#philli writes

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Jeremy Dooley/Ryan Haywood Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - A Song of Ice and Fire Fusion, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Mercenaries, Alternate Universe - Medieval, High Fantasy Summary:

The golem slammed into Chad, and at the same time, it felt like something was slammed out of him. Like the last rotten breath of a dying person, it tumbled out of him, quivering one last time, one last miiine, and then – nothing. Silence. Chad blinked, and then, with as much force as the golem's attack, came memories barreling into him. The calm when Guli found him, embraced him into a new life, a life finally free of all the loss and pain that had been his constant companion ever since he had set foot on this thrice-cursed island – he had felt good. Really good. And then, hiding in the shadows and stabbing that poor soul who had never done anything – stabbing him relentlessly, slicing his throat like butter, feeling his pulse slow and his warm blood gush out of him. Biff was his name. Had been his name. And Chad had slaughtered him like a sacrifical lamb.

Though I'm past one hundred thousand miles I'm feeling very still

- David Bowie, Space Oddity

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The days bleed into nights bleed into days. It's always hot and humid, even when the sun goes down. His skin is red from sunburn and constant mosquito bites. He's thirsty, so very thirsty, but he can't drink the river water, he knows, and waits for the next rainfall. He's hungry too, but half the animals here are undead, the other half too quick for him, and half of the plants poisonous, the other half unknown. This is not Chad's first time in the wilderness, but his first in a wilderness so foreign to everything he's ever known.

He sits on Stacy's back and talks to her when he's not hunting for food or water. He tells her stories, about everything and nothing. He tells her of his family, back home, a sister he hasn't seen in ages, a mother he misses, a father towering over him. He tells her of food back home, black banana bread, rat sausage, where to find the best nuts and the best mushrooms. He tells her of music, of the music he used to listen to as a child, of bards and their songs, a million rhymes he remembers from his youth. He tells her of the people, those with him and those against him, and of blood covering the floor and of cheering still ringing loudly in his ears. He tells her of his adventures, the small ones and the grand ones, of the people he's saved and even of those he hasn't saved, of those who ran from him and those he ran from, the dragons he's slain and the maidens he's rescued, the kings he's beheaded and those he's kissed, of demons he's fought with and heroes he's drunk with, of mountains he's climbed and of valleys he's passed, of volcanoes he's fought and of gods he's embraced. He tells her of children dancing in the rain and of fools and of fools' gold and of broadswords too heavy for him, of alley fights and of red wax on parchment, of gold cords and raised eyebrows, of pleasant smiles and frightened stares. He tells her of hiding in shadows from good men and of chasing evil men beneath the sun and one time, he even tells her of the woman that died in his arms.

Stacy doesn't answer at first, but after two weeks in the jungle all alone, she does. Chad wonders how he has ever been so dumb not to understand her. She may not speak Common or Dwarvish, but she speaks in her own way. She neighs, almost like a horse, when she's amused, and growls when his stories anger her, and then he usually laughs amicably and throws up his hands, and that usually pacifies her. She begins to tell stories too, he thinks one night after he eats a bunch of mushrooms that don't sit quite right in his stomach. About the time she spent in her egg, about how horrible her previous owners were with her, about how happy she is to be traveling with him now, discovering the jungle, this place where she belongs. He cries a bit after she tells him of that and embraces her neck, because he has never felt so understood by another living creature, because they’re both young and ready for the world and willing to move mountains, and he throws up half an hour later, and when he wakes the next morning he's drenched in sweat.

He begins to show her the paper every day, the list with the group of adventurers he's looking for. He's got it all memorized so well he doubts he'll ever forget it by now. The two priests of Athena, Alexandros and Fenchel, Human and Tiefling. The Tabaxi called Timber, a born troublemaker, or so he's heard. The Tortle Fischbrötchen, the Human nobleman Vincent Valorstone, Eldryan the drow. Moggy, of course. Sometimes, when he's tired of talking with Stacy, he takes out the list and imagines talking to them, all of them, how that will be like. He'll talk to Alexandros and Fenchel about their goddess,  and he'll ask them all about her, and maybe he'll even feign being willing to convert? But then, of course, he'll make it clear that the only god he follows is – hmm – maybe Silverbeard, God of Battle? That sounds about right. Or maybe a Human god? But he doesn't know many of them. Timber, he's sure she can tell stories and songs, just like the bards of his hometown, and hey – who knows – maybe she can even sing a song about him one day. Fischbrötchen, he can talk to about nature and people of nature, surely, and Vincent Valorstone might be receptive to great points about how unjust the existence of nobility truly is! Eldryan – drow, or half-drow, which was it again? - that is an entire untapped reservoir of great stories right there, isn't it? He'll have so much to tell Chad, no doubt about it. And Moggy – well – Chad has to chuckle when he thinks about what she'll say when she hears his voice. He practices that, sometimes. “Hello Moggy, long time no see!” he’ll say, grinning widely, and she’ll be angry with him, probably, but not for long, huh?

He starts to tell Stacy about all these people as if he's known them for ages. He collects new flowers for his beard, some he's never seen before. They wouldn't recognize him back home anymore, he realizes one day when he looks at himself in a puddle. His skin is ruddy, peeling to reveal freckles where he's never seen them before, his hair has grown out considerably from the almost bald head he's worn the last few years, and even his eyes seem different than before. His eyes! Were they always so bright? He asks Stacy. “Stacy, were my eyes always this bright?” He wasn't made for the jungle. He was made for wide fields, wheat plains, small hidey-holes, richly furnished palaces, wooden huts, stone halls larger than the sky, labyrinthine alleys and silent moonless nights. Jingle of gold coins on cobblestones. Ink on parchment. Songs in an inn. That's what he was made for. Not this deadly jungle.

Chad wants to go home, he realizes suddenly, he wants to run back home and he wants to cry and he wants his mom and he wants to hide and he - -

He doesn’t want to die in this horrible, horrible, horrible place - -

“Yes,” Stacy replies quietly, dragging him out of his thoughts. Chad shrugs. So his eyes really are brighter these days. This jungle changes you, huh.

He's stopped counting the days when, one morning, he arrives at the lost city. Omu lies before him, quiet and not moving but for a flock of pigeons. He feels a bit better here, looking out at the city. Walking through the entrance arch, he quickly finds some scribbles at a wall, compares them with the crumpled, sweated-through list in his pocket. They're here. He's found them, finally.

The tiny, tiny baby didn't have a name yet. The entire family was in the living room of their parents' small house. Mimmmmi, her mother; Tünin, her father; her grandmother, her grandfather, three aunts and four uncles, her brother Knarz, and of course, Mimi herself. She was ten years old, which wasn't very old yet, but old enough to participate in family meetings like this. Her mother held the baby on her lap and Mimi watched it curiously. It had wisps of red hair on its head, and very wide blue eyes when it deigned to open them. She didn't like the baby, so far. All it did was sleep or cry or hang off mother. Even Knarz hadn't cried that much, but maybe that was because Mimi couldn't remember his time as a baby that well – he was only five years younger than her, after all.

The baby yawned and stretched out its tiny little hand. Mimi looked at it sceptically. Then she grabbed one of mother's tools and placed it into the baby's hand. Tiny fingers grasped it automatically until the baby was holding the heavy metal tool. Auntie Simmy said “Like mother, like son!” and all the adults in the room laughed. Mimi didn't get the joke, but she wanted to seem like she did, so she laughed along.

Her mother gently tried to pry the tool out of the baby's hand. Immediately, the baby began to sniffle, and so she left it there. Mimi rolled her eyes. Dumb, dumb baby. The tool was way too heavy for it, and would be for a long, long time. It was a tool for adults. Mother had told her she could learn to use it when she was twenty-five, but she couldn't expect to use it like an expert until she was an adult herself, with fifty years.

“You know why I have called you in today,” mother said, her voice strong and deep. Mimi rolled her eyes again. Yes, they knew! Because of the dumb baby's name!! “My son needs a name. I want to do you the honor to accompany Tünin and me as we choose it. Please. Tell me of your suggestions.” Mimi had been told that her own name had been chosen with this method as well, but that her mother had finally decided on a name she had thought of on her own. Therefore, Mimi had a great name, because mother had chosen it, and mother was always nice and had good ideas.

The first name suggestions came in, from her aunts and uncles and grandmother and grandfather. Sylvon, Saroo, Limi, Marius, Yoda, Rankton. All of them perfectly normal, perfectly boring names for a dwarven baby. The baby yawned, and Mimi couldn't help but yawn as well. Then, it was time for her mother to tell them all of her own suggestion.

„I was thinking about... Chadwick,“ she said, and Mimi rolled her eyes a third time. Chadwick??? Seriously? Look at this child! He didn't look like a Chad at all! That child was an idiot. And so small. So little. Chadwick was a great dwarven name, but he was so small. He deserved – he deserved a gnome name. Or a halfling name. Mimi thought of a halfling she knew, who lived a few houses down. She and Knarz usually went to visit him and his brother to push them into the dirt, which Mimi found very, very funny. Halflings were really funny when they cried.

„That's not a Chad!!“ she therefore protested loudly and hotly.

Her mother looked at her quizzically. „Care to explain your criticism, my sweetling?“ she prompted.

Mimi raised her head proudly. Yes! And she knew exactly why!! „Chad's a dwarven name! That baby is – he's – he's not worthy of such a great name! He's a Kevin,“ she spit out the name, „like that tiny boy that lives down the street!“  Knarz – and father – began to laugh at that, and her mother's eyebrows shot up.

„Mimi,“ she said, sternly, „do I understand this correctly – you want to name your baby brother after a child you don't like?“

Mimi nodded vigorously.

“They call it ‘assistance between allies’”, Faduin explains, sounding bored and sipping from his glass. “Basically, it means - well - you have a companion, right, a close friend, a comrade-in-arms, some such like, and you fuck them, but without any attachments, just between friends. Saw a lot of that kinda thing back when I was, y’know.” He finishes his glass; it is a large glass and it is not his first.

Playing with this man is fun.* He is quick-witted and definitely powerful, in the bizarre way people can be, those who try their best to surprise him. This is not a mere ant but more; perhaps a pet lizard. Will he grow another tail if Mantra cuts off the first? He doesn’t get to try that out, though, because suddenly there are words Mantra does not understand at first, and then his eyes widen, and then the walls start to close in on him.