Instead of

Prompt: What are the things you choose writing over? What things tempt you away from writing?

This of course depends on the day, depends on the story, depends on the sunspot count on the sun.

Over writing I choose tumblr, talking about what I'm going to write, and baking.

I choose writing over homework, falling asleep in a boring class, and going to bed.

This week's writing is from my Merlin story. Quick background, Merlin is trying out disguise necklaces he made to allow someone else to perceive the wearer as someone different. So he is wandering around Camelot swapping disguises.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Merlin hung the necklaces around his neck and put the garlands back into the basket he had brought the supplies down in. First step first. If anyone noticed all of the necklaces he was wearing, he knew it hadn’t worked. Then it was just a matter of swapping disguises when no one was looking.

***

Gwen was hurrying to her workshop when she bumped into a young woman. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t mind me.”

“Are you new here? I don’t think I have seen you around?” Gwen asked.

“I am helping out with coronation preparations, nothing more.” She brushed a hair back from her face.

“Do you need directions anywhere?”

“No thank you. I’m alright.” She hurried away and around a corner.

Gwen watched her go. Something about her manner of speech seemed familiar. But perhaps she was just reminded of someone in the market or someone who had helped in the past. Many people had helped at large feats in the past. Or maybe it was a girl who had been looking for a job in her workshop before Gwen told her to come back when she had learned more. It wasn’t terribly uncommon.

“Excuse me?” Gwen shook her head to clear her thoughts and met the eyes of an older man standing in front of her.

“Sorry, got lost in my thoughts,” she apologised. “Do you need something?”

“Do you happen to know where I can find Lord Merkel?” he asked. “I have a message for him.”

“His chambers are up two floors and on the right. If you need help ask one of the guards in that wing.”

“Thank you very much, my lady.” He bowed slightly.

“Oh I’m not,” she started to protest but drifted off when she caught his wink. Then she only rolled her eyes and continued to her workshop. She had to prepare for a fitting.

***

Arthur answered the knock at the door himself, seeing as his servant was mysteriously still missing. He didn’t think the decorations would take this long. A older woman he didn’t recognise was standing at the door, hands clasped behind her back. She gave a deep bow.

“Your highness. I have been sent to tell you that it is time for your fitting.”

“My fitting? Whatever for?” Arthur protested. This was not discussed with him. “I plan on wearing my chainmail like I have done at every other ceremony.”

“I’m afraid that is not the protocol, sire.” Her eyes didn’t leave the floor as she countered her king. “If you wish to argue, I suggest you take it up with Mistress Gwen.”

“I think I will. Tell her I shall be along in a minute.”

The woman bowed again and hurried off.

Arthur grabbed his jacket and marched off to the workshop. He was not going to stand for this. He was also not going to stand for Merlin not being there to back him up.

“You there,” he pointed at a man who looked like he might be a servant. “Do you know where my manservant is?”

“No, sire. Shall I look for him?”

“Yes. And tell him he can find me in,” but Arthur stopped, the man had already turned his back and left. Most unusual for a servant. Unless that servant was Merlin. However that man had short cropped red hair and was a more portly man than his servant could ever be, even if he ate an entire boar in one sitting.

Arthur marched on.

Say That Again?

Prompt: Someone has to repeat something three times before it sinks in.

Sometimes a prompt pokes at your brain. This one was just screaming for a 00Q fic but I couldn't figure out the prompt until my friend made lovely artwork and then I absolutely had the whole plot and the format of the fic. 

Hopefully not that this short fic is out of the way, my brain is clear enough to do lots of story planning tomorrow. Maybe I will even get out of my pajamas.

Favourite writing from this week:

“I love you,” Bond tossed out as he admired his new watch from Q branch. It was high class and explosive. Q could understand why the agent was enamoured. 

“Hurry up or you will miss your flight, 007. Please try to bring everything back in one piece.”

Only the outer ring of the clock face came back. 

“Go to the roof, a helicopter will be there in forty seconds. I will take care of everything else.”

Bond was breathing hard as he sprinted up the stairs. He was out of ammunition, out of gadgets, and nearly out of blood. “I bloody love you,” he said when he burst onto the roof. 

“We’ll see how you feel after your two weeks in medical,” Q said primly. “I've forwarded them your smart blood files so no lying.”

Bond was already unconscious in the rescue copter. 

“Q, I love you too, but wasn't Eve suppose to be my partner for this mission?”

“There is new intel. Valentine’s Day in a gay bar it seems,” Q replied. “I hope you are not too disappointed.”

“With you? Never. I just don't want you to be hurt. You aren't a field agent.”

“I'm well aware of that. Which is why I fully intend to flee at the second sign of danger.”

“The second?”

“We are both paranoid spies. We will pick up on the first sign of danger as soon as we walk in.”

In hindsight, maybe he should have turned back at the door. 

“Bond?”

“I'm here, Q.” The agent placed Q’s glasses back on his face.

“What are you doing here? And when was the last time you slept?”

“I've been here since we got back and the doctors got to work on you.”

Q blinked at him. “But why? Did M ground you as punishment? I'll tell him you are not to blame.”

“It's my choice. I don't want to be anywhere else until I know you are fully healed.”

Q stared at him, the words not computing. 

“I love you, Q.”

Everything fell into place, the final firewall brought down. 

“Oh.”

Out of the Wardrobe

Prompt: What's something you've always considered writing but haven't yet?

There have been a couple good Narnia fics I have read. They generally fall into two categories: Golden Age in Narnia, or a little while after they get back and have mostly learned to still be Kings and Queens in our own world. But the one I want to read, and therefore write, is right after they get out of the wardrobe.

I really want them being extra clumsy the first couple days back since their bodies are different again, still calling each other by their titles and the maids thinking they are playing, Kirke just smiling, Kirke joining in their "game" to the housekeepers displeasure.

I want to write about when Peter asked Kirke about Narnia one afternoon because they had been told of the creation of Narnia during their rule and they made a guess, Peter talks with him about how to survive not going back.

I have started this story. April of last year. I haven't touched it since. Something about it seems too perfect in my head that I don't want to mar it with my clumsy words. Or maybe a part of me knows this is not the right time in my life to write it. I don't really know. But I will share with you what I have so far. 

Featured writing: 

“Hey watch where you’re putting your elbows!”
“Ow! That’s my foot.”
“What is this place?”
“Wait, I think I see a light!”
“Ahhh!”
The four children tumbled out of the wardrobe and landed on top of each other on the hardwood floor. Slowly they raised themselves to look at each other in bewilderment. For they were no longer the Kings and Queens that had ruled over Narnia for many years. They had been returned to Peter, Susan, Edmund, and little Lucy, the children who had been sent away to the countryside to avoid the war.
They quickly found Professor Kirke, for they felt he could relate to them. And they felt they must explain to him why four of his coats were now missing. Together they told him of their time in Narnia, of defeating the White Witch, the many other battles they had fought, the friends they made, and the great parties they threw. Throughout it all, the Professor only smiled and seemed to grow younger as he listened to their tale of the magical land. Upon reaching the end, they apologized to him for losing his coats.
“Nonsense, your majesties.” He gave a small bow from where he sat in his chair. “I am honored that they were of use to you.”
“We could always try to go and get them back,” Lucy suggested, for such was her way to try to help those who she could, but the Professor shook his head.
“I don’t think you will be able to get to Narnia again by that route. Besides, I doubt you remember where the coats are anyways.” They smiled sheepishly at that. It had been many years since they had even thought of the coats. When winter did come to Narnia, much nicer coats were presented to them for warmth.
“Will we ever get back to Narnia?” Peter asked.
“I expect you shall,” the Professor responded. “Just when you are least expecting it. Afterall, once a king or queen in Narnia, always a king or queen in Narnia.” The four siblings exchanged worried glances. They had built a life, a kingdom, in Narnia and they had abandoned it. “For now, your majesties, I would suggest sleep. Your bodies are young once more and you have had quite the adventure today. We shall speak more in the coming days.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Peter said. “That is very wise advice. We shall retire to our chambers presently.” And in a gesture that seemed out of place in a young teenager’s body, he offered his arm to Susan and they led the other two back toward the bedrooms.

July Writing

July was catch up month. July was CampNaNoWriMo. July was also 007 Fest. It's the last one that kept me busy.

I wrote 15 stories, adding up to 27,975 words this past month. Sure it is not November, but I feel equally as exhausted. (Although this is partly because I was both a team captain and a mod for the group running it.) I challenged myself to write some things I would not have written otherwise and I am very proud of what I have come up with.

There are two stories I am particularly proud of. Misunderstandings was born of three Wordbound prompts and I finally feel like it is fairly reasonable with a decent amount of emotion.

I'm also proud of another story that is actually pseudocode format.

I am looking forward to jumping back into normal prompts, although my brain needs a couple days off from writing first.

Complications with Invisibility

Prompt: Include a mirror as an integral part of your scene.

I saw this prompt and knew it would be good. I had an upcoming scene planned out and so my goal was to write my way there. And so I did. I finished up the story arc and moved on to the one featuring AN INVISIBLE BATTLE!!! I'm a little excited to write this. I think this will be the last episode arc I write before taking a break to work on other things in July.

Also, all the spells are in Latin if you are curious.

Favourite writing from this week: 

“I did!” he exclaimed. “I am totally invisible! See?” He spun in a circle, his arms out wide.

William looked up. As he couldn’t see his ward, he took a guess at where he was. “Congratulations. Although may I remind you that being unseen does not work as well for stealth if you keep talking.”

“Ah, right. Well I need to jot that down. Find a spell for silence.” A quill lifted from the table and flew across the room in Merlin’s hand.

“Also note down that things you pick up do not become invisible,” William advised.

Merlin stood in front of the mirror and saw only the quill in his hand. “Fiat fiet istud absconditum ab oculis pulsat eburno.” The quill melted from his view. Returning to his notebook, Merlin noticed the complication this presented. “Ah. That is going to make things difficult.”

“What is it?” William asked. “Can you undo the spell?”

“Not that. Although let me try that first. Quarum sacra fero dimittere placendi.” He looked again and saw both the quill and his own body. He walked back to Sir William. “If I make the quill invisible, it is invisible to me as well. Just as I can’t see myself, I also can’t seen anything I make invisible.”

“That is going to be difficult. I expect that it will become easier with practice. Already you do many things without needing to see them. If you had to look at your feet in order to walk, you would run into everything instead. Just like any other skill,” William said.

“Practice makes perfect,” Merlin finished. “I know, you have told me thousands of times. I guess that means I have to practice then.” With the thrill of mastering this spell, Merlin’s spirits wouldn’t stay down for long. “You’ll see me later. Et facti sunt abscondita est ab oculis triae. Sit enim corpus meum de indumentis occultatum est ut exsisto I.” And he vanished from sight.

All the Alliterations

Prompt: Make 3 writing related confessions

1. I have an unhealthy love of alliterations. There is an incredibly high chance that any chapter title, or even story title, of mine will be an alliteration and I will have been gleeful while brainstorming.

2. Whenever I can, I slip in accurate astronomy. If I mention the moon, I know darn well what phase it is in if you can see it at that height at that time of day. I will mention planets being seen, and in my scifi story, well, that one practically revolves around astronomy.

3. I unashamedly write in class. Most of the time if it looks like I am taking intense notes in class, I am probably writing a story. This could be random brainstorming, small sections of outlines, or just writing the story itself. This is usually to help me stay focused in class, I kinda need to keep my hands moving, especially if I'm tired or bored in class.

This bit of writing was completely unplanned. There was never going to be a trial, there was never going to be a visit to the dungeons, and it was not going to go darker like this. And yet, I really like what the fingers typed.

Favourite writing from this week: 

It had been dark for hours when Merlin crept down the stairs into the dungeons. Lancelot was the ranking guard and when she saw Merlin approach he sent his subordinate to do a quick check on the other end of the dungeons. With an exchange of nods, Merlin came down the stairs the rest of the way.

Lancelot expected Merlin to just walk past, but he stopped first.

“I need your opinion on how well this disguise works.” Merlin lifted a metal pendant on a cord out from under his tunic and pressed one of the markings. To Lancelot’s eyes, his friend appeared to ripple like a disturbance in a lake and then a new person stood before him. “What do you think?”

When he spoke it was slightly deeper. “Do I look like myself?”

Lancelot brought a torch from the wall closer to see better. But even with the additional light, it did not look like Merlin. He shook his head. Merlin beamed and Lancelot had to stifle a laugh. “No disguise can hide that smile though. Try not to be too happy about the interrogation.”

Merlin schooled his features again. “I won’t.” With a nod of thanks he put his hood back up and walked to the end of the row, stopping in front of the cell holding Usco. Knowing the other prison guard would likely return, he wordlessly cast a charm to erect a sound barrier. Then he waited.

It didn’t take long for the prisoner to open his eyes and see his visitor. He quickly sat up and grabbed at his waist, forgetting that his blades had been confiscated. “Who are you?”

“It matters not. What matters is that you tried to assassinate Prince Arthur.”

“So. What’s it to you?” Usco leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his chest.

“You were not working alone. Who was your contact?”

“No one.”

Merlin snapped out a word and Usco sucked in a sharp breath, his hand now cradled against his chest. He looked up at Merlin.

“That is a lie,” Merlin said. “Letters were found in your room.”

“You have magic.”

Merlin continued over his astonishment. “Even now they are being translated.”

“Why would you protect the Pendragons?”

Again Merlin paid him no mind, his voice remaining even. “It would be in your best interests to tell me who you work for before I find out the long way.”

“What can you offer me? I am going to die in the morning. I doubt you would free me.”

“In my time living in Camelot, I have seen many executions. And if I have learned one thing, it is that they are imperfect. They take a long time. You should be grateful your death is not by pyre. Those take the longest. An average of eleven minutes longer than beheading. Seven minutes longer than hanging.” He paused, letting that detailed knowledge sink in. Merlin wished he did not know the statistics. He wished he had a small data set. “You know I have magic; I can control just how long yours will last.”

Usco seemed to consider this. Merlin waited patiently. Mostly. “The next patrol will come this way in five minutes. Decide quickly. How much pain do you wish to experience?”

He stuck his chin up proudly. “You can do what you want. I want to see Camelot fall. I will do nothing to help you. Make it as painful as you wish. I will still be dead and my masters will know I haven’t betrayed them.”

“Very well then.” Merlin walked away, cloak trailing behind from his long strides.

“Have fun decoding the letters,” Usco called after him and Merlin wanted to groan. Not only were they in a rare language for these parts, but they were in code too.

The Dais of Dull

Prompt: Make a character overreact to something.

Playing catch up this week. I'm having so much fun writing this story. I am very tires so straight on to the writing.

Favourite writing from this week: 

Merlin was incredibly grateful that he had a day of rest at the druid camp before needing to head back to Camelot. He had danced until sunrise with many of the others druids who had not dropped off to sleep sooner. It seemed a far longer walk back to the cave in the morning, but when they arrived he was beyond grateful for the lack of sun shining into the cave room he was sleeping in. Although with how tired he was, it might not have made any difference.

But thankfully he was rested enough because Arthur was not shy in heaping chores upon him when he returned. In a few days, Camelot was to hold it’s own celebration of a good harvest. This one in the form of an open tournament.

Traditionally, only knights were able to compete in the tournaments. There were only two exceptions: the Decennial Tournament–a tournament held every ten years with no rules‒and the Harvest Tournament. Although perhaps it would be more accurate to say tournaments, plural. There was the normal tournament for knights and a lower circuit for anyone to compete in. Ths was usually guards, although sometimes an odd commoner or fifth son of a fifth son from another kingdom would compete.

Winning the lower circuit tournament would result in knighthood. It was an honour fought for fiercly.

This year, Merlin would actually have less work to do as Arthur would not be competing in the tournament. His father wanted him to host it this year; a duty Arthur was not happy with. “It’s going to be incredibly dull,” Arthur complained. “I have to sit on the dais and watch people do all the fun fighting. Do you have any idea how dull it is to watch when you can’t partake?”

“It is. I have been competing every year since I was ten and my instructors decided I was skilled enough to make it through the first round.” Arthur smiled at the memory. “Looking back, they may have just agreed to stop my pestering. I certainly came nowhere near winning.  And now I have to sit and watch again.”

“Don’t forget you have to give a speech as well,” Merlin said.

Arthur only groaned and dropped his head to the table.

“I’ve already written it for you. It’s on your desk when you are ready to face your responsibilities.” Merlin pretended not to hear the muffled denials of ever being ready. “I’ve got things to do in town before the evening rush. I’ll send someone to clear away your supper.”

Arthur merely flapped a hand in dismissal.