sirowsky

[sirowsky]

@jessthebaker Oh my gosh, I only just saw this reblog of yours, I don't know how I could've missed it, but I'm so sorry!

I've been rereading this preparing to pick up on the third part finally, and I saw your lovely comments, so thank you so much ❤️

I apologize for how long I've been absent, but I'm feeling very inspired so I'm hoping to start posting again soon. And since you asked so nicely, I will happily add you to my taglist 🥰

Part 2 - The Date

Hey, y'all. I had hoped to post this early last week, but childhood trauma decided to join the conversation, and here we are. It is looking like this is gonna be a shorter series, though, so I hope to be able to update more frequently, but I make no promises.

Description: You and Pero have your first date and as promised, he cooks for you. But it's the conversation that is the real treat of this evening, because you finally get to learn more about this mystery of a man, and share some things of your own.

Warnings: Pero Tovar x Female Reader, reader is not described but there are descriptions of clothing in this part, mention of road rage and a fatal crash, mention of problematic mental health (neither reader nor Pero), one mention of adhd, mention of the Cali cartel and associated issues.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 10,460 Sirowsky's Masterlist All dividers by the amazing @saradika-graphics

   He goes directly to the store at the end of the workday, still screaming internally at the mere fact that you invited him to your home, not to mention that you’re calling it a date.    But the voice inside of him isn’t just screaming with excitement. There’s massive quantities of fear and anxiousness in there as well, because he has no clue how to behave on a date, or what you might expect from him, beyond him being nice to you.    Therefor he passes as much time as possible strolling down the aisles and busying himself with looking around the entire store just in case he finds something other than the ingredients he needs.

   Your ordinary workdays on the morning shift are between 6am and 2pm. It’s only when working away that any operator can flex their hours a little, since it’s considered a big enough inconvenience just to live away and work with strangers. Which is why you’d pushed your schedule to start at 7 while you’d been at the sister factory.    But it’s back to the normal shifts now, which means he’s got four hours to kill before going to see you. And his entire body feels strangely charged and alert as he repeatedly looks at his watch, getting increasingly frustrated with how slow it seems to move.

   He stops in the aisle where they have household items, like coffee cups and vases, cutlery and dishtowels, but also scented candles and little knickknacks, as well as tiny stuffed animals and plushies.    Would you like it if he got you something for your apartment?    You’ve been living all alone for years, so you probably have your place decorated exactly as you want it. But a candle couldn’t hurt, could it? And most people love plushies, right?

   With a deep sigh of annoyance, entirely directed at himself, he starts picking up candles and sniffing the different scents, disliking practically all of them, until he finds a vanilla scented one which isn’t as strong as the others. A more subtle fragrance. And when he sniffs it, it somehow reminds him of you, which seems odd, until he realizes that your perfume must have a vanilla-based fragrance as well, which settles it.    He puts the thing in his basket and goes to leave the aisle. But right at the end of it, a frankly adorable grey teddy bear with a red heart stitched in on its right butt-cheek catches his eye, and without even stopping to consider if he should, he grabs it.

   Because fuck it. If you don’t like it… Well, he’d be heartbroken, actually. Not to mention the poor little bear.    Seriously shaking his head at himself, he continues through the store, wondering if you’re on the verge of driving him insane before you’ve even started dating. But also realizing, within just seconds of pondering on it, that he wouldn’t give a shit if you were, he’d still wanna see you.

   That smile you gave him right after he’d told you about wanting to cook for you was the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. He couldn’t describe it, or what it made him feel, even if it was the only way to save his own life, but he’d bring the stars down from the skies if it meant he’d get to see it again.    Honestly, he can’t think of anything he wouldn’t do for you, just to make you happy, because your joy truly does infect everything around you, and that’s a precious thing. If his past has taught him anything, it’s that while he struggles to accept happiness for himself, he knows how important joy is, in how it prevents people from becoming the worst versions of themselves.

   He ends up spending almost ninety minutes in the store, and he notices the slight surprise on the cashier’s face when she scans the candle, the plushie, and the bouquet of flowers, little gift bag of small fridge magnets with smiley faces on them, and a miniature gift box of your favourite brand of chocolate, which he stumbled on closer to the checkout.    This is his regular store, so the staff recognize him and probably remember that he’s never bought anything of the sort before, although she’s kind enough not to get nosy about it.

   “Are they stupid?” he finds himself quietly asking while he gets the money from his wallet, since there isn’t anyone else in the que behind him and he really is nervous about getting this right.

   She’s about your age and several things in her appearance reminds him of you. He feels like you’re the same type of woman, if there is such a thing, so odds are you like some of the same things, at least.

   “Are you kidding? If my man brought me stuff like this, I’d be giddy for days,” she says with a genuine smile, understanding even without further explanation, that the items in question aren’t being purchased for his own use.

   “It is only a first date…” he admits, wanting to make sure it isn’t too much, and the woman quickly puts him at ease.

   “Oh, that’s lovely, congratulations! And don’t worry, first date or tenth, if she’s anything like me, she’ll love this.”

   “Okay.” He doesn’t have a smile for her because those only ever come natural to him when he’s around you, but he does nod politely and tells her that she can keep the change, which makes her smile.

   Once back home, he unpacks the groceries and then repacks them, putting everything that needs to be refrigerated into one bag and then putting the entire bag in the fridge, while he leaves a second bag with the room temperature stuff on the counter, ready to go.    He almost forgets to put the flowers in water, and then he spends a good twenty minutes trying to decide how to present all these gifts to you.    Why did he get so many?

   It’s still not even 4:30pm once he settles on an idea, and he’s too nervous to try and do anything relaxing, so he ends up cleaning his apartment instead. And then, when he’s only fifteen minutes away from having to leave, he remembers that he should maybe take a shower before the date.    Which is why, when he rings your doorbell a few minutes after 6pm, his hair is still wet, making him feel like a dog begging to be let in after taking a shit in the rain.

   You’ve been fretting ever since you got home. You don’t have adhd so far as you know, but you do have some of the very typical traits that many types of neuro-divergent people have, such as task-fatigue. Which means you sometimes just can’t bring yourself to clean your apartment or take care of the laundry, even though you absolutely hate seeing the dust and dirty clothes pile up.    But it also means that all it takes for you to feel motivated to take care of it, is knowing that someone is coming to visit.

   Which is why, the moment you step through the door, you start picking stuff up and, in your head, getting started on about ten different tasks simultaneously.    You had intended to start the laundry first, since that would mean you’d have time to swap it into the dryer while getting other things done, but while you’re picking up the clothes left on the sofa and the living room floor, you get distracted by the clutter on your coffee table and the used drinking glasses and cups you’ve had sitting there for the almost two weeks you’ve been away.

   There wasn’t time to take care of it before you left, and you haven’t had the energy to get to it in the one night you’ve thus far spent at home since, but it now disgusts you to see it, which is why it makes you forget all about the laundry.    Then, bringing the dishes to the kitchen and putting them in the dishwasher, you find empty food packages and other junk and start throwing that away, which then makes you remember that the bathroom trash can needs to be emptied.

   It carries on like this for over an hour before you eventually remember the laundry, at which point you’re about ready to slap yourself with how much you’re needlessly stressing over this. Because Pero is not gonna care if your home is spotless. At least, you don’t think so. Then again, he does always keep his station very neat at work.    You technically work at his station as well, the two of you alternating between operating the MAP, taking care of the orders on the computer and doing the daily maintenance work, so it’s never seemed strange to you that he always comes to help you clean up at the end of each shift.

   But what if he does it because he doesn’t think you’re thorough enough?    Two weeks ago you wouldn’t even have entertained the thought that he even cares about such things, but everything’s different now and you just don’t know.    At 5:30 you decide it looks good enough and hop into a very quick shower followed by the fastest and sloppiest blow-dry of your life, so you’ll have a few minutes to throw on some makeup, albeit very basic and neutral.    You finish with about five minutes to spare, and it’s only then that you realize you haven’t decided what to wear.

   Thankfully, since you both have to wear safety clothes at work and mostly arrive in sweats or other simple and soft garments, he hasn’t seen you wear any of your fancier items. The occasional jeans, sure, but not any of your truly nice pants, nor any blouses or dresses.    You hadn’t brought any of that for your hotel stay either, since it was a work trip, so literally everything you look really good in will be something he’s never seen on you. And yet, it still stresses you out, because it’s a first date. Which means it can’t be too fancy, but it also has to be a little fancy, otherwise it might seem like you’re not that interested.

   The doorbell rings just as you’ve thrown on the top, so you don’t even have time to check yourself over in a mirror before darting to open it, you just take a quick look down to make sure your top isn’t unbuttoned or anything.    You open the door to find him standing there in the stairwell with two full grocery bags leaning against his legs, wet hair and a generally sour expression, which then vanishes the moment he sees you smile at him.

   “Hi,” you greet, and for a moment, he looks paralyzed.

   “Uh… Hello,” he finally manages, before bringing his arms out from behind his back, revealing a gorgeous bouquet of flowers and a large glass jar candle.

   The flowers are the grocery store kind, but you know the brand, and the chain of florists which the store collaborates with is an excellent one. It’s a spring bouquet, yellow and pink with white sprinkled in there as well, and it's so big that you suddenly can't believe you didn't notice it until he brought it out.    Then again, he is the broadest person you’ve ever met.    You take the bouquet and smell it, before doing the same with the candle, finding the fragrance of both to be subtle and sweet, which you approve of.

   “Oh, my goodness, thank you so much,” you grin, suddenly no longer the least bit stressed about anything because his presence seems to coat everything under a blanket of comfort and safety. “Come on in.”

   He looks you over thoroughly before stepping in, though, and you can tell that he likes the soft but tight pants you chose, and the simple and cute silk blouse with the widely cut V-shaped neckline, which sits further out on your shoulders and therefor shows off the thin gold necklace he gave you perfectly.    The blouse is designed not to be tucked but rather hang loosely over your hips where it’s cut to enhance the female curves, which always makes you feel a little more confident.

   You do the same to him in return, remembering you’ve never seen him in anything nicer either, and you’re surprised at how much it affects you.    He’s wearing dark blue jeans, clearly not new but designed to last and only get better with wear and tear. And on top he’s gone for a white henley underneath a black leather jacket which is unzipped.

   Now, you would’ve found him attractive no matter what he’d decided to wear, but this?    It’s not overtly sexual, but that’s also exactly what makes it so damned good. The combination of colours which manage to enhance his skin, eyes and hair, the way the jeans hug his male anatomy just right to give you a hint of what’s under there, how the shirt falls so that it just brushes over his softly muscular abs, and then the leather to frame it all in…    If he didn’t do this on purpose then he’s adorably ignorant of his own attractiveness, and if it was intentional, then he’s clearly a genius on more levels than you’ve given him credit for.

   To reign yourself in and prevent the ogling you’re already guilty of, you grasp at the first thing to come to mind as a conversation topic, while he grabs the bags and steps past you into the front hall.

   “Is that a motorcycle jacket?” you ask, since you recognize the distinct cut and collar.

   “Yes. But I did not ride here.”

   “No, I suppose it’d be kinda difficult to get all this on a bike,” you chuckle, closing the door while he takes his shoes off. “I’m surprised I’ve never seen you arrive to work on it, though.”

   He picks up the bags again and follows you to the kitchen, which is the closest room to the front hall and from which the spacious living room is fully visible, where he sets the groceries down on the counter and you grab a vase to put the flowers in.    You place the candle on the kitchen table, followed by the bouquet once it’s been trimmed, and suddenly it looks so much cozier.

   “I prefer to drive it only for the pleasure of the ride, not as a means of transportation,” he explains, and then proceeds to remove the jacket and push the sleeves of his shirt up over his forearms, which momentarily makes you forget how the brain connects to the mouth.

   “O-oh. I… don’t think I’ve ever met a biker with that perspective on riding before,” you finally manage, now awkwardly trampling from one foot to the next because you apparently have no fucking idea how to act in your own kitchen with him there.

   “How many bikers have you met?” he wonders, which would’ve been an innocent enough question, if not for the barely detectable competitiveness which sneaks into his voice.

   And since this very unexpected reaction brings some focus and clarity back into your brain, you jump on the opportunity to tease him a little.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know.” You can see that he wants to press the issue, but he lets it go and starts unpacking the groceries instead, so you decide to reward him for his restraint. “My brother used to ride when he was younger, and he had a whole group of friends he’d go out with, so I’d end up hanging out with them sometimes when they were waiting for the group to gather at our house, or when they helped each other work on the bikes.”

   “I did not know you have a brother,” he says after taking a moment to absorb this new information, and he suddenly seems only openly curious.

   “Yeah, I don’t talk about him a lot since we kinda lost touch a while back.”

   “You said he used to ride. Does he not anymore?”

   “No. He stopped after losing his best friend to a road rage incident,” you explain, to which he simply lowers his brows in a silent question, so you start to elaborate. “The driver of an SUV got angry that they filtered to the front of the que at a stoplight, so she raced after them and at the next light, she tried to run them all over.    She clipped Richie’s back tire, and he went down right in front of the car, so she just gunned it and drove over him. Then she kept trying to get the rest of them, so they had to abandon their friend while he was dying in the street, to save themselves.”

   You haven’t talked about this in a long time, and now that you do, the memories make you sad, but it’s also a bit cleansing to sort of dust it off and air it out, so even though he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, you keep talking.

   “My brother escaped unharmed, but he was only twenty-one and it scared the shit out of him, so he never rode again afterwards. An accident would’ve been difficult enough, but knowing there are people out there who might try and kill him if he does something they don’t like, even if it’s legal… it made every car a weapon in his mind, and he couldn’t handle it.”

   “I have seen this behaviour as well,” Pero nods in recognition, and his tone is low now. “For me, it was never a problem because I know how to scare people into leaving me alone, but I know how dangerous these drivers are.    I am sorry it happened to someone you knew.”

   “It was a horrible day. But honestly, it was the aftermath that really messed things up.”

   “How so?”

   “Because my brother didn’t just lose his friend and his passion for riding bikes that day. It was like he lost a part of himself he didn’t know how to exist without.    At first, he got depressed, which then affected his grades and eventually got him kicked out of university. But as it progressed, his mental health got so bad that he tried to end his own life three times within the space of just one month.    So, our parents decided that the only way he’d have a chance to get himself out of that state, was to put him in an environment where his entire life would be controlled and structured.”

   “They had him committed?” he carefully asks while somehow locating the correct cabinet to find a bowl on the first try, which he then fills with water and dunks a packet of raisins into.

   “No. My father was a navy captain, so his solution was to force my brother to enlist. Although, he figured a young man wouldn’t be aided by being in the same branch of the military as his own father, but he wanted the strictest possible regiment, so he threw his weight around a little and that’s how my brother ended up in the Special Forces.”

   Your date gets a strange look in his eyes when he hears that, but you can’t pinpoint what the reason might be, so you decide not to ask him about it.

   “And this is how the two of you lost touch?” he wonders, while he begins to prepare the meal, so you take out a cutting board for him and watch him chop onions and garlic cloves as you answer.

   “Kinda. He’d already distanced himself from me at that point, because I didn’t understand what he was going through and just wanted my brother back.    I made it worse for him back then, just out of ignorance. Thinking if I could just find something that would make him happy, all his problems would magically disappear.    He stopped talking to me, and then he started getting mean. Until eventually, he even tried to hurt me, and I still didn’t understand that it was because I was adding to his stress.”

   “How much younger are you than your brother?”

   “Just over eight years. Our parents had him when they were pretty young, and then my dad had a period of time when he was away a lot, so it wasn’t until he was promoted that I came along.”

   “Then you were still only a teenager while this happened. This must have been very scary.”

   “It was, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished I could go back. Because I get it now. With what I know about life and mental health today, I would’ve been able to help him. But I guess there’s a reason why that stuff takes a lifetime to learn.    And now it’s too late,” you end in a sigh, which makes him pause his work to look at you.

   “Is your brother dead?”

   “No. But I’ve only seen him once since the day he enlisted, sixteen years ago. He showed up for mom and dad’s funeral about five years ago, but he never spoke to me or wanted anything to do with the inheritance, and he was gone the moment the ceremony was over.”

   “What happened to your parents?”

   “They died in a plane crash on their way to a favourite holiday spot of theirs, up north. It was a small prop plane, one of those for like four people, so a bird-strike was enough to take it out.    I’ve been afraid of flying ever since,” you admit, but he puts a warm hand over yours on the counter and when you look into his eyes, there’s no judgement in them.

   “I’m sorry to hear your family is no longer with you. I do not like to think of you all alone,” he offers with a slightly concerned tint to his features, which only makes you like him more.

   “Thanks. But at least I have you now,” you carefully suggest, not wanting to jump to any conclusions.

   But he gives you one of his rare smiles in return.

   “Yes, you do.”

   “So, what about you? Do you have any family?” you ask when he returns to the meal, moving on to the minced meat, so he locates a frying pan and turns the stove on.

   “No.” He first intends to leave it there, because he doesn’t like to talk about it.

   But then, it must’ve been just as hard for you to share these terrible memories from your past, so it’s only fair he does the same.    It does not come naturally to him, though, and he’s certain that you can hear the frustration in his voice, so he just hopes you won’t misinterpret the cause behind it.

   “I was an only child, and my father was out of the picture before I was even born.”

   “So, your mom raised you?”

   “For a time,” he starts, but then needs to pause to figure out how to explain, so he lets himself focus on the food for a beat, while you patiently wait. “I was born in Colombia, and my mother was not someone who could afford a good education, so her options were limited.    She worked as a dancer, but it was not always enough, so to make ends meet, she would help the Cali cartel.”

   “As a mule?” you quietly wonder, and in the depths of your voice, he can hear the other, more frightening options you’re also aware that the cartels might’ve used a woman for.

   “Yes. But when I was only ten years old, she got caught by the Narcos, and she was too afraid of the cartel to turn witness, so she was sent to jail instead.    I found out later… she died just six months after her sentencing. I was told it was due to dehydration after a very bad stomach flu, but I was never able to confirm if this was true.”

   “How much later? Were you able to go to her funeral?”

   “No. I only heard about it several years later.”

   “Why? What happened to you?”

   He pauses again, this time because there’s shame involved in what he needs to say next, and he’s never been good at handling that particular emotion.

   “The people she smuggled for knew about me, so when she was caught, they came to find me and took me away to work for them. They did this with orphaned children a lot, because it was an easy and cheap way to procure safe labour for them.”

   “Oh. I’m sorry, I’m sure that wasn’t an easy way to grow up.”

   “I knew of nothing else. I was a strong child, so rather than put me to work in the jungle factories, they taught me how to use weapons and hurt people. And for a long time, this was my life.” He doesn’t notice that he’s stopped working on the food until your hand lightly rubs his shoulder, bringing him back to the present.

   “I’m guessing you’re ashamed of that?” you correctly surmise, so he just nods in confirmation and returns to the task at hand, putting the finished pino aside to cool and getting started on the dough.

   He’s forgotten to boil some eggs, and while he prepares that and starts to melt the butter, you remain very quiet.    Still, he feels like it’s a loud kind of silence, hanging under the pressure of a million thoughts and reactions, none of which you’re letting him see.    Until the pressure seems to ease when you draw a slow and deep breath.

   “I can’t imagine the things you must’ve done, either because you had to or because you thought it was normal, but it doesn’t matter which.    We’re not responsible for the things we’re taught as children. How we behave when we realize that those things are wrong… that’s what matters.    So, what did you do?”

   You don’t know it yet, but you’ve stumbled upon the most difficult question you could ever have asked him, because the answer requires him to reveal the most cataclysmic event of his entire life, and he has no idea if he’s ready for that.    And even more significantly, he knows with almost complete conviction that you’re not.

   “Ay, Sonriente… I am not sure you are ready to know this. It is not… the happy ending you want it to be.” He says it while meeting your eyes, so you can see the honesty in him.

   He doesn’t lie and he isn’t going to, so if you ask him, he will tell you the truth. But he hopes you won’t. Not yet.    You take your time, examining his face, maybe looking for some clue to explain what could be so terrible that he’s asking you not to go there.

   “What does Sonriente mean?” you finally ask instead, and relief washes over him.

   He’ll owe you for this one, and if you somehow find it in your heart to keep dating him, he will tell you at some point. But for now, the lighter subject is a balm to his nerves, bringing a grin to his lips while he pours the melted butter into the mix of flour, salt and baking powder, followed by some water before he begins to knead it into a dough.

   “You have not looked it up?”

   “Asking you is more fun,” you shrug, allowing the playful atmosphere to blossom.

   “How do you know I will not make something up?”

   “Firstly, because you’ve never lied to me and that’s not a streak you wanna break if you want me to stick around. And second, because I’m obviously gonna look it up after you’ve told me.”

   “How would you know if I have ever lied to you or not?” he wonders, partly just playing along, but also making a little point for you not to assume he’s incapable of being dishonest.

   There’s a dramatic pause then, in which you throw him a look that clearly says this is a very stupid question, before you proceed to explain why.

   “Pero, I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve said a single thing to me that wasn’t a description of how to perform a task at work, and believe me, I remember them all in perfect detail.”

   “Oh, really? Name one,” he challenges, and you don’t miss a beat.

   “Two months into my employment, we were waiting for Gary when he was bringing that big shot visitor from Japan, and I sighed and complained about having to just stand around forever when there was so much work to be done. I finally resorted to asking you if you knew why it was taking so long, to which you replied: Gary has a thing for Asians.    And at the time, I actually assumed you were trying to be funny, especially when they finally arrived, and I saw no evidence whatsoever to suggest any secret interest in anyone.    So, you can imagine my surprise when the guest leaves, and Gary turns to me and says: Oh, thank god, I was running out of lemon-related content in my brain…”

   The memory makes him huff a tiny laugh, particularly at how accurately you’re recounting it, while you start fully laughing once you’re done.

   “I mean, it would’ve been a completely innocent little joke,” you add between giggles, “even if it had been made up, but the fact that it was true just made it so much funnier.”

   “I was nervous,” he admits, feeling a bit sheepish now.

   But the fact is, you’ve made him nervous from day one. And while he’s always been quiet and kept to himself, specifically because he hasn’t wanted to become friends with anyone and have to talk about himself and his past, he’s always been extreme with you because of how beautiful you are.    He’s known, from the first time he laid eyes on you, that if he ever allowed himself to start talking to you, he’d never wanna stop.

   “About meeting a big shot businesswoman?” you incredulously wonder, making him shake his head while he waits for another bout of your giggles to settle.

   “No… about just standing there awkwardly with you. You were talking so much, and I was trying not to engage with you, but then you asked me a question and it would have been rude not to answer.”

   “And instead of giving me some bland conversational answer like agreeing with me that it was a waste of time, or saying they’d probably be there soon, you chose to share a truth that no one else in the entire crew knew about him,” you question, but you’re not really looking for a reply. This is clearly your way of showing him how well you have him figured out. “That’s how I know you’ve never lied to me. Because even when you’ve had the chance to do it in the most innocent of ways, you still haven’t.”

   He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he returns to your original inquiry.

   “Sonriente means smile, or in this case, Smiley. It is how I think of you.”

   Nervously, he reaches into the left front pocket of his jeans, where he locates the little clear plastic-wrapped package of smiley magnets, which he then hands to you.    You take it, immediately realizing what it is, and while not a word spills across your lips, he knows without question that you love them. You rip the package open while mildly squealing with excitement, and immediately start to arrange the little faces on your refrigerator door, giggling to yourself as you come up with funny combinations of expressions.

   “Thank you! For the magnets and the nickname. I love them,” you giddily declare after stepping back to admire the now much happier-looking fridge.

   He nods in recognition of your thanks, feeling less nervous about whether you’ll like the little teddy bear, which he intends to give you at the end of the night.    But for now, he just keeps working on the empanadas. The dough is rolled, and he’s begun cutting it into pieces, and the eggs are done just when he’s about to start flattening the pieces into round little plates.

   “Something I’ve always wondered,” you start after waiting for him to discard the boiling water and return to the dough, “is why you never help anyone, unless they ask?”

   “Why would I assume they want my help, unless they ask?” he counters, to which you cock your head to the side with a sceptical frown.

   “When Eric accidentally crushed his foot right next to you, I’m pretty sure he would’ve appreciated a bit of assistance…”

   “Oh no, that was very intentional.”

   You obviously weren’t expecting that, so you’ve probably never heard about this particular operator’s lesser qualities.

   “What do you mean?”

   “Eric is a bully. He is scared of women, though, so you never became a target, but many of the younger crew were constantly heckled and ridiculed by him whenever he was alone with them. I was one of the few who noticed this, and I tried to get management involved, but I had no proof, and the victims of his abuse never spoke up themselves.    So, when I finally got fed up with it, I made sure he would not be able to work with us anymore.”

   “Wait, I’m confused. Are you saying that you caused his injury?”

   “Yes.”

   This is all news to you, and he can see how you’re trying to absorb it all while re-framing the memories inside your mind into such a different and surprising perspective.

   “But he was operating the press himself when it happened, so how did you…” you trail off, probably unsure of how to even phrase it, now that you’re no longer certain of anything regarding the situation in question.

   “The reason I was standing next to him was because I was working on the computer for that machine, so I created a temporary error, causing the press to glitch. And when he kicked it, which I knew he would because that is the kind of man he is, I reset it, and it fired up again.”

   Your jaw drops for a second, but there’s still a smile in your eyes, so even though this might be a bit disturbing for you to learn, you’re not put off by it, at least.

   “You are diabolical. And very clever, since you’re the one who does the diagnostics on those machines, which means you can hide your tracks,” you conclude after closing your mouth. “And I have no idea why this turns me on a little.”

   Now it’s Pero’s turn to be surprised and mildly confused, and he quickly turns all his attention back to the food. But he can’t help but smile with pride, despite the slight awkwardness.    He can’t deny that he does very much hope he’ll be able to turn you on more than just a little, in the future. Not tonight, though.

   “Come on, you can help me with this last step,” he offers, because the silence is too fucking loud, and he indicates the finished flattened pieces of dough which are ready to be filled and shaped into the final product.

   You’ve always been good at taking instructions, so once he’s showed you the correct technique, you pick it up and immediately start generating perfect little empanadas.    They need to sit in the oven for about twenty minutes, so in the meantime, you both clean up the kitchen and then you give him a small tour of your apartment.

   “It is bigger than I thought at first,” he observes after you’ve shown him your guest bedroom and the very large balcony which is accessible from both your master bedroom and the living room.

   “Yeah. I don’t really need the extra space, but I like to have it, and since the inheritance I got from my folks allows me to afford it, I figured I could give myself that.    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not rich, or anything. If I’d inherited that much, I would’ve bought a house.    But I set it up so that the bank releases a certain sum every month, designed to last for the rest of my life, so that even if something happened like I lost my job or got injured, I’d still have enough to survive on.    I wouldn’t be able to live here anymore, obviously, but I’d survive.”

   He has wondered how you can afford a place in the city on the same salary as him. Granted, he’s chosen to live pretty far out into the suburbs because the apartments out there have the same great quality as these city ones, at a fraction of the cost, which allows him to save a lot of money and still live comfortably.    But if you have the means, of course you should live where you wish, and these buildings are expensive because of their security rating as well as their top quality, which he approves of for you.

   “This is a very smart set-up,” he hums approvingly. “You must stop calling me clever when you are clearly the brighter of us two.”

   “Hey, I might’ve made some good decisions in my life, but you thought up the MAP. You built it… There is no comparison to be made.”

   “It is only a machine.”

   “A pretty darn impressive one.”

   “But still only a thing. When it comes to people… socializing, expressing myself, emotions… I am an idiot.”

   “Maybe, but not with me,” you counter, and he has no reply for that, because it’s true. “Anyway, it’s not that smart of a decision when I also waste the extra money on space I don’t need, rather than save it up.”

   “If this is how you wish to live, then there is no fault to your logic.”

   “Yeah, I guess. To tell you the truth, I’ve always dreamed of having a house, but I just don’t wanna live alone in one. An apartment somehow seems less empty even when it’s just me.”

   He understands that feeling, and he can appreciate how a single woman, in particular, might find it reassuring to have other people around.    For a split second, he imagines a future where you could have your dream house and not live alone, but it’s an image he doesn’t dare to linger on or allow to take footing in his mind, because even if it is a remote possibility, the present is what matters if he wishes to reach the future he glimpses.

   The food is finished just as your little tour comes to an end, so Pero takes the tray out of the oven and then you set the table while it cools a little. It makes the entire kitchen smell amazing, so you have high hopes for how good it’ll taste.

   “So, I might be revealing my total ignorance of foreign foods here, but I thought empanadas was usually like a starter, or a snack, not a full meal,” you ponder, thinking back on the few times you’ve come across them on a menu or heard someone talking about the dish.

   “It depends on the country and the recipe. When I was growing up, it was our equivalent to a Sunday roast. My mother would always make them on Sundays, and she made them large enough that two or three was a full meal.    Other families I knew only made the smaller versions, eating them as evening snacks while playing games or watching tv,” he kindly explains without giving any indication that he’s disappointed in your lack of cultural awareness.

   “We never did the Sunday roast thing in my family,” you offer in return. “Mostly because dad was away so much, and mom wasn’t actually that interested in cooking, so she’d stick to simpler and quicker meals if there wasn’t a celebration or other occasion where we might want something more elaborate.”

   “Did your father enjoy cooking, then?”

   “He loved it. Some of my fondest memories with him are the two of us out by the grill in the backyard, with him showing me how to prepare and cook different meats and fish and veggies.    For someone with such a serious job and so much pressure to live up to, he was extraordinarily good at just stopping to enjoy the simplest moments with his family. He was always relaxed and happy when he was home.”

   Pero seems to think on that while he finishes preparing the meal, so you wait to say anything more until you know whether he’s going to. And sure enough, a minute later, he rights himself up, leans his hip against the counter and looks at you with a curious but also knowing kind of gaze.

   “This is why you are so comfortable in a male workplace. Because your father taught you that real men are not cruel or unkind without cause, so when you have met this behaviour in your life, you have not tolerated it.    I have seen this strength in you many times, and I know it is the reason why the crew respects you. They can sense, even before they know you, that while they can certainly scare you, they can never manipulate you.”

   He says it so simply. As if it doesn’t even occur to him that this could be the most profound thing anyone’s ever said to you.    Emotions deeper than you’re able to recognize in the moment, are making your chest ache and bringing tears to your eyes, but it’s a strangely wonderful feeling.    And then he smiles, just a little, and says the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

   “Your father lives in you in this way. Protects you, even from the grave, with the certainty he put inside your heart, that you are worth a man’s time and his respect.”

   The tears in your eyes spill over onto your cheeks, but when you smile back at him and start moving towards him because you want a hug, he surprises you by shifting his weight back, away from you.    You stop, suddenly feeling a sour pit begin to form in your stomach where the overwhelming gratitude was just swelling so warmly, with the abrupt expectation of something bad.

   “But…” he begins, and then looks away, back down at the plate of delicious food waiting to be enjoyed, and the look on his face is something you’ve seen before, but never thought you’d ever see on this man. “I don’t know if I can claim to be worthy of such a woman.”

   The feeling in your gut disappears when the warmth returns, and you take a soothing breath before finishing the motion you started before, closing the distance between you even though you can see him make another attempt to deter you.    He crosses his arms over his waist to limit how close you can get, so you settle for putting your hands on his cheeks instead, which prompts him to meet your eyes again.

   Unworthiness is a feeling you know painfully well, both from personal experience, and from how often you’ve seen it in people around you. It lies and contorts a person’s view of themselves until it becomes this unbreakable truth, built on nothing but the fear of not being enough, and yet so powerful it can make one turn away from the most wonderful and positive opportunities that might ever come your way.    All because of a single thought. Because that’s how it always begins. Just one moment in which you aren’t your best self, and someone happens to notice it, and suddenly it becomes a pillar of your existence, as real and significant as those biggest core memories which build your individuality from childhood.

   “If my father was here, he would be the first to tell you that it doesn’t matter what you’ve done before you met me, because worth isn’t measured by tallying up how much good you’ve done versus how much evil.    Worth is a gift that other people give you.”

   He almost flinches with how hard that hits him, and you can see how the words play on repeat in his head in the moments of silence you let him have before you hit him with the next volley.

   “You are worthy of me if I choose you. It really is that simple, Pero. And if you need proof, just go pet a dog. Because I can promise you no dog chooses to love or trust you due to some secret ability they have to detect if you’ve got more than fifty percent goodness in you.    And I’m no different, so if you want to feel worthy of me, just keep making me feel safe and cared for, because that’s all it takes for me to decide that you are.    Do you hear me?”

   You keep holding his face, waiting for him to either brush you off or accept what you’re telling him, but even before you’ve stopped talking, you can see in his eyes how deeply he wants to believe every word.    And sure enough, not two seconds later, he uncrosses his arms and wraps them around your waist instead. He holds you gently at first, but when you lean into the hug and squeeze his shoulders, his grip becomes so firm that even a deep breath is out of the question.

   “I got it wrong,” he whispers into your neck. “I should call you Asombro.”

   “Okay. Why?”

   “It means amazement and wonder, and I know of no human being who makes me feel such things like you do.”

   By the time you’ve sat down to dig into the meal, the empanadas are at perfect eating temperature, slightly cool on the outside while the pino is still nice and hot.    He watches you closely when you take your first bite, because your reactions are always honest, so he will see it if you don’t like them, you won’t be able to hide it.    But his worry is unfounded. Your immediate reaction is to close your eyes and actually moan with delight, taking the next bite before the first one is even close to chewed.

   You notice him watching you and a small laugh makes you hunch forwards and dip your chin a bit, so he can’t quite see your face. There’s too much food in your mouth for you to be able to speak and explain why, although he guesses it’s because you’re embarrassed about the sounds you just made. You don’t need to be, though, since he finds them only endearing.    There’s a big grin on his face as he quietly observes, incredibly pleased to have created something you enjoy, not just because he likes to see you happy, but because he’s never cooked for anyone before, and he was genuinely nervous about it.    This is the one recipe his mother taught him and he still has no idea why, after so many years lost to violence and rage, he remembers it so clearly.

   “Oh, Pero… this is so good!” you finally mumble, because you won’t stop stuffing your face with the food, and he can’t help but laugh heartily with the thrilling warmth that spreads through him at the scene.

   “I can see that. I am very happy you like it,” he muses, but it makes you pause, stopping your chewing to just stare at him, which in turn makes him unsure. “Is something wrong?”

   “No, I just…” You keep looking at him with this peculiar expression he can’t place, but it’s still a happy one. “I’ve never heard you laugh before. I mean, I’ve heard a few chuckles from you recently, which was shocking enough, but that was a real laugh just now.”

   He doesn’t spend much time reflecting on how often he smiles or laughs, but he does know it’s not a frequent occurrence by any measure.    Your reaction seems a tad excessive, though, since you should’ve learned by now that all bets are off whenever you’re involved.

   “I have told you before, Sonriente, your joy is infectious, it is beyond my control.”

   “Oh, really? Then how come you’re still fully able to control it at work?” you challenge with a confidently raised brow, surely thinking he won’t have a good comeback for this.

   “Because you are still the only one who gets to see this other side of me,” he smirks in response, to which you proudly square your shoulders, clearly happy to claim the privilege despite having your challenge bested.

   But his confidence falters somewhat as he thinks back to this afternoon and how he’d been nervous enough to ask a cashier for advice. And then his thoughts travel back further, to the sister factory, and how he’d all but lost his fucking head when going at those three assholes. Then every moment he’d spent after that, almost unknowingly checking where you were every few minutes, not to mention last night and the sudden inability to sleep well without you, and he can’t deny that things have changed rather drastically lately.

   “Although, I will confess… since that morning in the hotel room, I have had a much harder time controlling my emotions around you,” he quietly admits, feeling no shame, but a great deal more vulnerable than usual. “You might not see it on me, but there is a reason I still avoid getting too close to you around the crew.”

   “I did wonder at lunch today. But I figured you were just sticking to your routines.”

   “No. I wanted very much to sit with you.”

   “Then why didn’t you?”

   “Because I want it too much. More than I am ready for,” he tries, mentally kicking himself for not being able to explain it better. “Do you understand?”

   “I think so… You worry that if you just cave to all these strong feelings you’re not used to having, you won’t know how to control yourself?” you surmise, and again, he wants to kick himself because he should’ve been able to say this.

   “Yes, exactly,” he agrees, adding a nod of approval just to emphasize how much better you are at finding the right words to describe what’s going on in his head.

   “Well, thank you for thinking like that.” Your quiet voice surprises him enough that he pauses the bite he was just about to take. Because this is the sad kind of quiet. The kind he thinks you’re not even aware reveals all the pains inside you. “Most men don’t take much responsibility for their emotions, much less actively work on controlling themselves.”

   He hears the echo of conflicts from your past in those words, which is not unexpected, he’s seen enough traces of defensive behaviour in you to have known for some time that you’ve had bad experiences.    What is unexpected is how much it suddenly affects him to see it. How much he wants to ask you to name anyone who’s ever hurt you so that he can track them down.    Reminding himself that this is a first date and you’ve both already shared darker parts of yourselves, he instead settles for offering the most significant bit of wisdom he’s gained from the trials of his youth.

   “One thing I learned growing up among evil men, is that when all you pour into the world around you is anger and fear, this is also what comes back at you. You cannot expect to be met with kindness and generosity if you scream at people or beat them.”

   “Does that mean the reason why you’ve always kept away from everyone is that you wanted them to stay away from you?” you ask without even a second’s delay, as if you already had the question locked and loaded. “Because I assumed it was because you just don’t like anyone.”

   “No, you are correct, I dislike most people, and this is the reason I wish for them to stay away from me.”

   “Ah. Especially with your lack of control over your emotions and all that. Could get very messy.”

   “See? You get it,” he winks, and you smile back before delving into more of the empanadas.

   Neither of you speak for a minute then, allowing the good food to have undivided attention and satisfying your stomachs.

   “So, at the risk of biting myself in the ass here,” you start after finishing your fourth piece of stuffed pastry, “what is it about me that’s different? Why do you like me? Because I refuse to believe it’s as simple as you being affected by my smile.”

   He ponders on this for a bit, trying to decide if he should name the things about you which he just casually likes, like the way you’re always so honest, or the direct way you deal with things that bother you, like confronting those who talk shit about you behind your back. Or maybe the grace and dignity with which you’ve endured his unfriendly and probably often frightening behaviour for the past year.    But those are all largely superficial things. They’re not the real reason for his evolving and blossoming affection, and the problem is, he doesn’t know what that real reason is.

   “If I told you the number of hours I have spent wondering this myself… I wish I had a good answer for you, and for myself, but alas, I have not yet found it,” he finally admits, and is relieved to see you still smiling despite what must be a disappointing outcome.

   “Will you promise to let me know if you do?” is all you ask in return, and since he can’t wait to find out this answer for himself, it’s only fair you get to know it as well.

   “Yes. I promise.”

   Full and happy after that amazing meal, which was actually perfectly spicy in your opinion, the couch seems like the natural option for the next portion of the evening. So, once the dishes are squared away and the ice cream is just soft enough, you dig into the squishy pillows and blankets with your little bowl, while Pero takes a seat like a normal person, at the other end of the spacious two-seater.    Again, you’re a little bummed that he didn’t opt to sit closer to you, but since he’s explained why, you decide not to press the issue.

   “Wanna watch something?” you ask, before realizing you have no clue if he even likes movies, since the topics of this date have been very intimate and not at all light-hearted for the most part.

   “Sure.”

   “Okay. Anything in particular you prefer?”

   “Not really. I will watch almost anything, so you pick.”

   Oh, great. That’s not stressful at all, you just have to try and find something that won’t put him to sleep, potentially trigger his childhood trauma, or make him think you’re a total weirdo… Simple.    You scroll through one of your streaming services, eliminating genres like gangster films, period dramas and horror, followed by teen movies, steamy romance and anime, until you finally decide on adventure, because who doesn’t like a little adventure.    E.T is among the first films to come up once you’ve gone into the genre specific menu, and you haven’t seen it in at least ten years, so that’s your pick.

   “Have you seen it before?” you ask while the opening credits begin to roll.

   “Of course, I have seen all the classics, and all the 80’s and 90’s action movies. They were the best, in my opinion.”

   “I mean, you can’t really beat The Rock, The Long Kiss Goodnight, or Screamers. Not to mention RoboCop, Top Gun and Tremors.”

   “Yes, Tremors is one of my favourites,” he agrees with a grin, and you’re pleasantly surprised by his choice, since you consider it the best B-movie ever made. "I also like The Goonies, Karate Kid and Indiana Jones.”

   Since you’ve both seen E.T before, you’re okay with chatting quietly during the film, talking about your favourite cinema experiences and movies that made lasting impressions on you.    It’s a very comfortable kind of conversation, naturally paused by the more dramatic scenes before you, and then casually picked back up. It feels cozy, simple and safe, which is probably why you begin to almost doze off about two thirds into the movie, which Pero notices.

   “Perhaps we should call it a night,” he suggests, in a warm, also quite drowsy voice. “We do have to work tomorrow morning.”

   “We’ve worked for almost two weeks straight already, they really should give us Thursday and Friday off,” you sleepily mumble, mildly annoyed at the idea of having to end such a lovely evening.

   “Yes, they should. But they prefer to throw money at us rather than lose workforce, since that impacts productivity, especially when our shift has already gone understaffed for ten days.”

   “But that’s not our fault…”

   “No. It is just how the corporate world thinks.”

   He gets up and grabs both of the empty ice cream bowls, bringing them to the kitchen on his way to the front hall, even putting them into the dishwasher before he reaches for his leather jacket, while you simply follow him to say goodnight.    But before he slips the jacket on, he digs around in it for a moment, which you assume is just a hunt for his keys. Until he pulls a small flat box out of it and hands it to you.

   “What?” You stare at the little blue square with the familiar emblem, once more wondering if this man is even real. “This is my favourite brand of chocolate…” you point out, meeting his eyes with incredulity once more. “How do you know?”

   “I listen,” he shrugs. But when he speaks again, his tone suggests there’s uncertainty underneath the apparent comfort. “Especially when you speak.”

   It makes you smile, knowing that he’s been quietly absorbing all this information about you, not to use against you, but simply because he found it interesting enough to warrant his attention.    He slips the jacket on and moves on to his shoes, and once they’re in place, he stands before you in your hall, ready to leave. But he lingers, and there’s a restless kind of awkwardness to him, making you wonder if he’s pondering on the traditional first-date kiss.    You wouldn’t mind if he does want to go for it, but you’re not gonna try and persuade him either way. If there’s one thing this evening has taught you, it’s that this man is much more sensitive and fragile than his public behaviour would have you think.

   “I would like to do this again…” he finally says, earning another smile from you, which seems to put him at ease, “if you would not mind.”

   “I’d like that very much.”

   The grin that adorns his face is one of pure joy, and then he nervously turns to leave, reaching for the doorhandle and stepping out into the stairwell. But then he turns back a little too fast, startling you as you’re following him to close the door behind him.

   “Oh, sorry.”

   “That’s okay,” you reassure him, although you are wondering why he still seems nervous. “Was there something else?”

   “No. No, not really. I just… well… Listen, I spent way too much time in the store today, and it was not my intention to get you all these gifts, but I was nervous about tonight and what you might expect, and I wanted to make sure you would be happy. But now it all seems a bit silly…” he bumblingly explains, all of which sounds only endearing to you.

   But before you can tell him that, he continues.

   “Still, there is one more thing I must give you, and it is perhaps the silliest of all, and if it is you may say so. I am fully aware that you are a grown woman and not a child, it just looked cute, and I thought… heck, I don’t know what I thought.    But here…”

   From behind his back, he somehow produces the most adorable little grey teddy-bear with a bright red heart sewn onto its butt cheek, and aside from the question of where the hell he’s been hiding this thing all night, all you can think is that you’ve never been more happy to be proven wrong about someone in your entire life.    You take the gift with a squeal that morphs into an aww-sound by the time you’ve brought the teddy to your chest, where you hug him close while bouncing slightly on your toes.

   “He is not silly, he’s perfect! I love him, thank you so much! If being a grown woman means having to give up on teddy-bears then I don’t ever wanna grow up,” you assure him, pleased to see his uncertainty give way to comfort.

   “You’re welcome, Asombro,” he grins, looking stupidly happy now. “Thank you for tonight. Perhaps next time you will let me take you out on a bike ride?”

   “Yeah, I’d love that. The weather’s gonna be good this weekend, so maybe Saturday?” you hopefully suggest, and his smile seems to spread from his face all the way through his entire body.

   “I cannot wait. Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.”

   “You too. Goodnight, Pero.”

   He leaves down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator, and you close the door, locking yourself in as always, already certain you won’t be able to sleep much tonight because there’s just too much to think about.    But you wonder how in the world you’re gonna go to work tomorrow and pretend like he hasn’t just given you the best date of your life. Because you know he’s still gonna act like there’s nothing special between you in front of your colleagues, and since you know it’s only because of his desire to keep people’s noses out of his business, you’re okay with that.    You simply have no clue how you’re gonna keep yourself in a purely professional state of mind around him.

   Chuckling to yourself at the thought that you’re definitely falling for him now, and it’s making you think and probably behave like a teenager again, you blow out the lovely candle he gave you, take one more whiff of the bouquet of flowers next to it, turn the tv off and leave the little box of chocolates on the coffee table, and then you head straight for bed, still holding the teddy to your chest.    No matter what, tomorrow’s gonna be a good day, because you’ll get to see him again. And the most wonderful thing of all is that that’s a thought you never would’ve dreamed of having two weeks ago.    What a difference a day makes.

Thank you for giving this story a chance, and please don't hesitate to shout at me about it if you want! 🥰

@pedrostories @harriedandharassed @i-say-choco-you-say-ice-cream

[sirowsky]

The main character of the last TV show you watched is now your therapist. How’s it working for you?

[sirowsky]

@jessthebaker Thank you so much! 🥰❤️

The Old Prince

Part 14 - The Sacrifice

Author's Note: I can't believe it's over! But I love it so much and I'm really happy with this ending. As always, I'm happy to continue the story if anyone has any specific requests for something to be further explored, but if not, this will be our last few moments with these two. Thank you to everyone who's read and interacted with this story!

Description: None for this chapter, and no warnings either, to avoid spoilers. But it's an ending, so expect feels!

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Word Count: 2600 Author's Masterlist

   Lose yourself.    Don’t be afraid of what comes after, this moment is all that matters. Don’t try to control the light, it’ll go where it needs to go.    Find him. Find everything you ever felt about him, good or bad, and live with him again. In one second, you can relive it all, you can have him back.    Lose yourself in him.

   The light will go where it needs to go…

   “You are quite amazing, my dear.”

   Suddenly you’re back there, with him, in his room shortly before your first time making love to one another. He looks at you with those brown eyes, softened with compassion but also hardened by time, and so humbled by your feelings for him.    Your chest burns, but it isn’t with pain. Tears fall freely down your cheeks, staining your clothes, and he looks terribly concerned.

   “Are you alright?” he asks, tightening his embrace around you while he works to understand your reaction. “If you have any doubts about me, or us…”

   He trails off as your face breaks into a smile and you shake your head, trying not to laugh with the flood of joy which surges through you at the sight of him, so real before you again.

   “You do know… I am yours, don’t you?” he ponders, and somehow, you can tell he begins to understand.

   In his eyes you see a quiet but intense search for answers, although it’s like he knows he’ll find them in there even if you don’t say anything. He knows you’ve been to places and seen things beyond his comprehension, and so all he really discovers is, he’s fine with it.    Because he can tell that whatever’s happened to you, he was there with you. Because you love him more than he had ever dared believe possible.

   “You know better than I do,” he whispers, and tears begin to fill his eyes as well.

   He hasn’t lived your reality, this is just a memory, but even so, he knows how deeply you’re connected. And he sees how desperately you need him.    You let your head fall against his shoulder and sob in both grief and happiness.    He feels exactly the same. He smells exactly the same. Because this is how you remember him. And when his hand comes to rest against the back of your head, and he leans his cheek against your temple, all your feelings are blown away, replaced by the unparalleled harmony of knowing… you’re home.

--=¤=--

   Simon never reaches her, held back by the sheer mass of light produced as she surrenders to her spirit and Lux emerges in her place.    It has no form. It’s just a ball of light, so bright that no one can look at it, so strong that nothing can touch it.    The light reaches around the entire globe, for just a second, but it’s enough. All spirits are brought out of their darkened shells, and all creatures made of evil are turned to dust, save the creator himself.

   Then it’s gone. The light fades as suddenly as it appeared, no more than a flash to those who experience it, but at the same time an infinite moment.

   The owl knows what must be done. She still remembers the woman’s words, just as she knows in her heart that the Darkling will rebuild his army if he is not destroyed.    So, she calls to her sisters, calls for them to fight in the name of Freedom.    The beast has recovered from the light by the time they reach him, and he fights back with a fury to rival his losses.

--=¤=--

   On Faial, Andreia drops the stack of brochures she’s carrying to the front desk of the Volcano Interpretation Center, as she feels something leave her. She turns to the west, knowing what was lost was somewhere over there, just as a brightness which somehow comes into the room despite it being underground, forces her to close her eyes.    And when it’s passed, an emptiness follows.

   For years, she hasn’t felt sorrow or fear, blissfully unaware that the strange positivity, which was given to her by another, was only borrowed.    She slumps beside the desk and cries deeper than she ever has before. So lost in this overpowering grief, who’s origin she doesn’t even know, that she cannot tell how every other person in the building does the same.

   Nor does she know her sister, Daniela, is doing the same, thousands of miles away at the bottom of the world.    She doesn’t realize everything living now grieves the loss of this one person, connected to everything in her efforts to keep them alive. This one person who has affected the lives of literally everyone.

   But they will no longer remember her.

   What they truly grieve is the loss of the hope she brought into the world, not the woman herself. She was a mystery, and one not meant for everyone.    Each human is meant to find their own hope, however difficult it might be. That is the journey all living things must be willing to take, or they will never truly live.

--=¤=--

   He regains more strength with every second the battle rages on, pulling new evils out of the ground to protect himself as the spirits combat him across the continent.    They no longer recall the events which brought them here, only that their purpose is to end the darkness. It takes them nearly five days and a winding path which ends at Niagara Falls, but throughout all of this, they never falter.

   Two of them on each of his limbs is what it takes to hold him, while Scarabaeus crawls inside his chest through one of the cracks in his skin and continues into his heart.    When it explodes, the human male whom the dark one had been born into, reemerges for a little while. He is young and frightened. Someone haunts his thoughts while the pain ravages through his body, which is slowly being destroyed and sucked into the earth to be reborn in the future, as the cycle of light and dark continues.

   As a boy, this man suffered unspeakable things, taught to endure hatred and malice until he became dependent upon them. And so, when his torturer died, his world was upended, and the Darkling was unleashed.    Not born of anger or despair, but of the sudden absence of the pain this child had become so accustomed to. It was freedom which hurt him the most, and because of this, his monster was unlike all those before him.

   The Nine leave only when they’re certain his evil has been purged from the world, evident not just by the fading of the unnatural cloud but by how they can once more help the land to grow, returning it to its former vibrance within a few months.    Sadly, the animals and people who are lost can never be restored, but new ones will find their way here in time.

   Before she leaves this new land, Caelum lingers perched at the top of a spruce.    For a moment, she feels sad. But there is no longer anything to be sad about. Still, the feeling lingers, and she remains there, looking out over seven hills in the distance.    Somehow, she feels as though they have voices, speaking to her in a language she cannot interpret.

   But when she spreads her wings and flies over them, a melody seems to carry to her on the wind.    Something sad, but also hopeful.

--=¤=--

   You’re not sure what brought you into town today. You don’t have an errand or appointment or anything you need to do, so far as you can recall. But you have this strong sense that you’re missing something.    Like when you’ve forgotten something just as you’re about to leave the house, but you can’t figure out what it is, so you end up leaving and then halfway to work you realize that it was your fucking phone.

   It’s a small town in Sweden, quiet and calm, but not stale. You’ve lived here all your life, but in the woods twenty miles outside of the city center. And you’re an orphan, so you don’t have any family.    As a kid, going into town had always meant disappointment. Because you’d wanted to go to the movies or buy that dress which you’d been dreaming about for months after you’d seen it in a window once, or have the best ice-cream in town, or go to a restaurant for dinner.

   But your adoptive mother had been poor, only going into town for groceries, having to take you along since she lived alone, but unable to let you have any of the things you wished for.    She’d been a very kind woman, though, and you’d grown to love her as a mother before her unfortunate passing, shortly after you’d turned nineteen.    Sadly, the town has remained a negative to you ever since. You only go there for groceries or the occasional upgrade to your wardrobe, and each time it always feels like a chore, never anything you do just for the fun of it.

   Frustrated that you can’t work out what’s nagging at you, or why you think you’re gonna find it in the middle of the little city center, you take a seat on a bench in the main square, crossing your arms and legs and preparing to wait for exactly five minutes. If you haven’t thought of what it is by then, you’re going home.    Honestly, you feel incredibly stupid even sticking around for one minute. You don’t have any reason to be here.

   People are walking by, some rushing to get something done on their lunch break, others just moseying along without a rushed bone in them, but all of them with a purpose.    An elderly gentleman with a walker, and at least one gammy hip, sits down on the other side of the square, looking up and down main street, clearly waiting for someone.    He looks nice, but tired. His clothes are clean and very proper. He makes a point of not sitting too close to anyone else, so his walker won’t get in their way. He’s used to leaving space next to him for someone. A partner.

   When the people he’s waiting for turn up, it’s his grandchildren, and he lights up like a star in the sky.    But he’s not quite well. You can tell by… well, you’re not sure what exactly. You just know he’s not healthy. Probably fighting an infection of some sort.    Wait… How would you know that? How would you know anything at all about this man?

   This has happened before and it rattles you just as much each time, so you get up to leave, only then realizing it’s been twenty minutes since you sat down already, and you scoff at yourself as you quickly turn to your right, heading around the side of the bench you’ve been sitting on, to cut across a small patch of grass on your way to where you parked your car.    But you’ve only managed to get up and turn when you suddenly hit a wall.

   “Oof…” you breathe in surprise, just as you realize that you’ve actually collided with a person. A very broad and sturdy person.

   “My apologies, miss,” he politely says while he takes your right hand to keep you from losing your balance. “I’m afraid I have a habit of moving quietly.”

   He meets your eyes for a long moment and with each passing second, your insides turn warmer and strangely, you’re both pained and terribly relieved. As if you’ve missed him and never known it until now. As if you’ve been cut in half all your life, and his mere presence has made you whole.    And even more strangely, he feels the same. You can see it.    You know this man. His pain and his fears, but also his love.

   “…my Oberyn,” you whisper, having no idea where it comes from, half expecting him to start questioning your sanity.

   But instead, tears fill his eyes, and his hand tightens around yours as he pulls you closer.

   “Yes,” he answers, just as quietly, his voice strangled by strong emotions. “Yes, I am yours.”

   You will never come to recall anything from your previous life. Not the spirits or the dark one or even the dragon. Nor will you ever know why you and Oberyn had been granted the gift of rebirth as ordinary humans after the war.    In fact, no one knows the answer to that one.    Perhaps the Earth itself took pity on you both, after witnessing your sacrifice. Or maybe it was you, somehow realizing how to save your souls in those final moments of your life.

   But however it was accomplished, you will always know in your heart to cherish the man you fell in love with at first glance. You’ll always remember that he is the reason you’re alive, simply because without him, you’re incomplete.    The two of you are younger when you first meet this time around, and somehow you both know to cherish every day together, filling your lives with laughter and love, not ever worrying about what lies behind or ahead of you.

   Illnesses and accidents somehow pass your family by, as if some unseen guardian watches over you. And sometimes, late at night when the skies are the darkest and there’s no moon, there are moments when you could swear you see something gliding through the air on barely visible wings, and a pair of pale blue eyes looking at you.    Other times, sunlight tricks you into thinking there’s something in the corner of your eye, like green leaves seemingly moving on their own, or the flickering wings of an impossibly large butterfly. You’ve even heard the proud snorts and heavy hooves of a horse a few times, only to always look up and find nothing there.

   It happens rarely, not even once a year, but enough that with time, you begin to sense a familiarity with these things. An understanding that it isn’t just happening in your head. That some small part of you is connected to something bigger.    But you don’t care.    What matters to you is that your life is everything you want it to be. The rest is just white noise in the periphery.

   Your mother used to say that happiness is a choice, and that the mistake most people make is in thinking you only have to make it once, when in truth, you have to make it all the time. At every junction, crossroad, turn, and dip. You must choose to be happy, at every opportunity given, it’s not just gonna come to you automatically.    But she would always add that the very best way to live a happy life, is to find someone who makes the choice easier. Someone who makes your heart so light that you come to the right decision by simply existing in their presence.

   Most days, you feel like it was Oberyn who found you, though, not the other way around. You feel like he’ll always find you, no matter what happens.    Sometimes, you’re even absolutely certain that he found you eons ago, before the world had even become this world yet. That your paths are somehow linked by the cosmos itself. And every time this feeling hits you, it rings so true in your heart it makes you cry.    Then it passes, and you feel silly.

   But then again…

   What if…?

-=THE END=-

Thank you for taking this journey with me!

@harriedandharassed @kittenlittle24 @joelswritingmistress @pedrostories

[sirowsky]

Congratulations! 🎊👏🫶

And thank you @insomniamamma for the recommendation, I'm incredibly humbled 💚

congratulations on 100 followers!

I have some fic recs for you!

Seven Tears is a wonderfully magical Selkie!Ezra AU by @grogusmum

The Last Demon by @sirowsky is an absolute masterclass in world building.

A Girl Walks Into A Bookshop by @oonajaeadira is one of my favorite ever Ezra series. This fic is like getting wrapped up in a warm blanket fresh from the dryer.

AAAAA thank you 💗🫶🏼 it’s a big feat and couldn’t have done it without all of you!

Oooo thank you for including the links J! Everyone please check out these series by @grogusmum @sirowsky @oonajaeadira

I love a good Ezra from prospect fanfic so I will definitely be checking this out 🫶🏼

Thank you again for the ask really appreciate it!!

[sirowsky]

@jessthebaker This is possibly the nicest comment on my writing I've ever been graced with, and therefore, I have no adequate reply. Just thank you, so so much ❤️❤️❤️

The Old Prince

Part 10

Author's Note: I had hoped to post this on Friday, but a pesky work-weekend got in the way. Also, this was one of those chapters that never wanted to end! Which is why it's easily the biggest one yet.

Description: Your confrontation with Simon reveals some very big obstacles. (Sorry, it's a bit short, I don't wanna spoil anything.)

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses. Smut. And a kinda weird situation occurring in relation to the smut. Word Count: 9862 Author's Masterlist

   He reacts to the name as if he too remembers it, and somewhere deep within him, a rumbling which could rival even the toughest thunder starts to build.    It’s so immense that the very air vibrates with it, and when he opens his jaws to release it, you can hardly believe what you’re seeing when actual lightning accompanies the flame of magmatic intensity, destroying trees and unnatural creatures alike everywhere it goes.

   Then, just as your hope rekindles with the apparent shift of odds into your favor, the dying flames reveal that the spirits have finally arrived. But the reason for their tardiness becomes painfully obvious when you realize they’ve all been corrupted.    No longer the lightly glowing figures of mystical energies, they now appear to be solid, straining under their own weight, looking as though something’s tried to rip them apart, leaving strangely thick black smoke pluming out of their open wounds.

   Positioning themselves in a circle around the two of you, their new master commands them to destroy, and as if they’ve become puppets on strings, they obey without hesitation.    The polar bear, Ursa, is supposed to be able to freeze things at will, but her powers have also been mutated, so when she tries to create frozen spikes, like spears out of the ground, what happens instead is that she cleaves the ground, creating massive crevasses from which more roots and evil beings spring.

   Lupus normally channels the power of the earth to make things grow, and she still does, except there’s only darkness to feed. Only the destructive and malicious beings brought to life by the Darkling are aided by her efforts, doubling in size in mere seconds.    Meanwhile, Caelum is generating multiple twisters where she would ordinarily only manage to spark sudden microbursts for a few minutes at a time. The butterfly is somehow creating toxic spores where she would usually just be able to pollinate anything that grows.

   How Octopus is managing on land you have no idea, but she’s covering everything she touches with some kind of corrosive grey slime, which is especially bad considering the area she can affect with her size and the reach of her tentacles.    The bat’s normal power is giving sight to those who wander in the dark, but she’s now creating clouds made of soot, removing all visibility wherever she flies. Although she’s struggling so badly against the forces of gravity, usually not able to affect her much at all, that she’s barely able to get off the ground.

   Scarabaeus is supposed to be able to move through any solid structures, but her corrupted form is instead incapable of remaining solid at all, changing from liquid to gaseous form at random, which also has the very disturbing effect of leaving anything she passes through, completely disemboweled.    As for the deer, Cervus, who’s original power is the absorption of both energy and matter, she seems to be in a state of continuous implosion, like a star perpetually about to collapse, sucking everything into its core to be crushed.

   In your human form, you’ve never met the spirit of summer before, although you do know her from your other life. She’s easily the largest of the land-living spirits, rivalling Oberyn’s green dragon, although her current mass is much more concentrated than his was.    Also, she wouldn’t normally have much mass at all. But tonight, her might has been transformed from a benign gigantic horse, capable of bringing warmth even to the coldest of places, into a burning demon, seemingly made of oil.

   They attack without any coordination, or pre-determined plan of any kind, it seems, coming at Tyrannus from all angles at once. His size puts them at a disadvantage since only the flying ones can reach further up his body than his legs, but they’re unfortunately also highly tolerant to his flame, even with the lightning.    His scales are thick, though, shielding him from their mutated powers, leaving him mostly concerned with keeping you out of their reach.

   You know that even Lux has never witnessed all the spirits succumb to the dark one’s power before, because it’s never been allowed to get this far. But Simon’s clever deceit must’ve blinded them until it was already too late. Which begs the question:    Why are you not turning dark as well?    If the Darkling can have such a crippling effect on all the others, how is it you’re not feeling so much as a tingle in your fingertips?

   It could be your connection to Oberyn, since love is still more powerful than anything, but the more you think about it, the more it seems like it’s your human form which shields you from his influence.    Strangely, it makes a lot of sense. Because ordinary humans can’t see or be directly harmed by spirits, so logically, your alter ego should be impervious to his manipulation.

   However, your body might not be safe from his powers or the spirits’ ability to cause you serious physical harm.    You have demonstrated that you’re capable of incredible healing, but you don’t know how far that reaches. Even Oberyn isn’t completely immortal, so it stands to reason you might have a few limitations as well.

   He moves incredibly fast despite his size, having lost none of his usual agility since his body is still the same snakelike shape. So, even though his enemies are repeatedly attacking him from all sides, he manages to evade them while striking both punches and flames at them, slowing them down if not seriously damaging them.    Until Caelum manages to slip past his limbs and teeth, using one of her twisters as camouflage.

   Staying in your blind spot, she sinks her claws into your back before you’ve had a chance to notice her, and aside from the fact that having your skin ripped open is always terribly painful, it seems that the black oily stuff which covers them all is also either poisonous or acidic when it enters your blood. Because holy fuck, does it sting.    You’re already laying down as flat over the base of the dragon’s neck as you can manage, but the sharp, lasting pain makes you lose your grip just as Oberyn turns sharply to the left.

   “Kaivalya!” you hear a thunderous roar exclaim while you’re falling through the air, which confuses you.

   He can’t speak. Not as himself or as Tyrannus, his mouth and throat are incapable of forming words, so how did that just happen?

   It doesn’t matter much anymore when you realize you’re falling much further than what should be ground level, which must mean you’re careering into one of the many crevasses Ursa’s made in her attempts to unbalance the dragon.    Your front is facing up, so you can see the darkened sky as you continue to fall, until you drop far enough that the edges of the abyss come into view, crawling with roots and other malicious things, feeding off the conflict and the violence above.

   Then suddenly, a bright white tail is breaking through the increasing darkness around you. It effortlessly breaks through the meager defenses put up by the wormlike appendages of this evil Earth, reaching you with such speed and forcefulness that it sends you hurtling upwards instead, as though you were a tennis ball and his tail the racket.    And once you’re back above ground, easily reaching a thousand feet height at the crescent before you begin to fall back down, all three of the flying spirits are converging on you.

   A twister forms right beside you, sucking you in and then spitting you out even higher up, before Vespertilio sends a cloud of absolute darkness around you.    You know you’re far enough up that Oberyn has to fly to reach you, and if he was, his wings would create a thunderous sound as they beat against the air and the atmosphere, and you can’t hear anything like that.    But you can hear the rapid, strained flaps of the bat’s wings as it struggles to get to you.

   The darkness is so thick you can’t see your hands in front of your face, but you can feel that you’re once again falling and without seeing, you have no way of knowing how long it’ll take before you hit the ground.    Can you survive a broken neck? You don’t know. Just like you don’t know what happens if you get torn to pieces by the spirits. You might simply revert to your spirit form, but then that would likely make you corruptible again.    And maybe that’s exactly what Simon is after. Maybe all this is just about darkening you, because if he can do that, then there won’t be any more hope for the world.

   A sound reaches you from somewhere below, and then a strong huff of warm air disperses the cloud underneath you, letting you see that you’re still hundreds of feet from the ground. But you also see a pair of bright blue eyes, which then quickly disappear from your view when the largest jaws ever to exist on this planet are opened wide, right beneath you.

   “Trust me,” the same rumbling voice as before sounds, even though his mouth hasn’t moved.

   But it’s him. Either inside your head or somehow speaking to you through the ether, but you know without a doubt it’s your Oberyn.    And you do trust him. Which is why you let yourself fall forwards, straightening your arms out in front of you, turning your body into a spear so you’ll fall quicker.    It’s not without fear you pass his rows of giant teeth, falling paralleled to his tongue and heading right for his throat, held perfectly straight to facilitate your journey into his stomach, but he must have a plan.

   He closes his jaws in the same moment you reach the bottom of his mouth, and everything becomes pitch black.    You can feel your body continue to fall, even as the walls of his throat begin to close around you, slowing your descent surprisingly gently. And before you know it, you’re at the bottom. Although, it’s not how you might’ve imagined a dragon’s stomach might look, if you’d ever had the crazy idea to imagine being swallowed by one.

   There’s no fluid in there at all, to help break down your components and extract the nutrients from your body. And it’s anything but dark.    Just like with humans, his stomach sits adjacent to his lungs, so when the fire is sparked, his entire torso is lit up internally.    You can only see the shine, nothing of what else is actually inside of him, but it’s kinda beautiful.

   There’s an intricate and very symmetrical network of veins within the lining of the stomach, and when the fire illuminates them, the heat within his blood makes them glow. And yet, the temperature inside remains unchanged. Probably around forty degrees Celsius, feverishly warm for a human, which is how Oberyn has always seemed to you.    However, the sounds he makes are even louder in here, so when he suddenly roars, you’re instantly on your knees and doing your best to cover your ears, hoping your eardrums haven’t already burst.

   “Stop!” you try to yell when it never seems to end, but you can’t even hear yourself over the deafening vibrations.

   Apparently though, he can, because he immediately goes quiet, and then that deep voice finds you again.

   “Are you alright, my lady?”

   You must be hearing him inside your mind somehow, because even if you haven’t already gone deaf, your ears can’t possibly have recovered enough for you to hear normally yet.

   “No!” you half-shriek, confirming at least partial damage to your auditory system because you can hardly hear your own voice. “Keep it down, you just blew my ears out!”

   “Oh… My apologies. In my defense, I have never done this before.”

   “No shit…”

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   He knows you will be safe within him as this much older dragon ate only stone and magma to support his being when there was no other life on this world yet. It has no means of digesting human tissues and bones, nor the need for it.    From the beginning of this battle, the spirits have aimed almost exclusively at you, leading him to the conclusion that Simon has no interest in him, merely in acquiring the last free spirit and completing the Darkling curse.

   If this happens, the entire planet will become as the North American continent in a matter of minutes. All of it consumed by death, darkness and despair, with no hope or end in sight. And without Lux to bring back the sun, it will likely remain so for thousands of years.    Tyrannus is too powerful even for all of them combined to vanquish, but Oberyn is equally unable to annihilate Simon while the spirits fight for him, so until the two of you can discover how to liberate The Decem from the dark one’s sickening grasp, the best he can do is keep you safe.

   Gambling on the notion that these debased beings all seem unwilling to stray too far away from the group, he remains airborne after swallowing you, intent on leaving the scene as quickly as he can.    Of course, Caelum, Vespertilio and Papilio do not approve of this plan, and follow as he departs due east, back towards the coast.

   Their perverted powers are thrown recklessly in his path, the desperation to not disappoint their master now the single goal of their altered reality.    But their quarry is not only much larger than before. He is also armored with scales so thick not even the pressure and heat of the planet’s core could undo him, leaving their mediocre displays of strength little more than an irritation to his ascent.

   His theory about their tendency to remain with the group prove accurate when the three flying spirits veer off and return to the blackened landscape before he’s even left the American continent. This thought, however, offers him no peace. For they are stronger as a group, and the longer they remain so, they will fuel and feed the growing energies of hate and depravity until it eventually transforms them completely.

   They are still only darkened versions of their original selves, but if Simon has his claws embedded within them for long enough, he will turn their hearts to stone, and then they shall truly become the monstrosities of men’s most feared nightmares.    If this comes to pass, they will never again be returned to their former glory, no matter how much light you might shine upon them. And without them, the world will never truly recover.

   He heads northeast across the Atlantic, flying fast and very high now that you are travelling safely hidden from the extreme temperatures and lack of oxygen. The sky is remarkably clear once he leaves the ashes and unnatural darkness of America behind, and he wishes that you could see the beauty of the world from the thermosphere, nine kilometers above the surface.    As Lux, you probably have, but as a human, you never could.

   And there is something truly beautiful within such fragility.

   It doesn’t take long once he returns to the more familiar troposphere, before he is joined by yet more man-made flying machines, although this time, they wisely keep their distance and merely follow his journey, rather than attempt another confrontation.    Oberyn is glad for this, because aside from the fact that he does not wish to harm them, they may also become most important to the survival of the world, as even their relatively small firepower could prove crucial within the larger picture of this war.

   So, he makes no attempt to frighten them, flying calmly even as they dare a closer look.    Despite their oxygen masks, he can see their eyes quite clearly, and when one of the pilots pulls up alongside him, he can see how she tries to measure him from nose-tip to tail-end, raising her eyebrows in disbelief at whatever number she settles on.    He estimates roughly five hundred yards himself.

   These are British RAF fighters, which must mean that word of his existence has spread since his latest encounter with such crafts. Although, they all probably think there are two dragons at this point, as there is little resemblance between Tyrannus and his comparably puny longtime green alter ego.

   Whatever they believe is irrelevant. So long as he must not fight both humans and dark souls the world’s armies may create their own explanations for his presence. He requires only that they act to protect their lands, as even a small grenade lobbed at the spreading weeds of death will slow their advancement somewhat.    For now, the darkness is contained on the North American continent, unable to spread further until the air and the oceans have also been sufficiently infected. But it is only a matter of time.

   As he crosses over the British Isles, a warm updraft fills his wings, allowing him to soar effortlessly. Which is good since just one flap of his enormous wings will displace enough air to potentially create massive wind-shifts on the ground below.    The warm air sits lower in the atmosphere, however, leaving him quite visible to anyone who happens to look high enough, and given the sudden changes in the sounds he can hear from down there, at least some people do spot him.

   To that end, the fighter planes are no help, as their noisy engines easily draw people’s eyes upwards, but again, this is largely irrelevant.    Unless the two of you can discover how to defeat Simon, these people will know of worse things than dragons soon enough.    Dodging numerous commercial jets at various altitudes as he crosses directly above Manchester, Oberyn then leaves Great Britain behind, heading for the quieter skies of the Nordic countries.

   The RAF apparently are not cleared to continue following him into Norwegian airspace, veering off well before he crosses over land again.    For a moment, he amuses himself by imagining the communication between these pilots and Norwegian air traffic control, because he could picture how it must have sounded if they requested permission to continue following a dragon into Norway’s domain.

   Once certain he is alone, he finds a nice large mountaintop with a solid flat surface and sets down as gently as he can to avoid kicking off a rockslide.    You have been quiet since he accidentally broke your eardrums, and he hopes you will have healed already, but he worries that the injury might have nothing to do with your lack of interaction.

   “Valya?” he prods, keeping his volume low, and he can feel how you begin to move inside of him.

   “Yeah?” you reply, and you sound mostly tired.

   “We are safe for now. Would you like to come out?”

   “That depends… Would I be going back up, or continuing further down?”

   “Up, of course, my dear.”

   “Okay, just tell me what to do,” you sigh, but it is clear from your tone that you were only asking about the direction as a way of relieving tension.

   “I would prefer not to regurgitate you, but if I lay my head down and keep my body standing, you should be able to crawl out on your own.”

   “Alright, give it a try.”

   He does as he has suggested, and then experience the peculiar sensation of what a human might compare to an ant trying to crawl out of their throat.    It tickles, but not enough to cause him discomfort, and before long he can feel your footsteps pattering over his tongue and then climbing past the row of teeth on his lower jaw, before a muted thud lets him know you have hit the ground.    Closing his mouth and raising his head enough that he can see the ground directly before him, he finds you brushing snow off your pants, and you appear unharmed.

   “How are your ears?” he asks, and you stop moving to meet his eyes.

   “Better. But how am I hearing you? Is this some kind of telepathy?”

   “No, not quite. As I understand it, this is only possible between the two of us, and only because of the unique bond we now share.”

   “Right. Which bond, though? I can think of at least two.”

   “Love and Tyrannus?” he guesses, to which you nod, so he elaborates. “All these years, you’ve carried the white dragon within you, unknowingly becoming one with it, so familiar with its energy that you didn’t even realize it when you began to feed it to me. Because to your heart, there is no distinction. We are the beings you love, and we love you equally.”

   “Do you feel different? I mean, like there’s two of you in there?”

   “Tyrannus has not been alive for eons. He is only energy now. But I do feel some things so deeply engraved into his soul they cannot be erased. His anger… and his hope. Mere echoes now, and yet, so undeniably clear.    He was truly mighty.”

   “So are you, Oberyn,” you say softly, smiling slightly as you admire his new form, before you seem to will yourself to return to darker matters. “Unfortunately, we have less pleasant things to talk about, starting with where we are.”

   “I believe it’s called the Scandes. The mountain range between Norway and Sweden.”

   “Okay. And why are we here?”

   “Because we need to think, and this place is quiet. This far north there’s hardly any air traffic and aside from the occasional hiker, not a lot of people. This time of year, it is a bit cold, but nothing I cannot shield you from.    I have wandered these hills and mountains many times in my life, and they have always helped to soothe my worries.”

   “I believe you. I feel calmer already. And it does seem prudent to steer clear of the States until we at least have a plan.”

   You cross your arms over your waist but then remember that you are still wearing the same torn clothes as before, and this seems to deflate your energy somehow.

   “So, can you still change back, or will all that,” you gesture to his general enormity, “not fit within the human form anymore?”

   “It will. Although I am hesitant to leave us so vulnerable. My human form is still the weakest part of me.”

   “And who’s gonna come after us here?”

   “It is the threats one doesn’t see coming that are the most dangerous.    But I see your point.”

   Strangely, it feels exactly the same to return to this shape despite the extreme change he has undergone. The dragon folds away as fluently and easily as it always has.    But it does throw him for a moment, to suddenly lose the higher perspective, and he hadn’t considered just how much better Tyrannus’ senses are. He feels almost blind at first, even though his own senses are still far superior to ordinary humans.

   “Are you alright?” you ask, noticing his disorientation.

   “Yes. Just slightly jarred. The difference in size is a bit befuddling at first.”

   “I’m sure it is, but at least I can hug you now,” you say while closing the distance between you and wrapping your arms around him in a firm embrace.

   “Oh, I have missed this,” he admits while he mirrors you, breathing in your scent once more and relishing in the feeling of your body pressed against his.

   In that regard, there is no comparison. Nothing ever feels as good as your skin against his own, no matter how incredible the dragon’s senses are.

   “It’s hard to believe it was still just this morning that we woke up together in your bed. I mean, we’ve been jumping between time zones, so the actual hours might be more, but it’s still the same date.”

   “Indeed. How strange that everything seemed so simple then,” he observes, recalling the hours he spent watching you sleep, thinking of nothing but you and how you make him feel.

   His entire world had fit into that bed in those precious, serene hours.

   “Fucking Simon…” you growl after a minute, pulling away from him as your stress once again increases. “I can’t believe he manipulated all the spirits. I mean, I know they’re emotionally driven, but aren’t they supposed to have better instincts than to be fooled by a Darkling?”

   “Well, no, actually,” he replies simply, to which you seem quite perplexed, so he continues. “The only way for any spirit to discern the presence of a Darkling is by the effect it has on the world. To find the being itself, only its capacity to see and interact with them is what provides them a definitive answer.    They can immediately sense if darkness is tainting the world, and where, but they rely on evil to reveal itself, as it always does.”

   “Wait… that would mean Simon must’ve understood more about them from the start than any other dark one before him, to let him use their blind spots against them like that.    But I don’t get it. He said he’d been practicing, using his powers, honing them for a long time. How could he do that without them reacting to it, at some point?”

   “How he knew about his powers I cannot fathom. No Darkling is born with this understanding. However, if he discovered a way to use them without allowing them to infect anything, then it is possible The Decem were unable to detect it.”

   “Not even Caelum? She can’t just sense darkness in the air somehow?” you wonder, getting frustrated enough to start pacing around him, but remaining close since his warmth is all that shields you from the Nordic winter chill.

   “No. Only if that power manages to dilute the air, as it now has over the American continent,” he answers, and you throw your arms out to the sides in a gesture which he interprets to be burgeoning anger at Simon’s apparent advantages.

   He understands your feelings, especially since you cannot recall any of the details surrounding the spirits and their capabilities, but unfortunately, your foe is the very worst this world has to offer.    As much as he wishes to shield you, he must also make sure you realize exactly what it is you are up against.

   “I don’t know if you noticed, but the clouds there are no longer clouds, just dead spores and ashes, remnants of nature now reduced to particles of death. And once he gathers enough of them, he can send those clouds across the seas to infect other parts of the world.    In time, his evil will turn all oceans into vast fields of mud and oil, impossible to travel over or through, filled with the same mutated monstrosities we saw over there. And eventually, the air will be so thick with these ashes that no sunlight will reach us anymore, at which point… salvation will no longer be possible.”

   You stop pacing then, once more wrapping your arms around yourself as if the winds have sent a chill through you, despite the heat he radiates towards you.    There is fear in your eyes as you are probably imagining the world his words are painting for you, but you bite it back, determined to find a solution.

   “So, what can we do? How do we stop him? Because I doubt we can save the spirits without first freeing them from his darkness.”

   “You are correct. Only the destruction of the Darkling will end his reign.    Unfortunately, aside from the spirits, I know of nothing which can kill him,” he admits, but you are undeterred by this.

   “You were there when they killed the last one, right?” you recall, to which he merely nods since he can guess where you are going with this. “So, how did they do it?”

   Oberyn has avoided visiting the details of this memory for a very long time, but you are right to ask this question, as even though the spirits are not going to be able to help you this time, their methods might reveal some useful information.

   “It happened nearly four millennia ago. He was a simple farmer, a good man by all accounts. Until a conflict in their settlement broke out and his wife and two children became the victims of circumstance.”

   “The Darkling had a family?” you skeptically question.

   “Unlike Simon, they are usually unaware of the evil within until something happens to them which is so painful that their souls are torn apart. This unleashes the darkness and forever destroys the person they once were.    This man went from a loving husband and father to a vicious beast, holding nothing back and sparing no one from his rage. He turned the lands upon which he had lived from a jungle teeming with life, into a pit of death into which countless thousands of people and animals were pulled and tortured to death. He had no wish to corrupt them or turn them into evil beings, he merely wished for all things to die as painfully as anything can.    Today, the place is known as the Lonar crater of southern India, but it was neither made by a meteor strike, nor as long ago as science estimates.”

   “His evil created a crater?”

   “When living things rooted to the ground are tainted with darkness, they spread it through the bedrock in search of other things to infect, which can lead to the collapse of entire mountains, given enough time.”

   “How much time?” you ask, and he can see in your eyes that you are worried about how long it might take before Simon’s evil will create eternal scars upon the Earth.

   “This Darkling reigned for three centuries before The Decem was able to stop him. And at that point, the entire European, Asian and African continents were covered in darkness.”

   He gives you a minute with that, because it seems to affect you most severely, but the story is not yet over.

   “I had no intention of joining the fight, as I could simply fly away from it, not wanting to realize that as it continued to spread, there would eventually be nowhere left to go.    But in the end, it was not the understanding that the world was ending which convinced me to go back, but simply the thought that I would not be the worst monster among such things. That in their midst, I might actually appear… beautiful.”

   You step closer to him then, unfolding your arms to place a gentle hand over his cheek. A silent reminder of how you see him, regardless of his form, and he takes a moment to lean into your touch.

   “I was late to the party, however,” he continues then. “For a mere fortnight I battled the darkened vegetation at the heart of its outbreak, trying to carve a path to the man responsible, unaware that I was closely monitored by the spirits.    At this point, only four of them had avoided getting caught by the darkness. Ursa, Papilio, Cervus and Equus.”

   “The elements,” you observe. “Are they somehow stronger than the others?”

   “Not stronger, but perhaps more resilient against corruption. Although, I don’t know why.    In any case, my efforts eventually led them to the Darkling, and once they had access to him, he never stood a chance.    He couldn’t see them coming, so when they all charged him together, he was immediately overpowered.    Ursa impaled him with her icicles, and then each of them took one limb and one direction, pulling him apart, not at the joints, but at the weakened area at the center of his chest where the spears of ice had already broken his spine and sternum.”

   “And that was it?”

   “No, he was still alive afterwards, bleeding black goop into the soil which seemed to superpower the mutated vegetation. Roots the size of redwoods erupted from the ground, all aiming for the spirits, because so long as he was still alive, the Darkling could reassemble himself.    But the elementals knew better. They had already abandoned the severed pieces, locating his heart instead. Not a lump of red flesh, but rather a small grey stone covered in coiled up vines.”

   “So, his heart has to be destroyed before he’ll ever really be dead? How predictable.”

   “Indeed. Had Scarabaeus been able to, she would’ve been the one to do it by simply passing through the stone, turning solid in the middle of it. But as she was already dead, Equus was the one who delivered the final blow,” Oberyn finishes, recalling the quaking bedrock in the aftermath of the horse’s powerful stomp.

   He closes his eyes for a few seconds then, hoping you have not detected the sorrow which plagues him at the memory, for he knows not how to explain it.    As much as he wishes to ensure you will be well informed of all aspects of your foe, he is leaving out one detail of this gruesome story. Which is that the man, the grieving human, had reemerged once his body had been broken and the darkness within him begun to pour out.    In those final moments before his life had truly been ended, he was just a devastated father, as tortured and tormented as those whom he had killed.

   Simon might be different, but he was not born with malicious intent. At some point, something must have happened to him to make him aware of his own darkness, and rather than fear it, he chose to embrace it. But before this, he was likely a normal human boy, with normal human feelings.    Which means if you succeed in stopping him, he might revert to that being in the moments before his end, and if this should happen, you will be forced to watch that boy die in agony.

   “Okay, dumb question maybe, but it still needs to be asked,” you sigh, while attempting to massage your own neck. “Can’t we just drop a small mountain on top of him, then? I mean, if all we need to do is crack his dead heart to pieces.”

   “Unfortunately, that won’t work, because even if his body is damaged, he can heal it so long as his heart is intact.”

   “And, let me guess: because it’s made of stone, the vines around it are enough to make it nearly indestructible from the outside?”

   You read the answer in his eyes without him even changing his expression, and you let your head hang low for a minute while you try to think.

   “You said that the other Darkling couldn’t detect the spirits. Is the same true for Simon?”

   “Yes. But since you’re human, he will be able to detect you.”

   “God damned it. Can’t we just catch one fucking break!” you end on a scream, turned away from him, sending your voice out over the mountain range where it echoes around for much longer than your ears can hear.

   He steps closer and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, feeling you relax into his chest almost as if unaware of it yourself.

   “How do we stand a chance without the spirits?” you ask, and in your voice, he can hear such pain.

   Not for fear that you will suffer, if he knows you as well as he believes to, but for fear of how much the world will suffer in each moment you stand idle, unable to act because of the staggering lack of options.

   “As Oberyn, I was able to carve a path for them through the death-lands. As Tyrannus, I am certain I can do the same for you, however powerful our foe might be.    The question we face is not how to reach him, but how to get close enough to rip his heart out when he is protected by the mighty nine.”

   For a long while, you stand silent within his embrace, although he feels certain he might be able to hear how hard you are thinking if he should focus well enough.    Then, something moves through you. He can feel it, not because you actually move, but through a sudden and very distinct shift in your energy.    No longer somber and despondent, you whirl around and take his hands, abruptly confident, as you appear to have uncovered something workable.

   “I might be human, but I’m also light itself. And if there’s any reason I can think of to keep me separate from the other spirits, it must be because I’m their protector.    My place in all this isn’t to fight the Darkling, it’s just to save them. That’s my purpose,” you animatedly explain, your eyes alight with understanding, while he remains uncertain.

   “But… how can you? They are no longer spirits at all; their very essences have been destroyed.”

   “No, I don’t believe that. Because if it was true, their mystical powers would’ve disappeared completely, but they haven’t, they’re just corrupted. I can bring them back, Oberyn.    Don’t you see? My light heals me because that’s what it was always meant to do: heal spirits.”

   Suddenly your confidence becomes infectious, as he realizes how much this all sounds true and right.    There must be a reason for your detachment to the others, a reason behind the fact that not even the protectors of this world can recognize you, and this might well be it.    But his hope is still stunted by one stubbornly persistent problem.

   “Alright. Then I suppose all you need to do is figure out how to use it,” he says, and sees the optimism disappear from your frame as if an arctic wind has swept by and stolen it.

   He takes a deep breath to re-center himself, reaching the conclusion that none of this is going to be solved right here and now. The world suffers while solutions evade you, but there is nothing to be done about that. If you rush in without a plan, one that actually has a fighting chance, you may well doom the earth to eternal darkness.

   “Come, my love. You need new clothes, food and a night’s rest. There’s a village close by; we will go there to recover for now.”

   You are not happy with this suggestion. He can see protests wanting to escape your mouth in the way you repeatedly search for the right words to voice your complaints. But in the end, you find none, allowing his reasoning to stand unchallenged.    Backing away, he brings forth the ancient beast, once again slightly offset by the extreme shifts in perspectives and sensory input. You look so small as he offers you his front paw and then lifts you up to his shoulder.

   Not wanting to scare people with a dramatic entrance, he decides to walk down the mountain, surprisingly well camouflaged against the snow and protruding rocks in the dark. But this does not prevent him from being spotted by a couple apparently living on the damned mountainside, where no one should have been able to build anything.    Slightly shocked to suddenly hear voices beneath him, he stops, finding their house perched on an outcrop, seemingly without any road or lift leading up to it.    How do they even get to the village for supplies?

   They are understandably equally shocked to see him, merely standing paralyzed as he observes them for a few moments.

   “Norwegians are unusual people,” he says to you in his mind, to which you chuckle.

   “The Vikings wouldn’t have been nearly as successful in their conquests if they’d allowed terrain to stand in their way.”

   He does not argue this point, as he has seen Vikings for himself and knows firsthand just how hardy and resilient they were.    You are still several miles from the village at this point, so the couple will likely not cause any widespread panic. He leaves their home untouched, walking carefully past it so as not to trigger any avalanches, and when he reaches the little town down by the fjord, it looks perfectly calm and still.

   Creeping as close as he dares, he doesn’t change back until he is just a few hundred yards from the closest houses, to keep the distance you will have to walk as short as possible since it takes so much more time. But no one seems to notice.    It’s late, but the tourist center should still be open, and they often have emergency supplies for unfortunate travelers, such as clothes, in the event someone’s luggage is lost, and stores are closed.    It is easy to find, sporting large flags on top of the single-story building, and it is still open.

   “Hei, vhordan kan jeg hjelpe deg?” a tall blonde woman behind the reception greets when you approach her desk.

   “Hi, we’re American,” you start, and the woman immediately repeats her greeting in English, which you politely thank her for before continuing. “As you can see, I’m in dire need of some new clothes. You wouldn’t happen to have some sweaters and jackets for sale, would you?”

   “Certainly, follow me and I’ll show you where,” the receptionist smiles while getting up to assist you. “May I ask what happened?”

   “Oh, that’s a long story and I’m very tired. Do you know if any hotel in town might have a room available?”

   “There’s only one hotel here, but last I heard they weren’t fully booked for this week. It’s easy to find, just head down to the water and follow the road, you’ll see the signs.”

   “Thank you,” you reply as you arrive in the gift shop area of the center, where there is an entire section devoted to equipping both humans and common pets to survive arctic weather.

   You know your size and pick a thinner sweater along with a thicker jacket, to give you more options based on where in the world you and Oberyn might end up next. But as you are beginning to move back towards the receptionist’s desk, where the items must be paid, you lean closer to him and whisper.

   “Uh, I’m assuming you have some way of paying for this, because I don’t.”

   “Not to worry, darling. I never go anywhere without this,” he says, while pulling out a blank card from a concealed pocket in the side of his coat.

   It connects to a bank account in the name of one Christopher Wilkins, who does not exist except on paper, but has a few million dollars all the same. Oberyn has twenty of these identities, all of which have similar accounts at dozens of different banks around the world, which all together adds up to over one billion dollars.    He offers the card for payment and the purchase goes through without difficulty.    You get changed in the bathroom before you leave the tourist center, walking towards the hotel hand in hand, when northern lights suddenly appear above you.

   “Are you doing this, Valya?” he asks with a smile, knowing he is probably wrong but wanting to believe it could be true.

   “If I am, it’s not by choice,” you sigh, looking up at the dancing green spectacle with awe. “I wish it were, though.”

   The hotel is as easy to locate as the receptionist suggested, and you arrive to find the doors open despite the clock on the wall next to it reading nearly 11 pm.    Only half of the thirty rooms are occupied, so he pays for a night in a larger suite even though the two of you do not require so much space. He just wants you to be comfortable, and the suite has a bathtub, which he feels might be needed to get you to relax.

   The hotel uses old-fashioned keys for the rooms, so once inside, he drops them into a plastic bowl on a sideboard in the hall, and then immediately begins to work on the buttons of his coat.    You hang up your new jacket, kick off your snowy wet boots, and head straight for the double bed to lay down.

   “I feel like I could sleep for a week. But you’re probably not even tired.”

   “Not like you, but I could do with a few hours. Adjusting to Tyrannus has taken a bit more effort than my usual transformation. Plus, we don’t know when we might get the chance to rest again.”

   Shrugging off the coat, he hangs it up in the hallway closet and sits down on a stool helpfully placed beside the closet, to unlace his shoes.

   “And what about food?” you inquire, turning your head towards him as you have undoubtedly not forgotten the green dragon’s appetite and likely draw the conclusion that the much larger white one must require much more.

   “Strange though it may seem, aside from a rather unusual craving for pistachios, both my alter ego and I are perfectly fine,” he explains, momentarily wondering if the hotel restaurant might be open, and if he should go in search of some nuts.

   However, once the moment passes, he feels only confused by his own hankering.

   “But you haven’t eaten anything all day, and you’ve been fighting a lot.”

   “Actually, I did eat some unfortunate bystanders in Detroit,” he recalls, which prompts you to sit up on the edge of the bed.

   “Detroit was horrible. In every way. All those emergency responders… they died horrifically, and I just stood there,” you remember, and tears form in your eyes at the images which must be burning the insides of them. “I couldn’t do anything.”

   “No, you could not have helped them. Those creatures may have been alone, untethered to the greater darkness, but that is also what made them so erratic and unpredictable, though still just as deadly.”

   “Yeah…” you agree, turning your gaze down to your own hands, but then something seems to occur to you, as a crease bothers your brows. “But I made one of them stop.”

   This surprises Oberyn, who is just about to stand having finished with his shoes, and instead remain still as he waits for you to elaborate.

   “I yelled at it to stop, and it did. Just for a moment, and right before you came barreling onto the same street, but it stopped. And it looked angry about it.”

   “As if it had been halted against its will?”

   “That’s what it felt like, but I can’t be sure. Do you think I could’ve managed to command it somehow? Is that something Lux could do?”

   “Possibly. The true power of Day is her ability to spread hope. If you were desperate enough, it is conceivable that you could have forced this creature to stop by using the sunlight as a physical barrier.”

   “I can do that?”

   “I should think so. You created an entire human being with it, I’d say you could definitely stop one little monster if you set your mind to it,” he winks at you, before getting up and moving towards the bathroom.

   “If only I knew how the hell I do these things,” you say as he disappears into the tiled space and turns on the tap for the tub.

   “You’ll figure it out, I have no doubts about that,” he replies while checking the temperature of the water, returning to the bedroom before he continues. “On a more positive note, the innocents I killed in Detroit will be the last innocents ever to fall victim to my beast. Nothing like that will ever happen again, because this dragon doesn’t need food of any kind.”

   You have your head resting in your hands when he emerges from the bathroom, but you straighten out as you hear his words, and quietly trace his path over to the bed where he takes a seat beside you.

   “Really? How can you be certain? You’ve only had it in you for a few hours.”

   “Did you not notice the complete lack of stomach acid in there.”

   “I did, but I figured maybe you had another stomach somewhere and I just wasn’t far enough through the system to be at any risk of digestion.”

   “No there’s only one stomach, but this dragon stopped eating long before Lux changed him. And even when he did eat, it was at a time before organic life had evolved into actual creatures, so he fed only on magma and rocks. It’s what made him grow to such a size and develop those incredibly thick scales.”

   “Yeah, I’ll bet. Who needs protein when you’ve got minerals.”

   He smiles at you then, even though you are not trying to be amusing, delivering the phrase with sarcasm rather than joviality. You are too tired to enjoy yourself now, so instead of contesting your mildly snarky attitude, he sweeps you off the bed and into his arms in a swift and soft movement, returning to the bathroom where he puts you down in front of the just filled up tub.

   “Are you trying to tell me I’m dirty without using any words?” you ask, still presenting the same general irritation, which is why he merely continues to smile warmly while he undresses you.

   It takes only minutes for the hot water to begin relaxing you, while Oberyn gently helps you wash your back and shoulders, then your feet, before leaving you to just soak and warm your battered muscles while he steps over to the shower and rinses himself off.    He is surprised to find that he has neglected to notice you leaving the tub, when your hands are suddenly returning the favor, rubbing liquid soap into his back. But he loves the feeling, having never experienced such care from a partner before, and remains still to let you work.

   Before long, you are both clean from head to toe, which is when the caring touches change character, becoming craving instead.    He brings you back to the bed without bothering to grab a towel on the way, abruptly needing you so badly he cannot wait long enough even for you to squeeze the bulk of the water from your hair.

   Last night had been soft and tender, but when he enters you tonight, it is with fervency, perhaps even a streak of frenzy, giving you hardly any time to adjust before he is already working up a strong rhythm with firm snaps of his hips, making you jolt with each one.    He feels strangely uncontrolled. Fully aware that such treatment could hurt you, but utterly unable to stop himself. Something drives his body which is not so simple a thing as lust. There is a deeper purpose at work, one he cannot discern, but remains a slave to for now.

   You seem only pleased with him, though, showing no indication of distress or discomfort, meeting his forceful movements with an equally firm resistance, as if under the same spell he is.    The need drives him so relentlessly that he reaches his peak in mere minutes, coming hard within the depths of your being, where he is so warmly received.    But you do not follow.

   As he stills above you, your body remains unsatisfied, which gives him a sickly feeling to his stomach, because however much he seeks his own pleasure, yours is the real price. But this entire copulation has felt off, which intensifies his disappointment with himself, so when he pulls back, seeking your eyes so that he might beg your forgiveness, he is more than ashamed of himself. He feels rotten.

   The feeling leaps away, however, when shock takes its place as he sees your face.    Your eyes are frozen, staring at nothing, and the tension in your body has given way to complete relaxation. Too complete.

   “Valya?” he whispers, unable to bring any strength to his voice because what he sees within your eyes now is not life.

   “Lux?” he tries, even weaker now, hoping merely your human form is lost to him, while the spirit remains.

   Your own alter ego taking over, much as the dragon has done to him in the past.    But there is no response from you. No breath. No pulse.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   You feel wonderful. Even when he pounds into you, all you experience is pleasure, wanting more no matter how good he makes you feel. The pressure builds and shifts, flowing through you at different intensities depending on your breaths, which muscles are tense and which nerves are most directly affected.    It feels like flying through clouds of pure pleasure, devoid of thoughts or intentions.

   And then it just… stops.    You feel how he comes, and you’re just one moment away from following up with the best orgasm of your life when everything suddenly goes quiet and still. Not just around you, but in you. No more pleasure, no more heat or sweat or even the cold sensation of the sticky fabric underneath your head, drenched by the water from your hair.

   Opening your eyes, you find yourself elsewhere. There’s no Oberyn, no bed, no hotel room. You’re not even sure there’s an Earth.    But there is a presence.    Nothing around you is identifiable, the best you can come up with is that it looks like something Jackson Pollock might’ve painted if someone had asked him what life on a gas-giant might look like. And yet, something here is familiar.

   It’s neither light nor dark, and at the same time it’s both, but it’s almost like your eyes and brain aren’t designed to interpret what they’re seeing, so all you get is a colorful mess with the appearance of a flashlight slowly spinning around in the middle of it.    Then you seem to blink, and suddenly you’re staring at yourself, as if there was a mirror in front of you. Only your reflection doesn’t move with you.

   “Hello?” you try to say, but no sound comes out, leaving you wondering if you even have a mouth here.

   That’s when you realize you aren’t breathing either, so wherever you are, this is a place outside of normal space.    You wonder if it could be some form of heaven, although you don’t believe in that, but it also doesn’t seem like it would be.    No, in your heart you know this is something else. Important to you, specifically.

   Your reflection doesn’t move, but you feel certain it holds answers for you, so you try walking towards it. Your legs don’t seem to move at all, but you still glide closer to the other you, so perhaps all you need to do is think of the movement.    When you get closer, her chest starts to glow, as if there’s a shining gem halfway between her throat and her breasts. Then she raises her hands to show you how they’ve started shining as well, right in the centers of the palms, getting brighter with each passing moment.

   Eventually, the light becomes so bright you can’t see anything anymore, but your eyes remain open, unbothered by the complete whiteness.    And that’s when you suddenly understand what this is.    Why it happened in the middle of a moment of passion, you have no fucking clue, but given how important it is, you don’t linger on the inexplicable, taking the win instead.

   Because you’ve finally found Lux. Somewhere within yourself, she connects you to this other place. Her world. Outside all other aspects of reality, by the looks of it, but clearly also able to interact with everything, everywhere.    She made you, but at the same time, she is you, and here in her world, you’re able to see things the way she does. You understand the power of light and the ways in which you can bend it to your will, as if you’d done nothing else your whole life.

   And once everything is clear to you, once you’ve unlocked all this knowledge she put in you from the start, the whiteness turns to dark, gravity returns, your lungs expand on reflex as oxygen once again exists, and you open your eyes to find that the darkness was just the insides of your own eyelids.

   Surprisingly, though, it isn’t Oberyn’s face you look up at, but rather two very shocked paramedics, who despite their training, freeze when you come to.    Apparently, you’ve been “dead” for a while.

   “Oh… Well, this is awkward,” you say to try and relieve the tension, and then there’s a loud racket before Oberyn appears beside you, having risen so quickly his chair fell over.

   He doesn’t speak, but his eyes scream of the pain he’s suffered in however long a time you’ve been unresponsive, so to ease his worries, you ignore the urgings of the medical staff for you to remain still, and sit up to hug him. He trembles like a leaf in your arms, holding you very tightly, before he reaches down behind you to pull the covers up over your bare shoulders. You hadn’t even reflected on the fact that you’re naked.

   “What happened?” he finally asks, his voice sore with how hard he must’ve cried.

   But you smile in return, so filled with hope now that not even his sorrow can dampen your spirits.

   “You brought me to the light, honey,” you tell him, and his sadness gives way to confusion.

   There’s no quick or easy way to explain what you’ve just experienced, so you settle for the most important part, which can’t be seen, only felt.    You reach out and place one hand on the shoulder of the paramedic closest to you, locating the darkness in her heart without effort.

   “Don’t worry about your father, Nora. He’s not going to hurt himself, he just needs you to stop and listen to his pain,” you say, feeling her father’s agony through the bond of love between them. “You always want to fix everything that hurts, but sometimes pain has a purpose. Let him tell you about it, and I promise you, he will be alright.”

   The middle-aged woman looks at you as if you’ve just reached into her heart and given it a good twist, which in truth, you sort of have.

   “H-… How do you kn-…?” she tries, but then sorrow rocks through her, stealing her voice.

   To answer her, you let the hand at her shoulder channel the light from your own heart, and it glows for just a second as you pour hope into her being.    Her sorrow immediately lessens, brightening her eyes and smoothing the tense lines around her mouth.    You smile softly at her, and she nods in gratitude, even though she doesn’t understand what’s just happened, before starting to pack up their gear. Her colleague looks like one giant question mark, but apparently decides not to argue.

   They leave a minute later, and Oberyn places a hand at your jaw, drawing your gaze back to him.

   “I do not pretend to understand anything of what has just transpired here, but… you are ready now. Aren’t you? To fight.”

   “I am,” you confirm. “I know what we need to do.”

   “Does that mean we’re going back to America?”

   “No,” you firmly state, finally without a shred of doubt within you. “It means we’re going everywhere else.”

Part 11

The Ten Spirits of the World Air - Forest - Water - Stone - Night - Autumn - Winter - Spring - Summer.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

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[sirowsky]

@jessthebaker 👋👋 Welcome back! I've missed you 🥰

The Old Prince

Part 7

Author's Note: This is nice and cozy at first, but do not be fooled. Here there be monsters... Also, I'll be working on my follower celebration for a while now, which is why I'm so sorry for how this part ends.

Description: Oberyn tells you what he can remember of his human life and how he became what he is. But tranquility is sparse in your lives, and as has become custom, you're soon in trouble once more.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses. Descriptions of the death of a child, as well as people being violently murdered. Angst. Reader experiences shock. Word Count: 5865 Author's Masterlist

   He doesn’t need nearly as much sleep as humans do, so even after the exhaustion of three releases and a total of two and a half hours of lovemaking, Oberyn remains wide awake. Calm and pleasantly satisfied, with a harmony in his blood that knows no equal, but still not tired in the sense that he requires sleep to recover.    So instead, he watches you. And stars above�� what a sight you are.

   Heavy with total relaxation, without a single crease of worry, tension or stress to your expression, you look only peaceful. Peaceful in the most precious of ways, a feeling born from the knowledge that you are safe, trusted and loved.    He is proud to be the one to give you this serenity, but also immeasurably grateful that you have chosen to trust him with your heart, because he knows how closely you have always guarded it from others.

   It has fascinated him from the start, the nearly immediate trust you had showed towards him, and he wonders sometimes if there could be a deeper truth behind it. If perhaps the transformation that he triggered in you was always there, just waiting for him to initiate it.    Such a thing would suggest that the two of you are linked by much more than circumstance or coincidence. That you were always destined to cross paths in this manner. Which is a both comforting and endlessly frightening thought.

   Because it would mean that the cosmos has a path laid out for you and that nothing you do will be of your own volition. That even this night was not a choice for each of you to make, but rather a compulsion, entirely beyond your conscious perception.    He refuses to believe that anything could have such influence over you. Over him, certainly, but not you.

   There is a power to your being which cannot be seen or even sensed, merely perceived at the very fringes of perception. A whisper carried across the globe by a million different voices since the day you were born, so scattered and distorted by now that it can no longer be heard, other than by the most sensitive instruments of the ether: the soul.    Barely even there, and yet he does not doubt its existence for a moment.

   The hours pass with ease, even though you do not move or even twitch in your sleep, so satiated that every muscle has succumbed to the depths of unconsciousness.    Resting on your belly with your lower arms hidden underneath the pillow, and your head turned to the man beside you. Nothing but your eyes moving underneath your heavy lids indicates that you are merely asleep.    At least, not to a human’s senses.

   Oberyn, however, can also hear your heart beating and the steady flow of your slow and tranquil breaths. He can smell the dried sweat on your skin and even the mild, musky scent of your earlier arousal.    And like everything to do with you, these smells are incredibly pleasant to him, in a way that nothing has been in the past.

   It’s not like he has never before smelled the tantalizing aroma of a person’s desire, but to his sensitive nostrils, those scents have always seemed exaggerated and almost overpowering sometimes.    Not yours though. Thus far, every smell or taste he has detected from you has only increased his affection for you, as if your very chemistry appeals to him. And perhaps that is exactly what it does. Perhaps your bodies truly do complement one another.

   In any case, what is certain is that you have become integral to his very survival.    He may not have aged much in his many years, but he is not incapable of dying. The dragon is nearly indestructible, but the human form is weaker. He heals quickly, but a severed limb would not grow back, for instance, so if one were to cut his head from his shoulders, he would die.

   There have been many occasions in his six millennia on this Earth when he has come close to the jaws of death. But for all his episodes of depression, when the endless toils of eternal life have left him unwilling to fight for even one more day, he has never truly wanted to end his own existence.    The thoughts have been there, loud and hounding at times, but more often like a growling dog in the corner of the room, as though waiting to rip his throat out. Yet it never has.

   Somehow, his life has retained a sliver of value to him, despite the many horrors he has witnessed, and been responsible for, and now that he sees you beside him, he cannot help but think that you have always been that value. That some part of him has been waiting for you, knowing that you would come to exist and that if he just held on for long enough, he would be rewarded with finding you.

   It is well after sunrise that you finally stir, twisting your head around and then slowly pulling your arms out from under the pillow, so that you can turn on your side.    You don’t appear to be aware that you’re moving, and your body is clearly terribly sluggish and unwilling to leave the restful softness of the bed, so he shifts himself closer and helps you finish the movement, before he settles in behind you, molding his body after your contours.

   And when you sigh and lean into him as though it is the most natural and obvious thing to do, as though something you have done a thousand times before and now come to out of habit and familiarity, he cannot help how his embrace tightens as his body responds, not with lust, but with unfathomable awe.    That you can be so at ease with such a creature as him, to let you rest beside him without fear or discomfort, even though his touch is largely new to you. Even though you have not slept beside another living being in years.

   Another hour passes before you begin to wake, and as you do, you reach for his hand which rests over your waist, pulling it up to your mouth for a few light kisses of your dry lips.

   “What time is it?” you ask, and your voice is raspy from the many hours that have passed since you last used it, and the fresh memory of your wordless vocalizations as he had found your most delicious spots of pleasure, fill his ears while he replies.

   “Almost lunchtime.”

   “Ugh…” you groan, and then start shifting to your back so that you can see him. “I don’t even know what time I fell asleep last night… or was it this morning?”

   You can barely keep your eyes open, but it seems less to do with fatigue and more like you are simply too comfortable to want to return fully to the waking world.

   “It was around 2 am,” he recalls, and you frown.

   “Haven’t you slept at all?”

   “No. The dragon and I are in some ways quite separate, but we are also one and the same, which is why I have his strength and the potency of his senses, even in this form.”

   “So, the dragon doesn’t need sleep?”

   “Not nearly as much. I can stay awake for several months if the need arises, but generally, I’ll sleep around four hours in a fortnight,” he explains, to which you grow silent for a minute.

   “You talk about it like it’s a separate being. Is that how it feels?” you ask then, seemingly curious while also apprehensive regarding his alter ego, no doubt because of the discomfort he has displayed each time you’ve asked about his past before.

   “In a way, yes. When I transform, it’s not simply my body that changes, it’s everything else as well. From my emotions to my thought-process and even my basic instincts.    It took me centuries to learn how to not let him out at every spike in emotion, and then even longer to figure out how to retain rational thought and control those same emotions, in order to prevent massacring people everywhere I went.”

   “Right, you’ve mentioned before that you were born human. So, what happened? Were you bitten by something as well?” you question, clearly looking for common ground and answers about your own transformation.

   Unfortunately, he still doesn’t have those answers, because his own experience was entirely different.

   “No. I don’t remember the details, and I believe that this is by design, but I know that whatever happened, it was done to me by someone or something much more powerful than anything walking this Earth today.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “Call it a god or supernatural being, but whatever it was, it vanished after doing this to me,” he says, and you look only more perplexed.

   He has not spoken of these things with anyone else before, because there has never been reason to, nor has he ever had cause to think that anyone would believe it.    But you deserve to know as much as he can remember, so that you may make up your own mind about what he is or isn’t anymore.

   “I have told you before that I can’t recall much of my human life beyond my mother’s face, and this is true. But I do remember a few things quite clearly.    For instance, that there was a conflict between our family and another tribe of people, whose origins I have forgotten but who were rich in numbers and therefor a considerable threat to the safety of the people under my family’s rule.    Whether we enraged them by attempting to force them into our ranks or if they attacked for their own reasons, I don’t know anymore, but the outcome was too devastating to forget,” he ponders, trying in vain to keep the terrible images away from his inner sight, as they always cause him such anguish.

   “There was a war?” you guess, and he nods while you shift around to your side, facing him, getting comfortable as you realize that he is willing to tell you everything now, which probably means a lengthier conversation.

   “Our peoples clashed so forcefully and with such rage that even after the battles were won, the losing army continued to be executed until none was left standing. There was so much blood in the sand that it remained red for months after each violent clash.    And the reason why I still remember this, even after my own family has been forgotten, is because as much as I might wish to, I will never forget what happened after our final victory.”

   This subject always tortures him, even to merely think of, let alone speak of out loud for the first time, so he pauses to check himself. To make sure that he is in control of his senses and not at risk of harming you.

   “Every time I hear a small baby crying,” he continues, unable to keep the unfathomable regret from filling his voice with pain, “I remember what was either my sister’s or brother’s newborn and how it cried when it was wrung from their arms and thrown on the floor to be stomped to death by the assassins who had infiltrated our home.    Defeated, they had decided to take their revenge upon our family, by means of blood and torture.    Thankfully, I cannot recall the imagery, only the sound. But that’s more than enough.”

   His pulse jumps as his heart reacts to the memory, and he pauses again.

   “I know that I was made to watch this, because that was where my rage was born. A rage that would become a companion of mine for the next two millennia. Because it was in that moment, when this helpless child was killed, that the desert turned from night into day in a single second. Not by sunlight… but by fire.    This I remember more clearly than anything else. How it erupted everywhere at once, as if drawn from the depths of the earth itself, covering our lands as far as the eye could see in every direction, even though there was nothing but blood-drenched sand to fuel it.    And once every living thing had turned to ash, somehow leaving me untouched even as I stood among the flames, they did not go out.    Instead, all that fire was drawn into me, making a home for itself within my chest, where it burned and stoked my anger, my rage, for what I now know to be at least five centuries.”

   “But… where did it come from? What conjured it?” you ask, teary-eyed even just hearing this, because your empathetic heart almost feels his pain and despair as if it was your own.

   “That I do not know. But as it flooded into me, I felt as though something else detached itself from it. Something vast and incredibly old. Millions of years, if I had to venture a guess.    It seemed to let go and fade away as the fire took hold of me, and the one theory I’ve managed to come up with, is that it was also a dragon.    Perhaps there can only be one of us at a time. It would explain why there are no others like me anywhere in the world.”

   You merely nod in agreement, at a loss for words, because what could anyone say to such a thing?

   “It took me five hundred years to bring the beast under control after the initial transformation, and in that time, I flew across the entire world, burning it everywhere I went. But this I know only because of the aftermath. I have no memory of that time at all.    When I finally managed to calm myself enough to return to my human form, which I had not yet realized that I could do until that moment, I was met by nothing but charred lands everywhere I went. And while I could not remember it, I knew in my heart that it was all my own doing.    The child’s screams, which still echoed through my being, now paled in comparison to the countless thousands that I had burned alive in my maddened state, and to this day, I don’t know why any of this has happened.”

   He must close his eyes again for a bit, not for fear of losing control now, but simply because the pain in his being is too overwhelming.    These words have never left his lips before. Never entrusted to another living soul, never even spoken aloud to the cold stones of the castle, which have surrounded him for hundreds of years now.

   You say nothing at first, content to merely rest beside him as he attempts to stomach the horrifying memories before locking them away once more. But when you do eventually speak, your voice is so soft and warm that he feels as though it must be a thick blanket, enveloping not just his person but his mind and heart as well.

   “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve suffered. But perhaps, if we do manage to figure out what’s happened to me, we might find some answers for you along the way as well.”

   “I hope so. But… I am also afraid to learn more,” he admits, and you frown again, so he elaborates. “That being, the one I felt within the flames, it was so old.”

   “And you’re worried that you’re gonna have to live that long as well?” you correctly deduce, to which he nods.

   “If I… replaced that being somehow… then whatever it was that kept it alive for that long is now inside of me. And I have no idea what it is, much less how to free myself of it.”

   He has cried countless times before, and often much more devastatingly than he does now. This time it’s a mere trickle of a few tears down the side of his face, brought out only by the fear of the unknown, rather than any real pain within him.    And yet, this time feels different. These tears feel purposeful in a way he has never experienced before. Perhaps merely because you are here, and he’s never cried in front of another person before, but it feels like it’s about something bigger than that.

   “I think that you are exactly what you’re supposed to be, Oberyn,” you say then, while gently wiping the wetness from his face. “And I think that I am too. Whether to darken the world or not, I think we’re both on the path we’re meant for.    I just hope that we get to choose how it ends.”

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   After a large brunch, the two of you return to the discussion about your transformation and everything that your partner knows about Darklings, and you end up learning about his bizarre realization that the pull coming from the basement has seemingly vanished.

   “See? I told you that it disappeared,” he says, sounding mildly surprised himself where he stands beside you in front of the basement door.

   “Yeah, and I believed you even before we got here, I’m just worried about the why.”

   “Indeed. Which is why I feel it’s necessary to investigate.”

   You have to swallow against the bile that rises in your throat at the mere thought of going back in there, but he’s right. The last time you’d stood here, you’d been practically enchanted, drawn inside despite all the warning signs along the way, from the smell to the sounds and finally the sight of those things.    But now, there’s nothing.

   Nodding to let him know that you agree, he opens the door, and you try to brace yourself for the odor, but it still hits you like a sledgehammer. It’s somehow even worse this time, probably because there’s nothing to dull your senses now.

   “Oh, god…” you breathe in between your body’s attempts to react to the assault on your olfactory functions. “Your senses are stronger than mine, how can you stand it?”

   “Sadly, this is not the worst thing I’ve ever smelled,” he replies nonchalantly before stepping inside.

   You pinch your nose shut with your fingers and then follow him, but it still feels like you’re just eating the disgusting scent instead.    He could’ve gone down here alone, but the creatures don’t react to him the way that they do to others, and he wants to gauge their reactions in full, so that he might be able to figure out what could’ve changed to stop them from emitting the pull.

   When you’d walked through this corridor before, it had felt much shorter than it does now, even though you’d walked much slower then. Which leaves you wondering just what the pull had done to your brain in those few minutes that you’d been under its influence.    You forget all about that, though, when you eventually round the corner at the end of the corridor and see the cages once more.

   “Oh, god…”

   This time it’s Oberyn who breathes the words, brought to a stop by the sight before him because this is so much worse than either of you could’ve imagined.    All the cages are empty.    No doors have been broken open, no holes have been dug through the concrete floor, and yet, they’re all gone.

   “It’s starting,” he says as he takes a few steps forward, slowly looking from one side to the other. “The darkness is already spreading.”

   “Wait, are you saying that… I did this?” you question, already trembling at the thought that it could be true.

   That you could’ve freed these monsters without even knowing it.    You’d felt their hunger when you’d met them. Their need to consume and destroy life. If this is somehow your fault…

   “Valya, listen to me,” he says, coming back to you and putting his hands around your upper arms when he sees you begin to spiral. “Whatever happened here, what matters is that we must find and stop these creatures.”

   “But if I freed them, if this fucking darkness inside of me can set them loose even from a prison, how can we hope to stop them?”

   “I don’t know, but we must try. That’s as much as we can do, my love.”

   He pulls you along, out of the basement and back to his room, where he asks you to get dressed for the cold weather outside.    But you don’t start right away. You need a minute. Just a few moments to think and try and understand what’s happening. Because if you are responsible for this then there’s every chance that even if you manage to capture the creatures again, the same thing will happen.

   Oberyn had noticed the absence of the pull when he’d passed the basement door on his way to find you over three days ago. Before you’d been attacked and almost died, so if you somehow freed them, it must’ve happened while you were at the Thanksgiving party.    But what could’ve triggered it? This darkness you apparently possess. What could’ve drawn it out and allowed these monsters to feed off it?

   “I’m not sure that I should go with you,” you say to him, while still just standing there in the middle of his bedroom, afraid of so many things now that you can’t even name them.

   He’s been looking through his weapon’s drawer with his back to you, so he hasn’t noticed that you haven’t started getting dressed yet. But he realizes what you’re doing as soon as he hears you speak.

   “Whether you caused this or not, I need you to help me find them. And if we do, then that will give us some answers.”

   “How?”

   “Because if you do possess the qualities of a Darkling, they’ll be drawn to you. Whereas if you don’t, they will merely wish to destroy you.”

   “Oh… great.”

   “I know that this is frightening, but we need answers. So, please, dress warmly and let us be on our way.”

   You don’t argue. He’s right, nothing’s gained from hiding, especially when you don’t even know what you’re really trying to hide from.    A few minutes later, you’re back out on the courtyard watching Oberyn transform once more, and this time you’re able to enjoy the sight a bit more, since you’re no longer scared of the beast. Even the weapons he’s chosen to take with him are engulfed by the scales as they emerge. It truly is a mesmerizing thing to see.

   But it also reminds you of how far away from yourself you’ve gotten.    There’s no real comparison to be made anymore. Nothing about your life has remained the same ever since your own transformation. And as much as you try not to, you can’t help but think about the horror you could, and probably will, unleash if you are a Darkling.    These creatures would only be a sidenote if you end up covering the world in death.

   He picks you up like before, cradling you to his chest with his front paws. He’d told you earlier that he’d like for you to ride on his shoulders but that he fears the deadly spikes that his hair become whenever he gets agitated or even just startled, so you stick to this form of transportation for now.    It makes little difference to you. His broad chest and the comforting thumping of his heart within, soothes your worries and brings your mind back to a lighter tone.

   The sound, and the breeze, takes you to fond memories of summer mornings, and all the lovely treks you’ve taken into the seven hills. The rustle of leaves, the rhythmic thumping of your feet, or Casper’s hooves, against the ground, the birds singing and the sun rising along your back.    If only life could be that simple again.

   He circles outwards from the castle, increasing the circumference of each circle on every turn so that he covers all directions. From this height, you can barely even see the ground much less what might be moving across it, but his eyesight is better than yours.    You worry about people, though. Because it’s broad daylight and anyone that looks up could spot his large form against the cloudless sky. Which does tell you something about the urgency of his need to find these beings and stop them.

   It somehow feels like only minutes have passed since you set off, when he suddenly ducks his head and falls into a dive, folding his wings down along his body to enable him to cut through the air like a razor.    The wind seems to pass by your mouth so fast that you can’t inhale it, but only a few seconds later it’s already over.

   He opens his wings so close to the ground that it takes all his strength to break your fall and land, rather than crash, but it’s still a rough touchdown after only three powerful pushes of his wings.    And the moment you’re down, he drops you and leaps after something that scurries off through the streets.

   You never have a chance to land on your feet after he releases you, because he does it when he’s already moving away from you, so by the time you’ve gotten up and oriented yourself, both Oberyn and his quarry have disappeared around a corner.    That’s when you realize that you’re in a city, somewhere in the outskirts but it must be a bigger city, because the buildings are tightly packed, and the streets are long.

   Afraid that he won’t find you again, you don’t move from the spot where the dragon dropped you off, except for leaving the alley where he landed so that you can look up and down the street, which is thankfully not particularly crowded at the moment.    He ran off to the north, and you can see a few people staring down that way in what appears to be mild shock, but he probably passed them so quickly that they never managed to get a good look at him, or what he’s chasing.

   You keep to the shadows in the corner that leads to the alley while you wait, but it doesn’t take long before something happens.    Unfortunately, it’s not what you’d expected, or hoped, would happen.    Directly across the street from you there’s another alley which is even narrower than the one you’re waiting by, and from the protective shade of the buildings and waste bins, something strikes at a person passing by.

   You only notice it because you were watching the man that got attacked even before it happened, since he was one of those who had likely seen the green streak of scales pass him, and you were checking to see that he wasn’t on his way to alert anyone about it.    He’s pulled into the alley so quickly and harshly that he doesn’t manage to even scream in fear, and despite the shadows, you can see what happens to him next.

   Another one of the creatures is here, and once it has the poor man in its claws, it rips him to pieces. Literally.    You can see the blood spray clear across the entire alley as his arteries are ripped open when the monster tears him in half, from his right arm down to his left hip. His organs spill out over the ground and then the fucking thing picks up his heart and gulps it down in one big mouthful, before just leaving the rest of him there for the rats and crows to feast on.

   You’re too scared to do anything. You just stand there and stare in absolute shock, because what can you do? What can you ever hope to do against something like that?    For your safety, and your partner’s, you don’t carry a mobile phone anymore, but there’s a payphone halfway down the block, next to a bus stop, and you don’t need money to be able to call the emergency services.

   Slowly, hindered by some form of haze that seems to cloud your mind, you walk towards the phone, picking it up without a clue of what you’re gonna say to whoever picks up at the other end, but dialing the emergency number anyway.    The responding voice is soft and warm. A woman, middle-aged by the sound of it, practiced and at ease with her task. She asks if you need assistance, and when you don’t reply, she asks if you’re hurt.

   “No…” you finally manage to say. “No, not me. I need… There’s a man in the alley. He’s been killed…”

   “Where are you, miss?” the operator asks, and you realize that you have no idea what city you’re even calling from.

   “Uh… I don’t know where I am. What city is this?”

   “You’re in Chicago, miss. Are you sure you’re okay?”

   “Yeah, I’m just… a little shocked. I saw it happen. I saw him get torn apart,” you explain while trying to expel the images from your mind, entirely without success.

   “Are you with the man now?”

   “No, I’m across the street and a little further down the block, this was the nearest phone.”

   “Okay, can you see any street signs?” she asks, and you suddenly feel stupid.

   There are signs fully visible on every cross-street. Apologizing, you give her the names and she starts a new line of inquiries, focusing more on the victim now.

   “You said that the man was torn apart, what did you mean by that?”

   “I mean literally. He’s in at least two pieces. And I think the…” you pause, looking for a suitable way to address the thing responsible.

   You simply can’t call it a man, but you also can’t call it a thing without spurring the operator into even more questions that you can’t answer.

   “…assailant,” you finally settle on, “ate his heart.”

   “I’m sorry, did you just say that the person who did this ate the man’s heart?”

   “Yes, ma’am,” you reply, stifling the urge to add that it wasn’t a god damned person who did this.

   “Is the assailant still on the premises?”

   “No, I don’t think so.”

   “Okay. I’m gonna need you to remain where you are until emergency services arrive. What’s your name, miss?”

   You can’t stay there because you don’t have time for the police to question you, and you can’t give her your name because that would just complicate things so much more.    So, you drop the phone without ending the call, letting it dangle while you walk away, back into the alley where Oberyn had dropped you off, moving far enough away that no one investigating the murder will be able to spot you.

   It doesn’t take long before you hear the sirens, but just as the vehicles begin to arrive, the thing re-emerges from the shadows of that alley.    From your hiding spot less than two hundred yards away, you see the police and ambulance personnel step out of their vehicles, the former shielding the latter in case the assailant is still there, and head towards the alley, leaving you with a terrible dilemma.

   If you try to warn them, you’ll put yourself in danger, and potentially increase the risk to their lives by whatever darkness it is that you might possess. But if you remain hidden and say nothing, they’ll definitely be killed.    You don’t know that you could live with the cowardice of not even trying to warn them, so you set off running towards them, screaming as loud as you can.

   “NO! Don’t go in there! It’s still there, it’ll kill you!!”

   They react, turning to see who’s yelling at them, and that’s when the creature strikes.    The two policemen have their weapons drawn, and when the thing takes down one of the paramedics, tearing the young man to shreds in a matter of seconds, they both try to shoot it. Unfortunately, it moves too fast for the bullets to find their mark, and within moments, the policemen are meeting the same fate.

   By the time you’ve run the two hundred yards to reach them, all four of them are dead, and the monster is working on ripping their bodies apart just for the fun of it.    It doesn’t eat anything from them this time, so the heart must’ve just been a random act of destruction, rather than some compulsory ritual or feeding requirement.    None of the creatures in those cages had been fed anything for years, so clearly, they don’t actually need to eat to survive. Consumption must serve some other purpose for them.

   It stops tearing at the bodies as you reach the street, refocusing on you instead, and you freeze to the spot just as more sirens can be heard approaching.    In the bright daylight, it somehow looks even worse than it had in the sparse lighting of the basement. Its sickly broken skin and black oozing blood seeping out of every crack, its broken bones poking out at odd angles throughout its crouched form. Not quite walking on all fours, but so deformed that its original human shape can no longer be discerned.

   You stand there, as if locked together with the thing, neither of you moving an inch while the additional emergency vehicles get closer. And when they reach your odd little standoff and screech to a halt, the creature finally breaks eye-contact with you.    It appears almost enraged by the metal and plastic cars that stand between it and its prey and attacks the newly arrived firetruck with a fury unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

   Mere seconds is all it takes before its carved its way through one of the doors and is inside the cabin, after which nothing but blood can be seen inside.    Two of the firemen manage to get out before it reaches them, but then it pauses its efforts to kill the ones its already gotten started on, so that it can go after those that escaped its clutches.

   Evil, malicious beings, with no purpose save for destruction and pain. That’s how Oberyn had described them, and that is exactly what you’re seeing.

   “Stop…” you whisper, unable to get your voice to cooperate while you watch the monster finish with the firemen and then set after the second pair of policemen, who like their coworkers have opted to try and shoot the thing rather than just flee.

   This can’t be your doing. You can’t be the one that set this in motion, you could never live with that if it turns out to be true.

   “STOP!” you roar at the creature just before it reaches the desperate policemen, who have now taken refuge in their car, even though they’ve seen that thin metal doesn’t keep it out.

   Amazingly, unbelievably, it does stop at your command.    For one fraction of a second, time seems to slow as the thing halts and turns its head to glare at you.    The moment ends, however, when the giant green dragon crashes through the corner of a building further down the street, while in pursuit of the other creature.

   And that’s when everything goes horribly wrong.

Part 8

The Ten Spirits of the World Air - Forest - Water - Stone - Night - Autumn - Winter - Spring - Summer.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

@harriedandharassed @kittenlittle24 @joelswritingmistress @pedrostories

[sirowsky]

Hello. Are you the owner of "FanficReader01" account on Archive of Our Own? Thanks.

Hi. I'm assuming you're the same anon who sent me a similar ask a while back, so my apologies for not replying to that one.

However, it honestly confuses me a bit, since the name you asked about in the earlier message referenced a completely different username (boom-ovaries-gone), which is plainly not me.... since my username is sirowsky... you know, the username you sent this ask to......? So, I don't really understand where you're connecting me to this AO3 account.

But to fully answer your question, I do have an AO3 account, which is neither sirowsky nor boom-ovaries-gone.

Hope that helps, and happy hunting for the correct person!

[sirowsky]

I don't know if this guy is as famous here as he is on other sites, but he ought to be. And drivers, not just American ones, need to watch this because a lot of people just don't understand why traffic enforcement is such a big deal.

Treat your law enforcement with respect, people. It's not that hard.

[sirowsky]

@ullwinner Hello fellow Swede 👋

We've had a three week long heatwave, and I mean HEAT, only to now get hit with crazy thunderstorms every night.

I took this video out on my balcony after seeing a few distant flashes. It took me completely by surprise, as you'll notice by my reaction in the end... 😨

I'm not normally that worried about thunder/lightning, but when it makes an entire 24-unit apartment building vibrate, I gracefully bow out.

[sirowsky]

We've had a three week long heatwave, and I mean HEAT, only to now get hit with crazy thunderstorms every night.

I took this video out on my balcony after seeing a few distant flashes. It took me completely by surprise, as you'll notice by my reaction in the end... 😨

I'm not normally that worried about thunder/lightning, but when it makes an entire 24-unit apartment building vibrate, I gracefully bow out.

[sirowsky]

@i-wanna-be-your-muse

Oh, how I've missed your reblog-essays, love 😘 I needed that, thank you so much.

And you know I make no promises about the health of my characters, but there's funky stuff coming, so hold on to your brain and keep your toes off the floor! 😄

Driving Mr. Tovar

Chapter 30 - It's A Worrisome Life

Description: You and Pero are trying to come to terms with Sam's decision, but in the course of looking for a solution, you end up discovering a whole lot of other things.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero x female reader, cursing, allusions to past domestic violence, angst, car-accident, dead animal. Word count: 9774 (2327 words added) Masterlist (this story) Author’s Masterlist

   Doris made chicken soup for dinner that evening, and the delicious smell filled the entire house, while also reminding you of how your mother had tended to you when you’d been ill as a child.    But when you stepped into the dining room, you felt oddly unwelcome. Not because of anything that was said or done to you, but just because of your own perception.    You didn’t technically work here anymore, so you shouldn’t be allowed to eat for free.

   “Take your seats, and dig in before it cools,” Doris insisted, but she was just a little too chirpy.

   Her exaggeration made you suspect that you hadn’t quite managed to clean yourself up to the point where you no longer looked puffy-eyed and just generally sad, and that she was trying to bring your spirits up.    Even Pero still had the slightly haunted expression that he’d first displayed after Rose had told him. The shock and the hurt seeming to linger in his features, no matter how much he tried to shake them.

   “Are you both alright?” Coulson took over, looking at the two of you with mild concern. “If it’s Mr. Rose that has you so worried, you can rest somewhat easier now because he was awake a little while ago, and he seemed normal enough.”

   You knew all that, but the fact that he obviously didn’t even know that you’d seen your employer that morning, meant that no one in the staff did.    You were tired and still sad, not just about Sam’s decision, but about everything else that your heart had tried to process that day. And it had your patience worn down to a fraction of its usual might.

   “No, Coulson, we’re not alright,” you snapped, unnecessarily harshly, but you really weren’t in the mood to talk to him or anyone else about what you were struggling with right then. “How about we leave it at that.”

   “Of course. I’m sorry, miss,” he immediately offered in his usual unfailingly professional manner, which made you feel bad about your outburst.

   Still, you were too stressed out to feel bad enough to apologize to him while you made your way to the table. You also knew that he’d understand, and that he’d forgive you.    But while the rest of you sat down and started helping yourselves to the soup, Pero remained standing. And when everyone had stopped moving, looking at him to find out what he was doing, he preceded to shock everyone, including you.

   “Mr. Rose fired us both this morning,” he declared, nodding towards you as he included you in his narrative, and then paused to let the room absorb the news.

   Stunned, you just sat there and stared at him, while an increasing sense of betrayal was snaking through your veins.    Because you’d just finished almost biting Coulson’s head off for even asking how you felt, and now your partner was blatantly bringing up the very subject that had you feeling distressed.

   Logically, you knew that he wouldn’t do that unless he felt that it was needed, for some reason that you couldn’t see yet, but it still hurt your feelings that he wouldn’t even ask if it was okay with you if he brought it up.    Which left you leaned back in your chair with your arms crossed and your eyes firmly directed at anything but him.

   Laura was the first of the group to pick up her jaw from the floor and attempt a reply.

   “What in the blazes…?    You’re his oldest friend, and the one that’s worked for him the longest, his most trusted companion. What in the world would make him do that?” she asked, holding a hand over her chest to try and quell what you imagined was a wildly pounding heart.

   The woman might’ve lived for gossip, but she was also exceedingly kind and her love for the family was absolute.    Even the thought of it breaking apart would be unbearable for her.

   “Because he’s trying to keep us alive, which I can understand. But Peg and I both believe that he’s making a mistake,” Pero answered calmly, to which Coulson was the first to respond, and as always, he read the situation correctly.

   “And you want us to help you figure out if you’re right?”

   Pero nodded, and suddenly the hurt you felt was gone, in a single heartbeat, because now you understood why he’d brought it up.    With the life that you’d led, you’d gotten used to not having anyone to turn to. Having no one in your corner, no one to ask for advice or help, beyond your therapist.

   But these people all knew Sam better than you, and they’d all been around Pero for almost a decade. So, if anyone could help the two of you make sense of this, it would be the five people currently sitting around this table with you.    And the mere fact that it was the grump that had refused to even make friends with them for all that time, who was the one that was asking for their help, was a monumental shift.

   Surprisingly, Hero was the first one to offer her opinion.

   “Definitely a mistake. The man won’t last a month without you,” she said, and Pero nodded in agreement.

   “This is my concern, as well.    While I haven’t gone with him on every meeting throughout the years, every time that I have, he wouldn’t have returned if not for my skills,” he said, and there was no trace of pride or ego in his tone, only concern. “I trust you both to protect him, but you’re not enough. And Brix can’t be replaced.”

   There was a moment’s pause as everyone silently agreed on that last part.

   “And what about the other side of the coin – your safety, Mr. Tovar?” Coulson asked, breaking the silence. “Am I right in assuming that Mr. Rose is worried about you in an entirely different way now that you have this incredible woman in your life?”

   Pero glanced at you then, and you made sure to scrub any trace of hurt from your face when you met his tired eyes, so that he’d know that you were with him.    You felt certain that he’d avoided looking at you earlier because he knew that he’d sprung this on you, and probably wanted to give you a chance to recover before he actively involved you in the conversation.

   He seemed a bit more relaxed when he turned back to answer Coulson, as if your lack of a rebuke, verbal or otherwise, had given him strength.

   “Yes, this is his main argument,” he agreed with a slightly frustrated sigh. “That I have too much to lose now to be allowed to put my life in danger like I have all these years.    He wishes for us to leave and settle down somewhere that this place can’t affect us.”

   “Not be a chink in the wheel, but he does have a point there.    It’s not like anyone of us will ever truly be safe here,” Coulson reminded him, but Pero shook his head at that.

   “That may be true, but Rose is no fighter. He’s a planner, strategist and thinker, but not a fighter. He hired six people to protect him and his interests for a reason, and ever since Arthur’s betrayal, you know that he won’t take such a risk again.    With this decision, he’s leaving himself extremely vulnerable, only because of his guilty conscience and fear. And I can understand his reasoning, but what he is ignoring with this decision, are my feelings.”

    Everyone sort of stilled when he got to those last few words. None of them had ever heard him talk about his feelings before, and certainly not like this.    The lone person standing, as though this was a stage and there was a spotlight aimed directly at him.

   “Sam… is my oldest friend. The first person to give a damn about me after my sister died. At first, I didn’t even know why I agreed to work for him, other than to get him to stop bugging me all the time.    I told myself that I was just taking the easiest road. That sooner or later I’d end up dead, but it just… never happened.    And before I knew it, ten years had gone by, this place had been built, and he was bringing in one stranger after the next, and I was suddenly worrying about him.    Me. Worrying.”

   He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head, chuckling humourlessly before he continued.

   “I told myself that I didn’t care about him, that it was just that I had gotten used to him, and I told myself this lie so many times that I eventually believed it.    It would take meeting you, Belleza, to make me capable of realising that I have always loved him. That he’s my brother in every way a person can be, save blood.    And now he’s asking me to walk away.    Even if I didn’t fear for his life, I wouldn’t know how to do this. I’ve known him for twenty years and I wasn’t kind to him for most of that time, which is why I’ve always struggled to understand why he didn’t throw me out back then.    And now that he is, I still don’t understand.”

   He put his closed hands down on the table and rested the weight of his upper body on his knuckles, clearly struggling with a burden that had nothing to do with his physiology.    Then Laura cleared her throat.

   “To tell you the truth, honey, we never understood why he kept you around either. But we assumed that it was just friendship. You know… the unbreakable kind.    Rose has certainly proven himself capable of tolerating all kinds of people, so even someone as unfriendly as you, never stuck out here. You were just another oddity in his collection, so we let it go.”

   A part of you rebelled against her use of the word ‘unfriendly’, but that was just your protective reflex, kicking in because of how naturally you thought of him as the man that he had become.    You knew exactly what version of him that she was referring to, and promptly stopped yourself from addressing it.

   The two of you had talked all afternoon, as soon as you’d stopped crying enough to be able to think with any clarity.    You’d sat down there, at the edge of the meadow, trying to suss out just what your options were, and which one might feel slightly more appealing than the rest, only to conclude that none of them felt right. Which obviously didn’t help anything.

   But listening to Laura put something in perspective for you, something you’d struggled to grasp earlier, for some reason.

   “We’re not a collection,” you blurted out, feeling a strong sense of conviction settle into your frame. “Rose didn’t bring us together just because he likes people that differ from the norms of society.    He hired us because he trusts us. Because we’ve proven ourselves somehow.    This isn’t some eccentric genius’s idea of entertaining himself, Sam really loves us. That’s why we’re here, and that’s why we can’t reconcile with the idea of leaving.    He’s a truly good man and he chose us to be his family, so contract or not; we can’t just abandon him.”

   Your eyes met Pero’s, and a small wrinkle of confusion adorned his forehead. There was such power behind your words, a power you hadn’t shown on this subject until just now.    Feeling rejected and unwanted, you’d felt trapped in what had seemed like an inescapable reality, in which your only choice was to accept your employer’s decision.    But right now, your heart had suddenly declared otherwise.

   “We’re not going anywhere,” you finished with a determined shake of your head.

   Relief pushed the wrinkle out of Pero’s face, and a small smile crept into his eyes.    He might not have realized it himself, but you could tell that he’d been hoping for something like this from you. Something to make his own desire to declare the same thing, feel more valid and reasonable.    But he remained serious as he took your words as fact, and started to build on them.

   “He won’t approve of us refusing to honor his wishes.    He may have said that we can stay, but he knows that this would mean problems, and I’m sure that he has made plans to get us to leave eventually,” Pero pondered in response, and you snickered.

   “Oh, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’d already bought a house or even a ranch for us, hoping that he’d be able to convince us to take the horses and go.”

   “Probably,” he agreed, with a little huff of a laugh, but then Shaggy spoke up for the first time since this conversation started.

   “You do know that Rose isn’t just gonna let you defy his wishes, right?    He might be sneaky about it, but if he’s decided that he doesn’t want you here anymore, he’ll make it happen.    I’m just saying; what exactly do you think you could possibly do to convince a man like him to change his mind?” he posited, and while you could see his point, you also disagreed.

   “He doesn’t need to change his mind,” you replied. “He just needs to remember that he’s the one that put us all here and turned us into a family, and that he doesn’t get to rip it apart just because things got bad.    None of us are manicured, none of us are untested, none of us are without baggage. We’re all fighters in our own right, and I for one am going to fight for my family, now that I finally have one again.”

   For some reason, that seemed to be the moment when Hero decided that this conversation needed to move along. Either getting impatient with the subject, or perhaps she was just uncomfortable with all the emotion on display.

   “So, what do you need from us?” she asked, and you took a moment to think about it.

   “I don’t know yet. For now, just support, just knowing that we can count on you guys to back us up on our decision to stay, if and when Rose does decide to try and make us go.”

   “Well, duh…” she groaned with an accompanying eyeroll. “Like I said, he wouldn’t last a month without Tovar, and then we’d all be homeless and unemployed.”

   Everyone chuckled mildly at the somewhat dark humor, but Pero then managed to make the entire room exceedingly uncomfortable, with a single sentence.

   “Healthy or not, Rose can’t get us to leave without some assistance, which means that he will be counting on at least some of you to help him.”

   Crap.    He was right. There were two of you, and two horses to move out. If Sam was to have any chance of forcing or manipulating your hands, he’d need at least Coulson to help him.    Doris had been uncharacteristically quiet during this conversation, but when she did decide to speak, she silenced the lot of them.

   “No one is helping anyone kick anyone else out of this estate. That will not happen.    Because if it does, I’m gonna go after every single one of you with a cast-iron frying pan in each hand, and I won’t stop until you’re black and blue all over. Got it?”

   Everyone around the table sat like lit candles in church, as if her words had poured themselves into your spines and forced your compliance.    Well, everyone besides Pero. He was immune to Doris’s moods, it seemed.

   “Good. Now eat, before I have to throw all this soup away,” she muttered after staring each of you down, and like a group of cadettes responding to their commanding officer, the staff unfroze and got back to their plates.

   Pero finally sat down and took your hand under the table, but he seemed tense.    There was a strange atmosphere throughout the entire room. No one spoke again, about anything, and it felt as though something was hanging over the table. Something dark and unpleasant, that wouldn’t be chased away.    And you wondered why it felt like you were standing in the starting blocks of a battle.

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   After dinner, everyone thanked Doris, and then quickly left the table. Everyone but you and Pero.    He felt like there was a storm coming, and something inside of him seemed heavy and already tired of it.

   “Thank you, Doris. For dinner, and your striking words,” he offered the cook while she got up to leave, and she shook her head with frustration.

   “Oh, I swear, if Mr. Rose wasn’t in such a state, I’d wring his little neck.    The insensitivity alone… I never thought I’d see the day!    We’ve lost too much already, and now he thinks that he can just uproot us all like this… Never in a million years would I ever have thought him capable of such inconsideration,” she rattled off, and Pero sort of fell backwards against the back of the chair.

   Because listening to her, he realized that she was right, Rose was being insensitive.    That wasn’t uncommon for the man in general, he had to turn his compassion and empathy off for certain things, that was the nature of the life he’d chosen.    But he had never once used his ability to just shut his emotions off like that, against his own people before.

   The more he thought about it, the more Pero was starting to think that his old friend might be concealing something deeper underneath this shocking turn of events.    Doris continued to ramble to herself while she cleaned up the table and disappeared into the kitchen, and you followed her with your eyes even after she’d passed through the swiveling door.

   “Do you think she’s okay?” you asked with a concerned brow, as the door came to a stop.

   “She is right, that much I know.”

   “About Sam uprooting us? Yeah, it was a good metaphor,” you agreed, but that wasn’t the part that he had gotten stuck on.

   “About him acting out of character,” he pondered, following his own trail of thoughts as they came to him. “He’s never like this with us, or at least, he never has been before.    No matter how many stupid things we’ve done, he has always let us decide what risks we’re comfortable with. He’s never tried to force our hands.    And even these most recent events are far from the worst that have ever happened here.”

   “I know. Fucking missiles…” you grumbled under your breath, and even though his head was going to darker places right then, a bemused chuckle escaped him.

   “That one really stuck with you, yes?” he teased, but there was no humor in your frame when you responded.

   “Pero, for most of my life I’ve seen those kinds of weapons on the news, as they decimate entire towns or take out enemy settlements.    Missiles do not strike peaceful estates in the middle of fucking Fangorn forest. They’re instruments of war, and before you told me about them, I didn’t realize that I was in the middle of one,” you snapped, and that word took any and all playfulness out of him.

   War.

   He’d never thought of Sam’s mission as a battle, more like trying to swim up a waterfall.    But when he now thought back on the past few years, and all the threats and dangerous people that had been involved, he realized that you were completely right.    This was a war, and it had been raging for quite some time. It was what had turned Arthur against even a trusted friend, and what had put Rose on Hondo’s radar.

   It was a battle that had begun decades ago, the moment that Sam had understood the full scope of what he could accomplish, if he was willing to fight for it.    To sacrifice for it.    A sickening feeling filled Pero’s heart as a thought that had never entered his mind, now made a shadow-filled home there.

   Samuel Rose would sacrifice both you and Pero to his dream, this cause that he was working towards, if he got close enough to completing it.    Because as much as he loved you both, he genuinely, and probably rightly, believed himself to be the only one that could accomplish the change that he was working towards.    And against the betterment of all mankind, even an old friend was expendable.

   The man was indeed trying to save you, but not from an enemy. From himself.

   Somewhere in the depths of his soul, Pero had always known about this darker side of Sam, and he’d accepted it because he hadn’t cared about his own life anyway.    With time, he’d deluded himself into thinking that his employer’s affection for him had changed that, that he had become too important to be expendable anymore, but he’d been fooling himself.

   But now he understood. Like a gong going off in his head, he suddenly understood everything.

   “We have to stop him,” he said, staring at you without seeing you, because his mind was conjuring up worst case scenarios, and each one was more terrifying than the next.

   “Who, Sam?” you tried to follow, understandably confused since you had no idea of what Pero had just figured out. “Yeah, we’ve been over that-…”

   “No, Angel. We have to stop him from destroying himself,” he said, and you met his eyes with growing trepidation. “He’s not sending us away merely to protect us, he’s close to finishing his life’s work, and he knows that the aftermath will spill over onto us as well.    He’s not going to use the others to help him drive us out, he’s gonna send them all away, one by one, until he is the only one left to take the fall.”

   You listened intently, and each word seemed to bring you closer and closer to an abyss.

   “Oh my god…” you breathed, and he could almost see how your mind reluctantly put the pieces together, hoping that they wouldn’t fit, only to sink further into despair as they did. “But what could possibly be that important?”

   “I’m not sure. His work is meant to change our relationship with technology in a fundamental way, but I don’t know how he means to accomplish this.    And it doesn’t matter, all that matters is that we stop him.”

   “But how can we stop something that we don’t even understand?    How can we ask him not to do this, if we don’t know what it is or how important it might be?” you persisted, but Pero wasn’t going to think like that.

   He couldn’t, because that road inevitably led to the loss of his dearest friend, and that was unacceptable.

   “He is more important,” he all but growled, before getting up and quickly making his way through the house, over to Rose’s bedroom.

   As promised, Dr. Hyland was there, closely monitoring his recovery, and Pero had to stop himself from unceremoniously ordering her out of the room.

   “Doctor, I’m sorry, but could I have a moment alone with your patient?” he asked through almost gritted teeth.

   “He’s sleeping…” she said in a way which clearly implied that she wasn’t inclined to let anyone disturb him.

   “Doctor, please,” he tried, making an effort not to sound so harsh, to which she sighed deeply.

   “…Fine. Just be careful with him.”

   Pero just nodded, somewhat bewildered and wondering once again why he hadn’t learned to use the word please until you showed up. Because it really did work.    The doctor left, and he approached the bed, suddenly feeling apprehensive.    Before he addressed the man, he glanced back to find you leaning against the doorframe, in case this was a brother’s only kind of talk, and he found himself glad to have you there.

   “Rose, wake up,” he said to the sleeping genius, not with any hostility to his tone, but loud and clear, and the man stirred right away.

   “Tov? What’s the matter?” he slurred, before he was even fully awake.

   “I need you to tell me that I’m wrong.”

   “Hm? …bout what?” Rose asked, and a concerned wrinkle appeared between his brows.

   “I need you to tell me that you’re not planning on sending everyone away.    Tell me that this is not about your endgame. Tell me… that this is not you trying to throw yourself on a grenade for us,” Pero demanded, and Sam was suddenly wide awake.

   He stared at the Spaniard with a strangely desolate expression, as though his soul was suddenly empty of all meaning and purpose and desire.    The expression of a man that had already placed his bombs, and started the timer, leaving no option for aborting the explosion.

   “Maldita sea…” Pero mumbled to himself, feeling the truth collapse around him like a cage. “What have you done?”

   “Nothing yet. I wanted to make sure you were gone first,” the man admitted without even a tremor in his voice, he was that sure that this was the right course of action.

   Defeat filled Pero’s heart, because he knew that if his brother really had reached his endgame, then they would never be able to convince him to abandon it.    As he closed his eyes and bowed his head, he felt the reassuring warmth of your hand as it squeezed the muscle between his neck and shoulder, trying to comfort as much as strengthen him.    But your focus was on the man in the bed before you.

   “Whatever it is, it can’t be worth this, Sam,” you said, and while your voice sounded only pleading, there was something much more urgent in your grip.

   “It’s worth more than this, Peg. So much more-…” he tried, but you cut him off.

   “Fuck that!” you spat, suddenly angry enough to push Pero out of the way so that you could lean over your employer and give him a real piece of your mind.

   Something that took both men completely by surprise.

   “All my life, I’ve been a lonely misfit, and then you came along.    You put me here! You made me a home here, gave me a family, made me feel welcome and normal and included, and for what?    Just so you could snatch the rug out from under me when I’ve finally begun to find my place and my purpose?    No. You don’t get to do that!    You don’t get to play with people like that! If you weren’t prepared to see us get hurt, then you shouldn’t have brought us here at all!    Now you’re gonna tell me what the fuck is so important that you would destroy this beautiful thing that you’ve built here, or so help me, I will burn your house to the ground myself!”

   Sam was actually visibly trembling under your rage, which was something that Pero had never seen before, regardless of what circumstance the man had been in.    It was the churning heat under the surface that was the truly frightening part about your outburst. The fact that you didn’t actually seem that angry on the outside, while you were positively radiating the air around you with your fury.

   Where that came from, your partner had no idea, but he found it deeply unsettling.    Especially since you hadn’t seemed the least bit angry all day, throughout any of the lengthy conversations you’d sat through on the topic.    This had clearly been turning within you, though, just waiting for an outlet.

   “I… I can’t tell you. It’s too dangerous,” the younger man persisted, which only further fueled your anger.

   “What, more dangerous than living with you, or working for you? Because I’ve survived that, how many times now?    Not to mention Pero, in his twenty years with you. Twenty years that you’re willing to just throw away like it was nothing-…” you cut yourself off abruptly, apparently deciding to switch tracks. “Fine, you know what? I’m not gonna burn the house down.    But we’re not leaving. And if you try and remove us, I’ll fight you. And I’m fucking good at that.”

   With that, you turned on your heels and stalked out of the room, leaving both men staring after you with shock and confusion.

   “Pero…” Sam breathed, so shaken that he had to use his first name to be sure that he got it right.

   “Hm?”

   “She’s not exaggerating… is she?”

   “Not in the least. I’ve never seen her like this,” the Spaniard assured him, and that made him pause, which prompted Pero to turn and meet his eyes, to try and read what he was thinking.

   “I never wanted it to come this,” Rose confessed, still profoundly uneasy. “And in truth… I don’t think I ever allowed myself to believe that I might actually accomplish it. That I’d ever have to make this decision.”

   “Must it be now, hermano? Can it not wait?”

   “Sure. But to what benefit? Hurting you now or hurting you later… how does that help anything?” the man pondered, and Pero tried to draw a deep breath.

   But there was a surprising heaviness of grief constricting his chest. As though Sam was already lost to him.

   “I have just learned to love this family… and now you take it from me,” he said, his voice now thick with emotion. “You. The only one that I have ever trusted.    I don’t have it in me to be as enraged with you as my Belleza, but I understand exactly what she feels. We are very alike, in many ways.”

   His chest was only getting worse, so he sat down on one of the chairs by the bed, burying his face in his hands.

   “Do you not see that you’re not just hurting us; you’re destroying us.    You built us, like your machines… you built this family.    Please, Sam… don’t treat us like a house of cards. Don’t sit back and watch us tumble to the ground. Because we won’t be rebuilt, you must see that.    There is no putting us back together again, not after this…”

   He lifted his head to meet Rose’s eyes, and for the first time since meeting him, Pero saw true and heart-breaking regret in those eyes.    The man had made mistakes before, plenty of them, but nothing that he wasn’t prepared to live with. Until now.

   “I do understand,” the Spaniard tried. “To some degree, I understand that you feel obligated to do whatever this is, for all mankind.    But hermano… mankind will destroy itself, no matter what you do. It’s only a matter of time, so let it go.    Free yourself of this burden, but not at the cost of everything that you love.”

   He didn’t say anything, but he reached for Pero’s hand and when he took it, Sam held it as though it was his whole life. As though that thin connection between their skin was the only thread that kept him from falling headfirst off a cliff.    And he cried. Like the older man had never seen him cry, and all the monitors went crazy as his heartrate tripled.

   That got Dr. Hyland’s attention, and she quickly appeared in the doorway, but then left just as quickly with the realization that this was something that she couldn’t fix.    Pero held his brother’s hand for as long as it took for him to pass out from exhaustion, somehow managing to hold his own tears back despite the pain of the scene before him.    And when Rose finally stilled, he stood up and kissed his forehead.

   “Whatever you decide, hermano… I love you,” he whispered, needing to say it even though he was also royally upset. “I might hate you too, I don’t know. But I know that I love you.”

   He then left the room feeling more conflicted than he ever had before, and he needed to see you.    Partly just to talk to you, to make sure that you were okay after all that anger had reached the surface like that, and partly because you were his heart, and he really needed that right now.

   He believed that he understood why you’d reacted like that. He’d seen how hard it had been for you to accept even your own sister as your family again, let alone the staff here, only to have your efforts and hopes crushed.    But he also knew that anger of that kind could make you reckless, and you were a bit impulsive at times.

   He left the house without searching for you inside. You wouldn’t have stayed in there with that much energy clawing at you. But you might’ve gone for a run, or down to the stables to clean excessively, or possibly back down to the meadow.    The rest of the staff would already have retired to their homes after dinner, so there was little chance anyone had seen where you’d gone.

   He decided to check the stables first, because there was a good chance that you’d tried to let King soothe you. But no such luck.    It was empty and the boys were both close by so he could see that you weren’t with them.    Next, he looked through the garden and the meadow with the same result, so he was a bit antsy by the time he got to your house.    Also empty.

   Finally, he checked the garage, and found the slot for the Ghost empty, which was both a relief and a bit disconcerting.

   You were a good driver even when you were stressed, but he’d never known you to go for a drive to cool off, and he found himself wondering if you were just driving aimlessly, or if you were heading somewhere in particular.    He hoped that you ended up at your sister’s, but he had no way of knowing either way, because you still hadn’t picked up a new phone since you got back home.

   He tried not to worry, which obviously didn’t work, but at least he knew that you hadn’t left. Not in that sense.    You may have left the premises, but you hadn’t left him or your life here. Your anger was the clearest proof he’d ever need to just how much you didn’t wanna leave this place.    Whatever this was, it was clearly something that you needed to do alone, which he respected, and trusted you to come back to him when you were ready.

   But fucking hell, did he worry.

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   You hadn’t planned it.    You hadn’t even realized that you were heading for the car when you’d stomped out of the house, still fuming.    You didn’t even know where all that rage had come from yourself. But something in Sam’s words, in the knowledge that he found your life and circumstance expendable if it suited his purpose, just tore something up inside of you.

   Maybe, if you’d known him like Pero did, you could’ve seen past it, through it, and found some deeper meaning to his callousness, but you didn’t.    You’d spent all that time on that fucking plane trying to keep him alive, only to have him figuratively stab you in the back the first chance he got. At least, that’s what it felt like.    And maybe you were overreacting, but this hurt.

   It hurt like nothing else ever had, because you’d never had something like this before.    A chosen family.    Sure, there was nothing stopping all of you from being together outside of the estate too, but you knew that it wouldn’t happen. You had far too much experience being among broken homes to not know where this would lead.

   If Sam did send you all packing then the Coulson’s would move closer to their children and grandchildren, and you’d hopefully see them once or twice a year.    Doris would find work somewhere else, and she’d go wherever she found the best job for herself, even if it was halfway across the country.    She was never gonna put up with working with another character like Pero again, so she’d seek out some place calm, safe and comfortable to be until her retirement.

   Hero and Shaggy would go wherever their skills were wanted, and they weren’t the types of people that would keep in touch. They were the type that moved on, made new friends and kept things simple.    Poppy was the only real complication. She’d refuse to leave this perfect home she’d made for herself out there in the woods, and if Sam did make her go, she’d never be the same.    And you didn’t know if Hero cared enough about her to stop working in personal security and just help her partner find a home instead. Try and build a life with her.    Somehow, you couldn’t really see Hero doing that. But you’d been wrong before.

   And you and Pero…    You’d discussed a ranch. And while the prospect wasn’t very enticing compared to what you had at the estate; it was still the most acceptable alternative.    You knew that Rose would send you off with more money than you could even spend, but neither of you were the couch-potato sort of person.    But just the two of you and the horses, with nothing to do except caring for them and your home… you’d get so bored.

   The problem there was that no one in their right mind would ever hire someone like Pero. He had no grades, no formal education, no work-history that he could present to anyone.    He was moderately good a several things, but the only two things that he was great at was horses and blades, and what the hell kind of job would that ever get him?    And you weren’t much better yourself. The only job you’d ever been great at was as a personal assistant, but you could never go back to doing that full time.

   You felt like your world was falling apart, and it didn’t matter how hard you gunned the engine, the feeling still wouldn’t go away.    When you were nearing the city, you realized that you actually had to make a decision about where you were heading and slowed down to consider your options.    If you kept going, you’d end up in the annoyingly slow city-traffic, and if you turned off, you’d have nothing but wilderness around you for hours.

   But you felt drawn to the city, for reasons entirely beyond your comprehension right then. You’d been trying to get out of it for years, for pete’s sake…    You tried not to think, to just drive on a whim, as hard as that was when you knew every street. But when a bright light in the fading daylight drew your eyes from the road, while you waited at a red-light, it was a place you knew very well that came into view.

   The bright green neon sign of a restaurant called The Angry Dragon. Named after the chef that started and owned it for the first five years of its life, before he got bored with it and sold it to the wonderful owners that still ran it now, some fifteen years later.    You’d eaten the food from there at least once a week, sometimes every day, for a lot of years while you’d worked in the city, but you’d rarely had time to actually sit in the restaurant to eat.    Mostly you’d dashed in to grab a takeout bag, waving gleefully and thanking the owners, but never with any real joy in your heart.

   Then you’d completely stopped going there when you’d met Richard, since the two of you had cooked at home instead.    And everything after that had left you in such bad shape for so long that you hadn’t eaten out at all.    Later, when you’d finally started getting back on your feet, you’d opted for making your own food, in an effort to actually take care of yourself.

   You parked your car down the street and stood outside the entrance, wondering if you should go in or not.    It must’ve been twelve…thirteen years since you’d last set foot in this place.    You weren’t hungry, you’d eaten some two hours ago, but something about the place seemed to draw you in.

   Still, you couldn’t just walk in and not order something. You briefly considered just ordering a dessert, but you weren’t in the mood for sweets. And you were driving, so going in for a drink wouldn’t work either.    Why did you even wanna go in?    It was more than just nostalgia that had made you stop, but you couldn’t figure out what.

   Then the door opened, startling you, and you were suddenly bathed in the golden yellow light from the interior, while the husband of the owner couple stepped out to pick up their A-board, but froze when he saw you standing there.

   “Hey! Damn… Long-time no see, how are you?” he cheerfully asked, and you were totally dumbstruck for a moment.

   “Y-You remember me?” you asked in return, and he chuckled.

   “Of course! Chicken noodles with extra cashews, or she shrimp special. You were our most frequent customer, and then you just vanished.    We thought for sure you’d died!”

   You huffed a little at that, because he had no idea how close to the truth his words were. In a way you really had died, at least in the sense that you were no longer the same person that he’d known back then.

   “I guess… I kinda did,” you said after a beat, not sure why you’d tell a complete stranger that, but it felt important to be truthful with him.

   “Yeah, I can tell,” he surprised you by answering, and he sounded quite casual about it, as if it was only natural. “You look so different. I mean more than just in terms of age.”

   You merely smiled resignedly at him, because what was there to say, really?

   “Did you wanna eat?” he asked, sounding softer now, as if he could tell that you were struggling with something and didn’t wanna come off as pushy. “We’re closing in five minutes, but I’d gladly keep it open for you.”

   “No, I honestly don’t even know why I came here tonight.    It’s been a bad day. Maybe I just needed a reminder that it’s been a lot worse, and I’m still here,” you blabbered, but he didn’t seem bothered.

   “That sucks, I’m sorry. Anything else I can do for you?”

   “I don’t think so. But thank you.”

   “Anytime. It was really good to see you again,” he said as he started moving the sign towards the door.

   “Yeah, you too. Give my best to your wife,” you called after him, but he stopped then and pointed at the sky.

   “Ah, I would if I could, but she’s slumming it with the angels these days,” he replied with a warm smile, and you suddenly felt awful.

   “Oh… shit… I’m so sorry,” you offered, but he just shook his head, still with that smile in his eyes.

   “It’s okay. She was sick for a while, so it was good, you know… that she got to rest finally. I got to care for her, and say goodbye, which is more than so many others ever get.    I’m not gonna say that it doesn’t hurt, but that pain is love, which makes me a rich man. So, I’m okay.”

   “That’s a really beautiful way of seeing it,” you said, almost feeling that love in the air around him.

   “I can’t change it, so I have to adapt to it.    She wants me to be happy, I know that, so I do what makes me happy. It’s simple, and infinitely complicated,” he said with that kind of laugh that’s also confusion, but a confusion that is accepted and assimilated.

   “Like all of life always was and always will be,” you quoted someone, and he nodded.

   “Exactly,” he answered, and his smile widened for a moment before it faded, as if he remembered something that made him sad. “Your bad stuff… can you do anything about it?”

   “I don’t really know right now,” you said, still being honest. “I’m trying to, but I’m up against a powerful one. Someone that I don’t even know if I wanna stop… or if I should.    But I know that if I don’t, I lose something really precious to me.”

   “That’s tough. It’s hard to fight when your enemy isn’t an enemy,” he pondered, and it suddenly dawned on you that he was absolutely right.

   Sam wasn’t your enemy.    He never had been, and you couldn’t let him become one. That’s where your rage had come from.    Because his actions were turning him against you, and giving you little choice but to fight him, when that was the last fucking thing you wanted to do.

   But now you finally understood what this trip was all about, and that maybe you could still turn things around, if you could just convince Rose to hear you out.    You threw your arms around the owner’s neck, and he huffed a laugh at your sudden friendliness, but held you in return without hesitation.

   “Now I know why I needed to come here tonight. Thank you!” you smiled while pressing your cheek against his.

   “You’re very welcome. Take care of yourself, stranger,” he hummed back, clearly pleased to have been able to help you, even if he had no clue how or why.

   You let go of him and started running towards your car while you threw him another thank you over your shoulder, before literally jumping in and driving off.

   Whatever forces were at work in your life, you’d often wondered why you’d ended up in certain places at certain times, but this one was probably the weirdest.    Still, this drive had somehow helped you understand your own mind right now, and you felt much more at ease as you steered the Ghost back out onto the open road, heading for home.

   As you drove out of the bustling city, you turned the radio up, and sang along with Locked Out of Heaven by Bruno Mars, while you cruised along the forest-lined interstate without seeing another car at all.    Now that you were driving on the speed-limit, it would take you roughly an hour to get back, so you settled into it, checking yourself every ten minutes or so, to make sure you weren’t getting tired or sloppy. But you felt good.

   Somehow, there was hope in your heart again, not just that things would be alright, but that you had a good future ahead of you.    Maybe it was just the serotonin in your brain, but as long as the anger was gone, you’d take it.    You loved Sam, and the idea of having to consider him an enemy was so distressing to you that you’d lashed out against it, and you needed to tell him that.    You needed him to know just how much you didn’t wanna fight him.

-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-=¤=-

   Pero had gone back to your house to wait for you, but he was restless and having trouble sitting still, so he went down to the stables one more time.    He’d been there for most of the evening after finding your car gone, trying to keep himself from going back to Rose and asking him to activate the tracker on the Ghost and find out exactly where you were.

   You were allowed to go for a drive on your own, there was nothing wrong with that. You had a right to keep some things to yourself, your privacy hadn’t come to an end just because you were together with someone.    At least, that was the mantra that he kept telling himself, as the hours passed and you still hadn’t returned.

   But Nat lived nearly three hours away, so if that was where you’d gone, he couldn’t expect you back until around 2am, and that was if you didn’t spend more than 10 minutes there.    He assumed that you’d borrow a phone and let him know if you intended to stay the night.    So, in conclusion, even though the clock had passed 11pm, he had nothing to worry about.    Except for the fact that he didn’t know if that was even where you’d gone.

   He took a breath, trying to reel himself in. You were fine. Everything was fine. He had no reason to suspect otherwise, and that car was as safe as a car could be.    You were fine.    He stepped into the stables and heard King hum in greeting from his box. Pace was already flat on his side in his box, snoring slightly, without a care in the world.

   “Still awake, chico? Mm… me too,” he said as he approached the opening above the door, and the horse reached his big head out to lightly buff Pero’s shoulder as soon as he was close enough.

   “I can’t sleep without her anymore, and she’s not back yet. What’s your excuse?” he prattled on, mostly just fill the silence before his thoughts went to bad places.

   But King just snorted a little, looking at Pero with his insightful dark eyes, and there was something playful about him.

   “You’re blaming me?” he said with mock offense, and then shook his head slowly. “Ay, hijo… You are better to blame Sam, he’s the reason for all the drama and stress this time.”

   Suddenly, the horse turned his head towards the door, as though he’d heard something, and Pero tensed, listening closely.    King’s focus was impressive. He didn’t even breathe as he listened, making his huge thumping heart the loudest sound in the vicinity.

   But the sound that made them both jump some fifteen seconds later, wasn’t coming from outside, it came from Pero’s own pocket.    His phone was making a sound he’d never heard before, and he hurried to fish it out of his jeans and see what was going on.

--ALERT-- Traffic Accident Vehicle Involved: Rolls Royce Ghost Vehicle Damage: Severe Passengers: 1 Passenger Status: Stabile ETA Emergency Services: 18 min (heli) Location: Interstate, 4137m from Base --ALERT--

   He read the message twice before it sunk in.    Technically, he knew that all of Rose’s vehicles were equipped with automated systems like this, but he’d never been on the receiving end of an alert before.    The only time that anyone in the staff had been involved in a crash, it had been himself and Sam, getting rammed off the road by a pissed off arms-dealer in San Francisco.

   So, he just stood there by the stalls, staring at the information while his brain struggled to accept what it meant. What it could only mean.    Car-accident, severe damage, one passenger…

   Acute and crippling panic seemed to wrap invisible chains around his chest and suddenly he couldn’t breathe or move. His mind was locked, desperate to try and escape the reality that was crashing down on top of him.    You were supposed to be with Nat right now.    He needed you to be with Nat right now.

   A deafening bang snapped him out of it, as King kicked the door to the box open, and then stepped out and kneeled in front of the human.    Abruptly brought back to the terrifying truth, Pero jumped up on his back, and King galloped out of the stables and up towards the main gate.    Shaggy was already there, preparing one of the SUV’s to head out to the accident site, so he steered the horse towards him and then jumped off at speed once they reached him.

   “Where’s Coulson?” was his first question, and Shaggy answered without pausing his efforts to equip the vehicle with emergency gear.

   “At his house. He’ll drive from there, it’ll take too much time for him to get here first and then go.”

   Damn. He would’ve preferred to have the butler at his side, as the older man was a rock when it came to staying levelheaded in pressured situations.

   “Hero?” he asked next, but Shaggy shook his head.

   “Poppy’s…”

   “Fuck! Too far,” Pero grumbled, realizing that this rescue party was gonna be just the two of them to start, and he really didn’t know if he’d be of much help to anyone right now.

   Car accident. Severe damage…

   “Come on. Get in, let’s go,” the security guard said while giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but it didn’t make anything feel any better.

   Time was a factor, however, so Pero closed his fists and quietly told himself not to lose hope, because you wouldn’t be happy with him if he did, and then he reached for the front passenger door.    But just as he did, the front door of the main house opened and Rose came staggering out, unsteadily navigating the steps down.

   “What the…” Pero froze for a moment as he watched his brother struggle, and then remembered that the horse was still right there. “King, help him!”

   He immediately ran to Sam’s aid, giving him something to steady himself on as he made his way towards the car, his intentions made clear by the mere fact that he’d gotten out of bed.

   “Hermano, you can’t go with us, you need to rest. Go back inside.”

   “No. I did this…” the man persisted, still moving towards the vehicle.

   “You can’t help her in your state, you can barely walk. What difference do you imagine your presence will make?” Pero questioned, being a bit brutally honest, perhaps, but he had enough to worry about with you, he sure as shit didn’t need both of his dearest people in harm’s way.

   “Just help me get in. I’m coming,” he stubbornly insisted, and he’d already reached the car by then, so the Spaniard didn’t waste time arguing with him, and just got him in and strapped him up.

   His body wasn’t hurt, so he actually moved fairly well. But the damage to his brain was still evident in his poor balance and slightly off-set coordination.    Once he was in, Pero once again reached for the front passenger door, but before he could open it this time, King whined, and he paused involuntarily.    That was a sound that he’d never been able to ignore.

   “I’ll bring her back, hijo. I promise,” he said to the black, but something in the animal’s eyes made him feel scared.

   As though King knew something that he didn’t.

   He jumped into the car and closed the door, but his gaze remained on the horse while Shaggy steered towards the gates.    But as they swung open, out of nowhere, Pace suddenly barreled past the SUV out onto the main road, with his ears firmly slicked over the back of his head, and his tail held high.    And of course, that meant that King set off after him.

   It seemed that no one was gonna sit home and wait for you to be brought back by someone else, this time.

   As he tried to settle into his seat, Pero wondered if the uncomfortable sensation in his abdomen, could be the same kind of ominous gut-feeling that you sometimes got, when really bad things were about to happen.    He tried not to think like that, because the alert had described your condition as stabile, after all. But that could still mean all sorts of things that were really bad.

   Shaggy overtook the horses quickly, driving well over 150kph (95mph) to try and minimize the amount of time that it would take to get to you, while also keeping everyone in the SUV safe, but Pero still felt like it was too slow.    The ominous feeling grew the closer that they got, and by the time the accident site came into view, he was already fighting the urge to throw up.    And then he saw the car.

   There were small bits of debris on the road, as well as short black tire-marks from how hard you’d hit the brakes.    But the actual car was about a hundred yards away from the road, on its side, propped up against two massive tree-trunks, with an automated searchlight blinking at the sky and illuminating the treetops in the dark.

   Shaggy parked the SUV so that the headlights shone right on the Ghost’s undercarriage, and Pero jumped out of the car and had to seriously restrain himself from not just running down the steep ditch.    It was both deep and long so any mis-step would’ve inevitably had him tumbling head over foot down to the bottom.

   He noticed the dead moose at the bottom of the ditch, and how its body was broken and torn open in several places where the car had undoubtedly made contact with it.    The short tire-marks meant that you hadn’t had a lot of time to brake, which meant that you’d hit the animal at high speed, and it must’ve somehow forced the vehicle into a roll that had eventually landed you over by those trees.

   The car had to have completed at least two full rotations in order to have been this badly damaged, and the imagery was overwhelming. But he couldn’t stop.    As soon as he was on flat earth again, he ran. Swerving around or jumping over the plastic and metal debris that was littered all over the area, as well as smaller trees and bushes that the force of the rolling vehicle had broken off or even uprooted along its path.

   He rounded the back of the car while frantically shouting for you, but he heard no reply.    The windscreen had been completely ripped off and he hurried past the buckled roof to look inside.    Dread poured through his chest like a tidal wave with each painfully pounding heartbeat, at the thought that he was about to find you beaten up and broken.

   But it was empty.

   He stared inside without understanding what he was seeing, trying to peer into the back in case you’d gotten thrown back there somehow, but there was nothing there.    There was blood all over the outside of the vehicle, presumably from the moose, but the smears on the driver’s seat and the steering wheel had to be your blood.    That was the only evidence he could see to suggest that you’d even been in there.

   An icy kind of hollowness filled him, as his eyes were slowly drawn to the right, and the countless acres of wilderness that stood there.    Dark, treacherous, dangerous.

   “Estrellas santas arriba... ayúdame...” he whispered into the wild, praying that something benevolent was listening.

>>>>>>>>>> <<<<<<<<<<

Link to Chapter 31

Thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging. I would dearly appreciate it <3

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[sirowsky]

Happy birthday.

Thank you ☺️

[sirowsky]

Happy birthday !🎉🎁🎂 🌻🌸🌼 I hope you have a blessed day and that you get to enjoy it the way that you want to. You’re one of my favorite people here and I wish you all the best for the future 🌸

What...? This is too sweet, thank you ever so much ☺️🥰

I got to spend some quality time with this handsome fella, named Otis, so it's been a good day so far 😊

And I hope you'll have a wonderful day full of joy and beauty and goodness, love 😘

[sirowsky]

Happy birthday! 🎂

Here’s Pedro celebrating your special day (from my all-time favourite photo shoot for GQ Germany)

Haha, thank you so much, my friend! Celebrating with Pedro is always a guaranteed success 😄🥰👌

[sirowsky]

@jessthebaker YAY!! 😄

The Old Prince

Part 3

Author's Note: I'm truly proud of this one, I love how it came together and I'm so excited to keep going! (I haven't forgotten about Collision, I'm just slightly addicted to Oberyn right now. You're just gonna have to forgive me.)

Description: Oberyn works to uncover the mystery of your survival, but when the time comes to go home, you find yourself conflicted.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, AU fic, eventual romance, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses, reader gets a nickname, this one is mostly Oberyn's pov and he thinks a bit more old-fashioned. Small time jump. Angst. Word Count: 5740 Author's Masterlist

   His fingers are deft and practiced as he draws samples of your blood, but the silence between you is awkward, and you’re not sure why.    Maybe because of how shocked he’d been at your embrace earlier. It makes you wonder how long it’s been since he was touched by someone. Even just platonically.    You’d been too distressed to notice your own reaction to him this time, but it had been there once you’d pulled back. The same inexplicable heat.

   “How much do you need?” you ask, mostly just to break the tension.

   “Four vials should do for now,” he replies in a tone much more neutral than what fits with his expression.

   “I’m sorry about… before,” you try, but he doesn’t get the vague reference.

   He looks up and meets your eyes with a silent question in his brows.

   “The hug,” you elaborate, averting your gaze before the two small words have even finished leaving your lips.

   You’re not really ashamed to have needed comfort, that much no one would judge you for after the last twenty-four hours of your life. What bothers you is that you don’t understand why you felt safe to seek it from him.    No matter who (or what) he is, you shouldn’t be this at ease around him, it goes against every grain of reason and common sense. The man is holding you against your will.

   “Don’t apologize to me, young one. I have you at a terrible disadvantage,” he says, and he sounds entirely unamused by his own words.

   “Okay, can you start calling me something other than that, please. No matter how much older than me you might be, it sounds so wrong when someone who looks to be my age calls me that. It makes me feel like a schoolgirl.”

   He looks somewhat perplexed at that.

   “What would you prefer?”

   “I don’t know, just make up a nickname for me that has nothing to do with age.    I’d tell you my real name, but you have enough power over me already.”

   Finishing up the blood-draw and placing a small band aid on the punctured skin, he seems to ponder that, and something about it amuses him.

   “How about Kaivalya? It means freedom,” he suggests, and you raise a brow in scrutiny.

   It’s a mouthful, but kinda beautiful too. Still, if he’s gonna name you something with that implication, he’d better own up to it.

   “I’ll consider that a promise.”

   “As intended,” he agrees, smiling slightly while he inclines his head at you in a little bow.

   Why does that tiny indication that he respects you, make your stomach flutter?

   “Let’s shorten it to Valya or Val, though,” you suggest, trying to kill the highly inappropriate butterflies with bland conversation. “The whole thing is too cumbersome.”

   “Well then, you’re all done for now, Valya. Thank you.”

   “How long do you think it’ll take to analyze it?”

   “That’s hard to say. It all depends on what I find,” he says and then gets up to put three of the vials into a fridge, leaving one for him to get started on right away. “But you have my word that I will keep you informed.    Until then, as I said, you move around the castle at your own risk.”

   “Will the dragon come back?” you ask, only slightly less frightened of the prospect, now that you know that he has some sort of relationship with it.

   “Yes. But not for a while yet.”

   “How do you know?”

   “He brought you here after he had tried to feed on you and failed. And he stayed for a while to find out if you would mutate, after noticing that it had not happened as quickly as it usually does.    But he had still not fed, so he had to hunt again. That’s why you saw him leave the castle.    He was successful this time, though. Which means he’ll be laying low for a while now.”

   “Oh. I didn’t realize that he was the one who’d brought me here. But I guess that makes sense. Dragons fly, after all,” you ponder, and you’re starting to feel quite ambiguous about this beast.

   On the one hand, it tried to eat you, but on the other, it also tried to help you.

   “If something should happen… I mean, if I should start to feel strange or anything, how do I call for help?” you continue after a moment.

   “Scream as loud as you can for as long as you can. If your door is open and you’re facing the stairwell, the sound will travel with the stone.    But I really don’t think that you’re at any risk of that kind of mutation, at this point.”

   “I hope you’re right, and I’m sure you are, I’m just trying to navigate being here. You are keeping me furthest away from absolutely everything, which seems kinda unnecessary.    Wouldn’t it be easier if I just stayed somewhere down here?”

   “I’m not keeping you away from everything, I am trying to keep everything away from you.    You’re safe up there, where the pull from the creatures in the basement cannot possibly reach you, and nothing else is going to find you,” he explains, while he works on taking a first look at your blood through a microscope.

   For a second, you wonder what the hell he means by “nothing else finding you”, but you quickly decide that you don’t wanna think too closely on that.    You get up and start slowly moving towards the door of this makeshift little laboratory of his, somewhere on the second floor of the main body of the castle.

   “Okay, um… Before I go, is there any food?”

   “Of course,” he answers immediately, looking up from the microscope with an apologetic set to his features, as if only just now realizing that you do need food to survive. “The kitchen is at the end of the main hall. That’s the same corridor as the one to my study and the main stairwell you take to get to the tower. Just follow it to the end.    Do you think you can find it?”

   “Yeah, I think so. That’s the one hallway I’m beginning to feel familiar with.”

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   What he had hoped would only take a few days, remains unsolved even after two weeks. He is not skilled enough in genetics, nor does he have the right equipment to try and find anomalies within your DNA. All he can do is visually analyze your cells and the levels of vitamins and minerals in your blood, hoping to find something deviant, as that might indicate where changes have been, or still is, taking place.    But he has yet to succeed. Thus far, every test has come back normal.

   If not for the extremely rapid healing of the bite, he would not have thought that anything about you had been affected, but clearly, something has been.    By rights he should take your samples to a lab and ask that they run a full diagnostic on it with more advanced technology, but he’s afraid that they might discover something about his own genetics, and the thing within him that is responsible for so much death and suffering.

   He has spent thousands of years trying to avoid humans as much as possible, and to do that, he has had to study their psychology rigorously, so he knows what they would do if they ever learned what he is and what he is capable of.    The few sightings of him that have occurred over the millennia, have generated an entire mythology surrounding dragons, and he would much prefer that it remains nothing but stories.

   Still, to his astonishment, you seem to tolerate him quite a lot better than one might think that a victim of assault and kidnapping might. After that first tumultuous day, you have apparently decided that things could be a lot worse, choosing to focus instead on the fact that you are alive and doing very well, despite the worry of mutation.    You insist that he join you for dinner every evening, to keep yourself from going stir crazy with isolation, and he finds that he is increasingly intrigued by your character.

   You are kind and considerate, but only when you feel that it’s justified. You like to be useful and you’re clearly accustomed to handling yourself and whatever problems you face, but you will ask for help if you come across a task that is too difficult for you.    Pride seems to be something you take only from knowing your own strength, not necessarily needing to show or prove it to anyone else. Which is an attractive trait for anyone to have, but especially someone so attractive in other ways as well.

   The monster that he is, he has always refused to take a partner, for fear that he would end up eating them and then having to live with that regret.    You are the first woman to test his resolve in this matter for at least two thousand years.    Before then, he had still tried to hope that he might not have to live all alone for eternity. A hope that had died for good after he had turned a young woman into a creature like those in the belly of this castle right now, forever poisoning him away from the allure of the fairer sex.

   Or so he had thought.

   There are moments when he is around you, when your gaze seems to shift into something warm and inviting, sparking a heat within his chest the likes of which he has never before known. It sets a blush to his usually so tempered skin and triggers a craving in his blood that has nothing to do with sustenance.    It is a frightening feeling to him, something forbidden and dangerous, so he tries to quell it whenever it awakens, but he knows that you notice it and that it makes you curious.

   Today, he awaits your arrival at the dinner table, ready to finally announce the results of his efforts, but he knows that they are unsatisfactory. He has failed to provide the answers that you seek, that you might need in order to lay these horrible events to rest in your soul, and this shames him.    So, when you walk in, smiling at the sight of him having beaten you to the table once again, he does not reciprocate, and you’re instantly on edge.

   “What’s wrong?” you ask, as you take your seat opposite him at the narrow table, and you look more worried now than he’s seen you be since that first night.

   “I have reached the end of my knowledge in my analysis of your blood. I can’t learn anything more than I already have, which, as you know, is unfortunately not much.    You have my sincerest apologies, dear Valya, but I’m afraid that I have no concrete answers to show for it,” he explains, bowing his head to you in the hopes that you will be forgiving.

   Even though you know nothing of the transformation which he may undergo at will, and which is the worst deception he has yet committed against you, there is still more than enough cause for you to despise him.    But instead, your eyes soften at his words.

   “Maybe that’s good news. Maybe it means that there’s nothing wrong with me,” you shrug, and he wants to say that to his eyes, there is absolutely nothing wrong with any part of you.

   But he refrains. Flattery will not do your impressive character justice, and he has every intention of protecting you from his own misguided heart, no matter the pain it might cause him.    Fifteen days. That is all he has had of you, and yet, you seem to have crept into every carefully concealed crevice of his being, entirely without effort.

   “I’ll bring you back to your home later tonight,” he replies, unable to fully mask the sadness that the thought of the castle once again echoing of emptiness, brings him.

   He is, however, most surprised to look into your eyes and see that same sadness within. Surely, you can’t be sorry to finally be free of this haunted and terrible place.

   “Why tonight?” you question, and even that smallest hint of defiance is enough to make him want to change his mind and ask you to stay.

   “I kidnapped you. And while I’m not proud of this, I wish to remain a free man despite my actions. So, I can’t very well return you in broad daylight, as anyone who sees us might grow suspicious,” he says, the last part being yet another lie.

   The real reason is that he needs the cover of night to conceal the span of his wings, the glimmer of his scales, and the size of his claws and teeth.

   “Right, of course,” you say quietly, turning your gaze back down to your plate, before you remember to add something, and look up once more. “And just to ease your mind, I’m not gonna report you to the police, or anything. You may have kidnapped me, but you haven’t mistreated me in any way.    Quite the opposite, really. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so well cared for.”

   He lets his head fall slightly to the side as he considers your words, but your own resolve seems to falter then, and you return your attention to the dish before you. Either to avoid his gaze, or perhaps the thought that you will likely never see him again once this night is over.    The meal passes in silence and the clock seems to spin so much faster than usual, as though time itself is rushing to end this unnatural coupling.

   “It has been my pleasure to have your company in these weeks, Val. It’s been a long time since I had company for so long.    Aside from the living nightmares of the basement, that is,” he tells you, already dreading the rapidly approaching goodbye.

   “I don’t like to leave knowing that you’ll be all alone here,” you reply, surprising him.

   He wants to say that you may visit him at any time, but he holds his tongue, offering only a grateful smile in return.    Because aside from the fact that you don’t know where the castle is, he also desperately wants you to be free of him. Even if his lonely heart screams entirely different things through the dungeons and catacombs of his being, to which he has condemned all thoughts of romance and passion.

   “We should get ready for your departure,” he says softly, sidestepping your concerns as gracefully as he can, before he rises and steps away from the table, gesturing for you to accompany him.

   You follow without protest, and a part of him wishes that you would rage against the lack of choices you have been afforded. But he is also relieved that you don’t.    There are no possessions to pack, you will leave his house as poor as you entered it, save for the clothes he has given you, so there’s no need to delay.    He brings you back to the lab where he already has a syringe filled and waiting.

   “Please, don’t be alarmed,” he asks when he sees your expression turn wary with the sight of the unknown clear substance behind the needle. “It’s a strong sedative. I’m afraid I cannot let you see the journey back, as this place needs to remain as hidden as it can be.”

   “Oh…” is all you say, but the sadness in your eyes grows deeper with the realization that you will never be able to return.

   You step closer while shrugging of your jacket, the garment returned to you already on your third day here, as he had learned by then that you would not run from the answers you sought.    There is no hesitation or questioning in your frame. You roll up your sleeve, trusting this stranger not to kill you, or cause you harm in other ways, and he wishes so dearly that you had never crossed his path that night, so that he could have been spared this ending.

   “It will only take you a few minutes to fall asleep once the injection is done. But you may start to feel unsteady within seconds, so I suggest you take a seat,” he cautions.

   Defiant on this matter, for reasons which evade his understanding, you remain on your feet, holding out your arm as you wait for the unknown substance to be administered into your blood.    He is not going to fight you, so he merely gives you the injection and then quickly puts the syringe away, preparing to catch you if you should grow dizzy.

   But the moment that he steps closer to you, so that he may reach you should he need to react quickly, you raise your hands to his shoulders, holding him steady as you steal a kiss from his lips.    It’s brief, but not rushed. Your lips are soft and the pressure moderate, but there is curiosity and desire within the touch. A wish, perhaps. Much like the one that burns his own chest and is responsible for how he responds to your affectionate gesture, kissing you in return as soon as your lips have left his.

   Then your legs wobble, and the moment ends. He catches you, pressing you against his upper body to prevent you from falling, as you already struggle to keep your eyes open.    He worries that he might have given you too strong a dose, but he needs you to be completely unaware of the journey back.    Only moments later, you are beginning to doze off, but you stubbornly keep your eyes open for as long as you can, as if trying to commit his features to memory.

   When you go limp in his arms, the image of your seemingly lifeless body on the ground in that forest, flashes before his waking eyes, and all at once, tears are gathering in them.    You should not have suffered such a fate. You should have been spared from ever knowing of these monstrous things, and he can only hope that your paths will never cross again.    He swoops your legs up and carries you outside, the strength of the beast making the burden easy to bear despite the distance.

   Once out on the courtyard, next to the prancing white horse, so noble and proud, he sets you down and steps away to let the transformation happen. He knows the feeling so well, and yet it never grows any less unsettling.    The dragon and him are one and the same, but the beast has a different mindset. A primal and largely thoughtless existence. It knows what the man knows, and if need be, it will think rationally, but that is not its default manner.

   It is an animal, still. Despite the many centuries of life that it has shared with the human. It feeds, sleeps and repeats the process as needed, nothing more. And as that mindset takes over, Oberyn fades into the background. Conscious and aware but drowned out by the sensory input of the much larger animal and its superior senses.

   However, even the beast is enchanted with you, recognizing your scent at once and having no adverse reaction to it.    Instead, he feels only protective over you. He doesn’t think unless he has to, but his heart is no less sensitive within the body of the beast.

   He gently picks you up in his front paws, cradling you to his chest for warmth, as his body will remain quite hot regardless of the temperature of the air, the fire within always stoked and ready.    Leaning back to rest heavier on his hindlegs, he leaps off the ground. His wings are long, wide and powerful, easily taking up the extra strain as they bear you both into the skies, heading south and away from the snow.

   There was a time when all the heavens belonged to him. When he was the largest, fastest, and strongest creature up there. But no more.    Now, when he flies, he must always keep a watchful eye on men, as they jump from city to city in their metal birds. Airplanes. What a terrifying way to move, locked in a box, thousands of feet above the ground, having to trust the skills of a complete stranger to operate it.    Oberyn will never set foot in such a thing, of that he is most certain.

   There is no such obstacle in your way for this journey, however. Concealed by the night, he lands softly in the still green grass on your backyard, before instantly shifting back to his human form, so that he may fit through the door.    Your scent around this entire place is so strong that he could sense it even from the air above, so there is no question, he’s found the correct address.

   Rounding the little cottage, he finds the front door and shifts you over into his left arm so that he may unlock it.    During dinner eight nights ago, you had asked him about your personal belongings, and he had confessed to taking your keys and the small mobile phone which he had found in your pockets, only the first of which he would be able to return to you.

   The fire in the ballroom, where you had sat to warm yourself on your first morning in the castle, he had set in order to burn that phone, not trusting even the outdated model to not be traceable somehow.    But you had explained that you only had the phone with you for emergencies, as there are many ways to get yourself hurt in the mountains. Beyond that, you do not like to be too reachable, apparently.

   You work in a store which specializes in holiday themes, such as Halloween, Christmas and Easter, which is perhaps why these ordinarily festive seasons appear to have lost their charm for you. You had spoken of them only briefly and with a great sense of emptiness.    Listening to you, he had often felt a great loneliness behind your words. But perhaps not the obvious kind. Something deeper, to do with unfulfilled dreams, maybe.

   It was only when you had spoken of working outdoors, chopping your own wood or tending to your horse or your vegetable garden, that he had seen peacefulness in your frame.    You’re not a typical modern person, drawn to various forms of digital media, preferring instead to work with your hands and be rewarded for your efforts with things that are useful to you. Things you can not only see, but touch and experience in real time.

   He steps inside, finding a quite large and inviting living room directly to his right, decorated to feel warm and somehow intrinsically you. As well as he knows you, at least.    To his left is a small kitchen and straight ahead is a short hallway with two doors on the left. The closest leading to the bath, easily discernable by the smell of scented disinfectants, and the other to your bedroom.

   He can sense a lavender fragrance from your sheets. Not the concentrated fabric softener that most people use, which is filled with chemicals, but something natural and clean. Probably your own concoction, created with lavender grown in your own garden.    It’s a pleasant fragrance to his sensitive nose, as is most of the scents he feels from this house. Your home.

   He brings you to the bedroom and sets you down on top of the covers, noting that your bed is large enough to comfortably accommodate two adults, but then quickly wrenches such thoughts from his mind.    You look peaceful in your unconsciousness. Unlike when he had flown you to the castle. You’d been restless then, twitching and trembling as your body had attempted to adjust to whatever foreign process had been taking place within you.

   Had he known how wonderous you would turn out to be, how tolerant and kind and patient you are, he might not have been so frightened as he had waited by your bedside, dreading having to watch another mutated monster emerge from another innocent soul.    Even if he will never know how you survived, he will forever be grateful to have been given the chance to know you. And… he will greatly miss your company, for however long he may remember you.

   He puts a thick quilt over you and steps back to leave, but then decides that there can be no harm in stealing a kiss of your forehead before he walks out of your life entirely.    Your skin is exactly as warm as it should be, which feels quite cool against his own, since he runs at a much higher base temperature than humans. Your heartrate is steady and strong, your breathing even and deep, so he feels certain you will recover from the sedation without any problems.

   As he walks back through the house, he steps into the living room and over to the fireplace. The autumn chill has found its way into the half-timbered building, and he does not want your first day back to start with you feeling cold.    The heat within the dragon’s chest is still there in his human form, so a little huff of superheated air is all it takes to ignite the dry wood. He waits for another minute, just to be sure it will not go out, and then he slips back out into the night, never to return.

-=<>=-=<>=-=<>=-

   You come around slowly, feeling drowsy and heavy at first, in a more than natural way. Your brain is sluggish, leaving every movement feeling like a mountain climb, but your bladder has woken up and is demanding the rest of you do as well, so you climb.    First into sitting, which results in your tumbling forwards out of bed, only just managing not to hit your head against the floor. Then your nerves start to feel more responsive, perhaps with the slight rush of adrenaline at the fear of getting hurt, and you’re able to rise to your feet.

   Every step gives you back a little more control, and by the time you’ve reached the bathroom, you don’t need to hold onto the walls anymore.    Once done in there, you walk over to the kitchen to run the taps for a few minutes, which ends up being the longest minutes of your life because you’re suddenly absolutely fucking parched.

   You down two full glasses and you’re working on filling a third when there’s a knock on the door.    Startled, you nearly drop the glass in the sink, because who’s gonna show up here when it’s barely even light out? Who even knows that you’re back already?    Irrationally hoping that it might be Oberyn, you walk to the door and open it.

   “Good morning, miss,” officer Park of the local police greets you, and you’re momentarily stunned.

   Not that it isn’t your much too desired former captor, but that the police would be the first to come knocking. You haven’t had anything to do with them in your life at all, you’ve always been very well behaved. So, naturally, your mind jumps to the thought of crime, wondering if you could’ve committed any without realizing it.

   “How nice to see you alive and well. We’ve been looking for you for two weeks and then someone reported seeing smoke rising from your chimney this morning,” the officer helpfully explains, easing your worries, but creating new ones at the same time.

   Since you haven’t lit any fire, your gaze is automatically drawn to your right and the brick fireplace at the middle of the far wall, where there is indeed a fading flame.    He must’ve lit it before he left, to make sure that the house wouldn’t be too cold when you woke up, and the thought tugs at something both painful and wonderful within your gut. No one has ever shown you that kind of consideration.

   But you’d expected to have at least a few hours to come up with a plausible story to tell anyone who asks where you’ve been, not being slapped in the face with it the first damned thing after you’ve woken up.    Of course, you have played with an idea or two, loosely, while still at the castle, but not enough to have a solid plan ready and waiting.

   “Yeah, um… I’m sorry that you’ve wasted your resources on me. I fell off my horse in the dark and ended up getting completely lost during the storm. By the time daylight broke on the next day, I couldn’t recognize anything.    Has anyone found my horse, Casper?” you ask, hoping to buy a few seconds to think but also genuinely worried about what happened to him.

   “He came right back here, safe and sound. We found him grazing in the backyard when we came to check on you after you hadn’t showed up for work the next day and no one could reach you. He’s over at the Mackey farm.”

   “Oh, great, thank you so much.”

   “Sure. But I’m a bit confused,” the officer starts, clearly wanting to bring the topic back to you, so you try to stay cool and think fast. “If you’ve been lost in the woods for two weeks, I’d expect to find you in a lesser state.    Honestly, miss… you look fresh enough to have just came from a beauty salon.”

   Shit. You haven’t looked in a mirror, so you have no idea how you might look, but you do know that you definitely don’t look starved or dirty enough to have been living rough for that long.

   “Actually, I was helped by a stranger, if you can believe it,” you say, deciding to weave as much truth as you dare into this lie. “After several days of wandering in the wrong direction, he found me and let me stay with him for a bit. And once I was fully recovered, he brought me back here. It was a long trek, which is why I didn’t get back until the middle of the night.”

   “This guy have a name?” Park challenges, years of experience making him skeptical of such an unbelievable story.

   “No. I mean, I assume he does, but we didn’t exchange names. I just called him the good Samaritan.”

   “He saved your life, and you didn’t ask for his name?” the officer asks, raising his brows in disbelief, but you’re not even really lying about this.

   After all, he’d said that his name is Oberyn, and you don’t think that he made that up, but you also remember him telling you that he doesn’t recall his own mother’s name, so there’s every chance that it’s just a name he’s heard at some point over the years and liked the sound of it enough to take it for himself.    And if he’s as old as you were made to believe, then his identity is highly unlikely to exist in any records anywhere in the world anyway.

   “He’s a recluse and a hermit who’s put himself as far away from people as he can get. Saving me was an inconvenience to him, but he still did it. He didn’t want to tell me his name because he doesn’t want anyone to come looking for him, so please, let him be.”

   You keep your tone a bit sharper for that part, to let the officer know that you have no intention of helping him pursue that lead, and he seems to get the message.

   “Alright, well… so long as you’re sure everything’s okay with you.”

   “Yes, sir. I am very grateful for your efforts, and again, I’m sorry that it was all for nothing, but I’m fine.”

   He nods politely, somewhat gruffly wishing you a good day, and then he leaves.    You close the door, exhaling deeply in relief that you managed not to panic. But then his words about you looking like you could’ve just walked out of a beauty salon pop up in your mind, and you head back to the bathroom.    There were no mirrors in the castle, at least none that you saw, so when you now see your own reflection in the one over your sink, you momentarily lose your breath.

   The wrinkles around your eyes and mouth have smoothed out. In fact, there isn’t a single visible flaw to your skin. And… has the color of your eyes shifted slightly?    Your hair is both shinier and much less damaged overall, and it seems to have changed color. Not drastically, but the tone is fuller, richer, and the shine has a distinct shade of orange, which is far from what it’s ever been close to before.    Even your teeth have been altered. Each one sitting perfectly aligned and each one apparently now flawless in shape and size.

   “The bite…” you whisper to yourself.

   The mutation which had turned those creatures in the basement into the worst things ever concocted for a horror story, seems to have turned you into the perfect version of yourself.    Just like Oberyn has looked to your eyes, ever since you first saw him.    Oh, god… Does that mean you’re becoming whatever he is? But no, that makes no sense, it was the dragon that bit you, not Oberyn.

   For a moment, the room disappears, as your brain is suddenly laying a puzzle you didn’t even know existed, and a series of images are displayed before your eyes.    The green coat, exactly the same color as the scales. The golden embroideries on the cuffs and lapels, in the exact same shape as a classically depicted serpentine dragon.    And when he’d talked about humans, he’d used the words “them” and “you” instead of “us”. He’d even said that he was tethered to the dragon…

   You droop to the floor as the unthinkable becomes an inescapable truth, gasping for air while you try to find rationalizations, anything that could make it explainable in some other way, but it all fits too well to be coincidence.    You probably put these pieces together even from the start, but chose not to see them because you liked him. Because he was sweet and kind.

   But he’s a monster. A viper lurking in the dark.    It was all a lie.

Part 4

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you wish to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

@joelswritingmistress @pedrostories

[sirowsky]

Enjoy the journey! I hope you'll love it 😊

The Old Prince

So, this is my entry for the Halloween themed Pedro Pascal Writing Challenge hosted by @pedrocontestsrus Thank you for organizing this! And if anyone else is interested in entering the competition, here's a link to the post with all the info.

I chose Prompt #2 Theme: A Dark and Stormy Night. However, I suck at short, so this is basically just a teaser which I'm gonna have to continue outside of the contest.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, Game of Thrones AU, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses, reader is attacked and abducted. Also, this is my first time writing Oberyn. Word Count: 4041 Author's Masterlist

   You run at full speed despite the darkness, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the furious pounding of your heart, even though you know that he’s already gone and that your running would only scare him off if he wasn’t.    The woods have always scared you and even now, in your mid-thirties, you still panic when you’re alone among the creaking old trees, spider webs and nightly active animals, all of whom seem intent on eating you. At least, to your own imagination.

   “Damned it, Casper…” you breathlessly curse the horse for leaving you, once you’ve been forced to a stop by the pain in your lungs.

   He’s normally very brave but being in the woods in the middle of a building storm is apparently too much even for his stout heart.    So, you’re left to walk the remaining four miles to your house, and not for the first time, you find yourself wondering why the hell you’d chosen to live all the way out here, surrounded by the very woods that have always been such a source of discomfort to you.

   “Because that was all you could afford, dimwit,” you chastise yourself out loud.

   The house you now live in had been put up for sale after the previous owner had been missing for a few years and was eventually declared dead, despite her body never being found.    It’s small and old, but well maintained and very charming, so you’d been surprised to be the only one interested in it.

   You’ve lived there for over six years now and while it’s a bit secluded and a little too far from town, you do love it.    The hiking trails leading up to the seven hills that make up the east boundary of the region run right by your property, and in daylight, you love to ride or just wander up to the peaks and admire the view.

   There are rarely any larger wildlife passing through so for the most part, it’s quite safe, so long as you remember to bring water and check for lose rocks on the steeper sections of the trails.    But now, in the near pitch-black darkness of night, you can’t even recognize the trail you’re on. So, why are you even out here?

   Well, that would be because you’d started out in daylight, as usual, but then gotten involved in a search for another missing person in the hills, which had left you out there until well after nightfall.    You had of course expected Casper to bring you home safe and sound, like he usually does no matter what’s going on around him. But unfortunately, on this occasion, the horse had lost its footing and fallen to the ground.

   He’d gotten up without trouble, but since you’d no longer been on his back at that point, he’d gotten spooked, probably by the reins getting caught in his legs or something, and had taken off.    You hope that he gets home without hurting himself, but you’re also quite angry with him for not recognizing your voice and staying by your side instead of running off on his own.

   But your thoughts are disrupted by a creaking sound coming from behind you, a sound definitely not created by a tree.    You stop, feeling a cold shiver move slowly down your spine, and you know that you’re in danger. You have no idea exactly what is watching you right now, but you know that something is.

   You hear that same sound again, mere moments after the first, and even as you instinctively set off running, too panicked to even know if you’re still on the trail, your mind tries to work out what the hell that sound is.    The winds are picking up, building towards the forecasted storm that has all the kids in town excited because of how perfect it is for the Halloween celebration, but it’s making it so much harder for you to hear if something’s chasing you.

   Unable to stop yourself, you throw a look over your right shoulder, and a strangled scream escapes you when you catch a glimpse of something impossibly large and strangely shiny, and then just teeth.    You try to run faster but you can’t. The dark world around you is a blur as you wait for those teeth to sink into your flesh and torture you to death. It seems to take so long.

   And then it happens.    You’re snagged to a stop so quickly that it makes your legs lift off the ground as they’re kicked forwards by the momentum.    Something has your shoulder between its jaws, but that’s as much as you’re aware of before the world fades away and nothing exists anymore.

-=¤=-

   You wake up on a bed in a room with a strange ceiling and stone walls. You’re groggy and only half awake, so it takes you a moment to realize that there are paintings covering the ceiling, making the stones look kind of fluid.    Beautiful images of stormy seas and a red sunset flow across the domed shape, bringing it to life in a way that stone shouldn’t be capable of.

   Then you remember, and bring your left hand up to examine your right shoulder, half expecting it to just not be there. But it is, and it feels fine.    You sit up, relieved but also confused that there’s no pain, and as your bare feet hit the cold floors, your eyes are drawn to the rest of the room.    It’s round and there’s a window in every direction, revealing the daylight outside, but also every detail inside.

   The bed is easily large enough for two people, and the sheets and blankets are the softest you’ve ever felt. There’s a loveseat underneath one of the windows, with plush pillows leaned against the armrests. In the middle of the room is a carpet which you can tell just by looking at it, likely costs more than your house. And the curtains, four matching pairs, all a deep red, somehow seem both heavy and feathery light.

   There’s a door to your left, and it’s standing open, so at least you’re not a prisoner. But you don’t feel like one regardless. All of this is so strange, because you’re sure that something bit you, but you can’t find any wounds in your skin.    There are holes in your shirt, though. And where’s your jacket? Why are you barefoot?

   You head for the door and find a winding staircase leading down, so this is apparently a tower.    At the foot of the stairs is a corridor and then more stairs, twirling the other way this time, so you keep heading down, passing closed doors and empty spaces until you reach a pair of large double doors that are left wide open.

   There’s a fire crackling inside and your cold feet and bare arms have left you shivering, so you head inside, finding the biggest open fireplace you’ve ever seen, in the other end of the huge room.    It must be a ballroom or excessively large dining room, but it’s completely empty, save for a padded short stool in front of the fire.

   You sit and warm yourself, trying to think back, to remember any details that might help you understand what’s happened to you, but nothing comes to mind.    And then a movement to your right startles you to your feet.

   “My apologies, miss. I have a habit of moving quietly,” a dark and low voice says, and when you locate the man who that voice belongs to, you’re momentarily stunned into silence.

   He’s tall and broad, but quite lean, with a perfectly chiseled jaw and a beard trimmed to accentuate that. He wears no jewelry, but his dark green coat has golden threads and small embroideries on the cuffs and along the collar. Shapes too small for you to make out at ten feet of distance, but which from afar remind you of snakes.    Still, it’s his eyes that rob your brain of most its function.

   So dark, but also incredibly expressive. He’s curious, intrigued, but wary. As though you might pose a threat to him somehow, which seems impossible to you.

   “W-… Where are my shoes?” you manage to croak, still unable to break away from his eyes.

   “I took your shoes and your jacket to encourage you not to run away once you awoke. I’m afraid I am going to need you to remain here for the time being,” the man explains, and suddenly your brain wakes up in full.

   “So, I’m your captive, is that what you’re telling me?”

   “Yes, and no. You are my captive, as much as I am yours.”

   “What’s that supposed to mean? I have no idea who you are,” you counter, getting angry because that’s all you can do to keep from panicking.

   “My name is Oberyn, and this is my home. You’re welcome to explore as much as you like, but I would recommend staying away from the basement. Especially at night.”

   “Why? Do you have more prisoners down there you don’t want me to set free?”

   “Oh, there are cages down there, and many of them are occupied,” he says, while taking a few steps closer to you. “But I doubt that you would want to release any of the creatures that are locked inside.”

   Creatures? What the hell does he mean by that?    He’s only three feet away when he stops, just as the outside light catches his eyes at a different angle, and you can swear that you see something else within them. A bright golden shine seems to illuminate them from within for just a fraction of a second, as if reacting to the sun’s rays.

   “The tower is yours. I will not venture there without your approval for the duration of your stay.    But the rest of the castle is my domain, and you move through it at your own risk. Do you understand?” he asks, to which your anger flares.

   “Understand? No… I really don’t.    Who are you?! What is this place, where the hell am I?! There aren’t any castles anywhere near the seven hills! And what the hell was it that chased me last night, and why do I have bitemarks in my shirt but not on my skin?    What the fuck is going on?!”

   He lets you scream and rant without so much as a twitch bothering his mustache, and says nothing as you begin to pace in front of the fireplace, crossing your arms in silent defiance, but also an attempt to guard yourself against all this strangeness.

   “You were bitten by a serpent,” he quietly says, just as you’re about to give up and leave the room.

   “It was a lot bigger than any snake, and it had a lot more than two fangs,” you counter, all but spitting at him now, further angered by the notion that he might be trying to convince you that you imagined the whole thing.

   “I didn’t say that it was a snake,” he replies, and you stop pacing.

   “And what is a serpent if not a damned snake?” you challenge, but he seems unbothered.

   “Is that all it can be? You must think broader than that, young one.”

   His words make no sense to you. Serpent, snake, fucking danger noodle, it’s all the same.    And “young one”? He’s at most five years older than you.

   “Please, just tell me where we are?” you finally ask, deciding that there’s probably no point in trying to argue with this mystery man.

   He looks at you for a good minute then, as if trying to decide if he should answer, and you notice that he doesn’t blink a lot, which is surprisingly unsettling.

   “We are six hundred and nine miles from your home. Give or take a few dozen feet.”

   That takes you a second to process.

   “What!?” you almost scream, unable to take any more of this incomprehensible nonsense. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you had a fucking helicopter hidden in the woods, or something?”

   “Take a look outside the windows,” he calmly suggests. “I’m sure the snow on the ground will help you come to terms with the truth that you are no longer as far south as you think.”

   Unwilling to take his word for it, you walk over to the nearest window, where the view makes your heart sink. Because he’s right.    Not only are there several inches of snow covering everything in sight, but you also don’t recognize the landscape at all.    And that’s when the realization of just how much trouble you’re in, finally dawns on you.

   Turning away from the window, you now meet your captor’s eyes, for the first time with fear brimming within your own. Unable to stop yourself, you try to back away from him but there’s a wall in the way, so you start moving sideways instead, heading for the open double doors of the room.    He doesn’t try to stop you, but just before you turn your back to him as you’re crossing the threshold, his expression turns incredibly sad.

   You run through the halls, fully panicking now and having no idea where you’re even going. But then another set of large double doors are in front of you, so you grab the handle on one of them and pull it open.    It’s the front entrance. You’re standing on the top ledge of another staircase, this one twisting off in both directions, leading down to a massive courtyard.

   There’s a fountain in the shape of a rearing Pegasus in the middle, so big that the lilac shrubs which surrounds it barely even reach halfway up its hindlegs. And beyond that, is a giant garden of cherry trees and rhododendron hedges, in the middle of which, a wide driveway comes straight through, right up to the courtyard.    A driveway that’s so long, you can’t even see the end of it, where it disappears into the surrounding woods.

   You couldn’t run from here even with your shoes and jacket.

   The freezing wind brushes over your exposed skin, making you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself while sorrow suddenly burns through you, bringing tears to your eyes.    But then something soft and warm falls over your shoulders and you flinch, spinning on your heels and quickly backing away, further out onto the ledge to try and get away from him, which means stepping into the icy cold snow in just your skin.

   “Please…” he says, and he sounds alluringly soft and inviting now, which only adds to your suspicions. “I have no intention of harming you.”

   “Then how about you tell me what exactly your intention is?” you counter, barely able to keep your jaws from clattering with how badly you’ve started shaking.

   He takes a deep breath and then slowly releases it, somehow looking sadder and more tired with each milliliter of air that escapes him.

   “I just… I’m sorry. Please, come back inside before you get frostbite on your feet.”

   “That’s n-not an answer,” you challenge, already trembling all over now.

   “I know, this is why I’m sorry, but how is hurting yourself going to help the situation?” he wonders, and you have to concede that it doesn’t.

   You huff once in defiance, and then step forward, allowing him to wrap the blanket around you. But you hadn’t expected him to sweep you up into his arms and carry you inside.

   “Hey, I c-can still walk, p-put me down!”

   “The floors are cold here. I will put you down once you’re in a room with a rug.”

   “Or you c-could just give me b-back my shoes,” you gripe, and he hums in what sounds like a thoughtful manner to you, as if he’s conceding that maybe he was wrong to take them from you.

   But he says nothing more, and as he carries you through the empty hallways, none of which look familiar to you because this place is apparently a damned maze, you steal a few closer glances at him.    His skin is in better condition than yours ever has been, to the point where even his stubble looks soft. And his hair looks flawless. Not one strand of the curls on his head seems damaged or less bouncy than the rest. And the same goes for his beard and mustache.

   His clothes are perfectly tailored, and they look new, but they don’t smell like it. Instead, the only smell you detect seems to be his, and it’s not at all unpleasant. Contrarily, the longer you smell him, the more inviting the scent becomes.    You’re somewhat embarrassed to realize that you’ve stopped shivering with the warmth that spreads through you from within, just from that delicious scent.

   The room that he finally turns into is small and smells of paper, reminiscent of the old bookstore in the city back home, run by a sweetheart of an old lady who also happens to be the grandmother of the missing woman who’s house you live in.    She was the only one who’d come by with a housewarming gift after you’d moved in. That’s how sparsely populated your social circle is.

   It looks to be an office, of sorts. There’s a fireplace here too, already lit and crackling warmly in the far corner of the room. To the left is a desk filled with scrolls of paper and what looks like old maps of countries you don’t recognize, and to the right are shelves filled with more scrolls, books and scraps of paper.    There’s an armchair and a small sofa in front of the fire, and he sets you down on the sofa before kneeling in front of you to inspect your wet and freezing feet.

   You’re about to argue that you’re perfectly capable of tending to your own extremities, but something about his touch stops you.    His fingers seem warmer than they should be, almost feverishly so, but more than that, his skin feels like it’s giving off tiny electric impulses where it meets yours. And the feeling is highly intoxicating.

   He quickly examines your feet and then sits back and looks up at you again, where a curious expression flashes across his features as he notices that you’re suddenly a bit out of it. He seems concerned at first, and then… is he blushing?

   “If I get you your socks and your boots, will you promise me that you will not go running into the woods and getting yourself lost?” he asks, sternly holding your gaze while he looks for any traces of deception in your answer.

   Except you don’t give any. Because you can’t make that promise. Not when you still don’t know why he’s brought you here or why he intends to keep you here.

   “I don’t suppose it would make much difference if I told you that we are much too far away from any other people for you to make it there alive in winter?” he sighs, and he does seem genuinely worried that you won’t believe him.

   “Actually, I do believe you on that part. I just also believe that dying while running for your freedom might be better than living in captivity,” you explain, and once again, something terribly sad comes over him.

   “I really wish you could trust that I don’t intend to harm you, young one.”

   “Why do you call me that? I can’t be that much younger than you.”

   He chuckles drily at that, but it’s a sound of hopelessness rather than bemusement.

   “If only that were true…” he says quietly, turning his gaze to the floor for a moment before he rises and leaves the room.

   When he returns, only a few seconds later, he’s carrying your shoes and wool socks, both of which he appears to have cleaned, hands them to you and then steps back while you put them on.    For a moment, you contemplate more questions, but the more you think about the strangeness of this whole situation, the more you just want to pretend that it’s a dream and that you’re gonna wake up and laugh at yourself any second now.

   “The tower’s mine?” you find yourself asking, instead of any real questions.

   “That whole wing is yours for as long as you’re here,” he nods.

   “And how long might that be?”

   “For now, I can’t say with any certainty, but hopefully no more than a few days.”

   He does look genuinely apologetic as he says that, but you’re relieved to hear it. Somehow, you’d envisioned being a captive for years, locked away in that tower. But there’s something innately honest about this guy. You have no reason to trust anything he says, and yet you do.

   “And what determines how long my stay ends up being?” you wonder, while rising from the sofa and daring yourself to take one step towards him.

   He doesn’t react in any visible way to your truly minimal challenge, but you wonder if perhaps he likes that you don’t just accept your circumstances when they don’t feel right to you. There’s a little glimmer in his eyes that might just be a hint of awe.

   “How long it takes me to figure out how you’re still alive,” he quietly answers, bringing you back to the severity of the moment.

   Turning away from you, he reaches for an old-fashioned candlestick holder, lights the candle and then hands it to you.

   “Living light reveals the path to the tower,” he says, as if that isn’t the most useless piece of information you’ve ever gotten, and then gestures to the open door.

   Utterly confused, you step out into the dusky hallway, half expecting the wooden door to slam shut behind you, but it doesn’t.    When you turn back to ask him which direction to turn, you find him right behind you, already showing you to the right with a gentlemanly open hand aiming that way.    You nod your thanks and begin walking, still without a clue as to what the candle is meant to show you. Until it does.

   Once the dancing light hits a certain wall, a faint glow appears in a thin line running along the wall, around waist-height.    You follow it, seeing it fade away as soon as the flame isn’t directly in front of it, and before you know it, you’re back at those winding stairs.    Walking back into the chamber at the top, you find that nothing’s moved since you left.

   You walk around the room, examining everything more closely, finding two large and fully stocked bookcases hidden behind drapes on either side of the fireplace. There’s also a closet built into the wall next to the bed, and there are very old dresses hanging in there, covered with dust, making you wonder who the girl might’ve been that those clothes had originally belonged to.

   Realizing that you haven’t asked your captor how to get food or how he intends to figure out how you’ve miraculously healed, you spend a few minutes pondering on whether you’ve got the energy to make the long walk back down to look for a kitchen and ask if you’re expected to come down from your tower at any specific times.    But ultimately, you decide to leave it for now, picking out a book instead. You’re too stressed still to be able to eat anything anyway.

   The book keeps you occupied for the entire afternoon, and it isn’t until it grows dark that you eventually close it and get up, intending to go looking for that kitchen.    You’d left the candle holder in the window that faces the front of the castle, although you can’t see the courtyard from behind the main structure, but as you go to pick it up, a movement outside catches your eye.

   Peering down towards the ground, you see a door swing open, and then something runs across the section of the yard that you can see. It’s so fast that you can’t be sure, but it looks like it could be what attacked you last night.    And it looks like… a dragon.    A dragon that just ran out of the same castle where you’re trapped.

Part 2

Thank you for reading! I had so much fun with this and I'm nowhere near done with it. Huge Thanks to @joelswritingmistress for inspiring me to take on Oberyn, I didn't think I ever would.

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[sirowsky]

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