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Chapter Text

There was once a very dull and very cruel world known to its people as 'Earth'. Some of its occupants were perfectly content to live there, simpletons with fat pockets and thick skulls. Others thirsted for more; inquisitive creatures of the finest quality, with a hunger for the written word. Those are the heroes of this story.
But they were many – the green surface of the earth was heavily peopled with them – and so many of them will go, in this story, nameless and unaccounted for, just as they do in life. Many of their stories do not end happily at all. The loneliness wears them thin, hollows them out. Others, who hold their heads high in the face of adversity and venture on, come to much happier conclusions. The least fortunate souls lose their fervour for life somewhere along the way, and close their minds forever.
This is a story about those who desire more than they see before them. For the purposes of this tale, we shall call them 'travellers'.

“Hullo, Yuomi,” Amber greeted her friend at the door. “Come in, get warm.”
Yuomi was quick to cross the threshold, soaked to the skin and eager to get dry. Rain fell heavily behind her. Winter's first pale light bloomed. The sky was paper-white, a canvas writ with rain clouds.
“Hello,” she offered, stowing her umbrella away by the door.
The two made their way to Amber's bedroom. Artificial heat filled the room.
“I love this weather,” Yuomi mused as they huddled together. “It's wonderful.”
“Is it?” Amber seemed distant.
“What are you thinking about?”
There was a long pause. “It's nothing,” Amber said carefully.
“Tell me,” urged Yuomi.
“It'll sound strange.”
“I like strange.”
Amber gave her a half-hearted smile. “The dogs have been digging a hole in the backyard.”
“Well, that's hardly unusual.”
“They've been burrowing deeper and deeper, tunnelling downward, working at it day by day. And then, earlier...”
“Mmm?” prompted Yuomi.
“...earlier, I was sitting in the backyard, enjoying the weather. I peered down into that deep blackness, and through sheets of rain I thought I saw...light,” she finished uneasily.
“Light?”
“Yes. Alike to daylight. Golden and luminous, pooled at the bottom of the hole.”
Yuomi seemed to reflect for a moment. “Maybe there's something valuable down there.”
“I can't shake the feeling there's something down there. Something important.”
“Why didn't you look?”
“Something about it disquieted me.” Amber shook her head. “I know it sounds silly.”
“It doesn't. Shall we go and have a better look?”
“When the rain's let up.”

A few hours later the rain fell only in thin spatters. The two, garbed in warm, woollen clothing, ventured out into the yard. They clutched hot cups of tea.
Yuomi craned her neck and peered down into the blackness. “I can't make out the bottom.”
The hole was wide as a man, deep and dark, and smelt damp and earthy. Zero and Skraps, usually eager and imposing, shied away.
“Something tells me we will regret it if we do not probe further.”
Yuomi nodded in agreement, soft pink locks bobbing. “Ready when you are.”
Tentatively, Amber began to lower herself feet-first into the hole. Slowly she descended. Yuomi watched as her lithe frame was swallowed up by shadow. The crown of her head sunk into blackness, and Yuomi began to follow.
The plunge was unsettling. She could make nothing out through the dense veil of dark. Slowly she began to make her way down, groping at wet soil blindly, scrabbling for balance. Panic seized her as she heard Amber exclaim with surprise.
“There are footholds,” Amber's voice rose from the deepness. “Someone has marked out footholds.”
Yuomi suddenly felt very unsettled. “We should go back.”
“No,” said Amber firmly. “Whatever is down here, it doesn't feel like a threat.”
They continued, down, down, down into the deep. Yuomi was beginning to think it would never end. Then there was an audible whumph, and a wooden sort of sound.
“I've found the bottom,” Amber said. Carefully, Yuomi felt her way to the bottom.
A door. They were standing on a trapdoor.
“Shall we open it?”
“We've ventured this far.”
Carefully, supporting their weights with the footholds, they lifted the trap door with great effort. It fell open heavily with a 'thud'. Sunlight flooded the tunnel.
Yards above they saw just how long and steep the climb had been, and shuddered. Driven by fear and curiosity, they stepped into the Otherworld.

The trapdoor opened out onto a riverside. It was well-concealed, amidst rock and soil and growth. They closed it behind them and rearranged the fallen leaves so that it was partially hidden.
Before them was a stretch of land, beautiful but seemingly unoccupied. There was dense greenery as far as the eye could see, and behind them by the trapdoor, a great body of cool, dark water. Wild flowers carpeted the ground at their feet.
“Look.” Yuomi motioned to a cluster of fungi. Upon closer inspection, the mushrooms were marbled with opalescent turquoise and emerald. The girls marvelled at them.
“Wait,” said Amber. There was a tiny slip of parchment amidst the mushrooms. She unfurled it. Scrawled in blood-red ink were the words 'Eat me'. “We've wondered into a Lewis Carol tale!”
“So these mushrooms will change our stature?” asked Yuomi.
“That, or gnaw away at our innards and kill us horribly,” returned Amber. She looked at the mushrooms skeptically.
“We've taken the risk of coming here,” said Yuomi. She ran her finger along the rubber-smooth top. It came away imprinted with a fine shimmer. She tasted it, cautious.
Sure enough, she began to shrink by a few centimetres, much to Amber's surprise.
“We must be in Wonderland.”
“But that's not where you want to be,” came a voice from behind them. They turned to greet the new voice. Perched on a butter-yellow wild flower, a joint hanging lazily from his tiny lip, was the caterpillar whose face they both knew from 'Alice in Wonderland'. “No, you want to be elsewhere. That's why you've stumbled through that trap door.” He smirked.
“Forgive my ignorance, but what exactly is going on here?” asked Amber.
“I would've thought it was simple, and yet they ask the same questions time and time again,” tutted the caterpillar. “Lost souls will wander, and wander you have - right into a parallel universe, I'm afraid. I take it you'll be requiring a map?”
Yuomi blinked at him. “I don't understand. This has all happened very suddenly...”
“Yes, yes, let's dispense of all that," said the caterpillar impatiently. "Do you want a map or not?”
“A map sounds...lovely.”
The caterpillar extended his tiny arm to offer a rolled piece of parchment. Amber took it, unfurled it and squinted at its minuscule markings.
“I can't make this out.”
“Rub a little mushroom residue on it. From the underside, girl. Honestly, must I tell you humanoids everything?”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” quoth Yuomi. Amber ran her thumb along the pale gills of the mushrooms, then over the tiny piece of parchment in her hand. Instantaneously it began to grow, swelling to several times its size until it was clear and legible. What she read made her clasp her hands to her mouth with shock and joy.
“Look!” she squealed, elated. “Hobbiton! Westeros! Camelot!”
“We're home,” said Yuomi. Her eyes shone with tears.
“What is this?” said Amber. She pointed to a place along the coast. “Exality. What on earth...”
“Not on earth,” corrected the caterpillar. “You are in the Otherworld now, and you must seek your own answers."
"But - "
“I really must be going now,” interrupted the caterpillar. “Perhaps it won't come to it, but if you are in desperate need of guidance, I will be there.”He smiled an ugly, toothy smile and vanished in a dense cloud of marijuana smoke.
“Wait!” cried Amber. “How do we get where we want to go?”
She was answered with silence.
“I guess we walk,” said Yuomi.
There was a thundering of horse hooves, and dust billowed around them as a dark rider passed. He was a great, hulking figure, his features hidden in the folds of a thick black cloak, and he had three other stallions in tow.
“Walk?” he rasped. “Not bloody likely you'll get where you're going. Not before sundown, at least, and this is a dangerous road.”
Amber gave the stranger a long, measured look. “You are familiar to me. Have we met?”
The hooded figure shrugged. “I've got horses to spare. Where are you headed?”
Yuomi narrowed her eyes at him. “What's in it for you?”
“Might be I lead you somewhere dark and secluded, and take you both.” A crooked yellow smile emerged from beneath his hood. “Mind, if I wanted that, I'd have already taken it. There's no-one around here for miles to hear you scream.”
“What do you want from us, then?” said Yuomi timidly.
“I've got time to waste and horses to spare. I don't want anything but a decent horn of ale and a wench to warm my bed.”
“You're Sandor Clegane,” Amber realised.
Sandor growled. “Most call me the Hound.”
“I wouldn't be so cruel.” She smiled at him sympathetically. “You see a little Sansa Stark in us. We're young, lost, vulnerable. You want to help us, because you couldn't help her.”
Sandor inclined his head towards her, scowling. “You must be a traveller. You know a lot more than you have any right to know. Or,” he said, loosening his blade in its scabbard, “you're one of Queen Cersei's spies. Which is it?”
“We come from Earth,” said Yuomi. “We mean you no harm.”
“Travellers, then.” He released his hold on the blade and motioned to the horses. “What will it be?”
“We'll gladly ride with you,” offered Amber.
A honey-coloured mare and two destriers, black as pitch with muzzles of grey, loomed above them. They struggled for a moment, fighting to clamber onto their backs. Sandor tutted, dismounting to come to their aid.
Seizing Amber's waist with strong hands, he lifted her onto one of the destrier's backs, quickly doing the same for Yuomi.
Once remounted Sandor began an even, steady pace. The three horses followed his lead, crushing wild flowers in their path. As they rode, they spoke.
“Where are we headed, lasses? I'm in need of a good brew.”
Amber and Yuomi exchanged a knowing look. “To the Shire,” they said in unison.

Chapter Text

In Westeros, the hour was late. Candlelight illuminated the red keep. Cersei sat hunched over her work, her brow creased with concentration. She dipped her quill, scarlet and gold-tipped, into the ink-pot and continued to write.

“We're twins,” worried Jilk. “We can't make love. It would be so wrong.”
“Then I don't want to be right,” returned Greg, placing one finger on Jilk's lips. He cupped his face in his hands, drawing him in for a deep kiss. Jilk moaned low in his throat...

“Writing fan fiction again, Your Grace?”
Cersei jumped, upsetting the ink-pot. Patches of blue-black began to form upon the table-cloth, dripping onto the rushes. “My dear brother,” she spat. “What could you possibly want at this hour?”
Tyrion smirked. “Most amusing, your little stories. Another twincest ficlet?”
Cersei's mouth twisted with fury. “As if your fan fiction surpasses my own. What do you write about? The monkeys at Perth zoo?” She scoffed. “My fan fiction is quality. Everyone in the community says so.”
Tyrion regarded her warily. “That jape about Perth zoo didn't make an iota of sense. I'm not even in the Perth City fandom. The crowd at Curtin uni are more my thing.”
Cersei huffed. “They would be, I suppose. I'm writing a Warnbro High fic. It's Jilk and Greg slash. Not that I know why I'm telling you.”
Tyrion shrugged and gave her a wry smile. “The wetter your whistle, the looser your tongue.”
Cersei glared at him. “Was there a purpose for your visit, dear brother?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. We’ve received a number of ravens. Feedback for your most recent work.” He handed her several scrolls of parchment and watched her carefully as she read them.

Uh this is the worst pairing ever. Why would you even write a Jilk x Greg fiction? There’s no chemistry there. So not canon.
-Jorah Mormont

Gross, twincest. What’s wrong with you?
-Jon Snow

EVERYONE KNOWS GREG BELONGS WITH BLOATY, THEY’RE MY OTP. HOW DARE YOU WRITE THIS, YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT UR TALKING ABOUT OMFG
-Theon Greyjoy

Wow this fic is so good! Don’t ever stop writing, perf!
-Jaime Lannister

Cersei tore the parchments in twine and let them fall to the floor.
“How dare they?” she hissed, furious. “My fictions are flawless. Daddy said so.”
“Nobody likes your pairings, Cersei. You always take a liking to people’s NOTPs. Although your enormous unpopularity amongst the fan fiction community could be attributed to your terrible writing style…no, no it’s definitely your pairings.” Tyrion scrunched up his nose. “Greg and Jilk? Really? They’re not even twins.”
“HOW DARE YOU SPEAK SO ABOUT MY OTP,” screeched Cersei. “GET OUT.”

In Essos, Khal Drogo was struggling with a similar problem. His men were unconscious around him after a long night of celebration, drunk on fermented horse milk. Drogo focused on the parchment before him.

Chantal’s long, golden hair cascaded down her back. Her green eyes glinted with anticipation of what was to come.
“Wrap me in your arms like a sandwich in a sandwich wrapper,” she said to the guy who worked at the sandwich shop.
“I only know how to make sandwiches,” he said. “I have never experienced a woman.”
“They are one and the same,” she reassured him. With a new-found confidence, the sandwich guy leaned in and –

“My sun and stars?”
Drogo overturned the parchment, away from prying eyes. “Moon of my life.”
“What are you doing?”
“Uh, nothing. Just some Khal stuff.” He laughed nervously.

All over the Otherworld, creatures great and small enjoyed the fandoms of Earth. Fan fictions were written. Blogs were run. Quarrels were had over whose OTP was more canon, and exquisite gifsets and fan arts were rendered. Even in the Otherworld there were travellers – people who longed for more.
Stannis Baratheon had a poster of Ben Galbraith in his chambers at Dragonstone. He looked upon it fondly each night as he fell asleep.
At the Wall, Jon Snow would sometimes daydream about Emily Upton to keep himself warm, and in Exality a troubled spirit named Tate would fangirl over Jayde Johnson in his quieter moments.
In Hobbiton, though, things were different. Quieter. Hobbits were simple folk, country dwellers with no great love of fandoms. In certain pockets of the Shire, fanatics existed – usually Tooks or Brandybucks – but they were not spoken of in polite company.
And so Amber and Yuomi rode unrecognised into the Shire, Sandor leading the way.
The Shire was a vast lay of green land as far as the eye could see. The air was sweet with honeysuckle and baked apples, and spiced mulled wine. Farmers toiled in the fertile earth, and children laughed and played.
With Sandor’s help they dismounted, tying up their horses outside a quaint tavern.
“Wait,” said Yuomi, “before we go any further, we should shrink ourselves down to size. It will be most awkward if we are twice the height of the people serving us.”
Amber agreed, but Sandor laughed throatily. “I won’t be shrinking myself down for the comfort of some Halflings. It’s always safest to be feared.”
The girls frowned at him, but said nothing. Each broke off a piece from the mushroom’s iridescent surface, and cautiously swallowed.
“It tastes sweet,” remarked Yuomi.
“I feel dizzy,” started Amber, but before she could finish she shrank to half her size. Sandor laughed, a great, bellowing laughter that drew looks from the Shire folk. “Come on,” he managed through his laughter, wiping at his eye, “let’s go inside before I piss myself.” He lifted the girls up effortlessly, carrying one on each muscular shoulder, and ducked his head to enter the tavern.
A hush fell over the tavern as they stepped inside. Every face was fixed on the bizarre new visitors.
Ignoring them, Sandor strode towards the bar, hunch-backed. “I’ll have a horn of ale,” he addressed the inn-keep gruffly. “Apple cider for these two.”
“Aye, and how will you be paying for my wares?” challenged the inn-keep.
Sandor muttered testily and lay a gold dragon on the table. The inn-keep’s eyes went wide.
“How did you get yer 'ands on this, friend?”
“I killed a man,” said Sandor, unflinching. The inn-keep gulped and went to fetch their drinks.
“Only that’s not the case at all, is it?” Amber whispered to him from her convenient position on Sandor’s shoulder. “You took your gold and your horses from the battle of Blackwater.”
Sandor threw her a sidelong glance. “One day your knowledge will get you into trouble, if you don’t learn to guard your tongue.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Ser.”
“I’m no S…” he began to protest, but Amber placed a chaste kiss on the burnt side of his face. Sandor froze, unaccustomed to affection, and flushed darkly.
“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “Here’s our drinks.”
A few drinks later, they were feeling warm and relaxed. “Where shall we stay tonight?” wondered Yuomi aloud.
“There’s beds upstairs,” rasped Sandor. “Little beds, made for Halflings, but you two’ll have no trouble.”
“I don’t want to stay here,” said Amber. “We haven’t gotten to meet any of the hobbits we so adore.”
“Bilbo Baggins loves visitors, so long as they’re not imposing or rude,” said Yuomi. “It says so at the onset of ‘The Hobbit’.”
“But how do we get there?” Amber studied the room for a familiar face. The crowd was thick, almost impenetrable. Through the rabble, though, they heard a jolly voice.
“Oh, aye, we’re staying at Bag End,” it said. “With cousin Frodo, though he’s elsewhere at the moment.”
“The cupboards always well stocked,” came another voice. “Bilbo’s generous with his pipe-weed, too, and visitors are always welcomed!”
“Unless you’re a Sackville-Baggins,” said the first voice, and an uproar of laughter was heard.
Amber and Yuomi looked at each other over the crown of Sandor’s head. “Merry and Pippin!” they exclaimed excitedly.
Sandor stood, stooped beneath the low roof, and began to plow through the crowds. The three of them made for a peculiar sight, Yuomi and Amber delicately balanced on Sandor’s great hulking shoulders.
Merry and Pippin came into sight. They lounged, comfortable as cats, in their seats, smoking long wooden pipes and drinking ale. They were slightly dishevelled, stray auburn and gold locks sticking out of place, and their mischievous eyes glittered. They were lovely to look upon, like light and laughter and love personified.
“We should follow them to Bag End,” whispered Yuomi. “Then we can act as though we stumbled upon it by chance.”
“Will the beds at Bag End be any better than the beds here?” said Sandor.
“Well, Bilbo is wealthy, so it’s probable,” said Amber.
For a while they continued to observe the loveable hobbits, hidden by the crowd. Eventually, Merry stood up.
“Come on, cousin, let’s get you back to Bag End.”
“I don’t want to go yet,” complained Pip, spilling his ale. “I’ve still got a thirst.”
“You know how Bilbo feels about us coming in late. And you’ve had quite enough.”
Pippin sighed and stood up reluctantly, staggering slightly. He chuckled. “I think you may be right.”
Merry slung his arm around his little cousin’s shoulder for support and led him out of the tavern. A few metres behind, Sandor and the girls followed.

Chapter Text

Moonlight cast a dim, pale glow over the Shire. A couple of yards ahead Merry and Pippin stumbled home, clutching at each other for support, laughing jovially. Amber and Yuomi could not suppress smiles.
“I can’t believe we’re so close to them,” Amber whispered, swaying on Sandor’s massive shoulder.
“Quiet,” growled Sandor as he slunk from shadow to shadow. “You’ll get us caught.”
Suddenly the two hobbits came to a halt. Sandor retreated into the darkness, watching warily.
“What’s the matter?” asked Merry.
“I thought I heard voices,” said Pippin, his wide eyes searching the darkness.
“There’s nothing, Pip,” said Merry impatiently. “Let’s get home, I’m hungry. I hope Bilbo’s left some of that cream-and-custard cake.”
They continued to plod along, Sandor stalking behind them. Yuomi giggled behind her hands.
At last the Halflings led them straight to Bag End. Sandor allowed a few moments to pass after they’d gone inside, then followed the sloping path to Bilbo’s home. He unlatched the gate, paused at the round, green door, and knocked heavily.
Muttering could be heard from the depths of the house, accompanied by footsteps. “Visitors after sun-down? Oh, dear. Whoever you are I’ve had quite enough excitement for one day. A Took and a Brandybuck, can you imagine? Why don’t you come back…”
The door swung open and there stood Bilbo Baggins. He looked pleasant and plump, pink-faced with graying hair. His attire was splendid – a burgundy velvet waistcoat and a fine cotton shirt of cream, and dark woolen breeches, embroidered with gold. When poor Bilbo saw Sandor, he began to quake and tremble.
“G-g-good gracious. Wh-wh-what would you have of me, at this hour? M-my dear friend.”
Sandor attempted to smile pleasantly, but his teeth were sharp and discoloured, and the burnt dead flesh on his face twisted horridly. His black eyes glinted in the dark, and he appeared much more threatening than polite. Bilbo took a step backwards, his little mouth falling open in shock.
“I’m a long way from home,” rasped Sandor. “I’ll pay you a gold dragon for a night’s board.”
“P-p-pay me?” Bilbo stuttered. “M-my friend. I won’t accept your money. I am qui-quite fond of visitors. You don’t mean me any h-harm, pray?” He laughed nervously.
“No harm at all, little one,” replied Sandor. He placed Yuomi and Amber gently on their feet and ushered them inside, following closely.
“Oh my. Who are your companions?” inquired Bilbo.
“I am Amber,” said Amber, shaking his hand gently, “and this is Yuomi.” Yuomi curtsied. Bilbo smiled.
“You are a bonny pair of lasses indeed. Will you have some cake? Tea?”
“Please,” said Amber. They followed him into the parlour.
Merry and Pippin were already seated at the table, smoking their pipes and helping themselves to plates of food. Merry was reclining, his feet resting on the table top. They smiled cordially at the new visitors, paying no mind to Sandor’s huge stature, cheeks full with cake.
“Meriadoc, I have told you not to put your feet on my table,” scolded Bilbo. “And do leave some cake for our guests!”
“Umf fumble mub,” said Merry through a mouthful of cake.
Pippin only laughed. It was a sweet and musical sound. Amber blushed deeply, recalling to mind some of her darker, more wanton daydreams. She shifted uncomfortably, unable to raise her eyes from the floor.
“My dear guests, I am Bilbo Baggins.” He bowed deeply. “These two lads are Meriadoc Brandybuck,” – he paused to allow Merry to nod – “and Peregrin Took.”
“Pippin,” corrected Peregrin.
“Meriadoc and Pere-…Pippin, these are…well, I don’t believe I caught your names.”
“I’m no-one,” said Sandor, “just a runaway dog.”
“Don’t be so distrustful, Sandor,” chided Amber. “We are guests here. His name is Sandor, of House Clegane.”
“I am Yuomi of House Kaminari,” said Yuomi, “and this is Amber, of House Galbraith.”
“I can’t say I’ve heard your names,” said Merry slowly. “Are you of the Shire?”
“No,” explained Yuomi. “As a matter of fact, we are very new here indeed.”
“You’re small, like hobbits,” observed Pippin, “but your feet are tiny and hairless.”
“You’re travelling folk,” deduced Merry. “Well!”
Pippin’s face lit up. “Will you tell us stores of the Otherworld?”
“I thought this was the Otherworld,” said Yuomi.
“Not to us,” insisted Pippin, folding his arms across his chest.
“I suppose not,” laughed Yuomi.
“We’d be glad to tell you stories,” offered Amber, “though I doubt they’d be of much interest.”
“The fireplace,” slurred Pippin, who was still quite drunk. “Let’s sit by the fireplace.”
“Tell us everything,” added Merry emphatically. The two excitable hobbits bounced out of the room, with Sandor, the two girls, and Bilbo in tow.
They gathered around the warmth of the furnace. Bilbo snuggled into his favourite old arm chair, soft and bottle-green. Sandor struggled to fit in his seat, and Yuomi and Amber managed to sit side-by-side in their own. Merry and Pippin were cross-legged on the floor at their feet, their faces eager and bright.
“Well,” started Amber awkwardly, “I don’t really know where to begin.”
“Tell us about the heroes,” said Pip.
“Tell us about the villains,” chimed Merry.
“What does it look like where you live?”
“What do you grow in your gardens?”
“Do you have gardens?”
“With dragonflies?”
“With cabbages?”
“Are there bears?”
“Are there dragons?”
“Do you drink ale?”
“Do the people walk upside down on their hands with their feet in the air?”
“Are there elves where you’re from?”
“What about dwarves? Wizards? Trolls?”
“Why do you dress like that?”
“How do your men-folk dress?”
“Why is Sandor so tall?”
“Are you rich?”
“Are you poor?”
“Is there a tavern?”
“Do you have children?”
“How many children do you have?”
“Are you married?”
“How old is your son?”
“Can I baby sit him sometimes? I bet he’s a little 'un, you’re young enough…”
“Why’d you get married so young?”
“Was it arranged? Did you love him?”
“When did you – ”
“Stop!” laughed Yuomi. “Please. One question at a time.”
“You boys are being terribly overbearing,” scolded Bilbo, drawing on his pipe.
“What’s it like, where you’re from?” Pippin asked.
“That’s a very broad question,” said Amber, pausing to think on it. “It’s…different.”
“It’s sad,” added Yuomi.
“The world we come from is much bleaker than here. It is an ugly, grey world of industry and consumption. People buy and sell to feel good about themselves, and rarely find fulfilment.”
“What’s so bad about buying and selling?” prodded Merry. “We’ve been to the markets before. It was lovely.”
“I got my pipe from the marketplace,” added Pip.
“It’s not the same,” said Amber, struggling to explain. “Our lives revolve around buying the same worthless, manufactured, mass-produced rubbish. Nobody seeks adventure or travel, and nobody appreciates good food or good books.”
The hobbits looked horrified. “Your folk don’t care for food?” exclaimed Pippin, clearly distressed.
“Or books?” added Merry.
“Or adventures?” said Bilbo, his face crumpling.
“Quite so,” said Amber. “Most people do their best to avoid food, Peregrin. They hate themselves and their bodies. They starve themselves to attain their grotesque ideas of beauty.”
“That’s just absurd,” huffed Pip. “Food is one of life’s greatest joys!”
“Almost nobody reads books,” elaborated Yuomi. “Few are those who take an interest in literature. And it is very difficult to have adventures,” she added, giving Bilbo a sad look, “when life revolves around working, earning and spending. A man who spends his life in the office will probably never see snow-capped mountains.”
“How utterly miserable,” said Bilbo quietly, his eyes distant and sad.
“It is,” said Amber, “and that is why, I suppose, we found our way here.”
“Are you staying?” inquired Pippin. “There’s plenty of room!”
“We will stay tonight,” returned Amber, hopelessly pleased to be asked by Pip, “though I fear my parents will wonder at my absence.”
“What about the night after that?”
“Now, Pippin,” said Bilbo, “you can’t have them stay forever.”
“Why not? I like them.”
“Because they have their own lives and homes,” answered Bilbo as Amber blushed furiously, “and besides, this is not your home to invite people into.” Bilbo gave them a reassuring smile. “Not that you are unwelcome, friends. You may stay as long as you’d like.”

The next morning they awoke to birdsong, sunshine, and the delicious aroma of hot food. They had scarcely opened their eyes when the door burst open, and two very exuberant hobbits came bouncing forth.
“Wake up!” cried Pippin, throwing himself at Sandor.
“Get off me!” grumbled Sandor, still half-asleep, though he made no move to push Pippin aside.
“That’s not the appropriate way to wake the guests,” scolded Merry. He bowed deeply at the foot of Yuomi’s bed and produced a daisy from behind his back. “Good morning, my lady!”
“I didn’t bring a flower,” worried Pippin. He fiddled with his pockets and drew out his handkerchief, and a ripe green apple. “Ah,” he remarked triumphantly. He bowed clumsily and extended his arm to offer the apple to Amber. “My lady!”
“Thank you, sweetling,” she said with a smile, taking the apple in her hand.
“Come on, or you’ll miss first breakfast,” urged Merry. “Up, up!”
“There’s oats and fresh milk and honeyed cakes and eggs and bacon,” said Pippin, “and sweet lavender tea and salmon and rye bread and sausages and blueberries –”
Sandor groaned. “A little peace would be welcome.”
Nevertheless the three of them crawled out of their beds, slow and lethargic as sloths, and wandered sleepily into the parlor. Bilbo, Merry and Pippin already tended to plates piled high with food, and steaming cups of lavender tea with cream.
“Where shall we go today?” mused Yuomi as she seated herself.
“I don’t know. Any ideas, Sandor?”
Sandor shrugged, gnawing at a sausage. “I’m no man’s dog, not anymore. I roam as I please.”
“Then where would it please you to roam?”
“Don’t go yet,” pleaded Pippin with sad, round eyes. “You’ve only just gotten here.”
“You could always come along,” Amber suggested, hoping she sounded as innocent as she intended.
“Me?” He looked surprised. “Truly?”
“Not without me,” protested Merry. “Where are we going, anyway?”
“Exality,” said Yuomi decisively. “I simply must know what's there."
“I should like to know, too,” agreed Amber. “Will you come, Merry? Pippin? Bilbo?”
“Oh, I think I will stay here in Bag End,” said Bilbo tiredly. “Someone needs to.”
“You really mean it? We can come?” Pippin looked pleased.
“Of course,” said Amber. “Travellers of any variety are welcome.”
“Gather your things,” said Sandor. “Bring warm clothing, else you’ll get sick,” he added as Merry and Pippin disappeared down the hallway. The girls gave him a questioning look. Sandor kept his eyes on his plate and cleared his throat awkwardly.

Chapter Text

The journey had been long. Three days had passed, most every hour spent in the saddle, and their muscles ached. At last they reached a great river. On the shores in the distance, there was a vast grey city veiled by smoke and fog, teeming with life and movement and noise. It could have been London or New York, from sight alone.
“At last, Exality,” exclaimed Yuomi with relief. “How are we going to cross the river?”
“We find someone with a ship,” said Sandor.
“I’ve never seen a place like this,” breathed Pippin in awe.
“Nor have I,” added Merry.
“But where do we find someone with a ship?” Amber surveyed her surroundings, anxious. “We can’t just stand here hoping for the best.”
“There,” said Sandor, motioning to a luxury ship docked at the jetty. “That man looks like an easy target. Old, alone and frail. It would be easy to take his ship.”
Yuomi was horrified. “That’s Anthony Head!”
“I would kill him quite painlessly,” said Sandor, rolling his eyes. “It’s not as though I would flay him or mace him. Just a quick sword to the gut – ”
“Sandor, we’re not murdering Anthony Head and stealing his boat,” said Amber firmly. “We’ll just have to find another way.”
“Hey, guys!” came a friendly American voice. “Need a lift to the shore?”
They looked in the direction of the voice and saw a familiar visage. A short, pale man with huge blue eyes and closely cropped dark hair. He was at the controls of a motor boat.
“Elijah Wood?” said Amber and Yuomi, in perfect unison with Merry and Pippin – “Cousin Frodo?”
“What?” Elijah’s eyes darted back and forth between humans and hobbits. “Dom? Bill? What are you guys doing?” He smirked. “What the fuck happened to your hair?”
Pippin was not amused. “Begging your pardon, my dear cousin, but I’ll thank you not to curse. There are ladies present!”
“We thought you were visiting the Wall,” chimed Merry, a questioning expression on his face.
Elijah gaped at the hobbits, utterly confused. “But…I just left you guys at the shore!” He blinked. “Dom, if this is one of your pranks...”
Merry looked around. “Is he addressing me?”
“Stop,” demanded Elijah. “How the fuck did you pull this off?”
“Guard your tongue,” scolded Pip.
“Fuck you, Bill,” said Elijah. “You win, you guys. I’m really fucking confused.”
Pippin drew breath to scold Elijah again, but Amber clamped her hand over his mouth. “It was indeed a very good prank,” she said. “Very well played. Elijah, would you mind terribly giving us a ride back to the shore?”
“Sure,” said Elijah, though he still seemed befuddled. “Yeah, I can do that.”
They docked their horses and filed onto the boat. It was then Elijah noticed the extraordinary difference in stature. He groaned and threw up his hands, defeated.
“Seriously, how the hell have you guys done this? You’re fucking tiny.” He studied them. “And your feet are fucking huge!”
“It seems as though he doesn’t remember Lord of the Rings,” whispered Amber to Yuomi.
“Maybe that’s the way Exality works,” theorised Yuomi. “We’d better start questioning him, else we’ll never know what’s going on around here.”
Meanwhile, the hobbits were squabbling with Elijah. “Our names are Meriadoc and Peregrin, not Billy and Dom,” Merry was saying. “We are hobbits of The Shire!”
“This wasn’t even funny to start with. Let it die,” said Elijah, frustrated. He motioned to Sandor and the girls. “Who are these guys?”
“Elijah,” Amber interjected, “do you read much Tolkien?”
“Tolkien?” Elijah frowned. “My grandfather used to talk about a Mr. Tolkien. Some washed up drunk. He had a lot of brilliant ideas, my granddad said, but he never did anything with them.” Lij shook his head sadly.
Amber and Yuomi exchanged a look. “What sort of work do you do, Lij?”
“I’d have thought one of these idiots might have told you,” said Elijah, casting a sidelong glance at the hobbits. “I’m a journalist.”
“What about Dom and Billy?”
“You don’t know what their jobs are? Who are you guys?” Elijah narrowed his eyes. “How long have you been friends with Dom and Bill?”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Amber decided to come clean.
“We don’t know Dom or Billy,” she said. “We’re travellers from Earth, Australia. And these two loveable creatures,” she said, gesturing at Merry and Pippin, “are hobbits of the Shire.”
“Haven’t you ever been beyond these shores?” questioned Pippin.
“Of course I have,” said Elijah. “I'm a journalist. I've travelled all of Exality. But I've never even heard of...where was it you said you came from again?”
“The Shire,” they chimed in unison.
Elijah looked at them with wonder. “So, if you guys aren’t Dom and Billy, why do you look and sound exactly like them?”
“That would make for a very long story indeed,” said Yuomi. “For now, let’s just get to the shore. We’ll explain over a cup of tea, hmm?”
Shaken, Elijah put the boat into gear. They flew across the river, the cool breeze ruffling their hair.

Dom and Billy flagged them down.
As they drew closer to the shore, the fog that veiled the city thinned. The city emerged before their eyes – bustling traffic, blinking lights, tall graffiti-stained buildings.
Elijah docked the boat in the harbour. They made their way through the swarms of people towards Billy and Dom.
“Guys,” started Elijah, “you’ll never believe – ”
“Oh my god,” interrupted Dom. “You’ve brought us tiny clones?!”
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” mused Elijah, who had finally accepted that the hobbits were not, indeed, Dom and Billy.
Billy lowered himself on one knee to better inspect the hobbits. “He’s got beautiful hair,” he said half-jokingly, toying with a stray lock. Pippin bowed deeply to his taller counterpart, reddening at the unexpected compliment.
Neither man nor hobbit could quite believe their circumstances. For quite a while they stood, inspecting one another, noting the finer differences, becoming better acquainted. The girls (who had, at this point, returned to their normal statures) were growing restless.
“Elijah, we’ve got another favour to ask,” said Yuomi.
“Yeah?” said Elijah distractedly, and without tearing his gaze from the hobbits.
“Could we, um, stay with you?”
Elijah spun around to face her. “All of you?” He regarded Sandor nervously. “Even chain-mail here?”
“We can pay you,” said Amber, “though our currency is, well, a little out of date.”
“Or I could cut off your head,” said Sandor in a low, throaty voice.
“Sandor, no beheadings,” warned Amber. “Please, Lij? You can get to know the hobbits better.”
Elijah pouted. “I like living alone. I like the space. And I don’t like being threatened by huge fucking weirdoes in medieval garb.”
Sandor scowled hideously and loosed his sword in its scabbard.
“Sandor, no. Please, Lij? Please?” Yuomi bit her lip and lowered her head in what she hoped was a pitiful fashion. “We don’t have anywhere else to stay.”
Elijah let out an exasperated sigh and let his face fall into his palms. “Fine. But I like to keep things quiet around my place, understand?”
“You won’t hear a peep out of us,” Amber lied. “In the meantime, we’ve got some exploring to do! Take the hobbits and Sandor home, Lij.”
Yuomi kissed him on the cheek. “You won’t regret this!”
Sandor attempted a charming smile. Elijah only groaned. “I already am!”
They parted ways, the hobbits toddling along behind Dom, Billy and Lij, and Sandor ushering them along like a twisted mother-hen. Yuomi and Amber took to wandering the crowded streets.

Chapter Text

The air smelt of burnt rubber, pollution, frying fat. It was the smell of urban living. They passed hundreds of faces, each calling to mind a faint recognition, but none belonging to anyone beloved.
Until they passed the man holding the hot-dog sign.
“Gods be good!” exclaimed Amber. “It’s Bret McKenzie!”
Bret was tall, thin and pale, wearing baggy clothing to conceal his lithe frame. He had a mop of dark hair, and a closely cropped beard. His kind, chocolate-brown eyes were distant, as though he were perpetually caught in a dream. He held a huge, garish sign that read ‘hot-dogs’, and he swayed it unenthusiastically from side to side.
“Hello,” said Amber, jerking him from his day-dream.
“Oh. Hey,” he returned with a polite nod. “Can I help you ladies?” He raised his eyebrow. “Are you looking for hot-dogs, maybe?”
“Not really. We’ve seen your band around and we’re interested,” said Amber. It was only half a lie.
“Really?” His face lit up. “You’re interested in Flight of the Conchords?”
“Yes. You seem surprised. You’ve got a great sound.”
“We don’t get a lot of interest,” he admitted. “Bands aren’t trendy. It’s all about Earth fandoms in this city.”
“Earth fandoms?” said Yuomi quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know,” said Bret, shrugging. “There’s fandoms for countries, cities and just social groups. They’re not really my thing. I like music.”
The girls tried to swallow the new information. “How bizarre,” commented Yuomi.
“You guys do look familiar though,” said Bret, stroking his beard. “Have we met?”
The conversational flow was interrupted as Yuomi let out an ear-piercing scream.
“No,” she cried. “No, not again!” She collapsed to the ground, sobbing.
“What’s happened?” worried Bret. The blood drained from Yuomi’s face as she pointed upwards.
There, perched on the roof’s edge like a majestic bird of prey, was Sherlock Holmes. He wore his signature trench coat with the collar upturned. His face was beautiful, pale and refined, as though it were carved from marble, and his dark hair fluttered in the breeze.
Something caught his gaze down below – another man, with an almost-matching black trench coat and dark features, though this man was much scruffier. It was Bernard Black. Sherlock fixed him with a furious gaze.
“I’m calling your bluff,” sneered Bernard. “You do this every other Thursday.”
“It is most certainly not a bluff,” spat Sherlock. “If you do not pick up your socks and put them in the washing machine, I will leap from this building to my death.”
Bernard laughed bitterly. “Your life really isn’t that valuable to me. Now pop down from there.”
“Actually, I have a better idea. If you don’t wash your damnable socks I’ll push you off this building!”
“I don’t think so,” said Bernard, tipping his head back to take a long swallow of red wine from the bottle. “Remember what your boyfriend whats-his-name said? He said you’re on the side of the angels,” he mocked. “You’re just a nice lad playing bad.”
“I am not,” insisted Sherlock, stamping his foot for effect. “I just fix problems for idiots because they can’t do it themselves.”
“Ha,” enunciated Bernard, draining the last of the bottle. “If you were really mean and heartless like me, you’d leave them to it.”
“You refer to other ignoramuses as ‘they’,” observed Sherlock, “as though you were an exception to their idiocy.”
Bernard hurled the wine bottle at Sherlock, who narrowly avoided it. “You come down here,” he shouted. “I’m too sloshed to know what to do with you.”
“JOHN WOULD KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH ME. JOHN IS THE ONLY ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS ME,” whined Sherlock. “I WANT TO LIVE WITH JOHN.”
“Well you can’t live with John, he thinks you’re dead, now climb down. Hurry it along, I’m hungry.”
“I’m not your servant,” hissed Sherlock.
“You are whilst Manny’s at his mum’s,” retorted Bernard.
Yuomi had recovered from her shock by now, and was giggling at the display. “We always wondered what an exchange between these two would be like,” she said with mirth. “Now, here it is, unfolding before our very eyes.”
“These gentlemen are incredible human beings, indeed,” agreed Amber.
“I have no idea what’s going on,” said Bret.
By the time Sherlock had safely taken the staircase down, Bernard was opening the third bottle of red.
“That’s my wine,” fumed Sherlock. “It’s a very expensive bottle, John gave it to me for Christmas.”
“Nice of you to save it for me,” said Bernard, guzzling it straight from the bottle.
Sherlock’s face twisted with fury. “You repellent oaf,” he snapped.
“Love you too,” quipped Bernard. “Go and order a pizza, will you? I’m hungry – ”
Sherlock’s hands closed around Bernard’s throat. The bottle slipped between his fingers, shattering on the pavement, a glittering mess of blood-red and tinted glass. “John gave that to me,” he raged quietly through gritted teeth, grunting with his efforts. Bernard choked and spluttered, his face reddening. “That was the last gift he bought for me. And you have taken it away, robbed it from me like you have robbed the human race of its very dignity. You. Are the vilest man. To walk the planet.” Abruptly he released his hold. Bernard stumbled backward, gasping desperately.
“YOU ARE INSANE!” Bernard shouted once he had caught his breath. “YOU ARE MAD, UTTERLY BONKERS!” He gulped air in huge swallows, the throttling still fresh. “To think I was going to make you the best man at my wedding,” he slurred indignantly, readjusting his coat.
“You won’t ever have a wedding,” said Sherlock spitefully. Then, “And neither will I,” he added with some sadness, thinking of John. “That’s why our acquaintanceship works. We are, both of us, unfeeling monsters.”
“Speak for yourself,” Bernard contradicted him. “I happen to be a very nice – WHAT ARE YOU LOT STARING AT?”
Bernard had, at last, noticed Bret and the two curious girls on the sidewalk. He picked up a heavy volume of Dickensian works from the display table (for they were standing outside ‘Black Books’), and hurled it at them with effort. With a ‘thud’, it collided with Bret’s face.
Bret cried out, his hands flying to his face. Blood began to trickle from his nose.
“How dare you!” thundered Amber, with volume she did not imagine she could have mustered. She cradled Bret protectively. “Bernard Black, you should be ashamed! Drinking other people’s sentimental drinks! Throwing books at sweet, well-meaning New Zealanders!” She shook her head disapprovingly.
“You’re right, I feel absolutely terrible,” said Bernard dramatically, licking droplets of Sherlock’s spilled wine from his fingers. “Please, come inside and I’ll get you a glass of milk and a hot towel.” He cackled and threw another book.
Yuomi shielded herself with one arm and looked at Sherlock pleadingly. “You don’t have to put up with this,” she appealed to him. “Be free of him for one night. Come to a party at Elijah Wood’s manor!”
Sherlock cocked his head to one side. “Elijah Wood?” The girls had forgotten that Elijah was not famous in Exality. Sherlock gave them a calculating glance. “Ah. A journalist. And an exceedingly wealthy one at that.” He smiled knowingly. “Our Mr. Wood doesn’t have the slightest notion that this party is taking place. An opportunity to stir up trouble? I’ll gladly attend.”
“You’re always trying to out-evil me,” slurred Bernard, still on a rampage of book-throwing.
“I guess there’s a party at Elijah’s place, then,” said Amber. “Will you come, Bret?”
“Sounds all right,” he said, still clutching at his bleeding nose. “But I’d like to find a tissue first.”
Amber kissed the curly crown of his head. “You poor lovely creature,” she said, squeezing him. “We’ll get Bernard Black back. Just you wait.”
Sherlock hailed a taxi. There were a couple of thuds against the taxi roof even as they began to drive away. Bernard continued to aggressively dispense his merchandise until they rounded the corner.

Chapter Text

The moon, luminous and pearl-white, had begun to climb the sky by the time they reached Elijah’s. It was a beautiful house, a great spacious palace of a home, sleek and modern and tall, all cream and glass. There were two floors and a pristine swimming pool.
Elijah opened the door to greet them, the hobbits in tow. His face fell.
“Who the fuck are all you people?” he uttered miserably.
Wordless, Sherlock pushed past him, followed by several others the company had acquired along the way. Maurice Moss, Roy Trenneman, the rarely-seen Richmond, and their chauvinistic boss Douglas Reynholm, all from Reynholm industries; Vincent Noir and Howard Moon, workers at the Nabootique; Bret's counterpart Jemaine Clement and their band-manager Murray Hewitt; Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett from Fleet Street; Sam and Dean Winchester, brothers who stalked spectres in the night; Katie McGrath, a striking beauty who worked alongside Lij; Gerard Way and Frank Iero, political activists; Alexander Vlahos, a prominent dentist; and, to Yuomi’s delight, Andy Serkis, an unpopular chef. The girls followed, and Bret after them. Ever the victim, Bret was the one to bear the brunt of Elijah’s frustration.
Elijah grabbed a fistful of Bret’s over-sized woollen jumper. “Who the FUCK are all you people?” he repeated angrily.
“I, uh, I,” stuttered Bret apologetically. “I don’t know, I don’t…”
Elijah groaned dejectedly and released his hold on Bret, who stumbled backwards. “These were NOT the agreed upon terms…”
“Lighten up, Lij,” said Viggo from the doorway. “Stop abusing the guests.”
“Viggo?” Elijah blinked. “I…when did you get here?”
“I’m sexually attracted to large groups of people,” said Viggo. “Parties are the best.” He skipped inside, howling like a wolf. Elijah was dumbstruck. He sunk down into shadows, cradling his head in his hands.
Bret took advantage of the quiet interlude, stealing into the party. Inside was a blur of noise and light. He weaved through the crowd, searching for Jemaine.

Meanwhile, the girls were engaged in a game of ‘Truth or Dare’. They spun an empty glass bottle (quite probably an antique taken from Elijah’s mantelpiece). It landed on Sandor.
“Sandor, truth or dare?”
“Dare,” said Sandor gruffly. “A worthy dare.” He tensed suddenly. “None of these dares better involve fire, and if they do I’ll cut your belly open and feed your innards to the crows.”
“No, Sandor, none of them will involve fire,” laughed Amber. “I dare you to kiss Katie.”
Sandor stiffened visibly. “That’s not a dare,” he growled. “I want to kill something.”
“You are unwelcome to kill me,” said Katie demurely, “but I’ll have that kiss.” Without further warning, she leaned over and met his lips with her own; softly at first, then deeply. Sandor froze, an expression of disbelief plastered on his face. Gradually he relaxed into the kiss, cupping her face gently with gloved fingers.
Katie broke away with a smile on her swollen red lips. Sandor blushed behind his beard.
“No woman has ever freely given me a kiss,” he said with wonder. “Nor one so fair as you.”
Katie’s laugh was like graceful fingers moving over piano keys. She crawled over and snuggled up in Sandor’s lap. He enveloped her in his huge arms, running thick coarse fingers through her raven hair.
The bottle was spun once more. It landed on Sherlock.
“Truth or dare, Sherlock?” said Yuomi.
“This game is ridiculous,” scoffed Sherlock. “If I were interested in knowing your petty, inconsequential truths or exploring the outcomes of your predictable dares, I could quite easily deduce those things myself.”
“It’s just a bit of fun,” said Dom.
“I don’t find it at all fun. I’m only here to inquire as to where you keep the bourbon.”
“You really think you could deduce all of that yourself?” said Billy. “Somebody’s a tad narcissistic.”
Sherlock smirked. “I’ve been anticipating a challenge,” he said. “You and Dominic are clearly having an affair. By the end of the night you’ll be canoodling for the world to see. You’ll write it off as a drunken misdemeanour come the morning, but the attraction will still be present.”
Dom coughed awkwardly. Billy gaped. “I never – ”
“ – Billy’s thinking it’s getting serious, that Dominic will break things off with that girl he’s been seeing, but it won’t come to that. Dom possesses too great a, shall we say, reverence for the female anatomy. Speaking of female anatomy, that’s a whole new kettle of fish for you, isn’t it Sandor?” He smiled smugly. “Katie’s attracted to you, intrigued by your scars - and I don't just mean that hideous thing on your face. She’ll soon learn that you’re just an angry, vicious bastard with an insatiable blood-lust, and damaged beyond repair. Which brings me to Yuomi. Her actions – the way she holds herself, the subconscious readjustment of her hair and blouse – belie an extreme attraction to Andy, but he’s oblivious. The thought that an attractive young girl like that could have designs on him never even crossed his mind. He is an anxious man with exceedingly poor self esteem, you can see it in the way he bites his nails, the way his gaze falters.” He shook his head condescendingly. “Peregrin, you’re just not very bright, though you mean well. And Amber? Amber wants to corrupt you, my tiny friend. She sees an immaculate innocence in you and she hungers to taint that. It’s a bit disgusting, actually.” At this point every person in the room was staring. Sherlock sniffed sharply, unaffected by the extra attentions. “Where do you keep that bourbon?”
“It saddens me that you are so lonely,” Amber blurted, drawing her own stares. “But that is where my sympathies for you come to an end, Sherlock Holmes. Look at yourself. Deriding Sandor’s vicious nature when no-one here is crueller than you!”
Sherlock seemed genuinely confused. “How have I been cruel?”
Amber only shook her head sadly. “I guess you’ll never understand.”
“John would. John would understand me.” That was all Sherlock Holmes said as he stood, straightened his coat, and walked out into the chill night air.

Chapter Text

After that, things were awkward and tense.
“I think I speak for us all when I say, that guy was a prick. We were all confused, saddened, and slightly aroused by his words,” said Douglas Reynholm. He shrugged. “Who wants shots?”
Viggo, who had missed the entire ordeal, entered the room with a tray of tequila shots. “Did someone say shots?” he said, beaming. A great cheer arose from the crowd.
Many shots later, the party-goers were licking the wounds that Sherlock had inflicted.
“I can’t believe that guy,” Billy slurred, sloshing tequila about the place. “With his trench coat and his, erm, thing. You know. The being really mean to people thing.”
“Yeah, he really was a nasty piece of work,” returned Dom, toying with the buttons on Billy’s coat. “He didn’t even know what he was talking about.”
“Yeah,” agreed Billy as Dom inched towards him. “He couldn’t even…” he trailed off as Dom planted a loving kiss against Billy’s throat. “Oh, Dom. Oh, people are watching…” He swatted half-heartedly at Dom’s hands, slipping beneath the thin material of his shirt and roaming his bared skin. “You’re going to prove that guy right,” he murmured.
“I’ve already proved him wrong,” Dom whispered hotly in his ear. “I left Michelle today. I wanted to tell you when we were alone.” He kissed the shell of Billy’s ear.
“What? Seriously?” Billy pulled back to look Dom in the eyes, to gauge the truth.
“Seriously,” said Dom. “I just want you, Bill. Only you.”
Billy’s face split into a gorgeous smile. “Oh, Dom.”
Dom enfolded Billy into his arms and rained kisses all over him. “You’re mine, Bill,” he whispered huskily. “I want you now.”
They departed into the guest room.

Meanwhile, Andy was trying desperately to summon up the courage to confront Yuomi. A thousand questions raced through his mind. Sherlock had been correct about his anxiety, about his poor self esteem. Just how much truth had there been in his words? Were Billy and Dom truly lovers? Would Sandor and Katie last? But most importantly, did Yuomi really look at him that way?
He fidgeted with a napkin and downed another tequila shot. The room was beginning to spin. He decided to take his chances.
He waded through the crowd towards her. She was speaking with Viggo. Briefly, his insecurity seized him – how could he hope to compare to the charming, handsome Viggo? – but he was determined to be brave. He tapped her on the back, his breath catching in his throat when turned to face him.
“Hello,” he said timidly.
“Oh. Hey, Andy.” Her awkwardness mirrored his own. “Listen, about what Sherlock said…”
Andy braced himself for the worst. “Don’t worry, I know. He got it all wrong. You’re much too lovely for the likes of me.” He laughed, but there was no amusement behind it.
“On the contrary,” said Yuomi, offering a coy smile. “I think he got it exactly right.”
There was a tumult in Andy’s stomach as he registered what she was saying. “Oh,” was all he could muster. “Oh, Yuomi. You’re so…” He struggled to find the right words. “So very beautiful. So very beguiling.”
Her soft laughter had him enraptured. “Surely a beautiful and beguiling woman deserves a kiss.”
Daringly, he enveloped her in his arms and pressed his mouth to her own, soft and pink and inviting. She was velvet-smooth, and tasted of raspberry vodka. She was incredible. A thousand birds took flight in his gut.
They disentangled themselves, blissful. He raked his fingers through her fine pink hair, pleased to see a faint flush upon her fair cheeks.

The most uncomfortable confrontation, of course, was the one that would eventually belong to Amber and Pippin – once she had summoned the courage. She sipped a watermelon Bacardi, stewing over Sherlock’s less-than-endearing words and reflecting on how best to approach Peregrin.
The moment came sooner than she would have liked. The little hobbit came and sat beside her at Elijah’s bar. She shifted uneasily in her seat, unsure of what to say.
“Good evening,” Pippin said, though he sounded flat.
“And to you,” said Amber cautiously.
“What are you having?”
“Bacardi, and you?”
“These wee cups of clear liquid.” He made a face. “They taste foul.”
“Tequila does.” Why was he acting as though nothing had happened? She decided to be brave. “Pippin,” she said slowly, “about what Sherlock said earlier…”
He gave her a sad, wide-eyed look. “Yes?”
“Erm, it wasn’t all necessarily true.” She bit her lip.
“I didn’t understand most of it,” confessed Pippin. “I guess he’s right about my not being very bright.”
It took a moment for her to fully grasp what Pip was saying. “You didn’t understand most of it?” So he didn’t think she was some kind of deviant pervert. Relief quickly gave way to anger. “Peregrin Took, you listen to me,” she demanded. “You are the very brightest of hobbits. You are remarkably clever! You must believe it.”
“The very brightest?” His eyes sparkled. “D’you think so?”
“Indeed,” she said, beaming at him. “Honestly. You are brilliant.”
He smiled at her then, a bright and dazzling crescent spread across his lovely face, and her heart raced in her chest. She was impossibly pleased to have made him smile, and it showed.
“What’s the matter?” Pip inquired innocently. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not,” she uttered helplessly.
“You are,” teased Pip. His face grew more serious. “I’m not as daft as that Sherlock lad might think,” he said. “Perhaps I didn’t get the finer points of what he was saying, but his meaning was not lost on me.”
She shivered, suddenly terrified of what he might say. “What do you mean?”
“You’re…you’re fond of me,” said Pippin softly, almost questioningly.
All her fear and doubt was laid to rest as his hand brushed hers.
“It’s all right,” he reassured her with a shy smile, entwining his fingers with her own. “I’m fond of you, too.”

Out in the damp, cool dark, secreted away from noise and activity, Elijah nursed a burgeoning headache. He rubbed at his temples, eyes closed, cursing himself for letting the girls take advantage of him.
“Mr. Wood,” came a deep bass voice from behind him. He twisted to better see the stranger.
“Who – ”
“Sherlock Holmes, at your service.” He sat down beside Elijah, turning up the collar of his coat to shield himself from the onslaught of wind.
“How'd you know my name?...I guess you've seen my picture in the papers.”
“You could guess...but you'd be wrong.” Sherlock's tone was smug.
Elijah studied him for a moment. “Aren't you that private detective? The one with the freakish intellect?” Sherlock gave a curt nod. Elijah shook his head. “No. No, the last fucking thing I need today is some guy making...deductions about me.” Involuntarily, he shivered – a trivial gesture, but it didn't escape Sherlock's notice.
“Something to hide, Mr. Wood?”
Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. No! Please. I've had a really shitty day.”
“Because of the unexpected guests? Or the hobbits? Was it because you missed your deadline? Was it that minor malfunction with your motor boat? Was it...”
“For fuck's sake,” snapped Elijah, “don't fucking do that. Some people like their privacy.”
“You're highly strung,” said Sherlock. His voice was smooth and dark as cola and bourbon. “Why don't you relax a little?”
Elijah was suddenly hyper aware of how close Sherlock was. His skin prickled and heat pooled in his belly. He felt himself stiffening. “Why don't you fuck off?” he retorted, disgusted with himself.
If Sherlock was wounded, he concealed it well. “As you wish,” he said, clearing his throat and standing to his feet. “Good night, Mr. Wood.”
Sherlock had walked two paces when guilt – and desire –forced Elijah's hand. “Wait,” he called. “Sherlock, wait.”
Sherlock turned on one heel. The motion was almost feline. “Yes?”
“Stay,” said Elijah softly. “I'm sorry. I've just had a rough fucking day.”
“Nobody wants me here,” said Sherlock coldly. “I'm too clever, too keen, too bright.”
“I don't think so,” said Lij. “You're remarkable. Really. I'm sorry if the other guests made you feel like shit. They're not my fucking friends. I never met a single one of these fuckers before tonight.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “You...you really want me to stay?”
“Of course.”
Sherlock smiled stiffly, as though he had not practised the gesture for a long time. “Then stay I shall. Provided, Mr. Wood, you fetch me a glass of bourbon.”
Elijah laughed. “That can easily be arranged. And call me Lij.”

Chapter Text

The morning light was harsh and keen. Strewn about the couches and floors in varying states of disarray, bodies began to stir. Skulls ached and bile rose. It had been a lively night, and now they were paying for it with the morning.
Sandor toyed with a stray lock of Katie's hair. Even in slumber she was perfect, a gorgeous vision of alabaster skin and jet waves. She uttered something inaudible, and snuggled deeper into Sandor's arms.
Yuomi and Andy were cooped up on the couch, smothered in blankets. Below them, on the plush white rushes, Amber was nestled between two snoring hobbits. Without opening her eyes, she pressed a fond kiss to Peregrin's forehead, sighing contentedly.
Bret and Jemaine slept at her feet, limbs jutting at every angle. Bret wore his buttoned flannel pyjamas, printed with cartoonish sheep. Douglas had acquired three lovely female bedmates sometime during the night. They pressed themselves to his plump, hairy body. The evidence of the strangest coupling, however, could be seen under the grand mahogany table.
There, a tangled mass of jet curls and bared pale skin, were Elijah and Sherlock. Elijah buried his face deeper into the crook of Sherlock's armpit. Sherlock frowned and fidgeted in his sleep. “John,” he uttered in a smothered voice, though no-one heard it.
“I want pancakes,” called Viggo from the bath tub. “Lij, wake up. I want pancakes.”
“You better shut your fucking mouth,” growled Sandor. “If you wake Katie I swear to the seven I'll flay you as you live and breathe and shit.”
“I WANT PANCAKES,” said Viggo more loudly, eager to start conflict.
“I say we have some morning shots,” said Douglas, who had woken. “I've still got a bottle of tequila.”
“If you ever mention tequila again, I'll kick your ass,” groaned Dean Winchester. “And I vote pie for breakfast.”
“My neighbour Mrs. Lovett makes a very good pie,” said Sweeney Todd menacingly. He appeared untouched by sleep. “A nice juicy meat pie for you to sink yer teeth into.”
“Woah there, don't trust anyone from Old London,” said Vince Noir, making a face. “They're well freakish.”
“I'm from Old London,” said Richmond.
“Yeah, exactly,” retorted Vince. “Wankers.”
“What happened?” came a strained voice from under the table. Elijah propped himself up on his elbows, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Ugh, my mouth tastes like a fucking ashtray.”
“Lij, we want pancakes,” called Dom from the guest room. In the background, giggling could be heard. “And syrup. Especially syrup.”
“Oh, you're filthy,” came Billy's teasing voice.
“Right. I think we're all officially very uncomfortable,” said Murray Hewitt.
“Hey, it worked,” said Douglas.
“What worked?”
“I slept with a girl named Dawn so that I could wake up at the crack of Dawn.” He slipped a fat brown finger into the waistband of the sleeping girl's lace panties. “See? Crack of Dawn!” He laughed obnoxiously.
“You're asking for a shave,” threatened Sweeney, producing his beloved straight razor from his coat pocket.
“No shavings,” sulked Sandor. “If I can't shed a drop of sweet red blood, neither can you.”
“We'd better do a role call,” Murray was saying to the Conchords. “Last night was pretty wild, eh guys? Better make sure we're all accounted for.”
“You can see both of us,” said Jemaine testily.
“Visitors,” tutted Elijah, shaking his head. Dreamily, he traced one finger along Sherlock's bared chest, savouring the silken skin, circling the pert brown nipple. “Fucking visitors. I'm not going to have any for a long while, not after this. Except for maybe one...” He kissed Sherlock's temple. “...just one.”
The door flew open, inviting a medley of wind and sunlight. The company, thoroughly hungover, grimaced collectively. In the doorway, a sour expression on his face, the culprit lingered.
Bernard Black...and a bottle of bright green liquid that could only have been absinthe.
He threw back his head and cackled maniacally. “Thought you could celebrate the birth of the princess without me?” he slurred, staggering slightly. “Just because I am the most powerful fairy. The green fairy!”
Sherlock opened one eye. “Oh, for god's sake,” he uttered contemptuously.
“There she is,” said Bernard, pointing at Sherlock accusingly. “The little dark haired tart and her missing glass shoe, dilly dallying all about town with the prince, gallivanting about like a whore. Well, I'll make sure you prick your finger and DIE.”
“You need to sober up,” said Sherlock coolly. “Elijah, may he have some coffee and a place to rest?”
“Sure,” said Elijah half-heartedly. His patience was wearing thin, but he wanted to impress Sherlock.
“DON'T YOU PLACATE ME YOU, YOU TEMPTRESS,” screamed Bernard hoarsely. “I AM THE WITCH IN THE WEST AND I'M GOING TO GET YOUR SHOES AND YOUR SEQUINNED BELT AND YOUR LITTLE DOG.” He took another deep swallow, staggering backwards.
“Somebody help him,” said Elijah, clutching a sheet to his naked form. Bret rushed to Bernard's aid.
“Oh, it's you.” Bernard squinted at him. “The little winged monkey spinning the gold out of straw. All he asks in return is your FIRST BORN CHILD.” Bernard dropped his full weight against Bret, knocking them both to the floor. Bret gasped for air, squirming beneath the heavier man.
“Help him out, Jemaine!” urged Murray.
They managed to wrestle Bernard onto the couch. The stench of heavy liquor and stale smoke clung to him. He writhed and wriggled, his eyes bloodshot, cursing all who came near him with jumbled references to fairy tales.
“Please, please, no more unexpected visitors,” prayed Lij.
“Visitors?” taunted Bernard. “Oh, yes, my good jester, you'll get a few more visitors. I told the dwarves how to get to the party, and all the princesses behind them, and a dragon but he breathed dragon fire on me and went to the bus stop.”
“He's delirious,” said Elijah nervously. “Surely there aren't any more visitors, let alone fucking dwarves or princesses – ”
The doorbell rang. Elijah clenched his jaw. “Who the FUCK is it?”
The door opened, just a couple of inches, and a cautious face peered in. “H...hello?”
“Come in,” said Lij, defeated. “You might as fucking well. Everyone else in this god damned city is here.”
The creature who entered did, indeed, seem to be some kind of dwarf – to the untrained eye. Elijah recognised him as a hobbit.
“Another one of you?” he said flatly. At this point, he could scarce muster surprise.
“Begging your pardon, sir.” The hobbit bowed deeply. He was brown-skinned and fair-haired, with warm smiling eyes. His hands were coarse and spotted with smudges of green. “I hope I'm not intruding.” He gave Elijah a curious look. “It's just, well, they told me Mr. Frodo was at the Wall, sir. And then Master Brandybuck and Master Took go galloping off on these wild horses with perfect strangers, sir, and Bilbo's nowhere to be seen, and Bag End is empty and I just knew something wasn't right. So...I followed.” He threw Merry and Pippin an apologetic glance.
“You could have just come along, Sam,” said Pippin, smiling sleepily and stretching like a cat. “Your company would have been most welcome.”
“Travellers of any kind, that's what they said,” added Merry.
“That's not all, though,” said Sam. “I didn't come alone.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” cried Elijah.
Sam hung his head in shame. “I'm sorry Mr. Fro...erm, sir. It's just, she insisted. Wanted to make sure Master Pip was taking care on his journey.”
Diamond of Long Cleeve was lurking in the doorway behind Sam. Another hobbit with untamed ginger hair on her head and her feet, and browning skin, with a smattering of freckles across her nose. She had brown doe eyes and, to Amber's annoyance, was not altogether unattractive. She curtsied cordially. “Hello, Frodo Baggins,” she said softly. “How do you do?”
“That ain't Mr. Frodo,” corrected Sam.
“Of course it is.”
“No, it isn't.” Sam looked wistful. “I would know Mr. Frodo anywhere.”
“Hello Merry,” said Diamond. “And hello, Peregrin.” She giggled (quite stupidly, Amber thought) and curtsied again. Amber gave Sandor a discreet look, thinking of what he had said to Sansa about well-trained little birds.
“Hullo Diamond,” said Pippin politely. “How have you fared?”
“Rather well,” she said, “though I did miss you an awful deal.”
“It was kind of you to think of me,” returned Pippin.
Amber narrowed her eyes, quietly fuming. “Diamond,” she acknowledged coldly. “What an unusual name for a hobbit.”
“How so?” asked Diamond, equally disdainful. “Diamonds are precious.”
“Yes,” agreed Amber, “they're formed from coal. Quite artificial. And here I had thought hobbits were fond of natural things.”
Diamond's eye twitched slightly. “And what is your name, my dear friend?”
“Amber,” said Amber, “and I try not to make a habit of befriending strangers.”
“Lovely,” remarked Diamond, ignoring the latter comment. “Like a tree haemorrhaging.”
“I'm sensing some tension between you two,” interjected Douglas, his voice slick. “The only solution I can conceive of is hot, steaming lesbian action.” He grinned lecherously.
“Perhaps some food in the belly would do me good,” replied Diamond, misunderstanding. “What are we having? It's quite nearly time for elevensies.”
“I think some fresh buttered bread and hot beef stew,” enthused Pippin. “With potatoes and dumplings and veal and pork and roasted mushrooms and a side of peas and corn to garnish...”
“You can have instant pancakes like everybody else,” snapped Lij. “Jesus Christ, you hobbits are insatiable.”
“Sir,” said Sam meekly. “Sir, I should warn you...there's more coming.”
“WHAT?” fumed Elijah. “Fucking MORE of you fuckers?!” He hit his fist against the table above his head, wincing as he did.
“Calm yourself,” urged Sherlock.
Lij ground his teeth. “Okay. Okay, I'm calm,” he said unconvincingly. “Who else is coming?”
“Three girls,” said Sam to his feet. “They were looking for your house. So...I said they could tag along, sir. I'm sorry, sir.”
Elijah glanced at Sam and Diamond. “Where are these girls?”
“Just outside, sir. I told 'em to wait, just in case. Sir.”
“Might as well let them in,” allowed Elijah, utterly defeated. “Go on. Who else is coming? My colleagues? My mom? Prime Minister fucking Moriarty? The population of Westeros?”
“Did he say 'Prime Minister Moriarty'?” whispered Yuomi uneasily.
“Just these three, sir. Just these three.” The hobbit, visibly distressed, wrung his hands. The door swung open.
Elijah could see how Bernard might have mistaken them for princesses. Three they were, each a vision of pale beauty. There was Jayde, with soft, chocolate-brown hair and eyes like the calm blue tide. Beside her Gabriella, clad in black; her hair silk and onyx, her eyes dark and inviting. The third was Emily, with glossy auburn hair and moss-green eyes that shone with mirth, and a sweet smile on her face.
“Well hello to each of you,” oozed Douglas. “Where have you sweet sugars been all my life?”
Amber bolted upright, alarmed. “Emily? Jayde? Gab?”
“Amber?” said Emily, equally shocked. “How did you get here?”
“I…how did you guys get here?”
“It’s a long story,” interjected Gabby. “Best told over pancakes.”
“You fuckers and your fucking pancakes,” grumbled Lij. “I’m not your fucking scullion,” he continued to protest even as he was getting to his feet, clad in naught but a bed sheet, and making his way to the kitchen. Unbidden, the fantastical image of himself playing the kitchen maid to his new companion filled his mind. Flustered, he willed it away.
“Aye, if you were a scullion you’d be making us proper food,” Pippin was saying unhappily.
“Haven’t you got any pork?” piped Merry.
“Or buttered potatoes?” added Diamond.
“Lamb would be ideal,” reprised Pip.
“If you hobbits don’t shut the fuck up, you’ll get nothing,” called Lij from the kitchen. What followed was a symphony of noise – running water, the clutter of pots and pans, the click and roar of the gas stove igniting.

Chapter Text

To pass the time, the guests talked among themselves.
“We were having a get-together at my house,” Gabriella was explaining, “and we were talking about the state of the world and how sad it all was.”
“How each of us has become consumed with an insatiable wanderlust,” added Jayde.
“The whole thing was very depressing,” admitted Emily. “We talked about seeing snowfall and mountains and suddenly Warnbro just seemed too small.”
“And then there it was, almost beckoning to us. A great hole in the yard, which I’m sure was never there before…”
“So we did the only logical thing to do, in that sort of situation,” laughed Jayde. “We climbed in and eventually came to a trap door, and now here we are.”
“My experience was much the same,” mused Amber. She smiled broadly. “I’m glad you’ve all come.”
“Gabriella?” came a tremulous voice – and there, a dark and dishevelled sight in the morning sun, was a twosome of tousled jet hair and sleepy eyes, their arms linked.
“Frank? Gerard?” Gabby was lost for words. “I...”
“It's her,” whispered Frank, “it's her, GERARD, it's her, I'd recognise that voice anywhere!”
“Oh my god oh my god!” Gerard clasped her hands between his, quaking. “AND NOW I'VE TOUCHED HER.”
“We've followed your whole LIFE,” enthused Frank.
“Umm, my whole life?” said Gabby uncomfortably.
Gerard either didn't hear her, or chose not to. “I love your pairing with Zach, so adorable!” he squealed.
Frank gave her a quizzical look. “Wait...how did you know our names?”
“Your graduation was so precious. I cried. Wait!” Gerard paused. “How did you know our names?!”
Gabby was stumped. “How did you guys know my name?”
“You're Gabriella,” huffed Gerard. “Everyone's heard of you.”
“But we love you the most,” added Frank.
Gabby blushed. “But, where I come from, you guys are the famous ones!”
“Us?” mused Frank. “But...why?”
“Your band.”
“My Chemical Romance?” snorted Gerard. “Bands aren't famous. They aren't important. They just...are.”
“We just provide ambience for business conferences and social gatherings,” said Frank, befuddled. “How could we be famous in any world?”
“Because you're incredible!” Gabby shook her head. “I don't understand how you could be so underrated here.”
“Artists are the bottom rung of society in Exality,” said Gerard. “We aren't esteemed highly.”
“This place is more about functioning than feeling,” elaborated Frank. “Especially under PM Moriarty's rule. People don't reflect, don't engage. They just...just do.”
“I'm actually amazed we got into this party at all,” laughed Gerard. “Journalists like Wood are important. They feed the masses what Moriarty wants them to swallow.”
Frank hushed him, casting a nervous glance around the room. “If the wrong people heard you...”
“What if I want to be heard?” Gerard pouted. “I wanna make some noise. I want people to question life.” He grinned. “That's what you love about me.”
Frank kissed the tip of Gerard's nose. “I love everything about you.”
“Jayde?”
Inspired by Frank and Gerard's forwardness, another fan-boy approached them. He was gangly and pallid, with a shock of mousy blond hair and eyes black as pitch. There was some nameless sadness secreted away in the depths of those eyes.
Jayde's hand flew to her mouth. “I don't believe it.”
Tate laughed softly. Dangerously. “It's really you. You don't know how long I've watched you.”
“Me?” uttered Jayde in a small voice. “Wh...why?”
“Why?” He inched closer to her. “Because...you are all that is good in this world. You're like...light. The human embodiment of purity.”
“Oh.” Jayde flushed, utterly humbled. “Um, I think you're pretty awesome too.”
“Really?” His smile was like a thin ray of sunlight amidst storm clouds.
“Of course. You're wonderful.” Something maternal stirred within her. Beneath his spiteful exterior, Tate was fragile. Jayde found that she wanted to protect him. “You stay right by me,” she said in a motherly tone. “You're going to be my guide through the Otherworld.”
“Me?” he enthused, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I'd totally do that for you. I'd do anything for you.” Jayde beamed. “Wait a minute. How are you even at this party? Aren't you bound to the Murder House?”
“I get this guy to carry my bones from place to place,” he explained, gesturing to Bret. “It seems to work. But how do you know about all that? Do people know about me where you're from?”
“You're a central character in a series.”
He looked at her blankly.
“You know...a television show.”
“You mean like on films?” He shrugged. “Some beatniks make films, but nobody watches that kind of shit. Not here.”
“You're telling me art, in all its forms, has very little place in Exality?” Jayde was horrified.
“It all seems to be back to front here,” said Gabby.
The girls began to put the pieces together.
“So on Earth, artists are few and put on pedestals, though the majority of people are boorish clods without the intellectual ability to appreciate them,” Amber put in. “But in Exality, functionality and practicality are rarer gifts. The majority here are under-appreciated artists!”
“How frustrating,” exclaimed Yuomi from the other end of the room. “Why can't we have a world in which artists are many, and paid recognition for their skills?”
“Because preciousness lies in rarity,” came yet another voice: the dapper voice of a well-bred Englishman. Its owner was quite a vision – handsome and robust, his tight, muscular form pleasing to the eye as his puppy-dog brown eyes and onyx curls. He flashed them a dazzling smile. “Just a thought. Though I really did come over to, um, meet Emily.” He coughed, looking flustered.
“Kit Harington?” Emily's mouth fell open in shock.
“Emily Upton,” he returned huskily. “Incredible. I can't believe I'm meeting you.”
Having seen her companion's interchanges, Emily decided to play along. “It's always nice to meet a fan. Especially such a gorgeous one.”
A faint blush settled on Kit's cheeks. “You don't know how much it means to hear that from you, Ms. Upton.” He laughed nervously. “I do try to keep in shape.”
“Oh, it shows. Can I touch your stomach?”
Kit's blush darkened. “No one's ever asked to touch it,” he mumbled, embarrassed. “But of course, you're welcome to.”
Boldly, Emily pressed her palms to his sculpted stomach. Kit closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. He was perfectly formed, and warm to the touch. Reluctantly, she withdrew her hands.
“Just lovely,” she remarked, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Kit looked at his feet bashfully. “You can feel under the shirt, if you want.”
“Yeah, I think you two can pick that up later,” interrupted Gerard.
“Actually Gabby, we're going to go down and protest the rabbit traps today,” offered Frank. “It would really aid our cause to have a righteous lady such as yourself on our side!”
“Yeah, having you there would be like one huge middle finger to Moriarty,” said Gerard. “Please come!”
Gabby frowned. “What are the rabbit traps?”
Gerard raised an eyebrow. “You don't know about the rabbit traps?”
“She's only been here since this morning,” chided Frank. “The Rabbit Trap Initiative is one of Moriarty's most fucked up policies.”
“It's a crime to humanity.”
“Basically, he's located one of the biggest portals between our world and the Otherworld. Any travellers who get lodged in there become ensnared. He keeps it under vigilant guard.”
“At the end of every week he releases a healthy dose of Zyklon B into the passageway. Every traveller in there dies.”
Gabby's stomach roiled. “Why would he do that?”
“He says it's to control the influx of refugees, the sick fuck.”
Jayde looked nauseous. “That's the same gas the Nazis used.”
“It could have been us,” added Emily fearfully. “All we had to do was use the wrong passage.”
“I think we've reached a consensus,” said Gabby decisively. “Of course we'll be coming.”

Chapter Text

Outside the quiet calm of Elijah’s house, a storm raged.
The rallies were overflowing with scores and scores of people, innumerable, and vicious as hornets. All that stood to hold the furious sea at bay was a string of dour-faced guardsmen, adorned uniformly in slate grey. The sunlight glared off their firearms and metal cuff-links, but no such light reached their eyes – black and dull and seemingly sightless.
The guardsmen stood sentry around the great portal that had been deemed Moriarty’s rabbit trap. It was a great wide hole, about five metres across, and fitted with grimy iron bars; and inside, the rabbits. Thin, pale wretches, shivering in the morning light, mud-caked and tear streaked. From them arose the stench of rot and blood and shit.
The company took in their surroundings with mounting dread.
“We have to warn you guys, there’s no guarantee on your safety,” admitted Frank.
“I’ve gotten really roughed up at one of these things,” added Gerard. “Anyone challenging Moriarty does so at their own peril.”
“Moriarty’s dogs are ruthless. They don’t care who they’re hurting,” worried Frank, casting protective arms around Gabby and Emily’s shoulders.
Gerard blinked at him. “Uh, you’re an Emily fan? Since when?”
“Only since forever,” huffed Frank.
“That’s crazy.” Gerard grinned slowly. “I’m an Emily fan too!”
“Wow, really?” Frank nipped at Gerard’s neck playfully. “I love you more and more.”
“Could we please focus on the issue at hand?” protested Murray. “We agreed to come out here for the band's image. Not to watch this…personal business unfolding before us.”
“Actually, I came because I think the rabbit traps are wrong,” offered Bret, in a small voice swallowed up by the raging crowd.
“Why are we here?” demanded Lij. “How did you lunatics drag me into this?”
“We’re here because we’re the company now,” said Merry emphatically.
“We have to stay together, through thick and thin,” agreed Pippin. “Like a family.”
“Speak for yourselves, you stunted creatures,” said Douglas abruptly. “I’m here because nothing gets me more aroused than seeing a woman restrained. Behind bars, in hand cuffs, it’s all good!”
“You’re not going to find this very sexy, Douglas,” said Frank soberly.
They began to weave their way through hefty throngs of people, until they came to the sentinel that kept the rabbit trap. Through the iron bars, filthy hands grasped for freedom, and thin, strained sobs carried on the breeze.
Something had drawn Amber’s gaze. Fixated, she stared into the dark and damp of the rabbit trap, the pink gone from her skin and her eyes devoid of light, and began to walk towards it – the slow, melancholy walk of the condemned man.
As close to the trap as the barriers and the guardsmen would allow, she met the eyes of two frightened rabbits.
“Paige? Jess?” She had no desire to believe it.
Bile rose in her throat as the two pale shades shifted, trembling and wizened.
“Amber?” came the weak reply. Jessica’s eyes widened. For a moment, Amber thought she saw a flicker of hope in those dark depths. “Paige, look, look, it’s your sister.”
“Amber,” Paige croaked. “Amber, oh, thank god. You won’t let me die here. For the love you bear me, you mustn’t let me die here!” She was delirious, possessed by fear and panic. Her hair clung in damp clumps around her face.
“Help us,” begged Jess. Her face shone with tears. “Please, please help us.”
“How?” was all Amber could summon the strength to say. “How did this happen?”
“We came through the wrong passageway,” Jess sobbed. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
A few yards away, a sleek black limousine slid through the crowd. Through the heavily tinted windows, a vague shadow could be seen – the mere suggestion of a man.
Jess stiffened. “Moriarty,” she spat. “You bastard! You bastard, I want my life back!” Sobs racked her thin body. She collapsed to the floor, pale skin over trembling bones. Paige held her, singing gently until Jessica was still and defeated.
Amber’s gut twisted. “I will not leave you two here to die,” she swore.
“Come Sunday, our hour is up,” said Jess bitterly. “There’s no hope now.”
“It’s only now Friday.” Amber tried to look brave. “If I can write an essay in that kind of time, I can find a way to free you two.”
One of the guards stirred. “I hope you’re not suggesting treason, lass,” he warned. He was tall and thin, with cruel eyes black as flint. “It’s one thing to rally. Actively working to undermine Prime Minister Moriarty’s policies will not be tolerated.”
“She wasn’t suggesting any such thing,” came the voice of Frank. Standing at the head of the company, he eyed Amber knowingly. “We don’t want any trouble, sir. I can promise you my friend here doesn’t intend to do anything radical.”
“Really?” The tall guardsman scrutinized Frank. “Sounds to me like she was conspiring to free immigrants.”
“So what if she was?” blurted Gerard. He held a glass juice bottle, which he waved around animatedly.
Frank pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gerard…”
“Immigrants are people, you sick fuck! Look at the lives you’re destroying!”
The guardsman stared straight ahead, unmoved.
“Are you a zombie or something? Don’t you give a fuck?”
“Gerard!”
“Fucking answer me!”
Everything happened very quickly after that. In an impulsive rage, Gerard let the glass bottle fly from his hand; it shattered against the guardsman’s head, shards embedding themselves in the skin and scattering across the cold concrete ground. The guardsmen drew their firearms. Smoke and sound filled the air.
“Aw, flip,” groaned Bret as the crowd roared around them. He dropped limply. A wet crimson bloom began to form on the sleeve of his tee shirt. Jemaine and Murray swooped to shield him from the furious feet of the terror-stricken crowd.
“Help us!” cried Murray. “Bret’s been shot!”
“We’ve got to get him back to Lij’s,” asserted Emily.
They hoisted Bret to his feet. Fear had scattered the crowd like insects. They made their way through rapidly emptying streets, scrambling for the safety of Lij’s manor.

The hour was late. In Elijah’s study, Gabby paced.
“What we just witnessed was despicable,” she addressed the company – with the exception of Murray and Jemaine, who were attending to Bret – seated before her. “An abhorrent crime against humanity itself, the likes of which I never wished to see in my lifetime.”
“My sister is in there.” Amber shuddered. “My sister, and a dear friend of mine. Both trapped like…like…”
“Rabbits?” offered Frank.
“Yes.” She drew a shaking breath. “Like rabbits.”
“We’re not going to leave them to that fate,” said Jayde fiercely. “We’re going to do something.”
“What can we possibly do?” Elijah shook his head sadly. “There’s nothing for it.”
“Would you surrender your hope so freely, Lij?” Emily disentangled herself from Kit and addressed the group. “My friends, we cannot allow this to continue. And if you begin to doubt what you can do to change it, remember that it could have been you.”
An uneasy silence settled over the company.
“We need a strategy,” grunted Sandor.
“Well, let’s pool our information,” said Frank. He unfurled a map and laid it before the company. “We know that there are a couple of guardsmen on duty right now. If we can get past them, there’s still surveillance cameras.”
“Surveillance cameras can easily be tampered with,” supplied Sherlock. “And the guardsmen can be rendered unconscious by something as simple as nitrous oxide.”
“So we gas the guards and fool the surveillance system.” Emily stroked her chin. “But how do we open the trap after that?”
“With force,” snarled Sandor, flexing his muscular arms. “I’ll take care of those iron bars.”
Gabby decided to ask the question the company had neglected to broach. “Um, how do we get nitrous oxide?”
“If the guards were distracted, I think I could find a way to administer morphine,” piped Alexander Vlahos. The company gawked at him. “I haven’t gotten to speak yet,” murmured Alex sheepishly.
“Why do you have morphine?” prompted Jayde.
“I’m a dentist,” he replied, as though that were as sound an explanation as any.
“The four of us could create an excellent diversion,” offered Dom, gesturing to himself, Billy, Merry and Pippin. “Get them off guard and you slip them the needle, Vlahos.”
“A diversion?” Pippin beamed. “With fireworks?!”
“I don’t think so, little one,” laughed Alex. “But that does sound like a good plan, Dom. I’ll need a team of you to handle the injections. I can’t do it on my own.”
An hour passed as they plotted. At last the vision was complete, the plan ready to be spurred into motion. With new-found purpose, the company took to the streets, clinging to shadows like alley-cats.
The city was a different place by night. By the dim light of the moon, the streets were ghostly, tall white buildings like bleached bone, wreathed in shadow. The silence was unnerving.
The rabbit hole was dark and deep and miserable as ever. A sentinel of twelve men stood guard. The company observed unseen.
Alex inhaled sharply. “I know what I must do.” He nodded at his unit – Katie, Howard, Gerard and Frank, Andy, Brian, Samwise, Tate, Sam and Dean Winchester, Moss and Roy – and they scurried into their positions.
The second unit, including the girls, Lij, Sweeney and Mrs Lovett, Sherlock, Vince and Douglas, busied themselves with the surveillance cameras. Lenses were obscured with chewed gum or redirected to blank walls; footage was replaced, and some were simply deactivated or broken.
The company were poised. The final unit, Merry, Pip, Dom and Billy, took to the moonlit streets easily as thespians taking to the stage. The sentinel regarded them coldly. They were seemingly impenetrable, and menacing in black and gun-metal grey.
“We've got to charm them,” whispered Merry.
Pippin knitted his eyebrows. “Aye, but how?”
Merry cleared his throat. “Dear friends,” he addressed the guards cheerfully. “How does this evening find you?”
The guardsmen were eerily still, unflinching and stoic as though they had been carved from stone.
“How would you lads like a little longbottom leaf?” continued Merry. “A whiff would do you good. You seem awfully out of sorts.”
“Aye, you do seem standoffish,” agreed Pippin. “Though, I rather think some food in the belly would cure what ails you!” He produced, from his coat-pocket, a gnawed-at pancake (courtesy of Lij), and wrinkled his nose. “If this could, indeed, be deemed food!”
“Move along,” warned one of the guards, his voice laced with malice. “else we will be made to deploy force.”
The frightened hobbits withdrew. Dom and Billy remained, defiance writ on their faces.
“So, you like to bully the little ones, eh?” challenged Dom. “Well, that won't do.”
“That won't do at all,” agreed Billy.
The guard who had spoken chuckled cruelly. “I suppose you two will be the ones to put me in my place?” He snarled. “Move along sirs. Don't make me warn you again.”
“We're not so easily swayed,” said Dom determinedly.
“And unlike these two, we're no charming gentlemen from the eighteenth century,” supplied Billy.
Peregrin opened his mouth to correct him, but he found himself lulled as Dom captured Billy's lips with his own. Unguarded, they were a mess of scrabbling hands and wet kisses. Pippin blushed darkly and averted his gaze as Billy moaned ostentatiously.
The diversion, however outrageous, was effective. The sentries were distracted, ensnared in what they were seeing, vulnerable in their awe. From the darkness, Alex seized his moment.
Lead by Alex, unit one lunged lightning-quick into the paling light, cobras lunging for mice. Needles easily pierced skin. The guardsmen collapsed heavily.
The last swayed on his feet. “I think I'm questioning my sexuality,” he uttered, his voice thick and slumberous. He sunk to the ground.
The company regrouped in the waning light.
“We've got to be quick,” warned Frank. “Moriarty is bound to realise something's up sooner or later.”
“Enough talking,” said Sandor gruffly. He strode towards the rabbit hole.
Removing his gauntlets and casting them aside, Sandor gripped the iron bars. Grimacing, he wrenched at the bars with both hands, grunting with his efforts. A minute passed as he wrestled with the iron teeth of the rabbit-hole, to no avail.
“They cannot be wrought,” he said through gritted teeth.
“May I offer my services?” Alex smiled cordially, producing a crowbar from behind his back.
“Why do you have a crowbar?” puzzled Emily.
“I'm a dentist,” shrugged Alex.
“Give that to me, boy.” Sandor snatched up the crowbar, slipped it between the iron bars and pried them loose, like the rib-cage of some great beast. The rusting bars creaked and groaned as they parted.
A stream of scrawny pale rabbits tumbled forth, filthy and trembling.
“Paige! Jess!” cried Amber, her voice threatening to break under strain of tears. Pale and ring-eyed and exhausted by fear, she held her little sister and let tears come.
“I thought I was going to die,” sobbed Paige.
“I would never let that happen,” returned Amber tenderly. “Though, truly, my friends are the ones to thank.” She met Jessica's sad, dark eyes and allowed a tired smile. “My dear friend.”
“We've got to get out of here,” said Lij softly. He slung his arm around Jess supportively. “Can you walk?”
“Bugger that,” growled Sandor. He plucked Paige and Jess from the ground and hoisted them over his shoulders.
“Let's make haste,” suggested Samwise. “I'd like to be far from here when that mean old villain Moriarty realises just what we've done.”
Hurriedly, the company departed.

The night had been long and exhausting, but the promise of a new day bore them through. A blood-red dawn stained the sky. Untouched by sleep, Jayde opened her eyes. At the end of her bed in a wicker seat, Tate Langdon watched her intently.
She jolted, unaccustomed to his presence. “Oh! You scared me.”
“I'm sorry.” He smiled thinly. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I wanted to be with you last night, but there was no one to carry my bones.”
“I can take care of myself,” asserted Jayde, “but I do appreciate your concern.” Then, daringly: “If you miss me during the night, you don't have to sit at the end of my bed. You could always, you know, come and cuddle me.” A pretty blush settled upon her cheeks. “If you wanted to.”
Tate's eyes glittered darkly. “I could?”
“Yes.”
“I do want to,” murmured Tate, though he made no move to approach her.
The silence that followed was heady and tense. Heat prickled Jayde's skin.
Tate changed the subject. “Hey, some assholes tried to follow you guys home last night. They seemed to know your name, so I bound and gagged them and locked them in the hall closet with Bernard's socks.”
“You what?!” Jayde was horrified. “They might have been emancipated travellers!”
Tate shrugged apologetically.
“Tell me they weren't Paige and Jess,” pleaded Jayde.
“They were guys,” said Tate reassuringly. “Ugly guys with pug noses and gross white skin, and shaved heads.”
Jayde blinked. “And cubic zirconia studs in their ears?”
“Yeah. And their ears were pretty hard to miss.” There was something unreadable in his expression that might have been jealousy.
“Britons!” cried Jayde. “Oh, what are we to do with them?”
The household was stirring as Jayde marched the three Britons, pinching their enormous ears between forefinger and thumb, into the living area.
“Ladies, we have a little problem.”
“Well well well! Gregory, Jilk and Bloaty!” Emily laughed. “How did you two find your way to the Otherworld? You're not nearly, erm...”
“Bright enough?” supplied Jayde.
“Inquisitive enough?” prompted Amber.
“Creative enough?”
“Interesting enough?”
“Kind enough?”
“Yes, all of those things,” said Emily, frowning and toying with the food on her plate. “I don't like this,” she pouted. “The Otherworld doesn't need creeps like you two. Go back to earth and suffer with the tediousness of industry.”
“They could thrive here,” said Lij, stirring his coffee. “Practical skills are a rarity.”
“What are they saying about us, Greg?” grunted Jilk.
“Yeah Greg, what are they saying?” echoed Bloaty.
“They're praising our prowesses,” said Greg, who seemed to be the ringleader, with an air of smugness. His companions clapped their hands and guffawed like baboons.
“Then again, maybe not,” said Lij with disgust. “Sherlock, would you be a babe and bring me my taser?”
“No tasing people in the anus,” grumbled Sandor. “If I can't cut any damned throats...”
“Okay, okay.” Elijah looked glum.
“Go ahead and tase their buttholes, Lij,” coaxed Emily, “and after that, Sandor, you can cut their throats. I'm already tired of looking at them.”
“Do we get any say in this?” inquired Greg.
“None whatsoever,” returned Emily sweetly.
Kit cupped her face with strong, warm hands. “Emily, my love, why do you hate these seemingly harmless village idiots? Have they hurt you in any way?” His nostrils flared involuntarily. “Because if they have, I'll destroy them.”
Emily kissed his ear fondly and brushed a stray curl from his face. “They haven't hurt me, love. Not a one of them possesses the wit. Besides, I've got thick skin.”
“We can't kill them,” protested Jayde. “They may come in handy.”
“I'd be handy to you, pinkie,” Bloaty addressed Yuomi. Possessively, Andy tightened his hold on her.
“You've got three of them,” complained Sandor. “I just want to kill one of them.” He squared up to Greg. “What do you say, boy? You and me, swords and armour. Might be you'll drown in your own blood. Or maybe you'll make short work of me, eh?” He threw back his head and roared with a fierce laughter that shook his entire body. A dark damp patch spread over Gregory's groin. Perspiration beaded his skin.
“He's pissed himself,” remarked Kit with disgust.
“Make an end of him, Sandor,” urged Emily.
“Yeah, tase him in the butthole,” added Lij.
For a moment, Gregory's fate seemed to hang in the balance. Until Frank and Gerard flew forth like frightened birds, panic writ on their faces. Something was clearly very wrong.
“What's the matter?” prompted Emily.
Frank burst into tears. Gerard opened and closed his mouth, as though he were struggling to find his voice.
“Gabriella's missing.”
“What?!” Jayde shook her head. “She can't be. She was with us the whole time.”
“Now, calm down,” said Murray authoritatively. “We're a big group. Are you sure you didn't just misplace her?”
“You can't misplace Gabriella,” sobbed Frank. “She's gone. We looked everywhere!”
“But where would she go?” wondered Kit, rocking Emily soothingly in his well-toned arms.
Gerard's features hardened. “I know exactly where she is.”
At that, Emily seemed to calm a little. “You do?”
Gerard nodded. “Moreover, I know exactly who she's with.”

Chapter Text

The first thing she realised upon waking was that she was blind.
Consciousness came and went like a heady dream. Vaguely, Gabriella sensed forceful hands at her arms and waist. She stumbled blindly forward, sluggish. To struggle was futile; her earlier attempts had been bought with great pain. Fleeting memories came in muddled snatches: she had been plucked from the company unnoticed. They had stolen her voice; then her vision, and finally her defiance with but the prick of a syringe.
Now, sightless and bound, she walked unwilling into the arms of her fate.
She knew she had met with it when, at last, she was seated.
“Remove the blindfold,” came an authoritative voice. Gabby recognised the dialect – Irish – and puzzled for the thousandth time over where she was and why this had happened to her.
On command, the blindfold was snatched roughly from her face. She blinked as the vision before her came into focus.
She was in what appeared to be an office, spacious and high-ceilinged. Most everything was pristine white, with the exception of the plush velvet drapes of blood-red and, immediately before her, the mahogany desk painted glossy ebony.
There, comfortably seated, was a slight pale man. His raven hair was neatly slicked back, black eyes devoid of emotion, and he emanated an aura of dominance. He gave Gabriella a predatory grin.
“Hello Gabriella,” he greeted her in a sing-song tone. “I don't need to tell you who I am, do I? Or what I'm capable of doing,” he added dangerously.
“Moriarty,” spat Gabby. “What do you want from me?”
“Hostages are so very predictable. Always the same tired questions.” Moriarty shook his head disapprovingly. “'Where am I?' What do you want from me?' 'Is my family alive and unhurt?' Then there's the insufferable begging: 'Please don't kill me', 'Please don't torture me', 'Please don't burn me alive'.” He steepled his hands, resting his chin on his fingertips.. “Don't bore me, Gabriella. I don't take well to being bored.”
Gabby could see no point in lying to him. “I know why I'm here,” she allowed.
“Do you?” Moriarty's eyes sparkled with amusement. “Enlighten me.”
“Because I helped free the human beings you had left to die in your disgusting rabbit traps,” she said with contempt. “You're repugnant. Do you know who else had a thing for genocide? Hitler.”
Moriarty raised an eyebrow. “Who, my PA?” Gabby followed his eyes to the doorway, where a short, squat man with deep-set blue eyes and fine mousy hair was standing. He was meticulously groomed and clean-shaven, straight-backed and still, though his hands shook violently.
“We mustn't stare, Gabriella,” taunted Moriarty. “Parkinson's disease.” He eyed his PA with distaste. “I must admit I'm insulted. You would compare me with Egbert? He doesn't have a tenth the ambition.”
“Egbert Hitler?” Gabby screwed up her nose. “What a name. I was referring to Adolf Hitler.”
Egbert's eyes widened. “My grandfather,” he exclaimed with surprise. “My grandfather's name was Adolf.”
A foreboding silence swept over the room as Moriarty fixed him with a glacial stare. “I didn't bid you speak. Naughty boy.” He clicked his fingers, his eyes never leaving Egbert's. Two men swooped to his side, reminding Gabby of vultures. “Lads, take Egbert to have his tongue removed.”
Gabby watched with horror as Egbert was dragged away. “How can you be so callous?” she demanded.
As if in answer, Moriarty plucked a dark, plump cherry from the bowl on his desk, surveyed it and popped it in his mouth. The blasé display further ignited her anger.
“Enjoy your power trip while you still can,” raged Gabby. “It won't be allowed to continue, not for long. The people are rising up against you. You saw what we did tonight.” She lifted her chin triumphantly.
“Tonight? That little bit of theatre?” He laughed darkly. “Oh, Gabriella. You're sweet.” He took another cherry in hand and stood to his feet, circling the desk in a liquid motion, closing in on her like prey. His eyes glittered like dark jewels as he crouched to meet her own. “Did you really think you could have pulled that off if I hadn't allowed it?” The Prime Minister was so close she could feel his breath upon her skin, and she shivered. “Of course not, honey. I only wanted to see what you could do,” he whispered, dragging his thumb along her lower lip. “Now I know what I'm up against. Very little.”
Gabby's heart dropped in her chest as he drew an ornate dagger of gold. She closed her eyes and waited for pain, but none came. When she opened them, Moriarty had impaled the cherry on the tip of the blade. It glinted in the light as he carefully placed it between her parted lips.
“You're free to leave, if you still want to,” he said playfully, “but I will be watching. Don't even entertain the idea that you can hide from me. And if you or your poxy band of renegades attempt a thing like this again...” The look he gave her was purely animalistic. “Well. I'll leave that to your imagination.”

Chapter Text

The company were still in frantic disarray when Alex returned, Gabriella in his arms.
“I found her wandering the streets, lost,” he said gently as Frank, Gerard, Jayde and Emily rushed to his side. “She's been plied with sedatives, but she's relatively unharmed.”
“Relatively?” demanded Gerard. “What do you mean relatively?”
“Moriarty's men roughed her up a little. There's faint bruising on her arms where she's been gripped too tightly, and slight fraying here where her clothing's been torn...”
Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Keen observations.”
“I'd recognise the signs of a struggle anywhere. I am, after all, a dentist.”
Alex laid Gabriella on Lij's couch whilst Frank fetched a blanket. Gerard sat beside her and stroked her hand.
“That fucker,” he seethed. “We'll bring him down. We'll destroy him for this.”
“You mustn’t speak like that,” murmured Gabriella in a strained voice. She was pale and feverish. “He's watching us Gerard. Always.”
“She's delirious,” worried Frank, laying the blanket he'd retrieved across her. “What did he do to you?”
“Just a combination of sedatives and fear. She's disoriented, but she'll be okay,” promised Alex.
“Thank god you're back,” said Emily, squeezing Gabby's hand.
Jayde brushed strands of hair from her face. “We were so worried.”
“We've got to get out of here,” said Lij, who had cast aside his earlier doubts and accepted his role in the company. “We can't stay in Exality.”
“No,” whispered Gabby fearfully. “No, he'll see, he'll know...”
“She needs rest,” said Viggo from the doorway, clutching a cup-a-soup with both hands. “Leave her be. We'll check on her at noon.”
Once Gabriella was out of earshot, the company schemed.
“I meant what I said. We've got to get her out of here,” urged Lij. “Away from Moriarty's rule, where he can't touch her.”
“We could go to mine and Bret's place,” offered Jemaine lamely.
“I meant like, outside of this city,” clarified Lij.
“The Shire's always a lovely place to be,” said Samwise. Diamond nodded in agreement.
Pippin wrinkled his nose. “I’ve already been to the Shire,” he complained. “I want to go somewhere new.”
“We could visit Old London,” suggested Mrs Lovett. “My dear cousins have an estate there; they'd be glad for an extra pair of hands in the kitchen.”
“You and kitchens make for a dreadful mix,” griped Sweeney.
“'The allies you seek are in Westeros',” quoted Amber, and a contemplative hush fell over the company.
Sandor scowled. “I'm not going back to that shit-stain of a country.”
“I have a cousin in Camelot, just on the outskirts of Westeros,” argued Katie. “I'd love to see her again.”
“Of course, it has its virtues,” Sandor conceded hurriedly, clearly love-sick. “Good food, good ale. We'll leave at first light.”
“I can't wait to peruse some of the infamous Westerosi brothels,” enthused Douglas.
“As long as there's somewhere I can read in peace,” grumbled Bernard.
“Now wait just a minute,” said Lij skeptically, folding his arms across his chest, “I've read about Westeros. The death toll is pretty fucking high.”
“Death won't bother us,” said Alex airily, producing a machine gun from behind his back.
“Why the fuck do you have that?!” demanded Lij.
“Well, I am a dentist.”
A wave of excitement swept over the company, especially the girls, who had longed for Westeros. The rest of the day was spent preparing for the journey to come.

The journey had been long and tense, the threat of Moriarty looming over them like the Sword of Damocles. But, despite their fears, the sea bore them safe passage into the port of Old Town. Its grey cobbled streets made for a welcome sight.
It was Alex who suggested that they go their separate ways.
“It'll be harder for Moriarty to track our movements if we're all in different parts of the country,” he reasoned.
“Besides, each of us wants something different out of this trip,” added Kit. “My instinct tells me to go North, towards the Trident and Riverrun.”
“Well, I want to go to King's Landing,” said Bernard. “They boast the greatest library in all of Westeros, and I'm more likely to be able to get a good bottle of red in the Capital than anywhere else.”
“I'd sooner be dead than anywhere near that cunt of a city,” said Sandor bitterly.
“You're all forgetting the reason we came here in the first place,” scolded Gerard, annoyed. “This isn't a fucking holiday. We've got to get Gabriella to a safe place.”
“The safest place for her is in the Free Cities,” said Frank. “It's the last place he'd think to look.”
So it was that the company was divided. Some went North in search of Robb Stark's army, or the Wall. Some crossed the Narrow Sea, seeking the safety of Essos. The last of the company journeyed North-East. Their destination: King's Landing.

***

The library within the Red Keep did not fail to do justice to its repute. It wasn't particularly beautiful or even clean, but those were not the qualities Bernard expected from a library. Thousands upon thousands of books filled the shelves, their sweet, musty smell filling his nostrils every time he inhaled. Best of all, he was utterly alone with them. The only sound that could be heard was the faint scurrying of mice.
Bernard liked his own company best. Sighing contentedly, he sat down with a volume of History and Lore of the Seven Kingdoms and a glass of Dornish wine. The pages were gilded with gold, exquisitely illuminated. He was thoroughly enjoying –
“You. Dirty peasant man.”
Bernard looked up sharply, agitated by the disturbance. The speaker was a young boy, perhaps fourteen, dressed regally in crimson and gold. His face was pinched, with sunken green eyes and a pointed goblin's chin. A golden crown forged to resemble stag's antlers, speckled with pieces of amber, rested on his flaxen hair.
“I'll have no peasants in my library,” he continued. “How did you make your way into the Keep?”
“There's this innovation called walking,” retorted Bernard dryly, returning to his book.
“You dare mock your king?”
“My apologies, I wasn't aware you were king,” countered Bernard sardonically. “From the crown, I would've judged accountant.”
“I'll have your tongue out for this, you filthy pig farmer!” fumed the boy. He clapped his hands together. Two men, clothed in gold and lily-white armour, rushed to his side. The last thing Bernard saw as he was dragged away was the boy's leering face; his twisted, spiteful smile; green eyes shining with malice.

***

“But where did everybody go?” Jayde was saying, distressed. “I just know we had Bernard with us, and Lij and Sherlock and Billy and Dom and Diamond and Yuomi...”
“Does it matter?” Tate crossed the room to stand beside her. “We're alone.”
“I just hope they haven't gotten themselves into any trouble.”
“They haven't,” he reassured her, raking his fingers through her hair. “Jayde, don't worry.”
“But...” Her voice caught in her throat as she realised just how close he was. His fingers were threaded through her hair, black eyes devouring her. Beneath his steady gaze her skin was afire, her heart beating erratically. It would be so easy to lean forward and...
Abruptly, Bernard burst into the room, sweaty and flustered. Hurriedly, he closed and locked the door behind him. Jayde gave him a questioning look.
“I think we've all had enough of King's Landing for now, hmm?” said Bernard nervously. “High time we were getting home.”
“But we only just got here,” Jayde puzzled.
“Well, you've seen one Capital, you've seen them all.” Bernard's eyes darted about the room.
Tate narrowed his eyes. “What have you done?”
“What have I done?” bellowed Bernard, feigning outrage. “How dare you accuse me?! I'm so offended I'm going to leave the country, post haste.”
There was a sharp knock on the door. Panicked, Bernard dove under the bed.
“Open up,” came a muffled command. “We've been instructed to take you to the Queen Regent.”
Jayde planted her face in her palms, exasperated. “Bernard!” she scolded. “What have you done?!”
“Nothing,” he hissed from beneath the bed. “It was that obnoxious little boy-king. He started it.”
Jayde was horrified. “You pissed off Joffrey Baratheon?”
The door swung back on its hinges. A handful of Gold Cloaks marched into the room and laid rough hands on the three. Jayde scarcely had time to gather her wits as they were hastily escorted to the Throne Room.

They were delivered straight into the Lioness' jaws.
Proud, tall and golden, she stood at the foot of the Iron Throne, a vision of strength and beauty. Her golden hair was intricately woven, and her cold green eyes studied them carefully.
For a time, nothing was said. The silence was terrifying, Cersei's expression unreadable.
“What did you hope to achieve by taunting my son?” she demanded at last. “And your king, I might remind you.”
Tate threw Joffrey, who was sulking upon the throne, an uncertain glance. “That little faggot?”
Before he could blink, Tate found himself surrounded by drawn swords. The blades pressed into the soft, bared flesh of his throat. He chuckled lowly, secure in his infallibility.
Cersei frowned. “Lower your swords,” she commanded, and it was done. “I do not take your meaning, but I am prepared to disregard it entirely.” She smirked knowingly. “You have something I want. Surrender it willingly, and I will allow you to leave King’s Landing with your lives. A Lannister always pays her debts.”
“What would you have of us?” asked Jayde uneasily.
“Three young men by the names of Gregory, Jilk and Bloaty.”
Jayde blinked. “That's all? What could you possibly want with them?”
“It is not your place to question me,” Cersei hissed. “Will you part with them willingly?”
“Yes, your Grace, of course. They're in the room you found us in, bound and gagged in the closet.”
Relief flooded Jayde; she was irrefutably grateful that the company had let the Britons live. A few moments later, the lads in question were dragged before Cersei, wriggling and writhing like hideous pale fish.
Cersei's face lit up in a strangely endearing fashion. She clapped her hands with glee. “My OTP!” she exclaimed, delighted. Then, upon noticing Bloaty – “Ugh. My NoTP.” She regarded him with distaste, as though he were the contents of her chamber pot. “Dispose of him.”
With a blood-curdling scream, Bloaty was dragged from the room by one over-sized ear.

***

It was Summer in Westeros, and the royal gardens were alive and abloom. The air was sweet and heady with the exotic fragrances of jasmine and frangipani, bergamot and lily, and the ocean lay before them, sparkling and sapphire-blue.
“Isn't it nice here?” remarked Lij, watching Sherlock's face carefully. Sherlock shrugged, scuffing his shoe against the ground. He always seems so detached, thought Lij, so indifferent. In an instance, all his insecurities came brimming to the surface.
“We could go somewhere and have a drink,” he continued, willing his doubts away. “Or maybe we could go down to the sea and have a swim.”
Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but something gave him pause. Lij followed his eyes, coming face to face with an unfamiliar man. He was lean and bearded, with a shock of coal-black hair and laughing blue eyes.
“Well, hello there,” said the stranger. “Lonely, are you? You needn’t be.”
“I'm not lonely though,” said Lij, befuddled. “I'm here with my, um, friend.”
“Loneliness doesn’t discriminate. I could be with a thousand friends and still feel its presence,” argued the stranger. “I happen to be very familiar with it. And,” he added with a playful wink, “I understand your particular...shall we say, situation...very well. Walk with me?”
Lij was baffled. “Uh, can Sherlock come?”
“You go,” said Sherlock coolly. “I think I'll do a little sleuthing.”
Lij watched him stride away with despair. His vision blurred, and he wiped at his eyes with embarrassment. The stranger slung a comforting arm around him.
“Forget him,” he advised. “He won’t ever be yours.”
Lij's heart sunk in his chest. “Who are you?”
The stranger smiled slyly. “Renly Baratheon, at your service. Come, I want to show you something.”
They meandered along the sunny path, Renly chatting amiably, and presently they reached a shaded pavilion. Wild roses climbed its length. Renly ushered Lij inside.
Within were familiar faces – Dom's and Billy's – and some unfamiliar faces. There was a plump, powdered, hairless man, garbed in exotic silks; a gorgeous youth with doe-eyes, smooth fair skin and a mop of wavy brown hair; and an elder lad who could have been his brother, so alike was he in appearance. Each of them, excepting the latter, stood to greet him.
“You'll forgive me if I remain seated,” he explained. “I am quite unable to stand on my own.”
“He is Willas Tyrell of Highgarden,” explained Renly, “beside him, his younger brother Loras, my beau; the man in the silk kimono is the master of whisperers, called Lord Varys or the Spider; and I believe you are acquainted with the other gentlemen.”
“All right,” Dom greeted him.
“We've been in Westeros for about five hours,” laughed Billy, “and we've already joined the local homo club.”
“I wish you wouldn't call it that,” sighed Varys. “It demeans our very purpose.”
Billy frowned. “What purpose?”
Renly motioned for Lij to sit, and took his own seat beside Loras.
“Elijah,” he began, spreading his hands on the table, “let me be frank with you. Your friends have informed me of certain...shall we say, difficulties...with your courtship.”
“Yeah, like Sherlock not being even remotely interested,” said Dom bluntly.
“Now, there’s no need for cruelty.” Renly stroked his beard ponderously. “I have devised a solution that I think you'll quite find beneficial to all parties.”
Lij was suddenly very suspicious. “What do you mean?”
Renly's eyes sparkled with amusement. “I mean, Lord Wood, that I have found a suitable companion for you. He happens to be with us now, in this very tent.”
Lij glanced at Varys, and his stomach lurched. “Look, I really don't like being set up,” he said firmly. “I can make my own decisions. And anyway, I happen to think Sherlock's worth fighting for.”
Loras snorted. “Elijah – may I call you Elijah?” Without waiting for permission, he continued: “You are chasing a man with no desire to be caught, as it were. Not by you, at the least.”
Lij felt a fresh onslaught of tears prickling his eyes. Gathering what remained of his dignity, he stood to leave.
“Elijah,” coaxed Renly, “please do stay. I am sorry for the harsh words of my companions. You have nothing to fear from us; we have only your best interests at heart.”
“Then you'll understand that I'm not interested in being set-up.”
“If you're certain. A pity – I do believe you and Willas would have made for an excellent match.”
Willas' mouth fell open. “I never consented to such a thing,” he protested, embarrassed.
“But you do want Elijah, now that you see him.” Renly smiled broadly, and Lij suppressed the urge to punch him.
“That's not the point,” Willas stammered. Look at him, the poor thing. He's mortified, Lij observed, and something in him softened. He considered Willas – his silken toffee-brown locks, eyes like warm honey – and found that he didn't mind the match quite so much. And anyway, when Sherlock sees us together, he'll want me again. People always want what they can't have.
And so, whilst the group squabbled amongst themselves, Lij made his decision.
“Willas, I would very much like to spend some more time with you,” he interjected boldly, much to everyone’s surprise.
“I would like that,” returned Willas shyly. A delicate rose-pink blush coloured his porcelain skin.

***

“Have you seen my friend Billy?” Diamond inquired politely. “He's very, very tall, or at least by hobbit standards, and he has lovely green eyes and the look of a Took.”
The man she was speaking with stroked his pointed chin. “I can't say that I have, sweetling.”
Diamond giggled at the pet name. “He told me he was going to his special club, but then he left me behind. I tried to follow him, but I became lost somewhere along the way.”
He gave her a slick smile from behind his goatee. “He would have no difficulty in misplacing you, sweet, petite as you are.”
“You are too kind.” She curtsied cordially. “I really must take my leave now, if I've any hope of finding him again...”
He cornered her. “No rush, my beauty.”
She giggled again. “Do you truly think me a beauty?”
“Oh, yes,” he crooned, “very much so. I must admit I have a fondness for red hair.” He toyed with a stray strand. “You are a maiden, aren't you my pet?”
Diamond blushed. “Y-yes, my lord.”
“Mmm, very good. You know, there are those who would find your...stature...very tempting. Very tempting indeed.”
Diamond was befuddled. “Tempting? How so?”
He ignored the question. “I could make you rich, love. Very rich.”
Diamond considered that. “I always dreamt of being the wealthiest woman in the Shire,” she reflected. “I would have married the Thain's heir and everything would have been perfect. I could have made him happy,” she added wistfully. “I would have made such a good wife. I would have given him lovely sons and daughters, and he would have loved me.” Her face twisted with fury. “But then...then that thrice-damned harlot came along and now…now my dreams lie dashed!” She began to wail, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeves.
“There, there,” said the man soothingly, stroking her hair. “Your dreams aren't destroyed, sweetling. You could have it all yet – wealth, children; perhaps even love, one day. What you need is the correct set of skills.”
Diamond sniffed. “And how would I acquire these...skills?”
“Why, with my assistance, of course,” he oozed. “Walk with me.”
He took her dainty hand in his own and led her towards his establishment.
“I never did catch your name,” said Diamond as they walked.
“Why, I am Petyr,” he answered with a slimy grin. “Petyr Baelish.”

***

Yuomi was uncertain as to how she had found herself in a lowly, crowded winesink; and yet she was glad she had, despite the filth and the leers and the vermin that infested the place. She reached across the gritty table top and squeezed her friend’s hand.
“I cannot even begin to describe my relief,” she said for the umpteenth time. “Had you found your passage through the wrong rabbit-hole…”
“But I didn’t,” laughed Amelia, “and that’s the end of it.”
“You don’t understand. The horror that was the rabbit traps!...”
“Yuomi.” Amelia tried to appear stern. “We are far away from the rabbit traps. No harm can come to us now.”
No sooner had she spoken than a great burly man gripped her by the shoulder and spun her around to face him. Dark hair protruded from his face, ears and nose in coarse bristles, though his scalp was naked. He had small piggy eyes, a sharp beak of a nose and wet, fat lips.
“I like the blonde ’uns,” he grunted hungrily, smacking his lips. “Makes me feel like I’m fucking the queen.” His rancid breath assaulted her senses, and she retched dryly.
“Leave me alone,” she spluttered, struggling in vain to free herself from his iron grip.
With desperation, Yuomi threw her mug of cider over the man. He remained unaffected.
“’S no-one round here gives a shit if I took yer right ’ere on this table-top.” He grinned toothily. “Leastways, no-one round here who’d stop me.” He pinched her breast roughly with fat, grimy fingers, and she writhed with pain.
“Please,” Amelia sobbed as Yuomi looked on helplessly, “please, leave me alone, I’ll give you whatever you want…”
“You’ll give it to me anyway.” He began to unlace his breeches –
The point of a blade burst through the man’s front, blood dribbling down his filthy tunic. He grunted once. The light left his eyes. He sunk to the ground, a limp heap of savaged flesh.
There, sword in hand, stood Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. He sheathed his sword and bent to retrieve Amelia, trembling, from the ground.
“It’ll be all right, love,” he soothed her, taking her into his arms. “Come. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”
“Where are you taking us?” worried Yuomi as they stepped into the chill night air.
“To my Lord of Lannister,” answered Bronn, “ to the Imp.”

Chapter Text

Emily was exhausted.
For days she had marched, accompanied by Kit, Vince, Douglas and Bret, through the Riverlands towards Winterfell. Her legs were stiff and sore, her skin numb from cold. A scattering of thin summer snow melted in the dark needle-leaves of fir trees, upon the wet mud trail they wandered, and in her hair. She envied Jayde and her lot for the seasonable warmth of King's Landing.
At the beginning of her journey, a further group of companions had marched with her – but they had detoured to the outskirts of Westeros in search of Camelot. It made no matter. Emily was contented to journey with just four companions, especially if one of them was Kit.
The five were forced to halt as four riders galloped towards them, obscuring their path. They were burly men with stern, rugged faces, clothed in thick layers of wool, leather and fur. Emily judged them to be Northerners.
One man gave them a long, measured look. “What business have you in these lands?”
Her companions seemed to lose their tongues. Dutifully, Emily spoke up. “No business, my lord. We are travellers.”
The man frowned. “To which King do you pledge yourselves?”
“The King in the North, of course,” Emily replied unthinkingly.
For a moment, nothing was said. Emily bit her lip, fearful that she had given the wrong answer. But, presently, he gave her a nod. “Follow us, my lady.”
They followed the outriders along an unmarked path through thick fir trees, down a steep frozen slope and into a hidden valley where thousands of Northerners made camp. Half a hundred varying banners fluttered in the icy breeze. Emily hurried to meet the outriders' pace as she dodged soldiers left and right.
Finally they came upon a pavilion of plain grey, indistinguishable from the others but for the singular banner that hung proudly from its roof: a direwolf upon an ice-white field. Emily's stomach fluttered as she followed the outriders through its doors.
The King in the North, a sturdy broad-shouldered man with a square jaw, russet curls and startling blue eyes, was studying a map when they entered. He raised his eyes to greet the newcomers, rolling the map into a tight coil and setting it aside. A handful of bannermen flanked him.
“Your grace,” said the outrider with whom Emily had spoken earlier, bowing deeply. “These men were found wandering the forest. They are strangely garbed, bearing no sigil, and yet they claim to pledge fealty to you.”
Robb folded his arms across his chest and studied the five of them. He appeared briefly bemused by Kit, though he said nothing. At last, he addressed Emily.
“Your name, my lady.”
“Emily,” she replied with a nervous swallow. “Emily Upton.”
“Upton? I am not familiar with this house.”
“I...I am not from Westeros,” she stammered.
Robb raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“I am a traveller, your grace, from Earth, Australia.”
Contemplative, the Northern King stroked his bearded chin. “Are you all travellers?”
“Yes, your grace, in some form or another.”
Robb chewed on that for a moment. At last, he clasped his hands together and gave them a smile. “You are no threat to our cause,” he evaluated. “You are welcome, travellers, to stay, and share meat and mead with us.”
As the five rose, Robb placed a friendly hand on Kit's shoulder. “You are especially welcome, brother. I imagine you've quite a tale as to how you found yourself here, Jon Snow.”

That night, the pavilion bathed in candlelight and awash with noise, a host of Northerners feasted. Unruly and drunk, they boasted their victories (on the battlefield and in the bedroom), squabbled and sang. Emily and her companions were seated at the dais, alongside Robb, Catelyn and a handful of lords.
One of those lords was Greatjon Umber, a huge fierce man with a gruff voice and a grizzly bearded face. Ruddy-cheeked and wine-breathed, he leaned close to Vince, who was seated on his left. The smaller man recoiled with disgust.
“Mate, you need to get your breath sorted. Not to mention your hair.”
Greatjon Umber eyed Vince hungrily. “My, you're a pretty young lass,” he boomed. “How much do you charge, love?”
“I'm not a prossie, you jackanape's ballbag,” said Vince indignantly. He waved his hand in front of his face in a meagre effort to ward the Greatjon's breath away.
The Greatjon only leaned closer, pressing his chapped lips to Vince's ear. “Just let me have a feel of your dugs,” he pleaded, pinching Vince's nipple roughly.
At the other end of the dais, Catelyn was struggling with her own unwanted advances. She had had the misfortune to be seated next to Douglas, who was making use of every finger to stuff lamb shanks into his mouth. Brown grease dribbled down his front and onto his white suit.
“You may not have the perkiest tits I've ever seen,” Douglas said wetly through a mouthful of meat and fat, “but I'm almost certain that you are, in fact, a woman, and that's enough for the big D.” He emphasised the latter syllable by pointing one short, fat finger at himself.
Disgusted, Catelyn excused herself and took a seat closer to the centre of the dais, where Robb was seated. Her son seemed to have found himself with an admirer – a gangly boy with dark curls and a cast on his arm.
“Will you teach me how to talk like that?” bubbled Bret, regarding Robb with awe over an untouched plate.
Robb laughed jovially. “I'm no maester, lad. I can't teach you to speak.”
Bret cocked his head. "Ah'm noo maestah, lad,” he imitated, earning another warm laugh from Robb. “Your grace, will you teach me sword fighting? Or battle strategy?”
Robb grinned. “You remind me of my little brother.”
“I do?” Bret seemed pleased with himself. “What's he like?”
“Well, he's bright and brave. A wee warrior just waiting for the chance to prove himself.” Robb's features fell. “At least, he was.”
“What happened to him?” probed Bret gently.
“He...” Robb hesitated. “...fell. Yes, he fell. Only...he never did fall before.”
“I'm sorry,” offered Bret. “Did he survive?”
“He did. But he will never walk again.” Robb sighed tiredly. “He always wanted to be a knight.”
“He can still be a knight,” argued Bret, with a bright, unfailing hope that nearly reduced Robb to tears.
He rested a hand on Bret's shoulder. “You are right, my friend,” he said weakly, as though trying to convince himself. “He'll be a knight yet.”

***

Afterwards, as the northern men stumbled drunkenly back to their encampments, the four companions – for Vince was inexplicably missing – were left alone with the king and his lady mother.
“Explain to me once more,” dictated Robb, gesturing to Kit, “who this man is, and why he has the look of my brother.”
“Your half-brother,” corrected Catelyn through gritted teeth.
Robb threw her an annoyed glance, but said nothing.
“He is Kit, of the House Harington,” answered Emily, “and he means you no harm. None of us do.”
“He is suspicious to me,” said Catelyn distrustfully. “I mislike his face.”
Emily rolled her eyes. “That's only because he looks like Jon Snow,” she huffed. “You're being completely irrational.”
“You are bold to address my lady mother so,” said Robb in a soft, dangerous voice.
“I'm sorry, your grace,” said Emily, in a tone that suggested she wasn't sorry at all. “But your lady mother is a bitch.”
Catelyn gasped, taken aback. “You would dare...”
“I'm just saying what we're all thinking,” interrupted Emily with a shrug. “You have been horrid and cruel to Jon Snow all his life without any sound reason at all, and I'm quite sure you know it. No wonder he felt compelled to join the Night's Watch, when you ensured that he was isolated and unwelcome in his own home!” Her voice rose angrily with every word.
“Any woman in my position would have done the same,” countered Catelyn, a justified expression on her face. “I am sorry I could not love Jon Snow, but the gods did not will it.”
“The gods had nothing to do with it,” argued Emily. Her cheeks were flushed with anger. “It's not Jon's fault your husband was a slut!”
Catelyn drew her lips into tight, thin line. “Out,” she shrieked, “take your scornful bastard and leave!”
Everything happened very quickly then. Before she could stop it, Emily's fist flew forward and planted itself squarely in Cat's face. The older woman stumbled backwards, aghast, and fell to the floor, a crumpled heap of auburn hair and sable fur hides. A thin finger of blood trickled from her nose.
“Shit,” muttered Emily apologetically. “I didn't mean for that to happen. I am sorry.” She extended her hand to help Catelyn up. Ignoring the hand, Catelyn steadied herself gracefully, smoothing her hands over her skirt.
“This probably isn't the right time to ask,” Emily addressed Robb, who regarded her with horror, “but we need your help.”
“I could do with some help myself, from Lady Catelyn,” piped Douglas, who hadn't said anything for a while. “With a little problem I call blue balls.”
Ignoring him, Emily continued. “Your grace, there is a ruthless dictator threatening the peace of the realm. He reigns in Exality, over thousands of terrified innocents. We need your strength to stop him,” she pleaded.
Robb's features hardened. “Strangely enough, I don't feel inspired to help you, considering you just punched my mother in the face.”
“Your grace, people are dying,” Emily begged. “He slaughters hundreds every week.”
“Thousands are dying here,” snapped Robb. “At the hands of Tywin Lannister.” The bridge of his nose wrinkled as he snarled. “You would have me forsake my men, my cause, everything, for what?”
“Your grace?” interjected a meagre voice. It was Bret. Nervously, he fumbled through the satchel he carried, looking for something. At last he found it, and plucked it out, presenting it to Robb with both hands. It was a plastic bike-helmet, dressed in layers of curly, russet hair. “I know you can't come with us, but I made this for you, anyway.”
Robb inspected the helmet, turning it over in his large, rough hands. “What is it?”
“It's a helmet. I made it to look like your hair.”
Robb closed his eyes. He was remembering a time, years ago, when he had been young and Bran had been younger. Robb had been readying his horse, eager to accompany his father on his very first hunt. Bran had come toddling towards him, leaving tiny footprints in the snow. “Robb, Robb, wait. I made this for you.” Robb had frowned, prodding at the bizarre creation. It seemed to him like a messy bundle of twigs, bound with string. “What is it?” He instantly regretted the question as Bran's features crumpled. “It's a poppet. For luck. Maester Luwin helped me.” His big, brown eyes were damp with embarrassment. “It didn't turn out very well, but I wanted you to have it anyway.” Robb had ruffled his little brother's hair, and brushed a loose tear from his sad, brown eyes. “I think it turned out perfectly.”
Now, Robb seemed to find himself staring into those same dark, soulful eyes. Confronted with Bret's sweet, earnest face and haunted by his past, he relented.
“I will take my men to Exality and crush this tyrant,” he declared.
“What?” cried Catelyn, outraged. “How can that be your decision?”
“The change in direction will leave Tywin confused and disoriented,” reasoned Robb half-heartedly. “We will return and strike when he is defenceless.”
Catelyn sighed heavily. “I can only pray you are right, my son.”

Chapter Text

“Your grace, the Lady Katie and her companions,” announced King Uther's page. He bowed deeply and, having fulfilled his purpose, promptly made his exit.
Katie, accompanied by Sandor, Amber, Jess, Alex, Pippin, and Merry, were ushered to the centre of the room. They bowed in turn before the king.
“My lady,” Uther greeted Katie. “It gladdens my heart to see you.”
“And mine,” chimed Morgana softly. She stood beside the throne dutifully, a sublime vision in crimson velvet and silver. Her raven hair fell in silken waves to her waist, and she peered at them through long-lashed sea-green eyes. With her alabaster skin and swollen, red lips, she was the spit of Katie.
“If you'll pardon my saying, grace,” said Sandor gruffly, “they are so alike – almost like twins.”
Uther's eyes darted to and fro. “Yes...almost.” He cleared his throat nervously. “On a completely different subject, the hospitality of Camelot is yours! The servants will show you to your rooms. I bid you wander, my friends.” He laughed good-humouredly. “Unless, of course, one of you is a sorcerer.” He stopped laughing very abruptly and fixed them with an icy stare. “That was no jape. Any sorcerers among you will be burnt at the stake.”
Katie rolled her eyes. “There are no sorcerers among us, nuncle,” she reassured him. “Relax.”
“If you say so.” Uther gave them an easy smile. “You are welcome to dine with me, come nightfall,” he said. “Until then, I implore you to experience for yourselves the treasures of Camelot.”
“I've upped his medication,” the group overheard Gaius saying – probably explaining Uther's uncharacteristically cheery disposition – as they were escorted from the throne room to their chambers.

***

Jessica never thought she would find herself within the walls of Camelot.
In fact, she had experienced a number of unbelievable things since she had chosen to crawl through the curious burrow that had appeared in her back yard. She had been held captive in a dismal, grimy trap – by Jim Moriarty, no less. She had met with intangible creatures of lore, made flesh. She had shaken hands with Elijah Wood and received a piggyback from Sandor Clegane. She had downed tequila shots with Viggo Mortensen and smoked pipe-weed with Meriadoc Brandybuck. She had eaten a very good enchilada.
And yet, even after all that, she was shocked to find herself in the midst of an Arthurian tale. This was the stuff legends were made upon. Dizzy with excitement, she barrelled down a marbled flight of stairs, crossed a courtyard, and entered the lower bailey.
There, clad in steel and brandishing wooden swords, were a score of men. The knights of Camelot, Jess realised, awe-struck. Holding her breath, she watched as they practised at arms. They moved slowly, methodically, and the stone walls reverberated with the sounds of wood striking wood, and grunts of exertion.
“Pivot – thrust,” someone instructed. The voice was familiar, but Jess could not place it. “Put your strength behind it!”
Jess edged closer, her curiosity piqued, and caught sight of a behemothic figure, armoured in plain steel. The figure paced to and fro, inspecting the knights, occasionally giving a nod of approval or barking a command. At last he paused, and turned to face Jess.
“Are you my new squire?” he asked in a muffled voice.
Jess was taken aback. “N-no...”
The enigmatic figure lifted the visor of his helm to reveal a stunning pair of azure eyes. “Then what business have you in the training yard?”
“I just wanted to watch,” admitted Jess sheepishly. “I hope that's okay.”
The hulking figure nodded his approval, then shuffled back to the young knights. Jess watched them parry and twirl, graceful as dancers, until the blood-red sun was low in the sky, casting a fiery glow over the yard. The knights dispatched, tired and spent, and Jess was left alone with the mysterious master-at-arms.
“That was incredible,” Jess said sincerely. “Your skill with a blade is amazing.”
The figure removed his helm in one swift movement, unveiling a face that Jess recognised well. A shock of fair, blonde hair tumbled free. Jess sucked in breath.
“Brienne,” she whispered hoarsely, “Brienne of Tarth.”
Brienne raised an eyebrow. “You know me, my lady?”
“Uh, only by rumour,” Jess lied. “You are renowned for your prowess in battle.”
Brienne eyed her skeptically, clearly unused to kind words. “Thank you, my lady.”
“So, you train with the knights of Camelot?”
“The knights of Camelot?” Brienne chortled. “They aren't knights yet. Only young boys – squires. But they will see battle sooner than I would like.”
“You groom the future knights of Camelot, then. That is noble nonetheless.”
“It is kind of you to say so.”
Jess frowned. “Wait...Uther entrusted this task to you? That doesn't seem like him.”
“How so?” asked Brienne, taking one of her boots off.
“Well...he is somewhat intolerant.”
“Is there something intolerable about me?” said Brienne defensively, taking off her other boot.
Jess coughed awkwardly. “It's just that, erm, you're a woman.”
Brienne shrugged. “It makes no matter. He wouldn't compromise the quality of his knights for an inferior master-at-arms. That's why the knights of Camelot are the best.”
Jess smiled. “Curious how one so regressive in some ways could be so progressive in others.”
Jess followed as Brienne strode bare-foot across the yard. “I get weary being on my feet all day,” Brienne explained. “The cool grass between my toes is quite soothing.”
“You don't need to justify yourself to me,” said Jess. “I think you're brilliant no matter what.”
Brienne flushed bright red. “You do?”
“Of course I do,” murmured Jess. “You are courageous and fierce, but also loyal and kindly. As a matter of fact,” she admitted, blushing, “you are my hero.”
Brienne stopped dead in her tracks, beneath the castle gates. “I have never been called 'hero',” she said slowly. “I've been called 'freak' and 'sow', 'beast' and 'unwanted', but never 'hero'.”
“You are not a freak.” Jess felt a hot surge of anger rise in her chest. “Nor are you a sow, nor a beast, and you are most certainly not unwanted.”
Brienne smiled shyly at her feet. “I never did learn your name, my lady.”
“It's Jessica,” said Jessica softly.
“Jessica,” Brienne mused. Boldly, she reached out and cupped Jessica's face with calloused fingers. “A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”

***

Almost by instinct, Samwise found his way to the servants' quarters. There, among the busy din of taller servants, he patiently awaited word from his betters. The quarters were grim at best, a bare, draughty room untouched by sunlight. There were hay-bale beds lined with thin, threadbare quilts; a skinny, beaten bitch nursed scrawny pups in a corner. The closest thing to comfort was the fire that roared and crackled in the furnace.
But it was not in gentle Sam's nature to complain, and if there was a task to be done, he would do it with cheer. He unravelled his travel pack and carefully laid his things upon his straw mattress, seated himself with a gentle sigh, and waited for the moment he would be of use to someone. Anyone.
His mind wandered. He thought of the Shire, of may dew upon the fresh grass, of fresh fruits and burning pipe weed. He thought of Bag End, of upturned soil and daisies, of hard labour beneath the hot sun. And, inevitably, he thought of his master; not of Bilbo, but of Frodo, his true master, whom he would follow to the ends of the earth. He thought of lidded blue eyes, bottomless and warm, and unruly dark curls; of the sweet sound of Sam's name on his tongue. He thought of his master immersed in a book, and drawing on his pipe, and the way he would fold his delicate hands just so; and suddenly, as happened so often, all his thoughts were of Frodo.
“Hello there.” A friendly voice roused Sam from his reflection. “I don't believe I've ever seen your face in Camelot.”
The voice belonged to a tall, skinny lad with dark hair and striking blue eyes, and a brightly coloured neckerchief at his throat. He was gangly and awkward, with large, obtrusive ears, and yet there was something terribly endearing about him.
Samwise smiled amiably. “Samwise Gamgee, at your service, sir. What would you have of me?”
The boy blinked. “What would I have of you?” he asked laughingly. “I'm not high-born, Samwise, and I'm not here to give commands. I'm just a servant. The prince's manservant, actually.”
Sam relaxed. “What's your name, sir?”
“I'm Merlin,” said Merlin, extending his hand. Sam took it gladly.
“It's nice to have company,” he said affably.
“Forgive my asking, but erm...are you...” Merlin paused, considering his words. “Are you a halfling?”
On his journey, Sam had encountered many questions of the like. “I'm a hobbit, sir, of the Shire.”
“That's amazing. I've only heard of such creatures.”
“We don't like to leave the Shire often.”
They lapsed into easy conversation, laughing and trading stories as hours passed. In the dead of night as the servants slumbered, they found themselves utterly alone. A comfortable silence passed between them. Merlin summoned his courage to speak aloud the words he had never dared admit, even to himself.
“Sam,” he started uneasily, “what were you thinking about when I approached you?”
Sam blushed furiously, remembering his curious daydream. “I wasn't thinking of nothin' worth mentioning.”
“Come now, that's untrue.” Merlin took a sharp breath, steeling himself for the uncomfortable confession he was about to make. “I recognised the look on your face.”
“What look?” uttered Sam helplessly.
“The look that drew me to you, and the look that gives me the courage to say what I am about to. It is the look of a servant whose heart lies somewhere perilous.” Merlin looked Sam squarely in the face. “In his master's hand.”
Samwise wrung his hands and trembled softly, his heart wrought with fear. “I don't know what you mean,” he lied.
Merlin reached out and gently placed his hand over Sam's. “You are not alone,” he said quietly.
Blinded by panic, Sam scarcely registered the implications of what Merlin had just said. “You've got it all wrong,” he stammered. “Mr Frodo is my master, sir, and my friend. I-I wouldn't...he wouldn't...”
“Sam – ”
“And even if I would. Which I wouldn't! He could never...we could never...!”
“Sam, please listen to me,” implored Merlin.
“What would my Gaffer say, sir?” Sam babbled. His eyes shone wetly. “What would master Bilbo say? Oh, what am I going to do?"
“Samwise.” Merlin sighed. Sam's episode was verging on hysteria now; something needed to be done to secure his trust. Before he could stop himself, Merlin's outstretched hand flew toward the furnace, where a scattering of dying embers glowed faintly. “Hors, beride þá heofonum,” he incanted.
Sam's voice died in his throat. He watched with wide eyes as the rising smoke took form. The spectre of a stallion danced before him, an ashen beauty. It was phantasmagorical to behold.
“Oh,” was all he could muster, astonished.
“You can trust me, Samwise,” said Merlin gently.
Sam could only nod, his lips parted, his eyes fixed on the vision before him.
Merlin rested a hand on Sam's back. “We are of a kind, Samwise Gamgee. I knew it from the moment I saw you. We were born to serve, you and I. That is our greater purpose.”
Sam was silent for a tense moment, then a sob escaped him. “I love him,” he confessed quietly. “I tried to run from it. It ain't natural. But I do.”
Merlin squeezed the sweet halfling's hand, and watched as he began to weep with bitter abandon. “I know, Sam. I know.”

***

Amber's hungry eyes devoured Morgana for the thousandth time; the swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist; every sweeping, delicate gesture of her tapered, dainty fingers, and those blood-red, swollen lips...
“Uh...I'm sorry. What were you saying, my lady?”
Pippin threw Amber an annoyed glance, but Morgana only laughed musically. “I was saying, once again, that this is a sweet mulled wine. Imported from Myr.” She poured them each a glass – Alex, Katie, Sandor, Amber, Meriadoc, and Peregrin. “What brings you to my chambers?”
“We were hoping to conduct a private audience,” admitted Amber.
“Oh?” Morgana sipped from the ornate chalice in her hand, and even the gentle parting of her lips emanated seduction. “How can I be of service, my lady?”
“You are a very powerful woman,” said Amber carefully.
“She means we all know you have magic,” blurted Pip, dispensing of subtlety.
Morgana paled. “I do not have magic,” she lied, terrified. “I don't.”
“You do,” Amber prodded gently, “but that is nothing to fear, my lady. We are not here to condemn you.”
“What do you want from me?” she pleaded.
“Don't be afraid,” said Alex comfortingly. “I have magic too.” He began to levitate a few inches above the ground.
“Oh, seven bloody hells,” said Sandor. “How are you doing that?”
“Well, in the line of dentistry – ”
“My lady,” interrupted Amber, “we mean you no harm. We need your help.”
Morgana regarded them warily. “How so?”
“Truthfully...I alone am in need of you,” she confessed. “Someone I love very much is about to find himself in marvellous peril, and I cannot let that happen.”
Morgana considered this. “Of whom do you speak?”
“The young lordling of Winterfell, Bran Stark. A boy of ten.”
Morgana's features softened. “A child.”
“Yes, my lady, and yet he embarks on a quest beyond the Wall.” Amber shuddered. “Nightmares made flesh stalk that frozen wasteland. I would see him safe.”
Morgana turned her gaze to the window, which looked out onto a courtyard carved from bleached, white stone. “There is a child whom I have come to love. He, too, is in terrible danger. He faces threat of persecution every day of his life.” She spun to face them once more, her silken gown fluttering with every liquid movement. “I am prepared to strike a bargain with you.”
Amber smiled. “What are your terms, my lady?”
“I will do all in my power to help your little lordling,” she promised, “and in turn, you must help me to smuggle my Mordred out of Camelot.” Morgana's lip trembled, and Amber could see that she was desperately afraid. “You will take us with you, far from here, back to Exality. And there, I will discard this tired pretence, this mask of contentedness. We will cast off our chains and live.”
Amber looked at this woman, her idol, and could think of nothing more sacred than her happiness. “I am more than glad to meet these terms,” she said fondly, taking Morgana's exquisite hand in her own and drawing her fingertips over the soft, pale flesh of her palm.

***

They had travelled on horseback through blistering snowstorms – Jess alongside Brienne, Samwise alongside Merlin, Sandor alongside Katie, Merry alongside Pippin, and Morgana, sharing a saddle with Mordred, alongside Amber. Alex led them, for he was an adept equestrian (something to do with his being a dentist). They trotted at full speed through stinging, icy winds and towards the abandoned castle.
“I have to go,” they overheard Bran saying to Samwell just as they burst forth into the castle.
“Oh, no you don't,” said Amber in a stern voice. Jojen, Meera, Hodor, Sam and Gilly turned to stare at the strangers that had stumbled in, leaving frozen, muddy footprints upon the stone floor. “Bran Stark, gather you things and come with me!”
Bran was bewildered. “Who are you?”
“I am Amber, and you are ten years old. You are not going beyond that Wall.” Her tone brooked no room for argument.
“But it really seems important to the little lad – ” Sam Tarly began, but he shut his mouth as Amber shot him a dark look.
“The fate of the realm may depend on – ” started Jojen, before Amber silenced him with another look that would have filled Tywin Lannister with pride.
“The realm is just not as important to me as you are, sweetling,” she declared. “I will not abandon another Stark to his death.”
Bran thought of his father, and was tempted to consent. He regarded the strangers uncertainly.
“Please. There'll be time for a spiritual journey later in your life,” Amber begged. “You are a child. Treasure that, just for a little while longer.”
Bran shook his head. “I can't,” he said, in his gentle, polished voice. “I am sorry, but I've made my decision.”
Amber narrowed her eyes. “I thought you might say that,” she said darkly. “Morgana, now.”
“Hleap on bæc,” chanted Morgana, her outstretched hands before her. The Reeds, Hodor, Sam and Gilly were thrown backwards. They lay motionless upon the ground. Bran stared at his fallen companions with horror.
“They are not hurt, my little love; merely unconscious,” Amber promised. “Sandor, grab him.”
With steel-clad hands, Sandor hoisted the young Stark over his shoulder and marched him back towards his horse. Each of them remounted hastily. Hooves began to fly across the icy terrain. Summer stalked behind.
As he rode at a rapid pace away from his friends with a group of complete strangers, Bran Stark was left with no choice but to puzzle over his uncertain new fate.