So, I've been released… and my brother ditched me for college… and, yeah. Well, this if for the Big Bang Challenge 'cause, you see, the other idea that I had would've taken up the entire time that we were given and we all know how that turned out.
How am I feeling? Bruised, battered and very sore. Don't ever break a rib. Hurts like hell. My poor, defenseless phone was crushed but my daddy got me a new one (and boy is it pretty). They caught the guy who hit me, but we're letting the insurance company take care of everything.
Sorry if I'm rambling, but it just feels so great to be alive and out of that god-forsaken hospital!
THE SHOW MUST GO ON!
Castle Utgard will be updated… this has a deadline, though—patience, my faithful reviewers…
AND A CHEER FOR MY LOVELY BETA AND GOOD FRIEND MISSHANYOU! HAVE SOME CHOCOLATE AND FLOWERS!
Title: Green part 1/?
Author: Grim Revolution
'Verse: Movie with a small amount of book
Summary: Green symbolized death and life, witchcraft and sorcery, lust, love, envy, and greed. It is a color of evil and good, but who knew it could be so important to the destiny of one child?
Aveta rolled her eyes at the loud guffaws echoing through the bar, her dark blue eyes glinting with something unexplained. Viking men cheered and gulped at their mugs of beer, calling towards the women serving them, leers prominent on their faces. Sighing, she wiped down the table with a musty, holy rag; stains of dirt and beer as prominent as the ugly shade of brown that came from dried blood.
A chain clinked around her ankle, reminding her of the only reason she was here to begin with and she shot a furious glare over to the pirates who had stolen her from her home and traded her across their chain of islands.
"—You shoulda seen their faces when that ole bridge burst inta flames! Vwoosh!" The man telling the story swung his mug around dramatically, sloshing the liquid inside and almost drenching a barmaid when it splashed over the side.
Scowling, Aveta turned to clean up the mess, ignoring the salt pitted faces, bushy beards and mustaches, and the telltale smell of alcohol. Muttering a sharp prayer in Gaelic, she dipped down to clean up the mess, yelping when one man wrapped his arms around her waist.
She didn't have to do anything though, when a dark haired man pulled away the hands, his body lean and strong, skin a dark shade of brown, eyes a piercing gold. "Good evening, Gentlemen," his cheeks and chin were the only clean shaven in the building, even as he sat down, uninvited, at the table, "It's a beautiful night."
Outside, the rainclouds burst open and lightning struck the sea.
Dark lips curled back to reveal shockingly white teeth. "I couldn't help but overhear you telling stories."
"And what's it ta ya?"
"I happen to know an incredible story… and as true as the blue of the sky."
The Viking who had been talking before scoffed. "Is it one of plunder and death?"
Smirking, the dark man dipped his head, making dark shadows play off his face, dropping his voice so that everyone unconsciously leaned forward. "No, the tale I bring is filled with magic and Gods and monsters of the darkest sort. And a boy, if you could call him that."
"A tale it is then," One man shouted, waving a hand for more beer. "What's your name, stranger? Where ya from?"
"My name is Anpu, I am of Egypt," He said, waving away a mug. "Though, I travel more than I should, and I stumbled upon a lad as striking as the oracles of old… but the first part of the story I heard from a midwife—"
Snow fell down gently onto Berk, swirling and spinning, making the night alight with grey wonder. The orange of the fires bounced off the flawless carpet of ivory, sending it back up into the sky like a sunrise. Just like any other time, winter swallowed up the noises of the night, making the island eerily quiet to any outsider.
Until a piercing wail split the silence in two. Sheep paused, Vikings jolted awake, and all attention turned to the house of the chief.
Stoick the Vast was, as all fathers tend to do, pacing outside of his own house, the midwife having pushed him out a long time ago. Vahallamara had fallen into labor three weeks early, and it was her cries that were echoing around the village.
Inside was a different story. As the Midwife cleaned off the child, her gaze passed over his wide, leaf-like eyes, the pale, flawless skin and his toothless mouth. He was silent, absolutely silent, not a cry, not a whimper. "Whine you fiend," She crowed, "It's your first job!" The child opened his mouth, took a breath, but still never made a sound.
"Perhaps it's mute?" One woman commented, coming around to look down on the child.
Another came closer, wiping off her hands on the blankets. "Perhaps it's knocked in the head?"
"How can it be knocked in the head when it hasn't knocked anything?" The first woman shot back, rolling her dark blue eyes. "Never seen a green like that before, though. Both parents got blue, don't they?"
Scowling, the midwife nodded, "yes."
"Ooh, so the chief's got himself a little bastard then—"
The midwife rolled her eyes, wrapping the child in blankets and furs, "Yes, and who would be the father then, hmm? No green eyed visitors, no green eyed men, it's a sign."
"Look at you, the wise woman of da north, gonna tell me my fortune next?" They left, laughing and chuckling, leaving the newly born babe with his unconscious mother, green eyes watching as they made their way out the door before turning up to the ceiling.
"Green, huh?" One Viking muttered, his eyes bloodshot, cheeks a unhealthy pale olive color. "I seen plenty o' people with green eyes—got myself a woman once with a pair of pretty emeralds and ruby hair."
Aveta swallowed the bile in her throat, worrying her lip as she grabbed the empty mugs, replacing them with newer, fuller ones.
"But a child born of parents who both had blue eyes? Mighty odd, isn't it?" Anpu murmured and grinned at their bored faces. "The story isn't done gentlemen, see; Stoick the Vast had no time to, well, look after a bouncing baby boy so he bought a slave named Andraste. A young woman, beautiful, not yet reaching her twentieth year."
"And what about 'is wife, eh?"
Anpu shrugged, "died in childbirth, didn't wake up—there was too much stain, too much blood. That lad put up a fight on the way out."
"And this Andraste turned into the littleun's nanny, did she? A babe being raised by a slave?" The man scoffed, "Shameful."
"Perhaps it was," Anpu murmured, "because no one could deny that the child was strange."
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