update, my fic, morvran voorhis, he manages to be both distinguished and a
disaster
via https://ift.tt/3qFjP1q
I am having a real hard time with the concept of linear time, chums, this
is would be a joke if i could consistently find it funny. is it really
friday? IS it though?? I don’t know but I’m posting this chapter anyway.
THIS one is chapter 7, unlike the last one I said was chapter 7, which
wasn’t chapter 7. And a reminder that if you read the fake chapter 7,
which was really chapter 6, right away, I did have to go back and add 1500
words to it some hours after posting, so please do make sure you didn’t
miss that. Listen I’m just keeping everyone on their toes, you have to
work for this kind of entertainment.
SO
ACTUAL CHAPTER 7 on AO3
https://archiveofourown.org/works/31289303/chapters/80119690
we get a POV switch in this chapter, because I could not survive one more
moment without giving a little preview into the mind of our boy Morvran.
Oh, here’s a footnote: I’ve been fleshing out a book-only character to
serve as a semi-villain for this bit, and here’s the wiki on him. Peter
Evertsen https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Peter_Evertsen. He’s a real
dick, notable mostly for having instituted a brutal policy of total war for
the purposes of extracting as much wealth as possible from the conquest of
Lyria, Rivia, and Aedirn during the 2nd Nilfgaardian War. The sole other
fact we know of him is that Morvran had him executed on a trumped-up charge
shortly after becoming Emperor, despite Emhyr having been very fond of him.
So I’m. Filling in.
Anyhow, here’s Morvran:
What harm, Morvran thought, what harm, really, could it do, and went
down the hallway into the Princess’s apartments, and into the office where
he knew Luliana worked.
The guards nodded to him as he entered, and he opened the office door and
found the Sparrow sitting at her desk, head in her hands. He stepped in and
closed the door behind him, and waited for her to look up, but she did not.
After a moment, he stepped closer, scuffing his foot against the floor
audibly, and stood at parade rest, hands behind his back, waiting. In
another beat, she looked up at him.
“I assumed you were here to kill me,” she explained, “so I was trying to
hold still so you wouldn’t miss.”
He closed his eyes briefly, letting her see a brief half-smile on his face.
“They don’t let me do that kind of work myself,” he said. Which was true;
his hands were clean, genuinely.
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