#ARLE FOR SMASH

[super-smash-bracket]

ROUND ONE

Arle Nadja

Pit: Is this a lost little kid? What's the little blob things she's throwing around? Palutena: Those are Puyo, and that little kid is Arle! She's a talented little mage who's best friends are Carbuncle, Ringo, and Amitie. She can even commune with the Puyo and understand their innermost thoughts. Viridi: So... What in the world is a Puyo? Pit: They look kinda edible, like a gummy. Viridi: I wouldn't eat that. Palutena: Edibility of the Puyos aside, you should be focusing on Arle. Even though she's a talented mage, she can even more powerful with her Diacute spell! That boosts the power and range of her other spells, and even increases the amount of Puyos she can throw around! Pit: So she can make herself stronger mid-fight? Thanks for warning me! ...And what do the Puyos do? Palutena: I dunno. Viridi: HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW?!

Mr. AR

Pit: Woah! A cube! Palutena: That's Mr. AR. You might recognize him from when you were playing around with those little cards with your 3DS, Pit. Pit: Hm... Wait, I think I recognize him now! Hey, Mr. AR! It's been a while! Viridi: AR? Palutena: Augmented Reality. Imagine you hold up a camera to your bedroom, and you see something through the camera that isn't there in reality. Viridi: ...You are describing a ghost. Pit: Wait... Is Mr. AR... DEAD?! Palutena: He's not dead, Pit, but you'll want to watch out for when he turns purple. That's his Dark Flip move, and it'll change the properties of all his moves. He's a bit like two fighters packaged in one!

[omegasteve777]

This was the last of the characters specifically from the votes! Back to your regularly scheduled fighters like uhhhhhhhh

[pitty-aegis-parlor]

GUYS YOU NEED TO HELP THEM!

I can’t… keeping those spirits from corrupting those agents and keeping the agents out means I cannot help Pit directly….. I’m really sorry.

[monoceroscaeli]

4.6 leaks actually have mefucking nauseous with excitement it i feel like i am goging to have a stroke. my brain is bluescreening

[athy-87]

a few more. some are sprites ive already done previously or have redone a little after doing them so long ago

this is my smash roster so far do you like it

[megistusdiary]

*clears my throat, takes a drink of water, and opens a scroll*

ahem.

hear ye, hear ye, it tis i, 👑 anon, here to formally request another delectable helping of thine vampire arlecchino works? i do in fact realize that it tis not the tenth month, but why let that deter us? your vampire works are simply magnificent, dear fellow!

i hath been conjuring up an idea in my cranium and it has been floating around inside there for quite some time, you see.

*drops scroll*

anyways, lemme cut to the chase here- the idea is this: werewolf reader x vampire arlecchino where they're both switches and they kinda have to fight for dominance for a bit before arle eventually overpowers the reader 👀 the rest is completely up to you, im down to read anything that you write 🙏

before i end this off i just wanna say rq that i love your works and as a writer i look up to you a lot even though ive been writing for quite some time. ty and have a nice day/evening/night 💕

the way this made me kick my feet and giggle... omg

i am so glad you enjoy vampire!arle, she's one of my favorites!!! i'd be happy to write some more for her

(also, that means so much to me, and i want you to know how honored i feel 🙏 and, welcome 👑 anon ♡♡)

(nsfw utc - tw switch!arle, werewolf!reader)

it has been said countless times, and in many forms of literature (even the ones for humans) that vampires and werewolves do not mix.

obviously, arlecchino can't quite get used to your dog smell. and you can't quite get used to how cold her skin feels.

nevertheless, you've found each other to be quite... agreeable as time has passed. you've come to seek her out, enjoying the time spent with her. she's done the same, thinking about you long after you've left for the evening.

things have progressed rather interestingly in your relationship, though. you seek one another out not only as friends, but as partners. you've found solace in her arms at night, just as she has in yours.

some nights seem to have you needing each other even more than others, full moons, in particular.

tonight, you have her on her back, your body hovering over hers. the effects of the moon have some of your more wolfish characteristics popping out. your eyes look strange, teeth growing into sharp points, nails growing out and poking holes into your bedsheets.

her bright red eyes meet your yellow-hued ones, but before she can speak, you wrap a hand around her throat, effectively cutting her off.

her hand grips yours, a silent warning you ignore with a smug smirk before smashing your lips onto hers. it's messy; teeth and tongue clashing as you fight her for dominance. it leaves you panting, spit trailing onto your skin as your tongue slides over hers.

she rolls you over, now sitting on top of you as she lets your tongue stay in her mouth. she gently nips at your lip, hearing your involuntary whimper. your hand slides off her neck from this position, causing her to gain the advantage as she grips your chin and pulls away.

"just what exactly do you think you're doing?" she asks and you groan at her, trying to pull away.

"it's a full moon! obviously, you know how this-"

she cuts you off by gripping your throat with inhuman speed, squeezing just enough to silence you. "i know what? that you're just a dumb, overgrown puppy who needs to be put back in her place? is that it?" her voice is low and dangerous, thumb sliding over your throat.

she glances at your panties, seeing you've soaked right through them and she glares up at you. "what a slut." she chastises you, tugging the fabric down anyways. she admires the slick connecting them to you before she tosses them away.

you gain back control once more, flipping her over and kissing her, your hand sliding down into her own panties, fingers rubbing over her pussy. she grunts, head falling back into the pillows as your fingers slide into her.

she allows you to play your little game just long enough to bring her to the brink of orgasm. then, you find yourself on your back once more, this time with your ass perked up. she spanks you hard, reprimanding you for bratty behavior.

her fingers find your cunt, harshly slapping your clit before sliding two fingers into you, feeling you tighten up so easily around them.

she mumbles into your ear, all sorts of filthy words as she fucks you on her fingers, pussy fluttering around her. the palm of her hand grinds into your clit, and she guides you to your orgasm only to bite into your shoulder.

you practically scream for her, blood dripping down your skin as she sinks her teeth deeper into you. she grunts, licking over the wounds as you come down from your high. "i detest the taste of most wolves, though it evades me how you, of all of them, could taste so... delectable."

she looks down at you as you pant, head lolling to the side as she peels her own panties off. she tugs you to look at her, slowly inching up your body to position her pussy over your mouth. "go on, mutt."

[ivegotthewholeworldussy]

victory feast (tennis player!arle smut fic)

contains: no plot, arlecchino with a dick, victory sex, size kink, creampie, semi-public handjobs, edging, light exhibitionism, cunnilingus

(nsfw below, mdni)

“40-30. match point, arlecchino,” the umpire announces. it’s the final match of the teyvat grand slam, and to call it intense is an understatement. my girlfriend, arlecchino, is facing off against signora. they’re two of the best female tennis players in teyvat with an ongoing rivalry. the match has been going on for almost five hours now; arlecchino and signora have won two sets each, with this last set determining who will take home the grand slam trophy.

arlecchino prepares to serve the ball, getting in position before tossing it into the air. she strikes the ball with her racket, and signora returns her serve with a forehand. the rally is very long, both refusing to yield or back down. after going for about half an hour, the match is over when arlecchino counters signoras lob with a jump smash.

“game, set, match. arlecchino three sets to five,” the umpire announces. arlecchino and signora meet in the middle of the court, shaking hands for a good game. the officials award arlecchino the teyvat grand slam trophy, and she gives her victory speech.

“…i would also like to thank my wonderful girlfriend, who is my biggest supporter.” she points to me, and the camera moves to the same direction. “without them, i wouldn’t have made it this far.”

i couldn’t help but blush as soon as the camera was on me, and hearing arlecchinos comment only made me even more flustered.

as soon as the stadium clears out, i immediately run to arlecchino, jumping into her arms as i kiss her.

“you did so amazing out there, arle,” i exclaimed. arlecchino chuckles and kisses me back.

“thanks, babe. i wouldn’t have done it without your support,” she responds.

i lean into her ear and whisper, “i have a special victory feast waiting for you tonight, my champion.” i sneak my hand underneath her shirt and run it up and down her abs, letting it travel further down until it reaches her shorts. i pull them down by the waistband, her erection springing out completely.

i wrap my hand around her shaft, and arlecchino lets out a hitched breath. as we make eye contact, arlecchino nods her head, silently giving me permission to continue.

i move my hand down to the tip of her cock, leaking with pre-cum. i swipe my thumb across the tip, and arlecchino lets out a low groan in response. from there, i started stroking her cock up and down, beginning at a slow pace. her hips thrust into my hand as i increase my pace, and the way her dick twitches in my hand indicates shes close to cumming. so i pull my hand away from her, which causes arlecchino to grunt in frustration.

“not yet, handsome. you can have your way with me when we get to our hotel room,” i whisper in a teasing manner. “that was only a sneak peek.”

when we arrived at our hotel room, our clothes are immediately removed, and arlecchino has me pinned down onto the bed. she leaves hickeys all over my neck and chest, and continues to kiss further down my body until her face is close to my soaking entrance.

she kisses the inside of my thighs, teasing me before she finally puts her tongue in my pussy. i let out a loud moan, grabbing arlecchinos face to pull her closer. as she eats me out, she uses her fingers to rub my clit, causing me to grind my hips against her face as she continues her ministrations.

“fuck, arle… i’m so close…” i whimper. my hips move faster as i try to pull her face closer. however, just as im about to cum, arlecchino pulls her face away from my cunt, pulling me in for a kiss. i couldn’t help but let out a groan as i taste myself on her.

“not yet, baby. that was only a sneak peek…” she quips, using my words against me. “after all, you’re the one who said i can have my way with you…”

arlecchino puts me in a mating press, teasing her cock against my entrance. pre-cum leaks from the tip, and she rubs it all over my clit, before pushing herself inside. she pulls me in for a kiss as her dick starts to penetrate me, and i groan into her lips when she bottoms out.

she pulls away from the kiss, looking directly into my eyes. i nod my head, giving her permission to keep going. arlecchino starts to move her hips slowly and asks, “how are you feeling, my love?”

“please, keep going, arle…” i beg desperately. “i need you right now…”

“someone’s being impatient tonight,” arlecchino teases, before continuing to thrust her hips against mine. “you’re so tight around me, baby…”

arlecchino gradually increases her pace, leaving hickeys all over my neck and my chest as she fucks me. she moves her hands up and down my body until they reach my stomach, where the outline of her cock is visible. the feeling of her hand on my stomach has me groaning and clenching around her dick even tighter.

the bed starts to shake as arlecchino and i near our peaks, with sound of our groans gradually increasing in volume. a small part of me feels bad for whoever has the room next to ours, but i couldn’t find it in me to care about it. not when i can feel arlecchinos dick twitching inside my pussy.

“fuck, im gonna cum soon, arle…” i whimper in her ear. arlecchino moves her hips faster in response.

arlecchino uses her fingers to tease my clit, causing me to tighten around her cock as i reach my orgasm. arlecchino cums almost immediately, spilling her seed in my cunt. i clench even tighter around her dick, attempting to milk every last drop from her.

arlecchino holds me in her arms, still keeping her dick inside my entrance. “perhaps i should win more grand slam titles, so i can experience such mind-blowing sex with you more often,” she jests.

i couldn’t help the small chuckle leaving my lips. “we can have all the mind-blowing sex we want, regardless if you win or lose. no matter what, i’ll always be your biggest supporter.”

“i know, my love. you’re the reason i still keep playing,” she whispers in my ear. “i love you so much, baby.”

“i love you too, arle,” i respond, before falling asleep to the sound of my girlfriend’s heartbeat.

[shalomniscient]

what if sheriff sara and cowboy arle....

smash. next question.

ok but real shit though both of them wld look so good on horseback. sara has that perfect posture while arle is a little more relaxed about it. not really slouched but not rigid in the way people with more “professional” training are yk? arle could probably ride bareback too like that’s soooo hot………. this is making me miss riding i haven’t been in so long 😭😭😭 anyway. sheriff kjsr is an absolute deadshot with her pistol but arle’s a menace with a lasso. kjsr’s horse is a black stallion with white socks and is named kaburaya, while arle’s is a dapple grey mare named bambi. both are thoroughbreds and were raised by their riders.

[sea-lanterns]

I can’t remember which sapphic blog was talking about this but I’ll share it here anyways.

Being sandwiched by the bigger Boss Forms of Arle and Signora? Alright alright. But. If we’re considering size differences…

What about being fucked by the shoguns Magatsu Mitake Narukami no Mikoto form? 🤔

(If you couldn’t tell, I’m an anon who’s horny for the Inazuma women rn 🥴)

…Yep that is my blog. You are talking about my sapphic blog with the Boss forms Arlecchino and Signora thirsts 😅

That aside though, the Shogun’s boss form is a form I would smash with no hesitation. Those giant arms would manhandle you, double penetrate you, fuck you middair, or lift you onto the Shogun’s electro cock so they could manually bounce you up and down 🥵

Something something size difference, something something the sight of those giant hands wrapped around my waist and moving me up and down the Shogun’s dick has me feeling things.

[eway]

So I had multiple dreams last night. The first was like, Mario and Toad ended up in a dimension where they were evil and took over the world, Ecolo was there, he had a Pikachu, and eventually the Pikachu died saving the world.

Then I had this dream about like, this guy. He had a dog that a wolf was attacking. He had no bullets but this spooky mansion has bullets so he sends in Arle or Rulue because this is a Puyo game apparently??? Anyway, if you lose as Arle, the guy gets a humanoid werewolf to fight the wolf but it sides with the wolf and they take the dog so this guy, it turns out, is some sort of demon/monster hunter and decides to take his anger out on Arle by like, killing everyone who isn’t human. And that’s the bad ending. Also Dark Prince gets sealed in a pocket mirror and Rulue goes berserk because of this

The final dream was a 80s Saturday Morning cartoon. It had like, Clayface in it, and the heroes were like…miis. Not even kidding they were the Smash Bros miis and they were trying to stop Clayface and some random vampire from doing crime

Anyway yeah my dreams are chaotic

[super-smash-bracket]

ROUND ONE

Alucard

Pit: Oh, Lady Palutena, look! Alucard made it to the fight! Palutena: Oh, you're right! Pit, Alucard's told you as much himself, but as a reminder: Alucard is the son of Count Dracula, but while his father chose one path, his mother taught Alucard to never delight in suffering. As such, Alucard aligned his goals with Richter, who holds similar goals of justice. Viridi: It's so poetic... Pit, you asked him if he had fangs. Pit: Oh, that's right. Hehe, that was kinda insensitive of me, wasn't it? You know, now that I've fought Dracula myself, I can't really see the resemblance. Viridi: It isn't like Lucina, who is so obviously Chrom's daughter it hurts to watch. Palutena: Well, not that's he's no longer here to simply assist, you should keep an eye out for his Wing Crash and Wolf Charge transformations. And be mindful of his Dark Metamorphosis! When he gets like that, his attacks will drain your health to heal his own!

Arle

Pit: Is this a lost little kid? What's the little blob things she's throwing around? Palutena: Those are Puyo, and that little kid is Arle! She's a talented little mage who's best friends are Carbuncle, Ringo, and Amitie. She can even commune with the Puyo and understand their innermost thoughts. Viridi: So... What in the world is a Puyo? Pit: They look kinda edible, like a gummy. Viridi: I wouldn't eat that. Palutena: Edibility of the Puyos aside, you should be focusing on Arle. Even though she's a talented mage, she can even more powerful with her Diacute spell! That boosts the power and range of her other spells, and even increases the amount of Puyos she can throw around! Pit: So she can make herself stronger mid-fight? Thanks for warning me! ...And what do the Puyos do? Palutena: I dunno. Viridi: HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW?!

[pupkinpumpkin]

I appreciate us all having our own little canon, because in my universe, Arl Howe saying "I deserved more" before he died does not happen

What really happened was before he even got a chance to speak, Elena (Cousland) grabbed his head and started smashing it into the cobblestone until he died, then she did it some more, then she grabbed a firebomb and a soulrot bomb from Alistair's pocket and threw it at his dead corpse

Then she beat him up some more until the gang had to physically restrain her

Then she starts sobbing

[pitty-aegis-parlor]

I remember, Pit. When those lawyers came this weird robot guy Attacked. And no one knew he entered the smash world

Could something similar have happened?

It's unlikely Schezo ran off on his own because at the time there wasn't many powerful people besides Arle and Kirby in the world that we knew of.

Oh no, I really hope it isn’t that robot again…..

As long as it isn’t using the missing guy as a hostage, I can just bomb it from orbit.

[puyopuyoconfessions]

Arle for Super Smash Bros

[sith-shenanigans]

OC Smash or Pass

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

Tagged by @ren-rigil! You can find theirs here.

Tagging @thegreatyin and @xivu-arath!

Name: Amias Arling

Age: Probably 29 by now

Gender: Complicated and esoteric (they/them)

Sexuality: Bi/Pan/“This can’t possibly just be about attraction at this point, what are you doing?”

Appearance: About 5’6. Scrawny. Binds when possible (the Neath definitely has Victorian binders). Dresses flashily—usually in masculine styles, for the androgyny value, but occasionally branches out—and often displays scorch marks like badges of pride. Usually looks a little bit tired, due to nightmares and late nights researching. Always doing something; they can’t stay fully still for very long.

🍒 Propaganda for:

You’ll probably get them at their most confident, caring, and genuine. Even when they do have an ulterior motive, they can’t help it being real as well.

If you have a problem, either they have a solution, or they will. It doesn’t matter if it’s impossible; they’ll betray all measures and break all laws, and somehow drag a workable conclusion out of the smoking wreckage.

Not a hopeless romantic so much as an incorrigible one. But really, who doesn’t want a poem inscribed in the Correspondence into several different gifts?

Crimson Engineer, so there will be opportunities to see them in an old shirt with their sleeves rolled up, covered in ink and grease, eyes shining, strands of hair stuck to their forehead…

Will infodump at you. Yes, this is a positive. Infodumping is attractive.

❓Mixed bags:

They want you to be the best version of yourself. Which is… sweet? But it can also kind of come off as an attempt to justify their commitment to ambition by feeding everyone else’s.

Stubborn bastard who likes a good debate.

Will invite you to parties hosted by tomb-colonists and devils and Rubberies. If there’s a new and unusual way to be a person, they’re right there, talking to whoever’s doing it.

🥀 Propaganda against:

[Increases Scandal build up.]

If you want something serious, the best you’ll get is probably a long-standing on-and-off arrangement.

Explosions, minor fires, and strange experiments are going to be an everyday activity.

Married to two Benthic scholars, who make them and each other immeasurably worse.

In a card-game-related situationship with a Master of the Bazaar, which is making everything immeasurably worse.

[laurelsofhighever]

Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins Characters/pairings: Alistair x Cousland Chapter: 1/? Rating: G Warnings: None Fic Summary: The story of the Fifth Blight, in a world where Alistair was raised to royalty instead of joining the Grey Wardens.

Read it on AO3

--

The boy narrowed his eyes at the line of weeds and decapitated them with an angry swing of the willow switch. As the flowers dropped to the ground, the stalks waved a little in the violence of his strike, but it didn’t make him feel better. With strands of hay caught in his tawny hair and his simple, oversized tunic splashed with mud, he was hardly a sight fit to be seen at the arlessa’s party, or by any of the noble guests who had come to pay court to her in her condition. He told himself he preferred the stableyard anyway. He preferred to stay out of the way.

But it was starting to rain. Fat, heavy clouds had been looming closer since the morning, swallowing up the sun to the north even as they drove the hot, cloying summer wind before them like an omen, and now the first drops, scouts for the impending deluge, smashed into flagstones, into the weeds he had yet to cut down, and onto the tip of his nose. The temperature dropped. He shivered as the scent of slaked dust rose around him, half tempted to stay out in the downpour to spite the efforts of the cook to keep him presentable, but he was old enough to know the punishment he would receive wouldn’t be mitigated by sympathy if he caught a cold.

He huffed and skulked towards the stables as a second drop landed square on the top of his head – the midden-side entrance, opposite to the tack room where all the visiting drivers and retainers would be gathered at drinking and cards while Their Graces rubbed elbows upstairs. Some treated him kindly enough, but more than once he had seen a gleam of cruelty in the eyes of those who would have found a scrawny kitchen orphan good sport, and so he preferred to slip quietly past, into the gentle company of the horses. They didn’t care what he was, or who his father was, and as long as he showed them due respect, he could curl up in a corner of the loft and wait out the weather. Somewhere that smelled nicer than the kennels.

The storm broke just as he stepped over the threshold. A couple of the horses stamped and whickered nervously at the sudden staccato noise against the wooden tiles of the roof, but the straw of their bedding was thick, and cosy, and their haynets full of the sweetest meadow grass Arl Eamon’s fortune could provide, and when nothing emerged to threaten their comfort, even those more skittish mounts settled down to munching again. But something was still off. The boy cocked his head at the odd, stilted sniffle that reached him from the dark corner at the far end of the building. The door in the wall there led to the main keep, and that meant it was usually given a wide berth by the arl’s servants. It was unlatched.

He caught a flash of movement in amongst the straw as he sneaked closer, the switch still in his hand held out to the side like a sword, ready for quick action. Definitely – there was definitely someone there. The drumming rain on the roof echoed the rise of his heartbeat. He breathed deep, in through his nose, imagined a thief or an assassin. Imagined the look of pride and gratitude on Arl Eamon’s face when he found out just who had stopped this interloper singled-handed. He readjusted his grip on the switch, and with a battle cry leapt around the corner.

He found a girl.

The first thing he noticed was blue. A silk dress with vining leaves embroidered in green and gold around the hem, with just the tips of pale satin shoes poking out from underneath where she had tucked up her legs against her chest. In age, she looked a little younger than him, though brighter and better fed. He lowered the switch as his gaze moved on to the sight of blotchy, tear-stained cheeks and the tumble of black hair down her back, a frown knitting over his brows in confusion and not a little annoyance that she wasn’t an invading qunari twice his size. For a moment, the shock of being discovered made her stare blankly at him, but then her eyes, stormy with crying, flicked down to his hand and back to his face.

“Your grip is all wrong on that, you know,” she said.

He pouted, glancing down before he remembered you should never take your eyes off your opponent. “Who are you?” This was his hiding place, not hers, even if she was a noble.

She sniffed, indignant. “I’m Rosslyn.”

“Why are you crying?” The name didn’t mean anything to him, though it rankled that she clearly thought it should.

At the question, Rosslyn looked away and drew her arms around her knees. “Mother got angry because Arlessa Isolde thought I called her a walrus.”

His mouth fell open. “Did you?”

“No! I said she wasn’t as big as a walrus. And I don’t know why everyone even cares so much,” she added, dashing a new tear away from the side of her face. “She’s only an arlessa.”

Feeling a new glow of sympathy warming for this unexpected stranger despite the oddity of her last remark, the boy smiled and crossed the space to sit next to her on the bale, careful to leave a gap between them so his dirty tunic wouldn’t rub off on her dress. That she didn’t object he took as a positive sign, but he found he couldn’t quite look at her close to, and had to drop his gaze to his boots instead, kicking the heels against their shared seat.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he told her. “I would never have been so brave.”

Rosslyn bobbed her head at the compliment, and he caught a smile out of the corner of his eye.

“But she does look a little bit like a walrus, doesn’t she?”

She giggled. “And she behaves like one. Nobody likes her. Mother said we had to come today to show respect to Arl Eamon, but I heard her and Lady Landra talking in the hall before we left.”

“Arl Eamon likes her,” he said, still looking at his boots. “He likes her a lot.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “I suppose someone has to.”

The boy kept his thoughts to himself. The arlessa had only been part of Arl Eamon’s household for a few months, since Harvestmere, but even that short time had been enough to rob him of all illusions. In the lead-up to the wedding, the servants had fluttered and fawned over the idea of the arl finally having a wife; yes, she was Orlesian, but those below stairs had heard great reports from the arl’s valet about the lady’s beauty and how thoroughly she had won his heart. She had brought her own elven maid, and her own money, and if there were worries about Orlesian pretension, they were soothed by the hope of Orlesian glamour. The problem was that nobody had told the new arlessa about the young bastard living under her husband’s protection in the castle kitchen.

He shook away the dark thoughts and cleared his throat. “Why did you come down here? People must be looking for you.”

“At first, I didn’t know where I was going, but…” She smoothed her palms over her knees. “I like horses, and it’s not like I really wanted to run away properly.”

“Sometimes I want to run away,” the boy offered, unsure of what else to say.

“Yeah?”

“I’d become a dragon hunter, or a Grey Warden, maybe.”

“Not holding a sword like that,” she replied. “Here.”

Before he understood what she meant to do, she had leaned across him and plucked his left arm from his side so she could rearrange his hand around the end of the switch, guiding each digit into a lighter hold and moving his thumb so it no longer pressed over the backs of his fingers.

“That way your wrist is more mobile, and you can meet strikes at more angles,” she explained, turning to smile at him with big, grey eyes. “If you were in the army they’d make you fight with your right hand to be part of the shield wall, but if you’re going to be a hero, left-handed should be alright.”

“Uh…” His face heated; she sat close enough for him to smell whatever noble perfume had been brushed into her hair, but she didn’t seem to mind the contrast with the odour of dogs and manure that clung to his own clothes. “Thanks.”

She sat back. “Is it… alright if I stay here for a little while? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Of course you can stay.” He smiled at her. “I know where there are some kittens – do you want to see them?”

He had discovered the alley cat and her litter some weeks before, and had since spent his free time carefully coaxing the whole family to trust him by bringing scraps he could slip from the kitchen in the moments when the cook was distracted. Carefully, because the cook had no fondness for cats, and a plentiful supply of sacks, and only a short walk to the nearest stream. Now, however, as he led Rosslyn up the ladder into the hay loft, then higher still into the rafters by the tack room chimney, his stomach lurched with excitement at being able share the secret with someone who might appreciate it. She followed him gamely, not tripping even once despite her flimsy shoes and long skirts, and when she spied the three kittens gambolling about beneath the small window at the far end of the eaves, she gasped.

“They’re so small!” she whispered.

“They were smaller,” he whispered back.

The kittens, all tabbies, noticed them and left off their pouncing game to back up against the far wall of their den with pointed, fluffed-up tails and uncertain hisses, but only until they recognised their visitor and heard him trill a greeting like the one he heard their mother use. He uncoiled a piece of cord from the pocket of his breeches and tossed it towards them like an angler before trailing it slowly back along the floor. The kittens watched. After several repetitions, the bravest sank into a wobbly crouch, crept forward, and pounced on the end of the string.

After a little while, in which Rosslyn joined in with the silver ribbon that had tied her hair back from her face, the mother cat returned through a hole left by a broken shingle, calling to her litter with a low, rolling inquiry that brought them tottering to her side. She washed their faces as they mewled and pawed at her legs, then with a brief tail-flick at the two interlopers flopped down as if exhausted. The boy flicked the end of the cord for her as the kittens suckled, and she followed the movement with slitted, barely-gold eyes.

“Do they have names?” Rosslyn asked, after a moment of rapt silence.

“You’re not supposed to name cats, my mother said,” he replied, dangling the cord a little higher, “because then they couldn’t come and go as they please.”

“I’ve never heard that. Nan says –”

“Rosslyn!”

The voice echoed from below, rich and worried, startling the cat with a low growl that bristled her fur and sent her slinking away, driving her kittens before her like a gooseherd until they disappeared from sight. Left alone, the two children exchanged nervous glances.

“Rosslyn! Pup, are you here?”

“It’s Father,” Rosslyn breathed, eyes wide.

They heard the heavy tread of boots on the loft ladder. The boy reached for her arm, an unfamiliar panic clawing in his throat at the thought that she would leave, and take her brave disdain for the arlessa with her. But the words jumbled on his tongue, kept from spilling by another fear, that they would both be punished for being found together in such a place away from the people who obviously cared about her wellbeing, and that whatever her noble father said, it would be enough for Arl Eamon’s thunderous gaze to descend upon him and finally cast him out like all the gossipmongers in the kitchens muttered when they thought he couldn’t hear.

A head appeared at the top of the ladder. In the low light it was difficult to see any strong resemblance between the lord and his daughter – hair sandy brown instead of black, shoulders broad, jaw square behind a trimmed beard – but when his eyes pierced the gloom and caught sight of the two children huddled like mice under a pantry crock he let loose a sound somewhere between a gasp and a shout and leapt the last rungs into the room, arms already held out to gather her into an embrace. Rosslyn’s arm slipped free, and with that tether gone the boy shrank back against the wall.

“Oh, my darling girl,” the lord sighed, dwarfing his daughter as he knelt to hug her. “We’ve all been worried – Mariwen feared you’d run into the city.”

“‘m sorry, Father,” Rosslyn mumbled in return. “Is Mother really mad?”

“No, Pup. And she’ll be glad to see you safe.” He pulled back to brush his large hands over her hair as if to reassure himself of the fact. “But who is your friend here?”

Rosslyn turned then, smiling, but it faltered as colour flushed her cheeks. “This is…”

The boy dropped his gaze to his shoes. Hot shame tightened along his spine, stinging at the back of his throat. Of course he wasn’t important enough to warrant a name.

“He’s my friend.” She stepped closer into a formal bow with her hands crossed over her chest and his head snapped up. “Forgive me, ser, for not asking who you are. What should I call you?”

“Oh.” Nobody had ever bowed to him before. He felt his mouth drop open without any words yet scrambled to fill the space. “I – it’s alright. My name’s Alistair. My lady.” To follow up, because it felt proper, he tried to return her gesture, though far more clumsily and probably to far less effect in his rough-spun, dirt-spattered tunic. But she smiled at him again, and it straightened his shoulders.

They nearly crumbled again when he caught the lord’s gaze over his daughter’s shoulder. The look in the eyes was gentle but guarded, and clever, like he could see everything. He was taller than Arl Eamon, a little younger in the lines of his face, and his open fondness for Rosslyn awoke a wriggle of envy in Alistair’s belly that felt a lot like when the cook decided he’d been bad and locked him outside the keep at dinnertime.

“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe, Alistair,” the lord said, with a nod of his own. “I hope she hasn’t been too much of a menace.”

“We’ve been playing with kittens,” she told him. “But they went to hide because you spooked them.”

“Did I? Well, I’m sorry for that – I’ll be quieter next time.”

“Do I have to go now?” she asked.

He smiled at her and nodded, holding out his hand. “I’m afraid so.”

“Do I have to apologise to Arlessa Isolde? I never even said she looked like a walrus, even though she does a little bit.”

“I didn’t know you’ve seen a walrus,” her father replied mildly. “But come, and on the way back I can teach you an extra lesson about diplomacy.”

Rosslyn groaned, but nevertheless placed her hand obediently in her father’s larger one. “It was good to meet you,” she said to Alistair. “Thank you for showing me the kittens.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled, even though she was already turning away. When she looked back over her shoulder, a faint hope surged that she might break free of the lord’s grip and run back to him – maybe insist he come with her – but instead she watched her father go down the ladder and then turned to follow him. There was a brief pause, one last look, and then Alistair was alone. With a shuddered sigh, he slid his back down the wall and sat, drawing his wiry arms around his knees.