pluckily enough, I hope, to all outward appearance, but with black despair in my heart. Silver took a whiff or two of his pipe with great composure and then ran on again. "Now, you see, Jim, so be as you ARE here," says he, "I'll give you a piece of my mind. I've always liked you, I have, for a lad of spirit, and the picter of my own self when I was young and handsome. I always wanted you to jine and take your share, and die a gentleman, and now, my cock, you've got to. Cap'n Smollett's a fine seaman, as I'll own up to any day, but stiff on discipline. 'Dooty is dooty,' says he, and right he is. Just you keep clear of the cap'n. The doctor himself is gone dead again you - 'ungrateful scamp' was what he said; and the short and the long of the whole story is about here: you can't go back to your own lot, for they won't have you; and without you start a third ship's company all by yourself, which might be lonely, you'll have to jine with Cap'n Silver." So far so good. My friends, then, were still alive, and though I partly believed the truth of Silver's statement, that the cabin party were incensed at me for my desertion, I was more relieved than distressed by what I heard. "I don't say nothing as to your being in our hands," continued Silver, "though there you are, and you may lay to it. I'm all for argyment; I never seen good come out o' threatening. If you like the service, well, you'll jine; and if you don't, Jim, why, you're free to answer no - free and welcome, shipmate; and if fairer can be said by mortal seaman, shiver my sides!" "Am I to answer, then?" I asked with a very tremulous voice. Through all this sneering talk, I was made to feel the threat of death that overhung me, and my cheeks burned and my heart beat painfully in my breast. "Lad," said Silver, "no one's a-pressing of you. Take your bearings. None of us won't hurry you, mate; time goes so pleasant in your company, you see." "Well," says I, growing a bit bolder, "if I'm to choose, I declare I have a right to know what's what, and why you're here, and where my friends are." "Wot's wot?" repeated one of the buccaneers in a deep growl. "Ah, he'd be a lucky one as knowed that!" "You'll perhaps batten down your hatches till you're spoke to, my friend," cried Silver truculently to this speaker. And then, in his first gracious tones, he replied to me, "Yesterday morning, Mr. Hawkins," said he, "in the dog-watch, down came Doctor Livesey with a flag of truce. Says he, 'Cap'n Silver, you're sold out. Ship's gone.' Well, maybe we'd been taking a glass, and a song to help it round. I won't say no. Leastways, none of us had looked out. We looked out, and by thunder, the old ship was gone! I never seen a pack o' fools look fishier; and you may lay to that, if I tells you that looked the fishiest. 'Well,' says the doctor, 'let's bargain.' We bargained, him and I, and here we are: stores, brandy, block house, the firewood you was thoughtful enough to cut, and in a manner of speaking, the whole blessed boat, from cross-trees to kelson. As for them, they've tramped; I don't know where's they are." He drew again quietly at his pipe. "And lest you should take it into that head of yours," he went on, "that you was included in the treaty, here's the last word that was said: 'How many are you,' says I, 'to leave?' 'Four,' says he; 'four, and one of us wounded. As for that boy, I don't know where he is, confound him,' says he, 'nor I don't much care. We're about sick of him.' These was his words. "Is that all?" I asked. "Well, it's all that you're to hear, my son," returned Silver. "And now I am to choose?" "And now you are to choose, and you may lay to that," said Silver. "Well," said I, "I am not such a fool but I know pretty well what I have to look for. Let the worst come to the worst, it's little I care. I've seen too many die since I fell in with you. But there's a thing or two I have to tell you," I said, and by this time I was quite excited; "and the first is this: here you are, in a bad way - ship lost, treasure lost, men lost, your whole business gone to wreck; and if you want to know who did it - it was I! I was in the apple barrel the night we sighted land, and I heard you, John, and you, Dick Johnson, and Hands, who is now at the bottom of the sea, and told every word you said before the hour was out. And as for the schooner, it was I who cut her cable, and it was I that killed the men you had aboard of her, and it was I who brought her where you'll never see her more, not one of you. The laugh's on my side; I've had the top of this business from the first; I no more fear you than I fear a fly. Kill me, if you please, or spare me. But one thing I'll say, and no more; if you spare me, bygones are bygones, and when you fellows are in court for piracy, I'll save you all I can. It is for you to choose. Kill another and do yourselves no good, or spare me and keep a witness to save you from the gallows." I stopped, for, I tell you, I was out of breath, and to my wonder, not a man of them moved, but all sat staring at me like as many sheep. And while they were still staring, I broke out again, "And now, Mr. Silver," I said, "I believe you're the best man here, and if things go to the worst, I'll take it kind of you to let the doctor know the way I took it." "I'll bear it in mind," said Silver with an accent so curious that I could not, for the life of me, decide whether he were laughing at my request or had been favourably affected by my courage. "I'll put one to that," cried the old mahogany-faced seaman - Morgan by name - whom I had seen in Long John's public-house upon the quays of Bristol. "It was him that knowed Black Dog." "Well, and see here," added the sea-cook. "I'll put another again to that, by thunder! For it was this same boy that faked the chart from Billy Bones. First and last, we've split upon Jim Hawkins!" "Then here goes!" said Morgan with an oath. And he sprang up, drawing his knife as if he had been twenty. "Avast, there!" cried Silver. "Who are you, Tom Morgan? Maybe you thought you was cap'n here, perhaps. By the powers, but I'll teach you better! Cross me, and you'll go where many a good man's gone before you, first and last, these thirty year back - some to the yard-arm, shiver my timbers, and some by the board, and all to feed the fishes. There's never a man looked me between the eyes and seen a good day a'terwards, Tom Morgan, you may lay to that." Morgan paused, but a hoarse murmur rose from the others. "Tom's right," said one. "I stood hazing long enough from one," added another. "I'll be hanged if I'll be hazed by you, John Silver." "Did any of you gentlemen want to have it out with ME?" roared Silver, bending far forward from his position on the keg, with his pipe still glowing in his right hand. "Put a name on what you're at; you ain't dumb, I reckon. Him that wants shall get it. Have I lived this many years, and a son of a rum puncheon cock his hat athwart my hawse at the latter end of it? You know the way; you're all gentlemen o' fortune, by your account. Well, I'm ready. Take a cutlass, him that dares, and I'll see the colour of his inside, crutch and all, before that pipe's empty." Not a man stirred; not a man answered. "That's your sort, is it?" he added, returning his pipe to his mouth. "Well, you're a gay lot to look at, anyway. Not much worth to fight, you ain't. P'r'aps you can understand King George's English. I'm cap'n here by 'lection. I'm cap'n here because I'm the best man by a long sea-mile. You won't fight, as gentlemen o' fortune should; then, by thunder, you'll obey, and you may lay to it! I like that boy, now; I never seen a better boy than that. He's more a man than any pair of rats of you in this here house, and what I say is this: let me see him that'll lay a hand on him - that's what I say, and you may lay to it." There was a long pause after this. I stood straight up against the wall, my heart still going like a sledgehammer, but with a ray of hope now shining in my bosom. Silver leant back against the wall, his arms crossed, his pipe in the corner of his mouth, as calm as though he had been in church; yet his eye kept wandering furtively, and he kept the tail of it on his unruly followers. They, on their part, drew gradually together towards the far end of the block house, and the low hiss of their whispering sounded in my ear continuously, like a stream. One after another, they would look up, and the red light of the torch would fall for a second on their nervous faces; but it was not towards me, it was towards Silver that they turned their eyes. "You seem to have a lot to say," remarked Silver, spitting far into the air. "Pipe up and let me hear it, or lay to." "Ax your pardon, sir," returned one of the men; "you're pretty free with some of the rules; maybe you'll kindly keep an eye upon the rest. This crew's dissatisfied; this crew don't vally bullying a marlin-spike; this crew has its rights like other crews, I'll make so free as that; and by your own rules, I take it we can talk together. I ax your pardon, sir, acknowledging you for to be captaing at this present; but I claim my right, and steps outside for a council." And with an elaborate sea-salute, this fellow, a long, ill-looking, yellow-eyed man of five and thirty, stepped coolly towards the door and disappeared out of the house. One after another the rest followed his example, each making a salute as he passed, each adding some apology. "According to rules," said one. "Forecastle council," said Morgan. And so with one remark or another all marched out and left Silver and me alone with the torch. The sea-cook instantly removed his pipe. "Now, look you here, Jim Hawkins," he said in a steady whisper that was no more than audible, "you're within half a plank of death, and what's a long sight worse, of torture. They're going to throw me off. But, you mark, I stand by you through thick and thin. I didn't mean to; no, not till you spoke up. I was about desperate to lose that much blunt, and be hanged into the bargain. But I see you was the right sort. I says to myself, you stand by Hawkins, John, and Hawkins'll stand by you. You're his last card, and by the living thunder, John, he's yours! Back to back, says I. You save your witness, and he'll save your neck!" I began dimly to understand. "You mean all's lost?" I asked. "Aye, by gum, I do!" he answered. "Ship gone, neck gone - that's the size of it. Once I looked into that bay, Jim Hawkins, and seen no schooner - well, I'm tough, but I gave out. As for that lot and their council, mark me, they're outright fools and cowards. I'll save your life - if so be as I can - from them. But, see here, Jim - tit for tat - you save Long John from swinging." I was bewildered; it seemed a thing so hopeless he was asking - he, the old buccaneer, the ringleader throughout. "What I can do, that I'll do," I said. "It's a bargain!" cried Long John. "You speak up plucky, and by thunder, I've a chance!" He hobbled to the torch, where it stood propped among the firewood, and took a fresh light to his pipe. "Understand me, Jim," he said, returning. "I've a head on my shoulders, I have. I'm on squire's side now. I know you've got that ship safe somewheres. How you done it, I don't know, but safe it is. I guess Hands and O'Brien turned soft. I never much believed in neither of THEM. Now you mark me. I ask no questions, nor I won't let others. I know when a game's up, I do; and I know a lad that's staunch. Ah, you that's young-you and me might have done a power of good together!" He drew some cognac from the cask into a tin cannikin. "Will you taste, messmate?" he asked; and when I had refused: "Well, I'll take a drain myself, Jim," said he. "I need a caulker, for there's trouble on hand. And talking o' trouble, why did that doctor give me the chart, Jim?" My face expressed a wonder so unaffected that he saw the needlessness of further questions. "Ah, well, he did, though," said he. "And there's something under that, no doubt - something, surely, under that, Jim - bad or good." And he took another swallow of the brandy, shaking his great fair head like a man who looks forward to the worst. 29 The Black Spot Again THE council of buccaneers had lasted some time, when one of them re-entered the house, and with a repetition of the same salute, which had in my eyes an ironical air, begged for a moment's loan of the torch. Silver briefly agreed, and this emissary retired again, leaving us together in the dark. "There's a breeze coming, Jim," said Silver, who had by this time adopted quite a friendly and familiar tone. I turned to the loophole nearest me and looked out. The embers of the great fire had so far burned themselves out and now glowed so low and duskily that I understood why these conspirators desired a torch. About half-way down the slope to the stockade, they were collected in a group; one held the light, another was on his knees in their midst, and I saw the blade of an open knife shine in his hand with varying colours in the moon and torchlight. The rest were all somewhat stooping, as though watching the manoeuvres of this last. I could just make out that he had a book as well as a knife in his hand, and was still wondering how anything so incongruous had come in their possession when the kneeling figure rose once more to his feet and the whole party began to move together towards the house. "Here they come," said I; and I returned to my former position, for it seemed beneath my dignity that they should find me watching them. "Well, let 'em come, lad - let 'em come," said Silver cheerily. "I've still a shot in my locker." The door opened, and the five men, standing huddled together just inside, pushed one of their number forward. In any other circumstances it would have been comical to see his slow advance, hesitating as he set down each foot, but holding his closed right hand in front of him. "Step up, lad," cried Silver. "I won't eat you. Hand it over, lubber. I know the rules, I do; I won't hurt a depytation." Thus encouraged, the buccaneer stepped forth more briskly, and having passed something to Silver, from hand to hand, slipped yet more smartly back again to his companions. The sea-cook looked at what had been given him. "The black spot! I thought so," he observed. "Where might you have got the paper? Why, hillo! Look here, now; this ain't lucky! You've gone and cut this out of a Bible. What fool's cut a Bible?" "Ah, there!" said Morgan. "There! Wot did I say? No good'll come o' that, I said." "Well, you've about fixed it now, among you," continued Silver. "You'll all swing now, I reckon. What softheaded lubber had a Bible?" "It was Dick," said one. "Dick, was it? Then Dick can get to prayers," said Silver. "He's seen his slice of luck, has Dick, and you may lay to that." But here the long man with the yellow eyes struck in. "Belay that talk, John Silver," he said. "This crew has tipped you the black spot in full council, as in dooty bound; just you turn it over, as in dooty bound, and see what's wrote there. Then you can talk." "Thanky, George," replied the sea-cook. "You always was brisk for business, and has the rules by heart, George, as I'm pleased to see. Well, what is it, anyway? Ah! 'Deposed' - that's it, is it? Very pretty wrote, to be sure; like print, I swear. Your hand o' write, George? Why, you was gettin' quite a leadin' man in this here crew. You'll be cap'n next, I shouldn't wonder. Just oblige me with that torch again, will you? This pipe don't draw." "Come, now," said George, "you don't fool this crew no more. You're a funny man, by your account; but you're over now, and you'll maybe step down off that barrel and help vote." "I thought you said you knowed the rules," returned Silver contemptuously. "Leastways, if you don't, I do; and I wait here - and I'm still your cap'n, mind - till you outs with your grievances and I reply; in the meantime, your black spot ain't worth a biscuit. After that, we'll see." "Oh," replied George, "you don't be under no kind of apprehension; WE'RE all square, we are. First, you've made a hash of this cruise - you'll be a bold man to say no to that. Second, you let the enemy out o' this here trap for nothing. Why did they want out? I dunno, but it's pretty plain they wanted it. Third, you wouldn't let us go at them upon the march. Oh, we see through you, John Silver; you want to play booty, that's what's wrong with you. And then, fourth, there's this here boy." "Is that all?" asked Silver quietly. "Enough, too," retorted George. "We'll all swing and sun-dry for your bungling." "Well now, look here, I'll answer these four p'ints; one after another I'll answer 'em. I made a hash o' this cruise, did I? Well now, you all know what I wanted, and you all know if that had been done that we'd 'a been aboard the HISPANIOLA this night as ever was, every man of us alive, and fit, and full of good plum-duff, and the treasure in the hold of her, by thunder! Well, who crossed me? Who forced my hand, as was the lawful cap'n? Who tipped me the black spot the day we landed and began this dance? Ah, it's a fine dance - I'm with you there - and looks mighty like a hornpipe in a rope's end at Execution Dock by London town, it does. But who done it? Why, it was Anderson, and Hands, and you, George Merry! And you're the last above board of that same meddling crew; and you have the Davy Jones's insolence to up and stand for cap'n over me - you, that sank the lot of us! By the powers! But this tops the stiffest yarn to nothing." Silver paused, and I could see by the faces of George and his late comrades that these words had not been said in vain. "That's for number one," cried the accused, wiping the sweat from his brow, for he had been talking with a vehemence that shook the house. "Why, I give you my word, I'm sick to speak to you. You've neither sense nor memory, and I leave it to fancy where your mothers was that let you come to sea. Sea! Gentlemen o' fortune! I reckon tailors is your trade." "Go on, John," said Morgan. "Speak up to the others." "Ah, the others!" returned John. "They're a nice lot, ain't they? You say this cruise is bungled. Ah! By gum, if you could understand how bad it's bungled, you would see! We're that near the gibbet that my neck's stiff with thinking on it. You've seen 'em, maybe, hanged in chains, birds about 'em, seamen p'inting 'em out as they go down with the tide. 'Who's that?' says one. 'That! Why, that's John Silver. I knowed him well,' says another. And you can hear the chains ajangle as you go about and reach for the other buoy. Now, that's about where we are, every mother's son of us, thanks to him, and Hands, and Anderson, and other ruination fools of you. And if you want to know about number four, and that boy, why, shiver my timbers, isn't he a hostage? Are we a-going to waste a hostage? No, not us; he might be our last chance, and I shouldn't wonder. Kill that boy? Not me, mates! And number three? Ah, well, there's a deal to say to number three. Maybe you don't count it nothing to have a real college doctor to see you every day - you, John, with your head broke - or you, George Merry, that had the ague shakes upon you not six hours agone, and has your eyes the colour of lemon peel to this same moment on the clock? And maybe, perhaps, you didn't know there was a consort coming either? But there is, and not so long till then; and we'll see who'll be glad to have a hostage when it comes to that. And as for number two, and why I made a bargain - well, you came crawling on your knees to me to make it - on your knees you came, you was that downhearted - and you'd have starved too if I hadn't - but that's a trifle! You look there - that's why!" And he cast down upon the floor a paper that I instantly recognized - none other than the chart on yellow paper, with the three red crosses, that I had found in the oilcloth at the bottom of the captain's chest. Why the doctor had given it to him was more than I could fancy. But if it were inexplicable to me, the appearance of the chart was incredible to the surviving mutineers. They leaped upon it like cats upon a mouse. It went from hand to hand, one tearing it from another; and by the oaths and the cries and the childish laughter with which they accompanied their examination, you would have thought, not only they were fingering the very gold, but were at sea with it, besides, in safety. "Yes," said one, "that's Flint, sure enough. J. F., and a score below, with a clove hitch to it; so he done ever." "Mighty pretty," said George. "But how are we to get away with it, and us no ship." Silver suddenly sprang up, and supporting himself with a hand against the wall: "Now I give you warning, George," he cried. "One more word of your sauce, and I'll call you down and fight you. How? Why, how do I know? You had ought to tell me that - you and the rest, that lost me my schooner, with your interference, burn you! But not you, you can't; you hain't got the invention of a cockroach. But civil you can speak, and shall, George Merry, you may lay to that." "That's fair enow," said the old man Morgan. "Fair! I reckon so," said the sea-cook. "You lost the ship; I found the treasure. Who's the better man at that? And now I resign, by thunder! Elect whom you please to be your cap'n now; I'm done with it." "Silver!" they cried. "Barbecue forever! Barbecue for cap'n!" "So that's the toon, is it?" cried the cook. "George, I reckon you'll have to wait another turn, friend; and lucky for you as I'm not a revengeful man. But that was never my way. And now, shipmates, this black spot? 'Tain't much good now, is it? Dick's crossed his luck and spoiled his Bible, and that's about all." "It'll do to kiss the book on still, won't it?" growled Dick, who was evidently uneasy at the curse he had brought upon himself. "A Bible with a bit cut out!" returned Silver derisively. "Not it. It don't bind no more'n a ballad-book." "Don't it, though?" cried Dick with a sort of joy. "Well, I reckon that's worth having too." "Here, Jim - here's a cur'osity for you," said Silver, and he tossed me the paper. It was around about the size of a crown piece. One side was blank, for it had been the last leaf; the other contained a verse or two of Revelation - these words among the rest, which struck sharply home upon my mind: "Without are dogs and murderers." The printed side had been blackened with wood ash, which already began to come off and soil my fingers; on the blank side had been written with the same material the one word "Depposed." I have that curiosity beside me at this moment, but not a trace of writing now remains beyond a single scratch, such as a man might make with his thumb-nail. That was the end of the night's business. Soon after, with a drink all round, we lay down to sleep, and the outside of Silver's vengeance was to put George Merry up for sentinel and threaten him with death if he should prove unfaithful. It was long ere I could close an eye, and heaven knows I had matter enough for thought in the man whom I had slain that afternoon, in my own most perilous position, and above all, in the remarkable game that I saw Silver now engaged upon - keeping the mutineers together with one hand and grasping with the other after every means, possible and impossible, to make his peace and save his miserable life. He himself slept peacefully and snored aloud, yet my heart was sore for him, wicked as he was, to think on the dark perils that environed and the shameful gibbet that awaited him.

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THERE never was such an overturn in this world. Each of these six men was as though he had been struck. But with Silver the blow passed almost instantly. Every thought of his soul had been set full-stretch, like a racer, on that money; well, he was brought up, in a single second, dead; and he kept his head, found his temper, and changed his plan before the others had had time to realize the disappointment. "Jim," he whispered, "take that, and stand by for trouble." And he passed me a double-barrelled pistol. At the same time, he began quietly moving northward, and in a few steps had put the hollow between us two and the other five. Then he looked at me and nodded, as much as to say, "Here is a narrow corner," as, indeed, I thought it was. His looks were not quite friendly, and I was so revolted at these constant changes that I could not forbear whispering, "So you've changed sides again." There was no time left for him to answer in. The buccaneers, with oaths and cries, began to leap, one after another, into the pit and to dig with their fingers, throwing the boards aside as they did so. Morgan found a piece of gold. He held it up with a perfect spout of oaths. It was a two-guinea piece, and it went from hand to hand among them for a quarter of a minute. "Two guineas!" roared Merry, shaking it at Silver. "That's your seven hundred thousand pounds, is it? You're the man for bargains, ain't you? You're him that never bungled nothing, you wooden-headed lubber!" "Dig away, boys," said Silver with the coolest insolence; "you'll find some pig-nuts and I shouldn't wonder." "Pig-nuts!" repeated Merry, in a scream. "Mates, do you hear that? I tell you now, that man there knew it all along. Look in the face of him and you'll see it wrote there." "Ah, Merry," remarked Silver, "standing for cap'n again? You're a pushing lad, to be sure." But this time everyone was entirely in Merry's favour. They began to scramble out of the excavation, darting furious glances behind them. One thing I observed, which looked well for us: they all got out upon the opposite side from Silver. Well, there we stood, two on one side, five on the other, the pit between us, and nobody screwed up high enough to offer the first blow. Silver never moved; he watched them, very upright on his crutch, and looked as cool as ever I saw him. He was brave, and no mistake. At last Merry seemed to think a speech might help matters. "Mates," says he, "there's two of them alone there; one's the old cripple that brought us all here and blundered us down to this; the other's that cub that I mean to have the heart of. Now, mates - " He was raising his arm and his voice, and plainly meant to lead a charge. But just then - crack! crack! crack!-three musket-shots flashed out of the thicket. Merry tumbled head foremost into the excavation; the man with the bandage spun round like a teetotum and fell all his length upon his side, where he lay dead, but still twitching; and the other three turned and ran for it with all their might. Before you could wink, Long John had fired two barrels of a pistol into the struggling Merry, and as the man rolled up his eyes at him in the last agony, "George," said he, "I reckon I settled you." At the same moment, the doctor, Gray, and Ben Gunn joined us, with smoking muskets, from among the nutmeg-trees. "Forward!" cried the doctor. "Double quick, my lads. We must head 'em off the boats." And we set off at a great pace, sometimes plunging through the bushes to the chest. I tell you, but Silver was anxious to keep up with us. The work that man went through, leaping on his crutch till the muscles of his chest were fit to burst, was work no sound man ever equalled; and so thinks the doctor. As it was, he was already thirty yards behind us and on the verge of strangling when we reached the brow of the slope. "Doctor," he hailed, "see there! No hurry!" Sure enough there was no hurry. In a more open part of the plateau, we could see the three survivors still running in the same direction as they had started, right for Mizzenmast Hill. We were already between them and the boats; and so we four sat down to breathe, while Long John, mopping his face, came slowly up with us. "Thank ye kindly, doctor," says he. "You came in in about the nick, I guess, for me and Hawkins. And so it's you, Ben Gunn!" he added. "Well, you're a nice one, to be sure." "I'm Ben Gunn, I am," replied the maroon, wriggling like an eel in his embarrassment. "And," he added, after a long pause, "how do, Mr. Silver? Pretty well, I thank ye, says you." "Ben, Ben," murmured Silver, "to think as you've done me!" The doctor sent back Gray for one of the pick-axes deserted, in their flight, by the mutineers, and then as we proceeded leisurely downhill to where the boats were lying, related in a few words what had taken place. It was a story that profoundly interested Silver; and Ben Gunn, the half-idiot maroon, was the hero from beginning to end. Ben, in his long, lonely wanderings about the island, had found the skeleton - it was he that had rifled it; he had found the treasure; he had dug it up (it was the haft of his pick-axe that lay broken in the excavation); he had carried it on his back, in many weary journeys, from the foot of the tall pine to a cave he had on the two-pointed hill at the north-east angle of the island, and there it had lain stored in safety since two months before the arrival of the HISPANIOLA. When the doctor had wormed this secret from him on the afternoon of the attack, and when next morning he saw the anchorage deserted, he had gone to Silver, given him the chart, which was now useless - given him the stores, for Ben Gunn's cave was well supplied with goats' meat salted by himself - given anything and everything to get a chance of moving in safety from the stockade to the two-pointed hill, there to be clear of malaria and keep a guard upon the money. "As for you, Jim," he said, "it went against my heart, but I did what I thought best for those who had stood by their duty; and if you were not one of these, whose fault was it?" That morning, finding that I was to be involved in the horrid disappointment he had prepared for the mutineers, he had run all the way to the cave, and leaving the squire to guard the captain, had taken Gray and the maroon and started, making the diagonal across the island to be at hand beside the pine. Soon, however, he saw that our party had the start of him; and Ben Gunn, being fleet of foot, had been dispatched in front to do his best alone. Then it had occurred to him to work upon the superstitions of his former shipmates, and he was so far successful that Gray and the doctor had come up and were already ambushed before the arrival of the treasure-hunters. "Ah," said Silver, "it were fortunate for me that I had Hawkins here. You would have let old John be cut to bits, and never given it a thought, doctor." "Not a thought," replied Dr. Livesey cheerily. And by this time we had reached the gigs. The doctor, with the pick-axe, demolished one of them, and then we all got aboard the other and set out to go round by sea for North Inlet. This was a run of eight or nine miles. Silver, though he was almost killed already with fatigue, was set to an oar, like the rest of us, and we were soon skimming swiftly over a smooth sea. Soon we passed out of the straits and doubled the south-east corner of the island, round which, four days ago, we had towed the HISPANIOLA. As we passed the two-pointed hill, we could see the black mouth of Ben Gunn's cave and a figure standing by it, leaning on a musket. It was the squire, and we waved a handkerchief and gave him three cheers, in which the voice of Silver joined as heartily as any. Three miles farther, just inside the mouth of North Inlet, what should we meet but the HISPANIOLA, cruising by herself? The last flood had lifted her, and had there been much wind or a strong tide current, as in the southern anchorage, we should never have found her more, or found her stranded beyond help. As it was, there was little amiss beyond the wreck of the main-sail. Another anchor was got ready and dropped in a fathom and a half of water. We all pulled round again to Rum Cove, the nearest point for Ben Gunn's treasure-house; and then Gray, single-handed, returned with the gig to the HISPANIOLA, where he was to pass the night on guard. A gentle slope ran up from the beach to the entrance of the cave. At the top, the squire met us. To me he was cordial and kind, saying nothing of my escapade either in the way of blame or praise. At Silver's polite salute he somewhat flushed. "John Silver," he said, "you're a prodigious villain and imposter - a monstrous imposter, sir. I am told I am not to prosecute you. Well, then, I will not. But the dead men, sir, hang about your neck like mill-stones." "Thank you kindly, sir," replied Long John, again saluting. "I dare you to thank me!" cried the squire. "It is a gross dereliction of my duty. Stand back." And thereupon we all entered the cave. It was a large, airy place, with a little spring and a pool of clear water, overhung with ferns. The floor was sand. Before a big fire lay Captain Smollett; and in a far corner, only duskily flickered over by the blaze, I beheld great heaps of coin and quadrilaterals built of bars of gold. That was Flint's treasure that we had come so far to seek and that had cost already the lives of seventeen men from the HISPANIOLA. How many it had cost in the amassing, what blood and sorrow, what good ships scuttled on the deep, what brave men walking the plank blindfold, what shot of cannon, what shame and lies and cruelty, perhaps no man alive could tell. Yet there were still three upon that island - Silver, and old Morgan, and Ben Gunn - who had each taken his share in these crimes, as each had hoped in vain to share in the reward. "Come in, Jim," said the captain. "You're a good boy in your line, Jim, but I don't think you and me'll go to sea again. You're too much of the born favourite for me. Is that you, John Silver? What brings you here, man?" "Come back to my dooty, sir," returned Silver. "Ah!" said the captain, and that was all he said. What a supper I had of it that night, with all my friends around me; and what a meal it was, with Ben Gunn's salted goat and some delicacies and a bottle of old wine from the HISPANIOLA. Never, I am sure, were people gayer or happier. And there was Silver, sitting back almost out of the firelight, but eating heartily, prompt to spring forward when anything was wanted, even joining quietly in our laughter - the same bland, polite, obsequious seaman of the voyage out.

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