#↳ SHIP ; REID ASTREA || fallesto ❛ you go ill stay / you come back ill be right here / like a barge at sea in the storm i stay clear ❜

[violetueur-archive]

@fallesto​​

Continued from: HERE

EVERY SINGLE SEASON … WITHOUT FAIL … HE WOULD RETURN TO HER VILLAGE …

Perhaps he was smitten, without a shadow of a doubt he was. She was playing hard to get. She should have been notched off years ago, but she was making him work for it. Truly this one was special. Perhaps more than what he thought, but he would not dare cloud his sense of reason. It was impossible. The risks were too great. It was never going to work anyway. Even if there was a small part of him that wished for it. The world was broken. It was never going to be fixed, it was always going to need him. Some were, there was always some cunt stirring up trouble and he would be there to stop them. A dragon had devoured his family, laid waste to his entire village, burned everything to cinder and do you want to know why it did such a thing, because it could. Because his home was within the way of it’s view of the mountain and so it slaughtered hundreds of people for that sole reason. Evil. The very definition of it and he made a promise, to kill every single last dragon in the world, and it had trickled down from that, to monsters, demi-humans, anything and everything that dared treat humanity as a source of entertainment or something to harm because they were better, faster, stronger. Never.

Still there was one thing that was certain. Within one part of the world, there was no danger. There were no dragons, no great monsters, beasts, or any shred of darkness. He had always made sure, nothing ever reached her village, her lands. He always stopped it before it ever reached her own door step, his own little way I suppose of taking care of her. Still, each start of a season he would come back. To bring her gifts, to tell her stories and above all else, try to get into her pants. Yes, hardly the thing worthy of songs and stories to be told down the line, but … that was who he was. He loved fighting, but he loved women more than anything else in the entire world. If there were no evil, he would have spent even more time chasing after them and spoiling them rotten. He was a lover, not a fighter. Yet the path he had taken, was that of someone who had to put the world first, too many times to count … but he still managed to squeeze as much … fun in as possible. As she knew better than anyone else. Once it happened, he left. The deed was done and he was always grateful, but it was once and only ever once. Never out of hatred, never out of ill intentions, but always for them. He could not linger in one place for too long, he could not allow his scent to pass onto another, any trace of himself. All it would take, is one dragon, to cleanse a village, a city, an entire kingdom of the face of the earth, if it thought it had any chance to kill him.

“There is a reason, no one sees me like this.”

There was no humor within his voice. Not this time. The flowers from the edge of the world, the trinkets from forgien lands. The sword he had pulled from the back of a legendary dragon who had burned every brave hero who had ever faced it, he had dropped them all to the ground the moment he saw her. The moment his eye locked onto her own and saw the bruising. The darkness around her eye, the marks, the swell of her lip as well. Someone had struck her, harmed her, dared raise there hand to such a perfect being. His eyepatch was removed and tossed to the side. As he reached out the cup the side of her face, gentle, always, to touch, to feel it as his eyes narrowed even further. A look that … was out of place on his always happy looking face. There was one thing within the world. That was a whisper. A rumour. It never happened and when it did, the world stopped dead in his tracks and all evil felt a chill run up there spine.

THERE WAS NOTHING MORE TERRIFYING. THAN THE WRATH OF THE SWORD SAINT.

“I will ask you once.”

His breathing was … not calm nor collected. There was a crack, of bones within fingers, as his other hand, his digits were moving, his hand opening and closing several times. As his head turned to look behind him. He had come back, after a season of being away. Excited. A spring in his step almost. As he had practically ran from the other side of the world to get here before the new season would fall onto the lands, only to see this. A voice that was stern, serious, commanding as well. As he would not be refused this one request. Of all the things Reid was, he was never serious about his duties. He was playful, charming, humorous even to his enemies, until he wasn’t … and when he wasn’t, even the gods themselves pitied any who had mistakenly angered him and crossed him.

“Who did this to you.”

At the beginning of each season, though she tried very hard not to admit nor let it show, Nicolette eagerly awaited his inevitable return. Despite her attempts to feign indifference in the beginning, it became harder and harder with time to uphold the act, and at the first sign of change she would find herself on the precipice of some unspoken, hidden feeling that she refused to put a name to. To anyone with eyes it was clear that she was infatuated. It was usually easy to bury deep and ignore when he was not around ( though sometimes she became possessed by a strange longing ), but it would always burst forth like a blooming bud through melting snow as the time for his visit drew nearer. Nicolette often wondered what the people in her village must think. Perhaps they pitied her, surely some envied the attention the revered Sword Saint showered upon her, but regardless of their opinions, none could deny the benefits they all received, because of her foolish crush. They had always been rather well off, but their collective station and social standing had only increased, as a result of the many tributes offered. Not to mention, the luxury of complete safety they all lived under. No one could make the mistake of believing it mere coincidence.

He had never made any show or it, nor taken the chance to brag, entirely uncharacteristic, but Nicolette had noticed, anyway. She always noticed things, when it came to him— the way he almost appeared relieved when she turned him down now, how his attempts to bed her had become less insistent than they’d once been, even that he’d looked somehow lonely beneath it all, yet it seemed to lessen, when he was in her company. Maybe it was all wishful thinking or merely imagined in her head, but she liked to think it was real. It was the only reason, she still hadn’t given in, even after all this time. But some people, could not appreciate her headstrong nature, like he could. Her obstinance and loose tongue had garnered negative attention many times before, but it was rare that someone be so daring, and it had never happened this close to his visit. Nicolette... hadn’t wanted him to see her like this, ever. She felt utterly humiliated, and frankly embarrassed, to appear before him looking so unsightly, but it had never occurred to her not to meet him as she usually did. Missing him had won out, over her desire to hide. Even after she’d tried to make light of it, she knew it wouldn’t work, but still, she hadn’t quite expected his reaction.

The moment their gazes met and realization dawned on his face, Nicolette felt her heartrate increase tenfold in her chest, and it only grew faster as he dropped the lovely gifts in his arms and quickly closed the distance between them. One might think such a reaction was out of fear, but it was, in fact, quite the opposite. The eyepatch was torn from his head and tossed away ( a small blessing ), and then he was standing right before her, reaching out to cradle the injured side of her face in his large hand. Calloused fingertips gently prodded at the discoloration around her eye, thumb brushing over the cut on her bottom lip, causing her to both flinch and shiver, before she leaned into his palm, peering up at him with wide eyes, spellbound by his quietly simmering fury. ❝ Reid... it’s fine, I’m— ❞ His low voice interjected, leaving no room for argument or excuse. He spoke as if commanding her, yet she didn’t hate it, nor did she stubbornly refuse. She had never... seen him get angry before, but she was not so blind as to miss where that feeling was coming from. He was angry, for her sake. If Nicolette were being honest, she... liked it. It was certainly thrilling, but more than that, it made her feel unquestionably valued. Important, somehow.

Yet, she knew it would be unwise, to encourage it too much, at least over something this insignificant. ❝ It’s okay, ❞ She whispered, entirely fond, as delicate hands reached up, one touching his forearm as he continued to cradle her face, the other pressing against his heaving chest. ❝ It’s not that bad, it just looks worse because my skin is so fair. ❞ Which was likely true. It had certainly hurt quite a bit after the initial event, but the pain had dulled to merely an annoying sting, now. ❝ It was no one of any importance, I assure you. He’s already been dealt with, and I don’t say this for his sake— I fear if I tell you a name right now, you might betray your own vow, and he is hardly worth it. ❞ He had told her before, that he never killed humans, and from everything she’d seen him do, she believed him. It was an oath she didn’t quite understand, but respected nonetheless. As much as it might satisfy her to see the man who’d assaulted her be slain by his hands, she didn’t want to risk a burden like that weighing upon his shoulders. ❝ If... if you insist, even still, I will tell you... but I’d much prefer you take care of me instead. And I’d quite like to see those lovely flowers you brought? ❞