Super curious about âsore must be the stormâ thatâs an incredible title!
(WIP titles tag game)
sore must be the storm is the Russingon post-Bragollach fic I work on in little bursts! The title is from Dickinson's "Hope" is the thing with feathers:
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -
yes I'm on my Fingon as the narrative embodiment of hope train again don't mind me.
Anyway! This is a tricky fic to write because I need to get the character dynamics just so and also because it has some very fade-to-black sex in it which nonetheless is well outside my usual experience haha. I've shared tiny snippets of the draft before, but here is another:
Maedhros sighed and removed his arm from Fingonâs shoulders. His bare skin felt instantly cold without it. âIt is true,â he said, âthat we were unwise, too easily contented. Your father foresaw that the Leaguer could not last, and we should have heeded him.â
âYes,â said Fingon, âand because you did not, the Eastmarch is fallen, and AngarĂĄto and AikanĂĄro are dead, and my fatherââ
âBut if we had heeded him,â Maedhros said quietly, âand marched with all our force on Angamando â would it have sufficed?â
âA better showing, at least, than this!â cried Fingon.
Maedhros closed his eyes. His coppery lashes, glinting in the firelight, cast long shadows on his cheek. âPerhaps,â he said, in that maddening way that meant he knew better than you and did not think it worth his while to argue. He had used that manner often with Fingon in their early youth in Tirion, when he had been simply a splendid and adored older cousin; less so after Fingon had kissed him for the first time, and discovered that he held a new power to beguile and overcome him, who had previously seemed so untouchable; but it had returned again in Beleriand, more than once by the shores of Lake Mithrim when Fingon had promised Maedhros that they would wed someday, when the war was won, and Maedhros had merely smiled and looked away.
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Exciting to see whatâs in the works! Iâd be curious to hear a little bit about 4+1 đ
Thanks for the ask! This WIP came to be because I was in the mood for some good old fanfic tropes and I'd never written n+1 fics before. Well, this isn't finished, so I still haven't written it :D
It's going to be a (most likely) queerplatonic Russingon fic, summarized as 4 times Maedhros defended Fingon and 1 time Fingon did. Here's a snippet from it.
Gray, thin, skeletal fingers were gripping Caranthirâs shoulder with a force Fingon hadnât believed they possessed.
Fingon didnât know what Caranthir saw in those terrible, burning eyes, didnât know what they demanded, but he wished Caranthir would give in, so they would close, so Maedhros would stop burning.
The silent struggle continued for long moments, but finally, Caranthir nodded. Maedhros released his shoulder and sank back on the pillows. His eyes fluttered shut. The fire was hidden behind a curtain.
âForgive me, cousin,â Caranthir said. âI spoke harshly. What you did for Nelyo can never be repaid.â
If youâd like to, got any headcanonâs for Indis?
First off I absolutely love Indis, she's one of my absolute favourite characters. Back when I entered the fandom she got a lot of hate for some reason which made me feel very protective of her. This is a very personal headcanon of mine about her relationship with Fëanor, not quite canon but I will die on this take.
Indis is the embodiment of motherly. She loves children, she wants them to be happy, she will do her best to be the perfect mother)aunt/grandmother. When Fëanor was born she was Miriels midwife, she was the first one who held him in her arms and the one who gave him to his mother. She made him toys and sung him lullabies when Miriel couldn't, she just loved this little baby. Miriel even asked her if she wanted to be an elven equivalent to his godmother and of course OF COURSE she said yes. Can you imagine her joy? She was over the moon.
She loved this baby and did her best for him. As a child Fëanor didn't even hate her, he couldn't auntie Indis was always there for him even after mother died and she sung for him, she played and studied with him, she listened to his opinions and helped him persuade his own interests when his father couldn't. Indis was in every aspect a second mother to him, never quite Miriel but she didn't attempt to be, never never crossed that line.
When she and Finwë started courting Fëanor wasn't against the idea because that would just mean he would have two mamas, right? Miriel and Indis, also father wasn't so sad anymore and the three of them did a lot of fun things together! He also never truly hated her after he learned that Miriel would never return, he hated the idea of her marriage to his father and Indis understood that. She left him be, still offered her support but when she was rejected she didn't press it any further. She still was the one who got in contact with Mahtan and asked him if he wanted to take Fëanor in as an apprentice. When things got worse she fled to her brother's side because the hostile atmosphere in Tirion haunted her and broke her heart. She didn't want the happy memories to be overshadowed by sad one's.
Thank you for the ask! I always wanted to talk about her!
Here is my contribution to @officialtolkiensecretsanta, for @amethysttribble !! I hope you like it. I love our girl so I really enjoyed doing a little study of her!!
--
Aredhel sat watching the raindrops hit the glass pane of the window, an expression of long-suffering boredom marring her features as a book sat, forgotten, on her lap. Idril had been saying something - her voice was melodious white noise as she quietly continued her rather one-sided conversation until her aunt sat up abruptly, the book clattering to the floor.Â
   Idril paused, eyes wide in surprise, as Aredhel hefted the heavy windows open, spraying them both with water from the pouring heavens, the lovely curtains whipping behind her after being upset by the wind.Â
   âHave you gone mad!?â cried Idril as she stood up quickly and pushed closed the windows, locking the latch for good measure. With the windows now shut, the world was locked outside, and all that Aredhelâs actions had brought her was a soaking wet dress, mussed hair, puddles on the floor, and an indignant niece.
--
   The quill in her hand felt heavy somehow, despite the fact that she hadnât written a single word on the parchment in front of her. Every time Aredhelâs ire was raised and the fire was lit in her belly, she sat up straighter and gripped the quill in her hand to begin writing, but the gusto left her in the same fickle way as it came on.Â
   Her gaze was drawn to the window in front of her writing desk and she could nearly see them coming now in her mindâs eye; Celegormâs hair blowing wild behind him as his horse runs at top speed toward home, with Curufin astride his own steed behind, and Huan sauntering pleasantly even further behind them.
   Pushing the window open, the figures disappeared as quickly as her imagination had supplied them, but her eyes were drawn, as always, to the faraway line of trees.Â
--
   âMother?â Maeglin asked in his whisper of a voice and she snapped out of her reverie, glancing down at her son. His big grey eyes were filled with excitement about the tale that she had begun only minutes ago about the great founding of Gondolin. Maeglin ate up every possible detail that he could get and asked her often of her homelands, begging her to repeat the same stories again and again as if he could learn more from them somehow.
   She had been in the first few lines of the story, describing how the Lord of Waters appeared to her brother, and then she caught her reflection in the pane of glass over Maeglinâs shoulder. Were those truly her own tired eyes, her own passive expression? She took Maeglinâs hands in hers, emboldened suddenly, and started the story over.
--
   Dawn was slowly coming over the mountains and the first traces of morning filled the sky. Maeglin was by her side, tears falling from his big grey eyes as he petted her hand silently. The window behind him was open and the chill of the morning was drifting through. He got up carefully to close it and Aredhel, despite her fever, grabbed his hand to still him.
   âLeave it,â she whispered, and he nodded before sitting back down and adjusting the gentle but firm grip on her hand. She was in Gondolin now. Celegorm and Curufin were alive. Maeglin was safe.Â
If youâd like to, âLetâs not and say we didâ for Celeborn?
Thanks for the prompt (from this prompt list)!
Celeborn glared down at the dwarf across from him, as he had been doing for the past five minutes. He didnât want to be the first to break the silence. Even the dwarfâs breathing irritated him in the empty and echoing council chamber.
He was reasonably sure that he could keep up the silent glare for a while yet, fueling it with outrage over having been abandoned by his wife and the rest of the council to come to an agreement with Lord Thrombar over where the improvements would be made during the brief March thaw. The Gwiaith-i-MĂrdain faction hadnât actually exited with triumphant smirks and crowing, but it had certainly felt that way when Galadriel had linked arms with Celebrimbor, already talking about Spring Festival plans, the two of them for once leaving a council meeting not sniping at each other in Quenya over everyone elseâs heads.Â
Thrombar sighed heavily. âWe are both of a particular temperament, and I have no doubt you have the patience to sit there staring daggers through me until some time next week, but letâs not do that and say we both glared at each other for some time until we both simultaneously broke down.â
âAre you asking me to lie, Dwarf?â Celeborn asked.
Thrombar sighed even more heavily. âSo, I would like to use this brief thaw to repair the road to Khazad-dĂ»m. Our carts are damaged almost every time they make the journey which wastes everyoneâs time and costs us money. This seems like an obvious use of the crewâs time. Do you disagree?â
âThe Sindar quarter has been dealing with standing water in the streets. I find it very telling that your first thought is money and not the comfort of the citizens of Ost-in-Edhil,â Celeborn snapped.Â
Thrombarâs eyes flashed. âThe Sindar use those roads and benefit from our trade with the Khazad-dĂ»m dwarves the same as the rest of us.â
âSpeaking of the Naugrim, I think itâs very telling that you want to spend our resources repairing a road that by rights the folk of Khazad-dĂ»m should repair.â
Thrombar did not respond to the slur. âOnly a small portion of the road is where they maintain it, the rest is ours as you very well know. It would be more work in the long run to not repair that portion, and they would see it as a gesture of friendship.â
âAnd should my people continue wading through freezing water every time they want to leave their houses?â
âSee, I donât think you need the whole crew to fix the issue in the Sindar quarter. If you would just ask Lady Coronielââ
âIâm sure Coroniel would love to help us,â Celeborn replied, his voice laden with sarcasm.
Thrombar threw his hands up. âAnd now we are back where we started. I have tried logic and compromise, but if you will not engage, we can go back to glaring at each other.â He settled back in his chair and fixed Celeborn with an unwavering stare.Â
Love, are you still arguing with Thrombar? Galadriel spoke into his thoughts, equal parts exasperated and loving.
We cannot keep bowing to the Gwaith-i-MĂrdain. Their faction is gaining more power by the day. I know you donât wish to think ill of your kinsman Celebrimborâ
I know your fears and do not think they are baseless. But surely you can admit that they are right in this. Get one of their own to repair the drains in the Sindar quarter and you will have won in the end anyway. Galadrielâs amusement reverberated in his mind when she saw that Thrombar had already offered the same.
Accept his offer. Lady Coroniel will wade into the freezing mud herself to solve the issue.
âFine!â Celeborn shouted. âIf Lady Coroniel will fix the drains, we can send the city builders to repair the road!â
Thrombar almost jumped out of his seat at Celebornâs outburst. âAgreed! Letâs get this written down and leave this blasted room.â
Celeborn glared as the dwarf gathered parchment and ink. He could feel the city slipping out of his hands by the day.
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If you'd like to, for the prompts, maybe something with Curufin and Aredhel?
Thank you! Please have some terrible Elf teenagers
âWeâre gonna get into so much trouble.â
âStop whining,â Irisse said.
âTheyâll find us out.â
âMy plan is perfect, and it will work if you do your part right.â
Irisse had studied this perfectly. Her mother would be spending the day with some friends on the other side of Tirion, and her father was at court. Irisseâs brothers were all out doing things. The house was completely free.
Two days before, Irisseâs father had grounded her for having caused a little trouble. It wasnât all that bad, really, sheâd just broken a vase. And a couple windows. But it had been an accident! But her father had said that she was too old to be playing such reckless games without paying attention to her surroundings, and punished her. Part of the punishment was that he had taken Irisseâs bow away, saying that she wasnât allowed to hunt until he was sure she wouldnât shoot arrows everywhere.
It was quite unjust, in Irisseâs mind. She hadnât been using arrows when sheâd damaged those things, and she had already apologized for it. Plus, it wasnât just her fault. Sheâd been with Tyelkormo and Curufinwe at the time, and if anyone was to blame it was Tyelkormo. He was the oldest, after all, it was his responsibility to make sure nothing wrong happened, and all he had gotten was a lecture from aunt Nerdanel.
So now Curufinwe was helping Irisse get her bow back, because it was also his fault she was in this mess.
âWhat do you think will happen when your father finds out you took it back without permission?â Curufinwe asked, as they made their way to Irisseâs fatherâs study.
âIâll worry about it if I have to,â she replied.
âYou will have to. And donât you dare drop my name when he asks how you picked the lock.â
âWhy? I think you father would throw you a party if he found out you stole from my fatherâs house.â
âI have a mother too, you know,â Curufinwe said.
âJust help me out. You know Iâm not tattling.â
Curufinwe huffed. They had reached the study, which Irisseâs father had locked before leaving. Probably predicting that Irisse would be trying to get into it. Luckily, she had brought her blacksmith with her.
Locks were, according to Curufinwe, very easy things to make. Irisse didnât know if that was true or not, but she did know that Curufinwe had learnt enough from his father to put many other smiths to shame before his voice had even started to drop. If he said locks were easy, they were for him.
âCan you open it?â Irisse asked.
Curufinwe gave her a scathing look, and knelt in front of the door. He took some tools out of his pocket, and quickly got to work. It took him barely any time to pick the heavy lock open.
âYouâre a master lockpicker,â Irisse said, clapping his shoulder.
âYes, thatâs what I spend hours every day in the forge. Locks.â
Irisse did a quick scan of the room. She knew all the places her father hid things in, and it wasnât hard for her to figure out where her bow was. âGot it. Letâs go.â
âWhatâs going on?â
Both Curufinwe and Irisse froze, and slowly turned around. Findekano was standing by the doorway, one eyebrow raised.
âFinno,â Irisse said, âI thought you were out with Maitimo.â
âMe too,â Curufinwe added.
âAnd I thought this room was locked.â
âMaybe you just imagined that.â
Findekano gave her a look. âIrisse.â
âI just found it open, right, Curvo?â
Curufinwe nodded. âAbsolutely.â
âGuess I will have to tell father to make properly sure he locks it next time, then,â Findekano said.
Irisse swallowed. âFinno, please.â
âPlease? Didnât you say you werenât doing anything wrong?â
If itâs not a bother, could I request #9 and Claurenz? Thank you!
Thank you so much for sending this in! It ended up being quite long because I got invested, so hope you enjoy!
The war is over, and we are beginning.
It was no secret that during their time at the Officers Academy, Claude von Riegan and Lorenz Hellman Gloucester couldnât stand the sight of one another. Before Lorenz had even set eyes on Claude, he knew that they werenât to be friends. His father had told him to be distrustful of the elusive heir to House Riegan who had seemingly materialised from nowhere. It was to be Lorenzâs duty to keep a careful eye on him.Â
It was Lorenzâs careful eye that began to cause havoc for the two. From the beginning of the school year, their excessive bickering became second nature to their classmates. At lunchtimes, their fellow Golden Deer would quietly eat their Daphnel stew, along with a side order of continuous arguing from the two highest ranking members of the Alliance nobility. It was inescapable. Professor Byleth would often cut through the dining hall to the fishing pond and bear witness to Claude leaning back in his chair, his arms positioned behind his head and with one leg lazily thrown across the other - his very disposition the epitome of everything Lorenz scorned. The house leader could shoot remarks at Lorenz as easily as he shot arrows on the battlefield, his sole intention to rile up the Gloucester heir sat opposite from him. It certainly wasnât difficult to frustrate his violet-haired counterpart, who returned every taunt with a lofty attempt to better Claude, declaring him an unfit noble at every possible opportunity.Â
âThe future of FĂłdlan, everyone,â Leonie would mutter with a roll of her eyes, much to the amusement of her other classmates and their Professor. For most of their education at Garreg Mach, this was the daily routine, whether it was quarrelling over noble customs in the dining hall, muttered arguments during choir practice or heated debates over battle tactics in the classroom. In one instance, Professor Byleth even put both in detention for arguing on the battlefield, their lapse of concentration resulting in poor Ignatz nearly being axed to death by a bandit.Â
A day would not be complete without a lingual joust between the two boys, and both Lorenz and Claude were guilty of actively seeking each other out to spar words, though neither of them would ever admit it. Yet as their year at Garreg Mach drew to a close, their incessant squabbling seemed to pale in insignificance compared to the horrors that unravelled only weeks before their graduation. FĂłdlan was thrust into the clutches of war. The Golden Deer fled Garreg Mach as the Alliance territories began to splinter, and Claude and Lorenz parted ways with only a curt goodbye, both well aware that it would not be long before Count Gloucester swore fealty to the Empire, even if Lorenzâs allegiance lay elsewhere.
 And so, every childish insult and every meaningless lecture on the customs of nobility exchanged between the two faded away, swallowed by the horrors of war as the yellow banners were hoisted high. The children that argued and joked around in the dining room became ghosts, left to wander the crumbling monastery.Â
-
Claude could feel the all-too familiar tang of blood against the back of his throat. The scent was strong and even after five and a half years of war, he had not yet grown accustomed to the metallic, ugly odour. It mingled with the smoke from the fires raging across the battlefield as the troops drew ever closer to their target: Nemesis. His ears were ringing with the clang of metal and Bylethâs voice as they barked commands to the forces as they descended on the so-called King of Liberation. He kicked his heel gently against his trusty wyvern, flying forward to fall in line with Cyril and Seteth as the three dealt attacks in swift succession upon the empty phantom that Claude recognised as Goneril. Claude nocked an arrow, the arches of Failnaught a familiar friend in his calloused hands as he shot a final arrow, watching the spectral figure before him crumble to the ground.Â
Claude let out a sigh, allowing himself a brief moment of recollection - as well as a quick glance across the battlefield, on the lookout for one person in particular. Once a bitter adversary, Claudeâs eyes now roamed the wasteland to make sure Lorenz was safe. Just as he used to seek him out simply to bandy words, now he wanted nothing more than to make sure Lorenz was alive. Thankfully, the man in questionâs choice in fashion made him easy to spot, a lavender fleck in the distance. Claude had to bite back triumphant laughter as he watched Lorenz strike a decisive blow against the final of the ten Elites.Â
But no - he couldnât get cocky. Not now. As the hope of the end of the war drew ever closer, there was so much more to lose. The remaining troops regrouped in formation, with Lorenz, Claude and Byleth rallying together and taking on the responsibility of commanding the centre and two flanks of the battalions. Thankfully they hadnât lost any of their classmates, but several were being treated for major casualties, with Marianne and Mercedes working overtime in the sidelines to tend wounds.Â
Claude flew down to land next to Lorenz.
âClaude.â Lorenzâs voice was hoarse, his throat raw from shouting commands all day. Claude glanced over to him, his expression knitting into one of concern.
âLorenz? Are you hurt?â Claude asked. Lorenz shook his head, opening his mouth to say something, but apparently deciding against it, shaking his head. âJust be careful,â he said, his violet eyes straying over to Byleth, who stood alone, facing the Fell Star. This was it.
âGo. They need you,â Lorenz murmured.
Over the past year, the two had become close as allies, but also as friends. Countless nights were spent together discussing politics, the future of Fodlan and Almyra. They had pored over battle strategies together until the early hours until Lorenz had drifted into sleep, his hair splayed out across the desk, leaving Claude to drape blankets over him and smile to himself. Wordlessly, Claude reached over, taking Lorenzâs pale hand in his own. He ran his thumb across his hand, squeezing it gently, before jumping down from his wyvern and taking his place at Bylethâs side for the final time.
-
The sound of distant festivities echoed throughout the monastery, upbeat music and peals of mirthful laughter reverberating through the lofty hallows. The celebrations were just beginning, and no doubt would live on throughout the night. Claude had promised everyone a feast, and he was not a man to break promises. Though, Claude himself could not bring himself to join in with the conviviality just yet. The war was over, but he had so much to think about. So many plans to start laying out. So many dreams he had to fulfil. The night was cool, the summer night sky a velvet blanket above him. FÏdlanâs sky had always seemed so foreign to him, but even Claude had to smile as the stars came out to dance and blink in their own celebration. He crossed the grassy courtyard to wander beneath the cloisters, the fall of his footsteps echoing throughout the atrium. He swung his legs over the cloisters and rested his head against the arch, his eyes fixated on a rose bush blooming at his feet. Nearly all his life he had been running from the threat of death. He didnât quite know what to do with himself in peacetime.
âClaude. I am surprised to see you are not at the feast.â Lorenzâs voice rang out through the arcade. Claudeâs eyes lingered on him for several moments in surprise - he had forgotten what Lorenz looked like without his armour. Instead, he was dressed in a starched white shirt and slacks, his hair tied back.
âWell, just look at you, Lorenz. So casual! Hardly befitting of a noble,â Claude quipped. Lorenz let out a groan, sitting down next to Claude on the wall.Â
âPlease donât,â he said. âI will be changing before I attend the feast. And you should too. Everyone will be there. You canât wear something so casual as that to a celebration of such calibre,â he counselled. Claude just rolled his eyes, placing his hand over Lorenzâs mouth to shut him up.
âClaude!â he exclaimed, his voice muffled against Claudeâs hand as he tried to push him away. Claude simply grinned.Â
âLook at us. Arguing, just like the old days,â Claude commented, resuming his peaceful position leaning against the arch. Lorenz simply hummed in response, a slight smile flickering across his lips. Even Lorenz had to admit that the sight of them, two of the most powerful men in FĂłdlan, as they bickered like an old married couple was amusing. Lorenz closed his eyes. Couple.
 A moth flitted across the atrium, flickering in the moonlight that shone down on the courtyard. The pair sat quietly for a few moments, before Lorenz turned to the man at his side. âClaude?â
âYeah?â
 âDo you remember something I said to you once?â Lorenzâs voice was soft - perhaps tentative. Claude struggled to remember a time in which Lorenz had sounded that way before. âI said a world without you would be dull.â
Claude studied Lorenzâs face carefully. âYes, I remember. Iâm still in shock from you giving me a compliment.â
Lorenz chose to ignore his jape. âAt the time, I was speaking about you dying. But, now that the war is over...I suppose you will return to Almyra,â Lorenz uttered, his voice dropping into a whisper. It was phrased as a statement rather than a question. A question posed an answer - one that Lorenz knew the answer to, but didnât want to hear it voiced. Claude looked down, his eyes fixated on the rose bush flowering at their feet.Â
Each moment of quiet was agonising as Claude remained silent. Why was his face so difficult to read? Lorenz always hated how Claude wanted to know everyoneâs secrets, yet harboured so very many of his own. What was he thinking? Was he actually to stay in FĂłdlan after all? Lorenz couldnât bear it any longer.Â
He continued, âClaude. Now that the war is over - I feel I must be candid,â As he spoke, a sudden breeze fluttered through the trees in the courtyard. Claude noticed Lorenzâs skin prickle, goose flesh spreading across his pale arms, which appeared translucent under the moonlight.
âYouâre cold. You should go inside,â Claude said.Â
âClaude - listen to me - Iâm trying to tell you something-â
âIâm serious. Youâll catch a cold-â
âClaude!â Lorenz exclaimed. Claude waved his hand in defeat, gesturing for Lorenz to go on.Â
âThank you,â he began, collecting himself. âWhat I was trying to say - no - what I want to say - is that now the war is over, I know you will be returning to Almyra. The truth is, Claude - I do not want you to leave FÏdlan. I cannot imagine my life without you. Goddess, forgive my blathering - this is really so undignified. I didnât want to say anything during the war, because it was nor the time or the place. I know you must leave, and my wanting you to stay is incredibly selfish because I know you must shape the future. The truth is - I have come to admire you so greatly over the past year,â Lorenz stammered out, wringing his hands as he spoke. Only hours ago, he had warred against the ten Elites. So why, for the love of Sothis, was talking to Claude von Riegan always so difficult?Â
Claude folded his arms as he listened to him, a smirk tugging at his lips. âYou admire me? You canât imagine your life without me? Lorenz. Is this a confession of love?â Claude gasped, raising an eyebrow.Â
That was why.Â
Although the night air was cold, Lorenzâs skin felt feverishly hot.Â
âYouâre not fooling me, Riegan! This past year has proved to me that you are perfectly capable of being serious, so why canât you just - oh, you know what -â Lorenz succumbed to his vexation, taking Claudeâs face in both of his hands and pressing his lips firmly against Claudeâs. It was a kiss for warâs end - clumsy and uncoordinated. There had hardly been much time for kissing in the last five and a half years, and the first few seconds betrayed their lack of practice as Lorenz crashed ungracefully against Claude. It felt desperate, after months of longing and even more years of denial. Claude raised his hands, stunned for a moment, before gently placing them on Lorenzâs shoulders, easing himself into the kiss. Claude kissed with more adroitness, his lips warm and full. As he leaned in, his beard was coarse but welcome against Lorenzâs own soft skin. Lorenz could taste the faint trace of honey wine on Claudeâs parted lips, and again on his tongue, stronger this time.Â
âClaude.â The sound of Lorenz murmuring his own name against his lips snapped Claude back into reality, and the two separated, their foreheads still pressed together. âForgive me - that was unbecoming. I shouldnât have been so aggressive,â Lorenzâs voice was barely a whisper and his eyes were closed, refusing to meet Claudeâs eyes.Â
Claude let out a breathy laugh, âEver the gentleman. No - I liked it. Perhaps you should have done that a long time ago to shut me up.â
It was a compliment, yet Lorenz still withdrew sharply in recoil, standing up and smoothing down his shirt. âNo. I cannot allow myself to do this. This wonât work. Not if youâre leaving so soon. Farewell, Claude. Have a pleasant evening.â As noble as Lorenz was attempting to sound, the crack in his voice was unmistaken as he hurriedly fled towards the dormitories, the fall of his footsteps echoing throughout the courtyard.Â
Claude jumped to his feet in pursuit, breaking into a jog to catch up with him. âLorenz! Wait, will you?â Claude reached for his hand, pulling Lorenz around to face him.
âYouâre right. I will be going back to Almyra,â Claude murmured, letting Lorenzâs hand fall back to his side so he could cradle Lorenzâs face in his hands. âBut I wonât be gone forever. After all, Iâll need you to keep me in check, wonât I?â
A scoff escaped Lorenzâs lips. âWell, that goes without saying, Claude. You will always need my guidance.â
Claude smiled, shaking his head slightly. âOf course I will, Lorenz.â
Some things never changed. He ran a thumb across Lorenzâs cheek, before pulling him back in for another kiss. It was gentler this time, and with all the hope and expectation for a new, kinder dawn.
Sure! Hereâs some little ecologist using her dadâs lessons against him
âMarlene. Come on.â
Marlene had her arms crossed in front of her. She pouted as she shook her head. It would have been an adorable sight if they hadnât been at this for five minutes now.
âMarlene. You gotta eat your veggies, you know that,â Barret said.
âNo.â
Barret sighed. Marlene was usually such a good girl, but every child has some things they stubbornly stick to. For Marlene, lately, it had been her absolute refusal to eat anything green colored.
It was getting quite frustrating. Now Barret would admit the spinach werenât the most appetizing thing - living in the slums meant they had to make do - but they werenât all that bad either. Usually Marlene always cleaned her plate once he convinced her to start eating. It was the convincing part that was the problem.
âGreen stuff is what makes you grow big and strong, you know. Like your daddy, or like Tifa.â
This was kind of a lie. Barret couldnât say his diet had been the healthiest one when he was a kid. Lots more sweets than he was supposed to, he had been very good at sneaking into the kitchen when his Ma wasnât looking. He also had no idea what did Tifa use to eat when she was a child.
Still, it was an innocent lie. A lie for a great purpose.
Marlene kept pouting. âI donât wanna be big and strong, I wanna be a pretty princess.â
âYou can be a pretty princess and also be big and strong.â
Marlene remained silent for a few moments. She looked to be deep in thought, and Barret knew well by now the kind of danger a four years old who was in deep in thought could be. âBut if I eat veggies I will hurt the Planet.â
Barret blinked. âExcuse me?â
âCause veggies are plants,â Marlene said. âAnd daddy says the Planet makes plants. So if you kill plants to eat veggies you will make the Planet sad.â
Barret had to take a moment to admit his daughter was showing a lot of promise when it came to becoming a master manipulator.
âThe Planet would be more sad if you didnât eat the veggies.â
âWhy?â
âBecause plants are a gift our Planet gives us, and if you donât eat veggies then that means you are wasting her gifts. And the Planet doesnât want that,â Barret said, complimenting himself on his bullshitting skills.
Marlene seemed to contemplate that answer. âYou can eat them then.â
âNope,â Barret replied. âThe Planet told me that these are specifically for you.â
âReally?â
âAbsolutely. She made this spinach grow out of the ground just so that Marlene Wallace could eat it.â
Marlene looked down at her plate with a pained face, and then finally, finally took a bite. âCan the Planet make me strawberries next time?â
âIâll ask about it, for sure.â
And Tifa worried about how would they recruit more people into Avalanche. Getting people on board to bomb a reactor was a lot easier than what Barret had to deal with on a daily basis thanks to being a father.