#He even gave her a sword so she can defend herself if he spooks her! This man is more like a mom so she likes him!

[asscreeds]

Heila - Chapter 4

thank you again to @freyastrider​ for letting me yoink your screenshots :’D

TW for graphic descriptions of violence & death. Read on AO3 | Masterlist

The cool midday wind blew from the North, hastening the journey by longship, and Eivor thanked the Gods for their favor today. Curled up at the Wolf's feet, Nali hissed at Dag almost comically when he had boarded, scarcely recognizing the man, making Eivor chuckle. Not even five minutes into the journey, Dag started up another one of his stories, and Eivor did not realize how much she had missed the man's silly tales until her crew burst out into laughter at something absurd he said, the Wolf-Kissed joining in heartily.

Four hours passed and they had just passed Roucistere. By then the sun had sunk further into the sky, sending its rays into everyone's eyes and turning the sky and eastern sea a beautiful gold. Were it any other day, Eivor would have found the scenery beautiful, yet even with Dag's stories and the lightheartedness of the journey as her and her vikingr were reunited on the ship once again, she could only think of the battle ahead and prayed that it would go smoothly. 

Thinking back to your sobbing form made her heart squeeze with some unknown emotion; she could not decide if it was pity or something else. The name 'Gunnar' stuck in her mind. Who was the man to you? Part of your clan, obviously, but what was he to you? A companion? Brother? Lover, maybe? Despite her trailing thoughts she surmised it was not for her to know and began chastising herself for even pondering. It was not important to her; what mattered was honoring her promise to you and seeing that he and the others were returned to you safely.

As they pulled into the docks, Eivor could see a few of her men that had been sent forward earlier in the day had already set up a small camp above the beach, higher on the hillside where the two-dozen horses could graze and rest. Jumping from the lypting of the ship to the dock she bid her vikingr follow her up the hill to the forward camp, the raiders most grateful for being able to stretch their legs after the journey. 

As they gathered about the campfire, she called for their attention. "From what the scouts have told, the Danes are being held to the southwest of the barracks, near the most open portion of the city. There is a northern gate near the barracks that leads to the heart of the city that we will rush through. If two or three could ride forward to fire arrows and slay the gate's guards, we will catch them off guard and ride forward with little problems. The issue lies in exiting the city once we have freed the Danes, as the northern gate will be undoubtedly crowded with the soldiers from the barracks. We may either leave by the most western yet farthest gate, or the closer eastern gate - it depends on how the guards will react. Whatever happens, stick together," she explained, and her vikingr nodded, some cheering. Before letting them mount the horses she added in one final thing: "Remember, these are people who have been scarcely fed for days and been treated as animals. There is a very low chance that they will be able to defend themselves if they are targeted - load them onto the backs of your horses, then ride as fast as you can. Do not engage in battle unless you must, if you are outnumbered or are blocked from pushing forward. If all goes well we will overwhelm them with the suddenness of our attack and we will be able to slip in and out with little issue."

Then she let them go, and they each mounted a horse, standing near the mouth of the road waiting for her to lead them. To her surprise she found her personal mount among the horses; Askr, the rowdy, black destrier stallion she had purchased from Rowan a few months ago, whom she had just recently bonded with enough to be able to ride him into the heart of battle. Patting his nose, she mumbled, "I pray to Thor that you will not suddenly turn your heart in the middle of this and buck me," and then took her seat in his rune-inscribed saddle. The horse only gave her a side-eye and snorted.

Walking Askr forward to the road, she raised her fist to the sky, looking at the vikingr. "To Canterbury!" she cried, and the resounding war cries of the warriors hastened their mounts forward into a comfortable gallop on the stone road. By now the sun had eased down into the horizon, and they would reach the city hopefully just in time for the gap in guard rotation as the day rota switched for the night. 

Even in the dim light of dusk Eivor could still see the steeples of the church rise into the sky as they rode over the hill, and then Eivor pulled them all to a slow trot. Much to her delight, they had just begun lighting torches for the night and even from a distance she could see only one lone guard at the northern gate. Looking over and nodding to an archer, she sent them forward to deal with him before they rushed in and the guard could call for help. "Light your torch near the gate once you have dealt with him." One Norseman would only puzzle him, instead of seeing an entire raiding party descending down the hill like a flood.

By now the last light of the sun had nearly gone, and the sky turned a deep indigo as the first stars began to shine and the slim crescent moon began to rise higher. For what was about to transpire, it was such an incredibly calm night; a gentle breeze, the soft chorus of crickets, the hooting of an owl nearby. As they crested over the hill in definite eyesight of any eagle-eyed guardsmen she saw the torch of the archer being waved around near the gate; their signal. Bidding Askr into a canter, she and her warriors rode forth to the gate, meeting with the archer that had remounted their horse. The breach was quiet, and though the thunder of the horses' steps were a dead giveaway, it seemed that scarcely anyone had noticed their arrival. Good.

 Things did not go so smoothly once they rounded the corner to the area where the Danes were kept. Almost instantly four or five guards jumped up with weapons drawn from where they had been conversing around a table, and Eivor could only give a smirk as she and a few others drew their bows back to release a volley of arrows upon the men, not missing a single mark. They quickly fell, and she rushed forward to the imprisoned Danes. Despite their cages being secured with a lock and her nor the guards having the key for them they bent and broke easily enough. Drawing out her torch and stepping forward into the cage she was met by sad, sunken eyes that should have never belonged to any human being. Slowly, she approached them.

"I have been sent by y/n to rescue you. We will help you to mount the horses, take you to our longship and to Ravensthorpe where you will be fed and bathed," she said quietly, and immediately some burst into tears, rejoicing, others staring ahead quietly afraid. In all there were only maybe a dozen of them, four women and eight men divided into separate cages, all as visibly ill as the next. She did not ask any of them for their names.

As the fifth Dane was paired to a horse, a patrol rounded the corner to the clearing, and Eivor felt the rush of adrenaline blanket her mind. They were met with swift swords to their shields almost instantaneously as her vikingr beat them back away from the Danes, and the shouting from the conflict seemed to wake the entire city. Another two Danes were paired, and suddenly the church's bells began to ring, splitting the calm air of the night in two. Shit.

Moving as fast as she could she lifted a large man with bright blue eyes to rival her own onto her shoulders, placing him on the back of her horse. The man groaned with the movement and in her torchlight she could see dried bloodstains about his torso; another sad victim. She bid him to wait, leading Askr a few paces away in a shadowed alleyway between buildings to hide, and then ran back to the others to continue to pair the ninth, tenth, and eleventh Dane.

By now many of the Saxon guardsmen knew what was happening and descended upon the warriors like fighting dogs, and though the Raven Clan had a mounted advantage they were beginning to be pushed back into the clearing. Some had already fled, beginning the ride back to the longship. Eivor prayed that they would not be followed. 

 Grabbing the final Dane was where things went sour. An arrow flew right into the eyesocket of a Danish woman, who fell limp in the saddle and shocked the warrior at the front with the sudden dead weight at their back. More heavily-armored guards rushed in from the barracks and were poking and slashing at the horses chests, spooking them; little by little they were losing ground and precious time. The last prisoner secured, and with a final push from the guards, Eivor mounted Askr and commanded her warriors to follow her and run. They galloped higher into the city, heading towards the eastern gate with hopes of escaping cleanly - unfortunately, these guards were intelligent and had swarmed not only the east gate, but all other exits, too. They were penned in. 

Eivor could not see any other solution. Pushing Askr into a hard gallop she rode forward as archers stationed in the barbican above the gate released their arrows and the Wolf-Kissed had raised her shield just in time to prevent them from piercing her and the man's flesh. Some others were not so lucky nor swift enough. Three more Danes were struck by arrows. In the pause of archers knocking arrows again her vikingr rushed behind her, yet this time the arrows were set aflame. The portcullis was still open, thankfully, though beset by a formidable wall of soldiers.

They would fall and be trampled just as any other.

Galloping forward in the final stretch Askr's chest connected with the unfortunate men in the path of destruction, hooves pounding on their bones as if wading through water. What a good horse. Thankfully, he was never wounded by the effort. Taken aback by the feat most archers did not fly their arrows a second time, and those that did scarcely hit their target. Nobody was injured that time. The other horses followed close behind and soon there was a pretty pile of corpses lying near the mouth of the portcullis like a disgusting blanket.

Exiting the city and breaching the cold night of Cent made Eivor release a breath she did not know she was holding, the shock of adrenaline still hitting her hard. She definitely was not going to do that again any time soon. Glancing behind her to check they were not followed, she opted to take the quickest route to the longship; regardless if someone came after them they would still board the ship as quickly as they could. 

 She decided to try and talk to the man on her horse, just as she'd done to you. "What is your name?"

The man stirred slowly, as if he did not recognize that he was being talked to. He could not focus on much past the way his body felt as if it were being carried forward by a valkyrie, mounted on her horse and riding towards Valhalla. "G-Gunnar," he croaked, and Eivor nearly choked on the cool night air. Ah.

Looking behind her at the state of the man, she realized he was in a far worse state than you were when she'd rescued you. His eyes were clouded, unfocused, dried blood seeped down from a wound at the center of his forehead; he was weak, with the way he barely clung onto the Wolf-Kissed's smaller frame despite being heads taller than her. There were the dried blood stains at his middle, too, and she could not guess where those wounds came from.

She prayed to all the Gods she could think of, even those that she did not revere, that he would stay alive long enough to make it to Ravensthorpe.

"Alright, Gunnar. I am Eivor. We're taking you and your clan to a safer place." The ride to the ship felt much longer than riding from it, despite being the same route.

Gunnar would seemingly gain awareness some moments, holding tighter to Eivor's waist and groaning in pain, and then completely lose it at others, falling limp at her back and scaring her each time thinking that the man had passed.

Only one time did he address her. "Y/n sent you…?"

"Yes, she did," Eivor said, and the beach and her longship were in her sight. Nobody was followed. Five of her raiders and their paired Danes had already boarded the ship, keeping it still to the harbor even in the night's high tide.

Gunnar let out a breathy wheezing sound. "Ah, she's alive…" he said, and Eivor could hear the smile in his voice despite everything. "Alive…"

Slowing Askr down to a trot they approached the longship, the tide rising to the point where the horses were lifting their legs in the water. There were still more of her clan stationed at the forward camp; they would return the horses to Ravensthorpe after they departed. Dismounting the horse, she grabbed Gunnar by the waist, laying the large man over her shoulders and carrying him to the ship. He could not find the strength to sit up on the seats. Eivor slowly lowered him against the side of the ship, propping him up. 

Taking a headcount, every single one of her drengr survived; out of the dozen Danes they rescued, five would not live. 

Jumping to the lypting again she commanded the ship be turned round and the sail raised. The sea's wind roared, boosting the speed of their getaway, though it would not hold over the river Thames as they passed Roucistere. The night's calm northern breeze did little to bend the cloth of the sails, so it was lowered. 

 At some point, Gunnar roused again. Nali had curled at his bloodied side and was purring furiously, and the man gently petted the cat, in another spell of awareness. "Hello, little friend of Freyja," he spoke, spooking Eivor.

"You are awake, Gunnar. Are you feeling better after a bit of rest?" Eivor asked, grasping at anything to keep the hope of this man reaching Ravensthorpe alive.

"No," came his simple answer, looking up towards Eivor. Blood began oozing from the corners of his mouth and his nose. Immediately Eivor rushed to his side, and all her warriors turned their heads, and upon seeing why the Wolf-Kissed acted so suddenly, they understood. 

Gunnar could only look to Eivor still with an unreadable expression. Taking a cloth from her pouch she began wiping away at the blood, though it continued to run and run, and then Gunnar smiled at the Wolf-Kissed's efforts. In the calmness of the moonlight and Gunnar's awareness she realized how bright his eyes were and how they crinkled at the corners when they were not clouded with pain. Grabbing her hand, he willed her to stop.

"It is no use. I am a dying man," he said, and then let out a great, wheezing cough to drive the point home. Blood still ran from his mouth, down the scraggly hairs of his beard, onto the front of his tunic. Eivor stared, wide-eyed, her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as she stared at the fading man. 

"...What would be your last wishes, drengr?" she asked, and Gunnar picked Nali up from his side and set her down farther away, and though Nali only weighed not even a stone it was a great effort for the man, who then fell limp after. 

Gunnar seemed to pause, taking in wheezing breaths, thinking of the many answers he could give. Avenge my clan. Slay Frederik. Send word to my wife and daughter in Denmark of my death. Above all he chose one.

"Keep y/n safe," he rasped, suddenly reaching for Eivor's hand and holding it firm. "Keep her safe. Keep this clan safe. There is nothing else left of us.

"I have known her since we were children. Like a brother. I have cared for her as I have cared for my own blood. She is the voice of reason that kept us all bound together in times of strife. I could not protect her when I swore I would. I have known I would die this way for months, yet I did all I could to fight against it. For her. Please, keep her safe. In this world, and the next," he said, and his cryptic words both puzzled and troubled Eivor.

Eivor nodded, and squeezed the man's hand. "I heed your dying words. I will protect her to the ends of the earth."

Slowly, like the moon's face dwindling away as the sun rose each morning, he faded, the light in his eyes dying with him, and he went with a calm exhale into the night air. Eivor set his hand upon his lap and closed his eyelids. He would be given a proper burial, though where, she did not know. It was for you to decide.

The rest of the journey was in silence.

...

You had spent the better part of the day anxious, uneasy, unable to rest like Valka had wanted you to. To keep your mind distracted she asked you of your homeland, to which you gave mostly simple answers, and eventually you grew so anxious you had to pace. Scarcely moving around for days except to relieve yourself made your body shriek in pain with the effort of moving that you would have collapsed if Valka had not caught you. She scolded you like a mother would a child, and then you'd begged her like a child (much to her amusement) for her to help you relearn to walk.

After an hour and some more food and drink you were able to hold your own weight again, and after two more you could walk, albeit slowly, without the strain of the sliced muscles in your back bothering you too much. Valka took you to the pond behind her hut, and you revelled in the sound of the waterfall, and though the movement pained you enough to cry you could not stop yourself from cupping the fresh water in your hands and splashing it in your face. Valka laughed and said she could draw you a bath later. You stayed there for a while, until the sun began to hang lower in the sky, and then you noticed peculiar wisps of light that you've never seen before - catching one you found it was some type of delightful insect that held light within its body, and you let it be free again.

By now your stomach growled with hunger and you slowly raised yourself off the ground and went back into the hut where Valka had already gotten the two of you fresh bowls of soup and bread. Ever grateful you ate quickly, feeling a little calmer after the day. After you ate Valka drew a bath for you, and though the water was lukewarm to ease the pain of your injuries you were grateful to be able to clean the layers of sweat off your body. Valka helped you with the areas that you could not reach, even helping to wash and rinse your hair, and not once did you feel uncomfortable with your nakedness in front of the other woman. It felt natural, in a way, and you surmised she wouldn't really care, anyway. After redressing your wounds, you were surprised by her giving you a freshly-washed, simple chemise, made of soft linen and about ankle length, saying that "It would be easier on your body to sleep warmer, yet not be inhibited by heavier clothing," referring to the men's trousers and tunic you had been dressed in as a prisoner.

Then Valka made you more of the sleepy tea, and you fell asleep before the sun had even set. Thankfully you did not have a nightmare this time, and were back to the normal nonsensical dreams that you would never be able to recall come waking up.

Your sleep, however, was disturbed by the sound of a horn being blown, your mind instantly connecting the sound to Frederik’s horn, and you were sent into a minor panic before you remembered who was blowing the horn. It was not Frederik coming to face you, nor were you back on his longship heading to the monastery; it was Eivor, bringing the remnants of your clan to you. Adrenaline fueled you and you leapt from the bed, frightening Valka who had not yet fallen asleep and she rushed to your side, bidding you to return to bed, but you could not. You had to see Gunnar, you had to see your kinsmen. Limping forward a few paces out into the cold air of the night Valka ran back to her hut and returned with her heavy fur cloak, gently setting it about your shoulders so that you did not freeze.

You walked past the stables, down the western side of the longhouse, past numerous buildings you did not know the purpose of and saw several people getting off the longship. And even in the dark of the night you could see bodies being lifted onto stretchers, and your heart dropped. Some deep, deep, ugly part of you hoped that they were Eivor's warriors and not yours, to no avail. There were five of them, and you rushed forward, stumbling, and in the light of the torches you tried to make out faces.

A hand was felt on your shoulder, preventing you from toppling over, and you turned to face Eivor, who looked at you with a somber, defeated face. You did not like that look, nor the way you were turned away from looking at the final body of your kin. You could only stare silently into the Wolf's eyes.

"Y/n, I…" Eivor started, unsure of the right words to say. She sighed, and then took hold of both of your shoulders and squeezed. "I am sorry," was all she said, pulling you closer to her chest in comfort. You did not like her tone and what it meant. You could not make yourself move to match the warmth of her hug. The entire clan had gathered, but they were all silent.

Slowly, she let you go, and you turned around to look at the bodies. You could recognize the pallid faces of poor Lissi, and Jørgen, and Erna, Nils…

 And then there was Gunnar, stiff and pale, blood staining the cloth of his tunic all around, and you froze, your mind not processing what you were looking at. And then you drew in a great breath and wailed, a painful, broken-hearted sound pulled from your throat like a bow running harshly across the strings of an instrument. You dropped to your knees, crawling closer to the man's body and pressing the palms of your hands to his cold cheeks, sobbing and gasping for breath. like a madwoman over his body, willing your hot tears that fell onto his face to bring him back to life. Why was he to die like this? Away from his family? His home? He did not even die in battle. He did not deserve this death. You hunched over his body, still sobbing, pressing his cold forehead to yours and then closed your eyes, and prayed that he would find his way out of Hel's domain to where he belonged, seated with the other einherjar in Valhalla. Maybe guided by a valkyrie, maybe out of his own will. 

When you pulled away you were now weeping silently, and you could not bring yourself to look at the bodies of the rest, nor look at the faces of those that were alive, passing by you as they were carried to the barracks. You instead looked out into the forest on the far side of the river, and you could not bring yourself to move even as Eivor's men began to haul the stretchers away. 

The Wolf-Kissed approached you, slowly, and set her palm on your shoulder again. "He passed peacefully, facing the moon and stars. His wounds were too dire for him to go on," she said, and you rose from kneeling on the ground, her hand on your shoulder a wonderful feeling keeping you grounded in reality. You could not speak, only staring ahead still. Eivor stayed by your side, silent for a moment.

"He… he called for me to protect you, to keep you safe as his dying words," she said quietly, and this made you turn and look at her through your tear-laden lashes. Eivor's heart squeezed. "I promised to him that I would. And my word is my bond. I will keep you safe, until… until you decide what you want to do," she said, the last bit sounding strained, as if that was not what she truly wanted to say. This was all very sudden to your already exhausted mind.

You stared at her for a moment longer, and Eivor felt you were looking through her, not at her. Blinking some tears away you slowly turned from her, looking at the water's edge and how it reflected the moonlight, trying to clear your head. "I… he… " you began, trying to find your words and will the lump in your throat away. "H-he… he was not my blood. But we grew up together… a big brother to me," you mumbled, not truly knowing why you were telling Eivor this. "I… I cared greatly for him. I still do. I've thought before what I would do if he passed, and even that hurt, but… this is…" Snivelling, you pressed a palm to your mouth so that Eivor would not have to see the ugly way your face contorted and lip quivered as you tried to hold in another anguished cry. The woman did not think any less of you. She stood unmoving behind you. "This is… this is Frederik's fault. All of it. If he had done anything…" you croaked, the lump in your throat rising again to the point where you could not speak further nor breathe, choking on air and holding it for far too long, and Eivor set her large palm on your shoulder again. When you did not respond, she slowly pulled you into another hug, being ever mindful of the injuries at your back, and you immediately clung to her, shoving your face into her chest even though it was still armored, your head under her chin, and sobbing anew. You couldn't help it at this point. You felt like a maelstrom of emotion, waves of sorrow washing over you as you kept thinking of Gunnar's soft smile that he gave you on the longship and how it contrasted with the stillness of his pale, dead face. And then you realized how cold you were, even in Valka's coat, when the warmth of the larger woman began to seep into your body; a small comfort. Eivor shushed you gently and dared to smooth your hair out just as Valka had, and you felt yourself growing calmer in the arms of the warrior.

After some time you felt more composed, calmed, and you slowly removed yourself from Eivor as the intimacy of her consolation and promise to Gunnar hit you and you suddenly felt uncomfortable, stepping back and looking to the patterns in the wood of the docks. 

"I know Gunnar had a wife and child, back in Denmark. They should know of his passing," you said, running your fingers over the edges of Valka's cloak. Eivor nodded. "I will send a letter, then." 

Swallowing, you thought of her words earlier. Protect me until I decide what I want to do, she says… you did not see any other path. 

"You… you said that you would protect me, until I have decided to go elsewhere," you started, looking up to match Eivor's blue eyes, though difficult it may be. The woman blinked slowly and nodded. 

"I… I do not think I could go elsewhere. I do not want to return to my family, knowing that Frederik could potentially return there, too. And whatever lies he spun they would believe his words over mine. I do not have a home there, not anymore," you explained, and then broke eye contact with the drengr, feeling a burst of anger at the entire situation for a moment before you took a deep breath, sighing.

"And you… you saved my life. You and Valka, you've helped me to recover. And that is something that I feel I can never repay."

You met Eivor's blue eyes again, and even in the dim light of the moon could see how soft they've grown. "I would stay with the Raven clan, if you would let me," you said, feeling small again. Eivor blinked again, and then her expression somehow grew softer, and nodded. "Of course, y/n. You will always find a home here in Ravensthorpe, and wherever else we may go," she said, sending you a muted smile. You will always find a home with me.

You let out a breath, sighing in relief and in exhaustion, and realized how cold it had gotten when you could see it hanging in the mist, and then you felt it seep into your bones. "Th-thank you, Eivor," you shivered, and the Norsewoman took note of your state almost immediately, and on instinct pulled you to her side and began walking you back to Valka. "Of course, lagr kærr."

Passing the barracks you were relieved to see some of your kin already tended to and resting; you would speak with them tomorrow of your decision. You did not have a leader, not anymore, and it was up to them whether they wanted to leave or stay once recovered. You, however, would find a home in the Raven clan yet. 

 Valka was, as expected, not in the hut, most likely at the barracks treating the last of your friends. After such a long day both you and Eivor were exhausted, and the Wolf bid you farewell at the door, turning to go to her own place of rest. Shrugging off Valka's coat you placed it in it's usual spot and then crawled into your cot, still straining with the movement. Your body had its own celebration when you finally relaxed, and though you would certainly feel the soreness tomorrow you were glad that you still had some mobility after the wounds near your spine had become infected. You would heal in time. Closing your eyes, you fell asleep blissfully quickly.

In the shadows of the longhouse's exterior, Randvi had watched how your smaller form tucked into Eivor's as the two of you ascended to the seeress's hut, and felt an ugly twist of envy in her gut. She turned away from the scene to storm to the alliance map. She still had reports to write.  

[draven-imani]

Journal 5 (Part 2)

So. Yeah. Commander Irabeth Tirabade gave me a temporary field promotion. Although she said there wasn’t much of the Raven Corps left to speak of at the moment. Apparently, a certain Golden Boy had commandeered as many people as he could convince to come with him on a mad quest into the Worldwound after the attack and our group fell underground. He has an entire legion following him, which he dubbed the Silver Legion. She said it was likely he’d be back soon for a supply run.

Damn. I always knew Leto would go far. But to rally the troops on his own without any preestablished backing and just…go for it? I don’t know how he does it. We walked the same path and yet somehow he’s always been in a completely different league than me. I don’t envy him, not in the slightest. I’m in awe, more like. It’s like looking at the sun. It’s incomprehensible.

Ah. I wish he were here instead of there, though. He’d know how to handle this whole ‘Acting Captain’ thing. I feel in over my head already. I don’t want a position of power. I don’t want people’s lives in my hands. I only thought I wanted to go up the ranks when I was an idealistic kid with no idea what that meant. Now…the idea of giving the order that gets someone killed sickens me…

But if Commander Tirabade is the one who gives me that responsibility, I don’t think I’ll be able to say no.

I was starting to doubt…a lot, the last couple of days, honestly. Everything about Luna threw things into question. And then we found out Baphomet cultists infiltrated the church. And then Auriel died. And then I first talked to Radiance…and heard their threats. The threats from a holy weapon that sounded like they should have come from a demon. That stung. That shook me.

But then we met Irabeth Tirabade. And even in person she represents everything I have ever strived to be. Both in the sense of a former Raven Corps member who pulled herself out and into a position to actually be of use to the world, but also in the sense of how an Iomedae worshipper should carry themselves. She’s noble and strong and honorable, but she’s not quite so stuck in her ways as Auriel was, she seems to see things the way they are, and have been in the past, and she seems to be willing to admit when things are rotten and need to be fixed. I respect her. A lot. I…don’t want to disappoint her.

Aaaaand that means, if she gives me a responsibility, I have to rise to the task…even if I really really reeeeeeeeally don’t want to.

Commander Tirabade told me to give her a full report of everything that had happened. Which is exactly what I’d been keeping this journal for. So I gave her my report, and had the others chime in where my memory or note taking didn’t serve adequately. Then I showed her Radiance. I didn’t really think about it, because I thought since she was a paladin that Radiance wouldn’t be quite so ‘I’m going to flay you alive’. Or maybe I just wasn’t thinking, because she was Irabeth Tirabade and I’m dumb. That’s more likely. Anyways Radiance started burning her hands, so I quickly took them back.

And I may have admonished them out loud for doing that. To which Radiance basically asked ‘what part of chosen wielder don’t you understand?’ which…fair, but I guess I kind of thought Radiance was the one deciding whether or not to start hurting someone for touching it with how they’d worded it last time. I didn’t think it just happened.

The others were looking at me like I was crazy and asked if I was talking to my sword. So then I had to explain that Radiance is a magic intelligent weapon and also really picky about who wields them.

(And I got a little off track figuring out Radiance’s pronouns here. The answer boiled down to ‘I don’t conform to your mortal view of gender, call me whatever you want’, so I’m sticking with they since it’s neutral. Must be nice being a formless weapon spirit who can just give a copout answer like ‘I don’t conform to your mortal view of gender’. I’d not conform to my mortal view of gender if I could, but I have a flesh prison with all that gender-y stuff that comes with it.)

So then one of them, I forget who, commented about me being the chosen wielder of Radiance. And I think I laughed. I corrected them. No, I wasn’t the chosen wielder. The others pointed out I was wielding them, it sure looked like I was. So I explained what Radiance had already explained to me. That Auriel had been meant to wield them. That I was only holding them now because Auriel didn’t make it this far, and because Auriel’s soul vouched for me.

Commander Tirabade gave her condolences to us about Auriel, and asked that I tell her as much as I could about him later, as someone was going to give a eulogy for all who had been lost in the battle against the demons soon and she would make sure given his heroic sacrifice that he was given the send off he deserved.

Then Anevia rejoined the conversation, having been listening in on the sword talk. She called Irabeth over and asked her about the sword she had lied about selling. Anevia proved even with a sweet voice and a smile to be scarier than the much larger and more fearsome looking commander. Commander Tirabade admitted that she had sold her sword in exchange for an anniversary gift for Anevia. A potion that permanently changes one’s gender.

Aaaaand looking back I really hope the talk about pronouns was not uncomfortable, I was legitimately trying to be polite to the sword, despite Radiance never once extending the same courtesy to me.

Anyways.

By the end the Commander determined that it would be a good idea for us to continue taking out the safehouses, but she had another mission for us as well once that was done. Something big. She told us that another of Deskari’s generals was on her way here—the witch Arelu Vorlesh. We had heard rumors of this from drifters on the streets as well. The crusaders had managed to get information that Deskari’s cult had holed up in Old Kenabres, making a stronghold of a temple to the Inheritor known as the Grey Garrison. There was a piece of the wardstone left still intact, and Arelu was coming to corrupt it. If she was successful, the Commander believed Arelu was going to turn the wardstone into a weapon that would decimate the crusaders on the battlefield.

With that in mind, she had a librarian from the Blackwing come forward with a magical rod. I’m not one for the arcane, but Hiskaria sounded extremely in awe and almost equally disturbed by the implications of the rod, a ‘rod of cancellation’. The important part I gathered was that if Hiskaria used the rod on the wardstone, then it would destroy it.

Melody was hesitant, wondering if there was any way to eventually fix the wardstone and restore the barrier to save the city. Commander Tirabade said no. It had been created hundreds of years ago, when times were less turbulent, and with divine intervention. We had neither the means nor the time, and every moment we left the wardstone intact was a moment Arelu could return to attempt to corrupt it to her own purposes. Better that it was destroyed than in enemy hands.

We agreed. The Commander said that she would not order this strike until we had cleared out all of the safehouses, so that they had nowhere to fall back to, and no reinforcements to call upon, or else the strike would be a suicide mission. But once we had finished ridding the city of their other bases of operations, she would have an army march on the main forces of Deskari, drawing their attention, while our small strike force took the Grey Garrison.

With a plan in place, we decided that today we would at least take down one more safehouse before we rested. I was the only one really in need of any rest, and Commander Tirabade offered that the clerics of the crusades were at our disposal before we left so that we would not have to use our own limited supplies. Once my remaining injuries from those blasted vultures were healed, we set out.

We came upon some looters, who had overturned the caravan of a handful of survivors and were picking through it. We discussed, and decided we didn’t particularly want to kill these guys, just spook them. So Luna pulled up her hood and donned her Butcher persona, then went after the looters, threatening that she would add them to her pile of the dead if they didn’t abandon this cart to her. It worked, and they fled for their lives.

Luna removed her hood and we approached the survivors. They were frightened after that display, but glad to have their supplies back. We pointed them in the direction of Defender’s Heart and gave them the passcode, and told them to let them know we’d sent them, as we’d seen a number of refugees being housed safely there.

After that we continued on our way, until we came upon the Tower of Estrod. From the note we’d gotten off Hosilla, there was a passcode, “I’ve new material for the archives”. Since we knew this, and we knew Hosilla’s face, we formed a plan. Melody was able to use the magic of her scale of Trendalor to disguise herself as Hosilla. I was to pretend to be one of the Baphomet worshippers who was a false Iomedaen. And Luna was merely being a more exaggerated version of herself, using her infamy as the Butcher of Balestreet to her advantage. Hiskaria didn’t want to go inside and be stuck in close quarters, so she remained outdoors on lookout, listening for any sign of things going badly. After some discussion, Melody had handed off Auriel’s scale to Hiskaria, and explained how it worked to her. The scales couldn’t be used together, so Melody needed to hand it off regardless, and it seemed right that since Hiskaria was going to be helping us for the foreseeable future, she should be the one to hold it. And as an archer the levitation ability it granted would be of more use to her than to any of us.

With a plan in mind, the three of us walked into the proverbial lion’s den. Two cultists of Baphomet were lounging about on the bottom floor. Believing they recognized Melody as Hosilla, they let us in, and told us to meet with a man on the upper floor by the name of Faxon. We followed Melody’s lead, and went up the stairs. At the top of the tower, we found a tiefling with a scorpion upon his shoulder. He spoke smugly to ‘Hosilla’, and had a very…slimy feel about him. I got the impression that he and Hosilla were not on good terms, perhaps even that Stauton Vhagn pit them against each other and that’s why he was having Hosilla check up on him, just to rub salt in the wound. Unfortunately, Melody didn’t quite know how far to press, and backed down too soon, after making her ‘report’, agreeing to return downstairs with little bite back. When questioned about what I knew, I did the safe thing and pled ignorance, claiming to merely be Hosilla’s guard and not someone in a position to have information. When asked, Luna said she was just there for the kills, nothing more nothing less.

As Melody went to have us return downstairs, Faxon called Luna back to him. I had a bad feeling, but Luna shrugged it off and said to go on without her. Melody decided that maybe we could take out the cultists downstairs quietly while he had whatever discussion he wanted with her. I agreed, although we never got the chance. When we reached the bottom of the stairs, the sound of violence broke out upstairs, and the two downstairs were alerted that something was amiss. Melody and I decided it would be best for us to guard the stairs and make sure these two couldn’t sneak up on Luna from behind first before going upstairs to try to help her finish with Fenox.

I took care of one of the cultists swiftly, with Radiance spurring me on, the both of us eager to put an end to the evils of these worshippers of the Minotaur. The sounds upstairs began to die down, as Melody took a stab at the other from the stairs with Hosilla’s glaive. He tried to flee. Melody wasn’t going to allow that. She leapt from the stairs, and with far less regard for a glaive that isn’t her family’s sentimental one, she used it to pole-vault at the cultist, landing behind him and swinging around to stab at him once again. Still he was up. He almost made it to the door.

Just in time for Hiskaria to open the door and shoot an arrow in his face.

Somehow by some twisted luck he was still going, but Melody caught up with him once again, and maaaay have decided to show off a little to our new companion as she leapt in the air and skewered the man, finally dead.

All was quiet. I was about to be concerned about what might have happened to Luna, but then Hiskaria told me about the absolutely ridiculously amazing one sided one on one ‘fight’ she’d had with Fenox. As if I should have been worried about Luna. Hiskaria had heard the commotion and used the scale to levitate up so she’d she the last half of the fight. The upper floor didn’t have a roof, so she had been intending to shoot an arrow right into the other tiefling’s skull, but it ended up not being necessary.

See, there was a wall bisecting that room, with a door. He’d shut and locked the door to put it between him and Luna when things started looking bad. Luna had shown yet again just how little walls meant to the Butcher of Balestreet when she used the glaive she’d been holding holding for show as a means to pull herself up and over, then came down on Fenox with her axe. The Butcher one, Baphomet zero.

We met with her upstairs, where we found a shrine to Baphomet and a minotaur shaped object on the wall that was causing the room to be desecrated by its mere presence. There was also a treasure chest, so we decided that while the others went through the loot, I was going to take Radiance and have a bit of fun.

It took some time, that minotaur head was damned sturdy. But when it did break, Radiance’s voice echoed through the room. It wasn’t just me that heard it that time, but everyone. Their voice faded after only a moment. The others seemed a little shaken by that. I don’t really blame them. Radiance is…a lot. They’ve gone back to just being in my head now, which is probably for the best. Them quieting down entirely would probably be better, but I’m not lucky enough to have a normal holy sword that doesn’t demand the blood of demons and cultists as we fight. Ah, well. At least we agree on who our enemies are.

The chest had holy symbols and the favored weapons of multiple faiths, pointing towards the cult’s penchant for infiltration. We decided we would return them to the clerics at Defender’s Heart. Looking back I kind of wish I’d asked if they’d be okay with me keeping one. My wooden holy symbol’s seen a lot of use, and isn’t exactly the sturdiest material. Silver to match Leto’s wouldn’t have hurt. Ah, well. Hindsight and all that.

We were feeling really good after how well that went. We’d been planning on calling it a day after the tower, but since we’d used virtually none of our resources we agreed that unless we ran into particularly nasty trouble on the road we should try to clear out Topaz Solutions, report back to the Commander, and prepare to storm the Grey Garrison tomorrow.

Topaz Solutions was quite a bit farther than the tower had been from Defender’s Heart. Which meant more time for attacks from demons or other things lurking about.

First we were attack by two barbed creatures which made a terrible howling noise. Their barbs were painful when we got too close, but we cleared them out quickly enough with little trouble to speak of. No one ended up with any of the barbs stuck in them, which was a blessing. That could have proven difficult.

Then…we came to Balestreet. The demons had left the street as much a gory horror scene as one might have expected of Luna’s namesake. Here, two cultists of Baphomet tried to ambush us. Big mistake. Luna decided she was eager to make true to her nickname, and took her axe to them. They didn’t go down.

Then two arrows went straight through them, ice burst from one’s injuries, and both fell dead on the road. Hiskaria looked a bit sheepish, asking Luna if she shouldn’t have done that, since Balestreet was supposed to be Luna’s thing. Luna shrugged it off, saying it worked either way.

Remind me not to get on the bad side of the ladies in our group, they can cut quite the fearsome characters.

With that we were on our way, the rest of the walk to Topaz Solutions uneventful. The apothecary was being looted by a couple of thugs when we arrived. Luna decided to do her thing and scared them off with a few threats from the Butcher. Then we started looking around. The looters had taken anything of value, but Luna after some poking around found some ‘really nice door technology’, and opened a secret passage that led into a hidden basement. Luna and Melody snuck down first.

After a minute of waiting, Hiskaria and I heard Luna and Melody call us down, saying there was a strange mechanical doll and an image on the wall they couldn’t identify. I went down first. As Melody stepped forward to let me in, the minotaur head on the wall began to speak. It taunted us, saying it hoped we were Iomedaens so that this surprise from Baphomet wouldn’t go to waste. Then the doll began moving, and smashed a bottle, releasing a small plant creature.

There was also some kind of…gas I think? Something was in the chamber after that which was causing us various issues. Melody and I both started finding it hard to breath for instance—not so much that we were suffocating, but enough that we were wheezing and likely would have been unable to easily move stealthily.

Worse was that plant. It was in a thick patch of vines that it could move through with ease but which we struggles in. It screamed in such a way that it caused both Melody and Hiskaria to become nauseous, forcing them to flee upstairs to safety and leaving me and Luna to deal with it by ourselves. And it was small and tricky, dodging around many of our attacks in the most frustrating manner. Luna did finally squash the blasted thing, and I went over to the minotaur head and broke whatever the device was that was releasing gas into the room.

Then we searched the room and found a chest with a mocking note claiming we deserved a reward for besting the trap. Within were a number of stolen holy symbols. Luna stopped us from taking them, noting that they were covered in a contact poison.

I have decided I rather dislike this Igon Topaz, and do hope he survived the attack on the city. If only so that I may someday bring judgement upon him myself.

With all three safehouses cleared out, we’ve returned to Defender’s Heart for the night. We reported back to the Commander, and we spent some time unwinding and preparing for tomorrow. There are some merchants set up so we were able to get some supplies. And, more importantly, we got some drinks.

And even more importantly, Leto’s back.

He showed up while we were making preparations, all smiles and charm as always. He thought I’d died in a pit, I thought he’d been killed by demons, same old same old.

He looked amazing. He’s been doing well for himself. He really was the picture of a paladin in that silver armor riding up on a holy steed. Although I guess to him I must have looked maybe a little impressive with the holy sword Radiance at my side. Ah, if only he could have a conversation with them, he’d quit being impressed real quick.

Leto played up his knight in shining armor role well, flirted with Hiskaria even though she’s twice his age and a convicted murderer, and got on well with Melody. He…did not get on well with Luna. He tried, certainly, at first, but then she threw some misplaced insults about him being Raven Corps which I corrected, and then she brought up how all the reports of her being a murderer are vastly exaggerated by the Raven Corps and…it was just all around awkward, I think.

So then he introduced us to his horse, Charles, instead. He got a kick out of the fact he’d given his holy mount such a mundane name instead of something more heroic like—

Hold up. Charles.

Charlie.

Chalie Horse.

…that blasted tiefling, I’m going to wring his neck next time I see him.

I can’t decide if I’m mad about the pun, mad I didn’t catch it when we were talking about it, or mad that I didn’t think of it first.

Named his holy steed a pun, the nerve of that man...I wonder if anyone else has caught on. Commander of the Silver Legion, Leto Jules, the tiefling so charismatic he managed to sway 50,000 people to his banner…named his holy steed Charlie Horse. Inheritor help me I don’t know what to do with him.

Or how to outdo that.

Which is frustrating.

Oh well. What’re you going to do? Some days you find out your brother is not just still alive but now leading a legion on the back of a horse named Charlie and you just roll with it.

I’m glad he’s okay.

His Silver Legion is going to be joining the fight against the main forces tomorrow while our strike force goes into the Grey Garrison. So that’s more for me to worry about. But Leto’s always been a lucky bastard unlike me. He’ll be fine.

After the fact Melody, Hiskaria, and Luna decided it was really important to whisper amongst themselves and to send me away. So apparently it’s rumor time again. Yay. I’m fairly certain with them it would be nothing bad…but I can’t fathom what they could have possibly been whispering about. I suppose if they think Leto and I are related by blood it could have been about that, if they think I share his demonic bloodline…but Hiskaria is a tiefling as well, I see little reason why they would need to be secretive about it if that were the case. And quite frankly Leto and I don’t look alike. At all. Even if he weren’t golden, we don’t share even close to the same features. So I don’t think we could be mistaken for blood relatives.

I don’t know, and there’s really no use in speculating. It’s growing late, and we have a temple to siege in the morning.

[ancientstone]

Alright so AU where Geralt doesn’t realise he’s been given a decoy Ciri

Perhaps Geralt goes to fetch Roach, maybe someone stops him to mention the ballads they’ve heard or some guard decides to question why he’s there, either way, he doesn’t notice the hidden passage in the palace, and therefore, not half an hour later, leaves Cintra not with Ciri sat scared under a cloak on his horse, but this girl:

In my head I’ve taken to calling her Alice, so that’s her name now.

Full name: Alice Cavannah of Cintra

Calanthe needs a child who can pass as Pavetta’s daughter, and it just so happens that currently staying in the palace for the banquet set to take place that night is a nobleman and his family - in particular, a nobleman who is on the wrong side of Calanthe’s temper, has been trying to redeem himself for years and gain a better position in court, and has a daughter roughly Ciri’s age.

For her parents, the decision wasn’t hard, mainly because her Father, who she is almost completely distant to, declared that she would go. In comparison, Alice is far closer to her Mother, but that doesn’t stop anything as her Mother goes along with whatever her husband says, merely absently nodding her consent as if being asked if she would like fish for dinner.

Alice also has an older brother, one who would be knighted not a few hours later (the knighting scene in episode one), and sending off their daughter in place of Ciri and having a son knighted in Cintra firmly puts their family name in Calanthe’s good books, much to their delight.

It also helps that Alice had a similar schooling to Ciri, and knows of the local nobles, lords, and ladies. If they tried to play off a peasant girl, their ploy would be blown within minutes.

“You’ll be back soon, I’m sure.” Calanthe promises breezily as she digs through Ciri’s wardrobe to find a dress for her to wear, to give her a more princess-like appearance. “Once all this nonsense with Nilfgaard has blown over, the Witcher will bring you right back.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Alice whispered, squeezing her hands together tightly to try and save off crying.

She’s told to quickly says her goodbyes, and then gets a cloak dumped over her head to avoid prying eyes who could call out the fraud. The Witcher, who she is told is named Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken, helps her onto a horse, and slowly they leave the city, Alice glancing back to see if her parents are watching. They’re not.

Her brother is, though. He waves at her from a window. She hesitantly waves back.

So, they head out, a tense silence between them. Alice is scared stiff, mainly because she’s never heard much about Witchers, being in Cintra most of her life. She knows Calanthe hates them, and doesn’t entrust this Witcher to look after her granddaughter, so tries to be as quiet as possible, less she angers the man with two very sharp-looking swords. 

Alice is also terrified that Geralt is going to figure out that she isn’t Ciri, and, not being a princess, will be killed for it. Her parents are unlikely to avenge her death (gods, her death might even be good for them - sacrificing their only daughter in the name of the Queen is sure to get them higher titles), so it wouldn’t matter if he did.

She spends the time nibbling her lip, a habit her Mother is always scolding her for, and praying to any God willing to listen to the thoughts in her head that she sees this out alive.

Geralt, meanwhile, is having a Panic™

What do you say to a princess? How does Ciri expect to be treated? Will she mind camping, or will he have to get inn rooms every night? Does he have enough coin for that? They gave him a bag of her belongings, does she have a bedroll, blankets, more suitable clothes for travel, better shoes? Is it rude to ask? 

The only other princesses he’s ever met either stabbed him in the gut or tried to eat his organs. Ciri probably won’t do that. He hopes. Then again, if she’s Calanthe’s blood, maybe he’ll be dead by morning.

Should he take her to Kaer Morhen? Or will the Nilfgaardian threat blow over before they get there? Is it better for them to head to the Blue Mountains or should they just hide out in the forests somewhere and wait and see?

Whatever he decides, the one thing he does know for sure is that this girl is completely petrified.

“It will be okay, Princess.” Geralt says roughly, as awkward as anything. “No harm is going to come to you.”

Her eyes are huge as she stammers, “T-Thank you, Witcher.”

“Call me Geralt.”

She flinches, squeaking, “Thank you, Geralt.”

Fuck, Geralt thinks.

They don’t come to any inns as dusk begins to fall, so Geralt tries to find the cleanest spot he can among the trees for them to make camp. He helps her down, and she shies away from his offered hand as if expecting to be hit before eventually taking it, and then sets about making camp.

Turns out, the palace didn’t think to give her anything practical, surprising for the granddaughter of the Lioness. The bag is mostly dresses, shoes only suitable for palace floors, and a hairbrush and a few toiletries.

He goes to swear, and then reminds himself not in front of the Princess.

“We might have to get you some new clothes.” He says, and she jumps at the sound. “We want to hide from Nilfgaard and anyone else who may try and find you. That will be easier if you dress plainly.”

What Geralt expects, he doesn’t know, a bit of a tantrum, perhaps? Something about how a lady of her status can’t go around in cheap fabrics like a commoner? Tears?

He doesn’t expect the girl to bite her lip, nod, and then hunch her shoulders around herself, trying to look as small as possible, swamped in her cloak and eyes to the floor.

The night is spent almost entirely silent. He goes out and hunts, gutting and skinning the hares away from camp so he doesn’t spook her, and then cooks a pretty bland stew that the Princess seems to force down out of politeness than a real hunger. He then gives her his bedroll, something she’s hesitant to do until he reassures her that he can go without sleeping, and meditates most of the night, listening for threats and the sound of her breathing. 

She cries at one point, trying to stifle her sniffles in her hands.

Over the next two days they move fast and far, not talking to anyone and putting as much distance between Cintra and them as possible. Slowly, as if she realises that Geralt is not going to eat her alive, the Princess begins to relax. That doesn’t exactly make her chatty by any means, or any less stiff and jumpy, but in their brief, stilted conversations, she seems less worried that he will bite her face off. A small improvement, but an improvement nonetheless.

Surprisingly, it’s Roach that brings them together.

Ciri takes to the mare straight away, and voluntary begins brushing her down each night, muttering soft things that she thinks Geralt can’t hear into the horse’s ears.

“She doesn’t tolerate most people.” He says as he builds a fire, pausing to observe them.

The Princess ducks her head. “O-Oh.”

“It means she likes you.”

“Oh!” For a split second, her face brightens, and she spins on her heel to gently pet Roach’s nose. “I like her too. What’s her name?”

“Roach.”

The Princess turns towards him, her face not quite disgruntled, but showing more emotion than she has so far. “Like the fish?”

“Hm.” Geralt nods.

“Why did you name your horse after a fish?”

“My brother named his horse Scorpion.”

“Is it...A Witcher thing?”

“Not reall-” Geralt stops, thinking about it. “Actually, I suppose it is.”

The Princess turns before he can see her expression, but he thinks she may be giggling. A lump forms in his throat, and he swallows it down.

Meanwhile, with Alice, she can’t decide if this is fun (she gets to explore the countryside, see other places, have a horse, camp, get dirty) or most frightening thing she’s ever done (she’s pretending to be the Princess of Cintra, if she messes up, the Lioness with solely blame her, not to mention punish her family. There’s so much on her shoulders that at random moments all she wants to do is weep)

Geralt doesn’t seem as frightening as he first appeared, and he’s actually been really nice, not asking complicated questions she doesn’t know the answer to (does he already know about Cirilla’s life? Her favourite foods? Her favourite song? She doesn’t, and dreads saying something that could contradict what he already knows) and keeping his distance.

He also named his horse after a fish.

On the morning of the second day, they camp outside a town, Geralt wanting to wait until most of the main morning traffic has passed before entering. To pass the time, she carefully twists braids into Roach’s mane (who preens under the attention), watching out the corner of her eye as Geralt goes over sword practice.

In a brief moment of boldness, Alice asks, “Is it...Hard, to use a sword like that?”

Geralt pauses, glancing towards her. “In a way, like most skills it becomes easier over time.”

“My-” Alice nearly outs herself by saying brother, quickly redirecting, “Grandmother uses a lot of swords.”

“Yes. Did she ever teach you?”

Oh Gods!

“My...My Mother didn’t let me. Said it’d make me brutish.” The news of Pavetta’s death was widespread, when it happened. She can recall her parents talking about it for years afterwards. “When she died, my Grandmother kept her wish.”

Geralt’s expression does several different things, and the longer the bout of silence draws on the closer Alice finds herself huddling against Roach, as if asking the horse to hold her up.

Stupid! She chastises mentally. That’s the Lioness! Of course she taught Ciri! And you just insulted her daughter! Wait until the Queen finds out about that!

Finally, Geralt grunts, something he seems to do regularly, before easing his stance, relaxing his shoulders. “Would you...Like to learn?”

Alice blinks.”M-Me?”

“Being able to defend yourself is one of the most important skills you can have, and I’m sure your Mother would prefer you alive and wielding a blade than dead and weaponless.”

The Lioness is going to be fuming by the time she gets back.

Still, somehow, Alice finds herself nodding , and Geralt hums, putting down his sword and pulling out a smaller dagger. “Come here.”

She does, and he places the dagger into her hand, adjusting her grip and inching her fingers into the correct positions. It’s heavy, surprisingly so, and Geralt carefully puts his hand around her wrist.

“Ideally we’d do this with one made of wood, but I only have this, so we won’t do much just to be safe, but I can show you how to hold a blade, and how to use it in a pinch.”

“Okay.”

“It’s not a toy.” He says sternly, meeting her eyes. “Don’t swing it wildly, don’t touch the edge, and when in doubt, drop it and step back, understand?”

“I do.”

He hums again, pleased, and then carefully starts the lesson.

Alice, surprisingly, finds herself enjoying it. She can see what her brother saw in it when he was younger and still in training. There’s something about learning the different stances, the hand positions, the control, that feels good, right, almost like the beginnings of a new hobby.

Her favourite hobby is still needlework, though. Alice adores a night by the fireplace carefully stitching away.

They keep on going until lunch, which is when they stop to eat (a little to her disappointment), and then head into town, Geralt dropping a handful of coins into her palm and pointing out a shop.

“Go buy yourself a few set of clothes, ones good enough for a winter outside. Don’t go with fashions, go with practicality. I’ll be outside.”

“Okay, I understand.”

The fabrics on offer are cheap, bland, and all variations of dim green or brown, however, with a little help from the shopkeeper, Alice is able to find some items which work. She switches into one of her new purchases, pulling on a new pair of boots, before heading back outside.

She keeps the dress she’d been wearing, though. It belongs to a Princess, and the Queen may be angry if she loses it. Alice gently tucks it into her bag.

“Good.” Geralt nods his approval and Alice finds herself smiling shyly, before they turn to leave.

It is as they walk away, following the road northwards, that they catch wind of a conversation by another set of travelers passing by, on their way south.

For a split second, Alice freezes, before whipping around so fast that her head spins dizzy. Her eyes follow them, and her vision mists with fear-struck tears as her jaw drops low in horror.

Beside her, Geralt goes as still as a statue, his skin pale.

Cinta has fallen.

......

Anyway, this is getting super long so I may have to come up with a part two, but I’ll leave this here for now

Oh, and I’m totally naming this the Double Trouble AU

[awolfhasnoname]

Her Hound, His Wolf

PART SIX

A/N: I have FINALLY found time to write another chapter for this, sorry to keep you waiting guys! Ive just finished Uni exams so this will give me more time to continue these series. Thank you so much for the patience.

Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Violence, Usual GoT warnings

Words: 1.6K

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or gif(s) used below.

Y/N’s twin brother Robb has progressed and fought harder than anyone had thought, but she knew he would. She believed in him, they were even calling him the Wolf King, stories started streaming in about him turning into a dire wolf at night. No doubt thanks to Grey Wind constantly being at his side. The stories made Y/N giggle, she couldn’t wait to tease him about it when she saw him again. If she ever saw him again.

Although she was so proud of her brother, his advances hadn’t made it any easier on the Stark sisters stuck in the clutches of the Lannister’s.

Y/N were being called to court today no doubt because of the most recent attack by Robbs army.

Y/N went to answer a knock on her door, expecting to be greeted but the usual hulking figure she was surprised to see another guard standing there. “I’m here to escort you to court, lady Y/N.”

The walk to court was slow, she knew what was coming, this would be the beginning of the end of the Stark girls’ days at Kings Landing.

Y/N froze as the sight in court came into view, Sansa was already on her knees in front of the king, a small pool of blood coming from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes then travelled to Sandor, standing as always beside his king, his expression as cold and unrevealing as always.

“Ah finally, Lady Y/N,” Joffrey called, a devious grin on his face and a loaded crossbow in his hands. “You’re both here to answer for your brothers’ latest treasons.” He raised the crossbow to point at Sansa, she began defending herself “Your grace, whatever my traitor brother has done I had no part, you know this, I beg you please.” Y/N hated how Sansa spoke about their brother, but she understood it was a matter of survival.

As Joffrey had Lancel read out the crimes against their brother Y/N stepped closer to the King, planting herself in between Sansa and the arrow pointed at her.

Sandor’s chest constricted, how was he supposed to protect this girl if she bloody insisted on putting herself in harm’s way every day.

Joffrey put the crossbow down but gestured for Ser Meryn Trant to continue the punishment, he raised his hand again. The hit knocked Y/N to the ground and she could faintly hear the mumbles and gasps from the crowd behind them. Her eyes remained cold, raised to the kings, his face plastered with the same grin, clearly happy for a new play thing to break in, “Sansa has had her punishment for today, take her back to her chambers,” a Knight came to help Sansa to her feet, her worried expression turned to her sister but Y/N only gave her a warm smile. Joffrey saw this and his anger grew, “You can mess this ones face up as much as you want Trant.” Another blow hit the side of her face, trying to stay as strong as possible. As the beating continued, Y/N kept her façade, giving nothing away but small whimpers. “Meryn, the lady is overdressed, unburden her,” Joffrey ordered Trant. The young wolf’s eyes found Sandor once more. She was surprised to see the anger on his face and his hand around the hilt of his sword, white knuckles showing the hard grasp against it.

Trant ripped the back of her dress leaving her shoulders and back exposed, as the garment began to fall down she grabbed it before she could be too revealed. Upon seeing this Trant gave her a swift kick in the ribs. All the air left her as she doubled over trying to regain some sort of breathing pattern. “Meryn, why don’t you show us how your new dagger performs?”

As he unsheathed his dagger he mumbled to you “this is for the tavern you Stark whore.”

Y/N regained her composure and looked up at her king with daggers in her eyes, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her in pain. She heard Sandor shift at the King’s side as if he was taking a step forward but she didn’t move her gaze. Just then the doors to court swung open “What is the meaning of this!” Joffrey’s eyes shot to the back of the court as Tyrion strides through the room. Y/N’s eyes flick to Sandor seeing a flash of relief before his usual scowl replaced it but his grip had lightened on his sword.

Tyrion turned to Meryn, “What kind of knight beats a helpless woman?” “The kind that serves his king,” Meryn spat back.

“Someone get the girl something to cover herself with,” Tyrion announces before turning to the King. Sandor was by the Stark girls’ side in an instant ripping the cloak from his back and draping it around her. “Yer okay little wolf,” he whispered before helping you stand.

“Hound, take the lady back to her Chambers,” Tyrion commands before giving her an apologetic look.

Sandor helps the young wolf walk until they are out of sight, he then places his arm beneath her and lifts her bridal style to carry her back to her chambers. She simply rests her head against him, not having any more fight left in her today.

Sandor placed her on her bed, he looks at her and opened his mouth before thinking better of himself, she hadn’t missed it though. “Go ahead, tell me I’m a stupid girl with a death wish or whatever it is today that I’ve done wrong.” He simply sat next to her cleaning the cut on her cheek, “Not today, little wolf.”

She eyed him carefully, this was the first time they had spoken since the day she had embarrassed herself in front of him. He noticed the glance but continued attending to the cuts and bruises on her face. “Are ya ever gonna talk to me again?” he questioned but she refused to meet his gaze. After another moment passed he spoke again “Aye, I keep forgetting how fucking stubborn you are.” She couldn’t help the small smile that graced her face, which in return brought a smile to Sandor’s lips. “I’m sorry for the other day…” she finally speaks. Sandor just continues as if he hadn’t heard, hoping to avoid that conversation.

She continued when he hadn’t responded, “I shouldn’t have assumed that it was okay…” trailing off again as this time he turned to stare at her. “You were upset and hurt, I was comforting you. It was just reaction and I didn’t want you to do something you would regret.”

She looked at him in slight disbelief, “Sandor, I didn’t try to kiss you because I was upset. Is that what you think?” he looked away then. “Why else would a girl like you want to kiss an old dog like me?” The pain in his tone hurt her deeply, she grabbed his chin and turned his face to look at her again.

“I wish you could see yourself, the way I see you.” Y/N spoke so softly as if she thought Sandor would spook at any given word. Her hand reaching up to stroke the side of his face that he hated so much which in turn caused him to tense under the feather light touch. Sandor grabbed her hand before looking her in the eye, “Y/N don’t, you don’t want this. You don’t want me.” His voice was stern but she could see the pain in his eyes, all she wanted was to take that pain away.

“I have to go. The boy cunt will be expecting me back at his side.” Sandor removed his hand from hers, leaning back slightly to create some space between the two. Y/N just sighed, used to the feeling of his rejections by now. She grabbed the cloak that was wrapped around her shoulders before practically throwing it him. “Can’t forget your precious Lannister cloak.” She spat as she moved to find something to change into, her broken dress barely covering her top half. Sandor couldn’t help but stare after her, her back fully exposed watching the way her figure curved. All he could do was stare after her in adoration, his gaze trailing every inch of skin he could see. Until his eyes focused on a few distinguishable marks on her back and he froze. The raised skin shining against the light hitting it, scarred lines marked her back in short slices. As soon as he was able to make out the small scars they disappeared as she placed a robe around her.

Y/N turned around and was surprised by the look on Sandor’s face, shock mostly but what worried her the most was the slight look of fear in his eyes. Then it hit her, she didn’t realize how exposed her back was. Pulling the robe around her tightly as if to hide herself even more her defenses rose again. “You can leave now Sandor. I can take care of the rest of the cuts. Thank you for bringing me back to my chamber.” Her tone was flat, almost cold. Sandor just took steps towards her and for the first time since they had known each other she backed away. Slowly he raised his hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. “I will never let anyone hurt you again little wolf. I promise you that.”

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[billygetup]

the shore

Requested: no

Pairings: Jon Snow x oc

Summary: Amarya arrives at Dragonstone alongside Daenerys and her followers. She is an advisor to her grace and also are the ruler of a few islands off the coast of Essos. She is sent to greet Jon and the northmen with Tyrion and Missandei.

Part 1/?

Warnings: absolutely none!

Word count: 2165

Pronouns etc are female for this one, I can either do ocs or x readers (male and female)

Please don't plagiarise my work!

Amarya always knew that she would stand beside Daenerys Targaryen. The Silver Queen with the fiery temperament. She never expected it to lead her to where she stood now.

Ever since she was eight years old, power had been thrust upon her shoulders, like a heavy cloak weighing her down. Still, Amarya had always loved her people. Would die for them. It was that sense of liability and loyalty that the people of the Perzys Isles always loved in the girl.

Stood on the shore of Dragonstone, there was a queen. Her light, low cut dress brushed against her thighs as her cerulean eyes locked onto the boat coming closer. Amarya could see men squirming on the boat like ants. It wasn't apparent which one was the King in the North.

The invasion was not foreseen. No one knew that they were coming. But when they did, the heavens cried. Countless men, women and children were lost to the storm of chaos the pirates wielded. A young princess was torn that night. But, a queen was born.

When the boat was finally pulled from the frothing sea, it was clear who was king. Jon Snow had rather dark features, and yet he still reminded Amarya of warmth. While the summer queen loitered in the back, Lord Tyrion went to greet the new visitor.

As a small girl cowered in the corner of a dimly lit room, beaten and bruised, chained and defiled, a shadow turned the corner. Flinching, the girl curled in on herself, waiting for another hit.

"The bastard of Winterfell."

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay, little princess. I'll protect you. They can't hurt you anymore."

"The dwarf of Casterly Rock."

"Where's my daddy?"

There was a small silence between the two parties, which wasn't awkward, but brimmed with humour. After a moment, the two men stepped forward and shook hands like old friends.

"I'm so sorry, little princess, but he's gone for a bit now. Don't cry, I'll help you."

"I believe we last saw each other on top of the Wall." Tyrion remarked.

"Are you a pirate?"

"You were pissing off the edge if I remember right," the man joked, "You picked up some scars along the road."

"I am, sweetheart, but don't worry. I'm not like them. I won't hurt you."

Amarya thought that the first sentence sounded just like something her friend would do.

The man slowly reached a hand toward the little body in the corner of the room. She looked weary, but was so hopeless that she had nothing to lose.

Tyrion nodded. "It's been a long road. We're both still here." The two seemed spooked for a moment, before the smaller of them turned to the man beside Jon Snow. He was relatively grey, and his persona reeked of familiarity.

Keeping her eyes locked on his outstretched palm, she slowly reached forward and accepted his help. He was able to see her bruises, purple shapes on her tanned skin. The man felt a tear leave his eye.

"I'm Tyrion Lannister."

"My name's Amarya of the Perzys Isles, what's yours?"

"Davos Seaworth."

"My name is Davos, little one."

Amarya's eyes widened, and a shaky breath escaped her throat.

"Davos? That's a funny name."

"Davos? That's a funny name." Amarya managed to let the words leave her mouth quickly. The man looked over to her. Realisation dawned on him.

The man chuckled lightly. "I know it is, little Amarya. Believe me."

"I know it is, little Amarya. Believe me." His voice was broken, and emerged in little cracks.

The two met in the middle for a bone crushing hug. Davos lifted her off of her feet slightly, and cried for the girl he knew. "I thought you were dead, little queen."

"You can't get rid of me that easily. I took back my family's throne." When they separated, Amarya held her head high. They smiled each other, forgetting everyone who watched in the background.

"I still see you as the daughter I never got to have."

"Well, I've got you. You'll always be a father to me."

A throat was cleared. The two slowly returned to their parties. Davos looked at the young girl. "This is far from over."

Amarya giggled at his remark.

Tyrion decided to speak to the man. "Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay."

"Unluckily for me."

But Amarya just couldn't pay attention. Not while those dark eyes rested on her. She tried her hardest not to look to Jon Snow, despite his gaze. When she eventually gave in, he looked as though he was trying to understand one of the world's greatest mysteries. As though he was trying to reach her soul.

Tyrion noticed his look. "This is her grace, Queen Amarya of the Perzys Isles, Protector of the Narrow Sea, Defender of the Innocent, the Phoenix. She is here on behalf of the people who go unrecognised. Those who lay between the two great continents of Westeros and Essos."

Jon gave her a small, fleeting smile. "Pleasure."

She nodded her head in respect. "Missandei is Queen Daenerys' most trusted advisor." She gestured to her left.

Missandei sent her a beautifully kind smile, and stepped forward. "Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons."

The Northern King was hesitant. He turned to Davos, and then his men. "Of course."

The Dothraki that accompanied the few took heavy strides toward the visitors. Amarya watched as Jon untied his sword and reluctantly gave us to one of the men. The Dothraki also picked up their boat, and began to carry it away.

"Please, this way."

Davos walked over to Amarya, and checked her over. "You've grown. You're not little anymore. I don't like it."

Amarya smirked. "You're grey. You're not young anymore. Come to think of it, you weren't then."

"Oi, less of the snark from you, little queen. Remember who raised you."

"Oh, of course, my lord."

He gave her a kiss on the side of her temple, and went to speak with Missandei. Amarya smiled at the memories she shared with Davos, tucking a piece of golden hair behind her ear.

"You're her, then?"

She looked up to be met with the eyes of Jon Snow. "I'm who, exactly?"

"The one he never shuts up about." He nodded at Davos, who was having a lively discussion about butterflies with Missandei. Amarya watched the two happily.

"I suppose I am."

"You know, you're not what I expected you to be."

Amarya looked at the man, eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"Well, when I heard about another queen, I thought you'd be as stuck up as the rest of them."

"Well, how do you know I'm not?"

"Simple. You have kind eyes."

The group were still scaling the steps toward the castle. Not long since, the dragons had terrified the northmen, which Amarya thought was highly amusing.

The rest of the group were engaging in some conversation, while Amarya walked alone in the back, relishing in the sea spray. Suddenly, the jagged clouds parted, and a flurry of amber and crimson dove from the skies, and toward the front of the company.

The solitary shape darted between the rays of sunlight with a graceful ease, and twists so quick that you'd thought it had two heads.

Amarya gasped lightly. "Milaros!" She pushed to the front. "What are you doing?" She lightly grazed her fingers over his amber feathers, and he purred in delight. The, seemingly, bird was covered in a thick plumage of iridescent feathers, and, from what he could see, eyes a lustrous shade of halcyon.

Davos stepped forward. "Ah, so he grew then."

Amarya turned around to be met by many blank faces, as they were unaware of what creature Milaros was. "Oh, this is Milaros, my phoenix."

Someone in the back shouted to the queen. "What's a phoenix?"

The blonde smiled a little, turning back to Milaros. "A phoenix is an immortal bird which is immune to death. His tears are able to bring a person back from the brink of death. He can disappear and reappear in a burst of flames, and is able to carry the weight of seven men."

"How'd you get him?"

"He was gifted to me as an egg, by Davos." She smiled at the man. "I must go, I have urgent business to attend to." With that, she quickly strode off to feed her phoenix.

As a queen, it was clear where her loyalties lie. The people were everything to her. So it was only natural that she would be watching them on the cliffside in her spare time. Amarya could feel the wind whipping at her gold dress, the loose fabric shifting slightly.

She was used to the sea air, and being on Dragonstone was not that much different from winter in the Perzys Isles. Come to think of it, Amarya missed home.

She missed riding on her black palfrey, Summer, across the greenery of her castle grounds, and she missed her friends. Yes, a queen can have friends. It might have been difficult to spend as much time as she'd be willing to with them, but she loved them all the same.

Then, a voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "I didn't even know they existed."

Amarya turned to look at Jon Snow approaching the edge of the cliff. "What, people?"

The man smiled, but it could've been missed if you didn't pay attention. "No, a phoenix. Only ever heard of them from stories."

"Well, where I come from, Westerosi stories are our reality." She looked back at the sea of families below.

Jon Snow could see how much this woman cared for those who had no say, which was different to some power-hungry monarchs. It wasn't very common to find someone who put the people above every single thing in their life. He admired it. He admired a great deal about her, actually. "Have you spoken with Davos?"

"Not yet, actually, but I plan to. I've missed him."

"How did you two meet?"

Amarya's brow furrowed slightly, trying not to relive the horrible memories from her days as a young child. But then, she smiled a little. "He saved me from monsters."

"What monsters?"

The queen looked at him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"No, no, it's quite alright. They were pirates who tried to take over the Isles. They killed my father, many of my people, and committed monstrosities against me." She didn't want to go into the gory details.

He got the message, though. "How old were you?"

"I was a girl of eight when they came."

He looked up to the sky quickly, and then back to the woman who stood before him. "I'm sorry to hear that. Must've been hard."

"It's okay, I've grown since then. Besides, I'd go through it all again if it meant the safety that my peopoe have now."

Jon thought that her sense of duty was admirable. "That's good of you."

"Yes, I suppose it is. And it was good of you to come here for the safety of your people."

"It needed to be done." Amarya could tell that a lot of the King's time was consumed by brooding. She felt curiosity overwhelm her.

"What are they like?"

Jon looked at her, confused.

"The Army of the Dead, what are they like?"

His eyes widened. "You believe me?"

"Please, you're talking to a girl who has a phoenix as a pet." Amarya rolled her eyes.

Jon chuckled slightly in disbelief. "Well, they're cold, and they're like death."

"Like death? Cold? There's plenty of things that are like that. What I mean is, how do they fight? How do they move? What do they want?"

Jon was surprised at how much she wanted to know about the White Walkers. "You can't possibly mean to fight them."

Amarya looked him in the eyes. "No, of course not. That's insane. I can't fight them," She looked away, and mumbled under her breath, "yet."

"I'd advise against it, they're quite strong."

Her head whipped around. "What, and I'm not? I pride myself on my strength. I've been in five battles already. And they weren't small, either. I didn't get names the Defender of the Innocent just for courtesy. I got it because I earned it. And I don't give up. I intend to die for those who would die today, or tomorrow, or any day. Those who need protecting are the ones who protect us the most. Now, I must speak with her grace."

Amarya walked away from Jon Snow, maintaining her calm nature. He went to say something, but the words would not form. He was intoxicated by her. She was new, colourful, and bold. How she stood up for herself showed her determination, which he looked for the most in anyone he met. Sadly, everyone was lacking. Apart from her. Perhaps being stuck on Dragonstone wouldn't be so bad, after all.

--------

Hey! So this is my first ever post, and I wanted to say that I will take requests for any fics you would like me to write regarding Game of Thrones, Stranger Things, Once Upon a Time, Friends and etc. I will publish a full list at some point, though! Also, I am willing to write smut ;)

[fubukimori]

Lift-of-the-ground hug

Basicly it was going to be not longer than one page silly attempt at writing in English, but I’ve got carried away a bit ^^” This is dedicated to @crazy-bone-lady​ (Nevia belongs to her), bc she is a nice person dragged me into a bunch of cool people in my current fundom, where I was introduced to so many cool characters i would never know by myself. I really aprechciate this ^^ Since Nevia is my favorite one, I decided to write something she inqluded. I hope i didn’t mischaracter her ^^” (im also willing to write something like this with ataric but not really sure if i capable of that)

Also a reminder that I’m not an English-speaking person, so my apologies to you if you find this writing full of mistakes of different kinds (still need to figure out how to put direct speech into shape properly). I warned ya ;3

It was awfully early in the morning. Barely a few people were slumberly heading to their work places to get prepared for the daily Tower routine. Guardians are rarely wandering here that early, even commander Zavala wasn’t  here yet. Nevertheless Fubuki was already on her feet, cheerful and vivacious after a good “two hours nap” which started yesterday noon and ended just an hour ago. Deserted Tower seemed so nice and unnatural so she was just strolling around, humming random melodies and enjoying the absence of croudy guardians while looking for the perfect place to sit and crochet the shawl she’d promised to Ikora.

Passing by the lord Shaxx’s survey point and obviously finding him here, already boisterous and loud, Fubuki noticed someone on the place commander Zavala usually stood. The Warlock’s poor eyesight didn’t allow her to recognize who was that person, so she called her Ghost out to help. “Ori, who is that over there?” she asked, pointlessly squinting at the stranger. Should’ve taken her glasses. “Oh, that is Nevia. That huntress from the Crucible”.

Usually lord Shaxx doesn’t match kinderguardians like Fubuki with fabled veterans of the Crucible, but some time ago he decided to give everyone a challenge, mixing up together guardians completely randomly. Most of the youngsters immediately started complaining about unfair difficulty since they were supposed to face and fight guardians way more skilled than themselves. Fubuki on a counterverse liked the idea of the challenge, but after some matches, where opponents were literally wiping floor with her, she almost gave up and decided to avoid the Crucible this week. “Just another one and I’m done with this humiliation” she thought, heading to the Nessus special fighting arena. This time was just like the others - she died and died and died… Almost crushed enough to explode and rage quit the match, Fubuki saw an opponent Titan, already speeded up enough to smash fragile warlock against the wall with their shield bash, but suddenly she felt a firm grab at her wrist and then was pulled behind the pillar next to her. Titan’s shield bash slammed loudly against the wall. Fubuki got panicked and threw her pulse grenadine towards the Titan’s direction. Confused Defender shrinked back, but wasn’t fast enough. In a split second Fubuki saw a cloak in front of her and then a flashy sword swing. The Titan clutched his chest plate with a shaky hand then dropped dead on the ground.

“Hey!” the cloak person turned back to an unusually speechless Warlock, brushing blood off their Quickfang. “Watch out where you are daydreaming, nerd!” Huntress barked and headed forward, searching for the other enemies. Fubuki followed her since she had always been told to stick with teammates in the Crucible, especially if they were actually capable of killing others.

Huntress seemed completely unbothered by a “never asked to be” companion, she was concentrated on winning this particular match. When she went through a giant stone arch in the middle of the arena, there was an unexpected foe. Another Hunter was hiding behind, squatting with Tractor cannon. Fubuki was shadowing her, so she met with this enemy Hunter face to face, while he was attempting to finish powerless opponent. Before he managed to shoot down Fubuki in a close range, she slapped him with an Arc charge, hurting him just enough to be finished with a single shoot in the head from the Huntress’ hand cannon. A perfect team work, yet absolutely spontaneous. Fubuki placed a healing rift, recovering the Huntress from that dirty trick. “Thanks” the only thing the Huntress said, reloading her magazine. Fubuki just nodded silently.

“I see you’ve got a little friend, Nevia, hahaha! Mind you, Fubuki, Nevia is a great warrior, but a terrible teacher!” lord Shaxx had been satisfied seeing twenty kills in a row by one of his favorite Crucible fighters and was praising their duo for the last five minutes. Nevia was doing most of the work, when Fubuki was putting all the effort to support her, providing healing, Arc souls and grenades, hitting the right spot barely half of all the times. When the match was over and everyone headed to collect rewards, Fubuki finally got a chance to have a good look at her savior. She was surprisingly very short woman, an Awoken just like Fubuki herself, with a severe gaze and short shaved head. “H-hey!” Fubuki exclaimed with her voice shaking of excitement, though the frown look she gained from the Huntress made her feel chill crawling on her back. Nevia looked up and down at the Warlock and then raised her brow. “Oh, it’s you”. The Huntress had probably recognized messy Crucible Warlock’s armor colored in Metroshift which Fubuki had been wearing during the match, her gaze softened a bit. It immediately brought a delighted expression back on the Warlock’s face. “Yes, it is me, your faithful support from the last match, hahaha!” she responded with a rather high-pitched voice. That’s what she does when she is excited or nervous. “I just hope I was not bothering you”

“Nah, you did fine”

“Hope so. By the way, your name is Nevia, right? I am Fubuki, it was a pleasure to fight alongside with such skilled guardian!”

“Hah, thanks”

Seeing the Huntress wasn’t really in the mood for a chatter, the Warlock got a move on with finishing this little pep talk. “Well, we are doubtedly matching in the next one, so, um… Good luck. May the Traveler's Light shine upon thee” she made a profound bow, spreading her hands in a proper Warlock’s sign of gratitude.

“The same goes for you” Nevia raised her hand, a shadow of a smile on her face. ”See you around”

From now on, Fubuki was meeting Nevia in the Tower sometimes. Every time the Awoken met each other, Fubuki waved her hand in a greeting, Nevia responded with a simple nod. Sometimes they shared a word or two. Amicable Warlock would love to make friends with this gloomy Huntress, but she seemed not really into making friends with anyone, so Fubuki was trying hard at least don’t be obtrusive. However, being in such a good mood, she decided to make a move. Fubuki jumped in the air and glided toward Nevia. Noiselessly landed behind the short Huntress, way taller Warlock grabbed her and then lifted of the ground in a snapshot. “Heya, Nevia!” she cheery exclaimed, holding tiny Huntress on her arms. “Glad to find you here tod…”

In the next few minutes Fubuki learned several lessons. First, never ever mess with Hunters before they are finished with their morning coffee. Second, if you’d spooked them or spilled their coffee, no matter how high you can jump or how many times you cried “I’m sorry!”, you’ll get stabbed. If you’d done both, it is for sure.

Fubuki was always the one learning in a hard way.

When Ori revived her, lord Shaxx, who had seen all the scene, was still laughing, definitely already bursting in tears, if only there was no helmet on his head. Nevia was already missing. “That...wasn’t such a good idea” Ori concluded. Fubuki didn’t say a word to him, only cursed to herself in several languages.

At the end of the day Fubuki was tired and really unhappy. She still felt guilty for the morning incident, and also very stupid. “You must always think first, you stupido. Now she is probably thinking I am mental or something” she rumbled to herself, heading to the vault. “Well, guess I deserved it anyway”

“Hey”

Fubuki didn’t hear someone approaching, so a sudden voice from behind made her flinch. It was Nevia staying behind with her her arms crossed on her chest. “Oh, em… Hi” Fubuki didn’t expect the Huntress to get close to her after she pissed her off. There was an awkward silence for a moment. “That… wasn’t very wise of you. You have to make sure this won’t happen again” she said, shifting from one feet to another. “I know, I am really sorry!” Fubuki exclaimed in response. “I… I just get really childish sometimes, I really do sorry for that”

“Yeah, and I could have played it cooler” Nevia said, lifting her gaze up to the Warlock. “Dammit, why are you such a pole?”

“I… I do not know. I was like this from, well, from the very beginning” the Warlock was a little frustrated, but it seemed the Huntress wasn’t pissed off anymore. And she kinda… made an apology too?

“So, no hard feelings, right?” Nevia asked, her face was less frown than usual. “Absolutely!” Fubuki responded with a wide smile on her face. The Huntress hold out her hand, the Warlock immediately shook it. “Glad we are cool now” she said, squeezing Huntress’ smaller palm. “If you ever need help with, well, some abstruse thing or maybe will need a medical advice, you can always call me for it”

“Sure, thanks. We should go outside the Walls someday” Nevia responded with a smug smirk. “Someone is gonna teach you not daydreaming right in the middle of the battlefield”. Fubuki laughed awkwardly. The Awoken took their leave of and both went where they were planning to. The weight of the guilt finally loosed from Fubuki’s shoulders. She hates being disturbing for anyone and the fact that Nevia had let the morning incident go made her finally feel good again.

“I hope you are not thinking you are already friends, right?” Ori hovered next to her, preaching as usual. 

“We might become ones some day. She is actually nicer than she tries to look like”

“I doubt that”

“You doubt anything, little one”

[mrneighbourlove]

Beacon to Damnation: Ch 3. Escalation

Leere turned around to see a blooded man hobble towards her. His arm is stained red and his eyes are dazed. He had a gun slowly trying to aim at her, but his thoughts fought against him as he tried to lift the revolver. “You…are you real?”

Leere wasn’t sure what to make of that at first. She studied him more carefully, his longer locks of dark hair caught in his eyes. He was a mess to be sure, but she recognized him. “Carlos, I’m real.”

“H-how do you know my name?” He doesn’t lower the gun. “How do I know you aren’t one of those THINGS burrowing in my mind!?”

Leere raised her hands and tried to give a light smile. He had been through a lot. “Carlos, it’s me, Leere. I know you because we studied the Underground burial ground of Kakariko Village together. I know you because you are a wonderful mind. I’m the creepy gay girl into dead stuff and you geared towards life and the cold indifference of technology. Ring any bells?” Specifics. She had to be specific to get through to him.

A flicker of hope went in Carlos’s eyes. His hand shook as he held the revolver.

“Leere? Is that really you?”

“Yes Carlos. I got your message. I’m here.”

She extended a hand as a gesture of good fill and protection. ‘Please take it.’

Carlos started to hyperventilate at the shock of actual hope. “Leere? Oh god, it is you.”

The young man rushed over and hugged Leere, snivelling like a child. Leere held him close and rubbed his back, trying to not be crushed by his height. “It’s going to be ok. I’m here now. I’m gonna get you out.”

Carlos shook his head and let go, walking around in a circle. “N-No, we can’t leave. Not yet. We have to stop it.”

“The Beacon?”

“YES! YES!” Carlos took a step closer to Leere, some small amount of madness in his eyes. And terrible fear. “I can hear it, taunting me, creeping in the corners of my mind. Those monsters will eventually get out, yes they will, and so many will die.”

Carlos’s head spun to a nose only he could hear. “They’re coming. They’re coming! We have to destroy the Beacon!”

Leere was concerned for her friends well being. It would be difficult to look after him with this erratic behaviour. “Ok, we can do that, but I need you to calm down Carlos.”

Carlos shook his head again and again. “We need to flood the Divine Beast, sink it into the abyss.”

Leere was getting annoyed. “Carlos. Calm. Down.”

The roar of a creature echoed throughout the hull of the Divine Beast. Carlos got spooked and immediately ran out. Leere gritted her teeth. “No god damn it get back here!”

As she ran after him she saw something on the ceiling between them out of the corner of her eye. Leere’s instincts were to raise her scythe to defend herself. Sure enough something dropped to attack her, but bounced off the hilt of her weapon. Carlos didn’t even turn around to help. Leere spun around to face her attacker. It was some sort of torso with four clawed legs. Its ‘head’ was just a set of jaws on the end of one side of the torso. And it wasn’t entirely clear, but it appeared to have a pair of eyes inside its mouth. Unblinking hungry eyes.

It scrambled towards her, and when Leere took a stance, it suddenly rocketed towards her.  She had to throw herself against the wall to avoid having her stomach sliced open from such speed, but due to the unforeseen attack, she didn’t move in time to be totally unscathed. Her shoulder was cut open badly by the wide range of the claws.

Her eyes shot open with pain, and she gave a pained scream of rage. Her muscles burned and she could only hope these group of monsters didn’t rely on some sort of infection.

Leere spun around to face the creature. Instead of it simply stopping and spinning around, it kept its speed, crawling from the floor to the wall, and started to turn around to attack her again, finally moving from the wall to the ceiling again.

Blood dripped from the claw that got her and its movements were erratic. Leere gripped her scythe carefully. Blood dripped down her left arm and the grip hurt more then she cared to admit. “Focus. One shot, one kill Leere.”

Her memories went back to her adoptive father and her training…

~

“Dad. I can’t get it right.”

Ganondorf shook his head. “It’s all about momentum my dear.”

Rinku watched from the side, the fifteen year old waiting for Leere to finish so they could return to their room. “It’s just an apple Leere. Maybe think of it as an apple of evil?”

“The apple that won’t let me slide my tongue in your-“ Leere was cut off by Ganondorf throwing another apple at her head when she wasn’t looking. Rinku blushed and continued her sword swings. Leere rubbed her head with groan. “Hey!”

“Stay focused.” Ganondorf tossed another apple up and down in his hand.

“I’m trying.”

“Then try harder. If our sessions of magic focus on the mind, then this will apply the physical as well. Concentrate. Your eyes are a powerful tool when used right. You must feel out your target as well. Get a fix on them with the physical and predict their movements after with the mind.”

Leere looked at the apple as well as it went up and down in Ganondorf’s hand. She took a deep breath and took in her surroundings. To her the movement was fluid and slow.

“In time, you will use less time to think, and your body will just react. All you need is a little focus.” Before Ganondorf threw it such high speeds, Leere could see where the path of the apple was going. Her instinct to protect herself brought her practice sword up…

~

Leere’s instincts and rage kicked in and she swiped with her scythe upwards as the monster lunged at her. She looked into its eyes unblinking as she severed the thing directly in half down the middle. A second too late she would have been dead, too early she would have only injured it. The two halves of the creature landed behind her with a sticky thump.

To her horror though it wasn’t over. Down the hall behind her a group of those rage filled monsters from before scrambled down, attracted by the noise and blood. Leere’s adrenaline was pumping hard now, but so was the blood going down her arm. “Not now.”

Quickly conjuring a spell she summoned a Gibido Knight to her aid, as well as a few Redeads. They gave a collective scream that would normally paralyse normal beings, but the monsters seemed unfazed. Fortunately the knight’s sword was more practical. It brought its blade down on a few of the monsters, and the Redeads clashed with their victims, all of them trying to rip each other apart.

Leere didn’t stick around to see who would come out on top. She ran down the hall to try and find Carlos when another one of those Torso creatures tried to cut her off. Out of its mouth a blade like tongue shot out, stabbing through her calf. The Necromancer let out a scream of pain, cursing her predicament. Focusing her magic she choose to reanimate the previous creature she sliced in half. One half of the monster rose up and jumped at her attacker, bringing its clawed leg down on the monsters back.

Grabbing her knife in her leg sheath, she quickly cut off the tongue, and, grabbing the barb in her leg, Leere gritted her teeth as she pulled out the jagged edge. Throwing it away with her hand now bleeding as well, she hobbled to safely. She turned around to see two of the rampaging monsters had survived and killed her familiars. They snarled and screamed as they went after her. Leere’s eyes widened with fear as she moved as quickly as she could.

Getting to a door she held down the button and prayed for salvation. When they opened she went in and locked the door as quickly as she could. Doing so she was about to feel relief when she noticed their was a glass window that separated the two rooms. The Monsters snarled as they threw themselves at the window.

If there was one little bit of pity Leere was going to get in her life, this was it. The window held and the two rage filled beasts beat on the window, their eyes fixed on Leere. She looked back them with an angry smugness. “You can stay right there you bastards.”

Now relatively safe, Leere’s adrenaline died down, and she felt her wounds get to her. Her body felt heavily drained. If she didn’t do something she’d bleed out soon. Thankfully, this free access to her own blood would be her salvation.

Dabbing her fingers she started to make a rune around herself. Blood Magic was an ancient and powerful art, capable of such great abilities. Monstrous mostly. Finishing the rune she began a chant and the blood around her swirled around. With extreme pain her wounds sealed closed, her flesh contorting to heal itself.  Her eyes glowed more red then usual, and her skin a more pale white as her healing process finished. Another thing she knew for certain even the most ‘tame’ blood magic could be considered to be unnatural.

As she was wrapping up another wave shot out through out the Divine Beast and Leere felt another tremendous headache. Looking up through her daze she saw one of the monsters tapping on the window to her. Its eyes were filled with happy madness as it tapped on the window. What worried her was its mouth moving, it talking to her. She couldn’t hear it behind the window, but she could read lips.

“I’m coming now. Tell me, when the power to all the doors go out, can you outrun all of them?”

Leere’s eyes widened in alarm. Sure enough a surge went out through out the Divine Beast and the ancient machine let out what could only be described as a cry of agony, an animal in pain. The red light on the locked door flickered and Leere gave one last look at the monster outside her door as it smiled at the fear dripping down her face.

Leere took off running as the doors opened. It seemed now as if there was less screaming coming from the rage filled monsters, and more panting, more lust then wrath to get to her. Running to a ladder, Leere frantically started to climb. When one of the two attackers behind her jumped at her, she braced herself, and gave it a good kick to the head, sending it falling to the ground. It landed with a hard crack, snapping its neck.

Getting to the top Leere spun around a drove the hilt of her scythe through the head of the second attacker as it climbed up the ladder after her. She kept stabbing up and down until it fell down. Her hilt was covered in blood and gooey brain matter.

After the last body fell Leere scanned her surroundings. The Divine Beast had gotten darker. Listening closely she could hear the eerie quietness of the water outside. A boiling sea of volcanic water surrounded her outside, and she was trapped with monsters on the inside.

Walking forward Leere was about to round a corner when she saw the large beaked creature with multiple eyes from before. The one that tore the Captain into pieces. It turned to her direction and Leere threw herself back around the corner to hide. The tip of her head went to look to peak, and she saw in its hands it had a full intact body. Leere felt if she wanted she could reanimate the corpse to her will, but she was curious how the Beast worked.

It took one talon and stabbed it into the heart of the corpse. Leere could see purple veins pump through the finger into the body. The corpse of the woman started to shake violently and organs popped inside. Blood dripped out from the mouth and eyes and it gave an angry yell. At this point Leere couldn’t connect with the body anymore. It was inhabited by something else. With a mind and soul.

The smaller creature took off, but the larger beast looked around, smelling the air. Leere grew agitated, more so when it gave a screechy caw. With that it ran towards the hall opposite of her. The Princess wiped her brow of sweat and kept going forward. She had to find where Carlos ran off to.

~

Todd was petrified by all the horror he had witnessed. His whole squad was torn to pieces and he abandoned the Princess. Monsters kept attacking him. That was fine. He was trained to deal with beasts. He was a soldier. It was the other things that got to him.

He started to hear voices inside his head. Whispers. Listening to one almost got him killed by a trap. And with every wave of nausea it only got worse. And he thought he saw things. Things that may or may not be there. Like some sort of…thing, stalking him. Seeing its head peering around the corner with tapping fingers, before darting back into the darkness.

His sword arm twitched as he kept on guard. Walking through the next door he was not expecting to see such a big obelisk in the room. The room itself was large and spherical. Tubes and catwalks were spread out all around the obelisk. Above the obelisk was a black hole, like tear opening in the air. Just looking at it made him feel…uncomfortable.

Todd couldn’t stop looking at it, even just as unnatural as it felt. He was drawn to it.  Looking at it long enough though he saw something inside. Hid eyes blinked at first, unsure, then he got a good look. Something absolutely terrible that the mind couldn’t comprehend. His eyes went from a blank curiosity, slowing transforming into a primal fear.

“Oh God. No. NO!”

Spinning around he wasn’t expecting to see a normal man. The man looked pissed off. In Todd’s shock at looking inside the tear, he didn’t clue into the man holding a knife, and he certainly the man to thrust a knife inside his open hip. “You are unworthy of the gift of Heaven!”

Todd walked backwards in pain. Bleed pumped out. How could he be so careless? “Who the fuck are you?!”

“My name is Doctor Ichabod. Creator of the Beacon. And its protector. I am the one who will bridge our realm with Heaven.”

Todd carefully took out his sword. He could see the madness in Ichabod’s eyes. “You’re a lunatic!”

“I am not one to judge. The angels are.” Ichabod started to suddenly back off. “And they will judge you now.”

Todd felt dread fill him and he turned around just in time to be impaled by a monstrous creature. It pierced right through his hard armour and Todd couldn’t even scream as it lifted him up. All he could do was look into its eyes as it proceeded to tear him to bloody pieces.

Doctor Ichabod smiled. The Angel was satisfied. He looked back to the tear. Inside he could hear her. “My Diana. My sweet, sweet Diana. The time is almost nigh.”

He looked at it curiously. His face then frowned. “What? The Engineering room?”

Listening closer Ichabod’s eyes flared with hysterical rage. “NO! I WON’T ALLOW IT!” With that he ran off.

https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/165789216811/beacon-to-damnation-ch-2-close-encounters Previous Ch.

https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/171362943776/beacon-to-damnation-ch-4-a-triggered-soul Next Ch.

[lupanaoflaminar]

Rebel Within Reason - Chapter 1

Frema Viatori never expected to meet the Prince of Lucis and his loyal comrades. The guys never expected to have a fifth person tag along with them as they traveled across the country for a wedding. Fate seems to have other plans, however, and this mysterious traveler has her own agenda in mind.

Words: 2,673

Next Chapter

My first fanfiction for FFXV!! *internal screaming* Fair warning, I have no idea where this is going, I’m flying by the seat of my pants guys. There may be a romance in this later on though! Tagging my buddies @blindbae, @themissimmortal, @nifwrites and @rubyphilomela because YOU ALL ARE AWESOME.

The nighttime air was cold, a stark contrast to the heat that the desert. Leide was known well for this, almost as much as it was known for the Hammerhead garage. Despite the chilly air, the people in the region slept soundly and peacefully, unaware of the outside world. Unaware that just a few miles away, someone was fighting to stay alive. A young woman crouched behind a rock, desperately trying to flatten herself against it and disappear. It took tremendous effort for her to control her breathing, and to stifle the gasping breaths that made their way out of her lungs. She knew she needed air, but air was just as important as silence when three hungry sabertusks could sense her presence. Soft growling and snarling filled the air. The young woman’s pounding heart couldn’t block the sound.

The beasts were right behind her, she just knew it. She could feel their eyes on her, and almost smell the awful stench of their breath. Or was it blood? She had no way of knowing, and wasn’t about to find out. Running was the only option.

Closing her eyes, she prayed that her death would be quick if she was to die. Before she could psych herself out, she reopened her eyes and ran as fast as she could, away from her rock and into the night.

********

Unbelievable. That was the only word Prince Noctis could use to describe his current situation. He was no walking thesaurus like Ignis, but there could not be a simpler adjective for pushing the freaking Regalia instead of actually driving it.

“Not exactly a fairy tale beginning,” that’s what Gladio had said. This was followed by a comment from Ignis about how they’d let themselves get carried away, followed by Prompto’s feeble but heart-filled attempt at peace. Because, “These things happen.”

Yeah, Noct admitted to himself, they did happen. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be miffed about it though. A good sulk was needed as soon as they reached Hammerhead. Whenever that turned out to be. In the meantime, Noct participated minimally in conversations, and tried to think less of the heat and his aching hands. “How much farther until we get to Hammerhead?” groaned Prompto. “I’m starving!”

“Didn’t you eat right before we left?” Gladio glanced up.

“Yeah, but pushing cars takes a lot out of a guy!” the young blond argued.

This made Noct laugh to himself. “He’s got a good point.”

“See, my buddy Noct gets it!”

“Stop yapping and start pushing!” That must have been the fifth or sixth time Gladio had to repeat those words and each time they got more annoying. Noct let out a soft sigh. What he wouldn’t give for a good distraction.

Suddenly, the car stopped moving, and the sudden change launched Noct and Prompto forward. The prince was able to catch his footing before falling face first into the asphalt. Prompto, however, stumbled for a few feet before finally tumbling to the ground. Even Gladio had slammed into the Regalia unexpectedly.

“What was that for?” Gladio snarled. “Why’d you hit the breaks, Iggy?!”

“Isn’t that a person?” Ignis pointed off to the side of the road among the scarce greenery.

“Huh?” came Prompto’s voice as he got to his feet. “Where?”

“Ten o’clock, between those trees,” Ignis replied, pointing with a finger.

Adjusting his eyes, Noct looked, and there was the faint figure of a person walking along parallel to the road. They were limping badly.

“They look hurt,” Noct stated.

“My thoughts exactly,” Ignis agreed.

“Hey, aren’t those Sabertusks following them?” Gladio added worriedly. Sure enough, this was the case. A whole pack of them were following the figure. It didn't take much to figure out why.

“Why don’t they fight?!” Prompto asked. “Don’t they have a knife or something to defend themselves with?”

“Looks like they’ve had a tough time,” Gladio replied. “It’s possible whatever weapon they had is lost, or broken.”

“Well, what should we do?” Prompto continued on.

Noct finally spoke up again, coming to a decision. “Let’s go lend a hand.”

Wordlessly, the parking break was set, and the four friends raced off to assist. Noct summoned his sword and warped to the nearest beast, cutting its life short in a half dozen swings. Even with the hot sun beaming down, there was something to be said for how invigorating it could be battling deamons. A few moments later, the clanging of swords and the snarling ceased, the battle was over.

“Good job, everyone,” Gladio praised. “You gave it your all.”

“We nailed them!” Prompto cheered.

“Indeed,” Ignis said with a subtle eye roll. “But where has the rescued gone?”

His unusual phrasing took a moment to sink in, but when it did, they looked around and noticed no one. “They were just here…” Noct mused, glacing around the immediate area. What the heck?

“Over there,” Ignis pointed towards s group of boulders. “I saw movement between those rocks.”

“Best check it out then,” Noct agreed and trotted on ahead.

“I sure hope they’re okay,” Prompto spoke softly, his words almost going unnoticed.

“Well,” Noct shrugged, “we’ll find out soon enough.” The boulders were laid out in such a way that there was only one way in or out. Granted, Noct allowed, warping overtop was an option, but not everyone had such powers. They had to be there.

As he came around to peer between the rocks, his eyes rested on a young female, not much older than he or Prompto. Immediately, he noticed that she was indeed worse off than they anticipated; streaks of blood on her face, and bruises everywhere.

“Over here,” Noct called. “She’s in here.”

A chorus of, “She?” resounded among the three as they rushed over. The second the young woman realized she was found by them, she let out a blood-curdling scream.

*********** **

The scream caused Noct to stumble backwards, and he promptly fell flat on his backside. Normally Prompto would have burst out laughing and grabbed his camera to savor such a moment forever. However, he had jumped too hearing the noise. “What the?!”

“Easy!” Ignis tried to soothe. “You’re safe now. The sabertusks are gone!” No affect. “Lemme try,” said Gladio, stepping up. “Ma’am, it’s alright, you got nothing to fear.”

Prompto watched as Gladio approached her. The girl’s eyes seemed to bulge right out of her head, and somehow, her screaming intensified.

Ignis grabbed a fistful of Gladio’s jacket and hauled him back. “Stop, she’s even more wary of you then the rest of us!”

“How can one person make so much noise?” Gladio muttered.

Prompto barely heard him. He was focused solely on the girl. The girl who was digging the soles of her worn-out shoes into the dirt, trying to keep as much distance as possible between herself and them. The girl who’s screaming was not just a defense mechanism. Prompto didn’t really know how he knew this, but he didn’t question it. She was not only terrified out of her wits, but calling for help. It sent a shiver down his spine.

A second later he blinked, shaking himself. “Let me try.”

“I suggest we back off and part ways,” Ignis countered.

“What?!” Prompto squeaked. “She needs us!”

“It’s clear she doesn’t want help,” Gladio shrugged, still cringing from the never ending scream.

“Yes, she does!” Prompto insisted. “I know she does! Please, we have to do something!” He desperately turned to Noct, begging for the chance. If anyone could be convinced, it was him.

Noct finally nodded. “Go on, then.”

Prompto didn’t waste a second. He crouched down low and started for her. She was stirring up dust from all the kicking she was doing, but he could still see the panic in her eyes. “Hey, I wanna tell you something,” he said calmly. For three seconds, she stopped screaming and was hyperventilating instead. “I know you’re scared,” Prompto began. “I’m always scared, too. So, I can tell these things.”

There must have been something either in his soft blue eyes or his words that grabbed her attention, because she still hadn’t resumed screaming. The other three took a collective sigh of relief in the newfound silence.

In these precious few seconds, Prompto examined her appearance. Along with the blood streaks on her face and various bruises, her pants were shredded, and Prompto could see more blood underneath the strips of cloth. More bruises lined the visible skin on her arms and face. Additionally, she was red with sunburn, and her hair was a dark, matted mess. Most of all, he couldn’t quite get over just how intense those eyes of hers were…

He’d yet to move but a few steps closer toward her, fearing another outburst. Now, he took one more. “My name is Prompto. What’s yours?”

The girl blinked, and shook her head slowly.

“You don’t have a name? Or you don’t want to tell us? That’s okay, too.” She shook her head again, and gently placed her fingers to her throat. Prompto finally understood. “Oh. You can’t talk.”

She gave a small nod. Ever so slowly, she relaxed, and her arms fell to her sides. Before, they had been wrapped around herself protectively. Now Prompto could see that her top was even more worn than her pants.

Without much thought, he slipped off his sleeveless jacket, holding it out to her. “Here, you can wear this. I don’t mind.”

Tentatively, she reached out, never taking her eyes off him. Just as her fingers were touching the leather, Ignis came and laid a hand on Prompto. This spooked her, and she retracted her hand.

“Prompto, a word?”

“Dude, you’re scaring her!”

“Now,” Ignis repeated.

“Alright, coming.” He dropped his jacked on the ground, and then followed Ignis to where Noct and Gladio were standing off to the side. The former was wearing a pleased smile at Prompto’s success, while Gladio just looked… closed off, Prompto decided.

“So, you got her to stop screaming,” Gladio murmured. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“In my defense,” Prompto began smugly, “I am the least threatening out of all of us.”

Ignis huffed, though whether this was in amusement or annoyance, Prompto couldn’t tell. “Indeed, it appears you’ve made quite the impression on this young lady. That isn’t what we need to discuss.”

Before Prompto could ask what Ignis meant by that, Noct spoke up. “What’s her name?”

“Dunno, she can’t talk.”

“What do you mean?” Gladio asked. “She could certainly scream well enough.”

Ignis placed his fingers on his chin. “Unusual, but not impossible. Trauma tends to affect the human body in unexpected ways. Depending on what she’s been through, she could very well have lost the ability to speak.”

Prompto’s heart sank just a little further in his chest. “We have to help her, then.”

“She doesn’t want our help,” Gladio insisted.

“How can you say that?” Prompto shot back. “What if she was Iris?”

The older man’s eyes flared at the suggestion of his baby sister being in this position, but Ignis put a hand on Gladio’s shoulder.

“Enough!” he silenced the bickering. “I’m as concerned for her wellbeing as you, Prompto. We have to handle this delicately, or we risk making her situation worse.” “What could be worse than leaving her behind?” he countered. No one had an answer for him this time.

Gladio sighed. “I’ll leave it up to His Highness.”

Noctis was suddenly met with three pairs of eyes, the most intense being Prompto’s. After a long silence, Noct muttered, “Give it a shot. But we can’t force her.”

“Got it!” Prompto replied before speeding back over to the woman in the rocks. In that time, she had slipped on his jacket, and clutching it with her fists. Kneeling down in front of her, Prompto met her eyes, which were still wide with fear. “Hey… sorry about that. My friends, they might look a little rough, but I promise they’re great. Even Gladio.”

The woman blinked, and continued staring at him. Prompto watched her, and saw the curiosity in her eyes. It was so obvious, but she was unable to voice it.

Prompto cleared his throat. “Look, we don’t know you, and you don’t know us. I get it, we’re strangers to each other, and that’s enough to put anyone on edge. Please don’t take this wrong, but you look like you need some help.”

A glare began to appear on her face until she seemed to remember what she looked like. After glancing down at her hands and tugging lightly on her shirt, she sighed, and didn’t attempt to glare anymore.

“I’m not saying you have to trust us,” Prompto continued. “Just… let us look at your wounds, give you some water, maybe a ride to the next town?”

There was a long silence, and Prompto held his breath. At long last, when the young woman looked back up at him, some of the intensity of her eyes was gone, and he knew what her answer was. Extending a hand towards her, which she took, Prompto helped her stand.

“There you go, easy,” he reminded. She took a step forward, face wincing as she tried to put weight on her left leg. Seeing this, Prompto put an arm around her. “Lean on me if it hurts. I’ll help you get to the car.”

One step at a time, the battered stranger was brought out of her hiding place. Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio watched the pair walk out together, and simultaneously tried to take in this girl’s appearance.

“Well, look at that,” Gladio rumbled. “Prompto actually did it.”

Just his voice was enough to spook the girl, who gasped and jumped a little as he spoke.

“It’s alright,” Prompto tried to reassure her. “Gladio’s not so bad. Nothing to fear from the big guy. Now, other introductions. That’s Ignis, and this here is my buddy, Noct.”

Each either nodded or waved a hand as their name was mentioned. The strangers eyes rested on Noct for a long time, curious. She blinked, and so did he. Several seconds passed. “Uh… is there something on my face?” Noct asked, absently rubbing at the back of his neck.

Embarrassed, she looked away and shook her head.

“Perhaps,” Ignis suggested, “she recognizes you by your family name. There aren’t an abundance of Noct’s in Eos, after all.”

As this, the girl lifted her head and gasped. Now it was clear to everyone that she knew this was Prince Noctis of Insomnia. Letting go of her grip on Prompto, the young girl threw herself onto the ground in a bow. The guys would have laughed, if the situation had been a bit less dramatic, and she hadn’t been so hurt.

“You really don’t need to do that,” Noct stammered with embarrassment. “Just… stand up. I’m not formal like that.”

She leaned back onto her knees, wincing as she did so. Seeing her struggle to stand back up, Prompto lent a hand. “We don’t have any potions with us, do we, Ignis?” “I’m afraid not,” he replied. “The nearest place to acquire these would be Hammerhead, most likely.”

“So… back to pushing?” Noct sighed.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Gladio waved them on, leading the way. Noct fell in behind him, followed by Prompto and the stranger, leaving Ignis at the rear to keep an eye on everyone. Once they reached the car, Noct opener the door for the girl to climb in, and she took a seat in the back. The four took their positions once more; Noct and Prompto on each side, with Gladio pushing from behind and Ignis in the driver’s seat.

Grunts soon filled the air again, along with the hot, sticky afternoon sun. The wounded woman was stiff and unmoving in the back seat, though as each of them watched, they could see her eyes darting. The silence was deafening.

Well, this still wasn’t a fairy tale beginning, but at least everyone had stopped complaining.