#scholar reader

And I like to think I'm getting better!

Adapting. Learning how to do things and help around the castle. I even helped start a fire for the fireplace the other day! Before THAT? I learned how to set hunting traps... rather badly. I have yet to catch anything. But still! Progress, is it not?

Where was I? Ah, yes.

Calysta. Her rank is something between a Warlord and a King, as far as I can tell? It holds the respected sovereignty of a ruling monarch yet? Can be seized. Should she grow "weak". Is not NECESSARILY passed too one's children. They, presumably, have an ADVANTAGE... but? It goes too "the Chosen child of..." that word I'm still having some difficulty getting a good translation off.

And if I remember correctly, Calysta's brother's did NOT appreciate that. As they had been favored by her father. Showered with praise most of their lives. One of them ASSUMED to be the next leader.

They challenged her.

Did not back down.

Now? Now she has neither Father nor brothers. Not that it seems she had much of either to begin with. Frankly? I am GLAD she won. She is good for the North. Strong, steady, highly tactical. A wry wit. And a FEIRCE love for her people and culture. NO ONE will take it from her. Destroy these beautiful peoples.

I'm tugged back lightly, away from my desk to sit up properly against the back of my chair. The hand on my neck shifting softly, ever so slightly up, to cup the underside of my jaw. Tilting my head up so I can not see my work but must instead meet the eyes of my dear friend.

"Enough, little mouse." There is a fondness to the edge of her mouth, she is not one for great grins and wild expressions. It has taken me months to learn how to read her so well. "Your papers will still be there AFTER you warm up. Should be easier to right, don't you think, when you can actually feel your fingers again?"

I huff a laugh.

Honestly... where would I be with out her? Frozen to death, probably. I get entirely to fixated on my work. Food, drink, keeping the fire running. I notice none of it. Probably shrivel up and die. The fact she even takes the time to check on me? Dispite being as important as she is? Let NO ONE say Calysta does not CARE. She is a good person.

My legs feel numb and prickly, stiff, in that distinctly asleep and too cold sort of way, as I try to stand. Calysta has to wrap her arm around my waste and let me lean against her. She feels almost too hot against me. Another sure sign I have, indeed, allowed myself to get too cold. Oh dear.

With an exasperated snort, once it becomes clear my legs will probably not be recovering fast enough for her liking, Calysta decides she will speed things along. My legs are swept out from under me effortlessly. I don't even squeek anymore, this has happened so often. But I USED too.

It is how I became "mouse".

Now I just allow Calysta her way. She'll put me down when she wants to put me down. And honestly? It's kinda fun to be carried like a child. I feel tall. Weightless and somewhat decadent, it makes my heart beat a faster. And on somedays? All I want to do is go boneless. Allow myself to be HELD. Not that I'll ever tell. So Shhhhh, a secret to our graves, okay? It would make things awkward for her.

She strolls down the hall with me, too her office. No one so much as blinking an eye. We've become so common in our shenanigans, I imagine, it's become mundane. And... ah~ Calysta was RIGHT. I WAS cold. The fireplace in her office is full with logs burning away merrily. The windows we passed in the hall showed snow. It seems the storm's finally hit..

Instead of putting me down, Calysta heads for the couch. Turning and with a huff, flopping down, making both of us bounce a bit. Leaning back with me less in her arms now, so much as in her lap. The room is quiet. Hushed almost. The crackle of fire, the distant howl of wind, far away chatter of life, elsewhere in the castle.

Calysta has leaned back against the back of her office's couch. Head rested against the fur blanket draped against the back of it. The fur mixes with her riotous man of hair to create almost a halo, lit in golds by the fire's light. Her eyes are closed as she takes her moment. The fire light makes her face softer.

But never soft.

No force in all the world could make Calysta anything but the Queen she is. Dangerous and powerful. First into battle and last to leave. She is breath taking in the way all deadly things are, I think. Like blades and poison held up to the light. Predators and fires that burn.

"You're staring, little mouse." She says, voice nearly a whisper in the softness of the room. It is a rumble like mountains and the sweet call of dangerous things. She's always had such a commanding voice. I envy it. "Is my face so entrancing?"

She's smirking. Teasing me. I laugh and rest my head against her shoulder. Let myself drift as the chill in my bones fades away. The arm loosely around my waist to keep me from falling off, has taken to lightly stroking my back. Almost absent-mindedly. Occasionally, fingers playing with the ends of my hair.

A servant has come-by. Removed our shoes for us. Brought Calysta missives and responses. General updates. She shifts us. Tucking me against her as she lays down, tucking me between her body and the couch. Fuzzy blanket over me, arm wrapped around me. I... I feel boneless.

Safe.

Everything warm and quiet and far away.

Trusting, I doze off. Cuddling close and utterly content.

Calysta presses a kiss to the crown of my sleeping head. Let's her hand roam, just a bit, simply to feel the perfect way her little mouse fits right up against her. She was MADE for her. Born to be here. Still... she has to be... be GENTLE. Soft.

It's hard. She hasn't had much practice in that.

But good things are worth the struggle for them. True love is WORTH the time, the effort, to learn how the South romance. Figuring out how to woo her lil mouse as she deserves. Making sure she never leaves.

Speaking off...

She diges out the ridiculous fancy paper envelope at the bottom of the stack. Hidden, as per her instructions, so her little Mouse wouldn't see it. Another one, it seems, from that damn "House" of hers. Southern Clans were pretty damn presumptuous, weren't they? Had some fucking gall.

What did THIS one say?

Let's she... "come back at once" blah blah blah "how dare you ignore all our letters" blah blah "you WILL honor the engagement we've found for you, or ELSE" oh? Threats now, huh? Ah~? "Keep ignoring our letters and you'll be cast from House-" well, well~!

That's convenient.

One flick of the wrist, and the letter is in the fireplace. Burning away. Just like all before it. Oops. How difficult it is, to get news from the South. Her little mouse really SHOULD just forget about them. THIS is her home now. THEY are her people.

Her girl doesn't need anyone else.

A subtle tap on the board for the purpose of entertainment emits a loud creak that makes them stiffen; they are sure the soldier turned to that, though the thought never bothered them as they raised a brow at the durability the dock has. It’s only a few times they abandon their uniform; coming back home drenched would disturb them the whole way.

            And so, they take a cautious step back, only to be stopped by a muffled explosion heard at the sea far away. They snap their head in the direction of the sound, horrified to find something engulfed in flames. When had that gotten there? And how did they never notice it? The soldier, who seemed to have noticed the dilemma sooner than them, rushed to the docks they were standing at until he reached the edge, hand held to his brows as he zoned in on the flames spouting out the explosion. The rash movement, however, made the dock shake even more, and the scholar was not willing to endanger their comfort by looking out for some unknown catastrophe as they rushed back to the steady beach.

            Once on stable ground, they take the liberty, and stood near the edge of it, and look out to the horizon, finding nothing but a small dot of orange. Despite little evidence, the scholar instantly concludes it’s a ship that possibly carried a cargo of explosives. It’s unlikely for something to suddenly erupt without any prior signings, afloat on the sea, so near the territory of Watatsumi. Or could it be volcanic activity? They had little curiosity about the geography of the island, so they are unable to provide an answer for themselves. Now that they think about it, how is it able to support itself in all these years and is yet to show any evidence of sinkage?

            A pair of thunderous footsteps drifted them out of their own thoughts, followed by whispers of urgency and the creaking of wood. The scholar glances at the soldier from before, who walks with rushed steps out of the beach, clutching tightly at the spear he wields in hand. They have no intention in meddling with the island’s affairs, so they didn’t bother asking; he’s most likely about to report the incident. Once out of sight, they then became aware of the absence of security, and they went to pick up their luggage lying on the sand to place at their feet, assuming the worst-case scenario of treasure hoarders attempting to steal what’s left of their money.

After hiring some eremites to become their only trip back home, because trying to communicate with a local is far too uncomfortable, they deemed themselves lucky for even encountering fellow Sumeru people at such a time. They had little doubt about the words the group uttered in confidence; the price was at first a questionably large amount, but they didn’t ponder on it any further, for they had spotted something of interest in that moment.

            At this moment, doubt tainted the memories upon looking back at the proper skills and requirements in order to get permission for handling a boat in a strict place such as Ritou, considering the importance of safety in order to maintain the reputation of the place. Even their own documents had taken a while in the process of validating their information. How they were going to achieve such is a wonder the scholar decides to ignore.

Which brings their attention back to the matter at hand: the trip back home they were eagerly waiting for is surely taking a while to arrive; the time for departure had long expired by now; did they simply take the money and had abandoned them there? It wasn’t entirely a new thing for the eremites, but something tells them a sense of loyalty to the money given is enough to persuade the likes of them.

            There is also the unexpected matter of the explosion in the middle of the night, any longer they have to wait, the deadline of their painstaking research paper would be pointing a knife at their throat. Little persuasion is enough to convince them to deal with the matters of the island themselves, starting with the state of their agriculture first and foremost.

            …oh.

Oh dear.

The scholar’s face fell. Surely not? There has been rumors of Fatui sightings around the island for quite a while now, even before their arrival. An attack foreseen by the army? It would raise little questions even so long after the difficult situation with the main land, the details weren’t clear- or they just didn’t bother to read it- but the idea of the Fatui meddling once again wasn’t too far off.

For what reason? The scholar’s teeth sunk into their nails, shivering as the coldness of the night demanded their attention. Resources? No, it… little of importance could be found in the island’s exclusive items. Land… no. It’s not that… compared to other factors.

Factors, factors, factors, factors… Mora?

            They have no mora left. Or what’s left of it couldn’t even possibly pay for a ride home.  

Maybe it really was just a random underwater volcano deciding to awaken from its slumber, but… no. What were they thinking? That couldn’t possibly be it.

It could… it could…

An unprecedented smack on the shoulder jolted the scholar: “Excuse me, Mx, a peculiar situation has arisen, and we’d deeply appreciate it if you had followed us to a place more suitable to guarantee your safety.”

They turn to find a pair of twitching fluffy ears coated in muddy brown and white streaks. It was a rather strange sight, one they haven’t seen since making an appearance on the island. Looking closely at the stranger’s features, which are more canine than humanoid, their thoughts halted. His choice of clothing belonging to that of a soldier, judging by the pieces of armor stuck around his body, a strict code of color distributed evenly among it.

“…Sorry?”

He removed his hand from their shoulder and remained at a respectable distance. “We’re going to have to ask you to follow us to a more safe location as the explosion you may have heard earlier is still under investigation. Please be assured that we will be dealing with it accordingly and will ensure your safety.”

At the response of a nod from the scholar, the respectable and boisterous voice of the man ordered the calling of another fellow soldier, whom they cared not to heed. He instructed him to escort them to Bourou Village and have them be withdrawn to the place where they previously stayed at, though they doubt he had any prior knowledge of their existence until now.

Before, the scholar did not wish to entangle themselves with the island any longer, but desperation for answers and validation in some form forces the words out of their mouth, “Uhm…”—they intake a sharp gasp— “I…I think the ship may have belonged to… I mean, the ship came here for me.”

Silence overtook the beach.

“I see, well, while that does explain some things, would you care to elaborate, please?” the fluffy eared soldier halts. “My apologies, I seemed to forgotten to introduce myself- I am General Gorou of the Watatsumi Island resistance, I received a report from my soldier, about the explosion at the ocean just now and went to investigate the scene, and we’d deeply appreciate it if you cooperated with us. Would you tell us more about what had happened?”

An esteem clamorous individual such as he, they judge, is rather fitting for the position, one of the few things they are able to compliment the island on, they are somehow disappointed they didn’t reach the conclusion themselves sooner.

“Certainly,” they said, fortunately regaining their composure. “If my assumptions are correct, then the ship that exploded moments before could have been the eremites I hired in Ritou.” at the mild confusion on his face, they add, “Eremites are mercenaries from the dessert of Sumeru, I saw them in the harbor and recruited their services.”

Gorou nods slowly. “Then may I know what is their business in Watatsumi’s borders?”

“The reason why I hired them is because I needed a way of transportation back to Sumeru City, we had agreed to meet here in your island to escort me back, but they may have failed to do so.”

“I see… I will be- “

Another soldier calls out his name abruptly, interjecting in their conversation as he nears them both. Whispering in a low voice to Gorou’s ear at the sight of the stranger, to which the movement of his mouth spoke in a quiet language the scholar quickly translated.

The pair of furry ears belonging to the collected General twitches, the slight crease of his eyebrows softens. He dismisses the reporting soldier. “I have just received news that it is indeed the uh, the eremites you spoke of in the ship that exploded. If you would please follow us, we’ll lead you to your companions and you can answer our remaining questions there.”

The scholar’s previous resistance to voice out their arrogance in having correctly predicted the words reported is quick to fade into a disapproving frown. “No, no, that is unnecessary. There’s really no need. Whatever questions you may have, I will be happy to answer it here.”

“Are you sure? they had just arrived and is in the care of Her Excellency, you don’t have to hesitate.”

The unfortunately familiar faces of the money boggling eremites’ flashes in their mind and they were quick to shake their head.

“I am quite sure of it, please.” they had almost pleaded.

A look of perplexion on Gorou’s face brings a heavy sigh to the scholar’s mind. They’d have thought a respectable soldier as him would have understood a fraction of what they buried underneath their demeanor.

They intake a breath.

“Very well,” said he, bringing the scholar to a stop, “I will respect your decision and ask you the questions here instead. Please answer only with the truth so we are able to help resolve the issue efficiently.”

The scholar could almost smile, “I will.”

            The questions, much to their relief, cleared suspicions relating to them being related to the reason for the explosion ever occurring. It was rather tedious; the clear suspicion in his voice was enough to tire them out. It would waste less of their time if he were to ask them directly in an accusatory tone if they were a murderer. The hushed whispers, along with the cowering gazes of the soldiers surrounding the area, were a constant thorn in their side, even at the slightest movement they made an effort to make. They kept a careful eye on the grip held on the spears at hand, which always appear to be facing their way whenever they come facing the direction of the wielder. It terrified them little; the protection promised by the trusty general was, they feel, something they can bet their furrowed brow on. As strict as Gorou is in keeping the island safe and in providing hospitality to the visitors, his service to them, no matter how short-lived, is deemed to be praise-worthy.

            Judging the island in some aspects, their choice for soldiers felt much like a decision made in times of desperation, which they deem themselves to have the right to in concern for their own safety and past experiences. Most of them lack the stiffness and sense of duty one would expect from a soldier. Upon walking past them as the scholar retreats back to their previous home, they all share one key item that their eyes are intensely focused on. A book, a thick one at that, holding the title of ‘Directives’. Now, a satisfied curiosity would have them begin to think back on the root of their careless attitude more deeply than they should invest in, but with how they are always met with a grumpy glare by any soldier they approach, it’s better to leave it unsatisfied to keep their image of a frail scholar for now.

            Taking it by force would only brew more problems for them, more than they could handle in their current situation. They would rather solve it using logic and sense rather than their old and regrettably familiar ways. It’s easier; it always is. But they have long strayed from that path to think otherwise.

            Something creeps up from behind them, and the scholar is swift to turn their head to the approaching hand, only to be relived at the sight of the granny who took them under her roof.

            The lady smiles so much it hides her eyes that they faintly see, “Oh, what are you doing here, child? shouldn’t you be on your way back home already?”

            The scholar faces her. “I should be, yes, but the current situation I’m afraid, is rather complicated.”

            “Oh dear, what happened?!”

            “The ship I was supposed to take back home suddenly exploded.”

            Her mouth flew open. “How terrible! terrible indeed! how will you go back home then? ah- I’m sure you must be tired after that ordeal, come, come!” she places a hand on their arm and started to push them. “Let’s just talk about it inside, you’ll get nothing worked out in an empty stomach!” she laughs, though it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

            Once forced inside her home, a sight the scholar wished they didn’t have to see this evening, a bundle of plates filled with smoking hot food, from soup to the snacks they saw hidden from the view of visiting children welcomed them, they felt as if they had just come home and is bombarded by an enthusiastic grandma.

            The thought brought a small smile on their face as they were explaining the situation to the granny, who was in the process of setting up their delivered belongings by the soldiers back to where they were previously placed. By the time she was done, it looks like the scholar had never left at all.

            “I see… so that’s what happened,” the granny mutters upon siting down at the chair across.

            The scholar wordlessly nods, drinking the third refill of their tea in the past hour offered by her that they complimented once.

            “What will you be doing then? it doesn’t look like you can afford another way home any time soon. If I remember correctly, the eremites had robbed you of half of what you were worth, right?”

            They set down the half-drunk cup, giving a glimpse of the remaining liquid inside to the raised tea strainer, they nod once again.

            “Preposterous of them! how could a group be so uncaring for others? did their parents never teach them manners? you’re from the same region and they still treated you as if you weren’t! do they have no sense of friendship?” the granny exclaims in an exasperated manner before they could even utter a letter.

            It was the first time she had acted so out of conduct; it brought a mix of emotion to the scholar’s thoughts. “friendship”? such is foreign to the children of the dessert, they can imagine the concept is hard to consume for someone who is exposed to merry activities from birth, is it worth to bother her with the explanation?

            They were silent for a moment longer, “Well, it’s hard to guess what they’re thinking most of the time, but they hardly matter now that they’re out of the picture. I’m just worried on what to do to get back to the Akademiya.”

            The granny’s discomposure falters, puckering up her face. “Ah, yes! that will be troublesome for sure. Hm, perhaps you could send a letter of request to bring you back?”

            The idea is not entirely implausible; the research, even if out of their control, is still an activity proposed by the Akademiya, and some liability would be held in some way. Yet it is only in action if they were endangered or harmed in an irreversible way that they can manipulate that law to their wish; perhaps they should try and puncture their lungs so they can answer for the damage done to their sanity?

            In any case, a letter would be difficult to obtain; more so, for it to travel to the main land and be sent to the Sage, it would cost mora, the very thing they have scarcely of. Even if they were to successfully dispatch the envelope, a half-baked appearance is guaranteed to be ignored and thrown away by the staff, maybe even just thrown away by the other students to sabotage their reputation. They weren’t exactly friendly with them; few words are exchanged between group projects, none of which is for the sake of conversation. This apparently is hard for them to digest, for a moment of silence is comparable to a rotting decade, and the harmless wish of isolation is a lonely death. They understand not of their logic; even with their logic-oriented mind, it’s a much waste of their time to participate in meaningless use of air.

            The scholar blinks, shaking their head and redirect their attention to the concerned smile of the granny, “That’s… not doable, I’m afraid.”

            She makes a sound of disappointment. “Is that so? how unfortunate. And while I know you must be itching in your boots to get your brain working already, you must be tired, no? why don’t you call it a day for now, and get to thinking tomorrow?” the granny wearily stands up from her seat, her frail hands raising the tea pitcher from before and places it on the kitchen counter beside her.

            “A lot has happened for one night, even for an old lady like me, you youngsters need to spend your time wisely!” she bends over to pick up their now cold tea, setting it beside the pitcher after a nod of confirmation from the scholar.

            A glance to the ragged window of the home, the soft light of the moon eagerly greets them, to which they drift their eyes away. The darkness of the night rarely served as a reminder for their slumber, nor are they inclined to follow. They rise from their seat and approach her.

            “Let me do the dishes instead, it’s the least I can do for you.”

            Their offered hand is swatted away. “No, no, that will not do. You are my guest! don’t bother with the small details, dear child, go to sleep,” the granny insisted, turning the tap on before soaking the cups in water, her gaze fixated on the task at hand.

            The scholar frowns, but knew better than to argue with the elderly and walks away.

            At the following rise of the sun, a more poised and diligent mind greets them at their wake, and the appetizing aroma of freshly prepared rice that the wind carried to the neighboring houses through an open window—it’s what the scholar was afraid of the most—and after a quick rush to gather a handful of onigiris, they find themselves by the outskirts of the village, triumphantly steering clear from the crowd growing at the granny’s doorstep. The scholar can understand their love for the food, if only they could understand their love for serenity as well.

            The antagonizing flutter of breeze brushes past the fuming onigiri they hold in hand, greatly urging them to devour their meal upon taking a walk upwards to the piece of land above the village. The heavy stares of the soldiers are replaced by a drowsy glance at their presence, confirming the scholar’s suspicion of their innocence being justified. A thank you to the general is at hand. It brings them to wonder at the thought of the current state of the eremites after the ordeal, assuming the matter is fully resolved, and as they worry not, the procedure done by the people in power have done piques their curiosity.

            There is also an item of interest they recall at the sight of another soldier muttering a list of orders with the directive book in hand; is it perhaps some sort of rule book their knowledge missed out on? Watatsumi proves to be more of a peculiar piece of land the more they entertain their investigation towards it. If a book of rules is in need to maintain order, the process of maintaining it is the problem. Unless it is highly detailed to provide a solution for every problem, it will only cause more for their high independence on an item than their own judgement, which is required to be fabricated from the training to gain their current position. They praise the use of a book, despite its questionable use, for promoting literacy. Though, why would it need to be advised in such a way? Lack of manpower? Lack of efficiency in training? Lack of morals?

            A whole lot of problems weigh the island down constantly. Looking back at the war between the resistance and the shogunate’s army, they had never imagined an aching one would be in the resistance with their outstanding odds of prowess against the army. Food, weapons, morale, strategy—perhaps the luck lies in the strategies made?

            The familiar view of the poorly maintained farm comes into view as they swallow the last of their onigiri; the scholar’s gaze gravitates towards it, and an idea appears in their head.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

~

After re-reading the LU comics and re-playing some of the games (Skyward Sword & TP & OoT respectively), and doing some more work on Hylian language, I decided to rewrite or heavily edit some of the chapters to reflect the story I have in my mind better, and focus more on light angst/fluff, ENM dynamics and linguistics.

Sorry about that, though I appreciate requests & asks as I am curious what y'all think!

~

The cheat sheet will still be relevant though :)

(Relevant pic, as Link seems as undecisive as I am about plot points, if they were watermelon slices)

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Eclipse is an Eldritch God/Entity (called the Jester, or the Jester in Three Shades as a reference to the King in Yellow and the 'three shades' being the three faces/colors of their outfit) that has existed since the beginning of all things. He can view time in the same way we can view a channel on TV and check to see what's coming on later, and is physically unaffected by time (any changes to his form are made by choice), and foresaw there being a human being, who he thought of as tools for amusement and little else, that would one day best him and hold him at the point of a sword (hint: it's Y/N). He's spent the entirety of his existence waiting for this human with baited breath, creating his own self-fulfilling prophecy: when he finally meets the object of his obsession, he's so overwhelmed he's knocked off his feet and they draw their sword (because they are confused and afraid, I mean, they've just met a really weirdly affectionate Eldritch Creature that their brain is struggling to comprehend, can you blame them??).