#show!verse

[daenerys-daario]

Game of Thrones - Starring my cat OwlKitty

Parody of Game of Thrones starring my cat

[daenerys-daario]

ironically, that dragon dress is inspired by dany. the designer said so in their instagram post.

Yeah, I know! It is very evident. I mean just look at these -

Dany's costume in GoT:

"Dragon Dress" by Mak Tumang:

It is very clear that he was inspired from Dany's dress. Only he actually put in effort, style, colour and themes into it!

The cut and shape flatters the body shape. It looks intricate and expensive. The colours are "fiery" representing Dany's motif. There is a slight shimmer to bring in elements of magic and fancy into the dress!

And look at the first dress which looks like a white petticoat!

I mean I'm not exaggerating when I say that I have dresses that cost about $20 that look better than that white mess! And I'm a semi-broke person in a third world country and Dany is the fricking queen of a fantasy nation!!!

Honestly! Seeing that dress really reminds you how much lazy the costume department of GoT were. Thinking about the costuming and set design in GoT makes my blood boil. Seriously, a zero-effort dress!

[ahziel]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton/Reek Characters: Ramsay Bolton, Theon Greyjoy, Reek (ASoIaF), Sansa Stark Additional Tags: Whipping, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Everything hurts and nothing is good, Ramsay’s version of aftercare Summary:

Reek is punished for hanging around Lady Sansa's chambers.

Written for @qouii‘s art

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Hope in Change - Epilogue

Murtagh stumbles across a couple arguing in the street and quickly realizes the young woman is Brianna.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Murtagh, Jamie, and Ian were at work building a cabin for Fergus and Marsali and Claire had taken Lizzie to help deliver a baby at one of the settler’s cabins several miles away, so Brianna volunteered to run back and forth fetching spare or replacement tools, bringing food and water, leading Clarence back to his pen when they’d finished moving the heavier logs into place for stripping and cutting.

The mule was stubborn and reluctant to return to captivity after having a chance to stretch his legs and do more than pull a cart. Each time Brianna disappeared around the house to grab him some more food or check to see how the laundry was drying on the line, he made a ruckus when she came back into sight and stamped his foot to get her attention.

“You’re like a toddler throwing a tantrum,” she muttered before rolling her eyes and heading to check on the goats and horses for their midday meal.

This time he started making noises before she’d even reached an area where he could see her. But when she rounded the corner he wasn’t alone.

“Roger?” she gasped, dropping an empty pail to the ground and running to him as he tried to dismount before his horse had stopped walking. She threw herself in his arms and buried her face in his neck. He held her tightly, sighing with relief.

“You need a bath,” she told him, her words muffled by his coat.

“Nice to see you too,” he chuckled, pulling back to look at her. She smiled then stood on her toes to kiss him.

“Did Bonnet or his men give you any more trouble? They didn’t hurt you, did they? Is that why it took you so long to find your way here?” she rambled, her eyes roving over him taking in the details of his appearance to be sure he was really there and truly in one piece.

He laughed again taking a step back to spread his arms so she could better see him. “I’m no injured. They gave me a hard time but it wasna anything I couldna handle—no after spending all that time wi’ them at sea. And it took me so long to get here because it’s a long bloody way from Philadelphia to Fraser’s Ridge when ye’ve naught but yer own two feet for much of the way—it has to be close to a thousand miles… or at least, it feels that far. I didna manage to find a horse I could afford till I’d nearly reached Virginia.”

Convinced by his cheerful indignation, Brianna grinned and moved to lead his horse to the barn while she filled him in on what she’d been up to in his absence.

“Mama probably won’t be back until tomorrow but Da and the others will be home a little before dark. Come in and help me make supper and maybe I’ll let you have some too,” she teased.

There wasn’t much left to be done as she’d accomplished the more difficult preparation earlier—dough for a pie crust, the meat (venison) cleaned and cut as finely as she could manage, kept that separate from the potatoes and carrots she’d diced. She rolled out the dough and began piecing the elements together while Roger built up the fire in the hearth.

“How are ye doin’ wi’ everything?” Roger asked, taking a seat on the bench opposite and watching her closely.

“It’s… been interesting. I’ve been hunting with Jamie and we’ve talked a lot. It’s strange, but not in a bad way… just… disorienting,” she told him, her attention entirely on the food in her hands as she stacked and arranged the pie’s filling, careful to make sure all the ingredients were distributed in equal measure. “It’s hard to explain. Every time I feel like I’ve got a handle on the past—on my childhood—I see something or hear a story and it shifts all over again. Like when I see him come up behind my mother and rub her neck… and she leaned into it and… I remember all the times I saw Daddy try to do that and she shrugged him off… until he just stopped touching her that way. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being surprised by him—by them. You’ll hardly recognize Mama when you see her.”

“Bein’ in this time… it changes ye,” he agreed. “Makes sense now, how different yer mam could be after she returned—and no just because of Jamie. I ken I’ve a newfound appreciation for many a convenience I took for granted back home. Indoor plumbing and modern transportation bein’ verra high on that list. I’ll say a prayer of thanks each and every time I so much as look at a proper toilet.”

Brianna gave him a weak smile as she crimped the crust on the pie and turned to set it into the brick oven at the side of the hearth. The rebuilt fire was beginning to warm the space but it would take a while for the pie to be thoroughly cooked.

“I’ll get you some water you can use to clean up,” Brianna said, puttering around the cabin to locate a bucket and fill it with warm water from the enormous cauldron near the hearth. She led him out the door and in the direction of a small hut. “Since Lizzie went with Mama and they shouldn’t be back till tomorrow, you can borrow her bed tonight. We can figure out something else in the morning. You’ll want to rest and brace yourself for meeting my father and cousin. Murtagh shouldn’t be too intimidating for you at this point. Blankets,” she exclaimed after setting the bucket down. “I’ll go find some.”

By the time she returned, Roger had managed to clear most of the sweat and dust from his face, neck, and arms. He’d pulled his shirt off as well and was splashing water over his chest and dribbling it down his back, not caring that it was soaking into his breeks and continuing on its way down the rest of his body. He had a single change of clothes in his pack but those weren’t in much better shape than what he was wearing.

“Here,” Brianna said, showing him the quilt and furs she’d brought. She set them down on the bed along one side of the hut’s walls. She stepped closer to him, taking the ragged stock he was using as a washcloth and wringing it out thoroughly before wetting it again and helping him reach the difficult spots on his back. “Hmm. Much better. I’ll show you the creek we use for bathing in the morning. It’s a bit chilly but easier than trying to heat the water for a hot bath.”

“If that’s Lizzie’s bed,” Roger nodded to the one she’d put the blankets on, “then the other would be yers, I’m guessin’?”

“You would be guessing right,” Brianna confirmed. “And… you don’t have to sleep in Lizzie’s bed if you don’t want to. It’s small but it’ll be warmer and cozier in mine.”

“Bree… I’ve missed ye—Lord knows I have—but… have ye changed yer mind? About marryin’ me?” he asked quietly.

“I can’t,” she told him, tears in her eyes. “I just… it wouldn’t be fair to you. Not when things are so different now.”

“Different?” he asked, taking a step closer to her. “Different how? Ye still want to take me to yer bed. Tha’s no different, or am I misunderstandin’ yer invitation?”

Her cheeks went pink with embarrassment.

“No, I still love you and want you to be the first man I… take to my bed, as you put it. But… spending these last weeks with Mama and Da… I told them about the fire. They’re not sure there’s anything that can be done to keep it from happening either. And we don’t know when exactly it’s going to happen. It could be this year or the next or five years from now… But just in case we can’t stop it and the worst does happen… I don’t want to regret that I didn’t spend more time with them when I had a chance to.”

Roger took a step back, his expression going slack as what she meant sank in. “Ye’re stayin’ here. Ye mean to stay no just for a few weeks or months… but years.”

“Yes. I remember what it was like to lose Daddy and how much I wished I’d agreed to go with him when he had to run errands or that I’d stayed at the office with him while he worked and I’d gone off with my friends instead. I want to know that I’ve done everything I can to save my parents and that I spent every second with them that I could.”

“And ye dinna think I’d stay with ye?”

“It wouldn’t be fair for me to ask you to,” Brianna pressed, her face getting redder as she forced herself to confess, “and I don’t want to lose you without knowing what it’s like to be with you, to show you how much I do love you.”

Roger laughed and the redness in Brianna’s face switched from the self-conscious shades toward those darker shades born of rising fury. But he rested his hands on her shoulders and smiled at her narrowed eyes and furrowed brow.

“Ye’re not askin’ and ye dinna need to. Ever. If ye’re goin’ to stay then so am I. Ye love me enough to let me go? I love you enough not to care where—or when—we are, so long as it’s together.”

Her face softened and tears pooled in her eyes as she beamed at him a second before throwing her arms around him and kissing him silly.

They laughed and held each other tight, Roger lifting her off her feet and spinning her around in the cramped quarters of the hut. Setting her down again, Roger kissed her softly, then again longer. She clung to the damp, bare muscles of his back, pressed herself against the length of him. They pulled back to look at each other, the simple joy replaced with the deeper yearning both felt. Neither said a word as Brianna pulled him toward her bed.

“The spare head should be right inside the barn door,” Jamie told Lizzie while Claire fussed with the dressing around his hand. “Be quick about it. Murtagh will be lookin’ for it. We wanted to be done wi’ preppin’ the beams ‘fore givin’ up for the day and he’s stubborn enough to try workin’ in the dark… And Ian’s foolish enough to go along wi’ it.”

“Oh, give them more credit than that,” Claire suggested, frowning at the cut on the back of Jamie’s hand from when the head of the hatchet came loose mid swing and flown off the handle. His reflexes were fast or he might have been in danger of losing the hand altogether. Instead it was superficial and shallow, a scrape across the back with deeper gouges at the knuckles. “Or give yourself fewer airs. If it weren’t for your mishap here, you’d be just as determined to work whatever the light conditions might be. Let’s get inside so I can clean and bandage this properly.”

“I need to tend yer horse,” he objected, moving to take the reins even as she reached to release the straps that held her medical box in place.

“I can tend the horse while you go in and rest a few minutes,” she insisted. “See what we have for supper and—”

“Bree came back to make supper some time ago,” Jamie reminded her. “We hadna thought ye’d be back tonight.”

“Well, that’s what happens when the baby arrives before the midwife. All it took was a quick check on mother and child, a small glass of whisky to wet the baby’s head, and we were headed back the way we came.”

“Mistress Claire, Mister Jamie,” Lizzie exclaimed, running toward them with the spare hatchet head in her hand. “There’s a strange horse in the barn,” she informed them, her eyes wide and frightened.

“Never mind about that,” Jamie told her calmly. “Get that back to Murtagh and Ian and stay wi’ them until they come home. Perhaps wi’ you waitin’ there for ‘em they’ll decide to just be done for the day.”

Lizzie nodded and headed off down the path.

When she was out of sight Claire began calling for Brianna and Jamie went to check the house when she failed to appear.

“There’s a pie cookin’ in the oven,” he told Claire, “so she’s no likely to have gone far.”

“And the ‘strange horse’ is in the barn so whoever it belongs to must be nearby as well. Perhaps they only went to fetch wood or to get more water,” Claire suggested hopefully.

A moment later, Brianna emerged from the hut she shared with Lizzie. She brushed some loose curls out of her flushed face and smoothed her hands down the front of her bodice.

“Mama… What’re you doing home? You weren’t supposed to be back till tomorrow,” Brianna remarked.

“The baby came quick,” Claire explained, her eyes narrowing at her daughter.

“D’ye ken who the horse in the barn belongs to, a nighean?” Jamie asked.

“Actually… yes. Roger arrived a little while ago. I was making up Lizzie’s bed for him since she was supposed to be with you all night, Mama. But I can put it back the way it was and he can sleep somewhere else. He’s cleaning up a bit from being on the road so long,” she told them, glancing back over her shoulder.

Roger poked his head out. “Good to see ye, Claire. I’ll right there. Dinna want to be sayin’ ‘hello’ still smellin’ of horse.”

“Mmmhmm,” Claire murmured, trying to keep a straight face as she turned to look at Jamie. He looked torn between laughter and shock. “We’ll be in the cabin when you’re ready,” Claire called to them, nudging Jamie in the other direction. “Your father hurt his hand and I need to clean it.”

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Hope in Change - Part Five

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

No one in Fergus and Marsali’s house slept well that night, first waiting anxiously for his return and whatever news he might bring of Murtagh and the Regulators. They knew the governor’s plan had been foiled but that only made Fergus’ prolonged absence more nerve wracking.

Of course, the news he burst through the door with was more shocking than anything they could have anticipated.

Brianna was in Wilmington. In 1769. She had been looking for them, seeking a guide to take her to the Ridge when she happened upon Murtagh.

Marsali was the one to tell Fergus to sit, keep his voice down so as not to wake the baby, and to start again from the beginning. As he went through his evening chronologically, Claire slid her hand into Jamie’s. His fingers trembled. Hers were cold.

When there was nothing left to do but go to bed and wait for the morning to come, Claire rose, gently rousing Jamie from his silent shock, and easing him to their room.

“Are you alright?” she asked quietly, having shut the door behind them. He looked dazed, sitting on the edge of the bed and blinking at his surroundings as if unclear how or when he’d gotten there.

“I… dinna ken. She… I hadna thought… Why? Why should she be here? What could have caused her to come through the stones?”

Claire stood in front of him and bent at the waist to press a kiss to his forehead, drawing his eyes up to look into her own. “You don’t think having a chance to meet you had anything to do with it?”

“I’m no worth the risk of the stones,” he asserted, a sad smile coming to his face when he saw Claire’s frown. “I still dinna ken why ye’ve no realized that yerself, but as ye’re here and I’m a selfish enough man, it doesna seem right to be pointin’ it out to ye too often.”

“It doesn’t really matter why she’s here,” Claire said, showing how much she cared for his comments by refusing to acknowledge them. “All that matters is that she is here.”

“Ye’ve missed her, Sassenach.”

“Of course I have. But as keen as I am to see her again myself, I’m more eager for the two of you to meet and know one another. You… have no idea how many times I wished and dreamt—hopelessly—that you could have known each other. It seemed… so unfair to both of you that you were never given that chance… And now you have it.”

“Claire… I dinna ken as I’m brave enough,” Jamie murmured. “What must she think of me? To send ye both away like that before Culloden… To go to that battlefield with a mind to die… There were so many days I had convinced myself that livin’ through it when so many were killed was punishment for wishing my life over, for tryin’ to end it wi’out doin’ it myself… aimin’ for the loop hole. And then now—takin’ ye away from her when ye learnt I hadna died. Forcin’ the truth upon her when she could ha’ gone her whole life without that weighin’ on her…”

“She knows the truth and she can make up her own mind about you,” Claire told him, sitting beside him at last and laying her head against his shoulder. “I’m the one who chose to leave. You had no say in it one way or another—and she knows that. She was the one who gave me the final nudge… Let’s not think about it anymore.”

“Ye ken well enough, that’s no goin’ to happen,” Jamie muttered.

“Not unless we force ourselves to think of something else. What do you think are the odds that of all the people in Wilmington, she ran into Murtagh?”

“As if I dinna already have enough to thank him for, now I have his watching over Brianna and restoring her to us to add to the list.”

“I cannot wait to show off the cabin,” Claire said, lying back on the bed and staring up at the bed clothes. “She’ll be amazed to learn all about how you built it.”

“It’s no as impressive as houses are in yer time, Sassenach, I’m sure.” He lay back next to her, both of them with their legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

“There aren’t many homeowners who build their houses themselves. And she learned about hunting and camping when she was younger…”

They talked through some of the night and then fell into a silence that balanced their growing nerves with the desire to be away from the city and headed home with their daughter along for the ride.

Brianna spotted them before they were able to make out her and Murtagh through the trees.

“Mama!” she cried, freezing in place for a moment while Claire’s eyes scanned the brush.

“Bree,” Claire breathed when her eyes locked on Brianna’s. They both began to run but Brianna was a little faster. She nearly knocked Claire to the ground as she threw her arms around her mother’s neck and began crying with relief, rubbing her wet eyes against Claire the way she had when she was a baby.

“I’ve missed you, Mama,” she sobbed.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Claire assured her, too numb with surprise and relief to squeeze Brianna as tightly as she wanted.

“I have to tell you—I have to warn you,” Brianna pulled back, sputtering and sniffling, her eyes scanning the way Claire had come to be sure Fergus wouldn’t overhear. From the conversation they’d had the evening before, it didn’t appear to her that he knew the whole truth of Claire’s disappearance.

She lost her train of thought the moment her attention landed on Jamie.

He nodded at her with tears in his eyes and a trembling smile on his face. Claire turned, Brianna still firmly within her grasp.

“That’s him?” Brianna asked in a whisper.

“Yes.” Claire took a small step toward him and Brianna followed.

“You’re… really real,” Brianna observed, her voice still rough and barely audible. Her cheeks flushed with self-consciousness and uncertainty.

Jamie heard her and his smile took a more sure form.

“I ken what ye mean. I’ve seen the photographs yer mother brought… but they dinna do ye justice. And… I think I’d like to hear yer side to some of the stories she’s told,” Jamie mused, his gaze too eager to take in as many details of Brianna as possible.

Brianna looked to her mother and began to relax. “That depends on what stories she’s told about me.”

“Each and every one I can remember,” Claire promised her.

They were at last close enough to touch but Claire was the only one  who dared, keeping in constant contact with Brianna as though to anchor her in place.

“It’ll never be enough,” Jamie said, reaching a hand hesitantly to Brianna’s cheek. “I want to know everything there is to know about ye—what it was like to watch ye growin’ up what it is tha’s changed since ye parted… if ye can ever forgive me…”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Forgive you? Why would you think you need my forgiveness?”

“What have I done that doesna beg yer forgiveness? I wasna there to protect ye or care for ye. I didna help ye wi’ yer first steps or hold ye to help ye sleep at night…”

“You’re here now,” Brianna pointed out with a playful smile and tears in her eyes. “Or maybe I’m here now.” She stepped up to him and slipped her arms around him, laying her cheek against his chest and sighing when his arms came up around her, holding her closer.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Imagine that the first significant person Bree meets in the colonies is Murtagh. It is through Bree that Murtagh finds out that Claire and Jamie are also in the colonies. What if it was Murtagh rather than Lizzie who witnessed Roger being a bit rough with Bree through the window that day?

So I was originally planning this to be a one shot but the ideas kept coming and now it’s going to be a limited multi-parter fic. Not completely sure how long yet but probably about four or five short installments. 

Hope of Change - Part One

Murtagh enjoyed delivery days, especially when the sun was high and weather beginning to grow stifling. The forge was a better refuge from the rain or the cold, when the heat inside wasn’t exacerbated by the conditions outside. Delivery days were also when he was able to gather and deliver the intelligence necessary for carrying out the Regulators’ plans.

He’d just delivered instructions to a few of his men to prepare for an upcoming action and hoped to relax over a hearty meal at the inn before getting on to some actual deliveries he had about Wilmington.

There was no helping the flash of red hair catching his attention as the young woman was led into the street by a dark-haired and disheveled man. The woman’s back was to him but the way the man took hold of her arms and shook her, the way she drew back as he got into her face. He seemed to be scolding her but she didn’t look ashamed or apologetic. She appeared to be pulling out of his grip and speaking forcefully right back.

Murtagh couldn’t help drawing closer—not eavesdropping, exactly, but he wanted to be sure the lass wasn’t in danger. Except he was eavesdropping, because if he hadn’t been he wouldn’t have heard the man call the lass ‘Brianna.’ And something about hearing that name made him pause and look at the lass more intently, drawing her eye and causing her to balk, moving closer to the man and startling him out of his anger or whatever it was that had him yelling.

“D’ye need somethin’?” the man asked, a challenge in his voice—maybe a hint of a threat?

“Are ye alright lass?” Murtagh ignored the man, his eyes locking with hers. Something in the way she looked at him…

“She’s fine,” the man asserted but the young woman rolled her eyes.

“I can speak for myself, Roger,” she hissed. “Sorry, we didn’t mean to cause a scene,” she apologized.

“Did he call ye ‘Brianna’ just then?” Murtagh asked, his brow furrowing as he tried to place the face, as he tried to decide if he saw it because it was truly there or if he saw it because he wanted to see it. “Who are yer parents, lass?”

At that the pair looked warily at each other.

“Why does it matter to you who my parents are?”

“Are ye Claire and Jamie’s daughter then?”

Brianna pushed past Roger to get closer to Murtagh.

“You know my parents? Are they here? Can you take me to them?”

“Brianna…” Roger tried to caution her but all her attention was focused on Murtagh.

“I ken them, aye. I havena had word from them since I left them at home on the Ridge. And aye… I suppose I can arrange to take ye to them, if ye like,” Murtagh answered her questions, hardly aware of the answers he was giving.

“Who are ye?” the man asked, taking a step forward to try and get between Murtagh and Brianna again. “Why should she trust ye?”

Murtagh, once again, keps his attention on Brianna, ignoring Roger. “Yer mam said she’d mentioned me when she told ye about Jamie. My name’s Murtagh.”

Recognition flashed in Brianna’s eyes and Roger appeared to relax by a fraction.

“But… we thought you had died at Culloden,” Brianna said with disbelief. “Though… Mama thought Jamie had too, until we found notes suggesting he hadn’t. We didn’t think to look for you too.”

“I ken,” Murtagh nodded. “Yer mother already explained.”

“You’ve really seen them then?” Brianna grew more animated, pushing past Roger.

Murtagh chuckled. “Aye. And I must say, Claire never thought ye’d make the journey yerself—nor did I get the impression she wanted ye to. Seems a terrible risk to take. Though, I’m sure they’ll be more’n happy to see ye.”

Brianna’s face fell a bit. “I hope so, but it’s not exactly to bring good news.” She reached into her pocket and started to pull out some papers.

“Geez Bree,” Roger protested, pushing at her hands to block people from seeing the photocopied page on top.

Brianna rolled her eyes but Murtagh waved them out of the road and toward the inn.

“Why don’ we take this inside, eh? I’ve no had food for a while and my belly’s achin’. We can find a table wi’ a bit of privacy, I should guess,” Murtagh suggested.

Brianna nodded and led the way into the inn, nearly toppling a young woman in the process.

“Christ, Lizzie,” Brianna exclaimed, catching the lass by the arms. “What’re you…”

“I was watchin’ to be sure ye were alright, miss,” Lizzie apologized. “I saw a man bein’ rough wi’ ye.”

Brianna shot a pointed look at Roger. “It’s alright, Lizzie. Go on upstairs and rest. We’re going to be going to Fraser’s Ridge before too long and you won’t get a proper bed again for a while, I expect.”

“Aye.” Lizzie made an awkward dip to Murtagh and Roger before turning on her heel and heading for the stairs.

“Don’t ask,” Brianna told the two men.

Murtagh glanced at Roger again but this time the man’s expression bore the same look of bafflement as his own.

Murtagh ordered ale and the stew before settling into a corner table with Brianna and Roger.

“Ye must be the historian helped Claire wi’ the search for Jamie,” Murtagh commented.

“Roger Mackenzie.”

“Mackenzie?” Murtagh shook his head. “I would ha’ remembered did Claire say yer name was Mackenzie.”

“His adopted name was Wakefield,” Brianna explained. “He’s going by Mackenzie here because… Actually, why are you using Mackenzie?”

Roger shrugged, a faint color rising in his cheeks. “I use it when performing. This… feels like a performance, ken? And… bein’ here in history seems as good a time as any to be gettin’ back to my own roots. But tha’s no why we’re here,” he redirected the conversation. “I’m here cause ye were daft enough to go through the stones on yer own.”

“Right. And I’m here to warn my parents.” Brianna pulled the paper out again and gave it to Murtagh.

“A fire… And of course, ye dinna ken when precisely,” he muttered tossing it down on the table.

“Exactly. Smudged the date. It could be as early as next year or almost a decade from now. Either way… I couldn’t just sit by without finding some way to warn them. If there’s the slightest chance it could make a difference…”

“Aye, lass. Even after what happened wi’ the Rising… I dinna ken as we could ha’ done anythin’ else, for all the difference it made,” Murtagh sympathized.

“I figure, it’s not trying to make a big change… so maybe it’ll work.”

“Mackenzie,” an oily voice called from the doorway. Color drained from Roger’s face as he looked over his shoulder. “I thought tha’ was you. We been lookin’ for ye since we docked and found ye’d vanished just as we were needin’ yer help unloadin’ the cargo. We were worried that ye’d been taken by thieves or vagrants, that ye were lyin’ in a ditch somewhere wi’ yer head bashed in from one as tried to rob ye.”

The man was blonde and bore a prominent scar down one side of his face. He was playing with an iron ring he wore on his pinky finger—a ring that caused both Brianna and Murtagh to sit up straighter. Murtagh let his hand fall to his side where the hilt of a dagger rested, ready and waiting.

“Is this yer lass then? Mmmm, perhaps ye were right and she was worth the fuss. But if ye were thinkin’ ye could take advantage of my earlier kindness by walkin’ off without upholdin’ your end of the bargain… Think again.”

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Bree shows up on the Ridge with some of Claire's clothes from Lallybroch. Does seeing her daughter wearing some of her old dresses trigger any memories for Claire of little Bree playing dress up in Boston?

Claire stood in the cabin doorway watching Brianna and Lizzie as they moved their things from the wagon into the small shelter where they would be sleeping for the foreseeable future. Lizzie tried carrying too much and Brianna insisted on taking some of it from her to Lizzie’s dismay.

“Is it just Brianna’s bein’ here tha’s put that smile on yer face, Sassenach?” Jamie asked, coming up behind her and slipping his arms around her waist, pulling her to lean back against him. “Or is there somethin’ particular about wha’ they’re up to?”

Claire rested her hands overtop of his where they met each other on her stomach.

“She’s wearing one of my old dresses,” Claire remarked. “It was one of the ones missing from the trunk Marsali and Fergus brought. I assumed it was because it had been worn out by then. It was one of my favorites, after all. It’s strange seeing her wearing it now. Surreal almost…”

“Mmmm,” Jamie purred in her ear. “It’s one of my favorites, too. Must’ve gotten it from Ian while she was there.”

“You remember that dress?” Claire asked, skeptical.

“Oh, aye,” Jamie insisted, his tone serious. “It’s one of the ones ye got all the way back at Leoch. I remember ye wearin’ it when we were on the road collectin’ the rents.” His voice shifted to a playful tone. “It’s what ye were wearing when Dougal first suggested we should wed. I remember ye sittin’ there off on yer own, and buildin’ my courage to go talk to ye about it.”

Claire chuckled at the memory. “Liquid courage if I remember correctly. And you didn’t seem to need nearly as much of it as I did going into our wedding.”

She felt Jamie’s breathy laugh tickle her ear and neck. “Aye. But ye didna need it when ye wore that dress on Quarter Day when ye met the tenants as my lady. Ye held yer head high and smiled on ‘em all, didna flinch at those who doubted ye for bein’ a sassenach. Bree stands as tall and proud as you ever did wearin’ it. Is that what ye see too… lookin at her now?”

Claire sighed. “I see Bree when she was six years old, trying to keep her balance as she walked down the hallway in my heels,” Claire told him. “I see her helping me fold laundry and pulling on my surgical scrubs because she loved the shade of bluish green they were. I see her wearing my lab coat, the cuffs rolled up and my stethoscope around her neck while she triaged her teddy bears and dolls, diagnosing their conditions and walking them through their treatments.”

Jamie laughed again, bittersweet amusement resonating within the cabin.

“Did she want to follow in yer footsteps then?”

“Sometimes. More when she was younger. Once she passed the age of ten, she didn’t try to use my things for dress up anymore. As a teenager she’d ask to borrow the odd bit—a scarf, my earrings, a jumper. But it wasn’t the same. She wore them for convenience or to match something that was her own. Not to emulate me.”

Jamie’s mirth had faded with Claire’s more sorrowful recollections.

“And now? Do ye not think she’s tryin’ to be like you? She’s facin’ an unfamiliar time and place with same strength and grace as you,” Jamie observed.

“Perhaps… But there’s something else in how she’s behaving that I recognize. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Claire sighed again and felt Jamie’s arms tighten around her. “It must be what happened between her and Roger. There’s something weighing on her and she’s trying to be and appear strong in spite of it. I don’t think it’s just where and when she is.”

“She’s a woman now, wi’ all the cares that go along wi’ that.”

“Mmmhmm. Sometimes I wonder when that happened.”

“I suspect it’s always when ye’re no lookin’.”

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Wedding night prompt. What if Jamie woke and went looking for Claire and ended up overhearing what Dougal said to Claire before Rupert came in.

His hand crawled across the bed to where Claire had been lying beside him but the space was empty, the furs and blankets still warm from her body. Jamie cracked one eye to peer through the dim light and confirm her absence using another of his senses, though, he thought he was developing a sixth sense where Claire was concerned. He’d become aware of it soon after they arrived at Leoch. Something in him always seemed to know where she was, or at least when she was near—where to look to see her watching him in the great hall, which table he’d find her sitting at for meals, when to pass through the kitchens so he could run into her between her patients.

She didn’t appear to be in the room—if she had been, she would have noticed him stirring and made some acknowledgment of it. He rolled to the side and groped for the kilt he’d left pooled on the floor beside the bed. But that was missing too.

So wherever she’d gone, she’d wrapped herself in his kilt first. He stayed lying on his side, buffeted by the pillows and pelts while the wave of yearning washed over him. How many nights had he envisioned what she would look like wrapped in his tartan? And not just the Mackenzie tartan he’d worn as Jamie McTavish, but a true Fraser tartan. But he needed to put aside thoughts of what she was wearing (or not wearing) for the moment and clear his head long enough to figure out where she’d gone.

His stomach spoke up and gave him his answer. They had finished the small plate of food he’d brought up a while ago—and had worked up an appetite in the interim. The party downstairs appeared to have dispersed so Claire must have ventured down for more to eat.

He didn’t like the idea of her wandering about the inn wearing nothing more than his plaid—their rooms, aye, but there were too many men about and too much whisky had been drunk for him not to worry for her. Of course, she’d taken his plaid which meant he needed to locate his shirt or something to cover himself before he could go after her.

The fire had died down in the hearth (how long had he been dozing?) and the lower light made finding anything in the room more difficult—not that he’d paid too close attention to where little things like their various articles of clothing had landed.

He bumped his head on the side of a chest of drawers while crouched to retrieve his successfully-located shirt. One of the extinguished candles dislodged from the small pool of wax that had been holding it aloft, landed on the floor, and rolled to him.

Jamie’s knees cracked as he stood and put the candle back atop the chest of drawers. It had to be braced against his sporran to keep from falling and rolling off again. As he pulled his shirt over his head, Jamie’s eyes stayed on the sporran but he was seeing what was carefully tucked away inside—his mother’s pearls.

He had wanted to give them to Claire before the wedding—to see her wearing them with her dress while they made their vows… but he hadn’t been able to work up the courage to do so in front of everyone. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to build up the courage, period. It wasn’t as though Claire had truly chosen to marry him, even if she didn’t seem entirely miserable with the arrangement for the last hour or so. But how much of that was the whisky? How would she look on things in the morning when she was safe from Randall but stuck with him? Would giving her the pearls be too much? He wanted to see her wear them but to offer them to her and have her reject them… He needed to be sure she felt for him at least some of what he felt for her.

The cat objected to Claire’s rummaging for food in the main room of the inn, its cries breaking into Jamie’s reverie. The damned creature was like to rouse the whole inn and poor Claire down there in naught but his plaid. He crept to the door trying not to add to the noise. But when he stepped out on the landing he saw that it wasn’t Claire the cat had been crying over but Dougal.

Claire managed to keep a firm hold on both the pitcher and the plaid wrapped snug around her shoulders and shielding the long lines of her pale body from the cool night air (and Dougal’s sight).

Dougal reached out as Claire made to turn away and Jamie felt his temperature rising. He couldn’t quite make out Dougal’s words but his meaning was clear from the way he looked at Claire, the way he reached up to touch her—and the way Claire pulled away from him.

“I’m Jamie’s wife,” she asserted, the disgust in her tone entirely for whatever proposition Dougal had made.

Jamie was ready to launch himself down the stairs and at his uncle. After all he’d put Claire through with the damned scheme to protect her, giving her so little choice in the matter, for Dougal to turn around and proposition her like that was damn near unforgivable.

Before he could move, however, Rupert’s jolly and low singing made its way down the entryway and into the main room. Dougal and Claire each took a step away from the other and the thrumming in Jamie’s blood calmed the little bit necessary for him to keep silently rooted to the spot.

Claire took the opportunity presented by Rupert’s appearance to turn away and leave. Jamie relaxed further and began to turn back himself. He wasn’t sure Claire would be too happy to find him spying on her. But she paused at the foot of the stairs and looked back to thank Rupert.

“The ring is magnificent,” Jamie heard her say with a sincerity and appreciation that sent his pulse pounding for a new reason. He withdrew into the room and went to stand at the chest of drawers again, reaching for the sporran and the pearls inside before he lost his nerve.

“You’re awake,” Claire remarked, surprised as she closed the door behind her.

“Aye… grew cold in the bed wi’out ye there,” he told her.

“I was thirsty,” she said, holding up the pitcher. “It’s only a bit of wine. There wasn’t any more whisky to be found. Nor much in the way of food, I’m afraid. We’ll have to wait for breakfast for proper sustenance.”

“Dawn’s no too far off by now. It’ll no be a long wait, at least. Claire… there’s… there’s somethin’ I wanted to give ye earlier…”