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violetlunette · 5 months

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Say Goodbye

Summary: Lilia’s daughter, Silver, dutifully waits for her father to return for a visit after being gone for so long. Then a letter arrives.

Notes:

*This fic takes place in an AU where Silver is a girl and thus couldn’t attend the all boy’s college with the others.

*Spoilers for Book 7

*Long post

“Yah!” The young teenage girl swung the practice blade at a swift angle, just as her instructors at the palace taught her. Her animal friends helped by randomly dropping acorns and other things for Silver to hit or catch. She paused to take a breath, which was thick in the winter air.

“I can feel I’m improving,” she thought aloud, wiping the chilled sweat from her brow. “However, I need to practice more if I’m going to be ready to show Father what I learned during our sparring.” The thought warmed her despite the weather and snow. Lilia would be coming home for winter break, and Silver could not be more excited.

Her father was always a traveler throughout her life; however, she couldn’t help but feel lonelier as of late.

Two years prior, Lilia enrolled at Night Raven College to accompany Malleus. The bat fae felt the college would be an excellent opportunity for the prince. It was a chance to experience the world outside the valley, something Silver herself had yet to experience, aside from the Halloween visit to NRC. Not that girl had any inclination to.

Briar Valley was her home. It would be the land Silver hoped to help defend in the future, just as her father had. The girl was quite happy where she was, not that she didn’t have her own challenges to deal with.

For one, fae and human relations weren’t the best, as there was still bias and prejudice between the two. Thus, she was trying, in her own way, to slowly mend the rift between the two races. While not overly successful, Silver was proud to say that the fae soldiers she trained with at the palace—who absolutely hated her for being a mere human at the start—were starting to accept her. Silver even spotted them hanging out with other humans. She didn’t want to be arrogant and think that it was her influence that inspired that; however, it was nice to think so. Of course, without Baul’s support, she never would have gotten as far as she did.

Silver could never stress how grateful she was to him and the rest of the Zigvolt family. However, as much as she cared for them, she missed Malleus, who had been there throughout her entire childhood, and even Sebek, her rival and best friend. Most of all, she missed her father, the most precious person in the world to her.

‘I can’t wait to show him how far I’ve come,’ she thought, a small smile on her rose-pink lips.

Part of the reason Silver started training for knighthood was to follow in Lilia's footsteps. The other part was so she could repay him and Malleus for everything they'd done for her. As Sebek frequently—and loudly—reminded her, Silver owed them for raising her despite her humanity. If not for them, the young lady would not have the life she loved so much. If Silver was able to give back even a little, then--

Screech!

“Hm?” Silver turned at the sound and brightened. “Oh!”

It was one of her father’s bats. Silver’s heart quickened in excitement when he saw the black envelope with the bat insignia on the flap. It was odd to receive a letter as Lilia preferred the phone, but Silver didn't think too much about it. Any form of contact was fine with her.

Quickly, Silver brought the little bat inside. She gave him fruit, but despite what must have been a long journey, the little creature wasn’t eating. She petted his head with a finger before turning her attention to the letter.

‘He must want to talk about his visit,’ she thought, her body warming at the thought of seeing the man again. She opened it, curious about what it would say.

There was a beat in the air, then her heart stopped. Then the world stopped.

The sounds that usually filled the cottage—the sound of critters taking shelter from winter’s cold, the breeze rustling through the pines, the flickering of the fireplace—vanished.

All she felt was a coldness that spread through her body. A chill that made her tremble.

Silver's words shook as her mouth fell open, her throat dry.

“What…” The letter wrinkled in her grip.

“Silver,” it read. “I’m afraid I won’t be returning home, and not just for winter.” Silver’s brows lowered slightly over eyes that had grown wide.

“Not... not re—not returning...” The words were barely a whisper, and they fumbled on her tongue. “What…?”

The note went on to explain how Lilia used up all his magical reserves and could no longer use even the simplest spell.

“I can’t even muster up enough strength to teleport anymore. Pitiful, I know. I hoped my powers would hold out at least until I graduated, but they ran out a bit faster than I’d expected.” He played it off casually, but Silver knew the old fae must have been devastated to realize this.

In Briar Valley, magic was essential to living, for everything was powered by spells. Without it, a person would struggle. On top of that, for Fae, magic was a part of their very being and who they were. Without it, they might as well have lost a limb. There was even a stigma that among the folk that fae without magic weren’t faes. Therefore, when Lilia lost his magic, he may as well have lost who he was.

“Father…” Silver’s heart cried out for the man. She longed to be by his side so she could help him through this endeavor. But...

It was difficult to read further as Silver’s eyes began to blur, but she continued after rubbing them with a palm. She wished she didn’t.

“The Land of Red Dragons?” she read aloud when Silver came to the part that told her of Lilia's plans. “But that’s… That’s practically on the other side of the planet.” That had to be a mistake. Why not just come home if he can’t attend school?

Silver tried to continue, but her mind didn’t take in anything after that. After all, what else mattered? Her father was leaving them forever. The thought made her heart scream out in pain, and she had to put a hand to it. How could he do this? Briar Valley still needed him! The Queen often looked to him for assistance, as did Baul.

‘And what of Malleus and Sebek?’ Sebek worshiped Lilia almost as much as he did Malleus. As for Malleus, the two had been together for so long. Lilia was everything to him. Her father couldn’t just leave them behind. He couldn’t just leave her… right?

She shook her head. There had to be a mistake. There had to be. With or without magic, Lilia had to know how much he meant to them, how they needed him.

Brushing away unshed tears, Silver skimmed the letter, looking for—for something to tell her that this wasn’t happening. That her father wasn’t going to just disappear from their lives forever.

She only paused when she came to a rather curious part of the letter. Despite the rising panic, Silver frowned.

“What’s...” she read on.

“Long ago, when I found you as a baby, you had this ring tied around your neck. I’d planned on returning it to you as an adult, but as things are, I’ve decided to send it to you now.” Ring? What-- Ah. There was something in the envelope. Silver grabbed the black paper and shook it.

A ring fell into her palm. Silver cloud tell just by looking at the item that it must be extremely valuable. Neither the gold band nor the iridescent jewels had even a single smudge on them.

‘...Wait a second... I feel like I’ve seen this ring somewhere before,’ Silver thought as her brow furrowed. “Ngh…” A spell of drowsiness hit her. What in the—no! That wasn’t important right now.

She set the ring aside and kept reading.

“The stones in the ring are just like your eyes: aurora-colored. And if you look closely, there’s an inscription: ‘Just like how this jewel here shines bright and true, may my child’s eyes never become clouded with sorrow.’ Your parents entrusted you with a great wish.

“Silver, you’ve grown into a truly wonderful young woman—beautiful, full of grace and strength. One worthy of taking this ring. Live your life proudly with your head held high.” Silver brought the letter down. She had to close her eyes as the world began to spin around her.

“My...parents…?” Silver only had one parent. And now, he...

Silver couldn’t read any further. The paper slipped from her numbed fingers and floated to the ground.

The world began to spin like a whirlpool, ready to drag her in and drown her.

Lilia was never coming back. He was leaving forever. And she would never--

Gasp!

Panic went through her, like a bolt of Malleus’ lightning.

Silver struggled to breathe as her throat tightened like a hangman’s noose.

Frantically, she searched for her phone until it was found on the table.

The teen fumbled to unlock it and open her contacts.

It was a short list, as it only had Lilia and Sebek’s numbers. (Lilia typed in Malleus’ number, but Silver would never dare to bother him. Besides, Malleus never kept a phone for long.) As she did so, she found herself mumbling to herself over and over, as if trying to counteract an evil spell.

“This can’t be happening. It can’t.” She finally managed to push the contact button and call her father. She had to talk to him. Then he could tell her this was all some sort of mistake or sick joke.

‘Father, please,’ she thought as the phone rang. ‘Please pick up. Please.’ But--

“Greeting, this is Lilia! Obviously, I can’t come to the phone, so please leave a message and I’ll get back to ya!”

The “Beep!” may well have been a hammer nailing a stake into Silver’s heart.

“Father? Father! It’s—it’s me,” the girl stammered over her breath. She tried to keep the hysteria from her voice but failed. “I got your letter. You’re—leaving? But I—I don’t understand. I don’t...” How could he just depart like this? Even if he didn’t have his magic, why… “Please call me back. I—Let’s talk about this, please.” She hung up and brought the phone between her breasts.

Silver body felt like it was being squeezed by a boa constrictor. She was surprised the invisible force didn’t break her bones.

Her animal friends all came over to the young girl, concern in their eyes. It wasn’t much, but their support gave Silver the strength to dial Sebek’s number. The only other person she could call.

Ring! No answer.

Ring…! Still no answer.

Ring-- “Silver?” Silver sobbed with relief.

“Sebek! Is it true?” She asked immediately, her air heavy as if she had just finished training in the barracks. “Father lost his magic, and—and he's leaving?” The silence that fell answered before he did.

“It’s true,” he said, voice thick. “He already confirmed everything with the headmaster and left the school last night.” Silver went numb with shock.

“What… he…” He left? Already?

Sebek made a tearful sound on the other side of the phone, choking on his emotions.

“I’m sure he already told you everythi--” Silver interrupted.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” she told him thickly. Bitterness had seeped into her words. She heard Sebek jump from his seat as a chair clattered to the ground.

“What?!” Silver had to take a moment to compose herself before she replied.

“He—He sent me a letter…” She couldn’t go further than that, as a lump had formed in her throat.

“A letter?!” The boy’s shock was evident in his voice as he struggled to form words. “That’s it?!” Silver closed her eyes as they started to burn.

“We—Well, and a ring… but even so…” A fist tightened over her heart, and her voice lowered as speaking without crying took great effort.

“This... this isn’t happening, right?” she whispered. "This isn’t happening.” Her voice begged Sebek to confirm this. To tell her that this was all a misunderstanding. That Lilia would come home, and everything would be alright.

But...

“I’m sorry, Silver.” It was all Sebek could say. Silver didn’t reply. She couldn’t.

She hung up, and the moment she did, her whole frame began to quiver as her sorrow wracked her body.

“AUGH…!” As she fell to her knees, grief and despair overtook her. The animals tried to comfort her, but there was no comfort in the world that would help her now.

“Hick…! Hick…! I… I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” she sobbed. “I’m never going to see him again, and I didn’t even get to—augh!” With that, she fell forward, crying as night fell.

~*~

Far, far away, Lilia stared at the missed call on his phone, which quivered in his grip. He felt lower than he had at any point in his long life. His lips twisted themselves into a wry smile.

“Tch. I've really become so pitiful, haven’t I?” The bat-fae muttered, his voice cracking. He should have answered. He should have been a man and talked to her one last time. But…

Lilia let his head fall back and his arm to the side. He paid no mind as the cell slipped from his grip and fell to the floor in the enchanted carriage he rented after Night Raven’s return to the college.

The fae was on his way to the airport now to catch a plane to the Land of the Red Dragons. And away from everyone he loved. Away from his friend, from his student, from Malleus, from Silver...

The image of the young woman came to the forefront, and his throat tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the air.

By now, he should have been preparing to go back for winter break so Lilia could spend the New Year with her. He was away so often that the moments they did spend together were so precious. Especially with how fast they ticked away.

Lilia bit his lip. There were so many things he was supposed to do.

He was supposed to check on how Silver kept up with her studies, though the tutor who sent him letters always had nothing but the highest praise. On top of that, he looked forward to seeing how her battle and magical skills had improved, especially after hearing from Baul how she was able to keep up with the soldiers. She even surpassed some. Lilia was proud to hear this, as he knew from experience that the castle training was no cake walk. Especially with the new trainers in charge. Lilia wanted so much to see Silver so he could tell her how proud he was. He just wanted to see her in general.

But then he lost his magic.

Lilia stared at the hand that dropped the phone, trying to summon a spell, and grimaced when he failed.

“Hmph! I’ve really fallen so low, huh?” He muttered bitterly. He hated this. He hated his weakness. Most of all, he was ashamed of his cowardliness.

He covered his eyes with his arm.

“I’m so pathetic.” Lilia should have gone home. He should have been strong and explained everything to the child in person. He meant to. That’s where the coach was taking him originally. But then… then Lilia thought of her sad face.

Just thinking of it broke his heart and made him want to cry. It was one thing Lilia couldn’t face in this world, even when she was young. That was why he put off telling Silver they weren’t related until she noticed the difference herself. The expression she made when he told her... He never forgot that face. He couldn’t. It had carved a scar on his heart, which ached whenever he thought of it. Ah, how the mighty have fallen.

‘I wonder what kind of face she’s making now?’ As if he didn’t know. The pitiful coward he was--

The father put his hand on his chest as pain spread out through his body.

‘It had to be done,’ he told himself, as he could somehow justify the deed. The way he did it aside, Lilia couldn’t go back the way he was now. He just would have been a burden, or worse, a cage.

Silver had grown into a fine young woman. Beautiful, kind, brave, and true. Soon, she would be ready to spread her wings and do great things in the world. Lilia, the way he was now, just would have held her back.

Yet despite believing that with all his heart, Lilia couldn’t deny the desire to run home. To see the girl he raised and hold her one last time. Even though he was aware that if he did, then Lilia would never let go.

That old man’s eyes shone with tears as he laughed at his pathetic self.

“Heh. I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” he said, his voice hoarse and cracking. His gaze dropped to his other hand, which tightly gripped around something. He opened his palm and revealed a handmade acorn bracelet.

It was old—over ten years—and thus the acorns were rotting and the string was frayed. It was practically falling apart in his hands, but it was the one thing he could never leave behind. After all, it was a precious gift given to him by the most precious thing in the world.

Thick blobs of tears fell, splattering the bracelet, as the name of his child rolled off his lips.

“Silver...” he whimpered, like a wounded animal. ‘I’m sorry, I’m such a coward. Please, whatever happens, please live and be happy.’

Be happy.

A/n:

*This was supposed to be short. Oh, well.

*I hoped you enjoyed this! I may continue this as a series depending on feedback. So if you like it, please let me know!

Silver Notes:

*In this Universe Alteration, Silver doesn’t go to NRC as that’s a boy’s school, so Lilia sets her up with Malleus’ old tutors and has Baul train her with the soldiers. (The other General helps as well.)

*I made her more emotion for angst reasons, and because she’s alone. She doesn’t have to be strong for Lilia, or Malleus, or anyone else right now. She can just fall apart.

Lilia Notes:

*I dunno if he’d be this cruel to send a letter as a goodbye. However, Lilia has been shown to be a bit too cavalier about his departure and had admitted in chapter seven that he’ll avoid things that make Silver sad. Ah well, just chalk it up as ooc for fanfic plot.

Baul:

*Baul is retired, but still checks on Silver when she’s at the castle by Lilia’s request. Partly to keep an eye on her and partly to inform Lilia if there are any troublesome parties he may need to “chat with.

*He helps train her at times. As she’s not a grand baby he doesn’t go as soft as he would Sebek. (Though she is worming her way into his heart.)

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ospreyeamon · 1 year

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playing politics

It’s been said before, but there is a clear disparity in the way the Jedi Consular and Jedi Knight are treated when it comes to their promotion prospects. While both are knighted at the end of their prologues, the Consular is given the rank of Master at the start of Act 2 while the Knight is only maybe promoted again at the close of Act 3.

The Consular’s promotion to Master is political. They are being given the rank because the Jedi Council thinks it will be necessary for the Rift Alliance to take them seriously, not because of anything the Consular has achieved up to this point Hence why they are given the rank upon being given a mission rather than completing one. Which makes sense as the Consular’s achievements during Act 1 are pretty variable.

A Consular who has LS-choiced their way through Act 1’s achievements are very impressive, even if the stint on Alderaan is their only prior diplomatic experience that we know of. A Consular who – despite being asked to shield the afflicted Jedi – chooses to kill them at varying points before accidentally (or “accidentally”) causing the deaths of hundreds more Jedi offscreen by killing Lord Vivicar, I think, probably wouldn’t have been trusted with a sensitive diplomatic post if the Council thought they had a better option. Unfortunately, in this scenario, the better options were probably numbered among the now dead Jedi Masters.

Conversely, the Jedi Knight definitely succeeded in their overall mission in Act 1. They might have been a jerk, they might have passed up opportunities to save or spare people, they might have delayed rescuing Nasan Godera for a loot acquisition detour, but they still did (eventually) retrieve Dr Godera, stop the power-guard project, save Master Kiwiiks and Tatooine, help destroy the death-mark laser, and prevent Darth Angral from torching Tython. The Knight also helps (or “helps”) guide Kira Carsen to Knighthood; successfully training a Padawan is traditionally one of the main gauges the Council uses to determine who is ready to become a Master.

A DS!Knight proves considerably more effective in Act 1 than a DS!Consular, but the Consular is still the one promoted. The promotion isn’t given in recognition of their skills or as reward for their achievements. It isn’t withheld because of any action or shift in alignment. The Consular is promoted at the start of Act 2 because their new mission is to make nice with the politicians; the Knight isn’t because they are assisting other Jedi. If the Consular’s promotion truly was a matter of merit the Knight would have been promoted too.

The end of Act 3 has incredibly stark differences in how a Dark-aligned Consular and Knight are treated by the Jedi Council. Neither of them receives the promotion they would have if they had been Light-aligned, but of the behaviour of the Council towards them is markedly different. The Consular is publicly rewarded. The Knight is publicly snubbed.

“Your relentless pursuit of the First Son merits a unique position. We would like to make you our special military advisor. You will rank alongside us, but work with the Republic, to capture the remaining Children and prepare for any future threat from the Sith.” Jaric Kaedan “Rank alongside? So I would not be a member of the Jedi Council.” Jedi Consular, Option 3 “We would prefer you to focus on assisting the Republic, rather than on Council duties. But this is only a small reward beside the great service you have done, for all of us.” Jaric Kaedan

The post of the Jedi Council’s special military advisor is a promotion, even if it might not be the promotion the Consular wanted. Jaric Kaedan doesn’t say anything to suggest that a Council Seat could have been on the table under other circumstances; the idea is only brought up if the Consular brings it up.

The Consular has experienced a meteoric rise through the ranks; their class story takes place over about three years and they go from Padawan to Knight to Master to senior Master advising the Jedi Council. Going from Padawan to Master in the span of two years is (I think) the fastest turn around we are shown for any Jedi, and most members of the Order never sit on the High Council. Being promoted to Master without having trained a Padawan in any capacity is also highly unusual. The Consular has nothing to complain about.

Even if they do complain, Jaric’s justification is that they don’t want the Consular’s attention split between their work with the Republic and the duties of a Council Member. He is quick to praise the Consular again. No mention of their turn to the Dark Side is made.

“And then there is you. How do we even begin to account for the turns your life has taken since you first arrived on Tython? The dark side has cast its shadow over you. I sense your anger and ambition growing. I can no longer ignore it. I wanted so much for you to become a Jedi Master, but you are not ready.” Satele Shan “What have I done to deserve being passed over? I've saved trillions of people.” Jedi Knight, Option 1 “Your battles on Corellia cost us Master Kiwiiks and dozens of brave Jedi. Your leadership there was questionable, at best. You struck a great blow against the Sith, but the war goes on. There will be other opportunities for you to prove yourself worthy.” or “How much have you sacrificed on your path to victory? What emotions drove these decisions? These are the questions we must answer. You struck a great blow against the Sith, but the war goes on. There will be other opportunities for you to prove yourself worthy.” Satele Shan “Master Satele, this Jedi is one of the greatest war heroes I’ve ever met. He/she deserves recognition for his/her victories. By the authority of the Supreme Chancellor, I hereby grant you the honorary rank of Republic general.” Admiral Dabrin

In contrast, in a Dark-aligned Knight’s class story ending Satele Shan tells them that they are wrathful, power-hungry, under the influence of the Dark-Side of the Force, and not being promoted to Jedi Master. It’s a public humiliation at a ceremony intended to honour the Knight’s achievements. Small wonder Admiral Dabrin tries to patch things over by naming the Knight an honorary general.

Satele Shan did not have to manage the situation with the Knight this way. She could have quietly led the Knight off into a side room before the ceremony and asked them if they knew they were clouded by the Dark Side. She could have had the kind of talk with them that Orgus Din does on Rishi. Making a public spectacle was taking the nuclear option.

Satele can claim that the Knight isn’t being promoted because of their poor leadership on Corellia, but Satele was the one to put the Knight in charge of the Jedi forces on Corellia, possibly over the Knight’s objections. Besides, we the audience know it isn’t the truth. The Jedi Council’s refusal to grant them the rank of Master isn’t tied to any decision they could have taken on Corellia – it is solely determined by their alignment.

The denunciation being so public makes me feel that its motivation was either highly political or deeply personal. Did Satele feel betrayed by the Knight? Did the rest of the Jedi Council even know she was planning on going off script in front of the Republic brass? Was she convinced the Knight’s Dark-alignment was evidence they had done terrible things she would never be able to find proof of?

Was the decision to try to crack down hard on the Knight made because the Consular had also turned but couldn’t be reprimanded without insulting the Rift Alliance? Were Council concerned that members of the Order like Unaw Aharo were admiring a Dark Jedi? Was Satele under pressure to make a statement against Jedi drawing on the Dark-Side while fighting in the war?

But if a DS-choicing Knight got Jedi unnecessarily killed, then a DS-choicing Consular got more Jedi killed; hundreds compared to dozens. If it’s dangerous to have impressionable Jedi looking up to a Dark-aligned Hero of Tython, then it’s no less dangerous to have them admiring a Dark-aligned Barsen’thor. If a Dark Jedi shouldn’t be permitted to become a Master, then a Dark Consular should be demoted rather than set to advise the Council.

There is an incredible double-standard in how the Consular is treated in comparison to the Knight – and a double-standard in how the Consular is treated compared to the norms of the Order. This is surely something people in-universe have opinions about.

#Meanwhile in a Galaxy Far Far Away #swtor meta #jedi consular class story #jedi knight class story #Jedi Consular #Jedi Knight #star wars the old republic

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popatochisssp · 10 months

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off the rails? poppy what else did you do

Well.

Here's the rest of The Court Au. :)

Undertale

House Snowmirth

A respectable family on the low end of nobility. They gained their status as entertainers, most famed for their performances during winter festivals, and there’s a long line of ice-carvers, jugglers, musicians, and more in their humble yet sought-after family.

The last head of the house was less than enthused by their frivolous reputation, an academic who hoped the family name would become synonymous with intelligence and higher education—which he did his best to instill in his only two sons. Results were…arguably mixed, as both certainly grew up well-read and quick-witted, but with little interest in a scholar’s life.

The eldest’s skill at humorous wordplay was fine enough to make King Asgore laugh for the first time since the Queen disappeared, and the younger was inspired by tales of heroism to chase glory of his own as a knight. Alas for their father, but the (metaphorical) blood of the performer runs strongly in them both.

The house crest is depicted as a snowflake, curved as if smiling, and denotes the family motto of ‘Greater Together.’

Underswap

House Starstryke

A noble family, with its standing on the decline. While previously renowned for their brilliant tacticians and wise generals, prolonged peacetimes meant less need of their talents and their relevance at court diminishing by the generation.

The previous head of house did all in his power to regain the prestige he felt they were unjustly losing, seeking connections with many other nobles of higher standing—doing favors, striking alliances, and the like. He encouraged similar behavior in his sons, who both grew to be kind and generous young men…who care absolutely nothing for the standing of their house.

The eldest at least chose to seek some glory in pursuing a knighthood, but insists on earning it fairly, and the youngest has chosen to sidestep any attention at all entirely by shutting himself away to work in the archives, largely unseen. Well…though they don’t seem to care to elevate the family name, they at least seem committed to keeping it a good name and wearing it respectably.

The crest of their house is a shooting star in flight, an emblem of the family motto to ‘Choose Your Moment.’

Underfell

House Helflame

A highly respected, wealthy and powerful noble family, famed for the long line of strong and ruthless soldiers it has always produced for the Emperor’s ranks. Militaristic in nature, all of their line trained from birth with the aspiration to one day fight in the ranks of the Royal Guard…or at least, they did.

The last known head of the house had only two children, who were of course trained heavily in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat, pit against each other to fight for the glory of becoming the recognized heir to the family name and fortune. Before an heir was declared, however, both sons disappeared, and the fate of the remnants of their glorious house is still a mystery.

In reality, the eldest son denounced the family name and fled, passing over wealth and glory for a simpler life by his own sword. The younger followed after him, still with aspirations to the Royal Guard and to do great and noble things, but determined to pave his own way and not rely on a legacy to win it for him.

The house’s crest is a flaming skull without a jaw, a reminder of the family motto: ‘Show Them Hell.’

Swapfell

House Swiftshield

A high-ranking noble family, in close association with the royal family going back centuries. Their line has been direct servants and protectors to the crown as far as anyone can remember, and the trust and privilege built has elevated them quite highly.

The prior head of the house was fully committed to staying this course and maintaining the close, esteemed relationship with Empress. As such, he impressed upon his sons from a young age that loyalty to the crown was their highest calling, and to serve the Empress should come before all else—wants, needs, and even (especially) their own lives. …It was a terrible shock when he was found murdered, and no culprit was ever caught, but life goes on.

The eldest son followed obediently into the life expected of him and, with the privilege of his house to ease his way, worked his way up through the ranks of the Royal Guard to serve at the arm of the Empress herself. The younger was…not particularly suited to any kind of military service, but instead pursued his personal passions and at least displayed a talent for the arts to make a name for himself.

The crest of the house is an ornate winged shield with a bolt of cloth draped over its corner. The family motto is ‘All For Duty.’

Horrortale

House Pinevale

A noble family, but more in name than anything else—with little wealth or prestige to call their own. Theirs was one of the first families to settle the land when the kingdom was new, explorers and frontiersmen who scouted territory, cleared brush and raised buildings. Well-respected, but mostly by legacy.

The previous head of house was content with this reputation and dedicated himself to a lifetime of humble, loyal service to the King. How successfully he managed the first two is debatable, but he was unquestionably loyal until his (somewhat early) death. It was his wish that his two sons follow in his footsteps and be dignified and morally upstanding members of court, even should their house never gain higher prestige.

The eldest son at least waited until his father’s passing to do away with the pretense of dignity and pursue a career as the court jester, and the younger never made any secret of his aspirations of glory and knighthood over a humble life—but their moral fortitude and loyalty was always steadfast throughout.

This was especially evident when King Asgore was assassinated, among many other casualties, and both brothers weathered the storm of uncertainty that followed in the kingdom. When the king’s successor faltered and made some questionable, consequential judgment calls early in her reign, and there was an argument, and… Well, in the aftermath, both sons showed the dignity of their house in continuing to serve the queen—the elder now in the stables and the younger tending and treating the knights.

Their house crest is a sleeping bear, the line of its back reminiscent of a mountain range, and their motto is to ‘Walk Soft, Hold Firm.’

Undergloom

House Heatherfog

A common house, of neither wealth nor nobility, but even commoners have a care of their legacy. Most of their line were gatherers, herbalists and apothecaries that treated the farmers and peasants in the lower villages. They believed strongly in the power of community and were known for giving aid to anyone in need, regardless of status or ability to pay.

The prior head of the house was fully committed to these ideals and hoped above all else to be able to make a difference in the world, to bring health and joy to as many corners of the kingdom as could be reached. Should his lofty ambitions fall short of his lifetime, he encouraged both of his sons to live their lives the same.

The eldest son, frail since birth, found this path difficult to walk until discovering the contagious joy of music and the ease with which even one so weak as he could make and share it. The younger made slightly unconventional use of the family’s encyclopedic recordings of herbs, making a study of flavor and seasoning in food such that his meals now bring pleasure and comfort to all who partake.

The crest of their house, though they have no signets or shields to engrave it upon, is a simple spiraled cloud. The family motto is ‘See Through.’

Horrorfell

House Bludthorne

A high-ranking, famous—or perhaps, infamous—noble family. Their history is just as full of strong, ruthless soldiers as it is bloody betrayals and backstabbing schemes, the name practically descended into legend for how cold and vicious its members were on and off the battlefield, seeking power by any means necessary.

The last known head of house was no different, a cold and calculating man who saw little merit in emotion or attachment. It was something of a surprise when he admitted to two sons, when most assumed he would rather his proud name die with him than pass it to an unworthy successor—which surely anyone but him would be.

It was perhaps less of a surprise when both his alleged sons vanished one day, leading to some…distasteful speculation about their fate, when really the eldest simply grew sick of his father’s iron fist and fled to make his own way in the world, younger brother in tow. They lived for some time in relative anonymity, as a mercenary and a knight of no particular house.

When Emperor Asgore was assassinated and his successor proved to be both inexperienced and made cruel by grief and anger, the younger son spoke out against her and he—and his brother—were severely punished for the infraction. They kept up the appearance of contrition for some time after, enough to amass and stir a rebellion that would unseat the interim queen and set a new king upon the throne. The elder son, rendered mute and with a feeble hold upon his wild, fighting spirit, was unfit to rule but lives a life of luxury as brother to a king and does all in his power to defend his remaining family. The younger rules still, a stern yet fair king to the realm.

The crest of their house is a rose button knot, tied with thorns instead of rope. Their motto is ‘Drop By Drop.’

Horrorswap

House Stormglade

A lower tier, yet still noble family, comprised of skilled archers and huntsmen who served the crown both in battle and in trapping game. Over time the need for the former diminished and the latter tended to be done only recreationally, leaving subsistence hunting to more common folk the higher into society their name ascended.

The prior head of house saw little value in the old ways and spent most of his time and energy at court, honing social niceties and noble manners to cement his standing as a courtier and cut ties with a somewhat unseemly, rugged past. Still, there were some lessons to be learned from nature—to respect it, to act decisively, to take nothing for granted—and these he passed on to his sons, alongside sparingly few practical wilderness skills, for emergencies.

The eldest son sought a knighthood and the younger favored scholarly pursuits, both entirely respectable paths for the noble courtiers they were intended to be…but fate had other plans. A plague struck the kingdom, brought in by an outsider, and people began to get sick and Fall at alarming rates. No one, not even royalty was exempt, and though their line was nowhere close to succession, the elder son ended up on the throne, completely unprepared for the duty. The younger did his best to support his brother, frequently leaving on trips outside the kingdom to seek food, supplies, and any chance of help for those too sick to do so.

It was during one such absence that the untrained and desperate king made the decision to shut the castle gates and quarantine all who remained…even at the cost of locking his brother out, who hadn’t yet returned. And unluckily, also a disguised witch who came seeking shelter and took great personal offense to being turned away at king’s decree, casting a curse upon him—that his form should be as shifting and wavering as his integrity until he can forgive himself for what he’s done. When the quarantine was lifted and the younger son returned—after much hardship of his own in the wilderness—he found a convalescing kingdom, but no king to rule it, his brother having long since fled in shame.

A regent was left on the throne to rule in his place, and the errant prince’s quest to seek the missing king began.

The crest of this torn house is a lightning-struck tree, boughs in the middle and bolt and trunk above and below, as a mirror. The family motto is to ‘Stand Tall.’

House Moontide

Little is known about this royal house, so old and forsaken that even legends of it have mostly fallen out of memory. Its halls, full of cracked stone and discolored cloth, depict paintings and tapestries of both moon and sea, nereids springing forth from the waves and ethereal spirits descending from lunar light and dancing together hand-in-hand.

The last head of this ancient house, who could have spoke to the meaning of these depictions, translated the strange runes on the walls and in the surviving books, passed on long, long ago, with no heir to succeed them. The land itself has withered and grown barren as the castle has sat empty, awaiting a worthy ruler to sit upon its throne and reawaken the old magic that lies dormant within it.

A stranger has come to the castle keep in recent days, seeking only shelter—but the kingdom’s magic has begun to stir ever so slightly, in preparation for a king who can restore glory to the once grand Moontide house.

The crest of this ageless family is a crescent moon, mirrored by a cresting wave, with stars inside the circle they form. Their long unheard motto is ‘Ebb and Flow’

Horrorswapfell

House Ravenknell

A noble family of high prestige, well-known as trusted scouts and messengers for the royal family since the royal family’s existence. Dedicated, vigilant, and often fleet of foot, their duty has been to serve the crown however they have been needed.

The prior head of house was deeply invested in this reputation, viewing it as a critical stepping stone to maintain should the time ever come that he could…elevate…his status, by alliance or perhaps, by force. By his own boasting, he was quite strict with his two sons, demanding their complete obedience and to see every task, lesson, and trial to the end, no matter the cost. …His sudden death was a surprise but perhaps not very much of a tragedy as he was not well-liked at court (or at home).

He was succeeded by his eldest, who embodied all of his father’s preached values plus a strong love of family, a trait which quite endeared him to the Empress and made his eventual rise to her personal guard all the easier. The younger son, doted upon and left to his own devices took up painting and was actually quite skilled at it. Things went well for a time, and then didn’t.

A dark force set its sights upon the kingdom and took possession of the General of the Royal Guard, using her trusted face to gain access to the Empress, and cut her reign short. Her escape was prevented when the elder son happened upon her, but the ensuing fight blinded and near-mortally wounded him, and many others were injured or killed before she was able to break free of whatever was controlling her. The younger son, as the highest ranking, fully-conscious and able-bodied nobleman left ordered the portcullis dropped, no one in or out of the castle walls until they could all be sure it was truly safe.

When the erstwhile Emperor Asgore heard of what had happened and returned from exile, he was all too gratefully returned to the throne and normalcy—or a semblance of it—began to resume. The older son, no longer fit to fight in the Guard himself, found new purpose in training soldiers and knights to serve in his stead, and the younger took up a guard duty of his own standing sentry on the wall, vigilant to prevent future threats to the kingdom.

The house crest is a raven in flight, beak open to call out. Their family motto is ‘Watch Close, Fly True.’

Gastertale

House Driftwind

The history of this house is particularly odd…in that it seems to have no history. It’s strangely absent from all court genealogies, even under misspellings or in records thorough enough to outline the detailed lineage of a common-born ditch-digger from five generations back.

The previous head of this house…was not, actually, the head of this house, because it didn’t exist until quite recently—but he did exist, at least until he didn’t. He was a nobleman, of minor standing, unmarried or otherwise partnered, and the thought that he might pass on as the last of his house—the last of his very species—both alarmed and upset him. He sought to make a legacy on his own, using unconventional magic to make more skeletons of himself. He’d hoped for children, but what he got was…split.

The twin sons of the house which does not actually exist were born as half-grown youths, with jumbled memories and in an estate actively burning to the ground with a strange, unearthly magic fire. The moment they stepped free of the crumbling manor, they forgot it, as if it had simply been removed from their minds. It was all quite odd and upsetting but the two young men—sans any family to call on, or even a scrap of papyrus to write for aid, if they had—hatched a plan to build (or rebuild?) a life for themselves.

The shorter twin found he had a talent for charming and making friends of even the most standoffish of people, and the taller a gifted logician with an impeccable grasp of etiquette and proper courtly manners. Between the two of them, they made a house of their own and passed it off to those at court as truth. The story of a burned estate (which somehow felt right) and ruined belongings earned much sympathy, and many courtiers allowed them use of rooms for a time, invited them to feasts to take their minds off the trouble, introduced them to other sympathetic nobles—all the way up to the king himself, who especially favored the taller twin’s wise advice, and now they’ve all but made it as the real deal, a noble family.

The crest they long ago decided on for their house, and are finally having properly cast as seals and signets and embroidered into finery, is a balanced scale with ringing bells and trumpeting horns to either side. The motto of their very small family is ‘In Fair and Foul.’

Transcendtale

House Fallowkeep

A lowly ranked family, not far from commoners. Primarily known as guards and watchmen in the lower towns, minding fields and livestock from predators and thieves, their history is far from glamorous but still worthy of some respect for their role in maintaining order.

The last head of house was not entirely pleased with their lack of standing, but was largely resigned to it and realized the folly of looking a gift-horse in the mouth—or more plainly, of taking their relative comfort for granted and risk losing it entirely by trying to scrabble for more, and more, and more. He counseled his children to strive for excellence as what they were, and to not reach too far beyond their station.

His eldest managed to both obey and disobey this directive as a mere insouciant jester, but to the highest authority in the land, and his younger openly dismissed the idea of not aiming too far above his station by seeking a knighthood. Still, their ambitions carried them well and they were happy, until they weren’t.

A necromancer besieged the kingdom one day, slaying all in their path and resurrecting all they killed to serve in their army of the undead as mindless slaves. Only the jester was spared—an act of cruel humor—and escaped to find the court physician who had only just missed the slaughter by a day’s travel. Together they found a cursed tome of the same dark magics the necromancer used, a slim chance to undo what was done…that only one of them had the nerve (or lack of care for the fate of his soul) to take.

The former jester became a death wizard himself, turning his bones to cold iron and giving his soul for the power to wrest control of his felled kingdom away from the necromancer and revenge his loved ones. After, their bodies died again, properly this time, but their spirits—warped and altered by death and resurrection—did not die, made capable of persisting after death as human souls sometimes do. The kingdom, including a delighted invulnerable phantom knight, chose to remain in the land of the living as a haunted ghost kingdom, and continued life mostly as normal…just, now technically dead.

The family crest of the fallen jester and ghost knight is the skull of an ox, draped with sacrificial tassels. Their motto is ‘Bounty From Barrens.’

Ascendswap

House Morngleam

A highly respected and highly wealthy noble family, built by merchants, bankers, and tradesmen, all renowned for keen intuition and a drive that never quit. Somewhat lavish in matters of taste, they’re nonetheless known to be honest and of excellent character which has brought them quite far in the world.

The last head of house was a proud man, bordering on boastful and often going on about the great glory of his house (to many sighs and rolling eyes), but he never spoke falsely. His sons were raised to be proud and confident in all that they do, and to strive to add their own great deeds to the many that adorn their illustrious and distinguished name.

The eldest son sought to serve the kingdom as a knight someday, and the younger thought the archives would be a noble, if humble, pursuit…and this is where fate found them when the kingdom came under siege by a great and powerful army. Queen Toriel bravely resisted the invasion and for a time, her forces held ground, but soon—overwhelmed by numbers and tireless warring—they were forced to retreat behind the castle gates and attempt to withstand the war of attrition brought to their doorstep.

Mere weeks away from being starved out and forced to surrender, the squire snuck out of the castle, willingly risking life and limb to seek aid for the kingdom. Though he avoided detection in his escape, he had little success finding allies willing to fight the enemy he described…until a strange feeling compelled him along an untrod path, deep into the heart of the forest, where a faerie ring lay awaiting. Entering, he found the Summer Court—faefolk—willing to lend their aid, at a price, and only should he bring his monarchs to them to pay the same.

Returning to the kingdom, fae-touched and stranger than when he left it, he managed to convince the queen to come along and with help, even tracked down the estranged king too—but that ‘help’ who insisted on coming along (his brother, the Captain of the Guard, the court physician) cost him a greater price than he had already promised to pay… Still, bargains were struck, alliances made, and the kingdom freed itself from the siege, with very few Affected by the fae. No longer a fighter but with a strange sight and a keen sense of the world’s energies, the former squire now serves the queen as a mystic, and the bookish scholar has followed a new attunement to the wilds and keeps the falcons of the crown.

The crest of their house is a half-sunburst, reminiscent of the early hours, and their motto is ‘Chase The Dawn.’

Underfell Fruition

House Warhart

A common house, populated mostly by rangers and mercenaries in years past. At times they’ve been wealthy and had some measure of respect approaching nobility, but these times coincided with skirmishes and conflicts which required their skill—and peace has reigned for many decades now.

The last head of this house was greatly dissatisfied with the state of things and believed it was his purpose to elevate their name to—and beyond—the glory it had once held. Seeing an avenue to assert himself as a powerful figure, he turned to religion, preaching to those who believed that an Angel of legend would come and lead the kingdom to peace and prosperity the likes of which it had never known. He told all in the congregation he presided over that the coming of The Angel was soon, and when they came, their followers would be called to fight, conquering all who chose other beliefs and bringing peace by means of hard-won war.

He had two sons by this time, the first sickly and weak, and the second healthy and strong. The elder son was expressly vocal in his disagreement with his father’s ideals and the way he was manipulating the townspeople for his own benefit…and for this, he was thrown into an oubliette, left to wither and starve on meager rations tossed down to him sparingly while his absence was explained by ‘divine illness,’ punishment for his heresy. The younger son, around the same time as his brother fell ‘ill,’ was sent away to train with the militia—a show of his father’s faith in what he preached that he would even give his own son for the cause.

The imprisoned son survived in captivity, growing attuned to the magic in the very earth and air around him and even learning to draw upon it to sustain himself when he may have otherwise perished. His brother adapted to the grueling training regimen he was subjected to and became the star soldier of the zealots’ army, the strongest, fastest, and most obedient of their number.

When the Royal Guard came to investigate the rumors of a military cult forming in an outlying village of the kingdom, the cult’s leader was dispatched and all prisoners freed—including the brothers. The elder found a niche performing in the court of the Emperor whose forces ended his stay in the ground, and the younger became a carpenter’s apprentice, seeking a constructive trade as far from making war as could be.

The crest of their house is a stag with its head lowered to charge. Their motto is ‘To The Last Man.’

Swapfell Fruition

House Nyteblade

A house of great wealth and means, but little social clout…at least, as far as is public. Their line is known to run in one of two directions: recluses and bon vivants, with little variation. What they all have in common, unbeknownst to the court at large, is a hand in shady dealings, from theft to reconnaissance to assassination and everything in between—all in the service of the crown. To maintain secrecy, they could never be acknowledged openly for the work they’ve done but have always been rewarded well to live comfortably and maintain cover.

The now-late head of house was a diligent and ruthless spymaster for the Empress and pulled the strings of all his clandestine assets as deftly and nimbly as any harper, a true master of the web he’d woven… Though, perhaps too tangled in it to realize the folly of raising two sons to follow in his ruthless, underhanded dealings, sons who feared and hated him in equal measure.

Following their father’s untimely death, the eldest son succeeded him directly, taking control of the underground network that had been built to serve Empress Toriel and continuing to use it for exactly that purpose, business as usual. The younger son, well-practiced in espionage and assassination, maintained a cover as a roguish devil of a courtier with time and money and little care to how he spent either…Perhaps not so much of a cover, but a very easy reputation with which to do his job.

The removal of their father was the turn of the hourglass, however, and gave them a limited time to make arrangements to be out of the picture before the killers and assassins under them followed in their footsteps and tried to remove them the same way. Choosing a suitable mark, the ruler of a neighboring kingdom, the younger employed his considerable powers of seduction and won a marriage proposal to bring him—and his brother—far, far from the reach or care of conspirators he was no longer in the way of.

The crest of the house the youngest son left behind, that the eldest still bears is a pair of crossed stiletto daggers with ornate grips. Their motto was ‘From Shadow, Glory.’

House Wulfmaw

The royal family of a middlingly prosperous kingdom, availed of decent resources and power, but suffering from…mismanagement. The line is mostly known as drunkards and adulterers and warmongers—but not in any of their hearing, as they’ve also been known for their hot tempers.

The last monarch on the throne was no exception to the reputation of their family, spending poorly and skirmishing often with neighboring kingdoms over territory, to say nothing of many, many diplomatic incidents caused by poor manners with dignitaries at court.

No one was especially surprised when the monarch chose a low-ranking foreign nobleman of…not dissimilar temperament to be their prince-consort. It was a bit of a surprise when the monarch passed, though the suggestion that ample wine and poor decisions may have been the cause made sense of that. It was certainly strange when none came forth from the proper line of succession and the prince-consort became the crown-prince, but…

Frankly, the new prince was a decidedly cooler head upon which to rest the crown, with a much better grasp of diplomacy and charm than any monarchs in living memory. A bit of a philanderer and a shirker, with a tendency to flounce off seeking pleasure over duty, certainly, but the brother he brought with him does a decent enough job wrangling his larking about and seems to keep things running smoothly. It seems…for the best, to let things continue as they are, and perhaps have a kingdom which can be taken seriously by the other realms, maybe even respected.

The crest of the family is the head of a wolf with its jaws open in a snarl. Their motto was, and is ‘Swallow Mercy.’

Descendtale

House Blackroot

A common family, little more than simple farmers who tended the land and reaped the fruits (and vegetables) of their labor. All among their number were hard-working, salt of the earth folks who had little money and next to no prestige to their name, but plots of land to sow and (usually) enough to go around.

The last patriarch of the family was hardened and embittered by a life of labor he had never wanted and dreams he was never able to achieve for himself. To his sons, he left the lesson that there isn’t a thing in life that will simply be handed over for nothing, and to grip onto whatever you get with both hands.

Both of his children took the lesson to heart, and the elder studied and honed his humor until he was good enough to perform in the royal court for the king himself, and the younger spent countless hours training mind and body to have a chance at becoming a fully-fledged knight of the realm. They lived well, comfortably above their social station for many a year.

Things changed when a stranger came to the kingdom one day and snuck into the royal vaults beneath the castle, where many powerful artifacts and beautiful treasures were stored. They took only one small thing, a token said to grant prosperity to those who hold it…at the cost of unleashing a great darkness upon the land from which it is taken. In the wake of the theft of this cursed totem, a perpetual night fell across the kingdom and its borders were ringed with sharp and wicked thorns—penning its inhabitants in. King Asgore attempted to tear through the briars as they began to grow in, devouring the kingdom like a living thing, but the prick of their thorns caused a deep and deathly illness and he passed quickly after that.

The Queen burned her way through—a passage which grew over completely in only days—and ruled in his stead, adapting the kingdom to survive in permanent night. The people slept in strange patterns, ate what crops would still grow in darkness, and simply...carried on.

The former jester quite lost his good humor and began to manage the dungeons as they filled up with treasure-seekers come to look for more artifacts like the one that was famously stolen from a cursed kingdom where there was surely no one left to protest—grave-robbers in intention, if not in truth. The aspiring knight found greater purpose in trimming back the perpetual growth of the evil thorns at their border, preventing risk to others who could scratch flesh upon them and fall gravely ill, perhaps die…and of course to keep the castle and its nearest surrounding lands from being lost to those who still must live there. Like himself!

The crest of their family is a tree of life, centered more on the roots than trunk or boughs, and ringed by an ouroboros. Their motto is ‘Dig In Deep.’

#anonymous #court au #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell/fellswap #horrortale #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #horrorfell #undergloom #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

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kim-the-kryptid · 6 months

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Master Luminara comforts her former Padawan Oros Sami after their anxiety inducing knighting ceremony at the Temple

Really like the atmosphere here and the background doesn't look too bad, considering I hardly ever add backgrounds. Luminara was really enjoyable to draw and write about, she one of my favourite side jedi characters! I'm excited to start exploring Oros's story so I thought a good place to start would be the start of their career as a knight, which began rather unorthodox, for reference, this is 6 years prior to Order 66.

Below the cut, you can read the fic this piece is based on!

Rating: G

Word count: 1.3k

Characters: Oros Sami (jedi oc), Luminara Unduli, High Jedi Council members

The hallway to the High Council’s chamber was excruciatingly long. There were no doors on either side lining the walls, only embellishments and designs of gold leading you towards your destination. Oros tried to look ahead, focusing on how the huge double doors slowly drew closer with each step. Their hands clasped tight together, they breathed deeply, trying to clear their mind.

“I assure you my young Padawan, there is nothing to be fretting over. You have done very well on the trials and should be confident in your abilities,” Master Luminara’s voice cut through the deafening quiet. “If I can sense your fear, the Masters will have no trouble doing so.”

Oros’s eyes flicked down the floor before they breathed and replied, “Yes Master. I regret not having the time to meditate before being called upon.”

“You meditate enough as is. You need to stop letting your anxieties consume you and face them instead. What we are being summoned for today will help you see the advantage you can gain if you let yourself lie in the uncomfortable. It is to be an exciting moment of your Jedi career.” She finally looked over to Oros and gave a smile, pushing her calm through the force. They reached out to their Master’s grounded presence and took one last deep breath, visualizing the anxiety leaving their mind like the tide of an ocean. Gone for now, but welcome to kiss the sand sometime soon.

“I am sorry it has to be done in such an unorthodox way, you deserve to be going to the Hall of Knighthood instead. And you should have been told whether or not you passed already, not find out amongst the Council. For that, I can understand your worries,” Master Luminara placed a gentle hand on Oros’s shoulder. “The times we are living in are looking more and more grim, and the Order has responded by fumbling our traditions, when we Jedi need to be a strong constant in the Galaxy.” Oros studied their shoes but said nothing. No Jedi would admit it, but the recent rise in violence had them tripping on their own robes.

At this, the two reached the doors and waited as the sentinels on either side pushed them open with the force. They stepped out into the centre of the chamber and bowed, waiting for their Masters to proceed. Oros noticed all of them were present, only Master Koon and Master Mundi were tuning in via holo. This did not help their nerves, if they didn’t pass the trials, the entire Jedi High Council would be here during the announcement.

“Master Unduli, appreciate you being here, we do,” Master Yoda started “Important time for your Padawan, it is.” He nodded in acknowledgement and smiled. Master Luminara returned the smile and stepped back, somewhere out of Oros’s view. They awkwardly shifted before standing up a little straighter. The churning in their stomach continued, but now their face was neutral and their breathing calm.

Master Windu waved his hand slowly downwards, lowering the blinds over the windows and cutting off the golden sunlight as well as the surrounding distractions of Coruscant. Oros heard the shifting of shoes and robes, sensing the movements through the force rather than seeing them in the darkness of the chamber. The High Council Masters now stood in front of their seats and after a pause, Master Windu spoke.

“Padawan Oros Sami, with your focus and compassion…” A beat. “you have passed the trials.” Oros immediately let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding, a wave of relief washing over them. A small smile settled on their face, as their Masters’ lightsabers powered on all at once, creating a circle of light around them. Each of them had their saber clasped in two hands, pointed to the ceiling, just in front of their face.

“Padawan Sami, step forward, will you please.” Master Yoda, as the Grand Master of the Council, granted all Jedi Knights their status and place in the order. All the way from Master Windu, to Master Luminara and now Oros all the same. If anyone was worried for the possibility of war, it was him. He’d seen far worse and much more during his time in the order, longer than any of the High Council’s lifetimes combined.

Oros stepped forward, the green light of Master Yoda’s lightsaber bathing their face. His hood also had been drawn over his head, likely during the position change in the dark. The wrinkles around his mouth were calm, carving the familiar warm smile that Oros had seen during their Padawan ceremony. They kneeled and bowed their head just like the other thousands of Jedi had before them.

Master Yoda lowered his lightsaber to Oros’s right shoulder, before swiftly and precisely cutting their Padawan beads from where they had hung for years. He then brought the saber up and over Oros’s head before settling it above the left shoulder, effectively knighting them.

With a rippling sound, the High Council Masters all powered down their lightsabers, filling the chamber in darkness once again. Oros reached and picked up their severed Padawan beads before standing up, bowing and turning to leave the chambers. In silence they waited for the doors to re-open and stepped back out into the hallway, noticing that their now former Master had followed them. They made their way back down the hallway and once they reached a spot where they were alone again, Oros was the first to speak.

“I don’t feel any different, Master.” They stared at the beads in their hands, now just a memory that will have to be disposed of.

“You won’t, not for a while yet. It will take longer than you expect to become used to being called Jedi Knight. And once again as Master,” Master Luminara looked over to Oros, a smile on her face and her hands tucked into the sleeves of her robes. Oros could feel a great deal of unsure sadness radiating from her in the force. The relationship between Padawan and Master was precious, special and connected through the force. They will physically be able to feel the loss of the presence of the other as their duties begin to differ. “Your responsibilities may change, your circumstances, your experience, but I want to know you will always have been my Padawan. Even if there will be no lasting proof of it.”

“I guess this will be the last lesson you will have to teach me Master,” They put the beads into a pocket on their robe to dispose of later in their quarters. “I will miss you greatly, I know my skills are adequate, but I lack in your wisdom. I fear being thrown head first into things doesn’t work well for me. You have seen this first hand.” Oros stopped walking and turned to face Master Luminara now, their eyebrows furrowed and shoulders hunched over in embarrassment at the memories.

Master Luminara made an amused Hmph noise, “Young one, you have always been the sensitive type. But that’s one of your strengths, you will face the same kinds of challenges as you did before, only now you may be alone. I assure you, you will find you might not need to rely on me as much as you thought you did, Jedi Knight, Oros Sami.” She smiled and tentatively reached her arms out to offer a hug. Oros stepped closer and took it, wrapping their arms tightly around her, settling to nuzzle their nose on their Master’s head. With the difference in height, Master Luminara would have essentially been on tip-toes to do the same, so she relaxed and rested her head on Oros’s chest, holding them tightly.

Oros let everything they felt towards their former Master flow through the force. All Padawans are cared for by their Masters, it’s their responsibility, their duty for the future of the Order. Time after time, they will be granted a new Padawan, to fill the space of the last, to teach, to protect and to be a trusted adult of the force-sensitive kids running around the temple. This wasn’t the last time Master Luminara had to say goodbye to a Padawan, but it was the only time Oros had to let go of a Master.

#tbf this was way more complicated to write than i thought itd be #the jedi traditions are complicated okay #even though this is not usually how it goes #i think this close to the war the jedi would already be frazzled #star wars #the clone wars #star wars oc #star wars fanart #jedi oc #kryptidkiddies #kryptidkreations #luminara unduli #star wars fanfiction

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bolithesenate · 9 months

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Overview of the Guard OCs

sorted by age:

Masin Vel Afad - Masin is the product of me going 'what if there was a Guard that's older than Cin, actually?' Like, yes, that's his boss, but also Masin had that mask since before Cin was a Battlemaster, so really. Who is winning here. Raised two Padawans successfully to Knighthood prior to joining the Guard and is the most dad-coded jedi to ever exist. Some voices claim he was born a dad.

Hack - saw entirely too many shitty cop holodramas as a Youngling, latched onto the 'grumpy hacker' stereotype and made it his entire personality. He is one of the Guard's internal IT team, since his stature (he is toydarian) doesn't really allow for him to, well, blend in with the visible Guards. There were some attempts at stacking several smaller Guards ontop of each other but that resulted in 4 traumatized crèchelings and one very angry Cin Drallig. Voices claim that that was Hack's villain origin story and the reason for his incessant blackmailing-fetish.

Ranatward 'Nat' Missalek - rumored to be the source of all chaos in the Guard. Would not claim otherwise. Although xe is a Jedi through and through and takes a lot of pride in being a member of the Order, xe has a very social streak that some mighr claim is antithetical to the work as a Guard. But those who work with xem know that's not true because Nat is the kit that holds them together. Sometimes literally, xe is very much a hugger.

Zessh Jarid - take your Grandma's old and kinda grumpy cat. Subtract the age and give her opposable thumbs and space magic. Now you have Zessh. Her favorite assignments are those where they have to take up post near the Crèches, she could watch the Initiates play all day long. There are many pots going on on how long it will take her to get over her pride and give up the mask in favor of taking a Padawan or becoming a Crèchemaster (or both). She herself has actually placed a bid as well, which some voices may claim is unfair, but no one knows on what.

Yon Tar - is voices. Feemor's older Crèchemate. As children they looked a lot alike (minus the glowing) so they were mixed up several times. He was the one who first approached Cin to take Feemor into the Guard after he was repudiated. In the same proposal he offered to discreetly disappear Qui-Gon Jinn, which was vetoed by the Battlemaster. But Yon still has the plan, as a contingency. He was Mace Windu's Padawan before Depa Billaba and originally joined the Guard to avoid having to interact with people and politicians outside the Order. They always get weird about his diathim heritage.

Yorra-Serra - was the Squad Baby before Feemor joined and is very much enjoying life as a middle child now. Is in the strange position to be a second-generation Temple Guard, although she only found out about that after she joined. Her Master had been a Guard before they retired, became an Archivist and raised Yorra to Knighthood. The one Knight in that particular Guard Squad that seems impervious to blackmail - mostly because both Yon and Hack have yet to find some on her.

#jedi temple guard #me writing #oc stuff #art for my fic #random boli thoughts #just the very bare bones of thoughts behind the guard fic ocs #i just want more jedi as found family content and what better than the guys who are even by jedi standards considered weird #just thinning about the guard in canon makes me sad thats why we have crack fixits my friends

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ausetkmt · 8 months

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Knights of Liberty - Wikipedia

Pictured here is Moses Dickson, from the frontispiece illustration of the 1879 book A Manual of the Knights of Tabor and Daughters of the Tabernacle. In 1872, the Rev. Moses Dickson founded the International Order of Twelve of Knights and Daughters of Tabor, an African-American fraternal order focused on benevolence and financial programs. Dickson was born a free man in Cincinnati in 1824, was a Union soldier during the Civil War, and afterwards became a prominent clergyman in the African Methodist Episcopal Church. Dickson showed an interest in progressive fraternal organizations early on – in 1846 Dickson, with others, founded a society known as the Knights of Liberty, whose objective was to overthrow slavery; the group did not get beyond the organizing stages. Dickson was also involved in Freemasonry – he was the second Grand Master of the Prince Hall Grand Lodge of Missouri.

Dickson’s International Order of Twelve of Knights and Daughters of Tabor – or Order of Twelve, as it’s more commonly know – accepted men and women on equal terms. Men and women met together in higher level groups and in the governance of the organization, although at the local level they met separately – the men in “temples” and the women in “tabernacles” (akin to “lodges” in Freemasonry). The Order of Twelve was most prominent in the South and the lower Midwest. The major benefits to members – similar to many fraternal orders of the time – was a burial policy and weekly cash payments for the sick.

What many people today remember about the Order of Twelve is an institution founded in Mound Bayou, Misssissippi in 1942 – the Taborian Hospital. Michael Premo, a Story Corps facilitator, posted his appreciation for the impact that the Taborian Hospital had on the lives of African-Americans living in the Mississippi Delta from the 1940s-1960s. The Taborian Hospital was on the Mississippi Heritage Trust’s 10 Most Endangered List of 2000, and an update to that list indicates that the hospital still stands vacant and seeks funding for renovation. Here are some photos of the Taborian Hospital today.

Want to learn more about the Order of Twelve? Here are a few primary and secondary sources that we have here in our collection (with primary sources listed first):

Dickson, Moses. A Manual of the Knights of Tabor and Daughters of the Tabernacle, including the Ceremonies of the Order, Constitutions, Installations, Dedications, and Funerals, with Forms, and the Taborian Drill and Tactics. St. Louis, Mo. : G. I. Jones [printer], 1879. Call number: RARE HS 2259 .T3 D5 1879

—-. Ritual of Taborian Knighthood, including : the Uniform Rank. St. Louis, Mo. : A. R. Fleming & Co., printers, 1889. Call number: RARE HS 2230 .T3 D5 1889

Beito, David. From Mutual Aid to the Welfare State: Fraternal Societies and Social services, 1890-1967. Chapel Hill, N.C. : University of North Carolina Press, 2000. Call number: 44 .B423 2000

Skocpol, Theda, Ariane Liazos, Marshall Ganz. What a Mighty Power We Can Be : African American Fraternal Groups and the Struggle for Racial Equality. Princeton : Princeton University Press, 2006. Call number: 90 .S616 2006 (1)

(1) From The National Heritage Museum - http://nationalheritagemuseum.typepad.com/library_and_archives/2008/05/moses-dickson-a.html

SOME ADDITIONAL INTERESTING INFORMATION ABOUT MOSES DICKSON

Moses Dickson, prior to the Civil War was a traveling barber. Later he became an AME minister and was known as Father Dickson.

He was one of the Founders of the Lincoln Institute, now Lincoln University in Jefferson City, Misouri.

In 1879 along with others such as James Milton Turner, John Wheeler and John Turner he helped create the Committee of Twenty Five, organized to set up temporary housing for the more than 10,000 travelers who passed through St. Louis each year.

He was President of the Refugee Relief Board in St. Louis which helped to shelter and feed 16,000 former slaves who relocated to Kansas.

Moses Dickson was the first Grand Lecturer of the Most Worhipful Prince Hall Grand Lodge of Missouri upon its foundation in 1865. He was the second Grand Master of this Grand Lodge and the Grand Secretary in 1869.

In 1876 Companion Moses dickson was elected Deputy Grand High Priest of the Grand Chapter of Holy Royal Arch Masons of Missouri and Jurisdiction.

Moses Dickson wrote the Ritual of Heroines of Jericho penning the “Master Mason’s Daughter,” the “True Kinsman,” and “Heroines of Jericho” degrees. It was sold and distributed by the Moses Dickson Regalia and Supply Co., Kansas City, Missouri and entered into the Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. in the year 1895.

The Knights of Liberty was organized by 12 Black Men in secret in August, 1846 in St. Louis, Missouri. They were also known as the Knights of Tabor or the International Order of Twelve. Tabor is a Biblical mountain in Israel where the Israelites won a big victory over the Canaanites.

Moses Dickson was a leader of the Underground Railroad. He and 47,000 other Knights enlisted in the Union Army as soon as Linclon authorized Black men to sign up.

Disbanded by the Civil War many of the Knights of Liberty reformed after the War was over into a benevolent fraternal society named the International Order of the Twelve Knights and Daughters of Tabor. Moses Dickson authored “International Order of Twelve 333 of Knights and Daughters of Tabor,” a book outlining the Constitution, Rules and Regulations of the Temples of the Uniform Rank of Tabor and Taborian Division.

Moses Dickson died on November 28, 1901. A truly remarkable man!

Originally published at the National Heritage Museum’s blog. The National Heritage Museum is an American history museum founded and supported by 32° Scottish Rite Freemasons in the Northern Masonic Jurisdiction of the United States of America.

#Moses Dickson and The Knights of Liberty #Moses Dickson #Knights of Liberty #Black Revolutionaries #International Order of Twelve #Twelve Knights and Daughters of Tabor #International Order of Twelve 333 #Committee of Twenty Five #St Louis #missouri #freedom #Freedmen #Refugee Relief Board in St. Louis #Ritual of Heroines of Jericho #oes

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advertingpizza · 2 months

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What’s the lore behind Sykobe & Waves? I must know all there is to know about them :0

i had a whole draft i was working on throughout the day and lost it in the last 5 minutes of finishing a heated wii sports golf match 🤠

i've had a few asks for sykobe so i'll just use this as a single reply. you ask, i deliver. context, a lot of togruta society is a headcanon that i can explain in a later post.

also i love answering stuff like this!! i could talk about by boys all day long

cw for bad parenting and non graphic limb amputation

Sykobe Eyros is a 24 year old bounty hunter hailing from the Togruta clan Rivalke based on the abyssal planet Yxoha. Born to clan lead and force sensitive parents Sycante and Nalake, Sykobe and his older sister Neyti were both brought into the Jedi Order at a young age. Due to their unique background, both siblings had experience being involved in their cultural traditions, making them potential competitors for the throne. Sykobe's father, Sycante, constantly saw this as a threat to his leadership and actively sought to get both of his children dispelled from the Order by ensuring their training was ruthless and impractical.

While Sykobe survived far into his Padawan years , his sister succumbed to an unfortunate spinal injury after being ambushed by an alleged Sith. Sykobe always knew that his father ultimately played some role in what had happened with his sister, yet there was nothing he could do to prove involvement to the Order. Shortly after this time, Sykobe was left to complete his trials for knighthood, in which he was left in charge of the 307th Special Operations legion under the command of Alpaha-40, better known as Waves. With the aid of his newfound unit, he successfully completed his Jedi trials after running a successful rescue operation to save his master, Ezo Rizi. During this specific mission, Sykobe unknowingly tanked a blaster shot straight to his chest that penetrated his armor, leaving him with permanent damage to his heart. Thanks to the quick decision of Captain Waves to board another Jedi's Venator without permission, Sykobe was gotten into a bacta tank to heal a majority of his wounds.

Later into the Clone Wars, Sykobe was once again cleared for duty, relying on the use of a modified BD unit to administer a special medication that allowed him to remain in the field without risking death from his prior injury. He was quick to reunite with his legion, of which he began to treat like family. During this time, Sykobe's loyalty to the Republic began to falter as he uncovered a corrupt plot between his father and a Sith scientist, but no amount of hunting could get him the proof he needed. Instead of breaking his back to save a government that refused to protect him, Sykobe decided to expend his time by protecting each member of his legion. It was during this time that he unexpectedly began to foster a relationship with clone captain Waves after a shared recovery process following an orbital bombardment gone wrong. This was also around the time Sykobe and Waves decided to adopt two abandoned Togrutan children, Paka and Loha, as Sykobe was sworn to protected them under his clan's tradition.

Time was not in Sykobe's favor. Only a few months after settling into a position on the outer rim to avoid any run-ins with his father's fleet, Sykobe and the 307th were dispatched to locate 3 missing Destroyers. 2 of the 3 were presumed lost in deep space, whereas the 3rd orbited a small rocky planet far from charted space. In a freak accident where the group uncovered a very early prototype of the later Project I71A, Sykobe was overrun by infected reanimated corpses while evacuating his legion. He and his small squad were able to escape, although Sykobe sustained a mortal wound to his right leg. Not wanting to lose the only general that ever cared about them, Waves, as well as the other clones belonging to the small team, unanimously agreed to amputating Sykobe's leg to save his life. Trace amounts of the virus remained in his blood, yet it was not enough to severely inhibit his day to day life.

The remainder of the Clone Wars was quick. A final encounter between Sykobe and his father Sycante resulted in a duel to the death. With Sykobe's loyalty to the Republic already faltering, as well as his horrible lived experiences at the hands of his father, he did not hold back as the two initially dueled for leadership of the clan. Unfortunately, Sykobe had been blindsided by a second lightsaber wielded by his father that slashed across his stomach. Standing before the entirely of his legion, Sykobe was pushed off a cliff into a bottomless ravine as his father stood tall, claiming the victory for killing his only son. Months later, Order 66 rolled around. Despite Waves and the other Alpha-class troopers in the 307th being completely resistant to the order, all 4 of them at the time very religiously ambushed Sycante, executing him in cold blood for what they considered to be the only acceptable revenge.

Alpha-class ARC Trooper A-40, known as Waves by his brothers, is a special operations captain within the 307th legion. Born in the very beginning round of clones far before the creation of his quicker aging Beta brothers, Waves had the luxury of being trained by Jango Fett and the Mandalorians as many of the Alphas had been. Being unaltered, he and the rest of his batch, consisting of Alphas 41, 42, 43, 44, and 45, appropriately dubbed the 40 squad, all specialized in performing high stakes operations as well as injecting in multiple combat scenarios in order to turn the tides of the war.

Like many of his Beta counterparts, his first significant battle was upon Geonosis, where he very quickly learned that no matter how good he and his brothers were trained, many of the normal clones were painfully inexperienced and unfortunately, even if he tried, he could not save them all. This very quickly led to his distain for the Jedi Order, as he happened to have striking amounts of independence and self awareness when it came to the overarching reality of his purpose.

After serving his purpose as a special operations leader for many months, he and the legion he had led were eventually appointed a Jedi General. At first, hearing about the news that there would be a Padawan, he and the rest of the 40 squad were all appalled, seeing as a literal child on the battlefield would be no better than his undertrained brothers. Though his concerns held very real truth, he found that as a means of keeping his small team of Alpha troopers and the normal troopers they had adopted along the way together, the only option was to accept being under a general or else they would all be effectively disbanded and reassigned. This led to Waves working as a captain under Pantoran Jedi General Ezo Rizi, alongside his wild and disobedient Togrutan Padawan Sykobe Eyros.

In his first mission alongside his new general to apprehend a shapeshifting criminal responsible for stealing a holocron, Waves ended up getting tackled off a hill and stuck in an underground Separatist bunker after Sykobe unknowingly took a blaster shot that would've otherwise taken his life. Even though the Padawan was injured, the two were able to escape the bunker through a cavern encasing it by relying on Sykobe's echolocation. The two shared a brotherly bonding moment on the field shortly after escaping once Sykobe quite literally saved Waves from being eaten alive by the shapeshifter. Later finding out about the grave injury the Padawan had sustained, Waves slowly began to form a protective bond with the Togruta that put everything on the line for him, a feature he had not once observed in any other Jedi.

By now, Waves and Sykobe had become a relatively formidable force, as the young Jedi ascended to knighthood and inherited control of the legion. Almost every day, Waves and Sykobe spent hours training drill after drill, as they both shared the same passion for protecting the clones that served alongside them. Many battles later, the 307th found their way onto Kavado in a large offshoot conflict as a direct result of the slaves from Shili being rescued by the Republic. Waves and the 40 squad, as well as their adopted members ARC troopers Loch and Boulder, as well as a squad medic dubbed Tide, were assigned to evacuating a base while Sykobe investigated a trail of explosives that was far too coherent to have been planned out by a droid.

Unfortunately, Waves lost one of his own, Alpha-45, better known as Mesa, after he self sacrificed to save the rest of the squad from getting stuck in a collapsing building. Alpha-43, nicknamed Click, took a shot to the thigh while the baby of the squad Tide dropped limp after taking a shot to his helmet. Suffering heavy losses, Waves called in a desperate request for Republic backup after realizing that they had been sent straight into an ambush. All the while, Sykobe uncovered a Sith masterminding the attack and engaged him in a duel, catching the attention of the incoming fleet commanded by Jedi Master Sycante Eyros, a feared and dangerous force when it came to clone standards.

Instead of receiving the backup they had requested, a nearly impossible evacuation notice came as the Jedi Master's fleet prepared for an orbital bombardment on the entire outpost, an act that would cost an unfathomable loss of life. Waves attempted to detest the decision, as not only were many clone lives at risk for the possibility of killing one Sith, but a Jedi was in the middle of it all. Yet, the Jedi Master from above refused to withdraw his order for the sake of exterminating the Sith, although it became increasingly obvious that his only real purpose was trying to make the death of his son seem like an accident.

Although he ended up caught in the middle of an intense cultural drama between leading father and challenging son, Waves was lucky to escape the ordeal with his life. After running into the field to help escort his wounded brothers to safety, he got caught in the heart of the bombardment. His armor saved his life long enough for Sykobe to find him after the battle, in which the young Jedi used what he could of the force to stabilize the captain. During this shared moment as the two of them sat alone in the battlefield, it seemed that a deeper passion than just friendship fueled Sykobe's motives as he restlessly tended to Waves' wounds. Though Waves hadn't ever really had the luxury of being in love, he knew almost instantly after rousing from his state of unconsciousness that something about the Jedi lingering over him was far too important to ignore.

The first kiss was extremely out of the blue as Waves and Sykobe thought they both lost each other. Time only began to fly after that. It took a few more weeks, but after a rescue mission to save more Togrutas that had been taken into slavery and rescuing to Clan Rivalke children, Waves and Sykobe both came to realize their feelings for each other. Behind closed doors, the two would fantasize about a life after the war, thinking about all of the possibilities when it came to raising their family far, far away. Sykobe always spoke about a planet deep in an abyss that he grew up on, yet the idea always seemed horribly farfetched. Alas, it was a fun thought that always kept the two entertained as they survived day by day in the corrupt Republic. It was an honor at one point, as Waves had been trusted enough by Sykobe to be made an honorary member of his clan, allowing the two to become a pair mated for life by Togrutan tradition.

Losing Sykobe to his vicious father was the turning point that left Waves' heart shattered. Left with the two children and his squad to protect, Waves was on a quest for blood the moment Order 66 hit. While he had the independence to resist it, he sought retribution for what had happened to his fallen lover. Being trained in just about any scenario possible, there was no escape for Sycante as Waves and the 40 squad passionately hunted him down, ending his life with a blaster shot to the back of his montrals. Within hours, Waves and his entire squad defected, leaving for the promised safe haven Sykobe had always gone on about years in the past.

Two years passed since the loss of Sykobe. Waves had settled down in a small village on Yxoha with his small squad of clones, as well as Pantoran Jedi Jaira Rizi, who had come to trust Waves following the loss of her husband Ezo, who had formerly commanded Waves' legion. The two had come to share a soft love for each other, as they had both lost a lifelong partner to the war. Being together was healing, yet it could not replace the pain of losing the Togruta he had quite literally paired to for life. Yet, through some strange combination of luck and hopefulness, in the middle of the night, Sykobe simply showed up. Nobody really ever knew how, or why, but he was there again, and that was all Waves needed.

#pizza ocs #sykobe #waves #star wars oc #sw oc #togruta #togruta oc #clone trooper #clone trooper oc #clone oc #arc trooper waves

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d-andilion · 2 years

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in perpetuity

another one for @whataboutthebard!

prompt: whump - forced marriage and forbidden love

(geraskier, T, prince!jaskier, knight!geralt, secret relationship, angst, i hurt myself with this one folks, 2.9k, read on ao3)

As a child, Geralt dreamed of becoming a knight. He saw himself atop a noble steed adorned in gleaming steel armor, flying the colors of a great house. His sword would be the bringer of justice, the upholder of order. In the name of his liege, he would protect the innocent and drive out evil from the shadows. He would be a peacekeeper. A hero.

Witchers were not knights. Vesemir spent decades drilling that fact into Geralt’s head. He killed monsters, yes, but his protection extended to whoever paid him. Innocence and wealth rarely came hand in hand. Too often, the lords he had once wished to serve and the knights he’d idolized were the monsters no one could fight, much less a lone Witcher. Still, Geralt did the job he’d been trained for and took contracts for the smallfolk when he could. It was all he had.

When the monsters died out, Geralt and his brethren were left with only their swords. Just steel now. The silver, they buried in the rubble at Kaer Morhen. Witchers were no longer needed, but mutants made good mercenaries. It wasn’t so different, really. Geralt swung his sword for the rich and powerful, and was paid well for his trouble. And when the odd penniless farmer with hungry little mouths to feed offered him shelter to drive off a stray wolf or a few bandits, he did what he could.

Geralt never expected to bear the knighthood the nameless child he once was dreamed of. He didn’t want it, not anymore. Taking orders from spoiled shitheads for a living was grim enough without pretending he deserved a commendation for it. Every knight he’d ever met was a pompous moron who’d never seen a real fight. The last thing Geralt wanted was a place among their ranks.

Then he took a contract from King Arthur Pankratz.

It was an unusual contract. Geralt typically found himself handling border disputes or guarding wares for trade, half a world away from seats of power. He rarely had cause to meet the nobles that employed him, but this one brought him to the steps of Lettenhove Castle. Some sort of epidemic had swept their tiny kingdom the winter prior, crippling their defenses. Geralt and the few hundred others who accepted King Arthur’s contract were to serve as palace guards and city patrol until more citizens could be recruited and trained.

The work was dull but the wage was more than fair and the barracks were far finer than his usual accommodations, so Geralt was happy to sign away twelve months of his service. He even earned himself some extra coin and palace lodgings to help train the new recruits. It was shaping up to be the best year he’d had in half a century.

Prince Julian arrived a few weeks after Geralt did. The king’s youngest spent a few years touring the world after he graduated from the Continent's most prestigious institution, but his father had called him home in the wake of their kingdom’s recent turmoil.

Geralt didn’t think much of the news. Julian had three older siblings in the palace and Geralt could count the times he’d seen any of them on one hand. The few veteran guards Geralt worked with on training duty were sure the prince would find a way out of the castle as quickly as he’s come, but they warned Geralt to be wary. Prince Julian—Jaskier as he insisted on calling himself—was made of trouble, they said. Better safe than sorry.

The day they met, Geralt didn’t even realize he was speaking to a prince. No one bowed to the fop in a sunny yellow ensemble as he marched onto the training grounds, a lute slung over his back and a crown of dandelions in his hair. No one seemed to blink an eye as he meandered lazily between sparing circles and drill sessions like he belonged there. He wore no gold or jewels, sported no attendants or complement of guards. He looked like a bard if Geralt had ever seen one.

The bard eventually made his way to where Geralt stood supervising his recruits, flashing Geralt a grin that dripped confidence and scanning him up and down with bright blue eyes.

“Now you look interesting,” the bard drawled. “I love the way you stand there and brood.”

“Fuck off, bard,” Geralt replied. There was a choking sound to his left and the guard beside him started to cough vigorously. Geralt shot him a curious glance and turned back to scrutinize his recruits.

The bard just laughed. “Come on now, I’m sure you have a few stories to tell. I’ll give you one in return if you like.”

“Busy,” Geralt barked.

“What about later, then?” the bard asked. He was close enough now that Geralt could feel the heat of his body along his side. “I’d be happy to find somewhere more… private to chat.”

Geralt was never the most sensitive man, but he knew when he was being propositioned. Credit where it was due, the bard had balls. Geralt leveled him with a stony glare. The bard could certainly have fallen into the vague category of Geralt’s type. Tall with broad shoulders hidden beneath artfully tailored fabric, an undeniably pretty face, eyes that could set him apart in a sea of faces. And he had this spark about him, a fire burning under his skin that made him a beacon Geralt didn’t want to resist.

Geralt hadn’t realized he was about to accept the bard’s offer until much later. Regardless, he never got the chance. A harried palace attendant interrupted whatever little moment had bloomed, panting her way across the courtyard.

“There you are, your royal highness!” she called between harsh gulps of air. “You will be late for the council briefing. We must go at once!”

Prince Jaskier breathed a disappointed sigh. “To be continued,” he muttered for only Geralt to hear. Then he turned on his heel and followed his attendant, to her palpable relief.

Geralt had been sure he would be executed, but no one came for his head that day or any day after. The other guards assured him that Jaskier was unlikely to demand retribution for Geralt’s disrespect. On the contrary, the prince had taken a shine to him. The trouble would come, they warned, when that shine turned into something a little more tangible. The prince didn’t mind sleeping with commoners, but his father was far less forgiving. It simply wasn’t worth the risk.

But Jaskier kept coming back. To the training grounds, to Geralt’s patrol routes, to the canteen where the guards took their meals. At first, his constant chatter was infuriating, but Geralt came to find it almost soothing, a rhythm he could sink into and even find a bit of comfort in. Before long, Jaskier coaxed stories out of Geralt too; about monsters, yes, but about him, about his path as his life. He found himself telling Jaskier more than he’d ever told anyone besides his brothers.

The spoiled, reckless royal Geralt envisioned Jaskier to be disappeared day by day. Jaskier could be impulsive and sometimes even careless, but more than any of that, he was free. His heart flew on a summer breeze and his smile carried pure sunlight. He was warmth given form like nothing Geralt had ever known. Inescapably beautiful.

Falling into bed together was a terrible idea, and Geralt knew that. By the time he finally gave in, he knew it didn’t matter if he fucked Jaskier or not. It was too late to save anything from breaking. Geralt was already completely, enduringly in love with him.

When Geralt’s contract with the king ended and Jaskier begged him to stay, he didn’t even think about saying no. Where would he go without Jaskier anyway? Who would he be there? How could he fight another bandit or guard another wagon of grain when he knew what it felt like to hold the sun’s fire in his hands without burning?

To stay at Jaskier’s side, Geralt swore himself to his service. A loyal sword to guard the prince’s back and keep his council, in perpetuity. Forever. It was the only vow Geralt had ever made and he intended it to be the last. By the law of the land, a royal sworn sword became a knight the moment his vow left his lips. Geralt’s dream finally came to pass.

His fantasies had never been quite like this.

In one of Lettenhove’s many fine receiving halls, sunlight pours through high stained glass windows onto a sorry scene indeed. Jaskier is slouched in his chair, golden crown crooked atop his head as he glares down from the raised dais he occupies. Geralt stands at Jaskier’s right hand as he always does, trying with limited success to focus on scanning the room for potential threats. The lord kneeling below them, whose name Geralt forgot moments after he heard it, has been droning on for what feels like days.

Knighthood is very little like Geralt’s childish imaginings. There’s no armor or billowing cape to start. Geralt flatly refused to wear them in any context that wasn’t ceremonial. He’s not letting Jaskier be run through by an assassin because his sworn protector was too slow under four stones of armor to save him. When they’re off palace grounds, Geralt wears a better-kept version of his old leather armor. Most days, he dresses in a fine but flexible doublet with his sword at his hip.

There isn’t a great deal of fighting either. Outside of the training grounds, Geralt hasn’t seen a real scrap since before he took his vow nearly three years ago. The vast majority of his days are spent like this: following Jaskier as he goes about his business through the castle, watching his back and offering input on matters when requested.

As of late, their time has been occupied by more and more lords and ladies of who-fucking-cares, coming to make their bid for the hand of their prince. King Arthur let it be known a few months back that his youngest child would marry by the end of winter. Now the leaves have begun to turn and the castle is filled to the brim with would-be suitors.

Jaskier has been notoriously hostile to every single one of them, but no one has yet been deterred from trying. The current Lord Whatshisface has been walking them through his entire family tree to illustrate what a strong couple they would make for the better part of the last hour. Even the lord’s own staff look to be flagging; the knight on his left has yawned three times in the space of a few minutes. The lord starts up on a tangent about his sixth cousin’s great-great-grandmother, and that seems to be the limit for Jaskier.

“Fuck’s sake, I can’t take another minute of this,” Jaskier says.

The lord blinks stupidly. “Your royal highness?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so bored in my entire life! Were your born this way or did you have to work at it?”

Geralt contains a snort as the lord begins to flounder, sputtering in place of a reply. Jaskier stands and removes his crown, then drops it in the hands of the nearest servant with none of the delicacy required for a thousand-year-old family heirloom. Geralt follows Jaskier dutifully, a smug grin on his lips, as Jaskier marches down the steps of the dais and out of the receiving room without sparing the lord another glance.

They’re quiet in the halls—too many ears with ulterior motives to speak freely—but the moment they’re back in Jaskier’s rooms, he sprawls over the settee and begins his tirade.

“Can you believe that bumbling idiot?” Jaskier groans while Geralt makes a quick round of the room. He doubts very highly that someone is snooping behind the drapes, but being overly cautious is part of his job description. “I mean, honestly, do you think they breed them to be this dull? Is there a secret storehouse of mind-numbingly boring people with impeccable manners that I don’t know about?”

Geralt doesn’t reply. Jaskier doesn’t really need him to at this stage of ranting. Instead, he pokes his head into each chamber in Jaskier’s rooms as part of his rounds. When he returns to the sitting room, Jaskier has thrown his doublet across the back of the settee and his boots are somehow on opposite sides of the room

“What did you think of that one?” Jaskier asks. Geralt snorts.

“Useless popinjay like all the rest of them.”

Jaskier laughs at that. “At least he kept any miserable excuses for poetry to himself. What was it the last one called me? Lady Whatsername?”

Geralt remembers that exchange all too well despite every attempt to forget it. “‘Julian,’” he recites, “‘my dewy frog in the shining swamp of desire—’”

“Oh dear, that’s quite enough, thank you,” says Jaskier with a face like he’s smelled something awful. “And my father genuinely expects me to marry one of them. Lucky for me, I have no intention whatsoever of going through with it.”

The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. It’s suddenly unbearably quiet, the sort of quiet that starts to scream after a while. They don’t often discuss what King Arthur’s winter deadline means for them. There isn’t much to talk about from Geralt’s perspective. He can’t do anything to stop it.

Jaskier has made his intention to frighten his suitors away very clear, but his father doesn’t seem to ever run out of options to put in front of him. His only other coping strategy seems to be statements of denial, each one a little less confident than the last. In the spring, his voice was sure and his eyes burned with defiance. Now, with the autumn treeline visible from his window, he makes himself small.

“Jaskier,” Geralt tries tentatively.

“I won’t do it,” Jaskier snaps shakily without looking up. His hands ball up into white-knuckled fists in his lap. “He can’t force me.”

Geralt takes a deep, slow breath. Inhale. Exhale. “You well know that he can. And if he has to, he will.”

“He can’t!” Jaskier cries into the blaring silence. He makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a snarl as he tries to breathe. “It isn’t… It’s not fair.”

Jaskier looks up at him then, and Geralt wishes he hadn’t. His blue eyes sparkle with unshed tears. He looks helpless, furiously helpless, and there’s nothing Geralt can do about it. The vow Geralt took to protect him is meaningless here. He can’t save Jaskier from this.

Geralt traces the curve of Jaskier’s flushed cheek as gently as he can with his rough, calloused fingers, and Jaskier leans into the touch. Anything Geralt could say feels woefully inadequate right now, so he says nothing.

Jaskier stands, fingers curling tightly into the front of Geralt’s doublet. His eyes search the empty space in front of him for something he can’t seem to find. An answer, a hope, a prayer.

“My great grandfather’s younger sister married a knight,” he says. “There’s precedent.”

“It isn’t the same to them. You know it isn’t,” says Geralt evenly. Most knights hail from noble families. The gaping loophole in their code of fealty is the only reason Geralt is standing here right now. Jaskier’s father would never let him marry a commoner, a Witcher, knight or not.

Jaskier barks a hollow tearful laugh. “So you are good enough to die for me, but not good enough to love me?”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s face with both hands wordlessly and presses a kiss to his forehead. Jaskier trembles under his touch. When Geralt pulls back, Jaskier’s eyes bore into his, and Geralt can see Jaskier’s heart breaking in them, though he still hasn’t shed a tear. His prince, so beautiful, so brave.

“What happens to you, then?” Jaskier asks. “When I’m marching down the aisle with my useless popinjay, where will you be?”

“Guarding your back, the way I always have.”

“And then?”

Geralt brings their foreheads together, his nose brushing Jaskier’s.

“I swore you an oath of fealty,” he says. “Not the kingdom, not your father, not the gods. You. I’m not proud, Jaskier. I don’t need to be your husband to stay by your side. Whoever you marry, it doesn’t matter. I’m yours. In perpetuity.”

The echo of Geralt’s vow hangs heavily between them. He made it selfishly, as means to dig out a place for himself in Jaskier’s life, but Geralt still meant every word of it then and he means it now. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut, but Geralt keeps looking. He wants to drink in every detail of what it feels like to hold his prince, his bard, his sun, in his arms.

“We could run away,” Jaskier whispers wistfully.

Geralt knows Jaskier doesn’t mean it. For all his fury and threats, Jaskier loves his family and his people. He would never abandon them, not for anything.

“Alright,” Geralt whispers back. “Where?”

“Anywhere. The coast.”

An image comes to Geralt’s mind. Jaskier, shirt billowing in the ocean breeze, bare feet sinking into the sand. The sunset casts him in shades of gold as he laughs without a care in the world. He is safe. He is happy. He is free.

Geralt closes his eyes on that faraway dream.

“The coast it is.”

w.a.t.b. masterlist

#whump the bard #geraskier #geraskier fic #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #my fic #mine

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shepherds-of-haven · 1 year

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Pretty weird ask, but are there any established like knightly orders within the Shepherd's world?

Not weird at all! In fact, a version of this question has been asked before, albeit over in a Patreon Q&A! I'll copy-paste a more fleshed-out version here:

There are knightly orders (also known as chivalric orders) in Blest. The most famous nowadays are Norm, but in the days of yore, Elven knights were the big thing and kind of the legendary predecessors for all knights moving forward. The precursor of the Shepherds, in fact, originally started as an Elven knighthood that moved around the Continent, putting down demons and helping out people who needed their aid; their fame was such that they eventually attracted members of all races and stripes to their ranks, from Elementals to Mages to Changelings and whatnot, which would ultimately establish the concept of the Shepherds (albeit thousands of years later).

The other races, like the Hunters and the Mages, either briefly had knights on-and-off in their history (Mages) before the concept fell off altogether (different government structure: Mages almost never had monarchies, so the need for traditional knights as we conceive of them wasn't really a thing), or have the equivalent of knights in their culture today--they're just not called that. (The Black Shield is the equivalent of a knighthood or royal guard in the Reach, and Elinden has a version of knights or an honor guard, who are typically called Weapons).

Again, however, it's largely the Norms who form the majority of knights and knightly orders on the Continent today. Lavinet, for example, is a chevalier of the Order of the Rose: one of the many orders of chivalry that exist within the nobility. Most orders are descended from groups and alliances that existed either around the time the Autarchy was formed, or older, when the Norm Kingdoms were still a thing. Chivalric orders were usually formed by knights, bodyguards, advisors, merchant-lords, and other factions that served the various Norm kings and their courts--those mutated into the orders that exist today, which are basically like elite social ranks for various heirs and aristocrats to be accepted into.

The Order of the Rose was, until recently, a chivalric league meant only for men. Initiates attempted to enter its ranks through a series of tests, and it has more of a military-trained slant: fencing and dueling comprised a good portion of its trials, and members carry a special gilded dagger to signify their membership. When the Autarch was a young woman, she ordered the Order of the Rose (and all chivalric orders) to be opened to all genders, which caused a bit of a fuss. Prior to that change, members of the Order of the Rose had access to special lodges and private social clubs meant only for their ranks in almost every major city in Blest. (They still have these, it's just they're not male-exclusive anymore.)

The other Orders function much the same way: you either are born into their ranks by dint of your family's blood and prestige; you bought your way in; you were recommended in by an existing member (or several); you were granted knighthood by the Autarch or a Consortium member; or you proved your mettle by passing the order's various tests and trials as a rite of passage. It just depends on the Order--the Order of the Rose is exclusive and high-standing, and the first male heirs of families often have to apply to it as a way of proving their worth, while with other orders, it's kind of embarrassing if you have to take its trials (aka, you couldn't buy your way or be grandfathered in).

There are countless chivalric orders, including the Order of the Lily (more focused on the gentle arts, such as singing, embroidery, and general well-rounded etiquette and impeccable manners) and the Order of the Thistle, or, as Lavinet calls it, "the horse-obsessed." If you're curious, Lavinet is a member of the Order of the Iron Cross (another military-orientated knighthood that was fairer to its members) as well as the Order of the Violet, which honors lovers of beauty and fine things like perfumes, parties, and painting (but which has been suspected of being the source of aristocratic orgies... Lavinet adamantly denies this, though, so don't bring it up to her).

Finally, in case you're wondering, only about 30-40% of young nobles are part of any order!

Hope that all makes sense!

#Shepherds of Haven #worldbuilding #knight #knights #knighthood #races

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teabiscs · 5 months

Text

medieval!prince/knight!garbo!au

its over 3k words.

World building:

The basics: Sorta like old timey medieval with magic, beasts and baddies. Ive recently read through Solo Leveling so grabbing some of my fave things from there. (Mainly the classes of fighters, mages, healers, defense)

The Siebalds

The ruling family over the kingdom in which the story takes place. There's the king, the queen and the seven princes,of which Garland is the youngest. All of Garland’s brothers are known for something, strong swordsman, master class mages, high ranking military or whatever the word is i dont do research.

Garland is the youngest, and least accomplished, and his father has referred to him as, “His most ordinary son.” (As well as, “We were trying for a daughter, but after 7 sons, we got the hint that it’s not meant to be, but I guess having Garland, is like having the daughter we always wanted).

The king tends to just ignore Garland, hoping to one day be surprised with his youngest, but honestly would marry him off to another smaller kingdom in a heartbeat. (It’s an area of contention Which fills Garland with dread at the thought of being forced to marry and sent off.), Garland is resentful towards his father, but tries his best to be a good son, he trains and studies, practices his sword. Sits in on meetings (or whatever they're called) even though he’s well aware it's pointless.

His father pays a retired high ranking knight to train Garland, in hopes that it amounts to something. But even after years of lessons he’s not improving (WHICH WILL 100% be touched on why that is)

His brothers kind of just ignore him, he’s just there. They'll interact with him and say hello, but Garland is left out a lot because he’s not a master swordsman, or a mage, nor does he have the ability to heal, or craft potions.

Enter Boris.

Who decides to become a knight to make better money for the family, alongside Sergei. (Still an orphan, living in a house with the rest of Borg) Prior to this they were both blacksmiths (coincidentally making the weapons they fight with) but between the four of them, were struggling to make ends meet. Boris joins after Sergei gets his first per diem because if they are both bringing that much money, on top of what Yuriy and Ivan bring in, they'll be alright.

It does come with some hardship. Boris is mouthy and not used to the structure and hierarchy, but man can he wield a sword, so a lot of his personality is overlooked (also like sergei is a super likable, tank and they're close so people overlook a LOT, when it comes to Boris and his out of pocket comments and mannerisms).

Boris still does blacksmithing after his knight duties. He’s not a fan of the standard sword that is used, but also having extra money is always good, they never know when something is going to come up and they'll need money.

So, like, how do they get together???

There’s a threat or something that startles the king, an attempted assassination that has the castle on high alert. The king is STRESSED. After the failed assassination of his eldest son that he;s concerned with his weakest, least accomplished, should have been a daughter, son (because if they failed on the eldest, the best bet to take out and destroy morale is Garland)

So the King is walking through an elevated part of the court yard with the commander of the knighthood, about lending one of his knights to sort of chaperon over Garland. And the commander is like i got JUST the guy. He’s dumb as dirt, but put a sword in his hand, and the other person is NOT coming out alive. *pointing down at a silver haired man comedically stabbing the air*

And the king is like??? That guy?

And the commander is like hell yeah that guy. He’s a little silly, (And a pain in the ass, doesnt listen well, but will get the job done) but if he’s with Garland,there wouldnt be a safer place (And then immediately after Boris does something stupid and the King is like this cant be real life this cant be a real knight)

And the kings like okay what about the guy NEXT to Boris, he looks sturdy. Which the commander is like that’s not what you want. He’s a tank, and for defense. Boris is a fighter. That’s the one you want. Trust.

AND SO STARTS THEIR FORCED INTERACTIONS.

BOTH HATE THE WHOLE IDEA OF BEING STUCK TOGETHER. They resent the HELL out of each other.

Garland’s self confidence is at an all time low. He feels like a joke because he;s the only one being treated like a fucking kid, being shadowed.

Boris feels like this is a punishment and hates being confined to the castle, following some lowly prince to and from lessons and classes and meetings, and fuck its hard staying quiet during dinner, which he now has a seat at until the culprits are caught (WHICH IS WHAT HE SHOULD BE DOING, FINDING THEM) He longs for being on the battlefield and raiding. Blood shed.

Boris trailing behind Garland on his way to his swordsmanship or whatever class, and sneering at the old guy there to train Garland. Side eying the “Master” the whole lesson, watching with eyebrow raises and faces at every movement. Snarky comments that has the master having words with Boris. And Garland cant believe that theyre fighting, as if Boris REALLY thinks he’s hot shit to have a say against the retired commander who’s been training Garland for years.

They fight and argue and bicker. Going at it. Boris def challenges Garland and is like if you feel so safe without me, beat me in a sword fight, which garland tries and fails to win.

Garland practicing with his sword by himself and Boris is watching, bored, unamused. And as time passes looks progressively more and more pissed off until he cant contain himself, approaching Garland and kicking his foot, twisting his body, moving Garland’s grip

But the kick has Garland seeing red and is PISSED, and goes to move, but Boris has his arms on Garland;s shoulders. And hisses out “THIS IS THE STANCE YOU SHOULD BE IN. Everything you do is wrong.. Try what you're doing like this.”

ANd that’s when it all comes out that Boris was a blacksmith so he knows how to handle a sword VERY WELL on top of all other weapons he has a proficiency in. and eventually BOris is like “Are you sure this is the weapon for you have you tried anything else? The sword should feel like an extension of your body, not like some *he waves his hands around* thing that youre doing now”(Boris bringing up his master is just doing this for the money; it's obvious to anyone who actually wields a sword. He’s not correcting things. And is just dragging this out for his own monetary gain)

And garland being like this is a VERY expensive weapon. (the sword he practices with)

And Boris is like just because it's expensive doesn't mean it's not the wrong weapon. They end up going to the armory and Garland fucks around with a saber and gavel and an axe before settling on a dagger. And for the first time the two spar and Boris feels some excitement because Garland moves so fluidly with a dagger compared to sword.

(It ends up being a dagger because Garland is a close range fighter, but a VERY close fighter, which makes sense because martial arts etc, just now his fists are sharp.

ANd that night Garland feels VERY funny over the whole day because no one has ever shown this type of interest in him, or taken the time to work with him like Boris did.

And then we progress sometime, when Boris is pulled from shadowing Garland for a raid or battle or something. Garland inquires with his brother, who happens to be running the whole thing about joining up, since he’s gotten stronger since changing weapons, but is told lol no stay home baby bro this is where you belong.

So garland sits at home in the castle and FESTERS. And at this time he realizes just how much his life has changed since Boris has been shadowing him, how lonely things are when Boris is gone. And honestly he hates it. He walks through the castle, goes for a walk through the village, but he is SO bored. And lonely and sits in his room staring out the window down at the garden. Looking forlornly.

HIs mother stops by commenting it's so quiet around the castle when the knighthood is out raiding. He mentions how she can't wait for his brother to return with their spoils and that theyre planning a big feast upon the knight's return. And Garland just rolls his eyes, because this is the only time she ever comes and visits, when his brothers are out, and the king is focused on it.

They dont return that night but the next morning, they won but are a little worse for the wear. And Garland tries not to be too giddy when he goes looking for Boris, but he can’t find his shadow. (who ends up being in the infirmary. He’s fine-ish just getting a check up but the healer.)

Scar

But in THIS AU this is where Boris gets his scar.

And the thing that confuses Garland is HOW did it scar, but then, where the fuck was his helmet? And Boris, just laughs, because if Garland thought he looked bad, he should see the other guy.

But anywho. The weapon he was scarred with had magic/enchanted/poison in it, so the healer did what the could, but unfortunately it left a scar, which Boris is indifferent about, he thinks it makes him look cool.

And Garland’s like, okay yeah that makes sense.

And Boris is like oh and the healer was one of your brothers by the way.

Which does not make the situation any worse or better, but it's meant as a distraction.

That's nice, but that doesn't explain how your helmet got off your head, or how something managed to pierce metal to injure you.

And Boris lets out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, and is like lets not dwell on the past.

How did you lose your helmet?

And Boris sighs, “I took it off.”

“You took it off?”

“Yeah because they fucking sucked.” And yeah Boris ripped his helmet off and exclaimed to the enemy you cant be fucking serious this??? This is the best you got? Why am I even carrying all this extra weight? You guys aint shit”

And the whole thing fucking pisses Garland off, because how could Boris be that fucking stupid. Which he says as much to Boris. Does Boris even realize how upset he’d be if something happened?

And then Garland freezes. Because there’s more he wants to say, but he’s hearing what he’s saying and its weird feels too… raw. So he back tracks, that he needs an actual weapons master to continue teaching him, because one day Garland’s gonna be next to him on the field. And how does he ever plan to find a wife if he loses a limb? He’s lucky its just a scar and he still looks handsome.

(Which is the first time Boris has gotten a compliment from Garland like this, and… Garland thinks he’s handsome?)

The Catalyst

The spy is found, so the whole kingdom is lead to believe. Theyre executed and a celebration is in order. THere is an overwhelmingly good mood throughout the great hall. Everyone is well dressed and manicured. The knights are dressed in modest attire. Not a weapon in sight.

The whole thing is so bright and everyone is so spirited over the events. Finally they can relax. Finally Boris’ roll as Garland’s shadow will come to an end.

It leaves a bitter taste in Garland’s mouth and he nurses the same cup of mead the whole night, not feeling at all excited over the spy being found. Sure its great everyone whos been on edge can finally relax. BUt he feels… empty.

He sighs into his cup and makes small talk, looking around the room, eyes looking for… something. He;s not sure what it is, but he cant find it. Another sigh. He’s making conversation with… someone. He’s not sure he's ever spoken to, or seen, but he sees a lot of people in his day to day.

“Where’s your shadow?”

Garland shrugs, “Not sure. But that’s probably over now.”

“Seems a little premature.” His tone changes, but garland is too out of it to notice.

Garland shrugs again, looking down at the ground. “I don't think so, if the threat is gone-

“Who said the threat is gone?” And everything moves so fast. One minute he's half heartedly talking to ~whoever~ and the next minute there’s a knife to his neck, blade pressed against his skin, and sharp enough that if he breathes too deeply it's sure to cut skin.

There’s gasping and more chaos and people running to try and get out, just in case they;re next.

And Garland knows this is it. He's resolved to it. What a plot twist. There’s no way anyone could get to him in time before this assailant slits his throat. It’s a painless death, he thinks, as he feels the knife leave his throat.

Turns out somehow, in that time, in typical shonen fashion, Boris is able to separate the two, and slash the assailants neck (how the tables have tabled)

And Boris falling to his knees in front of Garland. Grabbing onto his trembling hand, pressing it to his cheek. He apologizes for not noticing soon, he should have stayed closer to his side. Should this should of that.

And now Garland is getting nervous out, because everyone is looking at the two of them, pulling Boris out of the main hall and down a side hallway to an empty corridor.

Telling him he can't just get on his knees like that he didn't fail at his job everything is fine.

And boris is like don't get it. I was so scared I wasnt going to make it in time.

And garland still doesnt get it, but is like “If i died the king wouldnt have blamed you, you werent even on duty, and where were you even hiding a weapon lol”

Garland, after all this time shadowing you, and hanging out. After everything, I can't lose you. you've been ingrained into me.

And silence. Because now it dawns on garland that oh

And then a very emotional kiss.

With them being silly afterwards and getting into an argument because that’s so on brand for these two. Be cute and sweet for a minute and then annoying the shit out of each other.

Found out

Very much late into Them being VERY CLOSE ™ and hooking up, is them getting caught by Garland’s father no less.The King, opens the door, see’s his most ordinary son on top of one of his knight’s lap.Closes the door immediately. It’s silent as the two pull apart from one another, and five minutes later, theres a knock on the door. The two are as far away from each other as possible. Not looking at each other but Garland is red.

The king is VERY indifferent as he speaks to his son, inviting him to the raid that’s in a week. He looks over at Boris, who looks just as indifferent back, as if a challenge to fucking say something, “I’ve heard since you’ve adopted using a dagger, you have made vast improvements. The monsters that should be encountered should be easy to defeat with close range fighting.”

The king turns towards Boris, “Kuznetsov, I trust you will continue to watch over my son, even on the battle field?”

Boris gets to his feet and bows, “Of course your highness, I would give up my life to save his.”

“Good good. Make sure you have Rybakov with you.”

“As you wish, your highness.”

The kings eye looks back at his son and then back to boris, and finally his son. “Carry on with.. Yourselves.”

And once the door is closed and the kings footsteps retreat away from Garland’s room, boris’ laughter booms out, and Garland throws a pillow at him.

“Your dad’s something fucking else, man.”

“Shut up.”

“He comes in here.” Boris starts, while crossing the room and sitting down next to Garland, pulling Garland on top of him, “Sees his youngest son, mounting the knight assigned to shadow and protect him , and doesn’t say a word.” He laughs again. “Instead he comes back and invites you to raid with us, which by the way babe, congrats.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Yeah okay.”

Boris takes that as an okay to Them ™ and stays the night, sleeping next to garland.

—

Boris going home the day after and the house all being like where the FUCK have you been. And Sergei is more concerned than anyone, because did something happen after he left? That he was held to stay at the castle overnight.

“Boris, we all know youre an idiot, but this is the dumbest fucking thing you have ever done.”

“Do you have a death wish?”

They all go back and forth. Yuriy and Sergei admonish him for doing something so stupid. Ivan is amused. While Boris doesn't see it as a big deal and jokes around about it.

—

Eventually the king does talk to Garland about what he;s witnessed. It's just the two of them in the library, Garland collecting notes and data on the monsters that are present where the next raid (THAT HES EVEN INVITED TO) is located.

“Garland,” He pauses, “We need to talk about that day.”

The room suddenly goes cold. Garland feels like the blood drains out of his body. His throat feels like something is lodged in it, but he nods looking at his father.

The king sighs, “I don’t. Garland. I- How did- When did-” He exhales, “Just because I said you were basically like a daughter to your mother and I, didn’t mean you had to do this.”

Garland freezes, “What?”

“That’s not right.” He father huffs, “Im not sure how to talk about this. I’ve been thinking about it, playing out scenarios in my head. So maybe let’s get this to the point. You know being the seventh son there is no chance of you ascending to the throne when I abdicate, or worse case die.”

Garland nods.

“And the plan was to marry you off to another kingdom that is heirless, there were several options we were going to start looking into. Many families with all daughters and no sons.”

Garland swallows, dread crawling up the back of his throat. Fuck here it is. He’s going to send me off. He’s made the choice already to get me out of here, since i've brought disowner-

“But. Based on what I observed, that’s not a good idea. So I want to ask you this time, what do you want? You’re finally joining us on raids, and maybe the battlefield next time it's needed. You’ve been in high spirits, which is why I have let you keep your shadow even though it's no longer necessary.”

“What I want?”

“Yes Garland, I’m giving you a choice. We can start looking at future brides, or you can continue to do what you're doing, unmarried.”

“You’re okay with that? With Boris and I?”

THe king takes a deep breath, rubbing his temples, “Garland, less words. Your brothers will bring us many future princes and princesses. You not reproducing and settling down is not going to change that. I’m asking if you want the opportunity to marry into Kingship in another kingdom, or if you wish to stay here and join the knight order? What you do outside of that is up to you. Kuznetsov will remain a shadow, until i deem it unnecessary.”

“And when will that be?”

“Garland,” He growls, “Yes you want to marry, or no, you want to join the knight order.”

“I’d like to join the knight order.”

And okay they still bicker and fight because at their next raid Boris babies THE SHIT outta Garland which pisses Garland off to no end especially when they're fighting in the same raid and Boris swoops in to fight whatever beast Garland is about to kill. And Garland gets PISSED that Boris would steal his kill and then have the audacity to blow a kiss at him.

And this happens often that Boris just poofs into his space to ensure that his “precious pookie does not get hurt” (they 100% get into it with each other on the field. And sergei, the tank that he is, is just like guys please can this take place after i do have a real job other than shielding you while you work out your problems)

The other knights finally taking garland seriously. While at the start of this whole au, they think he’s a joke, or they feel bad for him, since he is so ordinary. But now after a weapon change and sparring with someone who actually wants to see garland get better??? And he’s joining them on the field? Respect. (tho yeah probably some mild homophobia, but who is going to say something to royalty, and two its good to keep boris, and by extension sergei on their good side)

#here it is #my nonsense #beyblade #still thinking about it #au hc ideas #i have more thoughts #but this is starting to look like a story outline #so i will #just be thinking of small things #garland siebald #boris kuznetsov #garbo #this is very dumb

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