#:) typing those so's. in a rhythm. sounded like horses hooves. :)

[macroglossus]

so furious and enraged over a horse game that im trembling. genuinely. stole my fucking unicorn right from under me. punching holes through drywall and screaming so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so fucking loud

[kinglyisms]

♚ — @ebresos ;; Elijah & Leonis. i've got you. i'm right here.

   Normally, Elijah doesn’t struggle to fight on his own. Not that he had started off alone. But the thing they were going off against, that they had lured out of Town was some creature that’s been stalking the streets for months now, always managing to get away from them, growing and getting bigger. They had thought it was just a slime, normal pesky creatures that can just be taken out, even washed away, but this was something different. It changes shape, swallows things and shifts into them, and the tar-like substance that drips from its body poisons and burns when it touches them. He watched it stand over one of the soldiers on the ground and their skin melted from their body as they screamed. 

   One of the witches with him had tried using water magic to wash it away, like a slime, and all they had managed to do was piss it off. They don’t want to knock it into the nearby river and possibly harm the creatures that live there or poison the water but fighting it is getting increasingly harder. Shifting won’t help when he can’t even touch it. He had sent one of the soldiers back to the Castle to fetch Hiroki, thinking the King could try blowing it up. 

   And that left him with a handful of people, who were now scattered around him, and a couple skeletons. 

   The Grimebeast as he had dubbed it now was horrifyingly tall and currently having taken the shape of a cat. It looms over them like a tree and each step knocks more of that tar substance onto the ground. Its eyes, which are more like holes in its body, are focused on him with a blank, almost bored expression. Truly like a cat, playing with its food. The hole in his armor from where it’s dripped its poison on him has left red burn marks along his skin, his arm is throbbing and his sword had been knocked somewhere onto the ground. Too far for him to find or even think of getting before the creature pounces. He’s a wolf, how do you fight something you can’t touch that magic doesn’t work against? 

   They really were drowning trying to fight this thing. They weren’t prepared to fight whatever it is, they were prepared to fight just a slime. He should have been more calculated and brought something like a bomb or different magic users. 

   The Grimebeast is growling, he takes a few more steps back and lowers himself to the ground. He could shift and run, but the few people left around him that aren’t dead he refuses to abandon. No one gets left behind as long as he is breathing. That isn’t the type of person Elijah is, to run and save his own neck and leave the other people behind to be eaten by whatever this thing is. 

   So he holds his ground, he watches, and he waits for what is definitely death. 

   He doesn’t expect to hear the sound of horse hooves in a quick rhythm from the wrong direction. He knows it’s not Hiroki, it’s coming from the wrong direction and part of him fears it’s just some passing traveler who thought they’d stupidly try and help and get themselves killed. He’s still refusing to take his eyes off of the beast, so he doesn’t quite see where they’re at. He hears the horse pulled to a stop though, the sound of boots landing and quickly making their way over toward him. 

   The Grimebeast tenses, hackles raised and as it begins growling in anger he feels someone crouch down beside him and the gentle hands that touch his shoulders. Those words spoken gently, attempting to be reassuring, but Elijah just sees the corpses around him and the fact that someone else is now in danger. He finally turns from the nightmare creature to slide his gaze over toward Leonis. “You need to get out of here.” He doesn’t need someone else ending up on the ground like a skeleton. 

   As far as Elijah can tell, Leonis is entirely normal, or what counts for normal around Abarith. Human, non-magical, non-supernatural. He’s a King, he fights with a sword, and those weren’t working for them. The burn marks scattered across his own body proves as such. He’s going to get himself hurt. 

   He tries to move himself in front of him, an attempt to protect him, but all it does is send a wave of pain along his body. This damned creature had really done a number on him. He doesn’t want it to do the same to the reckless man beside him who apparently thought on his travels home he’d stop and try and save some people. He has a good heart, Elijah is very certain of that. 

   He’s actually tempted to just crawl on top of Leonis to protect him when he’s saved from having to do that. It probably would have made him look stupid. 

   Hiroki appeared out of nowhere, not a flash of light or portal, just snapped into existence looking a little dizzy. The King of Abarith shook his hands like he was knocking the feeling off and breathed steadily as his gaze darted around the battlefield. A brief shift in his posture, gaze finding the two of them and gives a small quick and rushed bow to the man still hanging onto Elijah. “Your Majesty, Elijah. Sorry for the wait, teleportation magic is bothersome. You might want to move.” 

   He pulls his cloak a bit tighter, yanks the hood up over his head and takes a few steps toward the beast that just finished another meal. Hiroki drew its attention in over at him, stopped a bit of distance away and as it gave a large cry, getting ready to charge, he held his fists up and snapped his fingers out. The creature popped like a balloon, the slime and guts of it scattering across the field and everyone around. The King tried to protect himself with the cloak but even with the enchanted protection magic it ate through it. 

   After the last bits rained down he yanked the burning fabric off and made a disgusted face at it. 

   “Definitely are going to have to fish that out of the water and clean the land up.” 

[moiraineswife]

Autistic Allegories in Renarin’s Arc - Meta

s’up y’all, your favourite local rambler is back at it again. Diving straight in to this one. The motivation for this post is something that might be controversial, and I’m going to try and  explain it as clearly as I can and make my intentions clear, but I get this is the internet and things get misinterpreted to fuck. 

So, since Renarin was confirmed to be a queer character, I’ve seen a lot of posts and takes on pretty much every platform I frequent that equates all of Renarin’s traits/struggles in canon as being foreshadowing/parallels to his queer identity and experience. 

I get this. I’m also queer. I understand the instinct to take, say, Renarin’s corrupted spren bond and his desire to keep his nature as a Radiant hidden/his lack of understanding initially and assume it to be queer foreshadowing/parallel. I big get that. And that’s not a bad interpretation. 

The problem is, this is the ONLY interpretation people put forth. They ignore things explicitly said/connections made in canon to Renarin being autistic and say ‘this is it. this is what this means. it’s about him being gay’. When, actually, a good chunk of it is about his experience as an autistic man in an allistic society. Which I think is what Brandon wants to explore/has set up in the text. 

So I decided to look at this in more depth from an autistic perspective - some of the moments that most clearly parallel Renarin’s autistic experience and explain how and why this is a thing, and hopefully just highlight this aspect of his character and explain things to folks. 

Renarin’s Blade Screaming 

Jumping right into it then: Renarin’s bond with Glys is very clearly paralleled with his autism. The text outlines this connection multiple times throughout the series, and explores it in interesting ways. 

First up, Renarin first revealing himself as a Truthwatcher makes this pretty clear: 

“And the Shardblade,” Dalinar said, stepping over and taking his son by the shoulder. “You hear screams. That’s what happened to you in the arena. You couldn’t fight because of those shouts in your head from summoning the Blade. Why? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought it was me,” Renarin whispered. “My mind. But Glys, he says . . .” Renarin blinked. “Truthwatcher.” (WoR)

“Adolin,” he said softly. “I … um … I have to give you back the Shardblade you won for me.”

“Why?” Adolin said.

“It hurts to hold,” Renarin said. “It always has, to be honest. I thought it was just me, being strange. But it’s all of us.”

“Radiants, you mean.”

He nodded. (Oathbringer)

Renarin didn’t explain to his father or the others what was happening to him because he thought it was part of his autistic experience. 

Being autistic you get used to experiencing a lot of in-brain things and not realising that other people don’t experience them, too. I have hypersensitivity to sound. I can hear things other people don’t, because their brains naturally filter them out - like electronics whining. 

The experience of having a Shardblade scream inside your head is actually a pretty great parallel for sensory overload. It’s something intense, something frightening, and overwhelming, and even painful. But Renarin just endures it without comment because that’s what we’re conditioned to do. 

“A group of shellheads tried to seize one of the bridges, Brightlord,” the bridgeman said softly. “Brightlord Renarin insisted on going to help. Sir, we tried hard to dissuade him. Then, when he got near and summoned his Blade, he just kind of . . . stood there. We got him away, sir, but he’s been sitting on that rock ever since.”

[...]

“I just stood there,” Renarin said. “I wasn’t frozen because of my . . . ailment. I’m just a coward.”

When Adolin hears about Renarin freezing up he assumes that he had a fit. Renarin corrects him on this, once he’s verbal again, but says that he was just a coward. 

He froze up once he summoned his Blade. Because it would have started screaming in his head and this was overwhelming. When other Radiants have experienced this on-screen the screaming has been so intense they immediately dropped or dismissed the Blade, unable to hold it. 

From this, I infer that Renarin believes everyone experiences this when they fight with a Shardblade. He doesn’t realise that it’s strange for him because he’s a Radiant. He thinks everyone experiences it, but they push through and overcome it. He can’t, and instead of thinking something strange is going on, he assumes that it’s a weakness of his and that he’s a coward. 

This is a fairly common autistic experience. Why can’t you just get over this? Why is that overwhelming you? Just ignore the sound. Just ignore the lights. Stop being so weak/oversensitive. 

That’s what Renarin thinks is happening. That’s why he doesn’t examine his experiences more closely, and realise he’s a Radiant. He thinks it’s part of him being autistic, and that he’s just being overly sensitive, until Glys is able to communicate with him and explain he’s a Truthwatcher.

The Rhyshadium Don’t Fit

“They don’t fit, you know.”

“Don’t fit?”

“Ryshadium have stone hooves,” Renarin said, “stronger than ordinary horses’. Never need to be shod.”

“And that makes them not fit? I’d say that makes them fit better.…” Adolin eyed Renarin. “You mean ordinary horses, don’t you?”

Renarin blushed, then nodded. (Oathbringer)

This, for me, is one of the most direct and obvious parallel between Renarin’s experience as an autistic man, and his experience as a Radiant. 

Firstly, he comments on the Rhyshadium ‘not fitting’ with ordinary horses. They’re different. They have different hooves, which means they never need to be shod, like regular horses. In this case, being shod is something all horses do. It’s something natural for them, and the Rhyshadium not having it makes them stand out. This is similar to Renarin’s experience in society and in life. 

The Rhyshadium are sometimes called ‘the third shard’ - they’re tied to the Radiants and to Stormlight. Renarin aligning himself with them, and his not fittng with them not fitting, mirrors his being Radiant stopping him from fitting in as he wants to.

A big part of his arc is his desire to fit in somewhere. His integration with Bridge Four is a huge boost to his confidence. He asks to join them to try and find somewhere to belong. The bridgemen are outcasts. They’re people who don’t fit in society, either, for various different reasons. Renarin fits with them, therefore, because he doesn’t fit elsewhere. 

When he starts becoming a Radiant, and a different type of Radiant to the others, he starts to worry again. He worries that, yet again, he’s different for reasons he cannot control, and he’s worried the bridgemen will abandon or reject him as has happened frequently in noble society. 

“So why are you embarrassed?”

“I’m … not?”

Adolin gave him a flat stare.

Renarin dismissed the Blade. “I simply … Adolin, I was starting to fit in. With Bridge Four, with being a Shardbearer. Now, I’m in the darkness again. Father expects me to be a Radiant, so I can help him unite the world. But how am I supposed to learn?”

Adolin scratched his chin with his good hand. “Huh. I assumed that it just kind of came to you. It hasn’t?”

“Some has. But it … frightens me, Adolin.” He held up his hand, and it started to glow, wisps of Stormlight trailing off it, like smoke from a fire. “What if I hurt someone, or ruin things?”

The conversation continues, and further solidifies the connection between the Rhyshadium not fitting with other horses, and Renarin not fitting in with other people. 

He had become a Shardbearer, and was starting to fight and do what an Alethi man is expected to do in society. Go to war with Shards, with glory, etc etc etc. That didn’t quite work out. 

For Renarin, whenever he gets closer to assimilating with the standard society and expectations, something happens to stop him. Initially it’s his epilepsy. He has fits, and his chronic illness makes him generally weaker and more frail, meaning that he can’t fight. 

Once he’s given Shards to help mitigate those factors, he can’t use the Shards because his Radiant bond makes them scream inside his head. Again stopping him from fighting and becoming a soldier. 

He then goes on to tell Adolin that he doesn’t really know how to Radiant. And Adolin says that he thought it would just come to him/he would instinctively know, but he doesn’t. 

This is, again, a very classic autism thing. We struggle with doing things that allistic people find instinctive, and don’t need to be actively taught - such as reading and projecting the correct body language.

Adolin, who takes very naturally to all this stuff, just assumes that Renarin’s Radianting would just come to him, and Renarin has to explain that actually no, it hasn’t. This literally cannot get any clearer in forging an obvious link between his autism and his Radiant abilities. 

Renarin’s ‘Corrupted’ Bond: 

“What’s wrong with me?” Renarin asked. “Why do I see these things? I thought I was doing something right, with Glys, but somehow it’s all wrong.…” (Oathbringer)

[...]

“Does it strike you as cruel of fate, Father? My blood sickness gets healed, so I can finally be a soldier like I always wanted. But that same healing has given me another kind of fit. More dangerous than the other by far.” (Rhythm of War)

[...]

Lopen called out, asking Renarin to “look into the future and find out if I beat Huio at cards tomorrow.” It seemed a little crass to Dalinar, bringing up his son’s strange disorder, but Renarin took it with a chuckle.

[...]

It would be so much easier if he were like other Radiants. (RoW)

[...]

“And a blackness interfering, marring the beauty of the window. Like a sickness infecting both of you, at the edges.”

“Curious,” Dalinar said, looking where Renarin had pointed, though he’d see only empty air. “I wonder if we’ll ever know what that represents.”

“Oh, that one’s easy, Father,” Renarin said. “That’s me.”

“Renarin, I don’t think you should see yourself as—”

“You needn’t try to protect my ego, Father. When Glys and I bonded, we became … something new. We see the future. At first I was confused at my place—but I’ve come to understand. What I see interferes with Odium’s ability. Because I can see possibilities of the future, my knowledge changes what I will do. Therefore, his ability to see my future is obscured. Anyone close to me is difficult for him to read.”

“I find that comforting,” Dalinar said, putting his arm around Renarin’s shoulders. “Whatever you are, son, it’s a blessing. You might be a different kind of Radiant, but you’re Radiant all the same. You shouldn’t feel you need to hide this or your spren.”

Renarin ducked his head, embarrassed. His father knew not to touch him too quickly, too unexpectedly, so it wasn’t the arm around his shoulders. It was just that … well, Dalinar was so accustomed to being able to do whatever he wanted. He had written a storming book.

Renarin held no illusions that he would be similarly accepted. He and his father might be of similar rank, from the same family, but Renarin had never been able to navigate society like Dalinar did. True, his father at times “navigated” society like a chull marching through a crowd, but people got out of the way all the same.

Not for Renarin. The people of both Alethkar and Azir had thousands of years training them to fear and condemn anyone who claimed to be able to see the future. They weren’t going to put that aside easily, and particularly not for Renarin. (RoW)

Sorry for the quote barrage, but there was really  no other way to do this, and I think it makes a nice little arc in how Renarin sees himself and his bond to Glys and, by extension, his autism. 

In the temple, with Jasnah, he considers it to be something wrong. He’d thought he was finally fitting in, being like everyone else, doing something “right” but it turns out his bond is of Odium, and while he thought he fit with the others, he doesn’t. Again.

 The RoW segments are what’s most interesting to me, because what we see here, I think, is Dalinar experiencing Renarin’s ‘disorder’ as he calls it and processing it/coming to terms with it in a way a lot of parents approach their kids’ autism. But this is a bit more approachable/less painful to look at because he’s considering him being a weird glowing power ranger, and not an autistic kid. Easier to examine more honestly. 

So first of all Renarin, again, calls a direct link between his bond and his autism. The ‘healing’ that came with his bond gave him another kind of otherness. Another way he can’t be a soldier - which, for Renarin, in Alethi society, means him being like everyone else. I was going to go into this more here but this thing is already long as fuck, but in a nutshell being a soldier is Renarin’s dream because that’s him being “normal” and being like everyone else, which fate always conspires to stop him from being. 

In Alethi society the peak of masculinity and of fitting in to the social order, which revolves around war and glory and battle courage blah blah blah - is being a soldier and fighting. Which Renarin has never been able to do. Which his father has always wanted him to do - wihich Renarin knows. 

A lot of allistic people, especially allistic parents, think their autistic kids won’t pick up on their blatant ‘oh my god I wish my kid was normal’ vibes. They do. BELIEVE ME they do. This is a good little nod to that. Dalinar has never outright looked at Renarin and said ‘I want you to be a soldier to be worthy of my love and respect’ but it’s what Renarin grew up knowing and seeing from him. 

The evolution of that through exploring Dalinar’s attitude to Renarin being bonded with an Odium-aligned spren is...Utterly fascinating, to say the least.

Here, for example, Dalinar sees it as a “strange disorder”. When Renarin calls a spade a spade and just goes ‘yeah no that weird thing right there that makes you comfortable? That’s me, buddy, get used to it’. Which is just. Absolutely effervescent. There’s a big instinct allistic people have to dance around autistic people. So many innuendos. So many fluffy phrase that I hate. “On the spectrum.” “On the autism spectrum”. “Differently abled” “Sees the world differently.” Just call me autistic and let me move on with life I do not have time to deal with your internalised issues. 

He kind of comes around on it and gives him the whole “you might be a different Radiant but you’re still a Radiant to me, son”. Replace the word Radiant here with person and you’ll have a conversation I’ve experienced so many times. “Just because you’re a weird person doesn’t mean you’re not still a person!” Why thank you for pointing that out. I hadn’t noticed....Thank you for validating my humanity to my face?? As though I needed you to do that?

Contrast this with Renarin’s cheerful acceptance (ABSOLUTELY STUNNING DEVELOPMENT, HELL YES) - ‘yeah no that weird thing right there is me’. I cheered, dear reader, I CHEERED. It’s a little thing but it’s also a very very big thing. 

So is Lopen making light of things - in a way that laughs with Renarin and not at him - wanting him to predict the outcome of his card game. Renarin laughs at this, and is obviously comfortable with the jokes and the camaraderie. Dalinar winces at this and thinks that it shouldn’t be made fun of this way, that it’s crass or wrong, Renarin has a disorder, it makes him weird and delicate, people shouldn’t joke around him with that, it’s not right. But Renarin is comfortable with it, and the Bridgemen are comfortable with him, which Dalinar obviously isn’t - though I get that he’s trying to go there. 

Then, again, we draw a very direct parallel between Renarin’s Radiant experience othering him socially and autism othering a person socially. Absolutely exquisitely done mister sando, very nice indeed. 

Renarin notes that there are ways to go through society. It’s nice to be like Dalinar and have the clout to buck the expectations, and not do what you’re supposed to, and still get away with it. Isn’t that nice? Bitch wrote and published a book and he’s still seen as masculine and worthy of respect and being yielded too. 

Remember that Renarin can read and write as well - he learned so he could interpret his visions. But he hasn’t shared that with people. Because he knows that it won’t be accepted the way Dalinar was. 

Sanderson sets up this idea rather nicely in Oathbringer, actually, with the scribes meeting. 

Renarin glanced at his father. Dalinar responded with a raised fist.

He came so Renarin wouldn’t feel awkward, Shallan realized. It can’t be improper or feminine for the prince to be here if the storming Blackthorn decides to attend.

 This part has always made my heart happy. Because it’s not just about Dalinar validating Renarin’s societally ‘feminine’ tendencies - which he gets subtly bullied/mocked for during that meeting by one of the other women in attendance. It’s about all of his differences, it’s about Dalinar validating his autistic experience as well, and helping to fit him in to a society that continually rejects and ousts him. 

This idea evolves through RoW, however, with Renarin understanding that Dalinar can do things that he won’t be allowed to get away with. Dalinar isn’t so much breaking down barriers with Oathbringer as he is stomping through them because he has enough social privilege to do so, for the most part, unscathed. 

Renarin keeps his reading a secret because, even after what Dalinar has done, it’s not going to change things for most men, and certainly not him. 

Renarin has learned, throughout his life, that him being different is not going to break down any barriers. People are not going to change their world, or their worldview, for him and his differences. He knows that he has to adapt, and he knows that he won’t be afforded the same luxuries as others. 

He’s more comfortable with this now. He’s learning to be himself, and learning that the world won’t fit itself to him, he just has to do what he’s going to do anyway, and find the places where he fits, rather than trying to change the ones where he doesn’t. It’s actually a really beautiful little arc, and I’m strongly tempted to look at it in more depth at some point. Renarin and Dalinar’s dynamic is actually incredibly deep, layerd, and complex, and it’s something I’ve been meaning to look at for a while. HOWEVER. NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR THAT. 

TL;DR: Renarin’s Radiant experience is a direct allegory and parallel to his autistic experience. This is explored and made blatant by canon repeatedly, throughout the series, and Renarin’s experience as a Radiant is clearly a vessel by which Sanderson intends to explore his autism. Stop erasing and ignoring this when you talk about Renarin and analyse his arc. His autism is as intrinsic to this as it is to identity. It’s part of him. Stop erasing it.

I’m not saying you can’t find parallels or comfort in Renarin’s arc as a queer person. I’m just saying you cannot look at it in isolation. As though the text is ONLY making a parallel between his queer identity and his bond. Because it’s very fucking blatantly not. His autism is obviously and canonically tied to his Radiant bond and this is something that MUST be noted whenever you talk about this aspect of Renarin’s character.

Note: if anyone has any questions or comments on this, I am happy to engage and to clarify what I meant/add further detail and supporting evidence for various different aspects. There’s only so much I can cover in one post! For my sanity as well as yours...But there’s absolutely more, and I’m happy to look at that as well.

[carelessannie]

Tony takes three steps around the corner and stops short, standing up straight.

"Oh," he muttered after a moment, caught between wariness and delight. "Oh, Parker is not going to like that."

Swinging the halter and rope cheerfully, he continued towards the second field where Licurgo was, for lack of a better way to describe it, flirting.

Speak of the devil - the sense of being judged was almost tangible and Tony turned his head to see a pert little ass and an upturned nose marching parallel towards the fields with him, so intent on letting Tony know he didn't care for his presence that he hadn't yet noticed the way his precious little trust fund pony was all but wrapped around Tony's 'backwater hick horse.'

Tony leaned against the fence with a cheerful smirk and waited. Three... Two...

"What the fuck is your horse doing to Bal?!"

One.

"I believe its called bond-building grooming," Tony answered smugly, head cocking as he eyed the yard's star English pupil. Peter was staring with abject horror at where Balagur and Licurgo had their necks entwined, nibbling away at each other's fur in a friendly display.

Peter's cheeks had already obtained an affronted pink flush the shade of cotton candy. The stick up his ass seemed to grow in size, lending his spine a ramrod straight air.

"Look at them being B-F-F's," Tony cooed, shooting Peter a shit-eating grin.

"Shut up," Peter demanded crossly, arms folding and cheeks darkening. Over Peter's shoulder Tony could see Bucky heading straight for them, obviously anticipating that this would bubble over into another of their famous spats.

"It's not a big deal. I'll bet if we go back a few pages in their pedigrees they're even distant cousins."

"Oh please, you wish Licurgo had any of Bal's blood," Peter sniffed at him, shooting him a scowl. His cheeks were the color of roses now, dusky and hot. His brows had pinched down into what Tony liked to call his Regina George bitchface.

He pursed his lips.

"You know... Its not uncommon for bachelor stallions to form intimate bonds. Maybe they're lovers."

Bang went that pretty faced bomb.

Sheer outrage took over Peter's face and he squealed in fury, lunging for Tony. A set of strong arms wrapped around his waist and bodily hauled him off the floor like a scruffed kitten, the prissy little brat writhing and hissing in Bucky's arms.

"Whoa-hoah there, spitfire," Bucky laughed as he lifted Peter up, holding him against his chest and taking waddled steps backwards so Tony was out of range of those slender, deceptively powerful legs.

"I'm going to collect my homosexual stallion now. Toodle-pip," Tony announced cheerfully, slinging the rope over his shoulder and vaulting the fence as Peter yowled behind him.

(Find the first part here)

The worst part was— after Peter calmed down enough to finish training for the day, he could already notice a difference in Balagur’s attitude. His sweet, pure baby usually gets a second wind in the afternoon, eager to perform and even becoming more affectionate as the end of the day draws near.

But instead of excitable energy, Peter actually found himself correcting Bal twice when his posture slumped forward, deflating in a long sigh.

Once, he could understand. He pushes hard, and knows that even a stallion as fine as his Russian trotter will need a break from time to time.

Twice, and Peter was growing suspicious. He guided Bal through a series of exercises, and almost fainted to notice the horse practically dragging his feet around turns, the rhythm of his steps barely in cadence.

Balagur— Peter’s prized, award-winning and meticulously trained stallion— was throwing a temper tantrum.

Okay, Peter took a deep breath, forcing his aura to remain level-set and peaceful, he just needs some time.

Peter slowly approached where Bal was standing, making sure to remain in sight and keep his hands well within view. He wished he had a snack— it always helps to have a bribe on hand if needed.

“Shh,” Peter cooed, drawing a gloved hand up the side of Balagur’s neck, making sure to scratch behind his ears as well, “who’s my best boy, hm? Sweet, strong boy like you— what are you doing getting caught up on some second class set of hooves?”

He used both hands now to smooth out the brilliant white coat, making sure to stare deep into his horse’s eyes, “Listen to me— he’s nothing but trouble, understand? I don’t care how he sweet talks you, or how great he looks in that saddle, or how dark his hair is…”

Peter trailed off, absently thinking… not about Licurgo, but about the other stallion’s rider instead. He shook his head, focusing again, “Nevertheless! We have goals, yes? Two weeks to get down this routine, and then we’ll be draped in gold— how does that sound?”

He smiled down into Bal’s deep, dark eyes, admiring his boy’s beauty.

“I think it sounds good, sugar,” a voice called, startling Peter out of his daze. “Would love to see a pretty thing like you draped in gold, not that you don’t look stunning as is.”

Tony. The other man was settled against the fence, chewing on— is that really a piece of straw? Peter scoffed and gathered Bal’s reins, “Are you following me? Because I thought I made it perfectly clear—”

“Oh, no no no,” Tony grinned around the straw, tipping his head back to give Peter a salacious once over, “m’just here makin’ sure the goods are being taken care of.”

Peter is going to curse himself for asking, “And the goods are?”

Tony just smiled wider, looking between the two of them in some type of wild glee. Peter almost had to stop himself from smiling along. Almost.

“How’s ole’ Bal behavin’ today, sugar?” Tony asked instead, following them as they headed back to the stables, “I’ll tell ya— my boy was throwing a fit after you separated ‘em like that. Sure makes you think…”

Peter gripped the reins tighter, barely holding back his rage as he turned to give Tony an earful, but somehow the older man was already heading in the other direction.

“Pretentious cowboy,” Peter hissed, turning back to his horse, to his priorities.

He gave one last look over his shoulder, taking in the view of Tony’s firm, sculpted ass in his faded Levi’s.

No. Priorities.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Two ~ Cosima

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG

Word count: 3048

Warnings: None

**Read on Ao3 under the user “bonjour-rainycity” if you prefer!**

A/n Surprise! I wrote another chapter so I decided to go ahead and make another post. The reasoning behind this is I want to stay one month ahead and only one month ahead. That will give me a helpful buffer for when life happens but I don’t want to stockpile any more chapters than necessary. You know? So...here’s chapter two!

It’s nearing nightfall by the time we finally stop. My bones are stiff, my butt is sore, and my back hurts from all the tension I kept there out of fear that I would otherwise fall and be trampled under the horse’s quick-moving hooves.

Baranor slides down, reaching his arms up to me. I place my hands on his shoulders and allow him to help me off the horse. I stumble the moment my feet hit the ground.

Orophin—who I’ve yet to actually talk to—offers me a sympathetic smile. “Have you not ridden in a while? Take a short walk and stretch a little. It will help you feel less sore in the morning.”

I nod my thanks, tentatively releasing my hands from Baranor’s arms and turning away from the horses.

“Do not go far.” I jump. Haldir’s voice floats from the tree line just in front of us. I hadn’t seen him dismount, let alone climb into the branches. “We are not in guarded territory.”

With that ominous warning, I decide it’s best to stay close to the others. We’re near enough to the riverbank, so I hobble to the edge of the water and back again. Once movement comes a little easier, I extend my path to the tree line.

A voice to my left interrupts the silence. “Do you remember anything else?”

I yelp, placing a hand over my racing heart.

Rumil grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. He hands me a canteen. “Sorry. I forget how terrible human senses are.”

I raise an eyebrow but bring the canteen to my lips, grateful for the drink. “And, what, elves are so much better?”

Mentally, I admonish myself for playing along. There’s no such thing as elves. Either they’re messing with me, or I really am having a wildly vivid dream.

Rumil nods, shrugging his shoulders in a way that suggests the answer is obvious. “Well, yes. We live longer, have better sight, hearing, reflexes. We do not tire as quickly as humans do, and we have a respect for our kin that the race of man cannot hope to imitate. I do not mean to offend.” He smiles, carrying a note of apology in his voice. “It’s only the truth.”

I shrug, unbothered by his comment. Because if elves exist in this world I dreamed up, why shouldn’t they be better than humans? It’s just as likely that I’ve imagined a race that’s worse than humans, and I only haven’t met them yet. “If you say so. But to answer your question, no, I don’t remember anything else. How long was I passed out?”

From his place by the now-grazing horses, Baranor answers. “Not long once we arrived, but I do not know how long you laid there before.”

“Yes, and you are quite lucky we arrived, especially with Baranor in tow.” Rumil winks, gripping my elbow and turning me back towards the part of the ground where I assume we will sleep tonight.

I give Baranor a questioning look.

He smiles awkwardly, a bit self-conscious. “I am quite skilled as a healer. I used the power in my spirit to call to your own. You were very nearly dead when we happened upon you.”

I file that information away. Power in my spirit…Probably something I’d read in a book once that my brain has brought up now. And these men I’m with—elves, I guess, according to the dream—must be people I know from…from…

But the fledgling thought dies away, leaving me with no more answers than before. I try to push back my disappointment, my logical side kicking in to soothe me. It’s okay. Soon the doctors will fix you, or you’ll wake up from this dream, and everything will be fine. You just have to wait. No point in getting freaked out.

Rumil, Baranor, and I settle on the high part of the riverbank. Orophin sits too, once he’s done refilling the canteens. I glance at the trees. I haven’t seen Haldir since we stopped riding. “Is he not going to join us?”

Orophin and Baranor exchange looks, but Rumil just snorts. “Likely not. As he said, we are neither in the territory guarded by the wardens of Lothlórien nor the patrols of Elrond. Someone has to watch for threats. More often than, not, Haldir insists on the job for himself. He doesn’t trust us to keep good enough watch.”

“That’s not it and you know it,” Orophin hisses, and I flinch at the anger in his voice, even though it wasn’t directed at me. I have no idea how Rumil keeps his face blank. The two stare each other down until Orophin speaks again, still through gritted teeth. “Go and collect the rations for dinner.”

Rumil rolls his eyes, but does as his brother says.

Baranor clears his throat, and I’m grateful when he changes the subject. He inclines his head towards me. “I see you are dressed for travel. Perhaps you were part of a company and got separated?”

Mildly perplexed, I look down at my body. Huh. He’s right. Something I had yet to take notice of is the clothes I wear — sturdy dark leggings, a deep green tunic, a red cloak, and thick leather boots. I haven’t the slightest idea how I conjured up these clothes, but Baranor is right — they’re perfect for this type of outdoor traveling.

Rumil returns and places a bundle of leaves in each of our hands. Inside seems to be bread and slices of some sort of fruit. Hesitantly, I take a bite. It’s surprisingly good.

“So how long until we reach this friend of yours?”

“Elrond,” Orophin informs, looking down the path we intend to continue on tomorrow. “Probably about thirteen more days, unless we hit bad weather. The mountains will take the longest, and traveling with a human will slow us down.” He realizes his words, eyes growing wide. “I don’t mean to be rude—”

“No, no, I get it.” I wave him off, picking at the bread in my hands. These elves sure have a bad view of me. “Humans suck.”

“At least it’s still spring,” Rumil supplies, trying to lighten the mood. “That will make our path through the Misty Mountains easier.”

“Right you are,” Baranor agrees, sipping from his canteen. “I detest crossing them in the snow.”

The three elves slip into easy conversation, exchanging stories of the worst travel conditions each has suffered, trying to one-up each other. While they talk, I place my bread back in its leaves and on the ground, no longer hungry. The stories they tell are quite detailed, and there’s this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I wouldn’t be able to make all this up…the landscape, the language, a whole new species with differing characteristics, vast knowledge of this world’s travel ways, four fully-thought-out ‘characters’, for lack of a better word….Dread and fear mingle with exhaustion and I slump, wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and go to sleep for a very long time. Perhaps when I wake, all will be well.

The murmurs from those around me sound muffled. A hand wraps grips one of my shoulders, holding me upright, and Baranor’s voice comes from beside my ear. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I shake my head, feeling the weight of their eyes on me. “I’m just exhausted.”

He makes a noise of agreement. “Of course you are, I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

I try and wave off his apology, but it seems like too much effort to raise my arm over such a little thing. From the corner of my eye, I see Rumil stand and visit the horses. He returns carrying a rolled up mat and a folded blanket. He unfurls both, setting them on the ground between our gathering spot and the tree line. He beckons for me to join him and, with great effort, I stand without help, going to meet him as requested.

“Here. Sorry it’s not much. If we had known we’d be traveling with a lady, we would have brought much cushier sleeping provisions.”

I roll my tired eyes, realizing that he’s mocking me. “Goodnight, Rumil.”

He grins, sauntering off to rejoin his companions. “Goodnight, Cosima.”

I all but collapse on the mat, pulling the surprisingly warm blanket over my shoulders. Before I’m aware what’s happening, I’ve plunged into sleep.

{***}

Baranor woke me with the sun, and I’m very grateful to be leaning against him rather than directing the horse. I feel much too groggy to properly steer such a beast, especially given the fact that I have no idea how. Even though he must have stayed up most of the night, Haldir doesn’t look the slightest bit tired, and, on behalf of the bags underneath my eyes, I am thoroughly annoyed. He hasn’t said a word to me aside from the few sentences yesterday. I understand it a bit more now, though. He seems to be the leader of this group, and has either been charged with its security, or taken the task upon himself. Despite there not being another soul in sight, he rides at the front of our group—straight backed, stiff, his head on a near-constant swivel. Orophin tends to stay near one of Haldir’s shoulders—guarding his back and providing a sort of second watch, I presume. Rumil alternates between riding in-step with the horse Baranor and I occupy and cantering along behind us.

If riding was difficult yesterday, it is doubly so this morning.

Every bounce jolts though my bones, and I seem always on the verge of being tossed to the side, never quite able to fall into the rhythm the other four find so easily.  

Rumil pulls up beside us, seeming to showcase his perfect form. “Having trouble?”

I grit my teeth, but that only makes them clash together as the horse’s feet collide with the ground. “No.”

He snorts. “Toes up, heels down. Grip the horse with your legs, don’t put all that tension in your back. And if Baranor were human, you’d have strangled him by now. Loosen up.”

Baranor huffs out a laugh and takes an exaggerated breath when I relax my hold around him. “Finally, I can breathe!”

“So dramatic,” I mumble, rolling my eyes for Rumil’s benefit.

“What was that,” Baranor questions, though I know if he has as good hearing as he claims to have, he surely heard my comment.

“I said you’re a really great rider,” I shout.

The three of us dissolve into laughter, and I lose myself in this. For a moment, I forget that I am dreaming, that this is a strange world I made up in my head. I forget that I haven’t the slightest idea what comes next. Instead, I start to forge the first tentative bonds of friendship.

{***}

I am glad when we stop for the evening, and run through some stretches to try and help with the muscle aches. Rumil’s pointers certainly helped though, and I have hopes that perhaps this discomfort is only temporary. We still follow the river, and once again make camp in the space on the high, grassy bank. Bathing was an experience, but it was mercifully quick. The water was much too cold for my liking, so I washed as hastily as I could and then redressed, joining the others on the bank. I lean over to wring the water from my hair, the saturation making it seem nearly black. It’s getting quite long—almost too long, and I hope wherever we’re going has someone willing to cut it. Rumil watches me curiously as I take a spare cloth and scrunch my hair—bringing out its natural waves—but says nothing, only continues giving me an odd look. I guess with the stick-straight hair of he and his brothers, this would look unusual. Just as I am about to tease him for his staring, Haldir comes in to sight, looking quite severe.

“We have lost the cover of the trees. We will take watch in pairs, rotating halfway through the night. Orophin, Baranor—you take the first shift.”

They dutifully follow Haldir’s order, and I watch their faces as they pass. They show no signs of tiredness—no bags under their eyes, no yawning, in fact, not even a hair is out of place—but if it were me, I would be absolutely exhausted with all this staying up. And, though it is technically their turn to rest, Rumil and Haldir are still on their feet, occupying themselves with tending to the horses. I feel awful, peacefully sitting on my bedroll, messing with my hair and eating dinner, knowing I’ll get a full night’s sleep when none of them will have that luxury.

I return my food to the sack loaned to me and push myself to my feet, tentatively approaching Rumil and his brother. Rumil smiles in greeting. Haldir merely glances up and then back to his horse’s hoof he’s bending over to attend. Though I fight to keep my eyes open as it is, it’s not right for me to leave them to do all the work. So, I try to project energy I do not feel, and pose my question. “Do you want me to take a watch shift tonight?”

Haldir stiffens. Rumil raises his eyebrows and vibrates slightly—he’s holding back laughter! I give them my best unimpressed look.

Rumil tries to hide his amusement but can’t do away with his wide grin. “We appreciate the offer, really. But having a human stand watch when we have elves at our disposal? It would be the same to not set a watch at all.”

I huff, crossing my arms, trying to ignore the heat I feel in my cheeks. All this talk of how incapable humans are is getting a little old. “Well, there must be something I can do to help. I shouldn’t go straight to bed if the rest of you are still working.”

Rumil’s expression softens. He purses his lips, seeming to search for either a task for me or a way to turn me away.

“Do you know how to mend clothing?”

I’m momentarily caught off guard. Haldir hasn’t looked up from clearing his horse’s hooves, but it was definitely him who spoke.

Unbidden, the action of holding a ripped piece of cloth and using a needle and threat to bind it comes to mind. I must know how. So I answer in the affirmative. “Yeah, I think so.”

Haldir nods, straightening only to exchange one hoof for the other, never making eye contact with either me or his brother. “Good. There’s a blue tunic in my largest bag that needs mending, and one of Rumil’s too—that one’s red. Work with the light. Stop when you can’t see anymore and finish in the morning.”

I blink and feel my head tilt to the side. That’s the most he’s ever said to me. But it’s not even that he spoke, it’s how. Every syllable is crisp, curt, and succinct—a command in every sense of the word. I long-ago realized that Haldir is in charge of this little group, though now I wonder if he supervises in a larger capacity back in his home. I get the feeling he’s quite used to talking to people like this, and being obeyed.

But I did ask for something to do, so I don’t comment on his tone, only say my goodbyes and retrieve the shirts he’s described. They’re exactly where he said they would be and wrapped around a small sewing kit. I take the supplies and return to my bedroll, working through the sunset. When it grows too dark to see, I put the project away. Rumil and Haldir join me, bringing dinner with them. They set out their mats in a sort of triangle, and I realize somewhat belatedly that this allows each of us to watch the other’s back. It seems second-nature to them, to be cautions and on their guard, even during dinnertime and sleep.

I try to distract myself from that disconcerting thought. “Why are we going to meet this friend of yours anyway?”

Rumil’s gaze turns to his brother standing watch, a fond look in his eye. “There is an elleth there that Orophin is courting. Their time apart has been too long for his liking, so he is paying her a visit. It is dangerous to travel these lands alone, so Haldir and I took leave to accompany him.”

Courting. Elleth. Where am I finding all these words? I keep talking in an effort to distract myself. “That’s really sweet. Does Baranor usually go with you all, since he’s a healer?”

“Usually,” Rumil confirms. “He has extensive experience in the halls of healing, as well as healing on the battlefield, so he is an excellent addition to any company. Also Elrond—the friend we are taking you to—is an acclaimed healer himself, so he and Baranor enjoy conversing with each other.”

Haldir stretches his arms up, then reclines on his mat. “Better get some sleep, all of us. Rumil—we’re up in four hours.”

I take his advice, laying down on my own bedroll. Exhausted though I am, sleep evades me.

My mind runs a million miles an hour, piecing together bits of information from this world, trying to remember things from my home. And, all the while, thought takes root, sowing seeds of fear in my mind.

Because while I know this world isn’t real, and thus no harm can come to me here…Rumil said these lands are dangerous, and the increased watches only support my theory that we are under some kind of threat. I have no weapon with which to defend myself, let alone any skill, and while I know logically that I could throw myself off a cliff and still be fine….

What if that’s not the case?

I groan, rolling onto my back.

This is ridiculous. This place is made up. I’m trapped inside my own head, so I have no reason to be scared. Go to sleep.

And, when the moon is much higher in the sky, the exhaustion wins.

A/n Thanks for reading! You know how likes, comments, and reblogs make me smile. Let me know if you would like a tag! And if you’re having trouble being tagged (for some reason Tumblr isn’t letting me tag all of you?) try subscribing to the story on Ao3! That will update you when I post there. 

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[mythopoeticreality]

Barleycorn

Feanorian week day 1: Maedhros. 

Inspired partially by my own head canons about elves and murder ballads and partially by listening to this song way, way, way, way too many times xD

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23287723

The sun beat hot. The air smelled sweet. The swing of the scythe in his hand a rhythm he soon became lost in. It was work, just as hard as any round of sparring upon the Elf Lord’s training grounds, but work he found he liked better. Honest work, good work, work that provided for the act of living. He preferred scythe-work to sword-work, in truth. Always had. He’d never wanted to get dragged into this damnable war, after all.

But sometimes, it seemed, the sword-work was necessary. In order to live free. In order to ensure that the scythe-work could still continue.

Amlach shook his head, sweeping the scythe through his crop once more. Song carried across the field --  There were a few men that had followed him northwards to enter the Elf Lord’s service. They did not number the thousand that followed Bereg to the south, but he did not begrudge them that. He had been given a homestead and the opportunity to regain his Honor, and as of now -- as he and the other men working to bring in the harvest cut down the grain -- there were other things to take up his attention.

“There were three men come out of the west, their fortunes for to try…”

He couldn’t say at which point he’d begun humming along, even less could he say how long he’d been at it before the dusty thunder of horse’s hooves reached his ears. Only that he’d been taking a moment, mopping his brow and slicking back the sweat-heavy strands of hair from his eyes. He picked his head up, stopped leaning against his scythe and stood straighter, turning to see that looming shadow on the horizon growing into the full-formed shape of a man. 

No.

Elf. 

The way the sunlight struck off of that fox’s pelt of red hair? Amlach would recognize that anywhere. 

He turned and strode off towards the edge of the field, stopping just as the Elf Lord drew his horse to a halt. He made for an imposing figure fair enough, even more so upon the back of that great beast, and Amlach had to crane his neck up to meet that sword-steel gaze of his, cast in shadow by the sun hiding behind his head. Even so, Amlach’s brows quirked upwards and his voice was an easy drawl as he spoke. 

“You come here yourself? And what do I owe this honor to, milord?”

Maedhros tilted his head back. Was silent for a moment before he swung himself down from his beast. The Elf Lord was often like that. Quiet, thoughtful, careful in choosing which words he did speak. Amlach could appreciate that in the elf. Nearly as much as he could appreciate the wry smile that touched just faintly at Maedhros’s lips, revealed as his feet settled upon the ground.

“Wild fancy it would seem.” Maedhros sighed, his gaze turning out over the barley fields of the homestead he’d granted his vassal.

“Oh, aye lord?”Amlach snorted. “You’ve never seemed the type.”

“And yet…” He shook his head. “You would not believe the Rumors that reach my ears as of late.” He made a gesture for Amlach to walk with him, to follow as Maedhros began drawing off, towards the Stables, leading his horse behind him. Much to his Chagrin, Amlach found he was falling into step.  The sweet smell of crushed grasses rose up around the two of them as they walked on, scattered bits of barley covering the dirt paths that snaked their way over the homestead.

“And yet you seem to.” the man pointed out, “Or atleast enough that you are here, now.”

There was a long pause then as Maedhros fixed the man with a flat look. The voices of the men in the field floated in to fill the silence. Amlach met that gaze in full, only lifting his shoulders in a shrug.

Maedhros gave a sharp snort, rolling his eyes as he shook his head, turning his gaze back out ahead. 

“Well, are you going to make me ask then?” 

“A patrol from Himring came up this way not a few weeks ago, you will remember that yes?”

“I remember something of the sort.” Amlach paused, stopping in his tracks and narrowing his gaze, “Is there...any particular reason why you are repeating to me information I already know?”

This time there was a sigh, and with his hand still holding onto his horse’s reigns, Maedhros raked up his fingers through his hair. “Truth to tell?” He asked, “I feel I must set the scene for you, else you would think me as mad as I feel for saying it.”

“Which is to say, “ Amlach responded, “You are stalling.”

Another of those flat looks as Lord Maedhros’s tongue clicked against his teeth. He shook his head. “Amlach. What would you say if I told you I have come this way in order to investigate reports of human sacrifice occurring in this area?”

Amlach stopped. Amlach starred. Amlach burst out laughing as the words well and truly sank in, for what else could he do? It all sounded so absurd! It was only as Maedhros continued staring him down, his face bearing not a trace of humor, that Amlach stopped, blinking at the Elf Lord.

“Oh...oh gods… you are serious aren’t you?”

“I would not be here, Amlach,were I not.” Maedhros sighed, “I would get no peace until I came!” He pushed on ahead again, towards the wide wooden building who’s gaping maw stood open, just ahead.  “My men tell me of songs they heard sung among these fields. Of a man still living while being cut down at the knee. Being tied and bound, and pricked through with pitchforks...Imagine…” The last word said as Maedhros ducked his head out of the stables to meet the eyes of a staring Amlach.

Oh, no they couldn’t think... Slowly, as birdsong and the voices of the men from the field began filtering in to fill in once more the void of silence left by the dropped conversation of Elf Lord and Vassal, a smirk began to creep across Amlach’s features.

“My Lord, how good would you say the Taliska spoken by these elves of yours was?” He called after Maedhros as he darted inside the stables. 

“Adequate.” Maedhros replied, “Nothing to write back to Valinor to tell their mothers of, certainly…”

More silence. Again, the voices of the men came drifting through, like ghosts on the wind, beneath the sounds of Maedhros untacking his horse.

“...So they've wheeled him around and around the field till they've come unto a barn. And here they've kept their solemn word concerning Barleycorn. They've hired men with the crab tree sticks to split him skin from bone, And the miller has served him worse than that, for he's ground him between two stones…”

“My lord…” Amlach ventured, “How good would you say your own Taliska is?” And more yet, your understanding of my people…

Maedhros glanced up and over his shoulder, a smirk curling at his lips, and if Amlach did not know better, he would have said  an almost mischievous spark lighting the elf’s eyes.  “Good enough to say that I have had a very long ride, Amlach, and I feel the least I am owed is a cup of Ser Barleycorn’s blood, for all he has put me through these past few days.”

Amlach grinned. He knew there was a reason why he liked this elf.

[flourchildwrites]

Can I request either a Royai or Edwin 'Game of Thrones' AU? maybe an action scene or a jousting tournament or something? (I'm not sure if you write a lot of action, but I bet you'd crush it T_T your writing is 11/10)

Witch, Please!  Fictober 2019  (29/30)

A multi-fandom Fictober prompt compilation.  Your wish is my command, but be careful what you ask for.  You just might get it.

For @an-unexpected-trollogy

Prompt:  Game of Thrones-esque Jousting

Fandom:  Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)

Relationship/Pairing:  Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang

Genre:  Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones-esque, Action

Rating:  Teen And Up Audiences

Word Count:  636 words

Read on AO3

Roy lowers his spear and charges toward his opponent, body tucked tight and eyes narrowed. The hooves of his horse beat against the ground in a devastating rhythm, not unlike the drums of war. Cheers and jeers come from the crowd. However, Roy is too enraptured to feel anything besides the pain of prior attempts and the weight of his fine armor.

This exercise is not a punishment. It is a privilege – his reward for agreeing to marry a woman that he cannot love. His heart has been spoken for since the age of 14, but no one can know that. And, in any case, his father, the king, would not care.

Theirs is not a game of hearts. It is a contest of footholes and intrigue in pursuit of a cold iron throne.

The first pass results in a mighty blow to the prince’s shoulder. It pushes him back, and for a split-second in time, Roy’s body is caught in gravity’s pull. He nearly falls from his horse but recovers, gesturing angrily to his squire to retrieve his shield and weaponry.

And this is the first time he takes a good look at his opponent. Their horse is midnight back and impeccably groomed, proudly wearing the luxurious colored silks of a house Roy recognizes but cannot place. The rider seems to be a small man wearing armor two generations old, but there is instinctive dominion in the way they handle their steed. There’s strength in the hands which grasp reigns and weapons with finesse.

Roy’s ego writhes at the idea that he’s been bested, but he enjoys the way his belly burns with something other than remorse over the bride he is obliged to marry.

They go again, and this time, Roy’s spear strikes true, and so does his opponent’s. Both nobles fall from their horses, clutching their wounded bodies. But the prince’s opponent does not stay down for long.

Stumbling, they rise, accompanied by the heavy sound of chainmail, and the modest figure draws a sword. They wait, chest heaving underneath layers of heavy metal for Roy to recover. Though the prince notices his betrothed, Vanessa, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth from the spectator’s stand, he pays her little mind and obliges his opponent in combat, over much objection from crown and crowd.

Swords clash, blow matched for blow, and a wave a nostalgia washes over Roy as muscle memory follows familiar footwork. This is a variant of his training regime, a series of steps known by two people. One of those people, his cousin Maes, has already shuffled off this mortal coil. The other person… She’s standing across from him, panting and in pain, wearing the colors of her mother’s forgotten house.

Roy’s strikes grow softer as he recognizes the feminine grunts, power and weapon prowess all the more impressive for her lack of testosterone. He stops blocking all together when he sees her blazing copper eyes through the slit in her helmet. And finally, bested but not beaten, the prince falls on his knees in front of the woman he loves. She presses her sword to the chain mail covering his throat, and he swears the pressure against his Adam’s apple feels like a lover’s kiss.

There would be worse ways to die than at the hands of Riza Hawkeye, and yet, she does not grant him this mercy. Riza lowers her sword and offers him her hand.

But, for his part, Roy does not take the peace offering. It is all he can do to reach into the belt covering his purple tunic and retrieve a crushed blue winter rose plucked from the royal gardens. So fitting that the flower is meant for Vanessa but given to Riza. So telling that it is crushed by the game his father orchestrated.

A/N:  Thank you for your kind words, @an-unexpected-trollogy!  I was thrilled to see this pop up in my inbox. There’s one huge caveat to this work. I have neither seen nor read Game of Thrones. Everything I know is coming from secondhand info, lol. And on that note, I’d like to thank @teaplease1717. Anyway, feel free to stop by my tumblr, and if you read something you like, don’t hesitate to let me know in whatever way you want. Your kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes and reblogs make my day! One day more, y'all!