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Two Rocks and All The Pebbles, a continuation for the Dungeon Cave call (@rix_scaedu)

Rock, Hard, Now What?

“How do we get through this? I’ll tell you how. Let me go. Then I can get out of this damn place, and I’ll be just fine.” He flexed against the chains, digging their edges into his skin. “You can fend for yourself.”

“Not going to happen. Letting you go is suicide for me – and the king’s soldiers will hunt you down.”

He growled. “Damnit, woman, I’m not going to bow and scrape for a year like some slave.”

It didn’t seem to bear pointing out that, technically, he was a slave. “Nobody’s asking you to.”

“Sure as blazes sounds like it.” He shifted his weight from one knee to the other.

“No.” The princess shook her head slowly. “I am asking you to agree to live in my suite for a year and to refrain from killing people – especially me – for that year.”

“While being your slave.”

“Well, that’s the part we can’t get around.” She shrugged. “But there’s nothing saying that a slave has to be slavish.”

“It’s sort of in the name.” He tilted his head at her, an expression far less daunting than any he’d shown previously. “Do you really think you could spend a year with someone like me, Princess, and not treat me like your slave?”

It was a good question. “As if my life depended on it.” She found herself smiling. “Do you think you could spend a year with someone like me, and not try to kill me?”

A heartbeat passed and then another. Had she pushed him too far? Another beat, another, and then a smile slowly grew across his face.
“As if my life depended on it.”

The princess allowed herself to relax fractionally. Her life was, of course, still in danger, but that was a fact of her existence. “Then do you think we might be able to have a deal?”

The prisoner shifted again. “I think we might be able to make a deal.”

She held up a hand. It was better to say it all before hand. “Two things you ought to know.”

He settled back against his heels, the frown growing again. “I’m listening.”

“One. There are still going to be people trying to kill me.”

“Clearly they’re not that good, since you’re still alive. I don’t think they’ll be able to hurt me. Two?”

Bravado had its place and purpose. “Two. I can say that I won’t treat you like a slave. I can’t say anything about the rest of the palace. And if you start a fight – the king’s men will get involved.”

He showed teeth in something she didn’t think was a smile. “I’m not going to start anything. But if they get involved, I know who’s going to come out on top.”

Perhaps that much bravado might be a little out of place. Then again, he’d been rational enough to make a deal with her. “Then we’ll try it. I’m going to unlock your bonds now.” She walked around behind him, placing herself directly at his back. “Please don’t wiggle.”

“Are you sure you’re a princess, Princess?”

“That…” She had a key. She had been a bit surprised that her father had given her a key. But it was easier than picking the lock. “That is the question that everyone keeps asking.”

“I guess the question is, does the King ask it?” She thought he was probably leering, but looking at his chained wrists and ankles lessened any effect his expression might have had.

“Well, even if my father wasn’t my father, the royal line came through my mother.” It wasn’t like it was the first time she’d heard the question. She pulled on the chains until he bent backwards a little bit. “Just a moment; I need slack to get these unlocked.”

He grunted. “He’d really kill you?”

She managed to get the key slotted into the first lock and turned it before she could change her mind. “He’s not the only one. But yes. He killed my sister. And my brother.” The shackle fell off of his left wrist.

“Big family?” He moved his arm tentatively, and then more certainly, pulling it in front of him. “Thinning the herd?”

“There were four of us. Now there’s two.” The second wrist was much easier to unlock, without the chain pulling and getting in the way. She moved on to the ankles. “I haven’t figured it out yet. Either he really hates us, or he wants to motivate us to be as strong as possible.”

“Could be both.” He rolled his shoulders and stretched, the movement making the bruises and cuts on his back twist and dance. “Sounds like a lovely family.”

“It’s the only one I have.” The ankles came unlocked much quicker, now that she was getting the hang of this. “There.”

“Thank you.” He waited just long enough for her to get off of his legs before rising to his feet, stretching and groaning every inch of the way. “Now, I’m going to need pants, a shirt, a belt, shoes, and a weapon of some sort.”

He was, the princess noted, rather tall as well as rather muscular. She also noted the way that he placed his feet, as if he was uncertain of his balance, and the way that he blinked when looking at her. Perhaps a head injury? With his hair in the way, she couldn’t tell if he had any obvious bruising or cuts.

She cleared her throat. “You’re also going to need a bath. Possibly two. And I’m going to need your word that you won’t leave this room without me and your assurance that you’re not going to go around stabbing the royal guards if I do give you a knife.”

His smirk darkened quickly to a frown. “I thought you said you weren’t going to treat me like a slave.”

“I’m not. But I’m not going to put up with you treating me like one, either.” She raised her chin and met his gaze steadily. “We’re going to be partners in this, or I’m going to treat you like a paroled nobleman.”

“Like a – I’m not some poncy noble!”

“Better than a slave, isn’t it?” She found herself smiling. “Look, we have an arrangement. The arrangement involves us looking as if we are getting along for long enough that nobody kills us. And that is not going to happen if you snap orders around.”

“Not gonna happen if you do, either.” He set his jaw.

The princess sighed. “Agreed. So: if you want a weapon, I need your parole. Your agreement that you aren’t going to go attacking people in the palace.”

“You’re seriously going to consider giving me a weapon?”

“I’m seriously considering giving you pants. The weapon depends a lot more on you.”

“Giving you my ‘parole.’” He sat down on the edge of her bed. “What if they stab me first?”

“Then you can feel free to stab them. But if you start a fist fight and they escalate… look, just please try not to get in a situation where the King will have a reason to kill us both, okay? Agree to that and I’ll get you a knife.”

“He’s already put us in a situation where he’s pretty much trying to make us get ourselves killed, isn’t he?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Right. You know what I mean?”

“I’m just trying to make sure I get it right. Parole is a pretty important thing for nobles and other nobby sorts, isn’t it?”

“It is…”

“Grounds for oath-breaking if it’s broken. Someone told me that once.”

She had a feeling that was a story of its own. “Yeah. Yes, it can be.”

“So I want to get it right. So, pretty much, you don’t want me to rock the boat. We’re already down to one board and half an oar, and you don’t want me to dump us in the drink.”

The princess found a smile crossing her lips. Where had that come from? “Yes. That sums it up nicely. Can you agree to that?”

“If it gets me pants and a blade.”

“Then it will get you pants and a blade.” If the blade ended up between her shoulders, well, then it did so.

“Then I, uh. I give you my parole.”

She felt a weight lift off her shoulders: not the heaviest of the weights, nor the most urgent, but a weight nonetheless. She pressed her palms together, fingertips nearly at her throat, and bowed deeply. “I am Arisse. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He snorted. “Is that how you do it in the castle?”

“How do you do it where you came from?” She rose from the bow, but kept her hands pressed together.

He dropped his palms to his thighs and leaned forward, knees bending but eyes still on her. It was quick, not quite cursory, and he was smiling through the whole thing. “I’m Chress. I can’t say it’s nice to meet you, Princess, but it’s nice to find out you’re not a complete bitch.”

“I’m pleased to discover that, too.” The princess suppressed something far too much like a giggle for her tastes. “Let’s get you some pants – although that’s going to require leaving my suite.”

“I’ve been dragged in front of the entire court naked. I think I can handle walking down the hall.” He had no problem with his own smiles, it seemed, fierce tiger-grins that they were. “I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

The princess raked her eyes down his body. She might doubt some of his bravado – but he was right about this.

He was sculpted, head to toe, and while he was also bruised, bloody, and dirty, it made him look like a painting of a wild warrior.

He turned away from her. “So, am I getting pants or not, Princess?”

“Let’s get you a weapon. And something to wear.” Keeping him naked would not improve his mood, she was certain, and she’d given her word not to keep him like a slave. “This way.”

Arisse lived in comfortable exile in a far wing of the castle, one that had been abandoned for more than a decade as her father inadvertently drove away distant relatives, hangers-on, and ambassadors. The king had not complained; she assumed that nobody had told him. It wasn’t as if he was going to sneak into her room in the middle of the night and do the deed of killing her himself.

It meant that she was not generally bothered; it also meant it was a long walk to the laundry and longer to the armory. Chress bore it well, but she could tell he was limping. The closer they got, the more extreme it got.

“Here.” They’d passed only a couple people and there was nobody in the hall with them at the moment; it seemed safe enough. “You can lean on my shoulder.”

“I’m fine.” He pushed away from her.

“You’ve been injured.”

“They did a lot more than injure me. But I’m fine.”

“It’s no shame to accept a crutch for a battle-wound…”

He shoved her away. “What would you know about shame, Princess…“ His voice caught mid-word, and, much to her surprise, he dropped to his knees.

“What-”

He talked over her. “I’m sorry, Princess, I didn’t mean to run into you.” He dropped his head to his knee, the way that the palace help would.

“You can’t have trained him already. Was this some joke of your father’s?”

The voice was shrill, piercing, and far too familiar. Arisse dropped her head for the two seconds required by politeness, then met Dame Sessaly’s gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, madame.”

The woman was not old so much as she was a fixture in the court. “He’s behaving himself. Like a proper body-slave.”

Arisse counted to five in her head. While her eyes were on Dame Sessaly, she strained every other sense towards Chress. Was he going to pounce? How far could he be pushed?

“He was a gift from my father. You don’t think the king would give his daughter an improper gift, do you?” The princess knew she sounded vaguely amused. She had a lot of practice sounding vaguely amused or slightly bored, dealing with the court.

“He was delivered to you wrapped in chains.”

“Well, he is a warrior. It’s not common to deliver warriors wrapped in flowers, is it?”

“A warrior who is bent-knee like a slave?”

“Well, does he look like a slave to you?” Let this end soon, please. Before Chress could take no more.

“He’s on his knees at a lady’s feet.”

“He’s on his knees at a princess’ feet.” Chress’ rumble of an answer spoke of violence. “As ought be everyone.”

“He speaks!” Dame Sessaly looked down at Chress. “And you think I ought to be bowing to your princess, boy?”

“I think everyone ought to show her the respect due her position.” He was snapping off his words now.

“And what about the respect due my position?”

This was going to end poorly. This was going to end very poorly indeed.

Chress looked Dame Sessally up and down, more assessing than scorning. “You fucking the king?”

“What? How dare you!” She took a step backwards, glaring at Chress. The princess noted that, despite the outrage, she didn’t deny the question. Interesting.

“Not married to him, not unless you people mark marriage way differently than mine – stupid hairdos or something. So that makes you… not outranking the Princess. Princess?”

“You’re not wrong.” He wasn’t. Not that Dame Sessally was going to enjoy hearing that. Arisse was going to be hearing about this for months.

On the other hand, she was enjoying it.

“So, you don’t outrank her, she owns me, so I can say whatever I want to you.” Chress nodded. “Dame.”

“Your father will hear about this!” The Dame was looking more and more flustered.

“I’m sure he will. Now, if you’ll excuse me…?”

“There is absolutely no excuse for a hoyden like you!” Happily offended and having gotten in the last word, Dame Sessally flounced off.

“Thought she’d never leave.” Chress cleared his throat. “Ah, Princess, could I get a hand up?”


Written to [personal profile] rix_scaedu‘s commissioned continuation.

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Discoveries about Doomsday, a continuation of AG/Doomsday (@inventrix)

First: Visiting Doomsday
Previous: Classrooms of Doomsday


Kheper nodded at Luke. Luke nodded back at Kheper. Nobody needed to be a succubus to sense the tension in the air.

The students weren’t, Luke assumed, all in the room yet – there were three there, one in just-grey-white-and-black, one with the same red accessories and accents that Nehara was wearing, and one wearing light green and pink. All three of them, almost in unison, looked at their professor, looked at each other, and turned to look at Luke.

He flared his wings and, feeling immensely self-conscious under the gaze of three teenagers and one boy he still thought of as a teenager, bowed again. He cleared his throat. “Ah, hello. Professor – Agislaw. Jae’Law-Shield.”

The boy in pink and green gasped. Luke schooled his face and waited for Kheper’s response.

The boy – man, he probably deserved that much – bowed back in response. “Sa’Hunting Hawk. Luke. Principal Doomsday told me you were visiting, but I didn’t know you’d be taking in my humble class.”

There had never, ever, been anything remotely humble about Kheper. Still. Luke smiled, and tilted his head in Nehara’s direction. “My tour guide thought it would be a good idea.”

“Aah. Nehara. How kind of you.” Kheper’s attention slid seamlessly to his students. “Since the three of you were so kind as to be on time, allow me to introduce you to the head of Security at Addergoole and my former PE teacher, Luca Hunting-Hawk. Sir, this is Nur, Ihab, and Antigone.”

He remembered when Antigone’s father had named her. He’d come back to Addergoole to ask Luke about the naming visions, pale and sick-looking.

“…and the best combat instructor, best warrior I’ve ever met.” Kheper’s eyes met Luke’s again. He was smiling, not a common expression for Law-Shield.

He would have to trust that Doomsday had Antigone well in hand. He nodded back to Kheper. He wasn’t sure what the game was here, but it felt like mark-the-territory. He could respect that.

“Better than Professor Inazuma?” They probably weren’t supposed to hear that whisper, but Ihab, the boy in green and pink, was not all that quiet.

Inazuma?

Kheper fielded the question smoothly. “Far better than Professor Inazuma. As a matter of fact, Sa’Hawk taught Inazuma, back when I was in school.”

Oh! Yes, that would suit Leo’s sense of – whatever it was. Luke smiled at the students. Another two were trickling in, and he could see one more behind them. He was going to have to make this good.

“He was one of my best students,” he allowed. “Certainly one of my most eager.”

The students giggled. Good to know that that still struck a note. Luke was finding Boom-et-al being so very… non-explosive was leaving him on uncertain footing.

“Luke is also,” Kheper took back the conversation smoothly. Luke glanced at him; the boy – professor – nodded again, almost apologetically. “He’s also one of the only full-blooded Mara I have ever met, and the only one I know to still be alive.”

Ah. Well, he was invading a classroom. Luke spread his wings wide, so that the students could study them. “I remember.” He had never had a good “teaching voice;” Mike always referred to his grunt-or-shout tactic. The room was small, though, so he resorted to the tone he used with scared first-year mentorees. “When I was a child, it was rare to see a ha – an Ellehemaei that was not full-blooded. And now, we’re all but extinct.”

He flapped his wings once, just enough to prove they were real. “The Mara are – were, I guess – the protectors. We were stronger, tougher, faster. Warriors.”

“Hunters.” The girl’s voice was very quiet, but it still took all of Luke’s self-control not to flap at her. Instead, he turned to look at her, very mindfully folding his wings until they were at rest.

“The Shenera Oseraei had very similar fae. They called them Hunters – and many people think the two bloodlines are related. Yeah. But the Mara are not Hunters.”

She was not a big girl; she looked younger than her peers, and, still dressed in grey-white-and-black, Luke guessed she probably didn’t have a Mentor yet. “That’s just -” She turned to Kheper.

He shot Luke a quick warning glance over her head. When he answered, Luke noticed his voice was careful and very gentle. “It’s all right. Sa’Hawk knows you didn’t mean any offense, Mara.”

Luke struggled to control a wing-flap. Mara?

Kheper’s cleared throat brought his attention back. “Her name is Mara, Luke, מָרָא. Not māra.”

Luke settled down. He could tell the unfortunately-named girl was getting very upset. “My mistake. Pleased to meet you, Mara. Maybe after class, we could talk more about Those Who Protect?”

“I…” She shrugged her shoulders up to her ears. “If Miss Ascha says it’s okay?”

“I’m sure she will.” Kheper took control of the conversation with a smoothness Luke found himself envying. “And perhaps sa’Hawk could tell the rest of the class a little bit about the Laws of Belonging? We’re studying the first Law of Belonging today.”

Luke cleared his throat. “Aah. Well,” he chuckled nervously. “That would be the one I’ve had the least experience with. It’s been a few years since I’ve been a Child.”

“You have children, don’t you?” Nur tilted her head at him. “I thought all of the Addergoole teachers did.”

“Well. You know quite a bit about the Addergoole staff.” He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. “Yes. I have a few children, and some grandkids. But I’m their father.”

“Professor Inazuma has maternal rights – well, I mean, she’s grown…” Ihab seemed to be infatuated with Leo. Well, he certainly wasn’t the first. Luke wondered if Leofric knew. Or Cynara, for that matter.

“Yeah, but Sigruko was a special case.” Luke looked around the gathering class. “Well. I’ve had enough kids that I know what the First Law of Belonging looks like from a father’s end. I can talk about that. If that’s all right, Professor Aegislaw?”

“Of course.” Kheper bowed to him.

Enough time had passed that Luke could talk about Aleron without pain and anger; by this time, Aleron’s grandchildren, his disreputable grandson Makatza among them, had come and gone from Addergoole. Doug was harder, not because there was pain, but because there was guilt. And Chavva and Icarus – well, those were stories he could tell while feeling his wings show every emotion, and he let them.

When he was done, he bowed to the students, bowed to Kheper, and took his leave, feeling wrung out and, at the same time, happy. He caught Nehara watching him and tucked his wings against his back.

He cleared his throat. “Ah. So, what’s next our our tour?”

“I was thinking about visiting Professor Lily’s class. Aah… Dáirine?”

Luke’s wings twitched. “Dáirine.” He remembered the too-pretty girl: daughter of two troublemakers, raised by a completely different sort of trouble. Ciara’s adopted child. “Ah. Cya would know her through Yoshi.”

“Principal Doomsday knows everyone.” Nehara smiled placidly, but Luke still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was laughing at him. “Would you rather skip her class?”

“No. No, I’d like to see her take on history.”

Nehara paused for a heartbeat. Studying him? Reading him? Luke was an open book and knew it. “This hour is my class – Eighth-Year – and she’s covering the history of the collapse and subsequent rebuilding.”

It sounded like a warning. Luke couldn’t blame the girl for thinking some heads-up was necessary. Dáirine had been a child when the world had ended. What historical perspective…

Humans did it all the time, he reminded himself. “I’d love to see it.”

“Same building, so we don’t have to go far.” She led him out of the classroom and into a narrow-looking hall that was crowded with students. Narrow-seeming, and yet Luke noticed he could probably spread his wings almost to their full width. The floor was wood with throw rugs; the walls were covered in artwork. “It’s…” He searched for a word, and picked one after a while, more Mike’s word than his own. “Cozy.”

“These kids – me, too, when I was that age – this is the first time they’ve ever been away from home. Some of them grew up in enclaves, but some of them were barely holding on to survive. They want to be sure that everyone feels as comfortable as possible, this far away from home.”

“Maybe we should think about that more at Addergoole.” Cozy was never a word he’d heard used to describe that place, at least not without tongue firmly in cheek. “Do you like it? Did it help you be comfortable?”

“I was homesick, of course.” She shrugged elegantly. Mike would love this girl. Luke swallowed the thought and the irrational jealous that it brought forward. “But the kidlings, first, second, third years, most of the fourth and fifths, they’re all in one big house, so you’re never really alone unless you want to be. Cy’Ascha, unofficially.”

That was the second time the name Ascha had come up. “Aceline? sh’Magnolia?”

Nehara raised her eyebrows at him. “I wouldn’t presume to call a teacher by their mother’s name.”

Luke glowered at her, uncowed by her implicit scolding. “I was there when her mother was born.”

“You were there when she was Named, too, weren’t you? Aceline, sa’Water Under the Bridge, is that who you mean?”

There was tartness in her voice that hadn’t been there before. Luke liked it. But his wings still flapped irritably. “Yes,” he grumbled. “Ascha.”

Her voice gentled minutely. “Doomsday is a kid away from home, sa’Hunting Hawk. And you’re the uncle set to check up on the kid. But please remember that while they are wayward children to you, they’re honored mentors and instructors to us.”

Luke’s wings stilled. “How are you so wise, so young?” Are you another Manira, another cuckoo’s egg in the nest? Are you a danger?

Nehara smiled sadly. “I’m cy’Red. It’s quite an education.”

And, he could tell, not the whole answer. That was fine. He nodded his head to her. “So, Aceline is a teacher here?”

“She teaches the younger students, up through their third year. And she lives in the dorm with them. She’s very good at being soothing.”

“She’s always been a good girl.”

Nehara smiled. “Not like her sister, right? I’ve heard the stories. Professor Sweetflower – Magnolia – tells some of the stories.”

Luke bit back a comment. Magnolia shouldn’t have surprised him, not after Aceline. She’d been in love with Howard since she’d Kept him, and Howard was inseparable from Cynara. Dáirine, Ascha, Kheper, Magnolia – how far did Cya’s reach extend?

“And after Professor Lily’s class, maybe I can show you some of the other areas.” Nehara kept talking as if they’d never segued into the conversation on Aceline. “The dojo-and-dance-studio, of course. Then there’s the kid’s hall, some of the cy’ree dormitories -”

“You dorm by cy’ree?” That was so traditional it had dust and leather bindings. Luke was surprised Cynara had come up with it – or had she?

“In the middle years, yes. And then the last year or two, we dorm with our crew. I could show you my apartment, too.”

He had to be imagining the suggestion there. She sounded so innocent, so calm. There was no way she was… Luke coughed.

“I’d like that. Seeing around the place. It all seems so… tidy.”

“Well.” Now she just sounded amused. Luke found he could live with her being amused at him. “sa’Red Doomsday did plan it. And if there’s one thing everyone knows about Red Doomsday…”

Luke cleared his throat. He found that he didn’t know the end of that sentence, and that made him uncomfortable. Nehara clearly expected him to fill in the end, like an in-joke he had never been part of.

“Lozenge?” She opened a small wooden box filled with what he hoped were cough drops of some sort. “The air here does that to some people.”

“Thanks.” Luke took a cough drop and the excuse. “You were saying…?”

“Oh. If there’s one thing everyone knows about Red Doomsday, it’s that she’s prepared for everything.” Nehara shrugged dismissively. “I guess the joke works better if you know her.”

Doomsday.

“Doomsday prepper.” Luke coughed it out around the cough drop, which turned out to have hot pepper flakes in it. “Prepper.

“Well, yes.” Nehara’s innocent look was so studied, it had to be fake. “Everyone knows that… don’t they?”


Written to @Inventrix’s commissioned continuation.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/838972.html. You can comment here or there.

Edora Begins to Explain Life to Prince Rodegard

Previously: Prince Rodegard Visits the Imperial Capital

~~

Prince Rodegard was staring open-mouthed at Edora. She watched him implacably, pretending that she did not care about his reactions.

Said reactions, as she cataloged them, appeared to be, in order: confusion, worried understanding, denial, more confusion, angry understanding, angrier denial, and then a further state of confusion.

He might be a spoiled childish specimen of a Prince, but he was still, after all, a prince. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Dame Edora. I must have misheard you.”

She contemplated her answer for a moment. “It’s Princess, actually.”

“…what?” This time, even his manners failed him.

“Technically, Kneginja Esedora. But I have been Edora for quite a while.”

“Kneg…” He struggled with the unfamiliar word. “Wait. I thought you were my bodyguard.”

“I am your bodyguard, your minder, your instructor, and your guide. I am also, to some ways of thinking, your jail-keeper. But most importantly right now, Prince Rodegard, I am the person in charge of getting you ready for the Imperial Capital.”

“That’s not what you said last time. Uh. Your Highness? You said you were supposed to prepare me for her… for the Imperial Empressina. Didn’t you? Your Highness?”

“I did.” Edora found herself smiling. He wasn’t stupid, this boy, he was just – well, he was provincial, and sheltered, and naive. She’d known more than her share of ones like that. “It is my job, among all my other jobs, to get you ready for her before she returns from her tour of the Empire.”

“Get me ready for… what, exactly?” From the way his face was going ashen, Edora thought he might already know. Still, she couldn’t fault him for asking.

And she couldn’t fault herself for wanting to tease him a little. He’d jumped into this position feet-first and without checking the water first; in a pond, that could get your neck broken. In life… “Didn’t you ask what you were volunteering for?”

“Somebody had to go!” He leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. To either side of him, the guards stirred but didn’t try to stop him. “Look, it’s not like the Emperor would have taken ‘Caredorn is in love with the dancers’ daughter and Takaranne is a better businessman than any of the rest of us; Petraken is too frail to travel and Lidotarre would get us into a war.’“ He was glaring at Edora, which she found interesting. “It got me out of blessing the fields and all of the maidens, sure. It got me out of plowing the fields and helping with the harvest in bad years, and it was the only chance I was likely to have to visit the Imperial Capital.”

Edora leaned back. Perhaps he had jumped in feet first to escape a burning building, or perhaps he was making up justifications to cover a lack of forethought. “It would have been interesting if you had said all of those things. Instead, however, you said ‘the Imperial Capital sounds fun. I’ll go.’“

“Well… it does sound fun. But – the Empressina? Her Imperial Highness?” He leaned back and folded his hands carefully, left over right. “What am I being prepared for?”



Written to @dahob’s commissioned continuation.

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Getting Into the Arrangement, a continuation for the Dungeon & Cave Call

“Now.” Miss Valeta’s hand stroked over Ivor’s butt. “I thought you wanted to be a good boy.”

Ivor made a noise around the gag. It wasn’t talking – he wasn’t allowed talking, but, then again, he couldn’t talk with this thing in his mouth, anyway. But she still landed a slap hard on his ass. “And yet you keep fighting me. Don’t you want to be good for me, Ivor?”

He wanted to say yes. He wanted to nod. He wanted to, in some way, assure her that he was really a good boy, as good as she wanted him to be, and he would do anything she wanted, if only she would let him down from this thing.

But his neck was held in a collar that was more brace than neckwear, and the rest of him was hung upside-down and backwards from something way too much like a trapeze for his comfort. And the flogger was coming again, god, not the flogger. Ivor whined.

She paused, her hand in mid-air. “Do you know what you did wrong? Answer?”

“oo?” he tried, around his gag.

“Don’t lie to me, Ivor.”

“..eeeh?”

“Were you pushing your limits on purpose?” She took his face in both hands, looking him eye-to-eye, if backwards and upside down.

“…eeeh?” He really had been. He’d wanted to know.

“And did you like what you discovered?”

That was too complex for an answer around a gag. He made a noise that was mostly whine. How to answer, how to not lie, how to… the sound changed from a whine to a sob.

“Easy, easy.” Her fingers were working at the buckles on the gag immediately. “There you go. All right. You can answer, and then I’ll let you down.”

Ivor swallowed. “I like… I like, Miss Valeta, I like being pushed around. And I like knowing the limits. But, um.” He turned his head and coughed, hoping to cover the hot blush he felt trying to come to his already-flushed cheeks. “Um.”

“But you’re not sure you like this particular kind of being pushed around?”

“Um. Yes. Sorry.”

“Surely you didn’t think that you’d like everything?”

“No! No, of course not. I mean… no. That’s part of the thing, isn’t it? I don’t have to like it all, as long as I don’t hate it. And even if I do – I know it ends.”

“Exactly.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “Why didn’t you like this part, Ivor?”

Ivor gulped. “I signed up for whatever you want to do to me on the weekends.”

“You did.” Her hand went from petting to gripping. “But I want an answer.”

“I don’t like…” He tried for a shrug. “Being upside down? I didn’t like doing things I didn’t know were wrong.”

She chuckled softly. “You’re a natural sub. Tell me, are you worried that every weekend will be like this, or worried that it won’t?”

“I. Um… Neither?” He wriggled against the belts and straps holding him in mid-air. “What happens happens. When it’s done, I know if I can handle it or not.”

“And if you can’t?” She still had his hair in one hand, but now her other hand was caressing his ass.

“Then… then I don’t do it again.” He craned to look at her. “Miss Valeta – I know this is a year contract. I signed up. I’m not going to complain unless you order me to. I’m not going to try to get out of it.”

“Even if you’re miserable?” Both of her hands went still. Ivor swallowed. “Answer me!”

“That’s what I agreed to, Miss Valeta. I don’t want to try to back out.”

She pushed air out through closed lips. “All right. I’m going to get you down from that contraption, Ivor.” She released his hair and started moving ropes and pulleys. “And then… and then you and I are going to have a talk about safe words and their importance.”


Written to Hob’s commissioned continuation of An Unusual Arrangement and Learning the Arrangement

If you’d like to see more of this story, there is definitely more to be written! Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/834956.html. You can comment here or there.

Probably a Rescue, a continuation for the Dungeon Call

Previous: The Rescue? Continues?
First: A Rescue, of Sorts
.

“Was it really that obvious?” Daxton let the mercenary woman half-guide and half-help him into the hunting cabin. He couldn’t have run away if he’d wanted to and, concerned as she was with the ransom, she’d probably catch him. “I mean, that I’m not interested in…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence the way she had, interested in rutting. “Um. Bedroom games? I thought I hid it pretty well.”

She opened the door with her foot. “You flirted with married women, grandmothers, great-great-grandmothers, and the occasional woman devoted to the gods. In other words, you were immensely friendly with anyone who would never take you up on it.”

“…You really noticed that?”

“I was looking.”

“I never noticed you.

“Well, you’re not supposed to, are you? I mean, you’re the Duke’s son and I’m a mercenary. But I had reason, too.” She helped Daxton to a chair – a surprisingly sturdy one, that looked big enough to hold a bear comfortably. “I’m going to see to the horses. I’ll be just a moment.”

“But what was your reason?” He found himself calling after her back.

“We’ll get to that. Horses first.”

Daxton took the moment to look around the cabin. His first thought had been hunting cabin, the sort of place that nobility took to when they wanted to go deep into the woods. But this place was, while every bit as sturdily built as his father’s cabins, small, hardly bigger than the dungeon room Daxton had spent the last three seasons in.

It was a study in contrasts – tiny, but sturdy, everything made of humble materials and dull, faded dyes, but everything made with care and very very well. It was more comfortable, he supposed, than a dungeon, although every bit as much of a trap. But he had no chain here, and he didn’t know what she expected of him.

Bath she’d said, and he could see the big hook where a kettle might heat up over the fireplace. He couldn’t walk very well, but it was only a few steps to the hearth, and the wood was stacked – dry, split, cured wood – within arm’s reach of that hearth.

By the time the mercenary came back, Daxton had gotten a nice little fire going. It might be the end of summer, but that did not mean the nights wouldn’t be cold.

“Good idea.” She latched the door – it had a sturdy hasp, he noted, and a bar as well – and began shedding her leather armor. “You asked why I was looking. I thought you’d figured it out already.”

Daxton shook his head. “My brothers are more handsome and before me in succession.”

“Yeah. So a woman looking to marry or bed power or looks, they’ll go after your brothers. I’m not looking to bed anyone – and in a merc company, that stands out. I bet it stands out in a Duke’s son, too, if you don’t learn to hide it.”

It finally sank in, what she’d been trying to tell him. You’re not the only one who’d rather do anything else than rut.

“I thought…” He found he was staring at her as she stripped down to her underclothes, and found that he could still not look away. “I was born early, my father always said it stunted me. I thought it stunted, you know…”

“I’ve found a few others. Not many. A farmer, an armorer, another merc – and you.” The mercenary shrugged. “I figured, when your father raised the reward to your hand in marriage, that it would kill so many birds with one stone, if only I could manage to make the throw.”

Something about the way she said it made Daxton take a second look at her face. “Those people the Red Queen said had come for me -”

“Yeah.” She sank to the floor, her knees within touching distance. “I don’t know how many she told you about, or what she said, but we lost some really good fighters.”

Daxton swallowed. “Dead?”

“Some of them. I mean – we know about some. And there was nobody else in the dungeons, so if they were captured, they weren’t kept there.” She shook her head. “They were such better fighters than me, but I knew I had to try.”

“I was – “

“You were in danger, I know. And now – well, now we get to see what your father will do.”

That was a good question. “My father keeps his word.”

“But did he really expect a common mercenary to succeed? And does he really plan to give me your hand in marriage? To let us rule the little rocky earldom by the border?” She shook her head, this time more fiercely. “If he holds true on the marriage, that will be enough.”

Daxton blinked and blinked again. “You… you want to marry me?

“That is what I’ve been trying to get across, yeah.”

“You want to…” Daxton coughed over a sudden lump in his throat. “You don’t know me yet.”

“Of course not. Neither would any noble or rich woman your father sold you to. Neither would the Red Queen. Neither would any other merc or knight or soldier or their sister or cousin or partner who found you. But what I know is that I can marry you and give us both a little respite, and that seems like a good thing all around.”

Respite. Daxton had feared marriage – and the likely-inevitable angry dissolution of such marriage – more than he had feared the Red Queen. But this had to be a trap. “You’d get an Earldom out of it, too,” he pointed out.

“We would. And I never claimed not to be a mercenary.”

“That… that is true. But you really want to, want to marry me? Me?”

“You are the one I rescued, aren’t you?” She poked his knee gently. “You’re not a spectre or a doppelganger, are you?”

“No, no, I’m me. Daxton.” He looked up at her, an unfamiliar smile touching his lips. “That was who you were sent to find, right? Daxton?”

“The one and only. Son of Duke Tebrin and the Lady Prediwan, right?”

“That’s me.” He suppressed a chuckle. “You should know them, if you want to be their kin-by-marriage… oh, dust.” His good mood soured as quickly as it had come. “What about babies?”

“Well, there’s always gritting our teeth and bearing the necessity, which I’m told works for most people. But,” and she had not stopped smiling, although the expression now was a bit more grim, “the war with the Red Queen has left a lot of orphans, many of whom are at least ethnically similar to your family line. If we time it right, nobody will ask unfortunate questions.”

Daxton found his jaw dropping. “You really have thought of everything.”

“I told you.” She bowed, as deep and as courtly as one could manage from a sitting position. “I do my prep work.”


If you want more of this story – and there is still more just dying to be written – drop a tip in, ah, the tip handcuffs:


This story written as [personal profile] technoshaman‘s commissioned continuation

Next: A Rescue in Hand

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/828828.html. You can comment here or there.

The Rescue? Continues? – a continuation for the Giraffe Call

Previous: A Rescue, of Sorts

Daxton had dealt with mercenaries before – there had been the month of assassination attempts, and then there had been the border skirmishes, since his father’s Duchy butted up again the Red Queen’s land. He had learned, unpleasantly but quickly, that you did what you were told by the people in armor, or, Duke’s son or not, they made certain you did what they wanted. He fell quiet and held still.

“This’ll just take a minute.” She pulled a leather roll from her belt and, from there, pulled a set of tiny tools. “Just hold still…” One slim tool went into the key-hole of Daxton’s shackles, followed by another, this one at an angle. “Hold still…” Daxton hadn’t moved, but, then again, she wasn’t looking at him, she was looking at her work.

Three clicks later, the shackles had released. “Can you walk?”

“Yes.” He was fairly certain he could, at least. “But-“

“Hsst, come on.” She hauled him to his feet and shoved her shoulder under his arm. “We’ve got to get out of here before – well, we’ve got to get out of here.”

He couldn’t very well let her go back to his father and tell the Duke that his son had refused to leave the Red Queen’s dungeon. “Very well. I can walk…”

“And I can support you. You’re a year’s wages on legs, man, come on. I expected this.”

It turned out that “I can walk” was slightly more of an exaggeration than Daxton had believed, but, luckily, he supposed, the mercenary’s claim that she could support him was completely true. They headed out of the dungeon, the hair on the back of Daxton’s neck prickling.

They were moving quietly, but slowly. Daxton was sure that at any moment, the Red Queen’s guards would jump out and resc- and capture him back. He’d feel bad about the nice mercenary woman, of course, but she’d known it was a high-risk job. Dukes do not give out rewards like the one Daxton’s father was reportedly offering for cakewalks.

“Almost there. Hsst, gotta hold yourself for a moment. Can you do that?”

“Where… yes.” They were in a dusty, musty corner of the white-stone castle. He hadn’t seen much of the place in his captivity, but he was pretty sure that nobody had seen this room in years, possibly decades. Certainly nobody with a mop.

It had some old papers, a lot of mud – and most importantly, a door. It looked stuck; the mercenary leaned heavily on it, shoving it one finger-width at a time.

The guards were going to be here any minute. They were going to hear the soft scrape of the door on the wood, or follow some trail or some track. They couldn’t just lose him. Could they?

And they’d put an arrow through her, right off, but if the Red Queen was telling the truth, they’d make sure to only cripple her. She liked thieves to die slowly, very slowly.

“Can you hurry a little?”

“If I hurry, it makes noise. It makes noise…”

“Okay. Okay. Quiet is good.” He leaned against a wall. The guards would find him. Nobody had even got as far as the dungeon before. He wasn’t even sure the stories the Red Queen told him were true. But if they did find him – if they didn’t find him –

“There. Come on, the horses are right outside.”

“This is insane.” He hobbled through the narrow opening into a courtyard as disused as the room had been. “How did you-“

“I do my prep work. Here.” She dropped to her knees and gave him a leg up into the saddle. Daxton found that muscle memory took over, even if his strength was lacking. “Now, now is the time where we have to really run.” She mounted her own horse much more quickly, grabbed the reins to Daxton’s horse, and, in a moment, they were bent down over their mounts’ necks as they sped towards the border.

They were really leaving. They were really going home. Daxton closed his eyes and concentrated on not falling off. They were really out of the Red Queen’s palace. He squeezed his eyes a little tighter and clutched the pommel.

The mercenary didn’t stop them until they were up in the foothills, past the Red Queen’s territory and almost to Daxton’s father’s duchy. A tiny hunting cabin stood waiting for them. “You can clean up here, and rest. We’ll go back to your father in the morning, and I can collect my reward.”

Her reward. Daxton swallowed. “I really appreciate all the trouble you went to, but I-“

“-have as much interest in rutting as you do in learning how to be a pig farmer. I know.”

“You… what?” Daxton gaped at her.

“I do my prep work. And my research.”

“But my father offered my hand in marriage to the merc – or woman of the merc’s choice – that rescued me.” He could, he supposed, run back to the Red Queen’s dungeon. But that would be pretty obvious.

“So?” The mercenary grinned at him. “You’re not the only one who’d rather do anything else than rut.”


My Dungeon & Cave Call is open!

If you want more of this story – and there is still more just dying to be written – drop a tip in, ah, the tip handcuffs:

This story written as [personal profile] ysabetwordsmith‘s commissioned continuation

Next: Probably a Rescue.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/824624.html. You can comment here or there.

Commissions and other Support for the Thorne-Author

(see what I did there?)

Commissions are always available at the low, low rate of 2¢/word, with a minimum commission of $4/200 words.
$20 commissions and higher will be discounted to $5/300 words or 5/3¢ a word. Just because I always wanted to charge in fractions.
For commissions over $35/2100 words, all words over that limit will be charged at a penny a word.

To commission a story, a piece of demifiction, or any other work of creative writing (even poems, I can do poems), sent me an email at thornealder/gmail, leave a comment on this post, or sent me a PM on Dreamwidth or Livejournal.

I reserve the right to turn down any commission, but will complete any commission I accept.

I take payments by Paypal (also thornealder/gmail), by paying-for-my-Dreamwidth-time, or other methods by negotiation.

I will begin work on your piece as soon as I receive payment. Commissioned works will be posted on my blog, here, when completed.

Don’t want a commission, but want to say “thanks?”

Cool! I always appreciate tips, and they help to unlock extras – more posts on the serials, for instance.

There’s Paypal, of course, but there’s also Patreon: subscribe at any level from $1 to $50/month and open up incentive levels to get even more fiction!

And in conclusion, this is a conclusion.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/84941.html. You can comment here or there.

There Are Always Choices

After And We Are Not Monsters.

The girl called Rohanna did not take well to the collar.

Viatrix had sympathy for that. Nobody in their house had ever taken well to submission and, to the girl, they were the enemy. They had stolen her from her crew at hawthorn-point.

What she did not have was tolerance. “No.” She knew she was getting sharp, and could not manage to soften her tone. “No, what did I say?”

Rohanna snarled. “If I washed the floor I didn’t have to wash the dishes.”

“Try again, little mage.”

“Don’t call me that!” Rohanna swung back from Via’s hand. “If I cleaned the floor… well… I didn’t have to wash the dishes.”

“Better.” This time, Via caught Rohanna’s collar. “So. Floor again, or dishes. Your choice.”

~

The boy – not a boy, the Kept – named Kavan didn’t know quite what to do with, about, or for Baram.

It was mutual. Baram found that the slender fae with the fragile-looking body brought out memories, and he’d never been very comfortable with the sort of memories he was getting now. He found that the not-kid brought out a protective urge, and for the first time that he could functionally remember, the urge was meet, right, and by the Law. And he found that the little Kept frustrated the living shit out of him, in large part by being terrified.

“Your choice,” he repeated. Again. “My bed or the couch-bed.”

“Whatever my master wants.” Kavan stared at the ground

“Your master. Wants you to choose.”

~

The one called Ardell could be made to see sense.

The other one, the one named Delaney, was rabid. She hissed, spat and swore, none of it in any way useful. It seemed she knew the Boss, and wanted the Boss to help them. Everything else was irrelevant.

So Jaelie spoke to Ardell. “The Boss is busy, cleaning up after the people you led here.”

“I knew you could handle them.” The man was insufferably smug. “I knew Baram could handle them. He’s as tough as a truck.”

“Tougher. But you brought them to our door, and that causes problems.”

Delaney said something. Jaelie watched Ardell. “So. We’re gonna need oaths, or we’re gonna need to take information from your mind. Your choice.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/799051.html. You can comment here or there.

Visiting Doomsday, a story of Addergoole/Doomsday Academy

This is written as @inventrix’s commissioned continuation of this drabble posted on the Addergoole Facebook (also the first ~100 words of this piece).

Luke folded his wings against his back and tried not to stare.

When Cynara had come to them, to Regine, saying “I built a school,” he hadn’t know what to expect. Hell, when she’d started building the CITY, he hadn’t know what he’d find.

What he saw was… children, and teens, moving from building to building, smiling, their grey-and-black-and-white uniforms adorned with splashes of color and their interactions adorned with what sounded like playful rivalry.

He’d come anticipating a mess to be dealt with, or a boot camp to be… handled.

He didn’t quite know what to think about this.

~

Luke had first visited the city back when it was nothing more than four houses and five half-done walls. Cynara’s grandchildren had been worried about her – for the first time in their lifetimes, she hadn’t taken a Kept that year. And she was wandering off…

It wasn’t that fae didn’t get senile, but they didn’t often do so that young. Still, halfbreeds were halfbreeds, and Boom wasn’t exactly known for their stability in the first place. Luka had gone to check up on Cynara, both because her grandchildren had asked, and because a more-unstable-than-usual Boom was something they would need to know about, before it… ah, exploded.

And found Cynara building a city. She was, as far as he could tell, building it mostly with Workings, staring at the ground and willing up vast walls a foot at a time. It had to be exhausting work. It had to be miserably boring. And yet he watched her go on for hours.

She didn’t acknowledge his presence until she stopped for a break, and, even then, she poured two cups of water instead of one, and held out up in his direction.

When he went home, he told Regine & the grandchildren that everything was fine, and meant it.

~

The second time he’d visited, Regine had just turned Cynara down. This time, he found the walls complete, many of the buildings inside finished, and a bustling population. He also found guards at the gate who were quite clear that he would land and walk in like a normal person, or be shot down.

Since he was pretty certain that they could and would do it, he landed, and, rather than coming in, wrote out a message for Cynara, called Red Doomsday (and what had her Mentor been thinking, with a name like that? Red Doomsday? Might as well have called her Explosion Waiting to Happen.

Of course, they’d all been waiting for that explosion for a very, very long time…)

The message was short, but it said what it needed to: Addergoole will not interfere. I’d like to come visit, if you’ll allow it.

It was her home, after all. He went home and told Regine there was nothing to worry about. He wasn’t sure, this time, if he meant it or not.

When her reply had not come immediately, Luke had begun to doubt his choice. He’d chewed it over with Mike – who had a bias – with Laurel – who had far less of one – and with Mystral – whose bias was at least different.

The consensus, inasmuch as you could get those three to agree on anything, was give it time.

Luke had given it a year. Then the letter had arrived from Cynara: You are welcome to come, but it would make me more comfortable if you would wait one more year.

She was hiding something. There was no reason to send a letter like that unless she was covering up something.

Luke had written back: Then I will see you in a year. He’d told Regine that there was nothing to worry about, lying through his teeth.

~

Cynara had sent him an engraved invitation, which showed up fifty-one weeks to the day since her last letter had arrived. An actual engraved invitation, the curly font requesting the honor of his presence for a “Demonstration Day” at Doomsday Academy.

Luke had responded on the enclosed RSVP card. He had added a note to the back, in his own words – tempting as it was to borrow Mike for the fancy phrasing – telling Director Cynara that he would be honored to visit. When he passed it over to her very-formal-looking (and very-young-looking) courier, he suppressed all concern and gave the boy a friendly smile and a tip.

And here he was, standing at the entrance to Doomsday Academy, under the arch that probably-coincidentally was too narrow to allow his wings to unfurl, waiting for his tour guard.

“Sa’Hunting Hawk.” Cynara looked – not all that different from forty years ago, as long as you stopped at the superficial. Her face was still young, but her posture and her expression were a lot more sure of herself.

Luke was surprised – although he probably shouldn’t have been – to see that she had her Mask down, the fluffy mink-like tail and ears of her Change visible for all to see. And she was smiling, although Luke knew better than to read anything at all into that.

“Jae’Red Doomsday.” He nodded politely to her. “Your city is quite lovely.”

“You’ve hardly scratched the surface.” She gestured through the stone arch towards her school. “But I do thank you for coming. Would you like to see the rest?”

“Yes, please.” He could already see at least seventeen ways in which the plans Cynara had provided to Regine had been altered. “I’m surprised you’re willing to let me in here.”

“Well, there’s always the chance that you have a photographic memory and, well, being a Mara, I assume you’re a tactical genius.” She turned a bright smile on him. “I chose to decide that you were unlikely to attack the school.”

Luke blinked. He considered the issue, thought about asking a question, discarded it, and then decided that he probably needed to know. “Do you do threat assessment on all your visitors?”

“Don’t you?” She changed the subject before Luke could answer. “All right, this is the campus complex. If it looks like a series of houses in a residential neighborhood, that’s on purpose.”

When he had told Feu Drake where he was going, the enigmatic Law Professor had asked Luke two questions.

Do you remember yourself as a teenager?

He did, of course. The Revolutionary War tended to stick even in immortals’ minds.

Do you remember yourself as a grandfather?

“Over and over again.” Chavva and Icarus had kids now, after all. His granddaughter Griselda’s children had children.

Feu Drake had simply smiled. Looking at the set of Cynara’s ears, Luke suddenly remembered that her grandchildren, too, had children.

Luke cleared his throat. “It doesn’t look too different from the rest of the city here. A couple of the houses are bigger, maybe, but I saw houses that big coming through town.”

“Exactly.” The smile she shot him was the you-bright-student-you type of expression. Luke struggled to keep his wings from flapping.

This was a quiz, then, was it? “Your plans have the school in the tower there. And it does say ‘Doomsday’ on it.”

“It makes a nice big shiny target, doesn’t it?” She was enjoying this, the little minx… mink. “This is the Dining Hall. We’re running about seventy students, so it doesn’t need to be big. Staff lives upstairs, and the gardening club handles the gardens behind it.”

At first glance, the building looked like a church – giving it a reason for the size, Luke supposed. But it was a bright yellow in color, and its tower-like front entrance was not, technically, a steeple.

“And here’s your student guide.” Cynara turned to gesture at a lovely young woman. The girl, nearly an adult, was stunning in a way Luke had seen rarely since his childhood. “This is Nehara cy’Doomsday. Nehara, this is Luca Hunting-Hawk, a former teacher of mine.”

Cy’Drake, Luke suddenly remembered, liked to play gamed. He bowed politely to the girl. “Pleased to meet you, miss.”


Next: Whilst at Doomsday…

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/796421.html. You can comment here or there.

Two Continuations Anonymously Paid For (GiraffeCall)

So, I got a lovely donation to the Giraffe Call to pay for two non-donors get get a 500-word continuation.

I rolled the dice, and the results are

(Drumroll please)

[personal profile] alexseanchai
and
[personal profile] thebonesofferalletters

Please collect your 500-word continuation at the customer service tent!

(drop me an email (thornealder/gmail), send me a PM, or comment on this post)

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/793915.html. You can comment here or there.