Feb 25, 2020
{ @fiergus | sc }
“what’re ye smilin’ at? i’ve no’ got somethin’ on my face, have i?”
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{ @fiergus | sc }
“what’re ye smilin’ at? i’ve no’ got somethin’ on my face, have i?”
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he’s sore from having been trussed up in a wagon for days, but the sight of home makes it entirely worth it. the redcoats practically throw him from the wagon, unlocking the irons around his wrists, and leaving him on his ass in the dooryard. the wagon’s wheels grind up dust as the horses carry it through the arch and down the path away from the house -- finally.
ian sits there, staring at the arch, for longer than he should. once he’s sure the wagon truly is gone -- for he’s tired of being dragged from his home, tired of making the trip to london, thrown into the tolbooth, and then brought back a few days later when he says for the thousandth time that he knows nothing of the dunbonnet -- he struggles to his feet. well. foot. his wooden leg had been off when they’d taken him, and so he doesn’t have it with him now. he uses the steps to pull himself up, so that he’s sitting on them rather than the ground.
footsteps behind him make him turn -- and relief spreads across his features. a friendly face, now that he’s home.
“ah-- fergus. i’m home.” his lips curl in a smile, despite it all.
@fiergus / sc.
@fiergus.
‘ Fergus, ’ she says, almost idly, worrying the fabric of her skirts between her fingers. Paris has taught her a lot in all the time they have been here, and the most important lesson, she thinks, has been that she can trust him with anything. Faith wets her lips briefly, swallows, still cannot bring herself to look up at all. Not right now. She just... She just needs a moment. ‘ You and... You and Marsali. What is that like? The way she makes you feel? ’
→ @fiergus travelled through time.
“ i guess this means my time as a spoiled only child is over. ”
@fiergus. ol call.
‘ Fergus. ’ Of all the names to choose from, that is the one he has been given. Coincidence follows Claire around like a starving beast, but Balfour won’t linger on it. Even if his Fergus wasn’t gone at all, he would still be 800 years lost to him. He clears his throat, uses a little more of that English he’s been picking up. ‘ Here. You see that... big man? Brown coat. ’
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@fiergus.
❝ how about we split it, hm? ❞ ella’s smile is warm, feet swinging on the ledge of the stone wall that she had perched herself on beside claudel. the boy is sweet, reminding her of the life that she had lived when she wasn’t much older than him. she feels a strong need to protect him from the streets, from the unkind people that often roam through the alleyways. it is a queen’s job to be concerned about the people, and it’s simply engrained in ella’s bones. tearing the sweet cinnamon roll in half, she offers one of them to him.
@fiergus || sc
“i know im not as explicitly obvious about it as faith.. but i love you. quite a bit, actually. you know that, don’t you?”
{ @fiergus | ol verse sc }
A Frenchman in the Scottish Highlands sounds to Lasair like the start of a bad joke. And yet, Fergus doesn’t seem as out of place as the idea might suggest. Rather, he seems quite at home here.
“Do you ever miss it?” Lasair asks softly. “France?”
Home?