Meme Stolen from Smaragdina!
Jul. 30th, 2011 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
serindrana"When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.'
A Story Not About Wars or Heroes (taken from Ch. 5)
"A man is dead," he continued, as if she had said nothing, "and your anger towards me is evident. It would be incredibly- ill advised for me to turn my back on you." He was looking through her, not at her, and she wondered if he even noticed how her face reddened, how her hands began to tremble, fingers twitching with the need to toss him onto his back, blind him.
"Andam," she said, lowly. "Do not cross this line. Do not-"
"This is something you should be familiar with from the Circle, correct?"
Shame, fear, anger- her jaw clenched tight, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "You-"
"Am I correct?"
"Yes," she spat.
"Then what is the problem?"
He didn't understand. He really had no concept of what it had been like, always being watched, always- "Can you imagine," she said, words soft and clipped in a strained attempt to keep from shouting. From wailing, crying, throwing herself at him with magic and fists. "Can you imagine what it's like- to be a girl, thirteen, and have to undress every night with templars watching? With your body just beginning to change- and all around you are men you can't see the faces of. Some of them are kind and look away, but some-
"And then you begin to bleed and one of them insists on "checking". To make sure that you aren't hiding cuts on the insides of your thighs, to make sure you aren't a blood mage, and you're thirteen and he never takes off his helmet and can you imagine what that's like, Andam?" Her voice had risen in pitch and speed, her jaw unclenching as her mouth worked even in her silence with the effort of holding back tears.
"You have no idea," she whispered. "You can't understand what it's like to have them watching- always watching- and most of the apprentices, by eighteen they're either Tranquil or Harrowed and they get a modicum of privacy, but I had to stay in that room until I was twenty-four, and I was brought when I was five. Nineteen years of being stared at, of having to bathe practically in public, because even when four out of five templars are decent people and are willing to look away because you're a scared little girl, there's always one that claims duty or vigilance or even just suspicion!
"So yes, this is familiar, and yes, it is a problem, and by the Maker's right hand, if you do not turn away-"
Her voice finally broke and she looked away from him, swallowing hard and biting her lip. Her hand fisted in the cloth of her skirt and she tried not to listen for his breathing, for the creak of his armor, for his words.
When he spoke, he was almost quiet enough that she could choose not to hear him.
"We're supposed to be vigilant."
She closed her eyes, grimacing. This was not the man who knelt beside her in the garden and handed her seedlings. This was not-
He interrupted her thoughts, adding, "... I'm sorry. I didn't know."
And there was a creak of armor as he turned his back to her.
The Nevarran Mummy Incident
The grinding stops.
Nathaniel exhales and sits back on his heels as Jane brings their light back to life. She's panting and her headscarf has fallen down around her shoulders. She looks over at him and smiles thinly.
"That just leaves the gates."
"At least we can search at a more leisurely pace this time." He shakes his head, turning back to the floor. He looks it over, searching for anything that looks out of the ordinary. He's crossing the room at a crouch, in pursuit of an inlaid stone that glints a dull grey in the growing light of their sphere, when a loud groan shakes the room.
"Oh, no," Jane whispers, the sound almost lost.
He looks up.
The ceiling is descending faster than before, its screech of stone on stone louder and all-consuming. There's something new, too, extending past the intricate patterns and glinting dangerously. Nathaniel swears.
"Where did the spikes come from!?"
Power-Hungry Paranoid Despots
"Sacrifices are often necessary," Meredith said, and Cauthrien isn't sure if that's an agreement or a warning. "It's good that you know that."
Meredith leans forward, setting aside her goblet and then taking Cauthrien's from her with a light touch. She hasn't taken a single sip of wine, but it hardly matters. Meredith is close, warmth radiating from her, and smells not just of wine and metal and sweat but of something else, faint and tantalizing that grows in strength as her curling blonde hair falls over one shoulder.
She's wearing perfume.
No, not perfume. It's not flowery or fruity- it actually smells a great deal like simple elfroot poultice, with the barest hint of something else. But metal and sweat and elfroot is something that Cauthrien knows and responds to.
When Meredith finally leans back, she doesn't retreat all the way, both hands settling on Cauthrien's shoulders this time, shoulders broad from work and from birth. The Knight-Commander leans in close and says, voice low, "You do not intimidate me, Ser Cauthrien."
It should have been insulting. It should have wounded Cauthrien's carefully rebuilt and cultivated pride. Instead, it feels as if a weight has been lifted, and she sits back fully and heavily in her chair, eyes closing halfway.
"Why am I here?" she asks again.
"Because I want to see you bow to me," Meredith says, and while her fingers press more tightly, they do not knead or massage away the tension in Cauthrien's body. Instead, they create more. "Because I want to strip away all your armor and see what steel lies beneath it."
War is Never Cheap Here (With![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cherith, taken from the roughs of Ch. 3)
He didn’t take his eyes off of hers. “I believe,” he said very slowly and very carefully, “and we can check the orders on my desk, that your orders are to stay in Rainsfere for a month.”
The muscles of Cauthrien's jaw twitched, and she shifted her grip slightly on the hilt of her sword.
"My orders were invalidated when I compromised my own integrity as an agent of the Queen. If I had not left, I would have reported my-"
She looked away for just a flicker of a heartbeat.
"Indiscretion. And she would have called me home. I am simply expediting the process. Since there is nothing of worth to investigate more in Rainsfere, I am going to where I might be useful."
Without moving from his spot, he shifted his weight.
“I will not hinder your progress if you choose to continue...” He took another breath and then even slower than he had spoken before, he continued, his tone gentle, but firm. “If, you go... I will continue to ride after you.”
With a slow nod he added, “Cauthrien.”
"If you decide to follow, you have two options: I cut your horse down, or I cut you down."
SECRET PROJECT (Withsmaragdina, taken from the roughs of Ch. 3)
But the last few weeks were eased by the presence of Knight-Captain Cullen, who seemed to be around far more often these days and was always willing to listen, even if she was not willing to talk.
They were sitting now in one of the small work rooms, and she was talking about theory and he was watching her carefully as she made light glow and dance with no purpose but the aesthetic, until it flowed out and produced the shifting illusion of waving grass all across the table. It shimmered with golden light, as if the sun were full out, and she smiled at it.
He waited until she let it begin to fade before he wiped it away.
"So?" she asked, looking over to him.
He shook his head. "I know it's innocuous, but the Knight-Commander will not allow you to cast in your room, Bethany."
Bethany held back a sigh. "Oh. Oh, I know. But could I at least weave that during class, since the apprentices can't go outside?"
"I will check, but do not get your hopes up. I don't-" He hesitated, then took a breath that made his armor shift and creak. "I don't enjoy seeing you melancholy, Bethany. I would not add this to your poor mood."
"You've noticed, huh," she said, with a weak, wry smile.
"Of course I have."
Ever vigilant. Right. The thought made the skin at the nape of her neck prickle, but she ignored it.
"... I'm still willing to listen," he added, voice a bit softer, and she glanced up at him to find him watching. No, almost staring. She looked away.
"I know," she said. "But it's... private. And I would like a few things kept to myself - the little not-dangerous things, you know."
"I would not like to see you hurt."
AND AS A BONUS have the opening post to an AU RP, in which Bethany is basically Ariel from The Little Mermaid and Flemmeth is too awesome for words:
It was storming along the Wounded Coast.
That wasn't surprising. It was the early spring and the winds were wild, the temperatures soaring and plummeting with each day. The waves were restless, pushing this way and that. She let him guide her, just below the surface of the water, following the tug of currents. She spiralled, rolling onto her back, watching the sunset from beneath the haze of water.
There was a boat somewhere to her right, to the east, and she sommersaulted in the waves, tail breaking the surface for just a moment before she dove deep to avoid being seen. It was dangerous, these days, so close to Kirkwall. A representative of the human Chantry, their Knight-Commander, had begun a capaign to elimante the creatures living in the Waking Sea. She knew of too many others who had been caught in nets, had their fins shorn off. She would not be one of them.
It grew darker as she dove, but she did not go entirely into the deep, did not make for home. Instead, she rolled onto her back again, gazed up at the dim shadow of the ship now drawing nearer.
Bethany had always wondered, distantly, what it would have been like to have been born without fins, with legs in place of a tail, without the magic that coursed through her veins with every shift of water across her gills. What it would have been like, more accurately, to not be hated for breaking the surface of the water to sing. What it would have been like not to have to hide deeper and deeper, further and further, to avoid the great ships that now plied the waters between the Free Marches and Ferelden.
She wondered what it would have been like to have been born 'normal'.
She was staring up at the ship's silhouette still when it slowed, pulled around. Likely the storm, which had begun to whip faster. They were smart to go in. She had known of too many humans who had drowned, and-
There was a splash, and another silhouette, a shape against the dim fire above the water. She frowned. It was smaller than the boat, the size of a human- and with that, she was swimming hard for the quickly sinking figure.
It wasn't surprising that it was storming, and it wasn't surprising that the man was dying. It was the blood that stained the water and made her nose wrinkle and heart pound that frightened her.
The boat above pulled away fast, and she was able to scoop up the human in her arms. It was a man; he was bigger than she was with dark brown hair and skin only lightly tanned. His clothing was rich. An important human, then, left to drown, with a wound under his right rib. She could feel the heat of his blood against her hands and in the water around her.
He was dying.
He was unconscious, not even kicking or opening his mouth to scream and lose his precious air. He was dying, and she had to get him to the surface to save him.
It wasn't the first time she had seen a man drown, but it was the first time she had seen one abandoned by his fellows, and she couldn't let him fall.
She broke the surface enough to help him breathe, but it did little. He was too injured. Fading too quickly. She looked around, frantically. The boat that had left him was already making for the horizon.
Lightning sparked overhead.
He was going to die in her arms. She could feel his heartbeat flutter. If she could only get him to land, where he could breathe and where the water could not drag at him and chill him to the bone, she could weave magic into the bleeding wound in his chest.
But to go to the shore would mean to risk beaching herself. Risk dying in the harsh sun of the next day. Risk being dragged off by hunters.
Well, well, what have we here? purred a voice, a void that reverberated through her body instead of weaving in through her tympanic membranes. She turned to look behind her, into the water, and there was a dark, curling shadow, deep below the waves. Golden eyes glinted in what little light pierced the water.
Asha'bellanar.
"Please," Bethany murmured, her voice melodic and harmonic, dancing across and into the water. She shifted her grip on the man in her arms. He was young, so young, could be no older than thirty, young and distantly familiar, as if she had seen him once back when she still risked breaking the surface of the water near ships. He was young and going pale and cold.
"Please, I need to get him to the shore."
Then go.
"I'll die!"
Then stay, and he will die instead. It is a simple enough choice, child.
The serpent beneath the waves stirred, roiled, something like a shrug but monumental. It rocked the water she floated in.
"I- but I can't-"
What would you ask of me, then? Give you legs to walk upon? Take away your scales, your gills? I could do that, if you liked. Let you weave your magic in safety.
She blinked back a sudden spring of tears. "You would do that?"
It comes with a price, of course, as all these things do. Another roil, another swell of water. Asha'bellanar was massive, unknowable.
"And that is?"
I will give you legs, but you will lose the ability to swim. And when you sink beneath the waves, I shall take you back.
"Take me back?"
To me. Or perhaps I will change you back. It will depend on my mood, child. So - his life, your life, or the both together with a promise to me?
Bethany hesitated only a moment, and then made for the shore. "I will take your bargain, Asha'bellanar!"
There was a low chuckle from the deep.
When she reached the shore, muscles burning, she dragged him as far into the surf as she could, towards the dry sand. And when she could go no further, she felt a wrenching pain as her tail broke apart. Her pelvis shifted, her bones realigned, new ones grew. She screamed and gasped for breath, but then she fell forward onto new-formed limbs, pink and delicate. Her scales fell away from her and she felt an ache as ears grew where before there had been none. Her eyes shifted and for a moment, she went blind- and then all the colors of the world had shifted just slightly.
She was deadly cold.
But she kept hold of the man in her arms and dragged him from the waves, not looking back, not thinking of the rest of her family. She was a kind soul, but she was not like rock. One look back, and she would break.
She fell into the sand with him, hands flying to his chest, parting the soaked fabric that covered his wound. A knife-wound, stabbed deep between his ribs. His pulse fluttered weakly beneath her hands.
Asha'bellanar had not taken from her her magic, and with that last remnant of what she had been, she pushed into his body and began knitting flesh and bone, repairing him, building him anew. Her hands trembled with the effort and from the lingering, stabbing pain of her new form.
And then it was done.
She collapsed beside him, naked but for the red scarf she wore tied around her throat, a gift from her mother, found floating in the sea. She gasped for breath, unfamiliar dry breath. A mermaid could breathe the air but she had never preferred to, even when it let her sing. But now it was all she had, dry and burning.
There was no breathing from beside her.
She looked over with renewed panic, rising up onto shaky arms to stare down at him.
He has lost his breath.
She looked to the sea, but she could no longer see the form of the great serpent.
"What do I do?" she called.
Why, give him a kiss, of course! There was rolling laughter in the waves.
She stared down at the man, hanging on the edge of death. "And what will I give up for that?"
Another laugh. Clever girl, clever girl. I rather like you
"Will I give him my breath in return for his?" she pushed, and she felt the fear of her own death wrap tightly around her once more.
Oh, no. No, if I wanted you dead, you would be dead. No, not your breath- only your voice.
Bethany swallowed, hard.
Mermaids sang, they spoke, they called to one another. To lose her voice-
But she nodded. "I accept," she whispered, and leaned in to press a light, tentative kiss to the man's lips, now gone chill and blue-tinged.
She felt a tight constriction around her throat, beneath her scarf, and she jerked away, tried to cry out.
There was no sound.
She felt the sharp inhale of the man beside her, the sputtering cough, and it was all she could do to turn him onto his side, let him bring up the water and blood from his lungs. And then, job done, knowing that he survived, her world faded to black.
Oh my god I have too much to work on. And there are two more fics I have planned, at least. IT NEVER ENDS. IT NEVER ENDS.
A Story Not About Wars or Heroes (taken from Ch. 5)
"A man is dead," he continued, as if she had said nothing, "and your anger towards me is evident. It would be incredibly- ill advised for me to turn my back on you." He was looking through her, not at her, and she wondered if he even noticed how her face reddened, how her hands began to tremble, fingers twitching with the need to toss him onto his back, blind him.
"Andam," she said, lowly. "Do not cross this line. Do not-"
"This is something you should be familiar with from the Circle, correct?"
Shame, fear, anger- her jaw clenched tight, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "You-"
"Am I correct?"
"Yes," she spat.
"Then what is the problem?"
He didn't understand. He really had no concept of what it had been like, always being watched, always- "Can you imagine," she said, words soft and clipped in a strained attempt to keep from shouting. From wailing, crying, throwing herself at him with magic and fists. "Can you imagine what it's like- to be a girl, thirteen, and have to undress every night with templars watching? With your body just beginning to change- and all around you are men you can't see the faces of. Some of them are kind and look away, but some-
"And then you begin to bleed and one of them insists on "checking". To make sure that you aren't hiding cuts on the insides of your thighs, to make sure you aren't a blood mage, and you're thirteen and he never takes off his helmet and can you imagine what that's like, Andam?" Her voice had risen in pitch and speed, her jaw unclenching as her mouth worked even in her silence with the effort of holding back tears.
"You have no idea," she whispered. "You can't understand what it's like to have them watching- always watching- and most of the apprentices, by eighteen they're either Tranquil or Harrowed and they get a modicum of privacy, but I had to stay in that room until I was twenty-four, and I was brought when I was five. Nineteen years of being stared at, of having to bathe practically in public, because even when four out of five templars are decent people and are willing to look away because you're a scared little girl, there's always one that claims duty or vigilance or even just suspicion!
"So yes, this is familiar, and yes, it is a problem, and by the Maker's right hand, if you do not turn away-"
Her voice finally broke and she looked away from him, swallowing hard and biting her lip. Her hand fisted in the cloth of her skirt and she tried not to listen for his breathing, for the creak of his armor, for his words.
When he spoke, he was almost quiet enough that she could choose not to hear him.
"We're supposed to be vigilant."
She closed her eyes, grimacing. This was not the man who knelt beside her in the garden and handed her seedlings. This was not-
He interrupted her thoughts, adding, "... I'm sorry. I didn't know."
And there was a creak of armor as he turned his back to her.
The Nevarran Mummy Incident
The grinding stops.
Nathaniel exhales and sits back on his heels as Jane brings their light back to life. She's panting and her headscarf has fallen down around her shoulders. She looks over at him and smiles thinly.
"That just leaves the gates."
"At least we can search at a more leisurely pace this time." He shakes his head, turning back to the floor. He looks it over, searching for anything that looks out of the ordinary. He's crossing the room at a crouch, in pursuit of an inlaid stone that glints a dull grey in the growing light of their sphere, when a loud groan shakes the room.
"Oh, no," Jane whispers, the sound almost lost.
He looks up.
The ceiling is descending faster than before, its screech of stone on stone louder and all-consuming. There's something new, too, extending past the intricate patterns and glinting dangerously. Nathaniel swears.
"Where did the spikes come from!?"
Power-Hungry Paranoid Despots
"Sacrifices are often necessary," Meredith said, and Cauthrien isn't sure if that's an agreement or a warning. "It's good that you know that."
Meredith leans forward, setting aside her goblet and then taking Cauthrien's from her with a light touch. She hasn't taken a single sip of wine, but it hardly matters. Meredith is close, warmth radiating from her, and smells not just of wine and metal and sweat but of something else, faint and tantalizing that grows in strength as her curling blonde hair falls over one shoulder.
She's wearing perfume.
No, not perfume. It's not flowery or fruity- it actually smells a great deal like simple elfroot poultice, with the barest hint of something else. But metal and sweat and elfroot is something that Cauthrien knows and responds to.
When Meredith finally leans back, she doesn't retreat all the way, both hands settling on Cauthrien's shoulders this time, shoulders broad from work and from birth. The Knight-Commander leans in close and says, voice low, "You do not intimidate me, Ser Cauthrien."
It should have been insulting. It should have wounded Cauthrien's carefully rebuilt and cultivated pride. Instead, it feels as if a weight has been lifted, and she sits back fully and heavily in her chair, eyes closing halfway.
"Why am I here?" she asks again.
"Because I want to see you bow to me," Meredith says, and while her fingers press more tightly, they do not knead or massage away the tension in Cauthrien's body. Instead, they create more. "Because I want to strip away all your armor and see what steel lies beneath it."
War is Never Cheap Here (With
cherith, taken from the roughs of Ch. 3)He didn’t take his eyes off of hers. “I believe,” he said very slowly and very carefully, “and we can check the orders on my desk, that your orders are to stay in Rainsfere for a month.”
The muscles of Cauthrien's jaw twitched, and she shifted her grip slightly on the hilt of her sword.
"My orders were invalidated when I compromised my own integrity as an agent of the Queen. If I had not left, I would have reported my-"
She looked away for just a flicker of a heartbeat.
"Indiscretion. And she would have called me home. I am simply expediting the process. Since there is nothing of worth to investigate more in Rainsfere, I am going to where I might be useful."
Without moving from his spot, he shifted his weight.
“I will not hinder your progress if you choose to continue...” He took another breath and then even slower than he had spoken before, he continued, his tone gentle, but firm. “If, you go... I will continue to ride after you.”
With a slow nod he added, “Cauthrien.”
"If you decide to follow, you have two options: I cut your horse down, or I cut you down."
SECRET PROJECT (With
smaragdina, taken from the roughs of Ch. 3)But the last few weeks were eased by the presence of Knight-Captain Cullen, who seemed to be around far more often these days and was always willing to listen, even if she was not willing to talk.
They were sitting now in one of the small work rooms, and she was talking about theory and he was watching her carefully as she made light glow and dance with no purpose but the aesthetic, until it flowed out and produced the shifting illusion of waving grass all across the table. It shimmered with golden light, as if the sun were full out, and she smiled at it.
He waited until she let it begin to fade before he wiped it away.
"So?" she asked, looking over to him.
He shook his head. "I know it's innocuous, but the Knight-Commander will not allow you to cast in your room, Bethany."
Bethany held back a sigh. "Oh. Oh, I know. But could I at least weave that during class, since the apprentices can't go outside?"
"I will check, but do not get your hopes up. I don't-" He hesitated, then took a breath that made his armor shift and creak. "I don't enjoy seeing you melancholy, Bethany. I would not add this to your poor mood."
"You've noticed, huh," she said, with a weak, wry smile.
"Of course I have."
Ever vigilant. Right. The thought made the skin at the nape of her neck prickle, but she ignored it.
"... I'm still willing to listen," he added, voice a bit softer, and she glanced up at him to find him watching. No, almost staring. She looked away.
"I know," she said. "But it's... private. And I would like a few things kept to myself - the little not-dangerous things, you know."
"I would not like to see you hurt."
AND AS A BONUS have the opening post to an AU RP, in which Bethany is basically Ariel from The Little Mermaid and Flemmeth is too awesome for words:
It was storming along the Wounded Coast.
That wasn't surprising. It was the early spring and the winds were wild, the temperatures soaring and plummeting with each day. The waves were restless, pushing this way and that. She let him guide her, just below the surface of the water, following the tug of currents. She spiralled, rolling onto her back, watching the sunset from beneath the haze of water.
There was a boat somewhere to her right, to the east, and she sommersaulted in the waves, tail breaking the surface for just a moment before she dove deep to avoid being seen. It was dangerous, these days, so close to Kirkwall. A representative of the human Chantry, their Knight-Commander, had begun a capaign to elimante the creatures living in the Waking Sea. She knew of too many others who had been caught in nets, had their fins shorn off. She would not be one of them.
It grew darker as she dove, but she did not go entirely into the deep, did not make for home. Instead, she rolled onto her back again, gazed up at the dim shadow of the ship now drawing nearer.
Bethany had always wondered, distantly, what it would have been like to have been born without fins, with legs in place of a tail, without the magic that coursed through her veins with every shift of water across her gills. What it would have been like, more accurately, to not be hated for breaking the surface of the water to sing. What it would have been like not to have to hide deeper and deeper, further and further, to avoid the great ships that now plied the waters between the Free Marches and Ferelden.
She wondered what it would have been like to have been born 'normal'.
She was staring up at the ship's silhouette still when it slowed, pulled around. Likely the storm, which had begun to whip faster. They were smart to go in. She had known of too many humans who had drowned, and-
There was a splash, and another silhouette, a shape against the dim fire above the water. She frowned. It was smaller than the boat, the size of a human- and with that, she was swimming hard for the quickly sinking figure.
It wasn't surprising that it was storming, and it wasn't surprising that the man was dying. It was the blood that stained the water and made her nose wrinkle and heart pound that frightened her.
The boat above pulled away fast, and she was able to scoop up the human in her arms. It was a man; he was bigger than she was with dark brown hair and skin only lightly tanned. His clothing was rich. An important human, then, left to drown, with a wound under his right rib. She could feel the heat of his blood against her hands and in the water around her.
He was dying.
He was unconscious, not even kicking or opening his mouth to scream and lose his precious air. He was dying, and she had to get him to the surface to save him.
It wasn't the first time she had seen a man drown, but it was the first time she had seen one abandoned by his fellows, and she couldn't let him fall.
She broke the surface enough to help him breathe, but it did little. He was too injured. Fading too quickly. She looked around, frantically. The boat that had left him was already making for the horizon.
Lightning sparked overhead.
He was going to die in her arms. She could feel his heartbeat flutter. If she could only get him to land, where he could breathe and where the water could not drag at him and chill him to the bone, she could weave magic into the bleeding wound in his chest.
But to go to the shore would mean to risk beaching herself. Risk dying in the harsh sun of the next day. Risk being dragged off by hunters.
Well, well, what have we here? purred a voice, a void that reverberated through her body instead of weaving in through her tympanic membranes. She turned to look behind her, into the water, and there was a dark, curling shadow, deep below the waves. Golden eyes glinted in what little light pierced the water.
Asha'bellanar.
"Please," Bethany murmured, her voice melodic and harmonic, dancing across and into the water. She shifted her grip on the man in her arms. He was young, so young, could be no older than thirty, young and distantly familiar, as if she had seen him once back when she still risked breaking the surface of the water near ships. He was young and going pale and cold.
"Please, I need to get him to the shore."
Then go.
"I'll die!"
Then stay, and he will die instead. It is a simple enough choice, child.
The serpent beneath the waves stirred, roiled, something like a shrug but monumental. It rocked the water she floated in.
"I- but I can't-"
What would you ask of me, then? Give you legs to walk upon? Take away your scales, your gills? I could do that, if you liked. Let you weave your magic in safety.
She blinked back a sudden spring of tears. "You would do that?"
It comes with a price, of course, as all these things do. Another roil, another swell of water. Asha'bellanar was massive, unknowable.
"And that is?"
I will give you legs, but you will lose the ability to swim. And when you sink beneath the waves, I shall take you back.
"Take me back?"
To me. Or perhaps I will change you back. It will depend on my mood, child. So - his life, your life, or the both together with a promise to me?
Bethany hesitated only a moment, and then made for the shore. "I will take your bargain, Asha'bellanar!"
There was a low chuckle from the deep.
When she reached the shore, muscles burning, she dragged him as far into the surf as she could, towards the dry sand. And when she could go no further, she felt a wrenching pain as her tail broke apart. Her pelvis shifted, her bones realigned, new ones grew. She screamed and gasped for breath, but then she fell forward onto new-formed limbs, pink and delicate. Her scales fell away from her and she felt an ache as ears grew where before there had been none. Her eyes shifted and for a moment, she went blind- and then all the colors of the world had shifted just slightly.
She was deadly cold.
But she kept hold of the man in her arms and dragged him from the waves, not looking back, not thinking of the rest of her family. She was a kind soul, but she was not like rock. One look back, and she would break.
She fell into the sand with him, hands flying to his chest, parting the soaked fabric that covered his wound. A knife-wound, stabbed deep between his ribs. His pulse fluttered weakly beneath her hands.
Asha'bellanar had not taken from her her magic, and with that last remnant of what she had been, she pushed into his body and began knitting flesh and bone, repairing him, building him anew. Her hands trembled with the effort and from the lingering, stabbing pain of her new form.
And then it was done.
She collapsed beside him, naked but for the red scarf she wore tied around her throat, a gift from her mother, found floating in the sea. She gasped for breath, unfamiliar dry breath. A mermaid could breathe the air but she had never preferred to, even when it let her sing. But now it was all she had, dry and burning.
There was no breathing from beside her.
She looked over with renewed panic, rising up onto shaky arms to stare down at him.
He has lost his breath.
She looked to the sea, but she could no longer see the form of the great serpent.
"What do I do?" she called.
Why, give him a kiss, of course! There was rolling laughter in the waves.
She stared down at the man, hanging on the edge of death. "And what will I give up for that?"
Another laugh. Clever girl, clever girl. I rather like you
"Will I give him my breath in return for his?" she pushed, and she felt the fear of her own death wrap tightly around her once more.
Oh, no. No, if I wanted you dead, you would be dead. No, not your breath- only your voice.
Bethany swallowed, hard.
Mermaids sang, they spoke, they called to one another. To lose her voice-
But she nodded. "I accept," she whispered, and leaned in to press a light, tentative kiss to the man's lips, now gone chill and blue-tinged.
She felt a tight constriction around her throat, beneath her scarf, and she jerked away, tried to cry out.
There was no sound.
She felt the sharp inhale of the man beside her, the sputtering cough, and it was all she could do to turn him onto his side, let him bring up the water and blood from his lungs. And then, job done, knowing that he survived, her world faded to black.
Oh my god I have too much to work on. And there are two more fics I have planned, at least. IT NEVER ENDS. IT NEVER ENDS.
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Date: 2011-07-31 02:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 03:01 am (UTC)The scary thing is actually that I can make it halfway feasible.
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Date: 2011-07-31 03:12 am (UTC)I am kind of amazed by the half-way feasible. If I tried that pairing, it would be totally cracktastic. ;)
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Date: 2011-07-31 03:13 am (UTC)The hardest part was figuring out why Cauth would be there. But I got that down. :) It's Alistair's fault, of course.
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Date: 2011-07-31 03:42 am (UTC)I need to hang out with Icey more, I think, if she's daring people to do crack pairings (while drunk). Hmmmm...maybe we need to start up a "slightly crazy Bioware game lovers" comm...or something.
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Date: 2011-07-31 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 03:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 06:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 06:59 am (UTC)Just sayin'
BUT I CAN ALWAYS MAKE IT UP TO HIM.
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Date: 2011-07-31 04:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-07-31 04:18 pm (UTC)ON THE CHEEK.
CHASTE.
TOTALLY OBLIVIOUS BECAUSE DAMMIT SHE HAS A LETTER-WRITING BUDDY.