I know I spoiled an ending but this honestly WOULD NOT leave me alone at work.
Hysterical laughter was the first thing they heard. Hysterical, convulsive laughter.
Erland opened his eyes slowly. He was on his back, and above him stood a figure who was hunched over, their body shaking. No doubt the source of the laughter.
“Where am I?” he asked.
The laughter stopped. The hunched over figure – no, person – straightened their body and looked down at him. Erland screamed in terror, and fresh screams ripped out of his throat as the person’s appearance abruptly changed in front of his eyes. He scrambled backwards and shut his eyes, gasping in fear until a pair of hands lifted him up and he found himself being hugged.
“I’m so sorry I scared you.” Death purred. Erland stood rigid as he felt a hand run up his back. He couldn’t escape the embrace. “Not everyone is accustomed to my… real appearance.”
Erland was finally let go, and Death held him at arm’s length. The complete transformation of Death’s appearance shocked him. What had been an eldritch, horrifying…. being was now outwardly human, but their gender was utterly indeterminate. He gave up deciding if they were a man or a woman.
“You’re an uncommon one.” Death commented. Even their voice was carefully modulated to not sound masculine or feminine. “I usually shift into a form a soul might find… appealing.”
Erland averted their eyes with a grimace.
“I died.” he said, desperate for a change of subject.
“At least your death was instantaneous,” Death replied. They smiled sweetly, but it didn’t reach their eyes. Erland tried to move, but Death held their upper arms in an iron grip. “not everyone has that luxury.”
Erland nodded. He felt his heart start to race as Death drew him closer for… another hug. Something wasn’t right.
“I’m sure you’re… eager to see your family. Friends, even.” Death whispered in his ear. There it was again, that hand going up and down his back. Erland jumped.
“N-no. I would rather not.”
Death’s arms tightened around him, and he swore he felt claws digging into his skin.
“I’m sure the family of the boy you impersonated wouldn’t want to see you either.” Death said. Erland felt his blood run cold as he was finally released from their embrace.
Silence hung in the air for a minute. Then two. Death slowly began to lose composure the longer they looked at him, and they choked back a laugh.
“I want to thank you for allowing me to witness the funniest death in a long time,” they said. “Truly, I do. It’s not often I get to witness something so beautifully karmic.”
Erland stared at them, confused. Before he had time to process what he heard, Death pushed him down.
&
Erland fell, but not to the ground.
He landed hard in a sunny courtyard. The same one he had died in. He stood up and looked around wildly. Eba. Ani. The damn Veltan mage. The damned artist, showing off her portrait of the real Leif that exposed him as a fraud. Same—
He felt talons pierce his skin and he was hefted into the air. He didn’t die.
Somewhere far off, he heard Death laugh hysterically.
He felt himself being ripped apart. An arm fell to the earth. He was still alive, and Death was still laughing. A leg now. Torso. Erland closed his eyes—
There are many ways to greet your new spouse on the wedding night.
Dubious fertility potions, coming out as gay, and attempting to come up with alternative methods of getting rid of competition are... not on the list.
Or, Runa and Ciardha’s first night together. No sex, I promise.
Will I finish this? Probably not.
[Vici is essentially a catch-all term for someone who prefers the same gender that’s used in all four countries in my crown quartet verse]
Runa followed Aoife out of the main hall and down a shadowed corridor. Her new mother in law walked with a brisk pace that forced her to hike up the hems of her wedding gown and run after her, until she almost barreled into Aoife outside of a room.
“Follow me,” Aoife instructed.
She opened the door and shut it in Runa’s face. Runa hesitated opening it. Her heart pounded with nervous anticipated of what might happen. She hadn’t liked the way Aoife had been staring at her during the feast. The intensity of one look had made Runa lose her appetite altogether toward the end of the celebration. What had she done to earn her mother in law’s enmity already? She and Ciardha were barely a few hours wed. Was it because of her father’s presence?
As she grappled with her uncertainty, Runa swore she heard his footsteps approaching. She hastily opened the door and ran inside, shutting the door behind her. The room she found herself in was small, with a single bed taking up the largest amount of space. The only source of light was the full moon shining down on the coverlet. Aoife stood on one side of the bed and beckoned Runa over. In one hand she held a vial.
“Drink this,” she ordered. She removed the wax seal and cork and thrust the vial at Runa. “It should quicken your womb and enable you to become pregnant faster.”
Runa had questions on the edge of her tongue. Why was there a heavy expectation for her and Ciardha to become parents immediately? Why this fertility potion? Why had her father stayed instead of departing for Mhoibh like he had promised?
The stench of the liquid drove all of those out of her mind.
“Drink!” Aoife hissed. “They’re coming!”
Runa flinched at her tone and grabbed the vial, choking down the contents in one swallow. Her stomach lurched and she felt bile rise to her throat.
“Listen girl,” Aoife hissed. “You must become pregnant by my son through any means possible. I will not have Aifeatas pass to one of his father’s bastards simply because one of them got a woman pregnant first.”
Runa had an overwhelming urge to vomit and shook unsteadily. But she nodded franticly.
“Good,” Aoife said. She sounded pleased. “If you manage to become pregnant tonight, it will be a joyous occasion to us all, but especially to me.”
Runa could only nod. As soon as Aoife walked past her and left the room, she knelt beside the bed and threw up into a chamber pot she pulled from underneath it.
“Did my mother give you something to drink?” a new voice asked.
Runa retched in response. The new occupant sighed.
“I’m going to hold your hair back,” they said.
Runa felt a pair of hands gently pull her hair away from her shoulders. She cringed, hoping she hadn’t vomited into the strands as she managed one last retch and coughed. She gasped for air and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, praying that her stomach settled.
“Are you done?”
The voice was male.
“C-Ciardha?” she rasped.
The stranger didn’t answer as he released her hair and walked around the bed. She heard him pour something into a cup, and then that cup was thrust into her hand.
“It’s only water. You should rinse your mouth out,” the stranger stated. He went quiet as Runa took a drink and spat into the pot. “I thought my mother wouldn’t do this…”
Ciardha. It had to be. Runa drank and spat a few more times before she was certain she’d rinsed the taste of vomit from her mouth and throat. She wordlessly passed the empty cup back to her new husband.
“Another, please,” she requested. Ciardha gingerly took the cup from her. As he refilled it, Runa got to her feet slowly and went to sit on the bed. Ciardha sat down next to her and handed the cup back to her. Runa sipped from it slowly.
“You should probably take your dress off,” Ciardha suggested.
Runa froze. She almost dropped the cup and forced herself to steady her hand.
“I don’t have any lustful intentions. I just don’t want you to lay down in a vomit covered dress.”
Runa couldn’t see in front of herself, much less look down her front. She hesitantly felt her chest and cringed. She hastily wiped her hand on her skirt.
“Do you have a knife?” she asked. “I don’t—think I’d like to touch these buttons. Unless this dress is old. Your mother told me—“
“I’ve never seen my female cousins wear it. Besides, we can burn this in the morning,” Ciardha interrupted. He sat down on the bed next to her. “Turn your back to me and move your hair.”
Runa finished her water, set the cup down on the floor, and held her hair away from her neck. She wished it was braided and pinned back, but custom dictated that all brides have loose hair on their wedding day. She felt Ciardha pull at her ruined dress experimentally, feeling the cloth on her shoulder.
“Is there a shift under here?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t have a knife on me, unfortunately. Are you all right with me ripping this off of you?”
“Do you want me to gasp out loud? Someone might be listening outside.”
“No one followed me here, and the only person I saw was my mother,” Ciardha stated. Runa felt herself lean back unexpectedly as he seized two handfuls of her dress. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt.”
Runa yelped as he tore the fabric. She felt the rip go all the way down her back, and the minute his hands were off of her she peeled the dress off from her arms. Standing up, she let the ruined garment fall to the floor. She stepped out of it and kicked it away.
“I think we’re going to have a hard time sleeping on this unless we stay absolutely still,” Ciardha remarked.
Runa turned around. He was already laying down on the bed, precariously perched on half of the mattress. There was barely enough room for her to lay down like he was, on her back and half falling off. They would both fit if one of them was on top of each other – which was probably the plan.
“I’ll try not to push you off,” she said. “Though it might be better if we were on our sides. I’d rather not fall off and hit my head.”
Ciardha became quiet. She can hear his steady breathing in the small space, and tried to not think of the possibility that there was a crowd just outside. There probably wasn’t. She was overthinking things.
Eventually, he wriggled onto the bed and rolled onto his side, facing her.
“You’re right,” he admitted. “There is more room this way. I don’t care which way you face.”
Runa finally got in the bed, and after a bit of maneuvering, ended up on her side facing away from Ciardha.
“You, um, control two territories. Where are we going to live?” she asked quietly a few minutes later.
“We’ll mostly be living here in Aifeatas,” Ciardha replied softly. “But part of the year, say winter and spring, we’ll live in Mhoibh. It was my uncle’s, he named me his heir when I was born, and I formally became its ruler when he died.”
“You speak of him like he was your own father,” Runa stated warmly.
“My father placed me in his safekeeping when I was young,” Ciardha explained. “He influenced me greatly, far better than my own father did.”
Runa had another question, but bit her lip to stop herself from saying it.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Ciardha inquired.
Runa shook her head. “N-no! It’s just…”
“You can ask me anything. I’m not your father, I’m not going to glare or judge anything you say.”
A knot Runa didn’t know she had in her gut uncurled. She took a deep breath.
“Is it true that your uncle remained a bachelor all his life? Was he vici?”
Ciardha’s face was hard to read in the semi-darkness.
“He wasn’t vici. I know that for fact. He also remained a bachelor, but only because he hated sex.”
Runa thought back to what he said earlier. How his uncle had influenced him better than his father had.
“…Are you the same way, Ciardha?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your uncle didn’t marry anyone because he didn’t like having sex.”
“I know it’s important for having children, but I don’t see the need for it. I’ve never felt any sort of romantic or sexual desire for anyone,” Ciardha confirmed. “Why? Am I upsetting you?”
“Of course not.”
“You are free to sleep with another man if you like. I won’t be hurt by it,” Ciardha said. “Just pick someone with my hair color and my height, and my mother will be none the wiser.”
“I-I don’t think I can do that.”
“Why not? Are you afraid of hurting my feelings? Or are you afraid of hurting your own feelings?”
Runa inhaled sharply. She hadn’t thought about it like that before, but—
“This is different, Ciardha,” she replied.
She felt him lean back a bit, and realized that she’d spoken more harshly than she intended.
“Ciardha, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “It’s just I’m vici. I prefer women.”
Ciardha unexpectedly rolled onto his back and covered his mouth; she felt him shake with silent laughter. Runa rolled over onto her other side, curled her hand into a fist and hit him on the shoulder.
“This isn’t funny!” she hissed. Ciardha reluctantly moved his hand away from his mouth.
“I-I’m sorry, but it is to me,” he replied. “Look at how mismatched we are! I don’t desire anyone and you desire women.”
“Just because we’re mismatched sexually doesn’t mean we can’t be friends and partners,” Runa snapped. “We are married, after all. But I’m worried about your mother hounding me about being pregnant. Can you tell me more about what’s going on with you and your bastard brothers?”
Ciardha finally sobered up and maneuvered his body to be back on his side to face her.
“You know of my bastard brothers, of course. My mother tolerated father’s affairs, up until she found out she had two more sons to raise. She wanted daughters instead—“
“But we don’t always get what we want,” Runa interrupted. “Can I hazard a guess as to why she wants me to become pregnant quickly?”
“Be my guest.”
“Orrin and Gerant are entirely attracted to women, and if one of them gets a woman pregnant first, they get the territories?” Runa guessed.
“Almost. They get Aifeatas, but I keep Mhoibh because it’s my birthright. I would like to keep both,” Ciardha stated.
“How are you going to keep both of them?”
Ciardha became quiet for several minutes. The only sound Runa could hear was his quickened breathing, born of either nervousness or fright. When he finally spoke, he sounded uncomfortable.
“If… If I have to, I’ll have sex with you and try to get you pregnant. I’m sure no one will care what gender our child is, they’ll automatically become heir or heiress,” he stated. “I have another plan to stop my brothers from impregnating some poor women just to beat me to winning Aifeatas, but I’m worried it won’t work.”
“Do you feel comfortable discussing it with me?” Runa asked. “Your second plan, I mean.”
“Do you promise to not tell anyone here?”
“I promise. You’re the only person I’ll speak of it to.”
Ciardha took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“I have informants in the territories Orrin and Gerant frequent, who send me reports of the women they’ve bedded and which ones might be pregnant. On the next full moon, when they both come to Aifeatas, I’m going to get them alone, get them drunk enough to pass out, and geld them.”
Runa’s eyes widened in shock.
“Ciardha, they’ll know who gelded them when they wake up. They could swear a blood feud against you—no, they will.”
“I know I implied that I would be the one to geld them, but that’s not the case,” Ciardha said. “I pity anyone who even goes near their cocks. No, it’ll be someone else doing the actual deed. But I will get them drunk.”
Somehow, this wasn’t very comforting to Runa. If she suggested an alternate plan and Ciardha followed through with it, how likely would it be for the brothers it was her idea and swear a blood feud against her as well? She swallowed heavily around a lump in her throat. She didn’t want to think of it.
“There are other ways of making them impotent. You can blame it on the gods themselves and they’d be none the wiser.”
“Gerant has a sensitive tongue. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was able to detect a poison in a wine cup. Or if he smelled one with his nose. Orrin might fall for the trap, but Gerant wouldn’t. He’s too clever.”
The gathering hall was mostly quiet. The only noises were two children digging noisily into a late dinner a few seats away with a nurse and Caradyn pouring two cups of ale for the guest sitting across from him. He pushed one at them, the ale sloshing up and splashing the table.
Eigyr picked the cup up and sniffed the contents. Her wariness disappeared as she took a hesitant sip and then gulped down the entire drink.
“Father’s spiced ale? You’re spoiling me, brother,” she commented. “I’m just a visitor, not another ruler.”
“You’re the wife of a Caelva and my sister,” Caradyn replied. “It’s the least I can do for the kin I haven’t seen in a decade.”
Eigyr snorted derisively. “Legally, I’m no longer Cathal’s wife. I simply choose to stay at Malachuil.”
“Why stay with him? He’s a bastard!”
“He might be a right bastard, but he doesn’t beat me and our son is still unmarried,” Eigyr snapped. “Someone needs to stay around and manage things while Cathal goes off on his raids. But I’m not here to talk about me.” She gestured at the children. “It’s about Breda and Padraig.”
Caradyn glanced at the children out of the corner of his eye. He had seen them with his sister when she rode into Miaralwy at sunset, but hadn’t considered any serious thoughts about them until now. The girl was almost four years old, her brown hair in a braid and food smeared around her mouth. Her brother barely looked two, and had a shock of black hair that stood up at all angles. One wore a silver circlet and another a silver armband. He couldn’t identify the Tor sigil at this angle, but he knew of only two clans that had young children as heirs.
“I heard about the raids of Aifeatas and Mhoibh. But I was led to believe Runa and her children didn’t survive,” he said quietly. “How did she escape with them? Where did she flee to?”
“Runa swears a malachuil helped them get home to Malachuil, and it took her crown as payment,” Eigyr replied. “I want to keep the children here for safekeeping. You’re the only one I can trust with this.”
“Safekeeping—what? What’s going on in Malachuil?” Caradyn whispered fiercely.
“Cathal is attempting a second raid of Nocheataobh, but I’m afraid he’ll use Breda and Padraig as hostages when he finds out what Runa is planning,” Eigyr explained.
“What is Runa planning? Where is she?” Caradyn snapped. “You’re not making sense, sister.”
“Runa wants to unite Votgardt like her father, but without the kidnapping and slavery of other people and raids,” Eigyr explained. “She’s going to try to get Aifeatas and Mhoibh back first.”
“Eigyr, every ruler of Votgardt’s clans wants to unite the country. Cathal’s plan for unification have been nothing but pointless raids and wasted losses of lives. He only has Elefiwy under his thumb, and that’s only because he surprised Gwythyr and Erinys and slaughtered them,” Caradyn responded. “What makes you think Runa can do better?”
“She wants to bring the other territories into an alliance with her against her father, and try to allow them remain independently ruled while still united under her banner,” Eigyr said. “I don’t know how she’s going to accomplish this either, but I want her children far away from this plot and I think this is the safest place for them.”
“How long do you intend to hide them here? I also have to talk to Uileac about this—”
“I didn’t see your husband when I rode in earlier,” Eigyr interrupted. “Where is he?”
“Uileac’s gone to Elefiwy to talk some sense into Lelwy Edana. It’s been six months and she hasn’t showed signs of stopping her mourning for her uncle and cousin and stepping up to be a ruler,” Caradyn explained. “She’s his dead wife’s niece, after all. Besides, I doubt her betrothed can do it.”
“I wouldn’t let my son roam within ten miles of her,” Eigyr snorted derisively. “When do you expect Uileac to be back?”
“He promised to be back in two weeks. He left six days ago. How long are you able to be away from Malachuil without raising Cathal’s suspicions?”
“I told him I was taking Breda and Padraig with me to visit you for a month, on the pretext that neither child has met you or Uileac or Macloin. He readily consented, if only because he’s too busy preparing for the invasion of Nocheataobh and doesn’t want to be bothered.”
Caradyn nodded slowly. “I’ll let you and the children stay for a month. Longer, if needed. What I’m worried about is this plot of Runa’s.”
“What are you worried about?” Eigyr inquired. “She barely told me anything.”
“I’m worried of Runa showing up here in Miaralwy with an army,” Caradyn blurted out. “I know the people of Mhoibh and Aifeatas came to her often with their disputes and she settled them, but…”
“I don’t think you have to worry about that, and I know this as fact because I had a hand in raising her,” Eigyr responded. “I don’t doubt she might have an army in case she has to fight someone to get them on her side, but I believe a fight’s the last thing she’s going to want. She’s going to want to talk things over first.”
Caradyn nodded. A part of him was still doubtful about Eigyr’s claims… but she was his sister, and the word of a blood relative was stronger than the word of a stranger. He’d trust her for now until Runa showed up in person. There was something else on his mind as well—
“You mentioned earlier that Cathal was using kidnapping and slavery to help him in his raids,” he stated abruptly. “So, the rumors are true then?”
“I didn’t say it like that,” Eigyr grumbled. “But it’s true. He’s sending his soldiers to Veltan and kidnapping their people with magic. He has about eighteen of them now. One of them escaped into the night a few weeks ago and Runa somehow sweet-talked Cathal into having another one as her servant.”
“Did they catch the one who escaped?” Caradyn asked.
“I heard whispers that the archers hit them,” Eigyr answered. She pushed some stray strands of grey hair behind her ear. “But no one – not even Cathal’s best tracker – could find the body. The spot where they supposedly fell was clean.”
Caradyn’s eyes widened. “Do you think… they were taken? Or helped?”
“I don’t pretend to know the malachuil’s ways,” Eigyr shrugged. “They either help someone in mortal danger and take a payment from them, or they grant a swift death to someone in mortal danger to save them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they killed the person with magic and took the body.”
Caradyn exhaled noisily through his nose. “At least it was a swift death, and probably less painful than getting shot. But enough talk. It’s late, and we both know Malachuil is a long distance from here.”
“You’re telling me this now? You should have told me before I started the trip here – would have saved me two days!” Eigyr exclaimed.
Caradyn’s expression must have troubled her, because she smacked his arm and grinned.
“Only joking, brother,” she apologized. “You’re the only one I trust to keep Breda and Padraig safe, and I’d happily travel through Enys Dhabhan Ceolnach to make it happen.”
special thanks to @follesegaskarth for helping me with this.
this is also just pure crack and not supposed to be taken seriously.
I don’t even have a title for this. Get rekt, Kiernan?
This was not how Kiernan imagined how his day would begin. This was not how he imagined this week would be. It was bad enough being his sister’s hostage after getting caught spying on her army.
This was probably even worse.
--
“You’re the one who boasted about sleeping with me!” Arona shouted. “How could I possibly be in Malachuil and Nocheataobh at the same time?”
“I was drunk when I said that boast!” Kiernan exclaimed. “I can’t be blamed for—“
“But you stated it as fact,” Arona snapped.
“Then why—then why did you say those words about me?!”
“Everyone looked at me when someone brought the incident up,” Arona replied. She grinned wryly. “How could I resist not talking about something that didn’t happen?”
Kiernan paled, but then he frowned deeply.
“Then the things you said—about—me—“
“That you liked being turned over on someone’s knee and spanked raw?” Arona said. Somewhere in the crowd, someone began laughing. “That you have a—“
“STOP! Who—who told you that first one—“
Kiernan stopped talking and looked at the gathered assembly behind Arona. He spotted his sister Runa, sitting ramrod straight in a chair and not looking at him. He thought he saw her body trembling with laughter. That Veltan woman she’d taken out of their father’s prison was sitting on a low stool at her feet, face buried in her knees. He was sure she was laughing.
“That first one isn’t true!” he finished. “Whoever told you that is a damn liar!”
“I have sources that I trust above all else… your mother—“
“Leave my mother out of this!” Kiernan exclaimed.
“Your mother certainly enjoys disciplining you when you don’t treat women right,” Arona stated. “I think I heard she uses her hairbrush?”
Kiernan looked away and refused to make eye contact. Runa could see his face turn scarlet with embarrassment.
“I’ve been getting better at that,” he muttered.
“What was that?” Runa announced. “I couldn’t hear you, brother. Speak up.”
“I said I’ve been correcting my behavior around women!” Kiernan shouted.
“Then bend your knee and apologize to me,” Arona ordered. “Give me a full apology for what you falsely boasted and I’ll forgive you.”
“Should I swear fealty to you as well, Lelwy Arona?” he sneered. “I think I’ve done enough bowing for—“
Something hard and thick hit him in the face, forcing him back a few steps. When the stars cleared from his eyes, he looked down to see what hit him.
An arm. A prosthetic arm made of thick wood, with leather straps.
“That wasn’t an apology,” Arona said. “That was a threat on top of the attitude my sources told me about.”
“How did you—“
“Give me an apology before I start throwing my weapons at you.”
Kiernan saw the short sword on her hip. He did not want that thrown at him or be anywhere near him. He quickly got down on one knee and bowed his head. Arona’s face was the last thing he wanted to see right now.
“Lelwy Arona, I’m sorry for spreading false rumors about you and I swear to never do it again,” he announced.
Someone snorted in disbelief.
“Apology accepted, Kiernan Cathal Malachuil,” Arona quipped. He flinched at the use of his full name as she paused for a moment. “May I have my arm back?”
Kiernan looked at the prosthetic. It was finely made and had superior craftsmanship compared to the crude prosthetics he had seen some soldiers use. Arona’s father must have paid a fortune to have it commissioned from either Trovska or Caerva. Under normal circumstances, he would have scoffed and walked away. But he did not want to risk the chance of being humiliated a second time today. He picked the arm up and stood, walking up the dais where Arona sat.
“Lelwy Arona… here,” he mumbled. He held out the prosthetic.
Arona took the prosthetic from him, and Kiernan took a step back as she slowly put it on. He suspected it was for show, given how quickly she was able to remove it and throw it at his face.
He did not anticipate her to punch him in the face. With her right hand, nonetheless. He lay sprawled on the ground, and he was sure she broke his nose as she stood from her chair and looked down at him haughtily.
“If I hear one more false rumor about me from your lips, rest assured I will use your body as a sheath for all of my weapons,” Arona growled. “Or I could have Lirah shrink your cock to the size of a pea. Do not test me.”
Kiernan could only vaguely nod, dazed. One thought stood out among all of the others swimming in his head.
Edit: Edited for more savagery of the below the belt kind
Runa walked through the ruins of the main seat of Aifeatas. Two large fires burned in the distance, spewing black smoke and filling the air with the smell of charred remains. Homes had been gutted by still smoldering flames. Those that had been spared by the torch had their doors kicked in and the inhabitants’ belongings scattered. Runa wouldn’t be surprised if some looting had taken place despite Arona’s strict orders against it.
What shook Runa to the core was that besides herself, Lirah, and a few of Arona’s soldiers in the distance, there was no one else here. Had everyone fled before and during the battle? Or had they left earlier, when Orrin stormed through with his army?
Arona had mentioned that they had been lucky to catch both Orrin and Gerant at the same time, but as Runa considered the damage done, she wasn’t so sure. The citizens could rebuild and have a halfway hospitable main seat by the next year, but that depended on whether people wanted to return after being displaced by battle.
But she wasn’t here to reflect on what had been her home for nine years. With Lirah following close by, she made her way to a makeshift clearing where two bound men, Lelwy Arona, and a crowd of onlookers were.
“Is that them?” Lirah inquired quietly. She nodded at the men.
“Orrin and Gerant? Yes.” Runa confirmed. “I asked for them to be taken alive… if possible.”
“I would have just killed them in battle.” Lirah remarked. “Considering the damage they’ve done to you and your children, they deserve it.”
“They’ll die after I’m done speaking with them.” Runa stated patiently. “But I must ask them a few questions first. Wait here.”
Lirah headed toward the crowd as Runa walked away. She was surprised Runa wasn’t angrier at her brother in laws for the crimes they committed. They had committed fratricide and stolen the birthrights of her daughter and son, all in the name of petty revenge against their brother. But… perhaps Ciardha was to blame as well. She only knew of one incident between the three, where Ciardha had lured Orrin and Gerant into drinking with him and ordered them castrated when they were too drunk to move.
But in her opinion, if Ciardha had wanted to ensure a swift end for both bastard brothers, he should have opted for something other than sending them to battle and removing a part they dearly treasured.
Runa stopped in front of her brothers in law. They were kneeling in the mud, stripped of their armor and weapons, and their limbs immobilized with rope tied to stakes in the ground. Orrin was barely recognizable; dried blood caked his face, most of it from a grim scar that sliced through his right eye. The rest of his face that wasn’t covered in blood was swelled and painful. The long brunette braid Runa remembered him sporting had been hacked off and lay discarded at his side.
Gerant wasn’t faring any better. One arm still bled heavily despite a rudimentary cloth bandage. Under the grime and mud caking his face, he sported a bloody nose that was either due to a cut or a brutal punch to the face. Blood seeped out of one corner of his mouth. As Runa watched, he spat out a bloody tooth. Arona left their sides to stand next to Runa.
“Are you surprised I’m still alive?” Runa asked.
Orrin shook his head.
“Saw you… slip away… couldn’t find you,” he wheezed
Runa could only nod. She swallowed heavily. She had told herself over and over that she was ready to face them again, but the sight of Orrin made her blood run cold. She wanted to run away, even though there was no possibility of him getting out of his bonds and strangling her and her children like she’d overheard him promise Gerant.
“I know you murdered Ciardha,” she said instead. Her voice came out harsher than expected. “What did you do with his body?”
Gerant craned his head to look at Orrin. Orrin lowered his head and refused to look at her.
“Answer me,” Runa demanded. She felt tears forming and did nothing to wipe them away. “D-did you salvage his body and burn him?”
No answer from either brother. Runa trembled with grief and rage as Arona steadied her.
“Answer me!” Runa screamed. Arona tried to stop her, but she stepped forward and slapped Orrin as hard as she could.
Orrin spat out blood, but he refused to answer.
“We… we beheaded him and tossed the head in the Inan Strait,” Gerant confessed. “We fed the rest of him to the pigs and dogs.”
Runa fell to her knees in the mud. She screamed a wail that echoed around the clearing and made the hairs on Lirah’s neck stand up. She desperately tried to push through the crowd, but they refused to move for her. Through the gaps in the bodies, she saw Runa’s body shake with sobs as Arona knelt beside her. Finally, she gave up trying to push through and walked around the crowd to reach the very front. By the time she reached it, Runa had stopped crying and was standing without Arona’s help.
“T-Tell me,” Runa sobbed. “Is there anything of his I can have to honor him? A-A scrap of cloth? Anything?!”
The brothers were silent as they looked at each other, and then they hung their heads.
“No…” Orrin whispered.
Runa stood there, dumbfounded. Arona grabbed her just in case she fell again, but she regretted it as Runa wrenched out of her embrace and grabbed at her belt.
“Runa, no!” she shouted, but it was too late.
Lirah watched, horrified, as Runa unsheathed one of Arona’s knives and slashed at the brothers. Her gut-wrenching scream mixed with Orrin’s agonized yell as he helplessly struggled against his tight bonds. Gerant remained upright, though his forehead was bleeding profusely.
“Rot in hell, both of you!” Runa shouted. She threw the knife to the ground as Orrin continued to howl in pain. She’d slit his remaining eye and cut the bridge of his nose. “I wish you the same fate you gave my husband!”
She turned around and stormed off toward the temporary encampment, deaf to the murmurs of the gathered crowd and the screams of Orrin. Arona and Lirah ran after her, catching up with her just shy of the camp entrance. Runa blindly fell into the arms of one of them and started sobbing into her chest. She didn’t care who it was. She sank down to her knees again, taking the two women with her.
Lirah grunted as Runa dragged her down and winced as the wet mud soaked through her skirts. She moved out of the way to avoid putting pressure on what remained of Arona’s left arm. Runa was sobbing into her chest and Arona was muttering phrases too softly for her to hear properly. Not knowing the best choice of words to comfort her, Lirah awkwardly smoothed Runa’s long hair back from her face and shoulders and allowed her to cry herself out. Hardly anyone in front of them paid them attention, and the people from the crowd said nothing as they quietly tip-toed past the trio.
With a final, heaving sniffle, Runa raised her head and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
“I-I’m s-sorry…” she said hoarsely.
Lirah bit back a retort. Runa had nothing to apologize for, even though the front of Lirah’s dress was wet with snot and tears.
“We need to get you cleaned up,” she said instead. “Come on.”
“I’ve got her left side,” Arona muttered. “Lirah, can you support her on the right?”
“Already on it,” Lirah answered. “This isn’t hurting your left arm, is it?”
“No, I’m using my right arm to support her. I’m going to stand on the count of three, all right?” Arona replied. “One… two…”
“Three!” Lirah finished.
They stood up, adjusted Runa between them, and began walking back to her tent.
--
Lirah sat down on a closed chest and set a clean dress down beside her. Runa was asleep in her bedroll, a cool cloth resting on her eyes. Arona was sitting on a low stool nearby, cleaning the knife Runa stole from her. The tent entrance was tied shut tightly, though sounds of cooking and a buzz of conversation intruded.
“Lelwy Arona, may I ask a question?” Lirah asked quietly.
Arona glanced up from polishing her blade. “Do you need help changing into another dress?”
“Thank you, but I don’t.” Lirah stood up and started unbuttoning the front of her soiled dress. She struggled with the long, horizontal horn buttons as she spoke. “It’s about what I witnessed earlier.”
“I’ll try to answer as best as I can,” Arona replied. She placed a rag she’d been using to clean aside and picked up a whetstone. “What questions do you have?”
Lirah waited to speak until she finally managed to undo the final button of the dress and slipped the garment off. “What did Lelwy Runa mean when she asked Orrin and Gerant about… having something of her husband to honor him?”
Arona mulled over her response. How Votgardt and Veltan handled their dead could be different, and the last thing she wanted to do was offend Runa’s… well, servant. Who was actually a guest pretending to be a servant? She angled her clean knife on the whetstone and sliced against it five times as Lirah changed in front of her.
“We burn our dead. After the burning, family members of the deceased are usually given ashes from the pyre,” Arona finally replied. “However, sometimes locks of the deceased’s hair are given to them, or scraps of their funeral clothing are given instead.”
“So… Orrin and Gerant didn’t do that?” Lirah struggled to pull the fabric she was man-handling close enough for the thick, horizontal button to get through the hole.
“Do you need help with that?” Arona asked. “Is the dress too small?”
“No, I can manage. I just need practice,” Lirah replied. “Answer my question.”
“No, the brothers didn’t do that. By cutting Ciardha’s head… off…” Arona faltered, her voice catching. She didn’t want to acknowledge it. “… and feeding his body to animals, they’ve denied him the proper burial he deserved.”
Lirah stopped buttoning up and stared at her, shocked.
“That’s…”
Arona set her knife and whetstone aside. She nodded, trying to hide her anguish.
“I… Yes. I know Ciardha didn’t… get along with his brothers,” she said thickly. She inhaled sharply and wiped her eyes. “B-but this is a level of cruelty I did not expect them to do.”
“You’re going to execute them, aren’t you?”
“With what they confessed earlier, how could we not?” Arona stated harshly. “We might do it tonight, but it does threaten to rain later.”
“How are they doing to die?” Lirah inquired. Arona shrugged.
“It’s up to Runa. However, I don’t think she’ll be awake until later tonight or tomorrow morning.” she said. “By then, they’ll be dead. Besides… she did wish them the same fate they dealt Ciardha.”
Lirah busied herself with the dress buttons as she tried to think up a response. She was halfway done and not willing to acknowledge that this dress was too small for her. As she wrangled with closing a button below her chest, she couldn’t stop thinking about the cremations done to the deceased.
“Lelwy Arona, is everyone cremated? Does it matter what their social rank is?” she asked. “Are executed individuals cremated?”
“Everyone is cremated, Lirah. But some pyres, depending on social rank, can be more elaborate than others,” Arona replied. “Criminals are granted cremation rights, but their bodies are left to burn alone. Do you have suggestions for the executions?”
“I do, actually. But before I voice them, how would you carry out the executions?”
Arona went quiet for a minute. “I’d… give them a similar fate as Ciardha like Runa wished. Decapitate them and throw their bodies into the forest for the animals to eat, because I doubt the pigs here can digest another human. What’s your idea?”
“You’re going to think I’m being cruel, but…”
Arona listened. Her mouth dropped open at the crux of the plan and she hastily closed it.
“That… that’s very fitting for them. A twist on tradition. Did you say you wanted to carry it out yourself?”
“I did,” Lirah replied.
“Traditionally, criminals are beheaded and then cremated immediately after by the executioner without ceremony,” Arona stated. “But with your plan, we may not need an executioner after all.” She quieted for a minute before speaking back up. “But how are you going to carry this out?”
“I don’t want to reveal my plans just yet,” Lirah replied. “But Runa’s children… will Breda see it? Padraig’s usually put to bed after sunset.”
“I saw my first execution when I was eight, and my first funeral when I was three,” Arona replied with a shrug.
“But Breda isn’t you. She’s almost four years old.”
“My younger sister Gwinna saw her first execution and subsequent cremation when she was four years old,” Arona countered. “It was our older brother. She had questions, yes, but she wasn’t scared.”
Lirah did not want to know the circumstances behind that execution.
“I’m just worried no one will be able to keep an eye on her when I carry out my plan,” she said instead. “Runa’s asleep, and I can’t carry out my plan and watch Breda at the same time.”
“Gwinna and I can watch her for you,” Arona offered. “I can also arrange for someone to keep an eye on Runa until the executions are over.”
Lirah was silent as she thought the plan over. It was sound enough, providing Arona chose someone she trusted to look after Runa. Having her and Gwinna watch Breda would also let her be free to work without distraction.
“All right. Your plan sounds better than mine would have been if I voiced it,” Lirah stated. “We’ll use it. When are we going to hold the executions?”
“Executions are typically held at sun down. Gwinna and I will get you when everything’s ready.” Arona replied. She paused as she scrutinized Lirah’s appearance. “Can you come a little closer?”
Lirah walked up to her, and tried to stand in a more lighted spot. “What’s wrong?”
Arona seized the dress front and pulled her closer. “This dress is too small for you. I know you wanted practice buttoning up these awful things, but it’s no good walking around and having it rip at the seams unexpectedly.”
Lirah’s face reddened. “I didn’t grab something belonging to your sister, did I?”
“No. She’s smaller and thinner than you right now. Is Runa allowing you to wear her clothing?”
“…Yes? Well, some old dresses her foster mother gave me to wear. Lelwy Eig—Eigyr?”
“Lelwy Eigyr. That’s how you pronounce it,” Arona corrected. She let go of the dress and stood up. “Wait here. I think we’re more or less the same size, so I’ll give you some of mine that I was going to cast off.”
“You don’t have to!” Lirah protested. “I think this is the only one that’s too small. The others fit me well enough.”
“Hm. Very well, how about this: I give you one of my cast offs, and in exchange you can give the one you’re wearing to my sister,” Arona suggested. She looked at the garment critically. “It’ll be slightly big on her right now, but she’s growing like a weed. In a month or so I think she’ll fit it perfectly.”
“I like that arrangement much better,” Lirah stated. She sounded relieved, but Arona smacked her hands away when she started to unbutton the dress.
“Don’t touch those until I get back. I’ll show you a trick to fasten the dress together easier,” Arona chastised. She walked toward the tent entrance and began to deftly untie the opening. “Go check on Runa, but don’t wake her.”
--
At sundown Arona, Gwinna, and Breda came for Lirah. As promised, Arona had given her one of her cast off dresses to wear. Lirah had expected yet another garment that had to be shrugged on and buttoned up, but she was pleasantly surprised that this wasn’t the case. She only had to pull it down over herself and smooth any creases left behind. It was a dress made for a larger woman, but a makeshift belt made it fit easier. Before leaving, she had grabbed a bucket of oil and then covertly opened a chest to grab one of Runa’s cloaks. She didn’t want to wake Runa and ask to borrow it. She would only wear it tonight, anyway.
The four of them strode out of camp. Breda walked next to Gwinna, clutching her hand tightly.
“Is that Mommy’s?” Breda asked. She pointed at Lirah’s dark grey cloak.
“Your abasa let me wear this tonight,” Lirah lied.
Arona and Gwinna stared at her, confused.
“I—I meant mother,” Lirah corrected. “Breda knows what I said…”
“I don’t,” Breda replied. She looked up at Gwinna as Lirah tried to cover her shock. “Where are we going?”
“We’re going to the field where I taught you to make flower crowns…” Gwinna replied.
Lirah didn’t listen to the rest of Gwinna’s words as they approached the clearing. She hung back a little and let the three walk ahead of her. It was difficult to tell just how many people were present, though visually it looked as if everyone had turned out. But the coming nightfall made it hard to see. The only source of light was a ring of torches, widely spaced out around the perimeter of the gathering.
When Arona, Breda, and Gwinna had disappeared into the crowd, Lirah began walking again. She pulled the hood over her head and kept her pace slow. The gathered crowd parted for her as she approached.
Orrin and Gerant were still tied in place, though they were surrounded with kindling and straw. Lirah stepped through the parted crowd and clutched the bucket of oil. Orrin raised his head at the noise. Lirah tried to not recoil at the sight of his ruined eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked hoarsely.
“You don’t need to know who I am,” Lirah replied.
She approached the men and began pouring the oil all over them. Lirah didn’t necessarily need it, but she wanted to maintain an illusion that she was going to do a cremation the proper way with torches. Gerant squirmed as oil trickled down his back. Lirah tried to not pour the oil onto Orrin’s face, but he squirmed and subsequently cried out as the oil she was trying to pour on the back of his head dribbled down his face. When she was satisfied with how covered the two men were, Lirah stepped back and set the bucket down near someone’s feet.
“Lelwy Runa informed me that cremation is how the people of Votgardt respect their dead,” she announced. Her voice carried throughout the crowd. “In the place of Lelwy Runa, I sentence you both to die for the crimes you have committed against your brother, your niece, and your nephew.”
In the crown, Breda tugged on Arona’s sleeve.
“What did he do to me?” she asked. Arona crouched down beside her.
“You were supposed to rule Aifeatas and Padraig was supposed to rule Mhoibh,” she whispered. “But Orrin and Gerant took them from you when they killed your papa.”
“Am I getting Affy back?”
“Yes you are,” Arona replied.
She stood back up, using a stranger for support. Breda ignored her and began peppering Gwinna with whispered questions. A woman stepped forward and tapped Lirah on the shoulder.
“If you’re going to burn them, they should die first,” the anonymous woman stated when Lirah turned around. She held out a small knife. Lirah shook her head.
“I won’t need it. Please, stand back,” she replied. The woman looked confused, but she reluctantly complied.
“W-who are you?” Orrin sobbed.
“I am the last thing you’ll see before you die.” Lirah responded coldly. “Lelwy Runa also extends her condolences for what you lost last year, and hopes you’ll be reunited with them in death.”
She closed her eyes and envisioned the two men bursting into flames, but she quickly retracted the thought before it became reality. It was too easy to do. They deserved something more subtle. She took a deep breath and focused on how the two brothers were outlined in her mind. She envisioned small flames breaking out on them, almost like lighting a candle on a candelabra, and channeled her energy into that instead.
“What are you doing?!” Gerant screamed.
Lirah opened her eyes as the crowd behind her gasped. Orrin was struggling against his bonds, and the smell of burning hair filled her nostrils. Another flame burst to life on him as she blinked, this time on the hem of his soiled tunic. Gerant howled in pain as his oil-soaked skin caught fire and spread up his injured arm.
“Why?” Gerant sobbed. Lirah could barely hear him over Orrin’s deafening screams. “We’re still alive!”
“You dishonored your brother’s body after his death,” Lirah responded. “I’m giving you two the proper burial you denied him.”
As she spoke, more flames erupted on the men and their screams filled the night. The onlookers began shouting lurid, hateful phrases at them. They were words Lirah had no translation for, but the way they were spoken was enough to get the message across. She felt slightly nauseous now; a brief spell of light-headedness that only required her to rest.
Arona stared at Lirah in shock. She had not explained this—this calling fire out of thin air. How had she done it? Was she one of these mages Runa’s father wanted for his army? Arona wanted to demand an explanation from her. But supervising Breda with Gwinna was a higher priority. In the press of the crowd, surrounded by the shouting men and women, she watched Lirah walk away.
--
Lirah walked away from the twin infernos, away from the taunts and screams. In the quiet of the camp, she slipped into Runa’s tent, shooed the servant Arona sent to watch over her, and crawled into the bed without a second though. The last thing she felt was feeling Runa turn in her sleep and curling up closer to her.
@beccaylaa likely the first of a few oneshots I’m gonna post.
@luxxyb thank you for previewing
Title: Whining? Ain't Nobody Got Time for That!
A possible excerpt of what I hope to call Gryphon’s Crown.
Amaranth studied the male trainee standing in front of her. A sullen pout made his youthful face ugly, and his short black hair was stuck up at awkward angles from the wind outside. She could hardly believe he was sixteen years old; he looked at least two years younger. His uniform was made of finer material than the other trainees of the corps. Amaranth tried to not grind her teeth at it. He was not following protocol, but that was a lecture for another day.
“Captain Amaranth, I want to change rooms.” he stated.
“What’s wrong with sharing a room with Trainee Aloster?” she replied.
“I want to sleep in my own room.”
Amaranth closed her eyes and exhaled. Not this again.
“Trainee Isidoro, you haven’t answered my question,” she stated. “Do you have any concerns with sharing a room with Trainee Aloster?”
“No, I don’t.” Isidoro responded. “I just want my own room.”
“We’ve discussed this, trainee. That’s not going to be possible,” Amaranth said. “There isn’t enough room in the western tower to give every male trainee their own bed. Were you listening when I gave that lecture?”
“I saw some empty rooms over in the eastern tower!” Isidoro exclaimed.
Amaranth sighed and clamped down her frustration. Evidentially, he had not listened.
“The eastern tower is for female trainees only. You’re not supposed to be over there,” she stated. “Must I repeat what I said about the western tower and male trainees?”
“Why not upstairs on the second floor?” Isidoro complained.
Amaranth stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Those are private living quarters,” Amaranth responded. She fought to keep her temper in check. “They’re reserved for my family members, fortress servants, and visitors.”
“Does your brother sleep up there?”
“Trainee Caius sleeps in the western tower with the rest of the trainees,” Amaranth snapped. She couldn’t help it anymore. “He knows better than to beg for his old room back or ask for a room of his own.”
The implication wasn’t lost on Isidoro. He frowned deeply.
“Aloster snores and he smells like a pig sty,” he complained.
Finally, a legitimate complaint from him. But she wasn’t going to let him off the hook.
“I can have you switch rooms with another trainee, but you’re still going to be sharing a bed with someone,” Amaranth stated firmly. “Furthermore, not all of the trainees here are from noble stock like you. Not everyone grew up with the luxury of bathing every day.”
“Is that why you told us that rank doesn’t matter in this corps?” Isidoro asked abruptly.
“Exactly. Your position in my corps isn’t dependent on your bloodline or what social class you are. It’s dependent on your vow to patrol the country’s borders and your strong ties with fellow corps members,” Amaranth answered. She paused briefly. “…and your gryphons, but that’s beside the point.”
Isidoro fell silent. He was still frowning, though it didn’t have the ugly grimace from before.
“Fine, swap me rooms,” he demanded. “I just don’t want someone who snores or smells.”
“I can’t guarantee that, trainee,” Amaranth replied nonchalantly. She reached for a ledger on the desk and dragged it towards her. “Just hope that there’s someone willing to change rooms with you.”
Isidoro paled.
--
Bonus
“I can’t guarantee that, trainee,” Amaranth replied nonchalantly. She reached for a ledger on the desk and dragged it towards her. “Just hope that there’s someone willing to change rooms with your spoiled rich ass you.”
i wrote the first half in december and the second half just now because i thought it deserved an ending.
"C'mon... you can tell me who it was," Amaranth teased. She kicked at Caius under the table. "Who's this mystery lover you had for a brief time last spring?"
"He... swore me to secrecy..."
"I promise I won't tell anyone. Not even Kilain," Amaranth said. A devilish smirk formed on her face. "Or mother, for that matter."
That last fact seemed to give Caius strength. Setting his tankard down, he leaned in and whispered to Amaranth just as she was taking a large sip.
Predictably, it sprayed forcefully out of her mouth and soaked his shoulder and arm.
"You slept with HIM?!" she screeched after recovering.
"It was only for a few months!" Caius explained loudly. “He--he consented the entire time--!!”
Other people were starting to stare at them at this point. Caius vaguely heard someone calling for bets and another person asking what the fight was about.
"Do you know how angry his family will be when they find out?!" Amaranth shouted. She got up out of her chair and hefted it up in the air. "You could ruin his reputation!"
"His sister didn't seem to give a damn when I accidentally told her!" Caius shouted back. His voice was high with fear as he scrambled out of his stool to get out of the way. "Please don't hit me!"
--
“Great. We’re banned from yet another establishment,” Caius groused.
“Good job,” Amaranth snapped back.
“That was your fault! You’re the one who beat me with that heavy chair!”
“You’re the one who decided to sleep with him! You know better then that!”
“That’s not the point!”
“Again?” a third voice interrupted.
Caius and Amaranth froze. Kilain stood in front of them, holding a lit lantern up high enough to see their shocked faces.
“Why are you out here instead of at the Gryphon’s Wing?” Kilain asked. “...and why are you two covered in bruises?”
Caius and Amaranth pointed at each other, glaring daggers. Caius was covered in dirt and old straw, his nose was bloody, and he was holding his hand awkwardly. Amaranth had the beginnings of a black eye and a split lip, and Kilain was sure she was hiding bruises of her own. He ran a hand down his tired face.
“This is the last time I’m escorting you both back from a tavern,” he announced. He sighed heavily. “If your mother sees you two as you are now, I’m not explaining your actions.”
The mere mention of their mother seemed to knock Caius and Amaranth back to reality. They pushed past Kilain and started running through the maze-like streets of the Lower Quarter. He could hear them shouting at who was going to be the first one back to the fortress and manage to avoid their mother at the same time.
He stood there for a long moment, contemplating the risks and rewards of discarding all of the alcohol Amaranth had stored in the fortress. It would probably be worth it if he managed to sneak the alcohol out and gave it to someone who really needed it.
Mix of original fiction (3 separate universes) and fanfiction (Pokemon, Fire Emblem: Awakening). The FE:A excerpts all feature the same OC.
Fun fact: most of these samples are from 2014.
Day thirteen, Fanfiction (Pokemon, my series of Nuzlockes. I think this excerpt took place during my first Black 2 playthrough, though I tweaked the plot a bit.)
Brendan felt claustrophobic inside this cramped control room. He was sweating in his borrowed Plasma uniform as he scanned the cameras that lined the interior and exterior of the frigate they were stationed in. Celio wasn’t doing much better. His hands shook as he tapped a few buttons under the watchful, irritated gaze of Brendan’s Mandibuzz.
A low whine emanated from Celio’s right, and he absently stroked a worried Porygon-Z’s head.
“Don’t worry buddy,” he muttered. “I’ll make sure Morticia doesn’t eat you. Right, Brendan?”
Brendan snorted. “She doesn’t want to be in here, but she doesn’t want to be in her pokéball either. Can’t do anything about it. Sorry.”
Day 14, Fanfiction (Fire Emblem: Awakening)
“Inigo isn’t bothering me,” Sorcha admitted. She was grateful for the topic change. “He just wanted to make me smile, but his obvious attempts at flirting didn’t work on me. I value him more as a friend and comrade.”
“Did you accept his apology for the strawberries though?” Cordelia inquired. “He wouldn’t stop crying for hours after you had that ghastly reaction to them.”
All four women cringed, Sorcha the most.
“I did, don’t worry,” Sorcha replied. She let out a small laugh. “I didn’t know I was that badly allergic to them at the time, and he didn’t know either. It’s all water under the bridge now… although I will admit, they were the best crop I had ever seen.”
Day 15, Original Fiction (Code Name: Grisaverse)
Lukasz had been gone for a solid month and Rowena was ready to drown Davaros in his latest potion batch if he didn’t stop bleating about it.
“You told me he’d been gone for two months once without incident!” she shouted one night. “A month isn’t even that bad in comparison!”
“He hasn’t sent anything— anything! —in two weeks! No scrap of paper, no spell-bird. Something happened to him in Grisandel, and I’m leaving tomorrow at first light to go see what’s going on.”
He got up from his saggy armchair and Rowena jumped out of her loveseat to physically block him from the stairs.
“I’m not going outside!” Davaros exclaimed. “I said I’m leaving at first light!”
“He’s probably delayed by the weather!” Rowena exclaimed back. “Remember the spell-bird a few days after he left? He said a weather-witch predicted—”
A popping noise interrupted her. At her feet was a fat roll of parchment tied with black ribbon. She let Davaros pick it up and read its contents. Instead of joy, he looked like he was attempting to solve a particularly difficult logic puzzle.
“It says it’s from Luc but this… this isn’t his handwriting.” he finally said a few minutes later.
Rowena snatched the message from his hands and read it herself. She knew Lukasz couldn’t write or spell very well, but under Davaros’s nightly tutoring he was slowly improving. The notes Luc sent while traveling was very short, written in halting sentences and misspelled town names. The message that had just arrived was… not that. Whoever wrote it had clearly been taught to read and write from a very young age and used words that Lukasz likely hadn’t encountered in his lessons yet.
Day 16, Fanfiction (Pokemon, same series as the first excerpt but set during the Sevii Islands post-game quest)
“I watched your battles against the Elite Four when they were airing on TV,” Celio quipped in an attempt to start up another conversation about five minutes later. “You were really great out there.”
“…Thanks,” she replied a few minutes later in a subdued voice. “I can’t assume my Champion position though, not yet.”
“Why not?”
“I have to have six pokémon. I lost Elen during the battle with Agatha… and I’ve come here to get a new party member,” she replied. She rested her chin on the back of Dylan’s head, a forlorn expression on her face. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Sorry for bringing it up,” Celio said sincerely. Leaf’s mouth curved into a strange half smile, half frown, and said nothing in return for the rest of the way.
Day 17, Fanfiction (Fire Emblem: Awakening. Set during the first Future Past DLC)
He didn’t get a chance to finish as Sorcha yanked him toward her, just as the sickly green sheen of the Mire spell bubbled and disappeared where he’d been standing before.
“I have to talk to him,” Sorcha whispered against his chest. “If our Morgan and this Morgan are the same, he might recognize me.”
“And if he doesn’t recognize you? What if he cuts you down just like he’s trying to do to the girls in the cells?”
Sorcha looked up at him a few moments later, and she bitterly cursed the look of utter calm on his face in her head. He was right, there was a valid chance that this Morgan wouldn’t recognize her. Her emotions were clouding her judgment and already frayed nerves. She made herself take a deep breath, but she couldn’t help but jump when someone—the Cynthia in her cell, probably—screamed and someone else shouted warnings about yet another wave of Risen.
“I’m going to talk to him anyway,” she said firmly. She glanced at him with a new look of resolve. “I know you don’t want me to, but someone has to end this and I’m not going to let anyone decide for me.”
Day 18, Fanfiction (Fire Emblem: Awakening)
She saw him look out upon the field of battle, and for a moment she dared to lock eyes with him—
—and then her knees buckled, unable to suppress a groan as her head suddenly began throbbing with intense pain. Her vision wavered as she fell to the ground with a cry and held her head, gasping and choking on the smoke and heat.
The longest few seconds of her life passed, and she felt the headache subside slightly. There was a familiar relief as she felt magic restore her strength, but it wasn't enough to take all of the pain away. She felt sick to her stomach now.
"Sorcha."
She looked sideways. Lissa was gone and Libra was by her side. His priest robes were spattered with blood and smoke residue, his axe hanging from his belt. His long blonde hair stuck to his sweaty face.
"I'm fine—I can still fight—"
"You're not in condition to fight," Libra interrupted sternly. "You need to see a healer at once. There's only so much I can do out here."
Day 19, Original Fiction, code name Zombies and Mutants (one of the OLDEST excerpts I have for my ocs Stefan and Ash)
Ash pounded down the staircase, breathing heavily as he scrambled to stop and grip the handrail. His eyes burned from the exposure to light, of taking in every small detail the world had to offer, plus the bright sunlight, and magnifying it by a hundredfold. Forcing himself to sit down on a random stair, he pushed his sunglasses up as he covered his eyes.
The temporary darkness helped ease the burning, if only by a little bit. A tiny sliver of dim light escaped through a space between his two fingers. Taking a deep breath and then exhaling slowly, he removed his hands and readjusted his sunglasses.
Footsteps descended toward him. It was easy to identify them; this certain noise belonged to the commander of those patrolling the outside. A wave of nausea hit him as he stood up and turned around, but he refused to let his heaving stomach win. Not this time.
“You dropped this,” Axel muttered. Ash looked up and saw his rifle in the other man’s hands. He walked up a step, but Axel stepped back two stairs and held the rifle close to him.
“Are you afraid I’m going to take it and shoot everyone?” Ash asked.
Day 20. Original Fiction, code name Crown Quartet, code name Ghost’s Crown
“Where are we going to be fake lovebirds this time?” Ariyos asked as Annika grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the archives. “We’ve pretended to woo each other in the gardens, the throne room...”
“The arena!” Annika exclaimed happily. She slowed her walking and put her hand into the crook of Ariyos’s elbow as they exited the library. “The twin generals are doing drills with their troops. I’m hoping I see the musician my sister was gossiping about last week.”
“What musician?”
“He was part of a troupe father hired for Eba’s birthday celebrations last year, but he was left behind when the troupe returned to Veltan. Eba snatched him up and made him her personal musician,” Annika explained. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “She recently told me he started getting anonymous love letters, and she’s been translating them for him. You’re not going to believe who’s the author.”
“Who?” Ariyos asked, equally quietly.
“One of the generals we’ll be watching.”
Day 21, Original Fiction, code name Crown Quartet, code name Gryphon’s Crown
Ninety-five. Ninety-six. Ninety-seven. Amaranth’s legs burned.
“Um.”
“Yes, Kilain?” she replied.
“You know what your mother said about using your brother while exercising.”
“Thank you!” Caius squawked from his position slung across his sister’s shoulders. “Put me down, Amaranth!”
