#「answered」— The king must ALWAYS answer his subject’s pledges! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

girlmeetsliv3 · 5 years ago

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Prince of Nothing II

~ Part Two of Five ~

Release Date: May 6,2020 @ 8 pm

Word Count: 7,683

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything except for you…

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything: heaven, hell, and everything in between. His family was an enigma who came to power under mysterious circumstances and had managed to retain hold over the kingdom for centuries - even if no one knew how. There was one thing that Jungkook wanted though, something that could never be his: you. A nobody. A girl with no title. No land. Just money and a pure soul to your name. Jeon Jungkook would’ve never spared a look your way, had that incident not occurred. Now you find yourself the target of his affection and the most hated woman in all the land. Which will kill you first?

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid, as well as implied, descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

Jeon Jungkook’s study looked like something out of a movie: its Victorian architecture, all black interior, the bar by the side and even the tall glass paned windows behind him made him resemble a villain and not a prince. Jungkook wasn’t too particular about titles however. Currently the prince was supposed to be supervising the kingdom, approving new legislature, and signing a new bill which would only benefit the nobles more though it’d give the appearance of helping the poor. Speaking of the poor. Jungkook couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, as the conversation he’d held the night before replayed in his head. YN was certainly an interesting person, not quite like anyone he’d ever met before. Considering her lineage Jungkook had never actually met anyone like her before.

Discarding the paperwork, Jungkook reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the necklace that once adorned the village girl’s neck. It shined in the early morning light, Jungkook should return it to her the next time they saw each other but the necklace was a weapon now. Another pawn in Jungkook’s lifelong chess game and he’d be willing to sacrifice an object that meant a lot to her, if it meant bringing them closer.

Knuckles rasp against the wooden doors, Jungkook mumbles giving the person on the other side permission to enter. Kim Baekhyung was a member of the prince’s personal guard, becoming so when he’d pledged loyalty to Jungkook and no one else. Which allowed him the freedom of strolling into the prince’s private office like a guest rather than a palace employee. Baekhyun briefly glanced at the necklace before bowing slightly, “The king has requested your presence, your highness.” Jungkook cocked a brow at Baekhyun’s mannerisms, it wasn’t until the latter nudged his head slightly towards the door that the prince grasped it.

New guards had been placed outside his door instead of the ones he was accustomed to. It seems his father was getting more paranoid every day. Good, that only worked to Jungkook’s favor. “Let us go then, best not to keep his majesty waiting for long.��

King Jeon the II was a man of stoic nature and few words, at least that is what the public believed. The son of Jeon the I who inherited his father’s throne had aged significantly in the past few years. Wrinkles and harsh lines chiseled into his features as if done by a sculpture, he was not an unattractive man simply one past his prime. Jungkook had been told time and time again he resembled his father when younger, though he knew that was only because the late Queen was not to be spoken of. Were he a decent man Jungkook would try to steer clear of the subject of his mother to avoid adding salt to old wounds, but there was no affection between the two. Jungkook was to be king not because he deserved the title, though the younger might argue he did, but because of nepotism.

Not to mention after three centuries of Jeon rule, it’d be pointless to stop now. Still there was one thing Jungkook had always desired from his father, something he desired even now as he looked at his father with nothing but pure apathy: his respect.

Jeon looked down at his son, mouth turned downward into a scowl which only accentuated his frown lines more. “I heard of the spectacle you orchestrated this morning. Conspiring against the crown and attacking a member of the court, is it?” The glare Jeon directed towards his son was likely meant to intimidate his son, but all it caused was a grin to break out on Jungkook’s face. “Did you enjoy it father?” Jeon only sneered in response, “The court and the gallows aren’t your playground, Jungkook. If you’re bored find entertainment elsewhere, but refrain from cutting people’s heads off or I’ll have to cut yours!” The anger had caused the tendon’s on the side of his father’s neck to stick out, indicating how infuriated the king truly was. Well then.

Being the sly man that he is Jungkook let his lips fall into a pout and batted his eyes; his mother’s eyes. Once Jeon gazed upon them a bit of tension left his shoulders and Jungkook knew he had him in the bag. “But daddy, I was merely getting rid of our enemies. Protecting the land as you taught me to.” His voice was perhaps too whiny, but it reminded Jeon of a time when Jungkook had been younger - less of a threat. Nothing but a small child crying over his mother. It seems his old age was catching up to him, for Jeon took the bait his son had laid out for him.

“Enemies?”

“The last of the Kim’s. A direct descendent too, not like that bastard that lies beyond the borders.” Jungkook saw the doubt creep into his father’s eyes, and knew his words weren’t enough. Jungkook fished the necklace out of his pocket, allowing the ornament to gleam in the light. For a second, and only a second, Jungkook swore he saw fear flash in his father’s eyes but it was gone instantly. Replaced with the mask of the cruel heartless ruler the kingdom knew. Jeon cleared his throat, “The Kim’s haven’t been a threat for over a hundred years. They hold no power, they’re merely has beens that cling onto hope.”

“Hope can be a powerful thing. Our ancestors once hoped they would rule the kingdom and look at us now.”

Jungkook smirked at his father’s silence, but his lips quickly turned downward at the king’s next words. “What of the girl?”

“What girl?”

“Don’t play the fool with me boy! Is she not a Kim too?! Is she not a threat?!”

“She’s adopted.”

“Was the necklace not on her neck?”

A laugh tore through the prince, “If you’re that worried I’ll kill her too. Order the guards to burn down her house, drag her out, and have a little fun with her before she dies. Is that what you want?” Jeon’s coal black eyes pierced into his son’s, as if trying to look into Jungkook’s soul. The king was relieved when he found no such thing. Finally the king relents, “It may draw too much attention to execute them both. Let us not give the people a martyr to rally behind.” The prince nodded before excusing himself, his father’s final words replaying in his head.

“Make sure to keep her close, she may yet be of use to us.”

Jungkook smirked, making his way down the stairs to play with his new toy.

“Have you heard?”

“There’s a lot of things I hear darling, you ought to be more specific.” Namjoon rolled his eyes, stretching over to lightly hit Seokjin’s naked torso. Seokjin ignored his indiscretion and focused on the softness of the bed beneath them. “A young boy was just executed for conspiring against the crown.” Beside him Seokjin sighed, feeling a heavy weight on his chest. He turned to meet Namjoon’s worried gape. Another casualty. Another fighter they’ve lost. Another thing lost to the Jeon’s.

“Did we lose another one?” Seokjin already knew the answer to the question, but every time he’d hope for a different answer.

“He wasn’t one of us.”

Now that did peak his interest, but from the excitement present on Namjoon’s face it seemed the man was reading too much into it. “Darling, if anyone so much as looks at a Jeon the wrong way they’re accused of conspiring against the crown.” His words had little effect though and even Seokjin couldn’t deny the hope that spread through his body of what this could mean for the movement. Still a leader must always remain neutral in the face of change, so that is what Seokjin did. Even when his lover asked if he should investigate, “Do as you want, but don’t stir the pot. I don’t need crazy old Jeon sending his guards to attack again.” They wouldn’t survive another strike.

As the conversation died, Seokjin placed a small kiss on Namjoon’s shoulder before winking. “Now what were we doing?”

Soojin hated tea. Despised it’s bitterness and how bland it tasted to her, it dulled her senses. Nonetheless she drank it with a smile on her face, one she could do in her sleep. Princesses always smile and Soojin had always known she’d be a princess so it was part of her duty to behave as one. It didn’t matter that smiling so much felt unnatural and would only lead to premature wrinkles, which she would then be ridiculed for. Though she would be callous if she didn’t smile either. Her mother rambled on and on about gossip she’d heard from her friends and would often take breaks in between to criticize how much Soojin had ‘let herself go.’ Visiting her mother was always a pleasant experience.

The teacup was now empty and Lady Seo had taken it upon herself to refill it once more without asking her daughter. Soojin knew what this meeting was about, the same thing all their meetings had been about since Soojin had gone to live with the Jeon’s. “Mother.” Lady Seo looked up at her daughter’s face, “Let us not beat around the bush any longer.” At this the woman scoffed, “I see your manners have faltered since living in the palace. Tell me is that any way to talk to your mother?” No, but it is how I talk to a nuisance. Soojin smiled, eyes becoming small crescents.

“Mother dear, why have you invited me over, so abruptly as well? Is something the matter?”

Lady Seo set down her cup, the small ‘clink’ it made when it touched the saucer let Soojin know the small talk had ended. “Has a date been set for the wedding?” Soojin leaned back against the chair, disbelief on her face. From the second, Soojin had come out of her womb she’d been a means to an end. Something for which to obtain power, what greater power was there than marrying a Jeon. From the sharp look Lady Seo sent her, Soojin straightened right away. Not wanting to upset her mother further than this conversation probably would.

“The king has been ill as of late. The wedding is postponed until he is in better health.” That is the excuse she had been feeding those around her for the past couple of months, in order to keep the sharks at bay. Truthfully Jungkook was in no rush to get married and one could never force a Jeon’s hand. Her mother, as always, saw through her lies. “You’re losing the prince’s favor.” Soojin hissed, “Jungkook and I have been engaged since we were children.”

“And yet never have the Jeon’s made a move to fulfill their promise.”

At this there was silence, Soojin cast a glance towards the gardens, viewing the vast array of colors that spread through it. The harvest had been good and the incoming summer would only bring more goods with which to feed the kingdom with. Lady Seo reached out and captured Soojin’s hand, “Child,” the tone was affirmative yet still soothing somehow, “Alliances are like crops: one can plant the seed, water it, care for it, do everything right and even then they might not bloom.” Soojin knew exactly where this was headed, she rolled her eyes leaning over the table to make sure her mother paid attention to her words.

“The Jeons won’t break their promise. They are loyal to us and won’t do anything that’ll threaten the peace of the kingdom.”

“The Jeons are only loyal to themselves! They do not care if this marriage brings peace because they prosper in war. Lest you forget how they rose to power.”

Soojin recoiled pulling her hand out of her mother’s grasp. She knew very well what kind of family she was marrying into, but she couldn’t care less. Their reputation preceded them and Soojin had never once laid witness to the cruelty the Jeon’s supposedly inflicted. Truthfully she’d never done anything to elicit it. Only fools would try a royal’s hand and from what Jungkook had told her, along with what she’d grown up reading, the Kim’s were no better when they were in power. Seeing that her daughter wouldn’t be swayed on her position, Lady Seo switched topics.

“Have you bed?”

“No, of course not. You ought to know better.”

Lady Seo smirked, “So that means he is seeking pleasure from other women.”

“There are no other women in Jungkook’s life, mother.”

“What about that woman?”

Soojin paused, feeling words die in her mouth; She’d lived her entire life paranoid, but said woman had yet to show. She was beginning to believe it had been nothing but a silly story meant to frighten her. “Jungkook has no interest in other women, none but me.” Her mother once again picked up the tea cup bringing it towards her lips, “Let us hope that is true.”

“YN!YN!” Her brother looks around panicked, begging for mercy as he is placed on the false bottom and the noose is placed around his neck. It is then that their eyes finally meet, Hyunshik staring straight into YN’s eyes, his mouth moving gently as he stares at her with nothing but affection. ‘I love you.’ He mouths. The lever is pulled. Hyunshik's body drops, the sudden force causing the noose to tighten and his neck to snap under the pressure.

YN thinks it might’ve been better if he’d been led away that way she wouldn’t have to see her brother’s dead eyes piercing into her soul. As if begging her to save him. To help him. YN could hear the silent pleading wails that left his lips, wrapping around her, bouncing around her. Like a broken record that played in her head - threatening to drive her insane. The screams rang on and on and on, until YN felt her consciousness slipping.

YN awoke on the bed with Morte wrapped around her leg. The giant mamba’s head resting on the inner part of your ankle, not allowing much movement. YN glanced around the room, gathering that she was back in the same room Jinyoung had escorted her to the previous night. There was dull throbbing from the back of her head, presumably from hitting it. Tentatively she stood up trying not to move too rapidly in an effort not to frighten the serpent lest she want another bite. Thankfully Morte uncoils himself and slithers beneath the bed sheets seeking warmth. YN quickly stands up and races towards the door, fiddling the knob only to find it locked, the only other escape was the balcony which was also locked. She pounded harshly against the glass as if the sheer force would cause it to shatter and allow her an escape.

YN didn’t know how much time had passed, the world outside standing still as the walls began to close around her. All at once it hit her: she was trapped. YN legs gave out and she crumbled to the floor a long wail exiting her as sobs wracked through her body. The last time she had cried this much was when her parents had died, at the time Hyunshik had been there to comfort her. Her brother had held her tight, his own eyes red with unshed tears as he swore to always protect her - to always remain by her side - now he was gone. It was all her fault. All her doing. No...it was all Jungkook’s doing. YN peered up from the floor, all the anguish suddenly replaced with rage. Jeon Jungkook, the crown prince, had killed her brother and all because he was bored.

YN didn’t understand why she was still alive or even in the castle. One would assume once the tyrant prince was done with his little game, he would simply toss her aside. However, for one reason or another he had kept her around. Be it boredom or simply to torment her even more, it seems Jungkook had found himself a new toy. A brief image of last night flashed before her eyes and YN now remembered his words, how vague he’d been when he promised to save her brother. “From imprisonment?” Jungkook had planned it all along. From the corner of her eye, YN could see the snake move underneath the bedding. It moved inconspicuously, had she not been paying attention she would've missed it and YN was certain that in poorer lighting the creature couldn’t be seen at all. A plan hatched in her head.

It was once the sun began to set that YN heard sounds beyond the door before the doorknob turned. Soon entered a lean girl with sharp symmetrical features who appeared almost doll-like in nature. She held a large gift box in her arms, which she hugged tightly when she bowed. Her orange hair falling like a curtain across her features, “Hello Mistress, my name is Sana. I’ve been assigned to be your personal maid as of today.” YN’s eyes widened with confusion, “I’m sorry I think there has been some mistake. Please stand up.” Sana’s back straightened once she was given permission. “You are YN, right? I’ve been assigned by the prince, it is my duty to serve you as well as help you adjust to life in court.” A million thoughts ran through YN’s head that she couldn’t understand. There was a game being played here, yet she didn’t understand the rules - much less what she ought to do.

Sana quickly moved to set the box down on the bed before YN grasped her arm, “Don’t! Morte is there.” Sana stilled in fear, her pink skin suddenly turning a pale white. “T-the prince’s pet?” YN nodded, the look on Sana’s face led her to believe there was reason to fear the viper - for more than simply a bite. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Sana quickly shook her head, adjusting a bright smile back onto her face. “No worries Mistress. I was simply unprepared, usually the animal does not stray far from the Prince’s side. There was a hidden meaning in those words, but YN didn’t understand enough.

“Please just call me YN.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. It would be seen as disrespectful...I would get in trouble for it.”

“But I am no one of value.”

“Are you not the Prince’s mistress?”

YN felt her heart skip a beat as the words rang in her ears, “What?” Surely, she misheard or Sana was mistaken. It couldn’t possibly be true.

“I was informed that I was to be your personal maid, as you are the Prince’s mistress. He has declared you as such.” It appears Jeon Jungkook was much crueler than YN could ever conceive.

YN didn’t speak much for the rest of the day, only answering Sana when she asked whether she preferred the scent of violets or roses in her bath, she’d responded with ‘whichever you think smells the nicest’ and when Sana had asked if she’d like her long hair to be braided. A small smile had been her response. YN found she was mostly numb to it all, her mind working rapidly to try and understand the chaos occurring around her whilst her body seemed to function in an automatic state. Only reacting when Sana finally opened the gift box and pulled out a lavish gown, “The Prince wishes to see you tonight. I was asked to get you ready.” Those were the words to ground her.

“Where?”

“In his room of course.” The quick side eye Sana gave her, let YN know that though she’d been polite there was still judgement for the supposed relationship Jungkook had led everyone to believe they had. YN rested against the bed, “Sana I am feeling unwell, is there anyway I could reschedule said meeting.”

“I’m afraid the prince is not someone to be challenged, Mistress.”

“Hm,” YN pretended to ponder for a second. “What if the prince were to see me here?” Sana seemed to think of this, but she also understood what was being asked of her. Their eyes met, silent words were exchanged between the two women.

“I don’t see why I can’t ask.” YN smiled inwardly in victory.

Another meal had been assembled: servants trickling in and assembling the table, chairs, and tableware. It didn’t go unmissed by YN that all of them were female - of varying ages - but female nonetheless. Slowly they all exited the room, but not before bowing and sending harsh glares her way. Sana lingered enough to keep her company and serve her champagne, but eventually she too excused herself and stated it was too late. Leaving YN alone with her thoughts, wondering whether what she was about to do next was the right thing or whether it would only invoke further peril in her life. It’s worth the risk. YN had nothing left to lose after all, or so she thought.

Goosebumps rose steadily across her arms, the air around her shifting as the temperature dropped. A breath of warm air brushed her ear, “You called?” YN whips around in her seat to see Jeon Jungkook standing behind her. His passing gaze was predatory, lustful, she had been wrong about being a toy - she was prey. The grip YN held on the champagne flute tightened immensely as she willed herself to calm down, lest the plan be ruined. Jungkook quirked an eyebrow awaiting her response.

“Good evening. I hope it’s not a bother.” from the expression on his face those were not the first words he expected to come out of her mouth. “I’d like to thank you...for saving my brother.” Jungkook’s eyes became hooded with contempt. The Prince had been expecting more theatrics: crying, screaming, sobbing, the promise of vengeance and death upon him. Yet YN looked at him calmly and drank the Clicquot as if she didn’t have a care in the world. As if they were old friends meeting for dinner, companions, but he knew better. Behind the facade there was fire raging inside her eyes.

“Were you not present at the trial?”

“I thought it would be imprudent to leave. I am your guest and you did not dismiss me.”

“You trust me so that you would remain in the palace?”

“You gave me your word...you swore on the lives of everyone in the kingdom. Why would you lie?”

For what may have been the first time in his life the Prince was at a loss for words. He stood frozen on the spot, heart racing as several thoughts ran through his head. Tentatively, YN reached forward to touch him. “Are you alright?” Jungkook gripped her hand in midair, it’s hold was iron-clad. Unbreakable. A smile forced himself onto the Prince’s face, YN had to admit to herself it was beautiful. The eighth wonder of the world. Jungkook turned her hand over, bringing it up to his lips and brushing his lips over her knuckles. “Your brother is on his way back home. I’ll allow you to return to him tomorrow.”

A grin broke out over YN’s face, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, well let’s eat then.” She readjusted herself and her free hand gripped a piece of tableware.

Jungkook hummed in displeasure, “I’m not that hungry.” Though his eyes stated the opposite. YN’s eyes trailed up to meet his, she was surprised by the emptiness that stared back at her. He truly has no soul. Before Jungkook could pierce into hers and figure out her plan YN spoke, “Then I’d like to demonstrate my gratitude.” Taking advantage that Jungkook had yet to release her other hand, YN used that to guide him towards the bed. She leaned in closer and closer, until there were mere centimeters separating them from each other then she grabbed him and pushed him onto the bed - straddling him to ensure he didn’t leave.

Jungkook chuckled, eyes alight with amusement. “How do you plan to repay me?” At the sudden movement, something shifted under the sheets. YN allowed her lips to brush his drawing all his attention as she lightly shoved him again so that he lay on the bed. “Like this.” Suddenly from underneath the sheets Morte darted out, fangs poised but instead of sinking his teeth into Jungkook the viper wrapped himself tightly around his master’s arm. Jungkook laughed maniacally, “That’s it? That was your big plan? To kill me with my own pet?!” In the midst of his mocking, the Prince had left his guard down and YN took the advantage to sheath the tableware she’d grabbed from the table - plunging the knife into his heart.

There was a tense silence before Jungkook finally glanced down at the knife and then his eyes met hers. Dark matter swirled around the chocolate orbs as his pupils dilated until they consumed the entirety of his eye. Jungkook raised his hand and with the flick of a wrist sent YN flying backwards until she crashed against the wall, as if she were nothing but a rag doll. Jungkook looked down at the knife once more, before chuckling. “I must say YN, you’ve exceeded my expectations.” YN dropped to the ground, the force causing the wind to be knocked out of her. “Truly you are one of a kind, I might just have to keep you. You’re as special as they come, darling.” YN barely managed to pick herself off the floor as she heard the sound of footsteps heading towards her.

YN looked up to see Jungkook standing above her, the Prince smiling down at her as if nothing was wrong. Knife still wedged in his torso. Ever so gently Jungkook gripped the handle of the steak knife and pulled on it, the second the last of the bloodied metal exited his body the serpent coiled around his arm dropped dead. Dread spread throughout YN’s body at what she had just witnessed. Growing up she heard stories about the Jeons’ rise to power: some say it was a coup, others say they’d been handed the throne when the previous monarch proved unable to govern, but truth is stranger than fiction. The truth of the matter is that the Jeon’s showed up outside the Palace gates one clear eve and by dawn they’d seized control of the most powerful kingdom on Earth.

Fear raked through her body as Jungkook crouched down, the only evidence of the stabbing being the torn clothing. The dilated pupil served as a mirror and in it YN saw her horrified expression. The Prince reached out and gently caressed her cheek, “Tell me YN, are you the fool or the fooler?” A sadistic smirk was stretched across his features, as Jungkook drank her figure in. “The fool.” YN whispered shakily.

A small ‘tsk’ left his lips before he shook his head, “No, you are neither.” There was something in the air, both of them could feel it though they would each interpret it differently. However, there was one thing they could both agree on: this was the beginning of the end.

“What am I then?”

“My Queen.”

Upon Soojin’s return to the palace she could immediately tell something was different. She felt as if she was being watched, though that was often the case as she was the prince’s fiance, things felt different now. Whispers and giggles seemed to surround her the second she stepped back in, as if there was some inside joke she was not privy to. Still Soojin had spent her entire life at court and knew that they were no better than a pack of wolves ready to attack at a moment’s notice. Instead of paying mind, Seo Soojin simply held her head up high and tried to ignore the unsettling feeling that was bubbling under her skin. It wasn’t until lunch time rolled around, that she found it could be ignored no longer.

Jungkook was nowhere to be found and no members of the court had approached her to have tea or join her for lunch as they usually did. Soojin never accepted, but it was the action that mattered. She never rejected out of a place of malice, truthfully she longed for company, but the people here were not her friends. They sought to benefit themselves and gave no care about who or what they had to sacrifice, the bad thing was they hid said intentions behind sugary smiles and bitter compliments. At least the Jeons were honest about their intentions, no one could ever accuse them of dishonesty for they had no reason to lie. It is what comes with power.

Soojin longed for that power, if only for the comfort it provided, no one ever went against a prince or a king. No one ever talked badly about a princess. Of course, the title was still placed on her but it was not hers to claim. Soojin was not a princess by blood, but through marriage and that made all the difference in the world. The throne and the crown would not belong to her, until she bore an heir. Only then would she be a queen. Only then would she be a Jeon.

“What is all the gossiping about?”

Her attention was focused on the maid currently serving her drink, the girl was young and clumsy in appearance. “I’m sorry, princess. What do you mean?” Soojin rolled her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Why is everyone acting so strange? Has something happened while I was gone?” The girl looked to the side sheepishly, “Well you see…” Was it the king? Had he finally gotten better? Maybe the date had been decided? Maybe Jungkook had finally convinced his father or forgoed him all together? All the intense training and torture Soojin had undergone would finally pay off, she’d be a Jeon and no one would ever harm her again. That stupid witch was a liar, she got what she deserved. For the first time in years, hope filled Soojin - only to be crushed shortly afterwards.

“The Prince has taken a mistress, they intend to wed.”

It should be noted Soojin didn’t even remember hitting the girl, only felt the stinging of her hand later on. She did not recall calling for the guards and demanding she be imprisoned for lying to her. Soojin did not recall much of what happened in the next few moments because she was not truly present, her mind had travelled back to when she was thirteen years old and the engagement was announced. To the time her best friend was killed for daring to touch what belonged to a Jeon.

It was all in vain.

“Princess Soojin is here to see you, your highness.” Baekhyung bowed deeply, Jungkook nodded before turning back to the Royal Zookeeper. Jungkook studied the various animals in their enclosures taking his time to weigh the benefits of each. Soojin stepped into the Palace’s greenhouse, her heels clicking on the glass floor. She sent a quick look of acknowledgment to the zookeeper before focusing on Jungkook, who seemed completely enthralled in the animals. “Jungkook if I could please speak with you a moment.” Jungkook gave a quick nod, but besides that kept glancing at the different terrariums. Soojin cleared her throat, causing the zookeeper to excuse himself.

“No, stay,” Jungkook spoke clearly. He pointed at one of the animals, “I’d like to look at that one.” The zookeeper had no choice, but to remain. He extracted the animal gently and showed it to the Prince whose eyes gleamed with wonder.

Soojin would never understand Jungkook’s fascination with snakes but figured it had something to do with them being a part of the family's sigil. “I’ve heard discerning rumors being spread by the staff. They would cause quite a commotion if they reached the court so I put a stop to them.” Seeing as the Prince was paying her no mind, and there was a crowd, Soojin went to walk away settling on leaving the matter for when they were in private. Jungkook had other ideas.

“What is the rumor?” His voice was apathetic as he allowed the serpent to coil around his arm and travel, the zookeeper’s eyes widened at the courage the prince displayed. It was truly a lack of fear that he possessed.

“What?” Soojin’s voice wavered ever so slightly, but she knew it would not go unnoticed.

“I assume it must be grave. Why else would you seek me out and waste my time with such nuisances.” Jungkook finally turned to look at Soojin, his eyes were devoid of emotion and his tone hinted at annoyance. For as long as she could remember Jungkook had always been polite, there was never any sincerity in it but he would never be cold towards her. Soojin would’ve preferred if he screamed at her, told her she was a waste of space. That she could deal with. That she was used to. The look in Jungkook’s eyes right now made her want to scream, it was...indifferent. As if she meant absolutely nothing to him.

“Jungkook -”

“So what is it?”

Soojin schooled herself before allowing her sharp tongue to move, “They say you’ve taken a mistress. Can you believe that?” Her words were laced with poison, but Seo Soojin had spent so long wanting to become a Jeon that she forgot she was a lion and not a snake.

Jungkook smirked, “News travels fast, huh?” His words sunk into her skin like poison, draining the color from her face. “You can’t be serious.”

The prince rolled his eyes, “Soojin in all the years that you’ve known me, have I ever cracked a joke?” He didn’t wait for her answer. Jungkook focused his attention back on the zookeeper whose shock at what he’d just witnessed had left him paler than the reptile in Jungkook’s hand. “I’ll take him. I’ll take the mamba too, unfortunately, my old one was too weak.” The zookeeper rushed to take out the black mamba and held it out to the prince.

“This one is as strong as they come, though I must warn you these two types don’t typically mix.”

“That’s not a problem. They’ll either learn to coexist or kill each other, either is fine with me.”

YN had been locked inside for three days. Food had been brought to her by staff, all female of course, and Sana was only allowed to visit a few times a day. It was more to ensure she didn’t attempt anything than to actually keep her company. This was her punishment for attempting to murder the crown prince - truthfully she should be on her way to the guillotine if not dead already - but Jungkook had merely sealed her in the unfamiliar room with the promise to return once her punishment was over. YN feared that moment more than death itself. Unfortunately, as fate seemed to enjoy torturing her that moment came all too soon. The bedroom doors opened and in strolled Jungkook with a smile on his face.

“I’ve brought you a present.”

YN had never been a cowardly person, but after having witnessed what could only be described as otherworldly she lived in fear of Jungkook. The funny thing about fear is that it can coexist with hate; the two flames feeding with and off each other constantly. YN was curled on one of the couches, her position fetal-like as she watched with trepidation as Jungkook drew nearer. Slowly the Prince dug into his pocket, YN felt her survival instinct kick in as she prepared to fight, until he pulled a small snake out. He held his hand out and placed the white ball python on top of her knees.

“This is Vito. I got him for you as a gift.” The snake’s small red eyes pierced into YN’s, she held her hand out and the snake slithered into it. Settling on her palm and enjoying its warmth. Jungkook merely observed the interaction, “I got you a constrictor seeing as you’re more of a first-degree murder type than a second or third.” He seemed to find his joke funny, but YN simply glared at him.

“How long?”

“How long what?”

“How long will you trap me in this fucking room?! I played your game. I lost. You won. Aren’t you satisfied? Isn’t it enough?” YN rambled, voice broken and desperate. Jungkook shrugged, “No. The real game has yet to begin.” YN reached out to grab onto Jungkook, but froze when Vito wrapped tightly around her hand squeezing painfully hard. She winced in pain, unable to help herself. “Better be careful.” Jungkook grabbed the snake and uncoiled it, letting it rest on the couch beside her. “Snakes are dangerous creatures. Such a dichotomous being, yet they won’t attack unless provoked.” His eyes met hers, it was a warning.

“You don’t scare me Jeon Jungkook.”

“Oh, I know darling. That’s why I’m intrigued by you.” He sent her a sly wink before, walking away towards the door. At the last second, as if he suddenly remembered something, Jungkook turned around. “Next week.” He muttered simply.

“Next week?”

He gave a knowing smile, “Next week is when you’ll be allowed to leave. It is your twenty-first birthday and you’ll finally be of age.” YN knew exactly what those words meant. Child marriage laws were strictly enforced in the Kingdom and those of lower class were not allowed to wed until they reached maturity. The words tumbled out her mouth before YN could even process what she was saying, “You’re engaged. You have a queen already.” Jungkook simply smiled, “Lady Soojin will be queen, she will sit upon the throne and wear the crown jewels upon her head. But she will not be my queen.” Just like that Jungkook had promised his fiance’s death in little words. YN felt Vito travel up her hand and perch itself on her neck resting comfortably, how YN wished the reptile would tighten around the muscles until nothing remained. That was the only way she would truly escape.

“A Kim?” Namjoon raised an eyebrow as the informant looked around paranoid. They were in a less reputable area of downtown. Far enough away from the shopping district that the tourists, bright lights, and law enforcement wouldn’t patrol. Yet not so far, that Namjoon’s attire would make him stand out.

“That’s what I said. The boy was a Kim, as is his sister.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, feeling he’d wasted a trip for no reason. “There are plenty of Kim's, it is not an uncommon name.” It was not uncommon for many to marry or change their surnames to befit that of the ruling class and the Kim’s had ruled for several dynasties before their fall. The informant groaned exasperatedly, “I swear to you. They were no ordinary Kim’s - the Prince himself asked they be investigated.” Now there was something for him to work with, barely anything truly, but still.

“Keep an eye for anything that happens which happens in court.”

“Well you're in luck because a ton is about to happen.”

“Why is that?”

“Prince Jeon has found himself a mistress.”

“Why should I care about this?” Namjoon sighed, desperate to return back to the compound and back into Seokjin’s arms. “She’s the sister of the man that was executed.” Ah, now that’s something.

The night could not come quickly enough for YN, she was certain if she stayed locked within the four walls any longer she’d lose her sanity. The moon shined high in the sky, it being the only source of light in the darkroom. It comforted her in a way she did not understand, she needed that these days. Once Jungkook left she found Vito wasn’t all that bad, he was in a state of heightened tension around Jungkook but had relaxed when danger was no longer present. In fact, he was quite playful in nature. YN would drop dead before ever thanking Jeon Jungkook for anything, but at least she was no longer alone.

YN lay on her bed simply letting her eyes find patterns in the roof’s texture much like she did when she was a child. It was barely above a whisper, but in the dead silence, YN could hear the fiddling of the locks. Vito who’d been resting on her bosom raised suddenly, fangs pursed as a hiss exited his mouth. The door opened and it was the person YN least expected to see. The person stood at the doorway, looking at YN with what could only be described as pure hatred in her eyes.

“I should’ve known better,” Soojin’s mouth was etched downward into a frown. The hands at her side tightened to fists, “Haven’t they ever taught you not to bite the hand that feeds you?!”

YN stood up, “You’re misunderstanding. Jungkook -”

Soojin laughed sardonically, “Look how comfortable you’ve gotten, even referring to the Crown Prince by name.”

It dawned on YN then that no amount of explaining would make Soojin understand. She knew what it looked like: that she’d seduced the prince even when all the signs pointed elsewhere. No one ever wanted the truth - they wanted a story. What’s the better story? The one where a prince becomes fixated on a commoner and kills her brother just to keep her active. Or the one where a commoner, sister to a criminal, seduces the Prince all in a bid for power. She knew which one Soojin believed.

“If you can convince the prince to allow me to leave you’ll never see me again.”

Soojin finally stepped past the threshold, her steps carefully calculated. “The Prince does whatever he wishes, always been that way, the rest of us simply have to fall in line.” Her tone had become calm, barely above a whisper. YN’s senses heightened and she reached out towards Vito allowing the snake to wrap around her forearm and travel up her body. Soojin’s arms had now gone behind her back as she neared the bed. Her blood-red lips parted, “I heard about you long ago.” Her words caused YN’s eyebrows to raise. What game is she playing? A melancholic smile now graced the princess’s features. “They told you’d come and steal everything from me.”

Soojin was only a few feet away when Vito had settled himself onto YN’s throat, seemingly resting though she could tell the serpent was paying attention. Though Soojin was too distracted by her story to notice him. “Come to steal my life, my heart, my crown. I thought it was the ramblings of an old witch trying to scare me away, but she swore that the lion and mamba could never become intertwined.”

YN knew what she was planning, a voice whispered in her mind that Soojin was far too still. Far too calm. As a lion tended to be right before it pounced. “The witch told me that only a flower can hope to control a viper. For only a flower can bloom again in the face of adversity.” Now she was standing right in front of YN, her body rigid with nerves. Perhaps YN should’ve put up a struggle, called for help, but all the fight had left her. YN knew her fate was sealed the second Soojin asked her the question: “What is your surname?”

“Kim.”

The second the word left her mouth Soojin brandished a dagger, though perhaps she was too slow in digging it into YN’s body. Before it could pierce her skin Vito had jumped from around her neck and curled himself around Soojin’s. The serpent quickly constricted around the muscle until Soojin dropped the knife and fell to the floor. YN moved quickly to get him off her, but Vito refused, choking Soojin more every second that passed.

“Guards! Guards! Someone help!” Vito was not large, barely matured, but he possessed such strength that YN found it difficult to tug him off the princess. Soojin’s face had long gotten red, purple, and now was beginning to pale. Let her die. Something whispered inside her and YN was shocked that anyone could ever suggest such a thing. “No!” She screamed out, trying to pull Vito off her. A flash of what happened with Jungkook and Morte flashed inside her mind, YN hastily looked around for the dagger finding it had fallen beneath the bed. She lunged for it and turned the metal on herself, leaving a long bleeding scratch on her arm. Vito hissed before unraveling and YN could see the serpent was now bleeding.

Vito lunged towards YN, but instead of attacking her merely twisted himself on her uninjured arm. YN dropped the dagger and reached toward Soojin trying to carry her, before running out the door with Soojin’s unconscious body resting on her. It wasn’t long until she stumbled upon a maid who YN yelled to for help, the maid rushing to call the guards and have them help the princess. Panicked screams rang out through the hall as a guard finally took Soojin off YN’s arms and carried her towards the infirmary.

YN stood still in the now empty corridor, she felt the temperature drop and goosebumps rise on her body. In an effort to comfort herself, she grasped onto her injured arm prepared for the stinging of the open wound but was surprised when there was none. She cast her eyes downward to see there no longer was any blood nor any indication of an injury. YN peeked at Vito to see that his eyes were closed, though the slight twitch of his body indicated he was still alive. What caught her attention though was the thin white scar that now adored his scales. Before she could begin to assemble the pieces, voices echoed throughout the hall. Realizing that this was her only opportunity YN did what any sensible person would do in that moment - she ran.

#yandere bts #yandere jeon jungkook x reader #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere bts x reader #yandere jungkook #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #bangtanarmynet #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts fanfic #yandere kpop #prince of nothing #prince of nothing ii #pon #pon ii #girlmeetsliv3 #ykn

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unpeumacabre · 4 years ago

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my kingdom for a horse: chapter 8

the year is 1601, a messenger has been sent to dongnae, and he has not returned. lord cho-hak-ju advises the joseon king to send crown prince lee chang to dongnae to investigate, but the plot he unravels there threatens the safety of the entire kingdom, and the stability of the dynasty.

a rewriting of kingdom, and lee chang finds love.

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Lee Chang/Yeong-shin

Read on AO3 (bc tumblr might mess up the formatting + more extensive author’s notes on the story)

Count: 1k

<-- previous next -->

“This is my father,” Lee Chang says, with finality. “He was once one of the greatest kings Joseon ever knew, but now he has been reduced to something less than human – a treacherous feat carried out by none other than the woman you see standing before you!”

The monster thrashes in its bindings, spittle flying and its jaw – dislocated by its overenthusiastic struggles – hanging grotesquely and rattling with every violent movement it makes. Blood drips from its blackened skin and its eyes, unseeing, roll and dart from side to side.

It makes for a truly unnerving sight, and again Lee Chang feels his heart clench at the sight of his regal father reduced to such a pitiful figure.

“Arrest the queen!” cries one of the ministers from behind him. Lee Chang turns at the familiar voice, and nods in approval as he catches the eye of the Minister of War - a man who had been kind to him in his youth, and who had been tacitly in support of his initial plans to stage a coup for the throne.

The Commander moves forward to take her into custody, but immediately she springs into action, drawing a sword from behind her and hefting it aloft. Although Lee Chang has never before seen her don a weapon, she holds it with a reckless confidence that speaks of her desperation and fury. Instinctually he starts forward as the baby begins to fall from her other arm, but she catches herself and manages to return the bundle of cloth back to her hip. The baby, jostled awake, begins to howl its anger and dissatisfaction.

“Step back!” she shrieks. “Step back! Or I will kill this child!”

Commander Min continues forward, but Lee Chang makes a slicing motion with his hand, and with a side glance at him, the man stops.

“It is not a child of the royal line!” protests one of the officials. “What does its life matter?”

“What do you mean by that!” thunders Lee Chang. “Every life is a life worth saving. It means nothing that it is not of the royal line. It is still a living child!”

The queen laughs, a chilling sound that is dissonant with the sound of the baby’s infuriated cries.

“My father said it would be easy to kill you,” she says, “and he was right. You’re nothing more than a spineless fool caught up in your conceptions of morality. You should’ve just died at the hands of the monsters.”

“Let the child go,” Lee Chang calls desperately, but at the same time, his hand closes over Yeong-shin’s wrist.

Yeong-shin does not say anything, but a small sigh escapes through his teeth.

Lee Chang continues to talk, his eyes trained on the baby in her arms. “He is an innocent child,” he says. “He has no part in our fight. Let him go.”

“You are truly a fool if you think your words can sway me,” she laughs coldly, and takes another step back. She is almost to the door at the back of the audience chamber. “The child’s life matters not to me. It is not even my child. And even if it were - ”

She never gets to finish her sentence, for at that moment, Yeong-shin’s sword slashes through the bindings holding the monster-who-was-king, and he gives a mighty shove to its back, throwing it halfway across the room towards the queen. Instantly, Lee Chang leaps forward. His blade sings as it leaves its sheath.

The queen shrieks as the monster descends on her. She makes a pass at its neck with her sword, but the blow glances off the many metal accessories adorning its clothes, and she howls in pain as she twists her wrist.

Lee Chang rips the baby from her hands and brings his sword down decisively on the monster’s neck. It severs his head, and both parts of its body fall onto the ground with a soft thud.

Blood drips from his sword and stains the pristine soles of the queen’s socks. She is covered in it, covered in the blood and offal of her former husband, and Lee Chang thinks it is poetic in a way.

The monster had bitten into her leg before he had managed to kill it, numerous large merciless bites which had torn flesh from her waif-like legs and left white bone gleaming in the muted lamplight. It will be a painful death, he knows, even if she is treated, for the wounds will fester and spread infection to the rest of her body. His hand tightens on the handle of his sword.

“This is the last favour I grant to you,” he says quietly. “On the basis that you once were my father’s bride, and once my supposed mother.” And he lifts his blade once more.

***

Later, days later, when the bodies have been disposed of and the surroundings thoroughly scrubbed over by the palace maids, Lee Chang stands before the throne.

“It is yours, Your Highness,” says the Minister of War, his voice respectful.

“Thank you,” Lee Chang answers, but still he hesitates.

Somehow he had always imagined that he would ascend to the throne in rather a different way. Had always thought that, when the time came for him to take his rightful seat, it would have been to fanfare and the enthusiastic cheers of his new subjects. But now – he stands only recently exonerated from murder, covered in the blood of his father and false-mother, and the deaths of a hundred others on his hands.

Then again – no one could have predicted this turn of events, could they?

He has never doubted that he would make a good king. Not until today, this moment in time. It is ironic, he supposes, that it was only in his overconfident youth that he had thought himself on top of the world, and now that he has been baptised through blood and fire, he has lost that confidence in himself.

Suddenly he feels warmth at his back, and Yeong-shin is there behind him. He does not say a word, and he does not touch Lee Chang, but his very presence calms him. Lee Chang turns, only slightly, so that he can see Yeong-shin’s face out of the corner of his eye.

Yeong-shin’s gaze is intent on his, and in his eyes there is only Lee Chang’s reflection.

“You give me courage,” Lee Chang says softly, so softly that none other but Yeong-shin would be able to hear. “You are willing to die for me, to follow me to the ends of the earth, and somehow that does not bring me fear – but courage.”

Yeong-shin’s eyes gentle infinitesimally, and the corner of his mouth tips upwards. It is the first time that Lee Chang has seen him smile.

He turns back to the throne, and squares his shoulders. It is his responsibility, his birth-right, and it is a role that he will not shirk – indeed, he will embrace it, as the duty he has dedicated his entire life towards fulfilling. And so he ascends the steps to the throne, and seats himself on the seat he has watched his father take, his entire life.

There is a heaviness that he had not realised his father carried, that descends upon him as he takes the throne. The weight of responsibility is a difficult one to bear indeed, he realises, as he looks out upon the assembled ministers, bowing and awaiting his next command. Yeong-shin, Mu-yeong and Seo-bi are the only ones still standing, for he has ordered them to refrain from kowtowing.

“Today, I take the throne as King Seonjo, from my father King Gongheon Heoneui Somun Gwangsuk Gyeonghyo the Great,” he says calmly. It is my honour to serve my people.”

“Long live the king,” the ministers chorus, and they bow, once, twice, thrice, four times. The sonorous, synchronous rustle of their clothes as they move echoes through the hall, and it is a solemn sound. Lee Chang inclines his head in acknowledgement of their gestures of fealty.

He is not properly king yet, he knows – that will have to wait for the official coronation, when he bids goodbye to his father’s tomb and makes his pledge to rule fairly and generously; but it is enough. Enough for him to begin to bring together the pieces of their broken country. Enough for him to thread his needle, and begin the arduous task of patching the seams back together.

The meeting passes quickly. First the Minister for Rites speaks of the need for a coronation, to unite the people behind the crowning of a new monarch and hopefully hide the disgraces of the Haewon Cho clan’s plots, behind a veneer of celebration. It is unanimously agreed upon that the event should be staged as soon as possible, to reduce potential uprisings in the absence of a king, and before rumours begin to spread about the happenings in the palace.

Then the Minister for Taxation raises the issue of the lost taxes from the south, given that their crops have been largely destroyed by rogue monsters from the plague trampling all over the fields, and livestock decimated by starving peasants. He openly suggests for taxes to be increased in the rest of the empire, to make up for lost income.

To that, Lee Chang does not even pay him the courtesy of his attention.

“Minister Han,” he says instead, coldly, icily, “taxes will not be raised, and that is the end of the matter.” He turns to the Minister for War.

“Minister Seong, we must send men to the south to eliminate the rest of the monsters, and safeguard what remaining food and resources the south has,” he continues. “How many men can we spare?”

Summarily dismissed, the Minister for Taxation shrinks into himself and withdraws. He will be someone to keep an eye on.

And so the meeting continues, in much the same manner. Many of Lord Cho’s cronies – and, indeed, many officials who had been loyal to his father as well – make frivolous suggestions about matters of little import, until Lee Chang feels like banging his head on the nearest pillar and committing suicide. Is this the glorious role he had envisioned himself taking on, his whole life? He had known kingship to be a tiresome job, oftentimes, from the strict words of his tutors, but in his memories his father had always ruled supreme over his officials.

It is only now that he realises that that control had been hard-won, and the officials’ respect well-earned.

It will be a long battle ahead of him, just to fight for recognition from the ministers, when most of them have not seen his achievements in the south, and think of him still as the spoiled man-child he had been when he had left Hanyang.

But, he thinks to himself, it is a battle that deserves fighting, and indeed, one he knows he will win.

The Minister for Rites steps forward, and prepares to raise one last issue. Lee Chang readies himself for another tedious spiel, possibly about building a statue of himself in the middle of Hanyang or remodelling the curtains in the East Wing of the palace or some other trivial matter like so, but he finds himself surprised.

“There is one last matter, Your Highness,” says the man gravely, with a facetious bow. “You must take a wife.”

Lee Chang turns his head, very slowly, and looks upon the Minister. He does not speak, and so the man takes it as his cue to continue.

“There must be a new heir to the throne, Your Highness. You are childless – if you don’t mind me saying – but the royal line must go on. May I offer – if my humble self could perhaps give a suggestion – I have a daughter, nine years your junior, and she is known to be one of the beauties of the capital. If Your Highness so pleases, it would be an honour to arrange a matchmaking session between your esteemed self and my humble daughter.”

“Your Highness!” calls another minister, and he comes forward with an equally pompous bow. “My daughter is twenty-two years this year, and therefore in the prime of her youth – it would be an honour for me to arrange the meeting between yourself and my humble daughter!”

“Your Highness - ”

“I do have an heir,” Lee Chang says quietly. Immediately, a wall of silence descends on the room, and the jaws of all the assembled officials drop. It would be a comical sight, if Lee Chang felt like laughing. But he does not.

Slowly, he rises from his seat, and surveys his audience.

“I have an heir,” he says again, solemnly. “It will be the child who was cruelly stolen from his mother’s breast by the former queen. The child has no mother, no father, and so I will take him to be mine.”

This decision he has made with no one else’s knowledge but Mu-yeong’s, and his wife’s. The boy will be in danger without his protection, for any former ally of the Haewon Cho clan could potentially use him to replace Lee Chang on the throne, by claiming his heritage as that of the queen’s. The proof they had provided of the queen’s misdeeds was, after all, largely circumstantial, and based mainly on the confessions derived from the residents of Naesonjae.

Furthermore, Lee Chang has vowed that never again will a clan other than the Lees control his kingdom. His father had eventually lost autonomy and his precious control over his power through his marriage to the Haewon Cho daughter. Marriage to a daughter from another powerful house is the last thing Lee Chang wants.

And so the three of them had agreed upon this plan. The child would never know who his true parents were, but Mu-yeong and his wife would care for the baby, and therefore be his family in all but name. In doing so, the child would have all the luxuries afforded to a prince of his station, and he would have a good life – far better than the one Mu-yeong and his wife could have given him, in their previous incarnations.

It is a good, solid plan. There are logical reasons behind it, and Lee Chang had deliberated extensively over it in the days leading up to today, before he had taken the throne. There is no reason why anyone would object.

Yet still he knows Yeong-shin will not agree to his plan, and therefore he had not asked him. Lee Chang knows this, sure as day, knows that his objection will be for the same reason why he had even thought of such an outlandish idea in the first place – for the real reason why he does not wish to marry.

He cannot stop himself from darting a glance towards Yeong-shin, to gauge his reaction, and indeed, it does not disappoint. There is a dark anger in Yeong-shin’s eyes, and a rosy flush suffusing his neck and cheeks. They will have words later, Lee Chang knows, but still, he will not change his mind – and he makes sure that the ministers realise this.

***

The outrage of the ministers when they had finally realised that Lee Chang would not budge on his decision is nothing compared to the fury of Yeong-shin, later when they are quietly in their quarters.

“What were you thinking?!” Yeong-shin cries. “Why would you decide such a thing?!” He paces up and down the room, agitation making his movements jerky and robbed of their usual grace. Lee Chang thinks of a tiger in a cage, champing at the bars of its prison, and yet unable to escape. Yeong-shin has a tiger living under his skin, and somehow, Lee Chang finds in himself the mad desire to unlock the cage and let the tiger free.

“Mu-yeong,” he says quietly, and the guard darts a worried glance over at him, from where he stands by the door, hand on the hilt of his sword, his body tense and ready for battle. “Please. Leave us alone.”

Mu-yeong opens his mouth to protest, but then he must see something in Lee Chang’s eyes, for he clamps his mouth shut. His eyes are burning with concern – not for Lee Chang’s life, for he knows Yeong-shin will not touch a hair on Lee Chang’s head – but for something else entirely. And it is that something else that makes him leave the room at last.

They are alone in the room, now, and the candle is burning low on its wick. The incense burner suffuses the room with a thick, heady fragrance, and perhaps it is its influence that is making Lee Chang giddy – or perhaps not. He does not know.

“Yeong-shin,” he murmurs, and Yeong-shin stops abruptly in his movements. He turns to look at Lee Chang over his shoulder, and there is a hunted gaze in his eyes.

“I do not understand,” he begins, his voice trembling with controlled rage, “why you would choose to do such a thing. You could have any woman, any person of honourable blood as your bride, and yet you throw it all away.”

“I have my reasons,” Lee Chang answers steadily. He explains his line of thinking, his discussions with Mu-yeong and his wife, but still Yeong-shin’s ferocity does not calm. His anger is like a hurricane, overwhelming in its intensity and frightening in its violence, but somehow, it cools and calms Lee Chang, like the storm-rain that washes through the streets after.

“There could have been other ways,” Yeong-shin says bitterly, casting his head away and breaking eye contact like he has been burned. “You could have taken a foreign bride, or one from one of the lesser houses. Instead, now you have sworn not to marry. I do not understand your thoughts. You are not telling me everything.”

“You are right,” Lee Chang hums in agreement. He steps closer, and Yeong-shin does not move. Now they are toe to toe, and Lee Chang no longer smells the fragrance of the incense burner; the only scent that fills his mind is the heady musk of Yeong-shin’s body.

Yeong-shin’s skin is scarred and rough under his hands as he lifts the fingers of his right hand to cradle Yeong-shin’s face. Yeong-shin lifts his face, and now the look in his eyes is plaintive, pleading.

“I will kiss you now,” Lee Chang whispers. “Tell me if you do not want it.”

Yeong-shin’s lips are chapped from the cold, but they part beautifully the movement Lee Chang kisses him. It is a soft, chaste kiss, quickly over, but still Lee Chang feels a warmth bloom in his chest, and sparks dance across his skin. It will leave a mark, he thinks dazedly; the place where Yeong-shin grips his elbow and burns through the thin fabric of his clothes.

Gently – although he feels something in his chest wither and die – he removes his hand from Yeong-shin’s cheek, and steps back. Yeong-shin’s arm falls and lays limply at his side.

He had been mistaken, Lee Chang realises. It was not under Yeong-shin’s skin that the tiger lay. Yeong-shin himself was the caged beast, the palace his cage, and in Lee Chang’s hands lay the key.

He finds that suddenly he must sit down.

Slowly, painfully, he makes his way to the window, and looks out. Snowflakes are falling on the courtyards of the palace, and people walking through the snow leave footprints in the whiteness that are quickly replaced by fresh snowfall. He wonders if his presence in Yeong-shin’s life will be just so – there for barely a second, and quickly erased.

The silence becomes too stifling, and he must break it. “I do not expect you to return my affections,” he manages, and he cannot look at Yeong-shin. He must make a tragic figure, he knows, with the candlelight too weak to illuminate his face, and the faint glow from the yard outside barely enough to highlight the lines of his profile.

But he would not have it any other way. If it is, truly, to be the last time he sees Yeong-shin, he would rather have his last memory of Lee Chang like so – as the man, not the king, and with all his barriers down. It is the last gift he can give to the man to whom he owes so much, and to whom he has unequivocally given his heart and soul.

At last, Yeong-shin speaks, and they are words Lee Chang has come to expect.

“I must think on it,” he says, and the emotion in his voice, Lee Chang cannot recognise. “You hold my respect, and where you command, I will gladly go. You are the only one I would so freely pledge my allegiance to.”

“But,” Lee Chang prompts softly, and he hears rather than sees the flush that rises again on Yeong-shin’s face, when next he speaks.

“But,” he repeats, “I have… I have never thought of you as anything more than my lord. I have never dared think of you as anything more. You are the prince – the king now, but you were the prince – and so it has never even crossed my mind to look upon you as something more.”

“You need not give me hope,” Lee Chang says, and he cannot stop a small wistful smile forming on his face. “I understand.”

“Thank you,” Yeong-shin says quietly. He leaves the room, and only then - only then, does Lee Chang turn around. He burns the sight of Yeong-shin’s broad, upright back into his memory.

And then he looks back out the window, and sighs.

It is a new day, he thinks, as he watches the sun rise. A new day, and he is still alive, and that is all that matters, now.

#ahhh apologies this is so short and also the cliffhanger but next chapter will be up extremely soon i promise!!!#upm works #upm #changshin #kingdom #kingdom netflix #kingdom fanfiction #lee chang #yeong shin #mu yeong #lee chang x yeong shin #changshin fanfiction

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araitsume · 4 years ago

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The Desire of Ages, pp. 698-715: Chapter (75) Before Annas and the Court of Caiaphas

This chapter is based on Matthew 26:57-75; Matthew 27:1; Mark 14:53-72; Mark 15:1; Luke 22:54-71; John 18:13-27.

Over the brook Kedron, past gardens and olive groves, and through the hushed streets of the sleeping city, they hurried Jesus. It was past midnight, and the cries of the hooting mob that followed Him broke sharply upon the still air. The Saviour was bound and closely guarded, and He moved painfully. But in eager haste His captors made their way with Him to the palace of Annas, the ex-high priest.

Annas was the head of the officiating priestly family, and in deference to his age he was recognized by the people as high priest. His counsel was sought and carried out as the voice of God. He must first see Jesus a captive to priestly power. He must be present at the examination of the prisoner, for fear that the less-experienced Caiaphas might fail of securing the object for which they were working. His artifice, cunning, and subtlety must be used on this occasion; for, at all events, Christ's condemnation must be secured.

Christ was to be tried formally before the Sanhedrin; but before Annas He was subjected to a preliminary trial. Under the Roman rule the Sanhedrin could not execute the sentence of death. They could only examine a prisoner, and pass judgment, to be ratified by the Roman authorities. It was therefore necessary to bring against Christ charges that would be regarded as criminal by the Romans. An accusation must also be found which would condemn Him in the eyes of the Jews. Not a few among the priests and rulers had been convicted by Christ's teaching, and only fear of excommunication prevented them from confessing Him. The priests well remembered the question of Nicodemus, “Doth our law judge any man, before it hear him, and know what he doeth?” John 7:51. This question had for the time broken up the council, and thwarted their plans. Joseph of Arimathaea and Nicodemus were not now to be summoned, but there were others who might dare to speak in favor of justice. The trial must be so conducted as to unite the members of the Sanhedrin against Christ. There were two charges which the priests desired to maintain. If Jesus could be proved a blasphemer, He would be condemned by the Jews. If convicted of sedition, it would secure His condemnation by the Romans. The second charge Annas tried first to establish. He questioned Jesus concerning His disciples and His doctrines, hoping the prisoner would say something that would give him material upon which to work. He thought to draw out some statement to prove that He was seeking to establish a secret society, with the purpose of setting up a new kingdom. Then the priests could deliver Him to the Romans as a disturber of the peace and a creator of insurrection.

Christ read the priest's purpose as an open book. As if reading the inmost soul of His questioner, He denied that there was between Him and His followers any secret bond of union, or that He gathered them secretly and in the darkness to conceal His designs. He had no secrets in regard to His purposes or doctrines. “I spake openly to the world,” He answered; “I ever taught in the synagogue, and in the temple, whither the Jews always resort; and in secret have I said nothing.”

The Saviour contrasted His own manner of work with the methods of His accusers. For months they had hunted Him, striving to entrap Him and bring Him before a secret tribunal, where they might obtain by perjury what it was impossible to gain by fair means. Now they were carrying out their purpose. The midnight seizure by a mob, the mockery and abuse before He was condemned, or even accused, was their manner of work, not His. Their action was in violation of the law. Their own rules declared that every man should be treated as innocent until proved guilty. By their own rules the priests stood condemned.

Turning upon His questioner, Jesus said, “Why askest thou Me?” Had not the priests and rulers sent spies to watch His movements, and report His every word? Had not these been present at every gathering of the people, and carried to the priests information of all His sayings and doings? “Ask them which heard Me, what I have said unto them,” replied Jesus; “behold, they know what I said.”

Annas was silenced by the decision of the answer. Fearing that Christ would say something regarding his course of action that he would prefer to keep covered up, he said nothing more to Him at this time. One of his officers, filled with wrath as he saw Annas silenced, struck Jesus on the face, saying, “Answerest Thou the high priest so?”

Christ calmly replied, “If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil: but if well, why smitest thou Me?” He spoke no burning words of retaliation. His calm answer came from a heart sinless, patient, and gentle, that would not be provoked.

Christ suffered keenly under abuse and insult. At the hands of the beings whom He had created, and for whom He was making an infinite sacrifice, He received every indignity. And He suffered in proportion to the perfection of His holiness and His hatred of sin. His trial by men who acted as fiends was to Him a perpetual sacrifice. To be surrounded by human beings under the control of Satan was revolting to Him. And He knew that in a moment, by the flashing forth of His divine power, He could lay His cruel tormentors in the dust. This made the trial the harder to bear.

The Jews were looking for a Messiah to be revealed in outward show. They expected Him, by one flash of overmastering will, to change the current of men's thoughts, and force from them an acknowledgment of His supremacy. Thus, they believed, He was to secure His own exaltation, and gratify their ambitious hopes. Thus when Christ was treated with contempt, there came to Him a strong temptation to manifest His divine character. By a word, by a look, He could compel His persecutors to confess that He was Lord above kings and rulers, priests and temple. But it was His difficult task to keep to the position He had chosen as one with humanity.

The angels of heaven witnessed every movement made against their loved Commander. They longed to deliver Christ. Under God the angels are all-powerful. On one occasion, in obedience to the command of Christ, they slew of the Assyrian army in one night one hundred and eighty-five thousand men. How easily could the angels, beholding the shameful scene of the trial of Christ, have testified their indignation by consuming the adversaries of God! But they were not commanded to do this. He who could have doomed His enemies to death bore with their cruelty. His love for His Father, and His pledge, made from the foundation of the world, to become the Sin Bearer, led Him to endure uncomplainingly the coarse treatment of those He came to save. It was a part of His mission to bear, in His humanity, all the taunts and abuse that men could heap upon Him. The only hope of humanity was in this submission of Christ to all that He could endure from the hands and hearts of men.

Christ had said nothing that could give His accusers an advantage; yet He was bound, to signify that He was condemned. There must, however, be a pretense of justice. It was necessary that there should be the form of a legal trial. This the authorities were determined to hasten. They knew the regard in which Jesus was held by the people, and feared that if the arrest were noised abroad, a rescue would be attempted. Again, if the trial and execution were not brought about at once, there would be a week's delay on account of the celebration of the Passover. This might defeat their plans. In securing the condemnation of Jesus they depended largely upon the clamor of the mob, many of them the rabble of Jerusalem. Should there be a week's delay, the excitement would abate, and a reaction would be likely to set in. The better part of the people would be aroused in Christ's favor; many would come forward with testimony in His vindication, bringing to light the mighty works He had done. This would excite popular indignation against the Sanhedrin. Their proceedings would be condemned, and Jesus would be set free, to receive new homage from the multitudes. The priests and rulers therefore determined that before their purpose could become known, Jesus should be delivered into the hands of the Romans.

But first of all, an accusation was to be found. They had gained nothing as yet. Annas ordered Jesus to be taken to Caiaphas. Caiaphas belonged to the Sadducees, some of whom were now the most desperate enemies of Jesus. He himself, though wanting in force of character, was fully as severe, heartless, and unscrupulous as was Annas. He would leave no means untried to destroy Jesus. It was now early morning, and very dark; by the light of torches and lanterns the armed band with their prisoner proceeded to the high priest's palace. Here, while the members of the Sanhedrin were coming together, Annas and Caiaphas again questioned Jesus, but without success.

When the council had assembled in the judgment hall, Caiaphas took his seat as presiding officer. On either side were the judges, and those specially interested in the trial. The Roman soldiers were stationed on the platform below the throne. At the foot of the throne stood Jesus. Upon Him the gaze of the whole multitude was fixed. The excitement was intense. Of all the throng He alone was calm and serene. The very atmosphere surrounding Him seemed pervaded by a holy influence.

Caiaphas had regarded Jesus as his rival. The eagerness of the people to hear the Saviour, and their apparent readiness to accept His teachings, had aroused the bitter jealousy of the high priest. But as Caiaphas now looked upon the prisoner, he was struck with admiration for His noble and dignified bearing. A conviction came over him that this Man was akin to God. The next instant he scornfully banished the thought. Immediately his voice was heard in sneering, haughty tones demanding that Jesus work one of His mighty miracles before them. But his words fell upon the Saviour's ears as though He heard them not. The people compared the excited and malignant deportment of Annas and Caiaphas with the calm, majestic bearing of Jesus. Even in the minds of that hardened multitude arose the question, Is this man of godlike presence to be condemned as a criminal?

Caiaphas, perceiving the influence that was obtaining, hastened the trial. The enemies of Jesus were in great perplexity. They were bent on securing His condemnation, but how to accomplish this they knew not. The members of the council were divided between the Pharisees and the Sadducees. There was bitter animosity and controversy between them; certain disputed points they dared not approach for fear of a quarrel. With a few words Jesus could have excited their prejudices against each other, and thus have averted their wrath from Himself. Caiaphas knew this, and he wished to avoid stirring up a contention. There were plenty of witnesses to prove that Christ had denounced the priests and scribes, that He had called them hypocrites and murderers; but this testimony it was not expedient to bring forward. The Sadducees in their sharp contentions with the Pharisees had used to them similar language. And such testimony would have no weight with the Romans, who were themselves disgusted with the pretensions of the Pharisees. There was abundant evidence that Jesus had disregarded the traditions of the Jews, and had spoken irreverently of many of their ordinances; but in regard to tradition the Pharisees and Sadducees were at swords’ points; and this evidence also would have no weight with the Romans. Christ's enemies dared not accuse Him of Sabbathbreaking, lest an examination should reveal the character of His work. If His miracles of healing were brought to light, the very object of the priests would be defeated.

False witnesses had been bribed to accuse Jesus of inciting rebellion and seeking to establish a separate government. But their testimony proved to be vague and contradictory. Under examination they falsified their own statements.

Early in His ministry Christ had said, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” In the figurative language of prophecy, He had thus foretold His own death and resurrection. “He spake of the temple of His body.” John 2:19, 21. These words the Jews had understood in a literal sense, as referring to the temple at Jerusalem. Of all that Christ had said, the priests could find nothing to use against Him save this. By misstating these words they hoped to gain an advantage. The Romans had engaged in rebuilding and embellishing the temple, and they took great pride in it; any contempt shown to it would be sure to excite their indignation. Here Romans and Jews, Pharisees and Sadducees, could meet; for all held the temple in great veneration. On this point two witnesses were found whose testimony was not so contradictory as that of the others had been. One of them, who had been bribed to accuse Jesus, declared, “This fellow said, I am able to destroy the temple of God, and to build it in three days.” Thus Christ's words were misstated. If they had been reported exactly as He spoke them, they would not have secured His condemnation even by the Sanhedrin. Had Jesus been a mere man, as the Jews claimed, His declaration would only have indicated an unreasonable, boastful spirit, but could not have been construed into blasphemy. Even as misrepresented by the false witnesses, His words contained nothing which would be regarded by the Romans as a crime worthy of death.

Patiently Jesus listened to the conflicting testimonies. No word did He utter in self-defense. At last His accusers were entangled, confused, and maddened. The trial was making no headway; it seemed that their plottings were to fail. Caiaphas was desperate. One last resort remained; Christ must be forced to condemn Himself. The high priest started from the judgment seat, his face contorted with passion, his voice and demeanor plainly indicating that were it in his power he would strike down the prisoner before him. “Answerest Thou nothing?” he exclaimed; “what is it which these witness against Thee?”

Jesus held His peace. “He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth: He is brought as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before her shearers is dumb, so He openeth not His mouth.” Isaiah 53:7.

At last, Caiaphas, raising his right hand toward heaven, addressed Jesus in the form of a solemn oath: “I adjure Thee by the living God, that Thou tell us whether Thou be the Christ, the Son of God.”

To this appeal Christ could not remain silent. There was a time to be silent, and a time to speak. He had not spoken until directly questioned. He knew that to answer now would make His death certain. But the appeal was made by the highest acknowledged authority of the nation, and in the name of the Most High. Christ would not fail to show proper respect for the law. More than this, His own relation to the Father was called in question. He must plainly declare His character and mission. Jesus had said to His disciples, “Whosoever therefore shall confess Me before men, him will I confess also before My Father which is in heaven.” Matthew 10:32. Now by His own example He repeated the lesson.

Every ear was bent to listen, and every eye was fixed on His face as He answered, “Thou hast said.” A heavenly light seemed to illuminate His pale countenance as He added, “Nevertheless I say unto you, Hereafter shall ye see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven.”

For a moment the divinity of Christ flashed through His guise of humanity. The high priest quailed before the penetrating eyes of the Saviour. That look seemed to read his hidden thoughts, and burn into his heart. Never in afterlife did he forget that searching glance of the persecuted Son of God.

“Hereafter,” said Jesus, “shall ye see the Son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven.” In these words Christ presented the reverse of the scene then taking place. He, the Lord of life and glory, would be seated at God's right hand. He would be the judge of all the earth, and from His decision there could be no appeal. Then every secret thing would be set in the light of God's countenance, and judgment be passed upon every man according to his deeds.

The words of Christ startled the high priest. The thought that there was to be a resurrection of the dead, when all would stand at the bar of God, to be rewarded according to their works, was a thought of terror to Caiaphas. He did not wish to believe that in future he would receive sentence according to his works. There rushed before his mind as a panorama the scenes of the final judgment. For a moment he saw the fearful spectacle of the graves giving up their dead, with the secrets he had hoped were forever hidden. For a moment he felt as if standing before the eternal Judge, whose eye, which sees all things, was reading his soul, bringing to light mysteries supposed to be hidden with the dead.

The scene passed from the priest's vision. Christ's words cut him, the Sadducee, to the quick. Caiaphas had denied the doctrine of the resurrection, the judgment, and a future life. Now he was maddened by satanic fury. Was this man, a prisoner before him, to assail his most cherished theories? Rending his robe, that the people might see his pretended horror, he demanded that without further preliminaries the prisoner be condemned for blasphemy. “What further need have we of witnesses?” he said; “behold, now ye have heard His blasphemy. What think ye?” And they all condemned Him.

Conviction mingled with passion led Caiaphas to do as he did. He was furious with himself for believing Christ's words, and instead of rending his heart under a deep sense of truth, and confessing that Jesus was the Messiah, he rent his priestly robes in determined resistance. This act was deeply significant. Little did Caiaphas realize its meaning. In this act, done to influence the judges and secure Christ's condemnation, the high priest had condemned himself. By the law of God he was disqualified for the priesthood. He had pronounced upon himself the death sentence.

A high priest was not to rend his garments. By the Levitical law, this was prohibited under sentence of death. Under no circumstances, on no occasion, was the priest to rend his robe. It was the custom among the Jews for the garments to be rent at the death of friends, but this custom the priests were not to observe. Express command had been given by Christ to Moses concerning this. Leviticus 10:6.

Everything worn by the priest was to be whole and without blemish. By those beautiful official garments was represented the character of the great antitype, Jesus Christ. Nothing but perfection, in dress and attitude, in word and spirit, could be acceptable to God. He is holy, and His glory and perfection must be represented by the earthly service. Nothing but perfection could properly represent the sacredness of the heavenly service. Finite man might rend his own heart by showing a contrite and humble spirit. This God would discern. But no rent must be made in the priestly robes, for this would mar the representation of heavenly things. The high priest who dared to appear in holy office, and engage in the service of the sanctuary, with a rent robe, was looked upon as having severed himself from God. By rending his garment he cut himself off from being a representative character. He was no longer accepted by God as an officiating priest. This course of action, as exhibited by Caiaphas, showed human passion, human imperfection.

By rending his garments, Caiaphas made of no effect the law of God, to follow the tradition of men. A man-made law provided that in case of blasphemy a priest might rend his garments in horror at the sin, and be guiltless. Thus the law of God was made void by the laws of men.

Each action of the high priest was watched with interest by the people; and Caiaphas thought for effect to display his piety. But in this act, designed as an accusation against Christ, he was reviling the One of whom God had said, “My name is in Him.” Exodus 23:21. He himself was committing blasphemy. Standing under the condemnation of God, he pronounced sentence upon Christ as a blasphemer.

When Caiaphas rent his garment, his act was significant of the place that the Jewish nation as a nation would thereafter occupy toward God. The once favored people of God were separating themselves from Him, and were fast becoming a people disowned by Jehovah. When Christ upon the cross cried out, “It is finished” (John 19:30), and the veil of the temple was rent in twain, the Holy Watcher declared that the Jewish people had rejected Him who was the antitype of all their types, the substance of all their shadows. Israel was divorced from God. Well might Caiaphas then rend his official robes, which signified that he claimed to be a representative of the great High Priest; for no longer had they any meaning for him or for the people. Well might the high priest rend his robes in horror for himself and for the nation.

The Sanhedrin had pronounced Jesus worthy of death; but it was contrary to the Jewish law to try a prisoner by night. In legal condemnation nothing could be done except in the light of day and before a full session of the council. Notwithstanding this, the Saviour was now treated as a condemned criminal, and given up to be abused by the lowest and vilest of humankind. The palace of the high priest surrounded an open court in which the soldiers and the multitude had gathered. Through this court, Jesus was taken to the guardroom, on every side meeting with mockery of His claim to be the Son of God. His own words, “sitting on the right hand of power,” and, “coming in the clouds of heaven,” were jeeringly repeated. While in the guardroom, awaiting His legal trial, He was not protected. The ignorant rabble had seen the cruelty with which He was treated before the council, and from this they took license to manifest all the satanic elements of their nature. Christ's very nobility and godlike bearing goaded them to madness. His meekness, His innocence, His majestic patience, filled them with hatred born of Satan. Mercy and justice were trampled upon. Never was criminal treated in so inhuman a manner as was the Son of God.

But a keener anguish rent the heart of Jesus; the blow that inflicted the deepest pain no enemy's hand could have dealt. While He was undergoing the mockery of an examination before Caiaphas, Christ had been denied by one of His own disciples.

After deserting their Master in the garden, two of the disciples had ventured to follow, at a distance, the mob that had Jesus in charge. These disciples were Peter and John. The priests recognized John as a well-known disciple of Jesus, and admitted him to the hall, hoping that as he witnessed the humiliation of his Leader, he would scorn the idea of such a one being the Son of God. John spoke in favor of Peter, and gained an entrance for him also.

In the court a fire had been kindled; for it was the coldest hour of the night, being just before the dawn. A company drew about the fire, and Peter presumptuously took his place with them. He did not wish to be recognized as a disciple of Jesus. By mingling carelessly with the crowd, he hoped to be taken for one of those who had brought Jesus to the hall.

But as the light flashed upon Peter's face, the woman who kept the door cast a searching glance upon him. She had noticed that he came in with John, she marked the look of dejection on his face, and thought that he might be a disciple of Jesus. She was one of the servants of Caiaphas’ household, and was curious to know. She said to Peter, “Art not thou also one of this Man's disciples?” Peter was startled and confused; the eyes of the company instantly fastened upon him. He pretended not to understand her; but she was persistent, and said to those around her that this man was with Jesus. Peter felt compelled to answer, and said angrily, “Woman, I know Him not.” This was the first denial, and immediately the cock crew. O Peter, so soon ashamed of thy Master! so soon to deny thy Lord!

The disciple John, upon entering the judgment hall, did not try to conceal the fact that he was a follower of Jesus. He did not mingle with the rough company who were reviling his Master. He was not questioned, for he did not assume a false character, and thus lay himself liable to suspicion. He sought a retired corner secure from the notice of the mob, but as near Jesus as it was possible for him to be. Here he could see and hear all that took place at the trial of his Lord.

Peter had not designed that his real character should be known. In assuming an air of indifference he had placed himself on the enemy's ground, and he became an easy prey to temptation. If he had been called to fight for his Master, he would have been a courageous soldier; but when the finger of scorn was pointed at him, he proved himself a coward. Many who do not shrink from active warfare for their Lord are driven by ridicule to deny their faith. By associating with those whom they should avoid, they place themselves in the way of temptation. They invite the enemy to tempt them, and are led to say and do that of which under other circumstances they would never have been guilty. The disciple of Christ who in our day disguises his faith through dread of suffering or reproach denies his Lord as really as did Peter in the judgment hall.

Peter tried to show no interest in the trial of his Master, but his heart was wrung with sorrow as he heard the cruel taunts, and saw the abuse He was suffering. More than this, he was surprised and angry that Jesus should humiliate Himself and His followers by submitting to such treatment. In order to conceal his true feelings, he endeavored to join with the persecutors of Jesus in their untimely jests. But his appearance was unnatural. He was acting a lie, and while seeking to talk unconcernedly he could not restrain expressions of indignation at the abuse heaped upon his Master.

Attention was called to him the second time, and he was again charged with being a follower of Jesus. He now declared with an oath, “I do not know the Man.” Still another opportunity was given him. An hour had passed, when one of the servants of the high priest, being a near kinsman of the man whose ear Peter had cut off, asked him, “Did not I see thee in the garden with Him?” “Surely thou art one of them: for thou art a Galilean, and thy speech agreeth thereto.” At this Peter flew into a rage. The disciples of Jesus were noted for the purity of their language, and in order fully to deceive his questioners, and justify his assumed character, Peter now denied his Master with cursing and swearing. Again the cock crew. Peter heard it then, and he remembered the words of Jesus, “Before the cock crow twice, thou shalt deny Me thrice.” Mark 14:30.

While the degrading oaths were fresh upon Peter's lips, and the shrill crowing of the cock was still ringing in his ears, the Saviour turned from the frowning judges, and looked full upon His poor disciple. At the same time Peter's eyes were drawn to his Master. In that gentle countenance he read deep pity and sorrow, but there was no anger there.

The sight of that pale, suffering face, those quivering lips, that look of compassion and forgiveness, pierced his heart like an arrow. Conscience was aroused. Memory was active. Peter called to mind his promise of a few short hours before that he would go with his Lord to prison and to death. He remembered his grief when the Saviour told him in the upper chamber that he would deny his Lord thrice that same night. Peter had just declared that he knew not Jesus, but he now realized with bitter grief how well his Lord knew him, and how accurately He had read his heart, the falseness of which was unknown even to himself.

A tide of memories rushed over him. The Saviour's tender mercy, His kindness and long-suffering, His gentleness and patience toward His erring disciples,—all was remembered. He recalled the caution, “Simon, behold, Satan hath desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat: but I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not.” Luke 22:31, 32. He reflected with horror upon his own ingratitude, his falsehood, his perjury. Once more he looked at his Master, and saw a sacrilegious hand raised to smite Him in the face. Unable longer to endure the scene, he rushed, heartbroken, from the hall.

He pressed on in solitude and darkness, he knew not and cared not whither. At last he found himself in Gethsemane. The scene of a few hours before came vividly to his mind. The suffering face of his Lord, stained with bloody sweat and convulsed with anguish, rose before him. He remembered with bitter remorse that Jesus had wept and agonized in prayer alone, while those who should have united with Him in that trying hour were sleeping. He remembered His solemn charge, “Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation.” Matthew 26:41. He witnessed again the scene in the judgment hall. It was torture to his bleeding heart to know that he had added the heaviest burden to the Saviour's humiliation and grief. On the very spot where Jesus had poured out His soul in agony to His Father, Peter fell upon his face, and wished that he might die.

It was in sleeping when Jesus bade him watch and pray that Peter had prepared the way for his great sin. All the disciples, by sleeping in that critical hour, sustained a great loss. Christ knew the fiery ordeal through which they were to pass. He knew how Satan would work to paralyze their senses that they might be unready for the trial. Therefore it was that He gave them warning. Had those hours in the garden been spent in watching and prayer, Peter would not have been left to depend upon his own feeble strength. He would not have denied his Lord. Had the disciples watched with Christ in His agony, they would have been prepared to behold His suffering upon the cross. They would have understood in some degree the nature of His overpowering anguish. They would have been able to recall His words that foretold His sufferings, His death, and His resurrection. Amid the gloom of the most trying hour, some rays of hope would have lighted up the darkness and sustained their faith.

As soon as it was day, the Sanhedrin again assembled, and again Jesus was brought into the council room. He had declared Himself the Son of God, and they had construed His words into a charge against Him. But they could not condemn Him on this, for many of them had not been present at the night session, and they had not heard His words. And they knew that the Roman tribunal would find in them nothing worthy of death. But if from His own lips they could all hear those words repeated, their object might be gained. His claim to the Messiahship they might construe into a seditious political claim.

“Art Thou the Christ?” they said, “tell us.” But Christ remained silent. They continued to ply Him with questions. At last in tones of mournful pathos He answered, “If I tell you, ye will not believe; and if I also ask you, ye will not answer Me, nor let Me go.” But that they might be left without excuse He added the solemn warning, “Hereafter shall the Son of man sit on the right hand of the power of God.”

“Art Thou then the Son of God?” they asked with one voice. He said unto them, “Ye say that I am.” They cried out, “What need we any further witness? for we ourselves have heard of His own mouth.”

And so by the third condemnation of the Jewish authorities, Jesus was to die. All that was now necessary, they thought, was for the Romans to ratify this condemnation, and deliver Him into their hands.

Then came the third scene of abuse and mockery, worse even than that received from the ignorant rabble. In the very presence of the priests and rulers, and with their sanction, this took place. Every feeling of sympathy or humanity had gone out of their hearts. If their arguments were weak, and failed to silence His voice, they had other weapons, such as in all ages have been used to silence heretics,—suffering, and violence, and death.

When the condemnation of Jesus was pronounced by the judges, a satanic fury took possession of the people. The roar of voices was like that of wild beasts. The crowd made a rush toward Jesus, crying, He is guilty, put Him to death! Had it not been for the Roman soldiers, Jesus would not have lived to be nailed to the cross of Calvary. He would have been torn in pieces before His judges, had not Roman authority interfered, and by force of arms restrained the violence of the mob.

Heathen men were angry at the brutal treatment of one against whom nothing had been proved. The Roman officers declared that the Jews in pronouncing condemnation upon Jesus were infringing upon the Roman power, and that it was even against the Jewish law to condemn a man to death upon his own testimony. This intervention brought a momentary lull in the proceedings; but the Jewish leaders were dead alike to pity and to shame.

Priests and rulers forgot the dignity of their office, and abused the Son of God with foul epithets. They taunted Him with His parentage. They declared that His presumption in proclaiming Himself the Messiah made Him deserving of the most ignominious death. The most dissolute men engaged in infamous abuse of the Saviour. An old garment was thrown over His head, and His persecutors struck Him in the face, saying, “Prophesy unto us, Thou Christ, Who is he that smote Thee?” When the garment was removed, one poor wretch spat in His face.

The angels of God faithfully recorded every insulting look, word, and act against their beloved Commander. One day the base men who scorned and spat upon the calm, pale face of Christ will look upon it in its glory, shining brighter than the sun.

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duhragonball · 5 years ago

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (114/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Previous chapters conveniently available here.

[6 March, 233 Before Age. Gorrfeg I.]

Luffa had been hunting Saiyans for months now, ever since King Rehval had taken his entire kingdom into hiding. The Saiyan King had once claimed to be the supreme authority over the Saiyan race, but in practice he had only ruled a single planet, Saiya, and his subjects were limited to those Saiyans who willingly pledged their allegiance to him. A great number of Saiyans had rejected Rehval's authority since his disappearance, and many of these expatriates had rallied around a mysterious cult, which promised amazing power in exchange for unwavering obedience. Others had joined forces with Rehval's heir apparent, the teenage Princess Seltiss, who had established a Saiyan free company.

Now, these three Saiyan powers--Luffa, Seltiss, an the cult-- were at war. The Jindan cult had attacked Luffa's Federation, and Seltiss had brought her forces to come to Luffa's aid. Seltiss considered the alliance with Luffa to be a matter of self-preservation. The Jindan cult, as she saw it, threatened to reduce the Saiyan species to eternal servitude. Her followers had no great love for Luffa, but they needed one another. Luffa was stronger than any two or three Jindan Saiyans, but their enhanced power and greater numbers made them too much for a single warrior to deal with, especially across the vast frontier of Federation space. Seltiss's free company had the numbers, but not the power. Her soldiers were weaker than the cultists, but they could still hold out against them, at least for a time.

So the prevailing strategy had become a matter of using Luffa as a force multiplier. While the alliance held the line against the invaders, Luffa would target an enemy position and obliterate it. The resulting chaos would hopefully allow the allies to make some modest tactical gains of their own while the cultists struggled to regroup.

In principle, there was one other warrior who could contribute to this idea, and make the work go twice as fast. Xibuyas, Luffa's estranged son, was not her equal in power, but he was still immensely strong, and could probably have tackled a number of cultists on his own, or with support from Seltiss' followers. In theory, Luffa and Xibuyas could be split up to defend twice as many worlds. In practice, Luffa had other ideas, at least in the short term.

On the only inhabited world in the Gorrfeg System, Luffa and Xibuyas now fought against Jindan cultists by themselves. The Gorrfeggae military was with them, but they had already taken heavy losses when the cultists first made landfall on the planet.

"It's very simple," Luffa explained to him as she ducked a cultist's punch and replied with a headbutt. "They tried to concentrate their forces here. Reports said there were at least a dozen of these goons on Gorrfeg. Maybe even twenty! They thought I'd be reluctant to tackle that many at once-- thought I would keep my distance, at least long enough for them to dig in and make this planet into a base."

She grabbed her foe by the collar of his burgundy uniform, and was about to finish him off, when she suddenly dropped him, and swung her arm backward. For a moment it seemed as if she were attacking wildly, until the point of her elbow connected with the nose of a cultist who was trying to come up from behind her. Blood sprayed from his face and splashed onto Luffa, who smiled with a twisted glee.

"It would have worked too," Luffa continued. "Except they didn't take you into account, Katem. Now we're the ones concentrating our forces, and they're the ones who have to spread out and hope they can split us up somehow!"

Xibuyas--or "Katem" as Luffa called him-- was having more trouble. He believed himself to be the pinnacle of King Rehval's research: a Saiyan bred and alchemically enhanced to be the strongest ever. In fact, Rehval had stolen him as a fetus from Luffa's body, shortly before she became the Legendary Super Saiyan. Whatever the reason, he was incredibly strong. At his maximum power, he experienced a transformation of his own, and this was powerful enough to surpass one or two Jindan cultists, but no more. And so Luffa had spent most of the battle on Gorrfeg arranging it so that he would have to fight at least three enemies at a time.

"They have split us up, you fool!" Xibuyas shouted. "While you stand there... gibbering, they're... dammit!... they're picking me apart!"

Luffa chuckled and raised her arms... to cross them over her chest while she watched her son fight. Even this subtle motion had an effect on the battle, as one of Xibuyas' assailants noticed her out of the corner of his eye, and he broke off his attack to prepare himself for whatever Luffa might do.

This small opening was enough for Xibuyas to turn the tide. The cultists relied on strict coordination to defeat stronger enemies, and once their chain of attacks was interrupted, the youth managed to grab the second enemy by the arm and swing her into the third. This didn't hurt the third one much, but it did dislocate the second's arm, which disrupted their teamwork even further.

Xibuyas then concentrated his power against the first of his three opponents, and by the time the others managed to pull themselves together, he had all but defeated their partner. A few seconds' worth of Xibuyas' attacks had left the man bloodied, battered, and barely able to stay aloft in the air.

"Well then," Luffa said, mostly to herself. "You've evened the odds pretty well, boy. No! You've actually tipped the balance in your favor, haven't you?"

A fourth warrior flew in from the west, and Luffa fired a ki blast at him before he could get close enough to join in. It irritated her to pick them off this way, since the cultists were only a challenge in groups. She would have preferred to let that one gather with others, but she couldn't risk throwing too many against Xibuyas before he was ready. She thought back to her own mother, and began to appreciate how boring it must have been for an adult Saiyan to teach a child as weak as Luffa had been.

It didn't feel quite right. From a young age, Luffa had always dreamed of raising her own children, and craved the satisfaction she expected to feel in watching them grow into proud Saiyans. Long ago, she had fantasized about being killed in battle against her own children, and decided that this would be a decent way to die. Since then, she had killed her own father, and found the experience very hollow. She had become the Super Saiyan, and against the terrible golden glow of that power, the joy of raising offspring didn't seem to have the same appeal.

Perhaps, she wondered, it was the fact that Rehval had cheated her out of her son's childhood. Luffa had become pregnant just five years ago, but Xibuyas was now sixteen years old, thanks to some magical dimension Rehval had used to make him age faster. She could teach the boy, and love him, and accept him in spite of his flaws, but part of him would always belong to her hated enemy. Then again, she wondered if every parent went through this. Sometimes the cooking was more enjoyable than the meal. The genuine experience just couldn't live up to the anticipation.

Nevertheless, she watched with great fascination and pride as Xibuyas pressed his advantage and eventually killed his enemies. His style had glaring flaws, but it was more polished than than a lot of older Saiyans Luffa had fought. He glancing back at her with a rueful look in his eye, and he didn't seem to realize that how dangerous this was. Even on the verge of defeat, the enemy could still find a way to turn the battle back to their favor. But these were minor complaints to be addressed later. When the last of the three cultists was slain, she floated down to meet her son and pointed her thumb over her shoulder.

"Took you long enough," she said with a smirk. "Let's not keep the rest of them waiting."

Still gasping for breath, he muttered some obscenity and followed her to their next target.

*******

Like many of the Saiyans in the Jindan cult, Tabeg had been a weakling. The Jindan power had increased his strength, and this was enough for most of the cultists, but Tabeg had found inspiration as well. In his zeal, he had studied alchemy, hoping to become more like his master, and Trismegistus had rewarded his efforts by revealing some of his secrets. When the war began, Tabeg was given a command position, and orders to occupy and fortify the Gorrfeg system.

He had carried out these orders, but only so far as delegating most of his responsibilities to his subordinates. Once the planet was secure, he commandeered a suitable laboratory and secluded himself within. Though nowhere near as skilled in alchemy, Tabeg believed he had enough skill to find the answers to his questions. He only needed time, and a quiet place to work. Also, several hundred gallons of urine, for his experiments. He also needed his lieutenant to be quiet.

"Didn't you hear me?" she cried, shifting nervously from one foot to the other as she spoke. "Luffa is on the planet right now! She has another Saiyan with her, and they're picking us apart!"

"Do you know what the highest achievement of alchemy is?" he asked without looking up from his desk. It was covered with ancient parchments and modern scratch paper alike. A round stone, about the size of his hand, sat on some of the pages like a paperweight.

"Sir!" she protested, and then he did look up at her, though only to glare at her.

"The philosopher's stone," he said, answering his own question. "The rabble who know about it think it's a means of obtaining immortality. The truth is a bit more indirect. The philosopher's stone is a catalyst, capable of transforming ordinary substances into noble ones, such as gold or elixirs. The most noble elixir is that which cures all ailments, up to and including death, so it's true that the stone can make a person immortal, but that's like saying a star is bright. It overlooks so many other attributes."

She was accustomed to these lectures of his, but he knew that she only tolerated them out of deference to his rank. Now that a real crisis was brewing, she no longer pretended to respect what he was saying. "Sir, if Luffa finds us here--" she tried to say before he cut her off.

"She won't," Tabeg said. "Because unlike the others, I wasn't stupid enough to attack her recklessly and announce my presence. She came here to liberate this planet, and she won't be able to finish until she finds us all. The best thing we can do is lay low and keep the initiative. Every minute she's here is a minute that our comrades elsewhere won't have to deal with her. Now. The philosopher's stone is a reagent supreme, beyond my ability to prepare. But there are other, lesser reagents, capable of producing smaller miracles. Let me show you."

The lieutenant sighed as he took the stone from his desk and tapped it against the surface. "Using the lieutenant as a reference," he asked, "how many of her would I need to complete the formula?"

The lieutenant thought he was addressing her, though she had no idea how to respond. Before she could voice her confusion, she heard someone singing. She thought it was a music player at first, and then she realized it was coming from the rock in Tabeg's hand.

"Thirty-three, thirty three, thirty-three," the voice crooned. "And therein lies the tragedy..."

"How many did Luffa kill?" Tabeg asked, now looking at the lieutenant. "Wait, you already told me. Eight, yes? Which leaves fewer than twenty. That does complicate things, doesn't it. I'll have to face her before I'm ready."

He stood up from the desk and walked briskly to one of the lab benches, where he began to thumb through the pages of a dusty old book. There, he tapped the stone on the benchtop and asked another question. "What about the calcination of the spirit? Is there no way to--?"

"You'll never win that way, boy," the stone sang, almost flirtatiously. "If you wanna know, you gotta go with the flow."

He looked back at the lieutenant, who was thoroughly confused now. "Contact the others," he ordered her. "No one makes a move against Luffa until I command it. We'll take her together, but only when the time and place are exactly right. Luckily, I won't have to make any threats about what'll happen if one of you disobeys. Luffa will see to that."

"Um, right," the lieutenant said. "Anything else?"

"Not unless you have several hundred gallons of urine," Tabeg muttered. "Wait... could I substitute urea instead?"

"Fat chance, sailor, it just won't swing," the stone sang back.

"Dammit!" Tabeg grumbled. "Well, off with you then!" he said to the lieutenant. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

She made a half-hearted salute, then rushed out of the laboratory to carry out her orders.

*******

After the first round of fighting on Gorrfeg, Luffa had hoped for more action, but no one else came to attack them, and after an hour of searching, they found no sign of the enemy. As much as they both wanted to move on to the next planet, Luffa insisted on making certain that no cultists remained alive. As they flew across the planet's surface, covering as much ground as possible, Luffa eventually grew bored enough to make conversation.

"You've gotten stronger, Katem," she said. "Not strong enough to beat me, but it's still very impressive."

Xibuyas winced at the sound of the name "Katem". Luffa had insisted that this was his "true" name, the one she had chosen for him before he was born. The thought of it disgusted him.

"Don't take it so personally, boy," she said. "Everyone else in the universe can call you 'Xibuyas'. I don't know why you'd want that name, though. Not after that snake Rehval left you to die on Pflaume, but that's your business."

"I prefer my name because it's my name," Xibuyas snarled. He was tall and well-muscled for a teenager, but he still looked far too young to look as threatening as he would have liked. "Princess Seltiss calls me 'Xibuyas'. I consider that a greater honor than anything you could choose."

Luffa made a devious smile and pointed at herself. "Oh? You're not honored to be my son?" she asked. "We Legendary Super Saiyans don't come around too often. I'm a lot more uncommon than any princess, you know."

"You're nothing but a freak of nature," Xibuyas said.

"Is that so? And what does that make you?" Luffa asked.

He didn't have an answer for that one, so Luffa pressed him further. "You ever worry about turning out like me?" she asked. "Your transformation sort of looks like mine already. It's like your body wants to do the same thing I do, and you can't quite pull it off. Your hair kind of floats, but it stays black. Maybe you'll get it to change color when you're older."

"I'm nothing like you." Xibuyas growled.

"Maybe not, but you could be," Luffa chuckled. "One day you'll be in some big battle, fighting for your life, and then you'll turn into whatever I am."

"Never," Xibuyas insisted.

"Maybe you're right," Luffa said. "For all I know, it skips a generation. Your children'll flare up one day, when you least expect it."

"They... will... not," Xibuyas said.

"What'd you think of my wife?" Luffa asked, suddenly changing the subject.

"She's an alien," Xibuyas said, barely concealing his revulsion. "What more needs to be said?"

"She told me you put your hands on her," Luffa said. "How'd that work out for you?" There was no anger or accusation in Luffa's voice. She had been away from her ship, leaving Xibuyas alone with Zatte, and he had threatened to hurt her, but Luffa spoke of this like a trip to the grocery. Somehow, this frustrated Xibuyas all the more.

"Leave me alone!" Xibuyas muttered.

"Is that what's got you so worried?" Luffa asked. "You think I'm going to punish you for threatening your stepmother? Why should I bother? She can handle herself pretty well, and you're not nearly strong enough to be worth my time."

"You're a freak and a disgrace to the Saiyan race," Xibuyas shouted. "Cavorting around with alien women. It's revolting."

"What should I be doing instead, son?" Luffa asked. "If I wasn't a freak, I mean?"

She didn't know why she kept prodding him this way. In the short term, arguing with the boy was the only way to get to know him. He was angry at everyone and everything, it seemed. Everyone except that girl Seltiss he spent all his time with, and Luffa knew enough about teenage boys to understand that. But more than this, Luffa couldn’t help but see his intense hatred toward her as a challenge. Maybe this was why so many Saiyans killed their parents. At any rate, she really did want to know what Xibuyas wanted her to be instead of what she was.

"You should be settled down a Saiyan mate," Xibuyas said firmly. "Having children--"

"I tried that," Luffa said. "Your father and grandfather wouldn't let me. I already told you that story, remember?"

"Then you should have laid down and died! You're a mockery of everything I've built for myself!" Xibuyas howled. "My place is at the head of the Saiyan nation, beside the Lady Seltiss, but you cast doubt on my purity as a Saiyan! You threaten the legitimacy of my heirs!"

"Oh, boo-hoo," Luffa scoffed. "A real Saiyan doesn't need a pedigree or a public opinion poll to decide how worthy they are. A real Saiyan goes out and proves their worth! So why don’t you? Unless you're using me as an excuse. 'Oh, I'm allowed to wallow in self-pity because my mother wasn't a Saiyan so neither am I.' Is that it?"

And then he suddenly fired a ki blast at her. Before Luffa could react, he was following up with a flurry of punches and kicks. She was more surprised than anything else, and when he grabbed her by the hand and swung her down into the plains below, she did nothing to resist, mostly out of curiosity.

Then he transformed. As Luffa had observed, his powered-up self wasn't the same as her Super Saiyan form. He had a bright yellow aura, and his hair floated atop his scalp, but it remained as black as always. His eyes were solid white, where Luffa's irises changed color from brown to green. It occurred to her that maybe he wasn't on the cusp of becoming like her at all. Maybe he was something completely different. If so, was there anything she could do to help him? Could anyone help him?

"Prove my worth?!" he screamed as he unleashed a storm of ki blasts down upon her. "How can any Saiyan prove anything with you around?!"

Luffa was unhurt by his blows, but the savagery and intensity of his attack was impressive to her nonetheless. In her transformed state, she could have easily stood her ground and weathered his onslaught without flinching. Instead, she decided to remain in her normal form, and dodge his blasts as needed. It gave her something to do while she listened to his cries.

"You're a hypocrite, Luffa! You talk and talk about the good of the Saiyan race, how we should all strive to be better, but you don't give a damn about any of us! You talk down to us, mock us for our weakness, and punish anyone who dares to oppose you!"

This was what she wanted to purge from him. Being raised by King Rehval--or more likely Rehval's servants, since the king would have been too busy philandering to do it himself-- her own son had been brought up believing a litany of lazy excuses. What did they all think the Super Saiyan would say to them?

"And you hold up that hideous golden power of yours, like it proves your superiority! Well it doesn't, woman! It doesn't prove anything! You didn't earn that power! It just manifested out of nowhere! It could have happened to anyone!"

She had planned to let him pummel her for a while longer, to give him a chance to get more of this out into the open. But something about the words "didn't earn" struck a nerve. And so when he dove down into the maelstrom of ki to to throw a punch, she transformed, caught his fist in her hand, and squeezed it.

"Are you trying to say I was just lucky?" Luffa asked, her green eyes staring holes into her son.

"Lucky?" she asked again. He didn't answer. He couldn't. He was too stunned by how easily she had turned the tables on him.

"Lucky?" she screamed, and her power exploded all around her.

"Yes!" Xibuyas shouted. "There's... there's nothing worthy about you! You're just a random accident--!"

She released his hand and punched him before he could react. Xibuyas suddenly found himself lying in a pile of what had once been a hill. Luffa was standing over him, scowling.

"You have no idea what I've suffered through. How hard I've worked to master this form. And you dare to tell me-- me?!-- that I don't deserve it?"

She grabbed him by the hair and hauled him to his feet. "And just how do you think I should 'earn' my power? I'm just dying to hear your expert opinion. Well?"

"I... I...!"

"Well, speak up, boy!" Luffa growled. "You had plenty to say to me before. You don't like how I got where I am, and you don't like what I do now that I'm here. So what would you like? Or is this a boy-girl thing? Would you like it better if your father was the Legendary Super Saiyan? Is that it?!"

She tosses him to the ground. "Your father's a corpse, and before that he was a coward and a fool! I was an idiot to think he was worth my time! My love! He ripped you out of my body and sold you to Rehval like some black market sleaze dealing in stolen organs. Do you wish he would salve your puny ego? Hah! He wouldn't lift a finger to help either of us! You were nothing but medical waste to him! But you'll pine for him anyway, won't you? Gotta cling to the idea that there's some man who'll justify all your crappy ideas."

Xibuyas cried out and fired a desperate ki blast at Luffa, which spilled over her harmlessly. She smiled, pulled him to his feet again, and slapped him across the face.

"You didn't answer me before, Katem," she said, still holding him by the collar of his blue uniform. "If I'm such a fraud-- a freak-- then what does that make you?"

He set his jaw and matched her furious gaze with one of his own, but then his lip began to quiver, and it was clear that he had run out of defiant comebacks. At last he mumbled softly: "Absolutely nothing. N-nothing at all."

She saw a tear roll down his eye, and she finally realized that she was pushing him too hard. Unsure how to proceed, she released him, and he collapsed to the ground.

"Sorry," she said. "I... This isn't how I meant for it to go. It's just... you're so much like your father, only you're an even bigger jackass, and... dammit, you're only supposed to be four years old. I don't know what I'm supposed to do here."

"Hmmph!" Xibuyas grunted. "Now who's wallowing in self-pity?"

"You got me there," Luffa said. She reached down to offer a hand to him. "Come on, let's get back to it. I'll try not to embarrass you anymore."

He slapped her hand away and stood up by himself. "I don't want your help," he said.

"Is that so?" Luffa said. "Sounds to me like you're ready to take these creeps on four at a time now."

"That is not what I'm saying!" Xibuyas growled.

Luffa was about to make a humorous reply to that, when suddenly her expression darkened, and she placed a hand on her temple and looked toward the west.

"Do you feel that?" she asked.

"I do now," Xibuyas snorted after taking a moment to concentrate. "Feels like more than a dozen cultists all in one place, but there's something... off... about it."

"They must be up to something," Luffa said. "That, or they're making their last stand. Either way, we need to play this carefully." She pointed to the silken bandages sticking out from beneath her sleeveless shirt. "I'm still not fully recovered from the last three battles, and you took some heavy blows yourself. Remember, it's not enough to just beat these guys. We have to stay fresh for the next campaign."

"I hardly need you to tell me that!" Xibuyas snapped.

She smirked and flew off toward the afternoon sun, and Xibuyas followed close behind.

*******

When they arrived, they found more than they could easily handle. There were Jindan Saiyans, as Luffa had expected, but also a group of creatures, which looked like different animals combined together in some unnatural way. They also stank of rotten carcasses, which made their hideous appearance even more unsettling.

"Chimera," said Tabeg, who stood as their leader. "You killed several of my warriors, earlier, and I needed them back. I lack the skill to revive the dead, but my Singing Stone told me that it would be far easier to reanimate their bodies without their souls, and well, their bodies were all that I needed for this. And this left me enough power to transmute their flesh for greater power. The head of a Gorrfeggian shark, the claws of a cave-raptor. Oh, and there's something nasty at the tips of their tails, so watch out for those."

In spite of this twist, Luffa's greatest difficulty was not in the numerical disadvantage. If the cultists had bothered to use this against her, it might have mattered, but instead, they constantly scattered and pulled back, even when they had a clear opening to attack her. She and Xibuyas weren't prepared for this sort of strategy, and it took a toll on what little teamwork they had cobbled together.

"Stop shooting the leader!" Luffa shouted at Xibuyas. "He's got some kind of force field!"

"That is exactly why I'm attacking him!" Xibuyas shouted back. "He's the only one standing in the open, and he's obviously in charge!"

"He's standing there because he has a force field!" Luffa shouted. She managed to grab a creature and rip off its tail, but she couldn't destroy it before three other enemies forced her to back off.

"Once I overload his defenses, he'll fall, and the others will collapse without him to give orders!" Xibuyas protested.

"Idiot!" Luffa snarled. "Rehval must have cut out your brain while he was lopping off your tail!"

Undeterred, Xibuyas fired again. Below, Tabeg watched the battle unfolding in the sky, and when the boy's energy beam connected, it diffused harmlessly around him. He smiled, stroked the edge of his pushbroom mustache, then withdrew his stone from the breast pocket of his burgundy cloak. Tapping it against the breastplate of his armor, he asked: "New calculation: Is there enough available power for the formula now?"

"Almost ther-r-r-e!" came the disembodied voice.

"Excellent. What about her?" he asked, referring to Luffa. "Surely this is some sort of phosphorus conjunction at work. Now that I can see her in action, it seems fairly obvious."

He held the stone up and pointed his arm in Luffa's general direction, as if offering it a better look.

"Too bad, so sad, you never could have known what you never had," replied the stone.

"Fine, but there must be some elemental transference at work here," he muttered. "The color can't be a coincidence. If not phosphorus, then sulfur. Cesium? Sodium? Helium has a yellow emission spectrum, doesn't it?"

"You're playin', playin' playin' guess-guess-guess-guess-guessing games," sang the stone.

"Because you never answer me directly, that's why!" Tabeg said. He stuffed the stone back in his pocket. "Fine, I'll handle this on my own. If I wait around any longer, she'll kill more of my forces, and that won't do."

With that, he crossed his arms over his chest and released an powerful explosive wave of energy from his body. He had chosen an abandoned section of the city nearest to his lab as a battleground, but now everything in a two mile radius was disintegration, or left charred and burning. Only the Saiyans, both dead and alive, friend and foe, remained unharmed. All of them looked to him for some sort of explanation.

"Now that I have your attention, Luffa," Tabeg said, "I'd like to put an end to this conflict."

"Fine," Luffa said. She dove towards him, but then suddenly veered away, and moved to one of his followers instead. Before the man could react, she ran him through with the severed tail she had taken from one of the reanimated chimeras. Whether he died from the chest wound, or some poison in the tail itself, was unclear.

"Now I'll have to reanimate that one as well," Tabeg groaned. "You're making this very inconvenient."

"I'll be making you dead very soon," Luffa said. "I don't know if you're bluffing, or just some kind of idiot, but it doesn't really matter. Did you know your master sent you here to die?"

"I know the truth, Luffa!" he shouted. "Trismegistus has shown me the way. That is why he sent me here. My eyes have been opened! Your Super Saiyan form is nothing more than an alchemical transmutation! You have transmuted powerful energies into a more tolerable form, and harnessed them to your will. A formidable technique, but not so 'legendary' as you would have us all believe! Behold!"

Tabeg threw out his hands and revealed black markings on the insides of his palms. They resembled pentagrams, but with many smaller characters written around and inside the larger shapes. He clapped his hands together, and in the next moment, he was engulfed in a brilliant yellow light.

"You see? I haven't replicated your formula completely, but I've come very close. And once I've beaten you, I'll have the chance to study your corpse, and learn enough to perfect my method!"

"You're a fool, Tabeg," Luffa said. "If you had trained your body instead of learning all those magic tricks, you might have become a real threat." You've increased your power a lot, but it's nothing I can't handle. And as for that energy field you've got to protect you, it only works on ki attacks, I'm thinking."

With that, she rushed towards him until she was only a few inches away from his face, where she drove the butt of her palm directly into his nose. As she turned away from him, she heard his body fall to the ground, and she smiled in grim satisfaction.

"Now then," Luffa called out to his followers, "Who wants to go next?"

"He's not dead, you idiot!" Xibuyas cried out. "Look!"

Luffa turned, and saw Tabeg rising up from the ground as if being lifted by invisible hands grasping his shoulders. His arms were crossed over his chest, and a peculiar smile was on his face. His golden aura remained, but it had grown more intense.

"I see you don't believe me," Tabeg said. "I shall have to demonstrate my power more thoroughly. Attack!"

Luffa braced herself, expecting the cultists to gang up on her. Instead, they all turned and fired upon their leader, who stood and absorbed their energy. Each blast seemed to cause him some pain, but somehow he managed to recover and grow stronger. Once they finally stopped, they all lowered themselves to the ground, looking somewhat tired. All except for Tabeg, whose golden aura shone brighter than ever. The triumphant smile on his face, however, was nearly brighter.

"What have you done?" Luffa asked.

"Don't be coy, Luffa. I imagine you've done something very similar yourself once."

He leaped toward her with an incredible speed, and slashed at her with the nails on his left hand. Luffa was amazed that he managed to make contact. She felt blood on her face, and knew it was her own.

"Now!" he shouted, and before Luffa could react, he raised his left hand and swung it down with great force, pointing at her feet. Suddenly, she found herself pinned to the ground, as a shaft of golden energy now appeared, and her left foot was impaled on it.

Luffa cried out in pain, but never took her eyes off Tabeg.

"What's this?" Tabeg asked. "No idle threats? No savage curses? Maybe, just maybe, you've realized how desperate your situation really is, hm?"

Luffa grabbed the energy spear sticking out of her foot, but it caused her too much pain to touch it.

"The energy conversion field absorbs kinetic energy as well as the ki you put behind your punches," he went on. "That's why your last attack didn't work. It only made me stronger. The conversion isn't ideal, but the stone knows the formula, and it knows how much energy I'd need to match your power. My forces weren't quite enough on their own, but with the two of you attacking me, I managed to tip the scales very nicely."

If looks could kill, Tabeg would have died just by staring into Luffa's enraged eyes. Instead, he remained quite alive, and without a trace of fear, he approached Luffa closely enough to pat the side of her face. Some of her blood smeared onto his fingers, which he wiped onto his breastplate. Suddenly, her expression shifted from rage to intrigue, though Tabeg was too busy gloating to notice.

"Remarkable," he said. "I didn't think you'd resemble a real Saiyan to this degree. Even your skin feels authentic. Well, now that I've beaten you, I can study that at my leisure. After all, defeating the Super Saiyan herself is a hollow victory compared to unraveling the mystery behind the Super Saiyan." He withdrew his stone and asked: "Could this flesh be a simulacrum forged through the Rommel Process? No! Wait, the Rowsdower Parchment. Could this be an essence triangulation?"

"Ain't nothing like the real thing baby..." the stone sang in reply.

"You mean this is actually a live Saiyan?" Tabeg asked. "Using the same rune-sequence I am?"

"When you're barking up the wrong tree-eee..."

"No!" Tabeg insisted. "You said she was a Saiyan like me! If she has this kind of ability, then you ought to know what it is, and you should have told me the same steps to recreate it. Then what's the reagent? Unless you mean to tell me this backwater fool discovered the philosopher's stone!"

The stone sang again, but Tabeg was too distracted by the death scream of one of his soldiers. He turned, and saw Xibuyas strangling another using one of the poisoned tails from his chimera.

"I'd worry about my own situation if I were you, Tabeg!" Xibuyas shouted. "Luffa isn't your only foe!" he shouted. "And while she may be an impostor, know that you face at least one pureblooded Saiyan!"

Despite Tabeg's magnified power, he lacked the experience to use it, and so Xibuyas managed to outmaneuver him, appearing and disappearing with such speed that he was able to confuse Tabeg until he was right next to him. Then he thrust the tail at the side of Tabeg's neck, aiming its stinger straight for his jugular vein.

His aim was true, but he couldn't connect. For a moment, Xibuyas thought Tabeg had somehow blocked him, and was holding the tail just inches away from his neck. Instead, Tabeg hadn't even moved. It was as though some force had caught Xibuyas before he could push the stinger in, like a thumbtack in a piece of corkboard.

"Impressive, boy," Tabeg said. "You must have realized that a more subtle weapon like poison could hurt me. But my field absorbs the force you would need to stick me with it."

"Get out of here, Katem!" Luffa shouted. "You're no match for him!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" Xibuyas shouted back.

"Oh, do be quiet," Tabeg said. He tossed his stone from his right hand to his left, then swung out his right hand to catch Xibuyas in the jaw. He went down in an instant, and while the boy remained conscious, he could only manage to plant his hands on the ground and grit his teeth. He might have eventually found a way to push himself back up again, but Tabeg stomped on his back to put a stop to that.

"Get away from him!" Luffa snarled.

"A disciple of yours, perhaps?" Tabeg asked. "He's not bad at all, which only confirms my suspicion that there's nothing magical about your power. It's just an alchemical change, to be picked apart and studied. If he can learn your power, then so can I, and if you and the stone won't tell me the secret, then I'll just have to extract it from your body."

"We're so close now, baby..." the stone sang, and Tabeg nodded, pleased with its seeming approval of his plan.

He stepped away from Xibuyas, and as he approached Luffa, he waved his free hand to signal the others to surround the boy. Then he gestured for four of his monsters to grab Luffa's arms.

"I'll take my time studying you Luffa," Tabeg said. "Take you apart piece by piece if I have to. And as for the boy, well, I don't suppose I need him at all, now do I? Kill him!"

Tabeg's followers moved in for the kill, while Luffa strained against the creatures that held her. And then, the furious noises she made began to sound more desperate. And then her aura exploded.

"What?" Tabeg asked.

"You've done it, you've done it!" sang the stone in his hand. "You've discovered the secret formula!"

"What are you babbling about?" Tabeg shouted. "I haven't even done anything yet!"

The ground beneath them was blasted away by her outburst, leaving them all standing in mid-air over a crater. Xibuyas fell to the bottom of it, safely clear of the cultists, who were now too confused to go after him.

Luffa made a horrific screeching noise as she shook the creatures away from her body. Some of them hung on more stubbornly than others, and Luffa rewarded their tenacity by ripping their limbs from their bodies. One chimera tried to attack her, and she swung her injured foot into his body. The energy spear was still sticking out of it, but it was no longer pinning her to the ground. As much as it hurt Luffa, it simply destroyed the chimera as soon as it touched him. Luffa screamed again, and then the column of ki dissipated, leaving only a hole in her boot.

"You get away from him, now," she said, her voice raw and ugly. She didn't care that they were no longer near Xibuyas, nor did she wait for them to comply. She simply charged towards the cultists and tore through them with a newfound ferocity.

"A marvelous success, Tabeg! Trismegistus will be pleased indeed!" the stone cheered.

"You're not making any sense!" he protested. "I haven't found the secret of her Super Saiyan power! I have no idea how she's doing this! I--!"

Before he could go on, Luffa was on top of him, raining down blows that would have surely killed him if not for his energy-conversion field. As it was, Tabeg still felt the impact of her blows, though it was only enough to hurt him without causing serious injury. He had assumed that he was safe from her before, since her previous blow hadn't hurt him. Now, he realized that she just hadn't hit him as hard as she could.

"You want to turn me into an experiment?!" she screamed. "I'll tear you into shreds, you slimy--"

The rest of her words degenerated into howls of rage as she drove her fists relentlessly into his field. Soon, he toppled over, and she mounted him. All Tabeg could do was cover his face and hold the stone close so he could hear anything useful it might have said.

"Brilliant, Tabeg, brilliant!" the stone cried.

"Shut up!" Tabeg shouted. "Just tell me what I did! Hurry!"

"It's really quite elegant," the stone began. "You see, all that was needed was to--"

And then the stone was gone, crushed into powder in Luffa's clenched fist. She had penetrated his field, and she had taken his most valuable resource in the process.

She paused for a moment, savoring the puff of dust--formerly the Singing Stone-- that now billowed from her hand. This gave Tabeg a moment to realize what had happened to his field. It could absorb energy from fast, powerful collisions, but it did almost nothing to resist slow, gentle movements. This was by design, as Tabeg would have been unable to breathe or interact with the outside world while using it. It was then that he realized his mistake was in taking the time to touch Luffa's face. If she hadn't deduced his weakness on her own, then surely that moment of indiscretion had given her a clue.

Her attack, as intense and vicious as it had been, was actually a diversion to cover her real master stroke, which was to straddle his body once she was close enough to him. While she had pummeled the field with her fists, her lower body was gently lowering onto his abdomen, and the field offered no resistance at all. And now that she had ceased her attack, the field had expanded to envelop her within it.

She was a genius, Tabeg thought to himself, but this alone wasn't the answer. She was fighting harder as well, with a recklessness disregard for her own safety. Before, she was worried about conserving her strength, but now...

"Fight back, you coward!" Luffa snarled. "You said that power of yours lets you absorb ki, right? So use it! Show me what you can do before I send you to hell!"

He did. There was no other choice, and so he ordered his troops to fire as much energy at him as they could. The blasts didn't hurt Luffa at all, as she was inside the field with him, but he was able to absorb the power and grow stronger.

But it wasn't enough. "More, more!" he cried, but he already knew there was no more for them to give. Around him, his creatures lay destroyed, already breaking down into their base ingredients. His followers lay dead or gravely wounded. Nearby, the young Saiyan Xibuyas looked on, his normally proud face now completely baffled.

"Please!" he begged, though he had no idea to whom. Not the stone, which was long gone, or his master Trismegistus, who had no use for failures, and certainly not the Super Saiyan, who had already made her bloody intentions clear.

"You threatened my son," Luffa shouted. "And you think you can just walk away with your life?"

Tabeg's attempts to fight back were useless. Against anyone else, he might have been able to push back, get the enemy out of his force field, and take the advantage. But Luffa was too strong, too determined. She wanted his life, and the wild look in her eye told him that she would have it.

"You tell Trismegistus!" she screamed. "Tell every Jindan-using bastard you know! Tell them I won't stop fighting until you're all dead! You hear me!?"

The word "son" rang in Tabeg's mind as Luffa proceeded to beat him to death. In the moments of consciousness he had left, Tabeg wondered if the stone was referring to this as his great breakthrough. Was the key an emotional state? Through the haze of red, he pictured his own son, whom he had betrayed and murdered to attain his standing in the Jindan Cult. He thought of the boy, not with fondness or regret, but as lost opportunity, a path not taken, now forever lost to him.

*******

Luffa continued to assault Tabeg well after killing him. She only stopped when she felt a ki blast hit her in the back, and she realized that Tabeg's energy conversion field was no longer working. She turned and found Xibuyas holding his open palm out towards her, ready to fire again if necessary.

"Thanks," Luffa said as she rose up from her enemy's remains. "I needed that."

"I was trying to kill you," Xibuyas said. He was back on his feet, but holding himself up with one hand on his knee.

"He must have hit you harder than I thought," Luffa said. She limped towards him, still favoring her injured foot, and reached out to him. "Come on. I'll carry you back to the capital and find you a medic."

"Don't touch me!" he snapped.

Luffa powered down to her normal state, then dropped to a sitting position in front of him. "I ran out of patience about five minutes ago, so let me explain what's going to happen. Calmly. I'm going to carry you to the capital for medical attention, and then I'm going to contact your girlfriend with the pink dyejob and Marshall Booth and give them a sitrep. Close your mouth, because I am not done talking. You only get two choices here, Katem. You can either come along quietly, with some dignity, or I will put you in a keylock and drag you the whole way. Understand that you'll be awake either way, because I don't really need to knock you out to make this happen. Decide. Now."

Xibuyas looked away from her. "I'll... cooperate," he pouted.

"Smart," Luffa said. "Nothing wrong with a little pride, but sometimes you have to pick the lesser of two shames. You fought well, son. Except for that part where you shot your partner in the back. Nice try, but tactically unsound. Care to explain that to me?"

"All you have to offer me is disgrace," he muttered. "A life in your shadow, a family of aliens and cowards... I thought that I could surpass you eventually. The soothsayer on your ship told me I would. But just now, you became even stronger than I imagined. The gap between us is too far... I see now that all I can do is wait for you to die."

She rose to her feet and lifted him up into her arms.

"If that's how you feel about it, Katem," she said, "if that's what you truly believe, then, it doesn't matter how strong you may become. You'll never grow, not in any way that counts."

He said nothing, and continued to avert his gaze from her, and Luffa found she couldn't complain. There was nothing else she could say, and arguing with him would only push him further away. At least he was letting her hold him. At least he was alive. For now, that would have to do.

NEXT: Zatte and Dotz

#dragon ball #fanfiction #super saiyan #luffa #lssjluffafic #gorrfeg #xibuyas #tabeg

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themindmates-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 9 - Lady of Winterfell

It was the first time in days that the three older children in the castle had a time for themselves and as Ylina, Robb and Theon laughed and chatted over pieces of bread and glasses of milk, it was as if they were young again. As they enjoyed themselves over a breakfast, it was almost as if they were once again the innocent children they once were, trying to eat as fast as possible so they could sneak out to train, or ride horses before Lady Catelyn would find them and take Ylina away from the boys and toward her boring classes of needlework or etiquette. They knew that wasn’t the case, however. Lady Stark wasn’t around, Robb was lord of Winterfell, they weren’t children anymore and, certainly, none of them was in any kind of rush to leave the table. Not that morning, at least.

As Theon told Ylina and Robb one of his usual jokes that usually ended with Ylina throwing whatever was in her reach at the moment at him and Robb letting out a loud laugh at the exchange, Maester Luwin entered the room with a roll in his hands. When Ylina looked up at him, she knew he was carrying bad news so, as Robb got up from his place at the table, the girl let go of the piece of bread in her hands and watched with careful eyes as Robb opened the roll and read it.

“Treason?” He asked, after a moment of silence.

At that, Ylina frowned, and Robb passed the letter to her. As her eyes scanned the piece of paper in her hands, she couldn’t help but feel her heart dropping to her stomach. Her Father? Plotting against the throne? Being held in custody while waiting judgement? And Sansa… Sansa wanted Robb to go to King’s Landing and swear his loyalty to the Joffrey Baratheon, the new King? Nothing in that letter made sense, but most of all, there was no mention of Arya.

Ylina must have spent quite some time in astonished silence, because, soon enough, Robb called out her name softly causing the girl to lift her head up to look at him.

“Sansa wrote this?” He asked, as she nodded.

“It is our sister's hand, but the queen's words.” She answered.

“Joffrey puts our father in chains, now he wants his arse kissed?” The boy scoffed.

“This is a royal command, my lord.” Maester Luwin said. “If you should refuse to obey…”

“I won't refuse. His Grace summons me to King's Landing, I'll go to King's Landing.” Robb interrupted the Maester, as Theon and Ylina exchanged a glance. Robb was in a difficult position in that moment and his next words would define the course of their next few months, at least. “But not alone.”

At that, Ylina let out a heavy breath. It was mixture of relief and fear, something she had never felt before, but as Theon smiled up at Robb, she knew that, at the very least, he’d have his best friend's support in his decision on marching down South for their father’s freedom.

“Call the banners.” Robb commanded, as Maester Luwin hesitated.

“All of them, my lord?”

“They've all sworn to defend my father, have they not?” Robb countered, causing the older man to nod.

“They have.”

“Now we see what their words are worth.”

With a nod of his head, Maester Luwin left the room. As soon as he did, Robb sat down again beside Theon as Ylina leaned forward on the table to get just a tiny bit closer to her brother. Noticing his tense posture, she bit her lip slightly.

“Are you afraid?” She asked.

Ylina watched as Robb lifted his hand up at the height of his chest so everyone could see how shaky it was.

“I must be.” He said.

“Good.” Theon spoke up, as the two siblings turned to them with a frown.

“Why is that good?” Robb asked, as Theon simply smirked at him.

“It means you're not stupid.”

***

It had been a quiet few days in Winterfell. Of course Rickon and Bran had noticed the changes. It wasn't difficult either. With more and more lords pilling up in the Castle everyday, it was clear that something was about to happen. Still, every time the younger boys asked what was going on, no one had the heart to tell them the truth. That is, not until Maester Luwin decided to burst the protective bubble Ylina and Robb always tried to put Bran and Rickon in.

"War?" The youngest of the boys demanded, pushing the door of her sister's room open without any kind of ceremony. "Maester Luwin says Robb is preparing for war. He says he'll leave soon with Theon and all of the other lords to go to King's Landing. Is it true?"

For the first time that day, Ylina lifted her head from the pillows of her bed, sitting up as her eyes fell on Rickon. She had been sick over the past two days and, as much as both, Theon and Robb insisted that she should probably talk to one of the Maesters, she refused, knowing it was all her anxiety for them building up inside of her and trying to get out through vomiting and dizziness.

"It is, Rick." She nodded gently, opening her arms wide when she noticed how Rickon's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Father is being held in the Capital and so are our sisters and still, King Joffrey wants Robb to bend the knee and pledge the North's loyalty to him."

"Why is Father being held?" The young boy asked, cuddling himself into his sister's arms.

"We are not sure, Rickon. But Robb will figure it out."

"And he'll bring back Father?" He asked, as Ylina nodded. "That's why all the lords are here?"

"Yes."

"And they'll be leaving soon?"

"Yes."

"Will Robb say goodbye to us?"

"Of course he will, love." Ylina smiled, placing a kiss to Rickon's forehead as the boy held onto her tightly. "Robb would never leave without saying goodbye."

At that, Rickon nodded. As Ylina wiped a few of his tears away, the boy relaxed against her touch, but frowned when he noticed just how warm her skin felt against his.

"Are you better, Lina?" He asked sweetly, to which the girl smiled.

"I'll be fine, I promise. It's just a light fever."

"Are you sure?"

"I am, love. Don't worry." She assured with a smile as the boy's blue eyes searched hers looking for any sign of a lie. "Now, go back to bed, will you? It's late and you shouldn't be awake. And don't you worry about Robb and Theon. They will be fine, I know it."

With a small nod of his head, Rickon kissed his sister's cheek and climbed off her bed before walking out of her room with Shaggydog at his feet. As soon as he left, Ylina fell back down on her bed with a huff, and Daria took that as her cue to climb up and cuddle close to her owner, nuzzling her snout slightly on her neck, as the girl let out a small giggle.

"It'll be hard, won't it, girl? Just me and you to look after the boys?" She asked quietly, as the caramel wolf lifted her head and tilted it slightly with a small whine. "At least I have you, huh? Will you keep me company, D? Will you help me get through this without Robb and Theon?"

At that, Daria moved so she could place her head across Ylina's stomach and the girl smiled at the affection reaching her hand down to scratch her behind her ear.

"Thank the gods I have you, Daria, or I'd be lost right now."

Ylina wasn't sure how long it had been that she and Daria had spent in each other's company in complete and utter silence, but when there was a knock on her door and one of her maids told her Robb had requested her presence at the feast of the lords, she knew it had been a while.

"Can you help me, Prya?" She asked, as the maid entered the room.

"At once, my lady." She said, helping Ylina out of the bed and into a proper dress, considering she had yet to step out of her sleeping gown that day.

As Prya brushed Ylina's hair and started braiding a few bits of it to make a quick but presentable style out of her messy red locks, Daria sat beside her, enjoying the way the girl's fingers ran through her fur. Once ready, Prya accompanied Ylina and Daria to the dining hall where the feast was being held but stopped by the door.

"Thank you, Prya." She smiled gently as the maid simply bowed her head and left.

When she turned to the guards in front of the door, they both bowed at her quickly, mumbling the usual 'my lady' before pulling the door open for her. As soon they did, however, the noise of the men's laughter and the smell of deer meat hit her at once, almost causing the girl to stumble back.

"My lady?" One of the guards was about to reach out for her, but before he could, Daria growled loudly from beside her causing the guard to step back.

"Forgive me, Ser." She said, before a hand over Daria's head to assure her everything was fine. "I'm alright."

With an unsure nod of his head, the guard let Ylina pass and, as soon as her first high-heeled boot clicked against the stone floor, all the lords stopped their conversation and got up from their seats.

"My lady." They all said, as Ylina smiled the best she could and nodded at them as she passed by, walking straight at Robb at the head of the table.

"How are you feeling?" He whispered down at her, pressing the palm of his hands against her cheek as soon as she was close enough.

"Alright." She responded in the same tone, eyes locking with his. "Been better."

Robb smiled at that and let go of her, allowing the girl to walk around him to stand beside Theon, who was sat beside Bran as the younger boy seemed to drift in and out of sleep every second.

"I told you to go see a Maester." The Greyjoy said, causing Ylina to smiled gently as she placed a kiss to his forehead.

"And I told you I don't need to." She retorted, as Robb chuckled at the already expected behavior.

"Don't bother, Theon. For Ylina to actually go see a Maester, she needs to be properly dying." He said, as his sister scoffed and shoved him slightly, almost completely forgetting about all the lords around them.

"And since I'm not, I don't have to see anyone. Now, will you two please leave me alone?"

Chuckling lightly, the two young men decided to drop the subject, even if none of them was too happy with the outcome. Before any of them could say anything, however, Ylina turned to Robb while having hand on Theon's shoulder.

"You wanted to see me, brother?" She asked, causing Robb to nod.

"I was expecting you could take Bran to bed, since he seems to have lost interest in the conversation we are having here." He smirked, nodding at the boy who was now properly sleeping leaning against Theon's arm. Ylina chuckled with a nod.

"It is past his bedtime, anyway…"

Before the girl could walk away from Robb however, he reached for her arm and she turned to him with a frown.

"Anything else, brother?"

"Yes, sister." He said, causing Ylina to nod and allow Robb to pull her closer to him as he stood at the head of the table, turning her around so the two of them were facing the lines of lords in front of them. "I called you here so you can hear what I have to say next. Since I'll be going away for a while, I'm hereby nominating you the active Lady of Winterfell and wardeness of the North in my absence."

At that, Ylina felt her eyes widening and, apparently, she wasn't the only one surprised. At the end of the table, a man Ylina recognized as Lord Glover got up from his seat.

"You expect us to leave a woman in command, my lord? A Greyjoy, no less?"

"My sister did marry a Greyjoy and she might carry their name now, but she has always carried the Stark blood in her veins and always will. Nothing ever will be able to change the fact that Lady Ylina is a Stark, whose sigil is a wolf and who spent half of her life learning our words."

When Robb turned to her, Ylina wasted no time in reciting the words she could say ever since she could talk.

"Winter is coming." She said, as Robb nodded.

"Ylina is a Stark by blood and a Greyjoy by choice. Nothing will ever change that. She will be the ruler of the North while I am absent and I will hear no more about it, is it clear?"

There was a second of silence, but soon enough, the lords decided it was better not to question that decision and started to agree, with a chorus of 'yes, my lord'.

Ylina felt as if she still couldn't even breathe properly, and when she turned to look at Robb, her brother smiled down at her.

"Robb…" She whispered, incapable of saying anything else.

"You will make a good ruler, Lily. You are smart and kind. I know the North will be in good hands if I leave it in yours." He said, as the girl simply looked up at him. "Besides, it's only temporary."

At that, Ylina nodded, before pulling her brother in for a hug and burying her face in his chest as he chuckled and squeezed her against him lightly, none of them really caring about how they should or shouldn't be behaving in front of the lords.

"Now, go put Bran to bed and sleep a bit, will you?" Robb said, forcing Ylina to look up at him and giving her a tight smile. "You will have a big day tomorrow."

Ylina felt the tears started to gather in her eyes, but breathing deeply, she managed not to break just yet.

"You two better wake me up before you go, or I swear I will follow you into whatever fucking battle you are just to kill you both by myself, do you understand me?"

At that, Robb chuckled, playing with the ends of Ylina's long hair as he placed a kiss to her forehead.

"Consider me warned." He said, before nodding slightly at Bran. "Now go."

Nodding at him, Ylina stepped out of Robb's grasp and walked toward Bran, carefully picking him up as she tried not to wake him up. That failed however because, as soon as Theon helped putting Bran in his wife's arms, he woke up. Or rather, opened his eyes and started to talk nonsense.

"Grey Wind attacked lord Umber… Pulled two of his fingers right off." He said, as Ylina chuckled with a roll of her eyes. "It's true, Lina. Look."

Following Bran's instructions, Ylina noticed how Grey Wind's mouth seemed to be covered in blood. Frowning, she looked for lord Umber, only to find him talking to lord Cerwyn with one hand holding the other, also covered in blood. Ylina gasped as Bran nodded his head lazily against her shoulders.

"See?"

"Yes, I see. But I don't think you should've seen it yourself." She mumbled, walking out of the room as the lords bowed their heads at her again and with Daria at her feet.

"I'm fine, Lina. I'm a…"

"Shh, just go to sleep, love. I think that was all a bit too much for you already."

And it wasn't like she had to tell him twice. As she finally got to Bran's room, carefully putting him to bed and making sure he was well covered, she walked out of his room, closing the door behind her as she looked down at Daria.

"Grey Wind ripped his fingers off, Daria." She whispered, as her own wolf tilted her head at her once again the night. "Seven hells, what else can you direwolves possibly do?"

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones imagines #ylina stark #Robb Stark #Theon Greyjoy #a tale of the lands #the remnant of the pack #bran stark #rickon stark #Winterfell

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firesign23 · 6 years ago

Note

I would like to read that very angry post and learn the two rules.

Okay, so, I was GOING to be all “Here are my well composed arguments” about this, but… honestly, I’m still digesting the specifics of Brienne’s story in 8x06 and getting caught up on “Soo, we’re going with the shallowest interpretation of her character’s desires and also kinda just making her Jaime 2.0: The Just Edition” (more on this rant LATER, because oh it was so much worse than I thought when I read the leaks), so instead y’all get a slightly edited version of the Angry Screaming I sent a friend a few days ago. Buckle up, I am Riled.

A pre-rant note–my husband woke up this morning, checked his phone, and looked at me like a man who had Seen Some Shit. “The leaks were right.” He has never watched Game of Thrones (he’s been waiting until the show is done, and I’m pretty sure season 8 killed his plans to binge it), but honestly I can think of no better way to sum up this experience.

(Fucking MOOD, Jon.)

So, first off, I do not expect a lot from Game of Thrones. The visuals are amazing, the actors are top notch, but there have always been issues with the plot, with misogyny, etc. What has made me so ANGRY about this season is that it thumbs its nose at storytelling as a craft. I expected it to be dumb. I did not expect it to be “Wow, my nine year old literally has a better grasp on constructing stories” dumb. #subvertedexpectations (As an aside, I could turn this into a series of rants about the different elements of storytelling and how season 8 fucked them up, but honestly I’d rather lose a fucking hand and I still have a spite fic to write to fix what I can. So we’ll have to content ourselves with this rant, and if husband ever DOES binge the show I’ll save the others as a reward for surviving the experience.)

Second of all, I want to make this clear that any writing rule can be broken (some I don’t believe SHOULD be, which is what started this rant, but they CAN), but you must understand the rules you are breaking and why. And you can’t break all of them at once. I have seen exactly zero evidence this is true for D&D, those talentless hacks.

Now, onto the two rules for character arcs that should never be messed with because they are SO structurally important, and they’ve fucked over both repeatedly throughout season 8:

(1) A character must always want something. They absolutely do not need to GET it, but they need to want it. Hell, NOT getting it is basically the definition of tragedy.(2) A character getting what they want should not result in “Guess their story is over, we can kill them or write them off”

This applies to SO MANY of the characters right now, but I’m going to use Jaime as an example of (1) and Brienne as an example of (2) because honestly that’s the only plot I’ve followed with any enthusiasm. (There are definitely better examples of (2) within the show, but I used Brienne as an example in the original rant and I’m carrying that over. Because Brienne. Fight me.)

RULE ONE: A character must always want something.

Jaime’s arc has been about redemption, about listening to his own morals instead of the poisonous family first that has been dripped in his ear for decades. The setup is all there–a brash kid who is forced to make a call between his own morals (not burning half a million innocent people) and the oaths he made (to protect the king), makes it, and is reviled for it because the truth is never revealed. He falls further into this “Family above all else” mindset because he’s been groomed since childhood for this. There’s like a whole meta post from me in the Lannisters and abuse, but people better than I have gone there before. For this post, “Jaime’s arc is about redemption, a redemption he doesn’t always BELIEVE in but has been a core of his character from season 1” suffices.

His death absolutely should have been about this redemption. Whether he succeeds and kills his sister and lives, or kills his sister at the cost of his own life, or he gets there and the decades of brainwashing means that he falters at the final hurdle… THAT doesn’t matter, so much, but the impetus absolutely should have been DRIVEN by that need for redemption. Have him go south because he needs to save innocents, or even the family of choice (THERE IS A FAMILY OF CHOICE SCENE IN THE FUCKING EPISODE!!!) Hell, have him SEE saving Cersei as redemption. (I mean, that would be fucking stupid beyond stupid, but it wouldn’t insult me on a crafting level.) Just… don’t go “He’s happy, guess it’s time for a relapse we lay no groundwork for, and then handwave with forgiveness from a female character because…she’s so good and pure? We want to pretend we are deep?” There is no tragedy in Jaime’s death because they moved the goalposts at the very last second.

(As an aside, the Very Dear Friend subjected to this rant responded to this portion of my ire with “Why would they do that? It’s so meaningless”, and all I could say was “Because it’s ~*~sHocKinG~*~ that way. NO, YOU BASTARDS. You make it shocking by laying the groundwork and then subverting our hopes at the last second, but THE GROUNDWORK NEEDS TO BE THERE. YOU NEED TO USE OUR CULTURAL UNDERSTANDING OF STORIES.” This was the toned down version of my actual thoughts, because Very Dear Friend is genuinely dear to me and does not need to know the depths of my creative cursing.)

RULE TWO: A character getting what they want should not be the end of their story.

As for Brienne… she is such an interesting character because she’s SO driven by her own morality. She wants, desperately, to be a knight. Not just BE knighted, but to embody the spirit of knighthood. She gets that knighthood from someone she respects, deeply–she’s one of the few people who truly knows about Jaime’s struggle with morality vs oaths and has utter faith in him–and so she gets what she wants. Great, right? WRONG. We are at Unbreakable Rule #2–a character who gets what they want should not then have nowhere to go.

NB–the original rant here was far more articulate and focused on how this rule is broken, but we might descend into slathering rage instead. Because the ending (oh god, seriously, like I said, I’m still digesting the depth of the shit in this because on a surface level it seems happy but it’s really fucking terrible) puts her in this horrible stagnation that is more focused on title than her actual character. She didn’t necessarily want to be a Kingsguard, she wanted to be a Kingsguard for a king she believed in. And, like, she had a say in electing Bran? (Rereading this rant--that’s a weird phrasing. I’ll deal with it later) But that whole thing makes no sense (“I can’t be lord of Winterfell because I’m the Three Eyed Raven, but I can totally be King” ??? I just… honestly, my brain is not computing this well.) and I just… CAN WE FUCKING TALK ABOUT HOW SHE HAS PREVIOUSLY PLEDGED HERSELF TO PEOPLE WHO ARE IN SOME WAY VULNERABLE??? Seriously, who has she pledged oaths to before now? A gay man and women. Because that was always fucking important to me, and this is just… no.

The ending as it is basically just makes her Replacement Jaime–a highborn heir who instead takes the role of Kingsguard, but don’t worry guys she’s so Noble and Caring that she absolves Jaime of his sins by writing his story in the book. Where’s the fucking vomit emoji? (Don’t get me wrong, that scene is emotional and moving and honestly FUCK YOU GWENDOLINE CHRISTIE FOR BEING SO LOVELY AND TALENTED, but in the wider context of this show I just cannot see it as a good thing.)

I just… look, in my rant a few days ago I’d read the leaks, but I still had some hopes the ending would be better on screen; right now I can’t even articulate the number of levels it bothers me on, so just know that I SHOULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING HAPPY WITH HER ENDING! But I’m not, because it is this surface level understanding of what she desires from knighthood, and there is this… okay, so, I’m articulating this TERRIBLY because the original rant was solid but did not account for fuckery, but you know what Brienne’s ending made me think of? Nikolaj Coster-Waldau’s interviews where he would fight for Jaime’s character and basically get told to shut up and follow the script. THAT is what Brienne’s ending feels like to me, and it shouldn’t. She should have places to GO and GROW from here. Like, there are SO MANY things they could do with these characters that are surprising. Hell, imagine Brienne getting this knighthood and then getting presented with a similar situation to Jaime–does she keep an oath or to her own morals? Make it a smaller scale so that the answer isn’t so simple, have knighthood become shades of grey she never really understood–she gets what she wants, but it’s not simple. Boom, her story will go on after the end credits.

(I also have Capital I Issues with the narrative surrounding her love life and gender and… seriously, this could have been a motherfucking SERIES of rants. I could do a week’s worth just on how they did Brienne dirty)

RULE THREE: If you make me spend over an hour trying to present a coherent explanation for why your writing sucks and I’ve barely scratched the surface, you don’t get to write anything ever again. Sorry, I make the rules and I have decreed it so. All in agreement, raise your hand.

#I don't even go here #game of thrones spoilers #writing #Brienne of Tarth #(and my heart)#Jaime Lannister Deserved Better #(still a fucking tag)#(though that one scene was A Lot To Digest)#game of thrones #you can break writing rules #BUT YOU HAVE TO UNDERSTAND WHAT AND WHY YOU ARE BREAKING THEM #or keep it between yourself and the 10 other Angsty White Dudes in your Creative Writing 101 class

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conqucror-blog · 7 years ago

Note

“I don’t think I can understand your era.”

Fate//series Master/Servant themed sentence starters || Accepting!

“Hmm? There’s not much to understand there, it was a simpler era on a sense. Power was for the owners of the land, lot of war everywhere, arranged marriages… they were easier times.” Nowadays world was confusing to him, they lived silent diplomatic wars, and tried to mantain peace at all costs, there was very complex ways to solve things, crazy techcnology…. he was the one who sometimes couldn’t understand hers, though he loved it, and he loved learned from it (pretty much like learning about a new culture)

“If you have an specific question, though… I would be glad to enlighten you.”

#flosregiis #「answered」— The king must ALWAYS answer his subject’s pledges!#[sorry for lateness but here it is!]

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 6 years ago

Text

Heart of Steel - XIII

Description: Sir James is known throughout the lands as the most fearsome and honorable warrior. Ballads have been written about him. Men fear him. He is the most trusted knight of the King Henry. So why has he given up the glories of war and pledged his loyalty to Princess Y/N?

Pairing: Medieval AU -Knight!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 3,426

Series Masterlist

Steve rubbed his face in exhaustion. He’d been in council after council, making sure all of their plans were invulnerable.

He hadn’t seen Y/N in almost a week. After their quarrel, Steve thought it was best to keep his distance. But he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t difficult. Since he’d met Y/N, Steve felt a draw to the princess.

But she was so hard to read. Sometimes Steve swore she felt something for him, like he did for her. But other times, he wouldn’t be surprised if she declared that she hated him.

Now Steve walked the halls of the castle that was not his own and he didn’t even realize what direction he was going until he arrived at Y/N’s bedchambers.

Steve hesitated. Should he even bother her? Clearly she despised him.

Before he could decide whether to knock or walk away, the door swung open.

Wanda’s eyes widened in surprise and she quickly bowed. “King Steven, I did not expect to find you here.”

“I came to see Y/N.” He said, as if it were obvious.

Wanda’s face fell a little. “Oh, she is not here, Your Majesty.”

Steve glared, “Well, where is she?” He panicked, thinking she snuck out of the castle and put herself in danger.

Wanda looked torn on if she should remain loyal to her best friend and princess, or give up her location to the king.

“Wanda, please.” Steve begged in a whisper.

“She is at the training grounds.” Wanda finally mumbled, eyes glued to the floor in shame.

“Thank you,” he sighed and gripped her shoulder before hurrying away.

Steve expected to find Y/N accompanied Bucky or a few other knights. But she was alone. The training grounds looked even larger when they were just occupied by the feminine, but lonesome, princess.

Before she could feel his approach, Steve watched her for a moment.

With a bow in her hand and a quiver strapped to her back, Y/N let arrow after arrow loose. She had multiple targets yards and yards away. Every arrow landed dead center for each different target. The speed of which she let them loose left Steve amazed and impressed.

Then he realized this must have been how she killed Brock.

Once she had finished all of arrows in her quiver and her body relaxed, Steve started clapping.

Y/N whipped around in a fright. As soon as she realized it was him, she closed her eyes and shakily held her hand over her heart. “Please… do not sneak up on me like that.”

It was then that Steve saw the shadows under her eyes. He had heard she wasn’t getting much sleep since the kidnapping. The shadows were just further proof.

“I apologize. I should have known better than to sneak up on you.” Steve admitted with utter guilt. It was stupid of him to sneak up on her like that.

He quickly tried to change the subject. “I did not know you had such skill with the bow.”

Y/N started fetching her arrows, ripping them harshly from the targets where they were embedded. “My mother says it is untoward for a princess to be able to wield any weapon. If she knew I was practicing so openly, she would scold me for weeks.”

Steve nodded with a shy smirk. Her rebelliousness and independence was intoxicating to him. “One day you will be free of her wrath…” He sighed dramatically and then chuckled.

Y/N eyed him in irritation. “Yes, then I will just have a husband to disapprove of me in her place.”

“Well… I hope you marry a man who does not prohibit your independence.” Steve smiled sadly.

The princess blinked, “That is the first time you have spoken to me about marriage and not used yourself as my hypothetical husband.”

“I suppose it is,” the king sighed.

Y/N felt a twist of guilt in her gut. She truly had hurt Steve after their last conversation.

“Do you possess any other skills in weaponry that I should know about?” Steve asked playfully.

Y/N’s face dropped and she shrugged. “I always begged Sir James to teach me how to wield a sword. He refused and refused… until recently. But he only humored me with one lesson.”

Steve studied her obvious disappointment.

“Perhaps, I can teach you,” he offered sheepishly.

“What?” Y/N asked, almost rudely.

“I can teach you,” he repeated as he looked at the ground.

“Really?” She asked in awe.

Steve looked up, confused as to why she was so taken aback by his offer.

“If it would make you happy, of course.”

“Now?” Y/N breathed.

“Yes,” Steve answered in a laugh.

Without waiting, he looked around and spotted a cluster of training swords left in the mud. He picked one up and tossed it in the air toward her. Y/N quickly caught it in a fluster. It was then that she knew Steve was not going to train and teach her the same way Bucky had. Her knight was overly cautious, almost too careful not to strain her too much or risk hurting her.

Steve was different. He pushed Y/N, encouraging her to find her limitations and then find the strength to overcome them.

At one point, he flung the sword out of her grasp and into the air, catching it gracefully. But in the process, he had forced Y/N’s wrist into a weird angle and she hissed from the pain of it.

“Okay?” Steve asked lightly. He wasn’t babying her.

Y/N just nodded.

Steve threw the sword back at her, “Good. If it were a real battle, you would have to fight through the pain. The enemy will not stop. It is kill or be killed.”

Y/N glared at him, but went back into fighting stance.

She remembered all the tips he gave her, but now she was determined. Y/N knew her only chance was wit and speed. She wasn’t stronger than Steve. That was obvious.

“Everyone has weaknesses. The worst knights are the ones who deny or hide from them. A good warrior faces them head on and figures out how to use them as their advantage.” Steve had advised at the beginning of their lesson.

Now Y/N was slashing back and forth, as fast as she could. The energy forced Steve to take steps backward with each hit, but he held his own. Y/N knew he was distracted with her speed and quick hits. So when he caught her sword in a cross with her own, the last thing he expected was for Y/N to use her feet to kick out his legs from underneath him.

Steve landed roughly on his back, right into the mud.

He chuckled and beamed up at her with pride.

“Very clever,” the king laughed.

“Thank you,” Y/N smirked.

“But the fight is never over,” Steve warned darkly before taking out her own legs and then rolling on top of her.

Y/N yelped at the action.

But then the handle of Steve’s knife, strapped at his waist, was in her line of sight. Without thinking, she quickly unsheathed it and pressed the blade lightly to Steve’s throat.

Steve froze at the sharpness against his skin. But his lips were curled into a side smirk. Yet his eyes were filled with something Y/N had never seen: desire.

Y/N was suddenly aware of Steve straddling her hips and their close proximity... and how fast it was making her heart beat.

He was staring at her lips. This was her cue to push him off before anything could happen. But she didn’t. Y/N was frozen.

Ever so slowly, Steve leaned down. Y/N swore her heart was going to beat out of her chest as she waited for the touch of his lips. They were soft. He didn’t force his tongue into her mouth. The kiss was polite and sweet… and, dare she say, filled with love?

Steve pulled away too soon. His blue eyes were filled with concern, as if he expected her to slap him or yell in disgust.

But Y/N surprised them both when she tossed the knife aside and pulled his head back down, adding even more passion to the second kiss. It quickly lost its innocence when Y/N took over. She playfully bit his bottom lip, earning her a slight moan from Steve. She smirked into the kiss from the sound.

Steve started feeling like they were getting carried away. He forced himself to pull away, even though his body was begging him to go further.

“We must stop…” Steve gasped.

Y/N looked embarrassed, the consequences of her actions catching up to her.

“I am sorry, I should not have…” She began mumbling, pushing him gently away from her.

But Steve grabbed her hands and cut her off, “No, no, no. Please… do not apologize.” He hurried off of Y/N, but pulled her up off the ground along with him.

Y/N wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Y/N,” Steve whispered so gently that she had no choice but to look at him. “We did nothing wrong.”

“Thank you for teaching me, Steve.” Y/N muttered meekly as she started backing away.

“Y/N, wait!” Steve called out.

But she was already bolting.

——————

Y/N was about to have another panic attack. With all of her might, she tried to calm her breathing like Bucky had taught her.

Bucky.

She wanted Bucky.

But she just kissed Steve.

What the hell was she doing?

She needed to get out of the castle. It felt like the cold, stone walls were closing in on her. Without thinking, she started heading for the stables.

For some reason, there were a few kingsguards standing outside of it. When they caught sight of her, their faces hardened and their posture straightened. Then they moved to block her from entering the stables.

“Get out of my way,” she hissed.

“You are not to leave the castle grounds, Your Highness,” one of them stated.

“I said get out of my way,” Y/N was seething now. It was better than having another panic attack.

“We have been given permission to take necessary measures if you try and defy us,” he added. Though he did look embarrassed and apologetic for being forced to share the threat.

“On who’s orders?” Y/N challenged.

“King Henry…and King Steven,” he stuttered out.

Y/N held her head head high and stood her ground. “I am Princess of Zamora. You will do as I say and I say move aside.”

“You cannot go, Y/N,” a voice said behind her.

She turned around to see her brother giving her a sad look. He’d never done that before. Tony prided himself on making sure Y/N never felt sorry for herself. He’d tease her before he ever allowed her to linger on tragedy.

So to find him looking at her like that now… it was unsettling.

“I only wish to go riding,” Y/N whispered to her brother. But suddenly tears had filled her eyes. “Please, Anthony, just take me riding.”

Tony rushed forward, wrapping his arms around his little sister.

“Come on. Come on.” He whispered into her ear as he slowly led her away.

Y/N wasn’t even paying attention to where he was taking her. She just blindly let him lead her around the castle. It wasn’t until she felt the rough breeze that she realized he had taken her the the tower connected to his side of the castle.

“Just breathe for a second, okay?” Tony begged her softly.

Then he didn’t say anything more. He just held her in his arms and let her catch her breath and take in the fresh air.

Once she calmed down, he turned to take in the view.

“You know… when I was just a child, I stormed into father’s bedroom and claimed I would never marry. I said I did not need a wife or a queen…I would rule Zamora all on my own.”

Y/N squinted at him.

“Father said I overestimated the strength of a king and underestimated the power of a queen. He said I would be selfish and naive to believe I could rule a kingdom with no one at my side.” Tony sighed. “It took me awhile to finally understand father’s lesson. Unfortunately, I slept with every bar maiden before that happened.” He chuckled darkly, taking a moment to remember his days as a promiscuous prince.

“I never wished to be married, to live a life with a woman only for political reasons,” Tony admitted. “I wanted independence and indiscrimination and freedom.”

“But you love Pepper!” Y/N interrupted.

“Yes, I love her more than anything. And will never truly be worthy of her.” Tony agreed. “But that took time. I was horrible to her when we first met. I wanted nothing to do with her, treated her as if she was a burden and a curse.”

“Why are you telling me this, Tony?” Y/N asked with shaky words.

Tony turned and stared at her for a moment.

“Because you cannot be with him.”

Y/N swore he heart stopped at the words.

“King Steven?” She somehow managed to whisper.

But Tony shook his head. “Sir James,” he clarified.

Y/N tried to control her emotions, to remain unfazed by his statement.

“You do not have to argue against my accusations or admit to them.” Tony added hurriedly. “I am not here to expose you or tell you who you can and cannot love.”

“Love…” Y/N whispered so quietly that Tony didn’t even catch it. She suddenly felt sick and tightened her grip on the stone banister of the tower.

“People think royalty is a blessing. But they do not know of the curse it can also bring.” Tony told her quietly. “We do not get the privilege to love whomever we wish. Our marriages are more than just two people… it is two kingdoms, two families, two royal bloodlines.”

“I know,” Y/N suddenly hissed.

“Do you?” Tony challenged.

“You think I do not know that my heart can never be my path!? My duty to my kingdom, to our family, has always been my precedence. How dare you think I would do something so foolish, so selfish! Do you truly think so low of me?”

Tony’s eyes flared in anger. “You avoid Steve, addressing him as if he were no better than Prince Brock! He is a good man, Y/N. There are not many I call true friends, yet he is one of them. He would look after you…love and care for you. And you smite him every chance you get!”

“Why should you care? You get everything! You get Zamora! You get to marry the woman you love! You always have and you always will have your way! So why do you care what I do with my life?!” Y/N screamed.

“Because I do not want you to get your heart broken!” Tony finally matched her yelling, making her jump in surprise and take a step back.

They both took a moment to regain their heavy breathing.

“How did you know?” Y/N whispered, not having the courage to raise her gaze from the ground as she asked.

“What?”

“How did you know about - about… him?”

Tony rubbed his face. “I just recently suspected it. The way he has always watched over you. I never worried for your safety, not when he was with you. The man never showed any evidence of his affections for you. But then I started looking harder: he shifts his weight everytime you laugh around him… his eyes spark when you give someone a brash retort.” Then Tony took in a deep breath. “And when they… took you… I swore he would die trying to bring you back and he would kill anyone standing between him and you.”

A tear slid down Y/N’s cheek as she listened.

“He is a good man, Y/N. I know this. But the more you cross that line, the harder it will hurt when you are stripped of him.”

Y/N just nodded her head and wiped her tears away harshly. There was nothing more to say. Y/N already knew everything Tony spoke of. It was exactly why she had repressed her feelings toward Bucky for so long.

But to hear the harsh truth from someone else, someone other than in her conscience, made it hurt so much more.

Y/N shoved past Tony and hurried to her room.

When she got there, she practically begged Wanda to find Bucky for her. But her friend came back after almost an hour and claimed he was nowhere to be found.

Y/N stared out her window, deep in thought. She knew what she had to do. It was just finding the courage to do it that she was having trouble with.

Y/N lost track of time, but the moon was high in the sky by the time she escaped her reverie and actually moved.

Next thing she knew, she was standing in front of the guest room where Steve had been staying while the kingdoms prepared for war.

Y/N knocked on the door.

Steve opened the door and immediately gave her a look of concern.

But Y/N was too busy taking him in to notice. He wasn’t wearing a shirt so his muscular build was fully on display. His cloth trousers were low on his hips. His hair was adorably messy, proving that she had woken him up.

“What has happened? Are you alright?” He hurriedly asked in a raspy and tired voice.

“Do you truly wish to marry me?” It was almost pathetic how she asked him.

Steve let out a sigh, glad there was no imminent danger.

“Yes,” he answered in a breath.

“How are you so sure?” She challenged.

His eyes turned sad as he watched her for a moment. “Please, come in.” He urged her. How could they possibly have this conversation while she stood in the hallway?

And awkward silence fell upon them as soon as Steve closed the door behind her.

“I must apologize for the way I behaved earlier today.” Y/N eventually whispered.

“Please, you have nothing to apologize for.” Steve rushed forward, wanting to touch her to further assure her. But knowing better than to do that.

“You have been so forthcoming with your intentions and affections. But I… I fear my own and I know it is growing more and more unfair to you.”

“I fear I have not been completely honest with you…” Steve sighed. “I knew much about you before I even met you. Tony and your father spoke of you more often that I originally admitted.” Steve smiled, “Tony told me of how troublesome you were as a kid. But also how your heart was more pure than anyone he knew. Your father spoke of your strength, how you would sit on his lap as a child during war council meetings and listen with such seriousness.”

Steve sighed, “When I saw you at the ball, I did not know who you were. It felt like a dream when I realized you were the woman I had grown so fond of hearing about.”

Y/N seemed to shrink at such a confession. She continued to accuse him of being a stranger. But all this time, he was just trying to get close to her after falling in love with the woman her brother and father had painted.

“It is not the idea of you that I will love, but you, Y/N.” Steve added forcefully, as if he could read her mind.

Without thinking, Y/N rushed forward and kissed him. Steve seemed more prepared than he had been back at the training grounds. He quickly pulled her closer to him and took control of the kiss. She felt him grip her waist and then his hands slip up her sides so they were clutching each side of his face.

Y/N pulled away before Steve wished, but he kept his forehead pressed to hers in defiance. His thumbs tracked the edges of her jaw.

“I will marry you.” Y/N whispered.

All his movements halted at her declaration.

“Truly?” He almost whimpered.

She nodded and barely had enough time to register what she had said before Steve’s lips crashed against her’s once again.

---------------

Part XIV

I know. I know. I’m evil for ending this chapter on that. But I’m evil...so whatever.

#knight!bucky #heart of steel #heart of steel series #knight!bucky x princess!reader #knight bucky #king!steve rogers #king!steven rogers x princess!reader #medieval!bucky #medieval!avengers #medieval marvel au #medieval!bucky x princess!reader #marvel au

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itsclydebitches · 6 years ago

Note

OZ👏QROW👏FAM or like if ur interested in them at all I keep dumping aus in the server go have fun

so about those rOYALTY AUS 🙌

“Not a step closer.”

James had his sword leveled at the visitor’s throat and Ozpin knew, despite the tremble in his legs, that his aim would be true if it was needed. If it came to that. The man must have seen the same gleam of determination because he didn’t sneer at the crooked wrongness of James’ right leg, or the empty sleeve that hung from his tunic. He merely stopped, hands raised in a universal gesture of peace.

The man cocked his head, then swallowed the leaf he’d been chewing and let a smirk rise to take its place. “Hey, hey. Don’t go getting pissy. You lot are the ones who invited me.”

“…We did, yes.”

Ozpin stood, moving to close the distance despite James’ hissed protest. He’d never considered his casual wear to be overly formal for his position—especially compared to some of the foreign rulers he’d met in years past—but as he descended from his throne Ozpin suddenly found his robes and crown overbearing. They were certainly a far cry from the man’s loose gray pants and… bare chest.

Ozpin swallowed. There was nothing but scars and a crossed-shaped necklace to draw attention away from what, he was not ashamed to admit, was a glorious example of a warrior in his prime. Ozpin settled for keeping careful eye-contact with the man and something about that smirk told him he knew exactly what he was doing.

Nevertheless. Only one of them was king here. Best to keep that in mind. Ozpin straightened and centered his scepter between them. “You’re the one they call Qrow?”

“Yep.”

“Mercenary for hire?”

“That’d be me.” Qrow drew another leaf from his pocket and this time Ozpin could smell the mint on it, an oddly soothing sensation that contrasted the hard planes of his body; muddied boots and windblown hair. “You always ask questions you already know the answer to?”

“How dare you—” James began, but Ozpin shot a hand up, keeping him where he was.

“At times,” he acknowledged, taking another step forward. “I usually find the how just as telling as the what. Your manner is… not what I expected.”

Qrow shrugged, the muscles along his shoulders rippling. It allowed the hall’s torches to cast light over the thick, raised scars there and when he turned Ozpin caught sight of a tattoo: huge wings etched into the skin of his back. It seemed like Qrow was showing off for him, though not in any way Ozpin was familiar with. Those wishing to curry favor usually did so with jewels and honeyed promises. Not arriving in court dressed like a bedraggled peasant.

“Think of this as your proof,” Qrow said, pulling at the top of his pants so they dipped below his hip, revealing another, jagged scar. He laughed when Ozpin averted his eyes. “You want a bodyguard, yeah? Kinda hard to prove my worth though, so I let my body do the talking. Unless you want a demonstration. I’ll happily kill that guy for you.”

James made an indignant sound as Qrow pointed and Ozpin quickly hid a smile behind his hand. It wouldn’t do to laugh at the head of his royal guard… no matter how justified. Qrow just blinked innocently.

Ozpin coughed. “Ideally I don’t want you to kill anyone. Although…” his eyes hardened. “I must know. Would you hesitate to protect me from a woman?”

“No.” The answer was quick even as Qrow’s shoulders registered his surprise. He was, perhaps, revealing even more than he’d intended. “Threat’s a threat, far as I’m concerned. Why? You fucked and pissed off a broad?”

“You!” James’ sword gave a tremendous clang as it rebounded off the tile floor. His strike had left a small nick. “You will address the King with respect!”

“Fine. Did you fuck and piss off a broad, Your Majesty?”

“No—” but Ozpin had already inclined his head, trying to keep Qrow out of James’ line of sight.

“In a manner of speaking. I was betrothed to the queen of a neighboring kingdom and though I found her company adequate, we have rather… different ideas about how to manage our subjects. She has not taken the annulment well and I find myself in need of more protection than my guard can currently give me.”

That broke the tension. James looked away, his jaw set. Ozpin felt a pang for his words… and yet he knew them to be true.

Qrow didn’t take the opportunity to seize ground though. For the first time the smirk slipped from his face and something of the killer Ozpin had heard so much about began to surface. His weight settled. His hands curled. “Right. Think I know the queen you’re talking about. Dangerous woman, huh?”

“Incredibly.”

“Then I’m in.” Qrow suddenly clapped his hands together in glee, sweeping into a mock bow. Just like that. Gone was the killer and here was the man. “We pledge to serve you, oh great King Ozpin, for however long you need us. Or until this kingdom of yours runs out of booze. Whichever comes first.”

“A drunk,” James muttered, but at least he’d finally put away his sword.

Ozpin smiled. “I am glad to hear it. You may have as much wine as you please and of course you will be paid handsomely for your work. I trust that you—wait.” He paused, blinking. “I’m sorry, did you say we?”

“OSCAR!”

What Ozpin had thought was more of Qrow’s luggage suddenly sprang to life and sprinted down the length of the hall, tripping over the plush rug and very nearly careening into a suit of armor. Ozpin gasped, but by the time he’d started forward the boy was already on his feet again, none the worse for wear. Within moments a dubious collection of freckles and dirt smudges had come to rest in a far more sincere bow.

“Your Majesty,” the boy said in the squeak of the terrified. “I’m, um, Oscar. Oscar Pine. It’s a great pleasure to serve you and I swear I won’t let you down, whatever you need just ask, it’s no trouble at all, and I—ow!” Oscar jumped back into a vertical position as Qrow pinched his leg.

“Oscar,” he said, somehow both a reprimand and an introduction. “Farm boy I picked up a few months back. He’s great. Kinda awkward. Best assistant a mercenary could want though. Never let’s me go dry,” and Qrow plucked a flask from Oscar’s belt that he tipped down the back of his throat.

James had gone eerily still. “You let a child assist you in your work?”

“No!” Oscar frantically waved his hands as Qrow began to choke. Ozpin watched the spilled wine travel down the hollow of his throat and over his collarbone. Hmm.

“No, Mr. … Mr. Knight Sir. Qrow was passing through our village when my aunt died. I would have starved without him. So I do what I can to, um, not be a burden now. Really. I can cook, mend clothes, carry supplies…” Oscar trailed off, seeming to realize that none of this would be useful within the expanse of a palace.

Ozpin’s expression softened.

“Well, you certainly won’t starve here,” he said. “I think I’ll introduce you to my archivist, Glynda. There’s much a bright boy like you can do to assist her. Can you read, Oscar?”

He shook his head, looking a little numb.

“That’s quite alright. You’ll learn. Yes, I think this arrangement will suit us all just fine.”

As Oscar’s mouth slowly unhinged, Qrow leaned an arm down onto his shoulder and tipped the empty flask. A few stray drops fell to the rug, making James twitch.

“So about that wine…”

This time Ozpin couldn’t hide his smile. Oh yes. Somehow, this felt right.

“Wine? No, no.” Ozpin strode past in a cascade of fabric, scepter in hand, long hair falling over both his shoulders. He knew what he looked like when he chose to play the part of a King. Qrow wasn’t the only one who knew how to… recommend themselves.

That look he caught? Quite satisfying.

“The first thing you two will receive is a bath. Then yes. I’ll happily share a drink with you, Qrow.”

Ozpin kept walking. It was one of the first rules he’d learned at his mother’s knee: never look back. Literally or figuratively—don’t let them see your regrets. Just keep moving forward.

So Ozpin did.

Qrow and Oscar followed.

#rwby #rwbyfic #ozqrow #funny how I keep saying 'drabble'...#kateitron

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joannalannister · 7 years ago

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Lady Joanna, may I please ask if you have any thoughts on Loren the Last and any other past Monarchs of the Westerlands? (I ask this having already commissioned and posted an illustration of King Loren on deviantArt, but genuinely wondered if you had ideas for any of his predecessors and thought one might as well include the first "modern" Lord of the Rock).

OooOOoooo omg this is you? I saw it this morning on DA, It’s gorgeous! Do you plan to post it on tumblr? I would love to reblog it from you, along with the other ones!

My main interest in the Lannister kings is that GRRM uses them to continue to explore themes present in the main series. For example, the relationship between the body and the self (or identity), and #body as battleground, is something that goes all the way back to Lann the Clever, who supposedly “sired a hundred bold sons and a hundred lissome daughters, all fair of face, clean of limb, and blessed with hair ‘as golden as the sun.’”

GRRM/Yandel establishes ~The Lannister Identity~ as people who are beautiful, able-bodied (“clean of limb”), and golden-haired … people who are gender-conforming ie men who are “bold” and Masculine to the point of Toxicity, and women who are thin and gentle and graceful (“lissome”) …

When the text says this, we’re supposed to say, “Wait. That’s bullshit.” (So much of Yandel’s writing is Bullshit.) Because characters like Genna immediately spring to mind. Genna who is fat and so much bolder than her timid husband. Genna “Get the Trebuchet” Lannister who is anything but gentle. Or Tyrion, who is disabled and who has white hair instead of gold and who in his own words would rather die in bed than in battle. (This is why Tyrion is Not A Targaryen; Tyrion is the linchpin of GRRM’s deconstruction of ~The Lannister Identity~.)

And so, continuing this deconstruction in TWOIAF, just a few paragraphs after the “bold sons” passage, we get Loreon V, who “was dubbed Queen Lorea, for he was fond of dressing in his wife’s clothing and wandering the docks of Lannisport in the guise of a common prostitute.” I don’t know if Loreon would have considered themself trans or genderfluid or what, but Loreon undercuts the Bold, Masculine image that House Lannister would like to present to the world. And the fact that Loreon would rather be perceived as a common prostitute than a king … that’s a profound rejection of Lannister classism and elitism imo. I love how GRRM builds House Lannister up so that he can tear down its most vile aspects.

The other ASOIAF theme that crops up here that I’m interested in is the duality of man. It’s not something readily apparent in the individual Lannister kings mentioned in TWOIAF, because we usually only get a sentence or two describing them, but it’s the way that GRRM writes it. In one sentence, Yandel praises the Lannister kings for their wisdom and their valor, only to follow it with this sentence: “Yet Casterly Rock also housed many a weak, cruel, and feeble king.”

And my favorite example of this in TWOIAF is Tyrion II versus Tyrion III. Tyrion II was known as the Tormentor who delighted in making women bleed, while Tyrion III was a great conciliator, bringing the Andals and the First Men of the Westerlands together through marriages. We know from GRRM that Tywin named Tyrion, and I feel 100% certain that Tywin named Tyrion for Tyrion II the Tormentor, but I like to think GRRM named Tyrion for both. Or rather, GRRM created both of these Tyrions for the World Book, so that Tyrion Son of Tywin could be named for both of them to fill in that backstory. Tyrion has done some horrible things, but I believe he’s also capable of doing great things. (Such great things.)

The heroes will always be remembered. The best.““The best and the worst. […] And a few who were a bit of both.

And so we come to Loren the Last.

Do you know who I think of when I think of Loren? I think of Lancel, Kevan’s son.

When Tyrion was recounting the tale of the Field of Fire in AGOT, he says, “King Loren had escaped, and lived long enough to surrender, pledge his fealty to the Targaryens, and beget a son, for which Tyrion was duly grateful.”

Now – this is just my impression!! maybe I’m wrong!! – my impression here has always been that Loren was a young man when he set foot on the Field of Fire – young enough that he hadn’t yet fathered any sons before his surrender.

So imagine, if you will, a young Loren, not long a king, “cursed with all the certainty of youth, unleavened by any trace of humor or self-doubt, and wed to the arrogance that came so naturally to those born blond and strong and handsome. His recent elevation [to the throne of the Rock] had only made him worse.”

The Gardener king needed the Lannister armies more than the Lannister armies needed him imo. Highgarden would have fallen easily to the dragons, but Casterly Rock? Never. So what madness possessed King Loren to leave the safety of the Rock and voluntarily meet the Targaryens and their dragons in the field? I believe Loren was “too young, too bold, too eager for glory” (like a lot of other Lannister boys).

Loren must have thought he couldn’t lose. And for a few golden moments, it was high summer for House Lannister.

The hosts met on the broad plains of the Reach, amidst golden fields of wheat ripe for harvest. When the Two Kings charged, the Targaryen army shivered and shattered and began to run. For a few moments, the chroniclers wrote, the conquest was at an end … but only for those few moments, before Aegon Targaryen and his sisters joined the battle.

But it is high summer for House Lannister. So why am I so bloody cold? –Tyrion, ASOS

(There are so many parallels between ASOIAF history and the main sequence of events, I love it. Whether it’s the Conquest or the War of the Five Kings or the War for the Dawn, the Lannisters can’t stand against the fire, and they shouldn’t try.)

Oh, how he must have regretted his folly.

Loren Lannister […] knelt as a king and rose as a lord.

The sense of loss here – of failure – to have a major part of your identity stripped from you and to be branded with that shameful sobriquet, “the Last,” a title that calls to mind Jon Connington’s words to Tyrion as “the last and least of our company”.

This newly minted king, who reigned so briefly, only to lose everything because of his pride.

Imagine walking off that field, the sickly sweet smell of charred flesh all around you.

Imagine the horror of it:

Ravens soared through a grey sky on wide black wings, while carrion crows rose from their feasts in furious clouds wherever he set his steps. […] From the pyres of the dead rose black columns of smoke and white-hot ashes. My work, thought […] Lannister. They died at my command. […]

So many dead, so very many. Their corpses hung limply, […] unrecognizable, hardly human. Why did I kill them all? He had known once, but somehow he had forgotten.

What madness possessed Loren to leave the safety of the Rock and meet the dragons in the field? “He had known once, but somehow he had forgotten.”

Perhaps Loren stepped onto the Field of Fire as a young man, but I believe he left it an old one.

“Near four thousand men had burned that day, among them King Mern of the Reach.”

Imagine turning your horse for home with that many ghosts.

Imagine Loren’s once-mighty army, now greatly diminished, marching back up the Ocean Road. In every village, every town, every holdfast they pass by … imagine the accusing eyes of all the women of the west, the highborn and the low, the widows and orphans and now-childless mothers.

Imagine how many of Loren’s friends died on the Field of Fire. The male half of Loren’s court must have been decimated, and the female half might have taught Barbrey Dustin a thing or two about hate.

And after the dust settles…

How crushing must it have been to be the last and least of thousands of years of Lannister kings? The last and least of such a proud lineage?

Imagine walking through Casterly Rock, the seat of Lannister kings, the Rock itself like a throne at the edge of the Sunset Sea. And in every hall, every gallery remain the trappings of a lost monarchy, a constant reminder, as if Loren could ever forget.

“Loren […] lived long enough to […] beget a son”

Again, this is just my headcanon, but I imagine Loren died young, with only the one son to his name.

(We don’t know Torrhen Stark’s age AFAIK, but in contrast to young King Loren, I imagine Torrhen was an older man. He was certainly a wiser one.)

idk, Loren hits all of my Lannister feelings. The Romanticism-capital-R, the tragedy, the hubris, the trainwreck of it all.

And this is, like, probably totally irrelevant to everyone but me, but this:

Loren Lannister […] knelt

makes me also think of this:

Yet Grand Maester Pycelle tells us that when Aerys II announced Ser Jaime’s appointment from the Iron Throne, his lordship went to one knee and thanked the king for the great honor shown to his house. Then, pleading illness, Lord Tywin asked the king’s leave to retire as Hand.

The loss, the tragedy, the failure to protect the people we love … it kills me every time. Every time.

(I paralleled Tywin and Loren in my fanfic, they give me Emotions.)

Also Loren and I share the same name, his is just the male spelling :) Since you asked for my thoughts and that is definitely something I think about :)

Also also, I would be remiss if I did not mention @racefortheironthrone’s essays on the politics of the Westerlands, which analyze the policies of Lannister monarchs in detail

Part I

Part II

Part III

***

I don’t know if this satisfies your curiosity? Whenever people ask vaguely for my thoughts on a broad subject, I’m like, “But which thoughts? Headcanons I made up? Close examinations of the text? Both? Character-driven or thematic? An ASOIAF-only approach or in the context of the larger fantasy genre?” and then I just spray unfocused thoughts all over the place, if I answer broad questions at all.

Anyways, this is far too long already, so I hope that satisfies!

#the loren lannister fic i will never write #captainwordsmith #replies #loren lannister #lannister thoughts #house lannister #the westerlands #a plus j does not equal t #tyrion the tormentor

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ivanaskye · 7 years ago

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Y’all need... chapter FIVE of elrond fic?

(at this point, it is fair to say I am not sorry.)

The first rains of the season are falling, the very first, the first since I have chosen, and I am smiling to find myself memorize their rhythms on the leaves above. I sit with Elros, and look to him, and that itself is a comfort I know I will carry with me through the long years—him, my mirror image, so different from me and yet so familiar.

And the rain makes such a gentle melody as we take shelter under one of the larger trees.

“Well, this came about suddenly,” he comments.

“Indeed it did!” I say, smiling to watch the white of it around us, the way it grays and blurs the world and yet makes the green seem greener.

“Will your mirth ever cease,” Elros mutters, although I know it is not in disdain, not at all.

“No, never,” I say, a light of playfulness flashing in my eyes and my voice. “That is what I promised. That is what I chose.”

“Although did you not say that two days ago you spent the whole of the night crying?”

“Well, there is that,” I say, and smile at him, and I know what he sees in my smile: me, his brother, his twin, insufferable always and forever, to the ends of the earth.

“I would say that I do not understand you,” Elros says, “if you haven’t regularly spent hours and hours explaining every last part of your thought processes to me—“

I laugh. “And rightly so! For does it not do you well to understand your own brother?”

“It also does well to have some moments of silence and peace,” Elros mutters.

“You have some!” I say. “Occasionally.”

“Not anytime I’m within earshot of you.”

I grin, not having any way to deny this. “But you love me all the same.”

He rolls his eyes. “You seem to seek to hasten my departure, to lead my people, to maybe have some freedom from your constant chatter—“

“Don’t worry, I’ll visit!” I say, still grinning.

“I am to lead a kingdom,” Elros says, almost a mutter in the gentle and misty air. “And what, exactly, are your plans? Other than visiting me and my descendants, and bothering them for all time?”

I smile, and let that smile be gentle. “I have been thinking of it.”

“Have you now, for last I heard, thinking requires not talking—“

“I have!” I say. “And it seems to me that so much is lost, or might be, and I do not wish that for it, I do not wish it—“ I almost choke in a sob, the emotion coming fast, as it does in Elves but also always has in me, even before my choice. “I wish to remember, brother. You know that.”

“And…?”

“And so I find myself daydreaming of long travels to collect the knowledge of our peoples, to hear all they remember of Beleriand and also all they know of the crafts they have learned, and cooking, and language—all of it. And in me it will be kept, safe—and when I write it, it will be safer, safe even from the possibility of my death. And for that reason I wish to know all that both our peoples know, in case, in case—“

“You are so greedy!” Elros says. “For time, for knowledge, for everything! It is never enough for you, is it?”

“What, life?” I ask. “Because, no, Elros, life is never enough for me and never will be, not in the sense that I will tire of it! I will never have had my fill, I will drink from its cup and drink and drink, though centuries may pass, and millenia, and pain and sorrow and war, and still I will not turn back from it! I will not escape it! I will not ever have enough!”

In a moment as I talked, Elros almost shrunk back from my voice, but now he smiles, a strange peace in his face. “Then do that, brother. Do that, do it all, and tell me how it goes, after the breaking of the world—“

“But I thought you wanted me to give you peace from my words?” I ask. “For then, so far from now, when our different paths finally reconnect after long years—then, Elros, I will have so much to tell you, and I doubt all the powers in the world will be able to stop my tongue.”

“I know,” Elros says. “And perhaps that is why I ask for some moments of peace now. And why I am glad you may spend some years—maybe even more!—wandering distant mountains and fields in search of knowledge, giving me some years of peace without your visits.”

“Though you might miss me,” I comment.

He rolls his eyes. “I will hold celebrations each time you leave.”

“You’ll still miss me,” I say. “You’ll suddenly find yourself restless at night, and wonder why, until you realize that you can’t find anyone better than me to be irritated at, it will feel so strange—“

He slaps me, gently, on my head. “Wishful thinking, brother.”

I just smile at him. “Oh, you love me, and you know it.”

There’s footsteps, and even though the sound is though mud rather than hard dirt ground, I recognize them immediately, for of course I memorize so quickly now.

“I was wondering why you two had not come back with the rest of the hunting party,” Gil-galad says.

“Well, it is raining, you see,” Elros says.

“So was it when the rest returned,” Gil-galad says.

“Ah, but there was also the problem that we were already further behind, because Elrond could not help himself but to show me a strange beetle he found—“

“—It was blue and orange, and shining like the sun!” I protest.

Elros shakes his head. “Anyway, my brother here delayed me, and so it started pouring while we were still somewhat far, and we sought shelter.”

Gil-galad smiles. “Well,” he says, “now that I know where you are, would you mind if I relax here with you? I find that I might enjoy the company.”

I nod, but am sure to glance to Elros, in case he disagrees—and he says, “yes,” and I hear no lie in his voice nor see any on his face.

And so Gil-galad sits across from us, water dripping off his dark hair. He sits on a bed of grass and pine needles, less under the crown of deepest shelter that Elros and I have found, but still far dryer than he would have been out in the open.

“So I hear you’ve been getting to know my terrible brother,” Elros says, and had I been drinking something, I am fairly sure I would have spat it out.

“That appears to be the case,” Gil-galad says with a smile, surprising me: he has never himself said something so irreverent about anyone, so I did not expect him to respond to such a statement with case.

“Tell me,” Elros says, “have you gotten him to shut up yet? And if so, please do inform me as to how. I’m listening.”

If I had not lived with Elros all my life, I might find myself embarrassed at this.

“No, not particularly,” Gil-galad says with a smile. “Nor would I want to. In fact, at first I had some difficulty getting him to freely say things to me.”

“So you have discovered it then!” Elros says. “The secret for him to be quiet.”

“Intimidation,” Gil-galad says simply. “But nevertheless, how are you faring? Both of you, whoever is interested in answering?”

“I find myself planning,” Elros says. “Preparing. I have much ahead of me.”

And he worries whether he will be able to manage it, or how. He does not say this, but I hear it in his voice—it’s not a waver, it’s an added hardness. As if to cover the fear up. I know him too well not to hear it.

But he has not said it, so I know he does not want Gil-galad to know, and so of course I will respect that—by turning the subject away from him, by talking incessantly about myself, just as he always complains about.

“Well,” I say, “I find myself listening to the rain, memorizing it, although of course I always memorize everything now, it is sinking into me and becoming like the fabric of me, or no, like a fabric around me that I will never lose possession of. It is mine to hold, and I need not fear its loss, no matter what next happens, no matter if the rain stops falling this next second and the sun begins to shine. It will not be lost in me, not really.”

“Not even at the breaking of the world,” Gil-galad says with a smile. “Elrond, some of your words remind me to be truly happy to be alive.”

I smile genuinely, without thinking—but also bow, playfully, with thinking. “In that way, I will be at your service,” I say.

“Elrond!” Elros says. “He is the High King of the Noldor! Did you just—“

I think I can feel myself blush, realizing what I said. “I just technically pledged … well, I meant—“ and yet, I cannot finish the sentence, for it seems strangely wrong to take it back now.

Gil-galad smiles, in that calm and kind way that I am already growing used to. “You do not have to mean that as a true pledge. I would not mind, either way.”

And yet, and yet, in these past few days I have grown to like him, and I know the way the words I spoke feel in me. “And yet, I think it was a true pledge.”

When I glance to the side, I find Elros’ face firmly in the palms of his hands.

“Brother, if this must be embarrassment, it is not yours to bear,” I tell him.

“I still had to listen to it,” he complains, and I understand—he bears so much without thinking, and he always has. And I know the way pain weighs on him, I have seen it so often in his eyes.

“And yet it is just embarrassment,” I say to him, gently. “It is nothing worse.” I turn to Gil-galad, and I smile, and I say, “Although I do not think I am embarrassed.”

“Shut up…” Elros moans.

“Never,” I say.

#elrond #elros #silm #gil-galad #help- elrond is a DORK.

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