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“did you see them?” them is the pair of nixies that have only just darted down the river, knowing she would scold them for trying to lure passersby so near her home. there is a sort of accord between the witch and the fae of these woods. they do not try to lure her with their food or songs and she, in turn, keeps them well supplied with any mortal good they may long for, “silly darlings thought they might have tricked you into the water. don’t mind them.” @druidcss
IF THIS WAS VALHALLA, THAN THE VALKYRIE HAD VERY MUCH MISPLACED HER TRUST IN THE HER GODS — rising to blurred consciousness, she was distinctly aware that the pain she felt was too crushing & too realm to be that of the higher realm. No, the soul - deep ache that came from space - thrown bones & broken skin, belonged to the realm she had tried so very hard to escape. Which meant that she had … failed, & done so — SPECTACULARLY.
& it was the shock of that agonizing realization that shoved the warrior further into awareness — she was still strapped into the Asgardian battle vessel & her head felt as if it had been … split open. There was the smell of smoke & the SCREAMING — who in Odin’s name was screaming ? It was a desperate, pain - filled sound that scrapped & jarred against her battle worn nerves, her own throat dry & hoarse as if in sympathy & - protest —
But it was her - it was the warrior once known as Brunhilde who was screaming, the leader of the Valkyrior, the LAST remaining Valkyrie in all of the cosmos, who was screaming as if her bones were being pulled from beneath her skin & her heart being ripped out of her chest - & perhaps … it had been. After all ... her sisters were gone … her students … her friends … her lover ...
Bloodied hands twisted into painful fists as they smashed against the ruined controls of the ship & the Valkyrie forced one final FURY filled sound from the depths of her chest. Despite all she had lost, she was frustratingly — alive. Half blind with sorrow & disgust, the Valkyrie ripped off the seat belts & forced herself upward - head swimming as she made her way to what was once the entry hatch of the ship. It had been badly damaged in the fall through the black hole & the subsequent landing — the Asgardian ship was never meant for such interdimensonal travel & that had been the reason why, in her desperation, the Valkyrie had selected it. She was not supposed to survive such a fall through the Nine Realms, she was supposed to have surrendered to oblivion — & resurrected in the arms of those she had lost … woken up to a final kind of freedom —
Instead, the Valkyrie found herself - bloody & broken, stumbling her way through a strange forest on a strange planet. In what was a CRUEL twist - it reminded her of Asgard … the blue of the sky, the sparkling green of the trees & the foliage that surrounded her. If she forgot her pain & the smoking wreckage at her back, she could almost be home. There was even something familiar in the pounding of hooves, the drawing of steel — but the men themselves ( & they were Men — ) where not of Asgard & as they surrounded her it became clear that they lacked the skill & the tact of Odin’s men, not to mention the strength to secure a Valkyrie —— but she would give the Midgardians credit for the attempt.
It took eight of them to subdue her & another three to tie her to the horse. Four of the men lost teeth & at least two had broken noses by the time they had the Asgardian secured - tied like a hog across the back of a large war horse. She had tried to defend herself, tried to explain & even invoke Odin’s name ( even as if burned past her lips ) as if that might save her - but the men, mean & stupid — gagged the Valkyrie as soon as they had her tied down. & disgraced her further by taking away her sword & promised - through half rotted teeth that they were talking her to somewhere called ‘ Camelot ’ & that she would soon meet with — “ The KINGS justice — ” as if she had committed some crime by crash landing on their pitiful, uncivilized planet !
But the mention of a king meant the promise of a more rational mind, a wiser man who might know of the old gods, who might respect her words & strength enough to … allow the warrior to find the OBLIVION she so craved. & it was only with that promise, that the Valkyrie resigned herself to this momentary fate & allowed the Midgardians to keep their lives & hold her own in their hands - for now.
Camelot - as it turned out was a castle, with a series of sharp headed towers nestled rather handsomely amongst the lush forest the Valkyrie had crash landed in the middle of. It was not the golden magnificence of Asgard but it had a certain STRENGTH that the warrior could respect, an aura about it that held … promise. & had she not been hauled into the throne room like some kind of prized stag, she might have enjoyed studying the weapons of the guards, the amour that stood beside each doorway, the majestic carvings that lined the vast hall … She might have even managed a bow to the man who sat at its very far end - dour faced a top his gleaming golden chair, a golden circlet heavy on his brow. But the Valkyrie was not allowed to show such deference, instead she was thrown rather — forcefully upon the well polished floor with a grunt of “ Dangerous & well - armed trespasser - ” before the very toes of the king.
All was perfectly still for a moment as the room spun & blood dripped in thick splotches upon the parquet floor. The Valkyrie was familiar with the sensation of a court staring in … HORROR but this felt all the more accusatory, all the more … peculiar because this court also felt afraid. & afraid specifically of her — & there was power in that.
Teeth bared themselves slowly as they sank into the dirty folds of the gag - the Valkyrie swallowing as best as she could, before spitting the thing out with what was almost a growl — “ You will regret that, ” it was a threat, but at the feet of a king - oblivion beckoned. & if she wished to go out, why not try once more for something … SPECTACULAR ? “ You’ll untie me or I’ll bring this entire castle down upon you all — ” dark eyes flicked unfocused, from one young face - framed by golden strands, to another dark & brooding before landing once more on their king, his expression unchanged — “ I’ll bury you & then drink your cellars dry as your bodies rot - ”
*: ·ﾟ✧ PLOTTED STARTER ⚔ @druidcss
druidcss replied to your post: .
ok bu t now i kinda want a thread where your closeted bisexual prince has an awkward conversation with his closeted bisexual sister
real big eye emoji
❝i thought we might go to the market today.❞ it’s a question and an offer, sort of wrapped up into one neat package. there are a few things gwen needs to get for later, fabrics and threads and embellishments for morgana’s gowns, but more than that, it’s fun. she enjoys going out with morgana, she enjoys when they walk through the market together. if gwen were to speak selfishly, she would say it makes her feel like a child again, when morgana had more freedom to do as she wished, and gwen would be whisked along for the ride.
even as she speaks, gwen moves around the room, opening the windows to let the air in, collecting discarded gowns and whatever else she may have missed the night before. ❝there’s a man who’s here for another day or so, who’s travelled far and wide and collected fabrics in so many colours i couldn’t describe them to you if i had another hundred years! perhaps one might make a nice dress for the next tourney?❞ // @druidcss
the floor appears HARD AND FAST, her knees bruising to the bone at the impact. teeth CLAMP down, biting back the cry perched at the tip of her tongue. silence falls, as a veil, over the room and fingers curl against the cold, unforgiving surface on which she’d crumbled.
it takes ALL SHE HAS to keep her breath controlled and slow. though she is AFRAID, fear gripping at her very soul, it is her complete faith in arthur that keeps her limbs from trembling and a whimper from escaping GRIMACING LIPS.
he will come for me.
would he? for it hadn’t been but WEEKS since she’d broken the HEART OF THE KING. he had no reason to save her. but, that wasn’t the man he was. the once and future king, purest man she’d ever KNOWN.
❝ morgana. ❞ finally, her eyes lift.
&&@druidcss liked for a STARTER
P u l l i n g , a velvet hood falls to lap at shoulders, unveiling signature GOLDEN locks, spun tendrils tumble, jostled by the movement. Wide hazel eyes scowl in to the shrouds. Features loose a degree of sharpness, before a slight benign curl of pallid lips is summoned. A stoic sense lessened along angular features. They SOFTEN, doe-eyes almost fitting of their design. A sweetness rather than a suspicion.
“S I S T E R -----”
Hushed tones flood with warmth, a word softly caressed by a tongue. Lips form a true GRIN. A slight hand cups the others in greeting, curling fingers around a palm.
“How have you FARED?”
@druidcss || x + plotting.
Arthur has been ready to die since he was fifteen years old.
Since his father put him at the head of a group of men twice his age and told him to lead them against Caerleon’s forces. Since the raid on the druid camp he’s never repeated, or forgotten. He’s never expected it to be by Morgana’s hand, not even in the time she’s been considered an enemy of Camelot.
Well, she’s always managed to do the unexpected.
Arthur doesn’t flinch at the sight of her hand flung out before her; sets his jaw, waits for the spell that never comes. He barely hears himself speak --- not so powerful now, a taunt that might’ve been funnier if they were still children --- and it’s no surprise that Helios stands at the ready, prepared to do the killing for her.
Morgana looks small, like this, smaller than he remembers her --- even with Helios at her back --- and it makes Arthur wish that none of it had gone this far.
So perhaps it ought not to be a surprise when Helios hands over his sword, that she seems just as determined to end his life --- but it is, anyway, and the shock almost makes Arthur laugh, despite himself.
He has never fought her in single combat; not like she means now. ( Not like he fought her sister. ) His palm rests on the hilt of his sword --- but he doesn’t draw it. Not yet.
❛ So your men have time to regroup? ❜
13, 14, 15
development // @druidcss
How do they greet the world — what is their typical attitude towards life? How does it differ in different circumstances, or towards different subjects? Why do they take these attitudes, and why do they change? How do these tend to be expressed?
his attitude towards life at first is “do what father wants of you and don’t ask questions”. in a way, it’s not much of a life. he’s just blindly following a path dictated for him with no regards for his own desires, plans and sometimes even health. for a long time, nothing can make him change that way of living no matter who or what is in front of him.however as time goes by and he finds people to show him a different way ( a long and hard process ), he begins to see life more as a personal experience but there is always a part of him that just sees it as a cruel and unfair thing that he has to power through. the love and support that eventually surrounds him is his saving grace in believing that it isn’t all bad.he also tries to make it a better place in his own way — fighting against any injustice he sees and trying to be kind to others ( when he has learned not to be a brat anymore ).
What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed?
arthur is fundamentally a people’s person who cares very deeply about justice and wants to protect the weak and/or innocents. it’s something deeply set inside him and what comprises his moral compass. his loyalties first and foremost lie in camelot and his people in canon and with his father in modern ( uther comes second to camelot and justice in canon ). when it comes to people, he gives his loyalty to those who are noble and have a strong moral compass like himself.he has little time for passions or callings and has no interest in spirituality or faith but he finds peace in art and the seas and ocean. books soothe him for their stories and even just the physical properties of them.
What kind of inner life do they have — rich and imaginative? Calculating and practical? Full of doubts and fears? Does it find any sort of outlet in their lives?
if you were to look on the surface, it would seem like arthur’s inner self is confident, made up of self-assurance, certainty and practicality. however, he is actually filled with self-doubt and a need for creativity and softness that can never be expressed fully. his inner life is like a cave, dark and humid, filling whoever walks it with fear of what is lurking in the shadows.
