An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Chapter 22 is out! I am so excited to finally get this chapter out! Thanks once again to @emotigonecreative for the amazing art! You can see it in this chapter. It's sometimes wild to think all 160,000 words came from this single image. They say a picture is worth 1,000 words, but I can honestly say Emotigone's are worth at least 160x as many.
Everyone should take a look at the original art on her blog, because it is awesome and needs more love!
Want a taste of the chapter before you head inside? You'll find it below.:
The perilous flight back to FentonWorks drove them away from Main and over the peripheral commercial district. Underneath their frantic retreat, buildings of glass and concrete blurred into a menagerie of white and gray. They usually loved their coloration, all ink and blood, but it made them easy to pick out for the suit firing lasers at them from above. Maybe they should consider a winter stealth mode after they defeated it. Their board mate was not making the process of dodging missile blasts and laser fire any easier, though.
The weight on the back of the board threw off her calculations every time they turned. His hands burned against their outer skin, the pressure and temperature felt through metal and carbonite. Every turn, she pulled him closer, drawing him as tightly as she could so they moved as one over the balance point. Every turn, he shifted himself farther away and made the next one that much harder. “Stop wiggling away, you’re making it hard to steer.” She tugged him farther forward again, and was met with creaking protest from their swollen knees.
“I don’t weigh that much, do I?”
“Mr. Fenton, this thing has focal points, and we each have a center of gravity. The farther away you are,” this turn slid him forward into her back, “the more things there are to balance. It’s easier to juggle one blob of weight instead of two.” He tried to move away again, and she wrapped a hand around his wrist and kept him there. “Stop making this difficult if you don’t wanna become road pizza.” Sometime in the last few minutes, her headache started clearing. With them so low on power, she was surprised, but grateful. One less thing to worry about. Everything still fuzzed at the edges, they kept falling out of sync, but it was easier. Everything else still burned like an inferno, though, even with the suit minimizing their pain levels. Something nagged about the topic of their pain, her nerves, but she put a pin in it.
“I’m—this is closer than I’ve danced with anyone at prom.”
“Get over it. You’d think you’d enjoy having an excuse to cuddle a girl.” They rounded the next corner smoothly, turning on the board as a single unit. Much better.
After his first English breakfast of the day, Jamie slipped downstairs to filch a fresh bannock from Mrs. Crook before she could slap his hand away. Life on a farm never stopped, and he surely wouldn’t either.
Claire, sated, laid back into the swarm of pillows and sheets and fell promptly back to sleep. The sun was already up near the top of the sky when she woke again, and everyone was bustling around the manor.
They really didn’t take even a moment to rest.
But, the final bits of the harvest had to be dealt with, and a stone fortress as big as Lallybroch needed constant attention with it filled to the seams with inhabitants.
THE DRIVE BACK WAS TENSE AS WE MADE our way through the winding roads, the silence between us as heavy as the storm clouds gathering above. Each mile brought a sense of foreboding, amplifying the unease that already simmered within our group. The mansion loomed in the distance, its gothic architecture casting an even darker shadow as we pulled into the driveway. The sight of its towering spires and intricate stonework only added to the feeling of dread that had settled over us.
Rushing inside, we were met with an atmosphere that crackled with tension. Joseph greeted us at the entrance, his expression etched with concern.
"Are they inside?" Rhona inquired, her voice tight with anxiety.
"Gabriel and Simon are with Saoirse," Joseph responded, his tone grim. "And Adeline is giving Ethan her usual death stare."
A low growl escaped Alana's throat, her eyes narrowing. "If she harms him—"
"Don't worry," Joseph cut in, raising a placating hand. "She hasn't harmed him. Yet. But they need to have a conversation with her. Now."
Confusion clouded my thoughts as I tried to make sense of the situation. What had transpired in my absence? What had caused this tension?
"Oh, wait," I began to piece the puzzle together, realization dawning upon me.
"I know what you're thinking, Violet," Joseph interrupted my thoughts, his voice calm yet filled with understanding. "You were in their territory, and you too saw a shadowy figure lurking. Was that shadowy figure my brother?"
His words hung in the air, the weight of the truth settling upon us all.
"It's not what you think," I began.
Joseph raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.
Helena, who had been listening intently, couldn't help but interject. "Why would you even be there?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern.
"I didn't think I had gone too far," I confessed, feeling a pang of guilt. "But Simon did mention something about the Ursa Clan, and... well..."
I trailed off, unsure of how to explain the events that had unfolded. The truth was, I never expected to encounter them. My only goal was to see Ingram, but the bear shifters got caught in the middle. Thankfully, he intervened. Who knows what the bears would have done to me.
Joseph's concern deepened, his brows furrowing as he listened intently.
"Violet, you need to understand the gravity of this situation," Joseph said, his voice laced with urgency. "The Ursa Clan is not to be trifled with."
I nodded, fully aware of the danger I had unknowingly stumbled into.
"But why were they after you?" Alana asked, her voice filled with concern. "What did you do to provoke them?”
"I didn't do anything," I replied, my voice tinged with frustration. "I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I had no idea their territory extended that far."
Just then, the door swung open and Simon emerged, his golden eyes locking onto my presence.
"Violet," he began, his voice low and filled with a mixture of relief and concern. "We were told what happened. Are you alright?"
I nodded.
"I'm fine, thanks to you," I replied, a sense of gratitude washing over me.
Simon's gaze softened, his expression one of understanding. "I did warn you about the Ursa Clan but I haven't told you about their land," he admitted, a hint of regret in his voice. "They are fiercely protective of their territory and do not take kindly to outsiders."
I let out a sigh, realizing the gravity of the situation.
"They're waiting for you," he added, his words hanging in the air like a foreboding cloud.
As we approached the mansion, my eyes caught sight of Gabriel engrossed in conversation with one of the girls, while the other girl directed her intense gaze solely at Ethan. Joseph's warning had been accurate; she truly possessed a deathly glare.
The girl, fixated on Gabriel, possessed an exquisite beauty, appearing a few years older than myself. Her slender, athletic figure matched my own height of 5 foot 7 inches. With deep brown eyes and hair of the same hue, her triangular face was perfectly complemented. A radiant tan adorned her flawless skin. She donned a black T-shirt beneath a stylish double denim jacket, paired with jeans and black knee-length boots, complete with delicate heels.
In stark contrast, the second girl, probably around the same age as me, who still stared at Ethan with a murderous intent, stood a few inches shorter than her companion. Her features were the antithesis of the first girl's. With deep chestnuty brown hair, an oval face, and piercing blue eyes, her porcelain skin exuded an ethereal quality. She wore a brown leather jacket over a vibrant red shirt, accompanied by black leggings and sturdy black Dr. Marten boots.
Gabriel, sensing my presence, turned his gaze away from the girl.
"I'm guessing that's her," she murmured softly to him.
He simply nodded before distancing himself from her. Gabriel's golden eyes were now fixed on me, almost as if silently conveying, 'the floor is yours'.
"Hello, I'm Saoirse Osborne," the tan girl greeted.
Her voice was smooth and melodic, carrying a hint of confidence that matched her striking appearance. As she extended her hand towards me, I couldn't help but notice the delicate silver bracelet adorning her wrist, glinting in the lamplight.
I took her hand, feeling a warmth and energy radiating from her touch. "Nice to meet you, Saoirse," I replied, trying to match her poise. "I'm Violet."
Saoirse's smile widened, revealing a row of perfectly aligned teeth. "Violet, what a lovely name. It's a pleasure to meet you too."
As our hands parted, I turned my attention to the second girl, still fixated on Ethan with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. Her name, I realized, was yet to be revealed.
Noticing my curiosity, Saoirse stepped forward, breaking the tension in the air. "Violet, this is Adeline Darcy," he introduced, gesturing towards the captivating girl.
Adeline's gaze briefly flickered towards me, her eyes piercing through my soul before returning to Ethan. Her lips curled into a slight smirk, revealing a mischievousness that contrasted with her ethereal beauty.
"Nice to meet you too, Adeline," I said, trying to maintain a calm composure despite the unease that lingered in the air.
Adeline's response was a mere nod, her focus unwavering. It was as if she had already made up her mind about me, and I couldn't help but wonder what had transpired between her and Ethan to evoke such a chilling glare.
"We want to talk to you about last night," Saoirse said. "Adeline spotted you in our territory in our nightly routine in our bear forms."
Her words hit me like a sledgehammer. It was one thing to know I had been in danger, but to hear it confirmed by someone who had witnessed it firsthand made my skin crawl. Adeline's eyes, still fixed on Ethan, glowed with an icy fury that suggested she was far from forgiving.
Saoirse continued, her tone gentle but firm. "Our clan is very protective of its borders, as you've probably gathered. Adeline is particularly vigilant." She glanced at her friend, a note of understanding in her voice. "It's how we've survived for so long."
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their scrutiny. "I understand. I didn't mean to trespass. It was a mistake. I was just... trying to find my way back."
Adeline's eyes finally shifted from Ethan to me. "A mistake that could have cost you your life," she said, her voice as cold as her gaze. "We don't take kindly to intrusions, no matter the intent."
Simon, who had been particularly quiet, stepped forward. "Adeline, she didn't know. She's new to all of this. It's my fault. I should have made sure she knew the boundaries."
Adeline's eyes narrowed. "And you think that excuses it? Ignorance is no shield in our world."
"Enough, Adeline," Saoirse said softly, yet with an authority that silenced further argument. She turned to me. "We're not here to punish you, Violet. We just need to ensure it doesn't happen again. For your safety as much as ours."
I nodded fervently, eager to show my understanding and remorse. "I promise it won't happen again. I'll be more careful."
Adeline took a step forward, her expression unyielding. "See that you do. Next time, we might not be so forgiving."
With that, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, leaving a palpable tension in her wake.
Saoirse gave me a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about her. She's just very protective. But we do need to establish some boundaries. For everyone's sake."
I nodded again, feeling the gravity of the situation settle in. This was a world of rigid rules and fierce loyalties, and I had to learn quickly if I was to navigate it safely.
Saoirse and Adeline left the mansion and Gabriel shut the door. The heavy door thudded closed, sealing the mansion in an uneasy silence. Gabriel turned to face us, his expression thoughtful.
"We need to be more vigilant," he said, breaking the quiet. "Violet, this was a close call. Next time, it might not end so well."
"I understand," I replied, my voice steady despite the residual fear. "I'll be more careful."
Joseph stepped forward, his concern evident. "We should take this opportunity to regroup and reassess our plans. The Ursa Clan's reaction shows how precarious our situation is."
Alana, still tense from earlier, added, "We can't afford any more mistakes. Everyone needs to know the boundaries and the risks involved."
Simon nodded in agreement. "I'll make sure Violet is up to speed on everything. She won't be caught off guard again."
As the group dispersed to their tasks, I felt a mix of relief and determination. I was grateful for their support, but I also knew I had a lot to learn. The weight of my mistake hung heavy, but it was also a catalyst for growth.
Ethan approached me, his expression serious yet understanding. "Violet, don't be too hard on yourself. We all make mistakes, especially when we're new to this world. Just remember, we're all here to help each other."
I smiled, appreciating his words. "Thanks, Ethan."
As the night deepened, I retreated to the window sill, the events of the day playing over in my mind. The mansion, with its gothic architecture and ancient aura, felt like a fitting backdrop to the complex, shadowy world I had entered. The storm clouds that had loomed earlier had finally broken, rain pattering softly against the windows, a soothing counterpoint to the tension that had filled the evening.
The memory of Adeline's piercing gaze towards Ethan lingered in my mind, impossible to shake off. It had already been six long hours since Saoirse and Adeline departed from the grand mansion, leaving me with a stern reminder about their domain and the consequences of crossing its boundaries.
Ethan stood by the window, his silhouette stark against the moonlit backdrop. The night was quiet, but the tension in the air was palpable. His golden eyes, usually light hearted and humorous, now held a flicker of something I couldn't quite place.
"Hey, Ethan," I spoke softly, trying to break through the silence. "Are you okay?"
Ethan's gaze slowly shifted from the moonlit scene to meet my concerned eyes. His lips curled into a faint smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"I'm fine," he replied, his voice tinged with a touch of weariness. "Just lost in thought, I guess."
I took a seat beside him, the weight of his unease palpable in the air. Adeline's intense stare and their cryptic warning replayed in my mind, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that danger lurked just beyond the edges of our peaceful existence.
"Ethan," I began cautiously, "what happened between you and Adeline that makes her hate you so much?"
He didn't turn to face me, but I saw his shoulders tense. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "Adeline and I... we were once close. A long time ago, before she became a member of the Ursa Clan, our paths crossed under less hostile circumstances."
I waited for him to continue, sensing there was more to the story.
"We met during a... difficult time. Our clans had established the truce a hundred years ago, but old grudges lingered. Trust was fragile. Adeline and I, we found common ground, saw the potential for genuine peace."
"And then?" I prompted, curious about the bond that must have formed from such an encounter.
Ethan sighed, finally turning to look at me. His eyes were clouded with memories. "We became... friends, of a sort. We realized that our clans didn't need to be enemies. We shared ideas, dreams of a future where our kinds could coexist without fear. But it wasn't meant to last. One night, Adeline's sister, Callie, came to warn me about an impending danger. She was loyal to the cause of peace, as we were."
He paused, the weight of his words heavy in the air.
"What happened?" I asked gently.
"There was an incident," Ethan continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Callie was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. She died trying to protect me from the Children of the Moon. It was a tragic accident, but it felt like a betrayal to Adeline. She blamed me for her sister's death. Our friendship ended that night."
The pain in his voice was raw, unguarded. This was a side of Ethan I had never seen before. His stoic facade had cracked, revealing the deep scars beneath.
"And now?" I asked, trying to understand the undercurrent of emotions I had seen in Adeline's gaze earlier.
"Now," Ethan said, his expression hardening, "there's a delicate balance we must maintain. Adeline's warning tonight wasn't just about the boundaries of our truce. It was a reminder of the consequences we've faced before. The peace between our clans is fragile, and there are those who would see it broken."
I nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. The night felt heavier, the silence more oppressive. We had to navigate this delicate balance, or risk reigniting old tensions that could devastate both our worlds.
I took a deep breath, breaking the silence that had settled like a thick fog. "Well, that does explain a lot about Adeline."
Ethan nodded, his eyes distant as if still lost in the painful memories. "It's not just about her sister, though. It's about trust, betrayal, and the fear of history repeating itself."
I pondered his words, the weight of them sinking in. "So, what do we do now? How do we navigate this fragile peace without causing more harm?"
He turned to face me fully, his expression resolute. "We have to be cautious, always aware of the boundaries we've set. We can't give them any reason to believe we're a threat. And most importantly, we have to find a way to rebuild that trust, little by little."
"Is that even possible?" I asked, doubt creeping into my voice.
Ethan's smile returned, though still faint and tinged with sadness. "It's not going to be easy, but it's the only way. We can't change the past, but we can try to shape a better future."
His words hung in the air, a mixture of hope and determination. I realized then that this was more than just a truce between the clan and the coven; it was a deeply personal mission for Ethan. He was willing to bear the burden of his past mistakes if it meant forging a path to lasting peace.
"Don't worry, everything will be fine," I told him.
Ethan's eyes softened at my words, though I could still see the shadows of his past lurking in their depths. He gave a small nod, as if trying to convince himself as much as he was me.
"Thanks," he said quietly. "I appreciate it."
The room fell silent again, but this time it felt more contemplative than oppressive. I watched as Ethan turned back towards the window, his gaze lost in the expanse of the moonlit night. The weight of history and the delicate thread of peace were now clearer than ever.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
She reaches for his hand as they enter the courthouse. Even though he knows she is doing it out of nervousness, it still feels wonderful. He encloses his around hers.
“It will be alright.” He assures her.
“Yes. Just a bit nervous to see him again.”
“You stand up straight and look him dead in the eye. Let him know he holds her power over you.”
She squeezes his hand and grins.
“Thank you Jamie.” They enter the lift and head up to the third floor. They exit to polished wood floors and benches. The courtroom is a few doors down. He opens the door and follows her in.
She sees him right away, standing stiff and straight. He sees her and frowns.
“Claire, what are you doing here?”
“Surprised, eh? Did you think you could throw away my child without me being present?”
He turns away and Jamie’s heart fills with pride. Good on her!
They find seat near the front. The man takes a seat on the other side. There is hardly anyone else there.
The judge enters and looks sternly down at them. “I see this is a hearing to have parental rights terminated and the father request it? Am I correct?”
“Yes my Lady.” His barrister stands and answers. She frowns.
“Is the mother present?”
“Yes My Lady.” She stands on shaky legs.
“No distention filed?” She looks through to see.
“No My Lady.” His barrister pops back up.
“Why?” she addresses Claire.
“He doesn’t want her. We are doing fine without him. I see no reason to force him to be a father. It would just hurt my child. My Lady.”
“I see.” She turns towards the man. “Stand up.” He does along with his barrister. “She has a lot of class. As Miss Beauchamp has no objections, I must grant the petition. The law allows me room to state my opinion on it though.” She glares down at him, “You are a embarrassment to men out there working their hands off to provide for their children. You wanted the fun without any of the responsibility. You don’t have the stones to be a proper father to your child. I just hope you are smart enough to take precautions to prevent another child from coming into this world without a father. Though I doubt it.”
“My Lady!” his barrister tries to object.
“Hold your tongue Mr. Cowell or I will express, on the record, my feelings about you taken this case.” He sits down, leaving his client to face the crown’s wrath alone.
“Where was I? Right, doubting your intelligent. You, Mr. Randall, are one of the sorriest men that has ever graced my courtroom. Now, I must tell you that when I sign this order, you will have no more rights to the minor child, K B aged twenty months. You understand that?”
“Yes My Lady.”
“You are entitled to no information about her. All decisions about her health care, education and, religion, will be her mother’s. This totally strips you of any rights for the rest of her life. You do understand that?”
“Yes My Lady.”
“You also will have no responsibility towards her care, which I believe was the point of this. You understand that?”
“Yes My Lady.”
“As Franklin Randall has agreed to give up paternal rights to the child, KB and any responsibility towards her care, the Crown henceforth dissolves his natural right as the father of the minor child. The court also orders these records sealed until the minor comes of age. At that time, the child might wish to seek him, God knows why. The Crown will not disallow such a search. So ordered. So done.” Her gavel comes down. “This court stands adjourned.”
“Claire?” They turn and face him. Jamie takes her hand to help calm himself. He so wants to hit the smug bastard. “I never meant to hurt Kara.”
“It is Kiara. She isn’t hurt. She has no need of you. Goodbye Frank.” They walk out, her head high. Jamie is so bloody proud of her.
Summary: Langdon has his first run-in with a Harry Potter movie; a confession is made.
Langdon was seated on the front porch of their house when Elizabeth and Michael arrived from their productive shopping experience. Elizabeth was a little surprised, to be honest. Langdon usually didn't show up – when he did show up – until dinner time was a little closer.
That wasn't to say that she didn't want him there; he was always welcome as long as he didn't start killing or hurting anyone.
Langdon stood up as she parked, so she decided to leave the stuff in the car for now and meet him in the middle. He was in his usual black attire, dressed nicely even if the clothes didn't look as expensive as she thought he was probably used to in his world. She had no real clue where he was getting his clothes, but she assumed they had belonged to some of the previous owners of the house he'd been using as his home since he'd been there.
"Where have you been?" Langdon asked. "I've been waiting for an hour."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the entitlement coming through in Langdon's voice but refused to rise to the bait.
"I didn't know you were coming. You haven't been around for a few days."
This time Langdon was the one who decided not to rise to the bait.
"Hey, but now you can help bring the tree in," she said.
"Bring what in?"
"The Christmas tree," Michael said helpfully. "It's in a box that'll be easier to handle if you and I get it, and then Elizabeth can get the bags."
Elizabeth grinned at the look on Langdon's face before she turned back towards her car. Both Michael and Langdon followed, even if Langdon was doing so more reluctantly.
"I am doing this under extreme protest," Langdon said. "Why did you get a tree anyway?"
"Well . . . it is going to be Christmas in a few days."
"I thought you were just going to have dinner."
"I was. I changed my mind."
"She's doing it for me," Michael said. "And for you. Gramma put up a tree every year. Remember?"
Langdon had stopped moving, so Michael and Elizabeth turned to look at him. Elizabeth could tell that he did, in fact, remember. How he felt about those memories, however, was harder to read from his facial expressions because his face had gone blank. He didn't want to remember.
"Hey, it doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to mean anything," Elizabeth said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "It can just be a stupid tree."
Langdon looked down to where she was touching him, but he didn't pull away or act like he minded her touch at all – sometimes he did and sometimes he didn't, she'd noticed – and he sighed.
"Just a stupid tree that needs to be taken into the house," he said. "Right?"
Elizabeth nodded, dropped her hand back to her side, and let Langdon and Michael get to work with the box.
----------
Once the box was inside, it didn't take long for Elizabeth to get the box open and to spread the pieces of the tree out on the floor.
Langdon took a seat on the couch and watched as she and Michael put it together. The tree already had lights on it, so they didn't have to worry about that, at least.
"You could help, you know?" Elizabeth said. "You don't have to just sit there."
"Christmas isn't really my thing," Langdon said, raising an eyebrow in Michael's direction. "I don't really understand why it's yours."
"Memories, I told you."
Of course he had memories too. For all intents and purposes, he and Michael shared the same childhood up to the point of Michael being kicked out of his grandmother's house. Langdon remembered Constance and her decorating the inside of the house with Santa Clauses and a nativity scene here and there, even having one on the lawn.
The only piece of decoration in Elizabeth's house was the tree she and Michael were now putting together, but the atmosphere was a lot different from what he remembered from Constance's house. There was actually warmth in this house, but it had nothing to do with Christmas.
It was about the care that flowed between Michael and Elizabeth. He couldn't remember ever having such care directed at him, not even with Ms. Meade. Most of the attention he'd ever received, good or bad, had had to do with who and what he was. There had been adulation, of course, but it hadn't been genuine care, not like Elizabeth had for Michael.
Everyone who had ever taken him in had done so because he was the Anti-Christ, not because he'd been a kid who had needed help. They'd never taken him and expected nothing from him.
"When we get the tree up, you could help put the ornaments on," Michael said.
"Or you can sit there and be a Grinch," Elizabeth said.
"Just because I don't celebrate Christmas or get joy from it doesn't mean I'm a Grinch," Langdon said.
Elizabeth smiled a little bit and then shook her head before abandoning her job of putting the tree together. She got up and started rifling through one of the bags she'd brought in and Langdon raised an eyebrow when she handed him a box of hooks, basically just dropping it on his lap, and then put the bags of ornaments beside him on the couch.
"Here. You can start putting the hooks on these, so we can put them on the tree once it's up."
Langdon picked up the box from his lap and stared at it for a second.
"I'm not helping you decorate the tree," he said.
"You don't have to. Just put the hooks on."
It took a few minutes for Langdon to decide to actually do what Elizabeth had asked him to, but he realized helping get the ornaments ready to decorate the tree wouldn't really hurt anything. In fact, it would help move things along so they could get it done with more quickly.
So he helped.
----------
Once the tree was done Elizabeth went in the kitchen to prepare dinner – just a frozen lasagna they could all share. It would take a couple hours to heat all the way, but it wasn't like they were in a rush to be somewhere or do something.
When she went back in the living room, she found Michael getting ready to put a DVD in the player and she remembered he'd wanted to watch the third Harry Potter movie during dinner.
"We still have a couple hours, if you're wanting to watch it while we eat."
"Okay." He still went ahead and put the movie in, though he didn't start playing it.
"What are you going to watch?"
"The third Harry Potter movie," Michael said.
Langdon sighed. "You've already read the book. Why do you need to see the movie? You already know what's going to happen."
"It's still fun to watch."
"It is different watching it, rather than just reading it. But the books are better, especially if you like reading," Elizabeth added.
"Hm." Langdon leaned forward from his place on the couch. "What shall we do until dinner?"
"We found some games when we were going through some old stuff today. Michael set aside a few if you want to play."
Langdon actually seemed a little interested. "What kind of games?"
"Well, the ones we found are board games. But Michael has video games, if you'd rather do that."
"I haven't played a video game in a long time," Langdon admitted.
"Elizabeth always loses when she plays with me."
"I still think you cheat," Elizabeth teased.
"I do not. You're just not that good at it."
Elizabeth conceded the point. She really wasn't.
"Anyway, whatever you guys want to do is fine with me."
In the end, Michael and Langdon decided to play chess at the kitchen table. Or, Langdon decided he would try and teach Michael how to play because Michael showed an interest in learning.
Elizabeth was just fine with that. She had no clue how to play chess and had no patience for it anyway.
It was in the middle of the first game that Michael asked, "Where did you learn to play?"
"At the Murder House," Langdon answered. "Ben taught me. I was probably around your age."
Elizabeth knew from things Langdon had said before that Ben was the only spirit in the Murder House that would have anything to do with him when he'd moved in in his dimension – or time period, whichever – and even that hadn't lasted long. He'd only wanted anything to do with Langdon when he'd thought he could help him. When Langdon had proven more difficult than Ben was willing to work with, he'd stopped having anything to do with him as well.
The two boys played until the lasagna was done and then Michael put the board and pieces away.
"We can watch the movie now?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, smiling. "We can watch the movie now."
----------
Once everyone had a plate of food, they all settled in the living room and Michael started the movie. It began with Harry in his room trying to study his summer reading for school. He had to use a spell every few seconds to try and cast light over the book so that his aunt and uncle wouldn't know he was doing it. Everyone was supposed to be in bed, and he couldn't risk having his light on.
Langdon immediately had questions when he saw that the uncle kept coming in the room and Harry kept pretending to be asleep.
"Why is he trying to hide what he's doing?"
"His aunt and uncle don't like that he's a wizard," Michael said. "They probably wouldn't allow him to read his school books in the house, so . . ."
"Well, where are his mother and father?"
"They died when he was young," Michael answered carefully. "When he was a baby. His aunt and uncle were the only family he had."
"Hm."
Michael used the remote to pause the movie.
"In this one, Harry is thirteen, but he's been living with them since before he could even walk. There was this evil wizard guy who basically killed whoever wouldn't side with him and Harry's parents were definitely not on his side. His parents died to protect him and somehow it caused the evil guy to grow weaker, but he keeps trying to come back and get stronger."
Michael looked at Elizabeth then. "Right?"
"Pretty much. Without having to explain all of the other two movies."
"Right. Anyway, Harry didn't know he was a wizard until he was eleven and then he went to a magical school called Hogwarts where they started teaching him how to control his magic. He's starting year three in this one."
"And he's using a wand?" For some reason that seemed to amuse Langdon.
"Yes."
"Hm. I guess you should press play again if we are ever going to get through this."
"You don't have to make it sound like we're torturing you," Elizabeth teased. "This is a good movie."
A smirk pulled at the side of Langdon's mouth. "I'll be the judge of that."
There were things that Langdon did during the movie that let both Michael and Elizabeth know he was enjoying it even if he did think some of it was ridiculous.
It was when Harry kept hearing the death of his mother when the dementors were around that Langdon told them that his mother had tried to kill him in his sleep.
"What?" Elizabeth asked, grabbing the remote and pausing the movie again. "I'm sorry, but what?"
"She came in my room with a knife. She thought I was asleep, but I wasn't."
"Are you – are you joking? Please tell me you're joking."
"In all the time you've known me, have I ever been one to joke around?"
"Well, no, but . . . that's not okay. That's very not okay."
Langdon didn't say anything; he barely responded at all aside from raising one eyebrow and tilting his head to the side to show he agreed.
"Why did she do it?" Michael asked. "Why would your mother – or our mother – do that?
"I'm assuming it was just because I am who I am. I'd never spoken to her at all because she had never appeared to me before that night."
"That – that's horrible," Elizabeth said.
"It doesn't matter. I got her back by setting her on fire."
Langdon had said that so nonchalantly that Elizabeth's eyes widened with surprise.
"Well, that's not okay either."
"Should I have let her stab me?" Langdon questioned. "Besides, she was fine. She was already dead. If I had really wanted her gone, she would have been."
"Has she tried to appear to you since you've been here?" Michael asked.
"No, not as of yet."
"Good. If her first instinct is to stick a knife into you . . ." Elizabeth started.
"I assure you I can still set things on fire," Langdon said.
"Yeah, but you shouldn't have to. You shouldn't – you shouldn't have to feel unsafe around someone who should be a family member, who should be your mother. Did it never occur to them that if they had given you a chance, you might have turned out differently? Like, if you grew up with a family who loved you instead of casting you out because of something you were 'supposed' to become, that you might not have become the thing they feared you would. It's like a self-fulfilling prophecy. They made you what you are because they didn't give a chance to be anything else."
Both Michael and Langdon were looking at her and she realized her voice had become louder and more passion-filled the more she'd spoken.
"You're giving me a chance to be something else," Michael said softly.
Elizabeth took a deep breath even as her throat burned with emotion. When she exhaled, it came out in a shudder.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am. And neither of you have to worry about getting stabbed here."
A/N: So, this chapter will Definitely be getting a post, because I have a lot I really want to talk about with what happens at the end. I really REALLY enjoyed writing it, and also I have stuff I want to talk about with how I opened this chapter. However, so I don't spoil it, that will be its own post on my tumblr, and I will likely link it in the next update's A/N! Until then, I hope you enjoy reading tonight's update as much as I enjoyed writing it! Skål!
Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.
Masterlist
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Something was coming. Something massive, something nervewracking, something dangerous. It rumbled in the ground, woke the camp, including Ivar and the Shieldmaiden who laid at his side. They sat up, looked around with concern in their eyes, and when Ivar’s eyes met hers, he nodded. Trouble was coming.
She hopped up and grabbed her sword from where it laid beside her, attached it to her hip, and then quickly got Ivar up and into his cart, drawing the curtains. If they were to be under attack, she didn’t want him being found and hurt. Though, as was expected of him, he tried to insist he could fight.
“We can handle this,” she argued. “Sit tight, stay quiet. We won’t let them hurt you.”
Ivar eventually nodded, and she let out a deep breath.
Once he was hidden, she turned and pulled her sword, a prayer for safety and survival, for herself and her companion, on her lips.
None of the mercenaries expected an army of men on horseback to come cantering down the path, and neither did she or Ivar. It wasn’t an overly long battle, with a majority of the mercenaries falling as soon as the army approached. Only one of the mercenaries, an old man with only one eye, survived, along with the Shieldmaiden herself. Or, the Prophet, as the mercenaries had taken to calling her.
She scoffed and rolled her eyes when she saw the way the man gave up fighting easily, clearly offering his help to the leader of this army. The fighting had stopped now, but she refused to let up the soldier she had on his knees, her sword at his neck.
The army’s leader noticed the seat Ivar was in, the way the curtains were drawn, and gestured for one of his men to check it out. Her heart pounding, the Shieldmaiden moved to intercept him, but this proved to be a mistake. The officer she’d taken down snatched his sword out of the snow and jumped up just as a knife came flying from between the curtains, landing in the approaching soldier’s eye, and he ran it through her shoulder.
She cried out in pain, catching Ivar’s attention long enough to distract him. This gave the nearest soldier time to pull him from his seat, and throw him to the ground. Seeing him lying there like that, at the mercy of these men, sent a shock of panic through the wounded woman’s heart, and against all better judgement, she tried to fight to get to him.
But, she was weakened from the injury she had sustained, and it didn’t take much for a soldier to hit her in the head with the end of his sword and disorient her, disarming her and throwing her down at Ivar’s side.
He turned and tried to stabilize her, not relenting until her eyes focused on his face. “Are you with me?” he questioned, and though she nodded, he didn’t accept that answer. “Speak,” he said. “Are you with me?”
“I’m with you,” she managed, and groaned in pain as she tried to situate herself better.
Neither of them had been paying attention to the One-Eyed Man speaking to the leader of the attackers in some language neither could understand, not until one word stood out they did know. Or, rather, one name: Ivar.
The Shieldmaiden was the first to look, hearing her King’s name mentioned, but she could make nothing else out, nothing else which might have helped. The leader soon began to laugh as he looked back to Ivar, and her eyes narrowed. He turned and said something to the One-Eyed Man, and Ivar hauled himself up into a sitting position, moving to ensure his Prophet rested back against him, to take some pressure from her wounded shoulder.
“What is he saying?” he asked the One-Eyed Man then. The man didn’t answer, only conversing briefly more before the leader threw a coin to him, having mounted onto a horse. “Who are these people?” Ivar tried again.
“Rus,” the One-Eyed Man now said, and grumbled, “Cheap bastards.
“It seems they don’t pay very well,” Ivar commented. “Where are they taking us?”
“To their capital,” the One-Eyed Man replied. “A place called Kiev.”
“Who is their ruler?”
“Prince Oleg, the Prophet.”
Ivar frowned sharply. Another prophet? He had given the wounded Shieldmaiden in his arms that title before they left Kattegat, and she had travelled under that epithet all the way along the Silk Road. Now, they found some Prince in Rus had claimed the title for himself as well? Ivar didn’t think this Prince would be half the prophet his was.
“The Prophet?” he questioned anyway. “Why the Prophet?” After all, he figured the more information they knew going into this place, the better.
The Rus commander, for they now knew him to be that, interrupted them by calling out to the pair, and both looked up at him from their place on the ground. One of the soldiers came and collected the Shieldmaiden, pulling her away from Ivar. She could only grunt as she was forced to her feet, and then a small cry left her. The soldier wasn’t being particularly gentle with her, which caused more blood than was needed to leak from the wound.
Ivar grimaced as the blood left a small trail through the pure white snow. The Rus commander spoke again to the One-Eyed Man, asked him a question, and the Commander laughed. A barked command to another soldier, and Ivar was carried off just as the Shieldmaiden was, tossed up unto a horse near her like a potato sack, and the soldier on that horse rode away. She was placed in front of a Rus soldier, who rode behind the one who carried Ivar. The two wished for nothing more than the chance to speak.
Fortunately, the journey to Kiev wasn’t an overly long one. The pair of Vikings- for truthfully, she had become one now- were dragged into the palace at the center of the city, led to its interior, and pushed into a room which seemed to be the throne room. A servant was currently hauling a body from the room, and the two were shoved to the ground, falling right into the puddle of blood there.
Ivar winced at the cry that left the injured woman at his side, and once he pushed himself up, managed to turn to check on her. Her face was pale, likely from the pain of the fall, and his eyes narrowed slightly. She needed medical attention.
It didn’t seem that was likely to come soon, as the Commander and the man who stood by the throne, who Ivar could only assume was Prince Oleg himself, were busy communicating in their own tongue. Ivar had to bite his to keep himself from demanding help for his Shieldmaiden.
The man finally turned, looked down at the two on the ground before him, and he smirked a little. Apparently, the Commander had given him some important information, because he spoke in Ivar’s language when he finally addressed them.
“You cannot walk,” he said. “Are you both wounded?” He could see from the way the woman held her hand to her shoulder, the way the blood seeped through it, that she was, but the way the man laughed so bitterly at his question, he assumed that was not the case.
“No,” Ivar answered. “I’m a cripple. From birth. But she needs assistance.”
The Rus man nodded and spoke again to the Commander, who ducked out of the room. “She will have it,” he told Ivar.
Satisfied, Ivar nodded, and commented, “You speak our language.”
“It was once the language of my people, too,” the man replied. “We are Rus Vikings.” He was silent for a moment, before asking, “What do they call you two?”
“My name is Ivar,” he said, taking off his hat now they were inside. “They call me Ivar the Boneless. And she is-”
“Asta.”
Ivar’s eyes widened as he heard the name he called her just the night before be claimed, and he looked to her with that shock registered on his face.
“I am Asta the Prophet.”
He’d never imagined that she had heard him, and he realized with a sickening sort of dread that she must have heard all of what he said before then. His mind was taken from that by a medic entering the room, beginning to work on her shoulder, and the look of hostility in her eyes when the man carelessly pulled the sleeve of her shirt down, exposing her shoulder and much of the surrounding skin to everyone in the room.
“I’ve heard of you,” the man Ivar assumed was Oleg said. “Ivar… the Boneless.” He pointed the axe in his hand at Ivar, then swung it toward the newly named Asta. “And his Prophet.” He chuckled, lowering the axe and moving to sit down. “Your fame has travelled along the Silk Road. Like honey, beeswax, furs, and slaves… But why do you travel along it now? Without announcing yourselves, like thieves… Hm?”
“I lost my kingdom,” Ivar said. “To my brothers. I am nothing, and I have nothing to offer you, Prince Oleg.” The lack of correction confirmed the man’s identity for them both. “It was not my intention to trouble you with our presence.”
“Then where were you going?” Oleg asked.
“Nowhere,” Ivar replied plainly. “We have no plans. We are simply fleeing the retribution of my brothers.”
“Well,” Oleg began after a few moments of silence. “You are here, now. Who knows if your presence will trouble me?” Ivar looked up at him slowly as he came down from the dais. “Let us see.”
When the medic was done with her, Ivar and the Shieldmaiden were both hauled out of the room, taken up further into the castle, and shoved into one of the bedchambers there. They remained in silence once Ivar situated himself at a window, and she began to pace. Clearly, the medic had helped her quite a bit.
After a while, Ivar found it eating at him just a bit too much, and so he looked up at her, watched her pace for a moment, and then asked, “Asta?”
She paused in her pacing and turned to look at him, just as if he had called the name he’d called so many times before that day. “Hm?” she prompted.
“Where did you hear that name?” he questioned.
“From you,” she said with a small chuckle. “Don’t know if you meant me to or not, but… I needed something that wasn’t my given name. I don’t know if my brother knows yet I’ve left Kattegat, but if that news has travelled the Silk Road, and they learned who I really was…? I can’t imagine the ransom letter would find Alfred very pleased.” Ivar gave a hum of satisfaction, seemingly agreeing with what she said. Until, that was, she added, “That, and I sort of like it, actually. Feels… right.”
“Feels right?” he repeated. “Do you mean to keep it, then?”
She clearly weighed something in her mind, almost seeming to be tossing something around, before she looked back to him with a small smile, and nodded. “Think I will,” she said. “At least for now, unless I decide it doesn’t fit me any longer.”
Ivar nodded, and tested the name out again now he knew it was going to be hers for the considerable future, and she smiled at hearing him say it.
“Sounds just as good as when I heard it last night,” she teased.
Asta walked over to the window he was sitting in, not quite noticing the way he watched her move across the room, certainly not noticing the slight darkening in his cheeks at her quip, and she sat across from him, settling in and getting comfortable as she watched the people move around Kiev’s markets.
“It suits you,” Ivar confessed, and she turned to him curiously.
“Does it?” she questioned. “What’s it mean, anyway?”
Ivar shrugged, looking back out the window. “Just an old Viking name,” he lied.
How could he tell her what it meant, that the name had slipped out as he realized just what she meant to him? The word ást, from which the name was derived, was used to describe love as a thing, as something real, as a place, or perhaps a person. It was used to describe the thing one saw love reflected in, and so for him to have used that name in speaking to her…
The Bishop Heahmund had once mentioned the different forms of love, and the one called agape. He had described it as something unconditional, the sort of love that apparently, the Christian God felt for humanity. Ivar, of course, had his own thoughts about what sort of gods looked over this world, but that term had come to his mind just before he had uttered the name Asta. If anyone deserved the name, he figured now, it was someone who had proven to him the existence of such love.
But Ivar was, if nothing else, a very stubborn man, and so he kept those thoughts locked tightly within himself, drawn only from them when he heard Asta sigh quietly. He turned his eyes to look at her once more.
“If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine it’s Kattegat,” she confessed softly. He gave a quiet hum in response.
“We should speak your language here, when we can.” Asta looked at him confusedly, wondering what exactly had brought this on. “They can speak mine,” he clarified. “Wessex is over halfway across the world from here. I doubt they understand the Saxon language. We don’t need them to understand every word we say.”
She nodded then. “Right,” she agreed. “We mean to escape, then?”
“Unless Oleg has anything to offer us, yes,” he answered. It felt strange to her, to hear him speak in the Saxon tongue again after so many months- almost a year, now- of having heard him speak in his own. It made her giggle a little.
“Yours is a little… unused,” she said, and he gave a good-natured roll of his eyes, before rolling his body over to crawl to the ground. “Where are you going?”
“To see how free we are around here,” he answered her. He crawled over to the door, and threw it open, only to be met by a Rus guard standing on the other side. Asta smirked amusedly at the way Ivar grinned at him, and then jumped back as the door was slammed shut in his face. “Prisoners, then,” he surmised, and nodded. “That is most unfortunate.”
Asta gave a soft laugh, and he crawled back over to her. “I could think of worse people to be imprisoned here with,” she quipped. He cracked a small grin at her.
“As could I,” he agreed. As he pulled himself back up to sit across from her, he teased, “Tell me, great Prophet Asta, what do you see for us here, hm?”
Asta couldn’t help but giggle at his question, and she angled her body more toward him. “We’re entering a time of healing,” she joked, gesturing toward her shoulder. “This is our time to take life a little slower, to experience new things, to…” She looked out the window once again, and grew thoughtful. “Perhaps to build a new life.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Ivar tilt his head a little, not quite understanding her meaning, so she explained. “We have a chance to just… live here,” she said. “If we earn Oleg’s trust, we could have a life here, you know? Once he releases us.” Her eyes turned back to Ivar now, a small smile on her lips. “Wouldn’t be so bad, would it? Maybe the rest of the world would miss us, if we just settled down here, but I’d be alright with that if it meant we could be happy. You know what I mean?”
Ivar couldn’t help the small smile that played at the corners of his lips as he watched the sort of far off look in her eye. He could guess that she was imagining a simpler life, one where maybe they were just… normal people, whatever that meant. “I’m starting to,” he confessed. “My father always said there was no purpose in trying to be happy. Life wasn’t about that.” She looked at him a little sadly, though the smile didn’t leave her lips. “But we have both suffered enough, I think, to let us consider a way we could be happy here.”
The sadness left her then, and she looked down into the market. “We’d have to make money, somehow,” she said. “Not sure what I could do to earn a living. Don’t see many shieldmaiden types down there.” Ivar hummed his agreement. “My mother taught me to paint. I could paint portraits, perhaps, sell those?”
“You know how to paint?” Ivar asked, now looking at her curiously. “I thought that tended to be left to your priests.”
Asta laughed and nodded. “It usually is,” she confirmed. “Illumination, that is. But my mother wanted to learn, just before Alfred took his pilgrimage to Rome. My grandfather had a monk brought from Paris, if you can believe it, to teach her. He was the only one who would.” Ivar chuckled a little as she did, watching how she shook her head in disbelief. “Rather than going through that struggle for me again, when I decided I wanted to learn, as Father Prudentius was the one who took Alfred and my father to Rome, she taught me.”
She decided to take a risk, then, knowing there was a solid chance this wouldn’t go over well with Ivar. But, there was a chance they could have a new life there in Rus, if they decided to work toward the little fantasy they were indulging in. If this was going to happen, she wanted Ivar to know the truth.
“She used to tell me about my father, then,” she said softly. Ivar felt the shift in her voice, the way it just barely shook with a quiet anxiety. He sensed a confession coming, and he was right. “Aethelwulf wasn’t my birth father. He was a father in all other meaning to me, just not by blood.” She took a deep breath, but before he could ask, she said, “My birth father was Athelstan, the monk your father took from Lindisfarne.”
His eyes widened at the revelation. Even if he hadn’t ever known the man that well, he knew the story, knew everything Floki had told him about the Christian Priest. “I think I must find myself in the same place he once did,” she continued, before Ivar had much time to question what he was learning. And truthfully, it was good that it happened this way. The more he learned at once, the less he would have time to second guess.
“I hold to my Christian convictions,” she said. “The things I was taught as I grew up, the things I came to understand through the many discussions I had with the Bishop Heahmund, who I know you once knew as well. But just as that is true, it is just as true that I feel most at home with your people, that my home is no longer in England. I can no longer offer my loyalty to a Saxon king, as I find I have become fiercely loyal to a Viking one instead.”
Every promise she had ever made to him went through his mind in that moment as she smiled at him again, if it were possible, and he found himself almost unable to make the Athelstan she spoke of, and the one Floki had spoken of, the same man in his mind, though he knew they must have been. “My mother told me my father loved your father more than anyone. Each time the choice was given to him, he chose your father, and your people, over his ancestral home. He even left her to return to Kattegat, and so… I never met him.”
“Do you think things would be very different, had you known him? That… perhaps you would not have come with me?” Ivar asked her. From the look on his face, it might have been obvious to some who knew him well that he was almost worried. It also might have been obvious he was trying to hide this. So, she gave a small shrug.
“I’ll never know,” she said. “Life didn’t work out in the right way for me to know. And truthfully?”
They locked eyes again as she said, “I’ve finally come to make peace with that, I think. I’ll never know him, not until I have also passed from this world, and I’m in no rush to do so. Before, when I was dissatisfied with my life, I used to wish with all I had that he’d not left for Kattegat so soon, that I could have known him before he returned to your father’s side there. I used to wonder if I could have convinced him to let me join him there. But now?”
Ivar found himself shocked again when she leaned forward and reached for his hand, letting her fingers wrap gently around his. It pulled him from all the thoughts and concerns the revelation about her lineage had brought, and made him focus on her. “I’m too happy with where I am to wish things were different in my past. Perhaps I would have met you sooner,” she said. “I would have still come with you. In fact, as many times as my father left to be with yours, it would have only encouraged me in the decision I made.” She chuckled a little, biting her lip as she looked up at him. “Of course, there is also the possibility that if I had grown up with my father in Kattegat, you may have hated me as the daughter of the Christian priest, and only because of how we met and how we have come to know each other, is there no hatred between us.”
Ást. That word entered his mind again as he saw her smiling at him, felt her hand in his. He knew she was joking, but yet, something made him bring her hand up to his lips and kiss the back of it. “Hatred can never take the place of love,” he said sincerely, and the way she lit up...
He would have conquered the Nine Realms if it meant seeing her smile so brightly again.
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Pairing: Male Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython (Cathar), Theron Shan
Summary: Setting out on his first mission, Jett faces hurdles did not expect to encounter, the first being the soldiers who express unadulterated hatred for his very existence and that of an unknown threat lurking in the darkness.
**WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of extreme violence and gore**
