Broken Space

Jack has been on the island long enough to start wondering. He'd read what Dairine gave him about people's powers disappearing, but at first it hadn't occured to him that it might apply to him. He doesn't think of his own inability to die as a special power; if anything it's a curse.

But the fact that he's suddenly found himself needing to sleep on pretty much a daily basis has made him start wondering if this place might have lifted that curse. The thought is on his mind again tonight as he finds the kitchen empty, dinner already cooked, served and put away a few hours ago. He gets a glass of water, and then after a moment's pondering, a good-sized kitchen knife.

Setting the knife in front of him as he sits down at the table, Jack leans back and slowly sips his water, gaze fixed on the gleaming metal. Oh hell, why not? he decides, sitting upright. The water glass is placed on the table and the knife picked up all in one smooth motion that doesn't hesitate as Jack splays his left hand flat on the table, jaw clenched. He plunges the knife into his hand with a strangled cry of pain, hissing as he pulls it back out and looks at the bleeding wound.

"...Shit." It's not closing up, the bleeding's not stopping. The upside is it looks like whatever the Time Vortex did to him doesn't apply here. The downside is...whatever the Time Vortex did to him doesn't apply here, and he's starting to make a mess. "Uhh..." He gets up, grabbing a dishtowel and wrapping it tightly around his hand, holding it above his head to help slow the bleeding as he calls out hopefully. "Ianto? Someone? Little help?" This...is going to be difficult to explain.

[Why yes, he does have his stupid moments. Set to late evening, anyone's welcome. ;)]

Frank dove deeper when they shot the oil barrel--the water closer to the surface was getting hot, and he'd have cover to get further as long as the gunmen were blinded by their own fire. Stupid of them.

He shouldn't have opened the package. He never would have gotten involved if he hadn't. He'd still have his house and his car, instead of an annoying girl who did happen to be very good in bed.

When he came up, he frowned, looking around him. Sunlight and a beach. Frank was definitely not in France anymore.

According to Lilly (which is where Zelda got most of her ideas), modern women wore minute scraps of clothing when swimming. It did not seem entirely practical to swim in a dress, nor her shorts and shirt, so the bikini was likely the best option. Zelda was not used to exposing so much skin and hoped that nobody she knew would show up while she wore it. Lilly, perhaps, would be all right, but Alec...that would be embarrassing.

She swam along the shore, shivering in the breeze a little each time she surfaced. She would nap on the beach afterwards to warm up, but for now, she was content.

Edmund felt a hand on his hip: protective without being possessive. Then, the light brush of lips on the curve of his neck.

"Caspian?" He whispered groggily. But no, that was not it. The weight on his hip was a sword. He'd started wearing it around ever since the disastrous confrontation with Jon Snow. The lips were a leaf, blown by the breeze.

Edmund sat up on the roof of the compound, blinking sleep from his eyes. He'd fallen asleep in the sun, and he remembers now what had brought on his dream. Or, his memory. It lay next to him on the roof. Innocuous enough, the small book had practically jumped into his hand in the library. It had a white cover with unremarkable blue lettering, but the words had jumped out at him: "Dawn Treader."

[open to anyone else who might be clambering around the roof! edit: will return tags tomorrow when I am not asleep]

Zelda's mood was foul. She had thought to impress Jon by wearing her arrival gown and when she had seen him sad, hoped to cheer him, but neither had gone according to plan. No, he had just confirmed her worst fears--that she was no more fit to be a friend than an object of affection and that she was just (again) throwing herself at a man who wanted nothing to do with her. Jon pitied her, pitied her inability to make a friendship, and at the end of duty wanted nothing more with her.

She had gotten impossibly angry on the beach, railing at Jon like some sort of harpy, and it was no wonder he had taken his leave of her. Why on earth would he want to remain friends with such an inept and stupid woman such as herself? He would not. That was made impossibly plain.

She wept, eyes red-rimmed and puffy from crying, and could not help the sick feeling in her heart. Jon Snow wanted nothing with her and, yet again, she had found herself hopelessly attached to a man who wanted nothing from her and would seek it elsewhere as fast as his legs could carry him.

She watched the ocean rise and fall, not caring if her gown grew soiled. It had been a stupid vanity that made her don it to begin with, after all.

[Only people who know her, please. She's not fit company for meeting new people.]

The arrival of Edmund had sent waves of turmoil out from Jon's secure center, like the ripples on a pond's surface after one sinks a stone.

Edmund, Jon decided, was the stone.

He'd experienced a variety of emotions since learning of his former goodbrother's return to the island, none of them good. The relived pain of Susan's disappearance. Anger towards the island and the Gods for not returning his own love. Jealousy and envy at Robb getting his love. Shame and guilt at these feelings, and worse, for not having been there when Robb was experiencing his own cycle of loss. Determination that Edmund would not be allowed to crumble Robb's world so completely ever again.

The last desire had led to a confrontation with the King of Narnia. It had not gone well, and Jon's mood had been foul ever since. He didn't want to tell Robb what he had done, but avoiding one's brother is difficult in the best of times, much less when he'd promised to be there for him.

He'd gotten up early this morning, however, and whispered to a still snoozing Robb that he needed to check on Zelda's injury. He'd meant to days earlier, but then Edmund had arrived and time had gotten away from him. But he'd remembered now, and since he had been the cause, it was his duty to see after it.

And it was as good an excuse as any to be gone for most of the day.

He whistled to Ghost, and the two of them set off through the jungle to Zelda's treehouse.



[Mainly for Zelda, but anyone else is welcome to catch him en route or coming back except Edmund ;)]

The beach. Edmund searches his memory for any recollection of time he must've spent there, but nothing comes. He looks out to the sea, up to the darkening sky and the first of the evening's stars, and there is no recognition.

He's settled in at the compound as much as he can feel. He found some clothing that fits, but he's far more comfortable in his Narnian tunic and breeches. He has a room for his things, but would rather sleep on the roof, which he has since that first night.

Nothing. A whole lifetime that never happened.

"Aslan?" He calls softly to the gathering gloom. But it is only a fool's hope, he knows. Aslan is no more physically in this place than he was in England.

Zelda had lived on the island nearly a year. It was hard to keep track of...the stars were so different here than they had been in Hyrule...but her stick count was accurate enough. It was a year later and she was still healthy and even happy at times, depending on who came to call upon her.

She had taken to walking along the beach near Summerfell in hopes that she would get to see a glimpse of Jon or Lord Robb (they were both handsome--especially when sparring together). Sometimes she found an interesting bit of driftwood in the foam, or a pretty shell. Today, however, she saw the glint of gold.

Narrowing her eyes, Zelda plucked it from the water, biting her lip as she assessed it. The Royal Arms, yes, worked into the delicate gold of a crown. There were jewels in the crown, sapphires, and Zelda would have sold them had she been in a place where it would have mattered.

"Blessed Nayru, I know I am to thank you for all your gifts," Zelda said idly, head bowed, "But this is quite useless. Will you next be sending bolts of silk, so I might make a pretty gown to match?"

Bright had spent most of the afternoon lying on the beach. He had a lot to think about, and he'd never really been a serious thinking kind of guy, so it took a certain amount of preparation. And suntan lotion.

Mostly, he'd been thinking about Ephram. Who was getting married. To another guy. Oh sure, it didn't actually mean a whole heck of a lot here, since there wasn't much in the way of legal status for anybody to take advantage of one way or another, but it was still married, and Bright still had trouble picturing it. Not that he was going to tell Ephram that, not when he was all excited and happy and stuff. And Bright was happy for him, sure. He liked Bran. Definitely thought he treated Ephram better than Amy ever did, and he could say that objectively while still loving his sister.

It still felt weird.

Bright got up, leaving the lashed-together lounge and sandy juice glass and stripey beach towel wadded up next to it, splashing into the water. If he was gonna be stranded somewhere, this was a pretty good place. He had sunshine, sand, warm water, he was learning how to surf from a freaking superhero and had a really good thing going on with a supermodel doctor.

Weird? Totally. But that didn't have to mean bad.

Jon stands, regarding his opponent with a keen eye. "You dare oppose me?" he asks. "Fool. Don't you know who I am?" He swings Longclaw in a flashy, if impractical, circle. "You will remember my name when we are done. I promise you that."

With a decisive motion he strikes, slicing through the wooden arm of his "opponent" with a triumphant yell.

Ghost, laying nearby, seems unimpressed, and yawns.

"Everyone is a master-at-arms," he mutters.




[Bringing my second Stark out to play. Come spar!]

Jon's counsel had been well taken, at the very least. Zelda was determined to get out and meet new people, so much so that she had taken to making lists of who she knew and who she did not. Sadly, the did not outweighed the did.

She liked to think she could call Jon friend, as she had Lilly. Bright was still someone who made her fluttery and tongue tied, but she loved his company all the same. Robb was regal and handsome and reminded her very much of Link at times and she was fond of Grey Wind.

Lady Sansa was sweet and beautiful--but Zelda had not seen much of her as of late. Likely she was busy with her lord husband.

Today, she had decided to walk the beaches of their island home, dragonglass dagger in hand. It was such a fine blade and not nearly as unwieldy as her longsword.

[She's walking toward Summerfell, but you can find her anywhere between the jungle and there.]

Zelda meets Jon Snow.