*points to header media* Silz, the tag maestro, has outdone herself with this marvelous tag.

1. Pick a scene(s) your readers don't ask or comment about much, but that you are secretly very proud of. Why did you choose it. What do you love.

#1. This scene is from The Claw, chapter 2, in which we meet Inspector Dickson (and his considerably less integral partner, Inspector Harris) for the first time. No spoilers, so read on, frens. XD

I love this scene for a couple reasons. I feel like it introduces Inspector Dickson, a character whom the readers are going to have conflicting feelings for throughout the book, with the perfect blend of humanization and professionalism. It also does a fantastic job of summing up Dickson and Harris' somewhat asynchronous relationship, and I just adore watching the two of them bounce off each other.

#2. Also from The Claw. Again, no spoilers involved.

There's so much meaning behind this scene. Every sentence of the brief section was crafted with immense intentionality. I honestly feel that it's one of my masterpieces of writing, but because its character as a masterpiece is tied into what comes before it, it's not as apparent on the surface. If you read carefully enough (assuming you've read the prior stuff), you'll know exactly who the stranger is, and you can even draw a halfway correct conclusion as to what happened to him. Everything is in place for an astute eye to pick up on, but with a subtlety that could easily leave a casual reader clueless.

#3. From Starlight Under Clouds. A slight spoiler for Sorrow and Song, but not particularly self-evident.

First of all, this is Jedediah Crayes at his absolute best. The ordinary display of sarcasm and irritation dropped in the face of truly grave matters. Straightforward, blunt, oddly wise. Even his astuteness, which sees so much, can't comprehend Berethar's way of thinking entirely, and yet he doesn't flinch from empathy. He's doing his absolute best to mend Berethar's brokenness; he doesn't know how; but he tries anyway.

Second of all, everything about this is so Berethar. It hurts and made me so sad to write.

2. Pick a character(s) you've created that relates or reflects you in some way and talk about it.

#1.

Okay so. Weird story here.

When I was 13, my church put together a movie project on the life of Lady Jane Grey, for the purpose of showing it on Reformation Day. (Lady Jane Grey was a young Protestant noblewoman, who ended up on the throne of England due to political forces outside her own control, and held the rule for a period of nine days. She was later executed for the charges of treason and her refusal to recant her beliefs.) The powers that be selected yours truly as the Nine-Day Queen of England.

Two years later, Mercy and I were crafting the Years Between -- the 24-year period between The War and Sorrow and Song. Our self-inserts grew up during this time, and we made them do a lot of things analogous to our own lives. One of these things was to put on a play for the yearly Ceristen talent show, on the life of Holwena, Queen of Rothalon -- a.k.a. Jane Grey, Queen of England. Guess who was the star? That's right, Ailean Mycrai, a.k.a. Verity.

So Holwena is me. Now, when I actually wrote down the legend of Flare in the Darkness, I had no intention of making Holwena anything like myself, and she's actually polar opposite of me in a lot of ways. Still, facts are facts. Holwena's me. XD

#2.

This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone who's known me for more than a few months, but Mordred is an incredibly relatable character for me. Do I know why? Not exactly. He's nowhere close to what I'm like. He's introverted. I'm extroverted. He's wildly impulsive. I'm not. He had an immensely traumatic childhood. I definitely didn't. But writing him, for me, is like magic. I can slip into his character in a heartbeat. I know exactly what makes him tick.

And, throughout The War, we share a fear. The fear of hurting people.

3. Pick a character(s) and explain why you created that specific character. Why did you place him or her THERE in THAT circumstance.

I rarely create a character with much forethought. In Legea's past, characters happened so that fun stuff could happen to them. Now, I create a character to fill an immediate role and whatever happens after that is usually a surprise to me. However, occasionally I do make up someone for a very specific purpose, with the whole arc plotted out beforehand.

An example of the former:

#1. Captain Alétun. I created this guy as the necessary leader of a Runnicoran patrol. I did NOT anticipate his subsequent character evolutions, nor that he would become a pivotal character in Mordred's crisis during the climactic chapters.

An example of the latter:

#2. Corian. Brother of Claude of Croth Dale, from The Claw, he did not exist in any of the earlier versions. I created him because I needed someone easily manipulated, someone to give Inspector Dickson the final pieces of information on the Claw, and someone who could lie about seeing two young men in the company of Grimshaw...

4. Choose a scene you like. Write it either from another character's perspective, or another point in time looking back.

nightwraith17 beat me to requesting a scene before I could pick one myself. But actually, this is one of my favorite scenes (I listed it in the last chapter). The original scene was in Fred's perspective; the rewrite will be in Mordred's.

*

"I'm fine." He said it for the third time, vaguely, over the thick, dry ache in his head and throat. Dizziness threatened him, and his palms drove harder against the sandy cave-floor. "How long has it been?"

"Since we were captured? I am not sure. A few days." Fred's quiet, even voice was as quiet and even as ever. Its steadiness nettled Mordred's exhausted mind like teeth in wool. "I did not understand, though, and he did not explain to me why I am here. He must think that I am a danger to him, but–"

Mordred cut him off harshly. "He thought you were some relation of mine." The werevulture's hateful, mocking laughter resounded in his head. "Some man of his passed along faulty information to him, and like a fool he did not think to check its veracity."

The werevulture's cruel gaze was there behind him, prying like cold fingers. Mordred waited for the claw-hand to come again in recompense for the insult, remembering its biting, horrible grip on his neck, and the sick, strangled taste in his mouth seemed to worsen. But the claw did not come, and Mordred, sweating in dread, eased his tremoring body down.

Fred was still silent and peaceful.

Fury blazed through Mordred at that sickening, calm indifference, wrenching him up again with all the agony and horror swelling up to his lips. "You do not care," he said, his voice shaking with passion. "You are at peace – it matters nothing to you, you do not care – you do not care that your name is ruined forever, you do not care that all your friends will call you a murderer!" He panted for breath, blind and choked with the sheer strength of his anger, all the words running together too fast to speak – distantly aware that the werevulture was speaking to someone else.

That caught his attention long enough that his raging thoughts cooled, only to flare again, with renewed coherency and power, as soon as Gorstir and Runiz departed.

"Murderer – murderer – you lie, murderer–"

He flung his words at Fred, at the landslide of pain that was drowning him in its bruising storm. "You sit there as calmly as if you were still in your house in Ceristen, speaking as if you discussed the doings of the castle work – you are stone, you are silent and stupid as a rock! What, do you care nothing for your own?"

He struggled to strike a raw place, to make that placid face flinch, to make him hurt. Nothing stirred. Nothing moved.

"Why does it not cut you?" he cried, his anger shattering under the landslide. "Why must it hurt me, while you sit unmoved as a carven statue–"

Words spun around him. He could not latch onto them anymore. Everything hurt.

"–why must I hurt – why must I feel – why – Fenris – I cannot–"

He would never see his brother again.

Fred's hand took hold on him, he jerked back, fighting it, and the hand was too steady, too strong. He fell, sobs tearing out brokenly, for Fenris, for his weakness and shame, for he knew not what.

A voice said his name, a voice that was like Fred's, except that the steadiness was trembling and hoarse. "...I do care. I hurt. I think of my sisters and my brother, and all that we endured to come to Orden, and wonder: was it all for nothing? I see Fiona, day and night I see her face, and shall I never touch her joyous face again? Shall I not be wedded to her when the springtide comes?"

The steady, gentle voice faltered.

"If I am silent, Mordred, it is because my way is to hide the pain within. I fear that if I speak I will only release a river that will overcome me. I would have died if it would save Fiona, or Daren, or any of them; instead I must die for nothing – for less than nothing. Mordred, do not think that you are alone in suffering."

Mordred lifted his head. There were tears on Fred's cheeks.

Answering grief and compassion stirred up sharp, and he had been wrong, so wrong. "I know," he murmured. "I should not have spoken as I did. I do not know why I shouted at you, what was in me – Forgive me."

Fred spoke again – weary now, but no longer weeping. "I have known despair, and I will not yet despair again. Strange things have come about, and it may be that we will not die here."

Mordred shook his head, looked away. He was done with hope, did Fred not understand? "I hoped that I would not be arrested," he said flatly. "And where did that get me? I hoped to be cleared, and what gain came of that? I do not care to hope any longer." He put his head down, pressing his shaking arm against his eyes.

"Please, Mordred." The steady, strong fingers touched his again, and closed over them despite his own refusal to respond. "Hope because you are not yet dead. Hope because we have one another to lean on. Hope if nothing else because your brother would not have you die despairing."

Fenris – Fenris –

The tossing, drowning sea of pain burned and sharpened into a point of purpose. The tears came back in a silent wave, hot and unceasing, but better in their torment than the dead, battered hopelessness.

For Fenris, he must hold on.

5. Tags!

Silmarilz1701

CelticWarriorQueen17

Illeandir

Stars_Alight

Silvan_Elleth

Ellowyne

GerithorDunedain