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cinaja · 4 years

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Before the Wall part 42

Masterlist

----

Two months after Miryam and Drakon decided to attempt a relationship, they are sitting are sitting in Miryam’s drawing room together with Andromache and Zeku. Miryam and Drakon share a seat on the couch while Zeku and Andromache each took one of the armchairs. Between them, papers lie strewn out over a table. They are preparing for the meeting tomorrow, coordinating their opinions and making sure that they all agree on what to do any say.

The four of them are the usual group for meetings like this. Miryam is obviously there, although not in her function as de-facto leader of the Alliance, but as leader of their fraction. (Officially, there are no fractions in the Alliance, but in reality, they very much exist. Miryam’s is the biggest, consisting of all the humans – at least since she put her quarrel with Nakia aside – as well as those Fae who actually care about equality.) Andromache is there for the humans (not technically their leader, but while Scythia under Nakia is in charge of the military, Andromache spearheads politics) and Zeku for the Fae (not their leader at all, but closest to Miryam). Drakon isn’t there to represent anyone, but he wrote the proposal they are discussing, which means he has been invited to these meetings lately.

What they are discussing today is the sixth draft of Drakon’s original proposal, and somehow, he doubts that it will be the last one. They keep quarrelling over territory lines and new power positions, discussing the same points over and over again. By now, they have at least agreed that each of the Loyalist territories will be forced to yield part of their territory proportionally to the human population, allowing the humans to form independent territories. Other points remain less secure.

“Why are there no reparations specified in that contract?” Zeku asks.

“There are,” Drakon says, “Section three. Each freed slave is allowed to take as much they can carry from their owner’s household. And there will be trials for atrocities the enemies committed.”

Miryam shifts through her copy of the proposal. She is leaning against Drakon, he has an arm around her shoulders. In the beginning, they were hesitant about how much affection they could show in public, with only Andromache, Mor, Sinna and Nephelle knowing the truth, but by now, they are nearly certain that no one notices anything strange about their behaviour. (“What did you expect?” Nephelle asked, laughing, when he mentioned it to her. “You two were close enough already that the difference is near-impossible to notice.”)

“Yes, sure.” Zeku picks up a grape from the plate. “But what about reparations paid to the winner? It is common for the defeated party to somehow compensate the other side for the costs of war.”

Drakon sighs. He knew this would come, knew the Fae especially would likely disagree. “There hasn’t been a war of a comparable scale in millennia,” he says. “The entire Continent is in ruin. If we force the Loyalist countries to pay for this, we’ll bankrupt them for centuries.”

Neither Miryam nor Andromache look particularly disturbed at the thought. Andromache shrugs. “So what? Much as I appreciate your generosity, I don’t particularly care if the Loyalists have economic problems after this.”

“You will if you consider the long-term consequences,” Drakon says. He sincerely hopes he doesn’t sound like he’s defending the Loyalists. “I’m not saying this out of sympathy for the ither side, but because I don’t want us to get dragged into another war in a few decades or centuries.”

Zeku frowns at him. “Aren’t you exaggerating a little there? This has been common practice for millennia.”

“And every time the victor when too far, another war was the consequence . Take Akele and Merin,” he says, referring to two territories on the western Continent that have been locked in war for just over a thousand years. It all started when Akele defeated Merin in war and bled the country dry for compensation.

He looks around at the others. “The Loyalists’ economy is built around slavery – without it, it will struggle. If we add huge debts to that, it will collapse entirely.” He looks to Andromache and Miryam, who don’t seem upset at all. “I realize that this may not feel like a bad thing – even I would like to see them pay, and I have far less cause than you do. But any satisfaction this might bring won’t last, because if we do this, we’ll never have true peace. We will need constant military presence in the former Loyalist countries, we will have to keep them down for eternity. Because the moment we relax our guard, they will strike back.”

Miryam and Andromache exchange another look. Now, they do seem concerned. Zeku presses his lips together and looks down at his fingers.

“That won’t be easily sold to the Fae,” he warns.

“Or the humans,” Andromache adds.

Miryam frowns. “Are you sure about this?” She asks.

Drakon considers for a moment, then nods. “We can’t push the Loyalists completely to the ground,” he says. “If we abolish slavery and then let them all fall into poverty, they will always wish to go back to the times before this war. There will be no moving on.”

“It isn’t just the economy, though,” Andromache says. “It’s not like they enslave us out of necessity – “ Drakon flinches and she shakes her head. “Don’t look at me like that, I know that wasn’t what you were saying. But still. The problem is that they think us lesser. And that won’t change if we allow them to keep their economy.”

Yes, Drakon knows this. But finding a way to end bigotry that has been festering in Fae society for millennia seems nearly impossible. He’s just over thirty years old, and he’s expected to solve a millennia-old problem? All he can do is identify the biggest possible pitfalls and try to find solutions, but he has no way of knowing if those will actually work. It’s not ideal, but he doesn’t know another way to approach this than to work step by step.

“Humans will have their own countries,” he says. “If we manage to establish that as the status quo, it will be a solid first step. Then we work on establishing trade between the human and Fae countries. Trading partners rarely attack each other – it isn’t good for the economy. And trade always brings countries and people closer together.”

Many of the Loyalists, of course, wouldn’t be pleased by the idea of trading with the humans. But that’s another thing they agreed upon – the Loyalist countries would be put under Alliance administration for the time being. Rulers would need to be replaced with ones more open to the new course, and the Alliance would maintain a presence until things had stabilized.

Miryam flips through the pages of Drakon’s proposal. “There’s also the section about adding a clause to Continental law that allows full legal protection to all humans,” she says. “We’d just need to find a way to get that law put into action, but otherwise, it should help.”

Zeku nods. He has opened his copy and is studying the lines, frowning. Drakon pours himself a glass of water and takes a sip. These discussions are nerve-wracking. It’s entirely different from having to work out a text for university and then discussing it with the other students. Then, it was only about a grade, maybe his father’s approval. Now, it’s the entire continent at stake. Miryam takes his hand and squeezes, smiling at her.

“I know this isn’t entirely the subject,” Zeku says without looking up from the paper, “But would it be possible to include lesser faeries in that law?”

Drakon bites back a curse. Of course, how could he forget about that? When he was still in university, most of the essays he wrote were about the situation faeries face, especially in countries like Montesere. But now, his focus was entirely on the humans – enough that he forgot about the second group of people who aren’t treated as equal on the Continent.

“Don’t they have legal protection already?” Andromache asks.

Zeku shakes his head. “Not in general Continental law. It’s up to their countries to decide which rights they have, but outside of that, the situation is unclear.”

Andromache frowns. “But aren’t you and Drakon…” She pauses. “Can I say ‘lesser faeries’? It sounds disrespectful.”

“I believe that’s the point,” Zeku says drily. His blue skin darkens considerably. “But if you’d like to avoid that, you can simply say ‘faeries’.”

Andromache nods. “Okay. So, you’re both faeries, not High Fae. You’re still royalty.”

“We’re similar enough in power and looks that they don’t mind us as much,” Zeku says. Drakon nods in confirmation.

Privilege on the Continent has always been largely tied to power. Humans don’t have any, High Fae have the most. Most faeries lie somewhere in between, powerful in their own rights, but with abilities that are largely tied to the land and far more specific than those of the High Fae. Both Drakon’s and Zeku’s people have strong elemental powers, though – more High Fae-like – and most people simply pretend they are High Fae.

“I’ll include something,” Drakon says.

He can’t believe he didn’t think of it himself. He knows about the issues faeries face all over the Continent as well as Zeku does. Both Sangravah and Erithia have laws that grant faeries equal rights and, consequently, far larger faerie populations than most other countries.

“We can include that?” He asks, turning to Miryam and Andromache. “Right?”

“Sure,” Andromache says. “Wouldn’t do for us to win this war and abolish slavery only for these asshole High Fae to turn around and enslave a different species.”

Miryam looks down at the proposal and smiles. “If we get this to work,” she says, “we’re truly going to change the world.”

----

Mor runs a hand through her hair. She spent most of the day sitting in her tent in Andromache’s camp, looking through a book her uncle’s servants dug up from somewhere inside the Hewn City. Ever since the High Lord mentioned the possible uses of her gift to her, she tried to find out as much as possible about it.

Unfortunately, most of the texts regarding the Morrigan powers belong to the private collection of Mor’s family, meaning her father, and ancient contracts forbid even the High Lord from accessing those and the last Morrigan died over a century before Mor was born, and as far as mor knows, he didn’t have any special abilities either.

Truth is deadly, Mor reads, Truth is freedom. Truth can break and mend and bind. The author, Mor has decided, has an unfortunate flair for being dramatic and overly poetic instead of helpful. Pages upon pages and not a single solid explanation of what Mor’s powers do, much less how they are used.

“Stupid book,” Mor mutters and closes it.

“I don’t understand why you’re so fascinated by this,” Andromache says. She’s lying on her stomach on Mor’s bed, papers strewn out over the pillow before her.

“Wouldn’t you be fascinated if you found out you might be in possession of powers like these?”

Andromache purses her lips and shrugs. “No.”

“No?” Mor echoes. “Not even a little bit?”

“No.” Andromache picks up a letter and starts methodically ripping it apart. “Humans don’t have powers, and I, for my part, am perfectly content with it.”

Mor frowns. She heard this philosophy from quite a few humans already, but she never quite believed it. It always seemed more like the kind of thing people would say to console themselves over the fact that they don’t have any magic.

“Besides,” Andromache continues, “I have yet to meet a person who was overly powerful and happy with it. Discounting complete assholes like Artax, obviously.”

“Rhys isn’t unhappy,” Mor says, “And Miryam isn’t either.”

Andromache makes a noise that might be interpreted as agreement, but she remains silent. She turns her attention to the next letter and starts ripping it apart as well.

“And now you want to be like Miryam?” She asks. She still sounds sceptical, not at al like she’s pleased with Mor’s plans.

Mor shrugs. She obviously doesn’t want to be exactly like Miryam. But she genuinely cannot see what is so wrong with wanting to be similar, especially when it comes to power. Who wouldn’t want that? Miryam is untouchable. Everyone likes and respects her. She can walk into the Night Court and simply get a girl like Mor out of there without any consequences. That is what power gets you. If Mor had power, she would not only be safe, but also able to help others.

But maybe Andromache truly doesn’t see it. She’s a queen, after all. She never was as powerless as Mor.

“I simply don’t understand this,” Andromache pushes when Mor remains silent. At least she doesn’t say ´I don’t understand you`. “I’ve never known you to care about power.”

Mor crosses her arms. Somehow, Andromache makes her feel like she’s done something wrong when she really hasn’t. “Maybe I just want to know what I’m capable of.”

Andromache swings her legs over the edge of the bed and gets up. “Then do that,” she says. “Just make sure you don’t end up finding more than you wanted to. Or playing directly into what your uncle wants.” She walks over to Mor and kisses her briefly before making for the exit. “I need to deal with a few problems,” she says. “Good luck with your researches.”

“Thanks,” Mor mutters, looking after her as she walks out of the tent.

She presses her lips together. They didn’t argue, not exactly, but she still feels like Andromache is somehow upset with her. Mor doesn’t want her to be upset, but at the same time, she doesn’t see what she was doing wrong. When Miryam was looking into her powers, no one told her not to. Why is it different for Mor?

Scowling, she looks down at the book. This certainly isn’t going to help her. She had considered asking Miryam for advice, but after Andromache’s reaction, she doesn’t feel confident in that strategy anymore. This leaves her to figure out how to handle her powers on her own.

No books and no help to be had. That means all that’s left is trial-and-error.

----

“What are you so annoyed about?” Yanis asks as they walk together through the camp.

“I’m not annoyed,” Andromache mutters, even though she technically is.

“Sure you are,” Yanis says. “I’m your best friend – you think I don’t notice?”

Andromache smiles and swats at his arm. Unfortunately, Yanis really does know her well enough that he’s impossible to lie to. They’ve been friends since their childhood, both children of advisors to the last queen, who later picked Andromache to be her successor. Yanis joined the royal guard, which means that now, a few years down the line, he is one of her guards.

“I had an…” Not an argument, not quite. “A disagreement with Mor.”

She doesn’t even know why she is this angry with Mor. Maybe it’s because she keeps thinking of how much Miryam struggles with her powers and can’t fathom the sheer stupidity of anyone wanting that for themselves.

Or maybe it’s because Mor’s entire approach to the situation is so distinctly Fae, wanting power for power’s sake, only to further their own standing. If she at least said that she was trying to get more powerful so that she could help them win this war, Andromache might have accepted it, but Mor just seemed to want power, and maybe Andromache is simply too human to understand that.

“Oh.” Yanis makes a face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Andromache quietly shakes her head. She usually tells Yanis everything that’s going on in her life. He even knows about her relationship with Mor, by virtue of being the one who is currently pretending to be her lover to cover for them. But this is not her secret alone, and she doesn’t even know if Mor is comfortable with other people hearing about it.

“So, do you want to do anything to take your mind off the matter?” Yanis asks. “We could go sparring.”

“I’d love to, but I need to visit Jurian.”

Ever since Jurian stopped talking to Miryam, Andromache made a point to visit him at least once a week. Miryam makes sure his camp keeps running smoothly, and Andromache does her best to keep Jurian company. These days, she seems to be the only one whose company he can stomach. It isn’t always easy with him, but there’s no way Andromache is going to abandon him entirely. (And really, who of them can claim to be easy to be around these days?)

“I’ll winnow us,” Yanis says.

Yanis is exactly one eighth Fae. Physically, there’s no hint of his ancestors except for ears that are perhaps a bit more pointed than normal, and except for the ability to winnow, he has inherited none of their magical powers. The ability to winnow comes in very handy, though. Now, he winnows both of them to the outskirts of Jurian’s camp.

“I’ll go talk to Xeni,” he says when they arrive, naming one of Jurian’s higher-ranking captains.

“Meet you back here in an hour?” Andromache asks and waves at one of soldiers whom she knows briefly from another visit.

Yanis nods and they both set off. Jurian isn’t in his tent, which Andromache takes as a good sign. The days when Jurian is sitting alone in his tent, staring at his maps or drinking, are usually the worst. When he’s out in his camp and doing things, it generally means that he’s having a good day. (Occasionally, it also means that he’s having a terrible day and everyone else is about to as well.)

She finds Jurian sitting at a table with his soldiers, which is definitely a good sign. He looks tired, bloodshot eyes sunken deep into his face, but he’s talking. When he sees Andromache, he smiles, which is a rare sight these days, and waves her over. One of his soldiers quickly moves aside to make place for her on the bench.

“How’s it going?” Jurian asks. He even sounds somewhat cheerful.

Andromache smiles back. “Can’t complain.”

One of the soldiers passes her a mug of ale and Andromache takes it, thanking him. She isn’t overly fond of ale, but she still takes a sip, wincing at the bitter taste.

“And you?” Andromache asks. “Things look pleasantly calm here.”

“Oh, but they aren’t,” Jurian says. He sounds satisfied with himself. “We only got back here a few hours ago. We spent the past two days chasing after Amarantha’s army. We finally caught on to them earlier today and managed quite the ambush. Four hundred of her soldiers dead, can you imagine?”

“That’s great,” Andromache says, but her smile soon fades.

She does her best to remember the assignments for the individual armies, but she can’t quite drag up the memory. Miryam always knows the exact orders for each commander by heart, but Andromache has been less involved in the matter lately. Still, she is sure that Jurian’s army had gotten orders that don’t align with running after Amarantha. (As a matter of fact, Jurian’s orders rarely ever give him free reign to do as he pleases when it comes to Amarantha anymore. Andromache never asked, but she strongly suspects that Miryam is behind it.)

“Hold on,” she says slowly. Now, she does remember what orders Jurian had. “Weren’t you meant to keep watch on Vallahan’s army? To make sure they don’t move east.”

Jurian’s slight frown confirms her suspicions. “We’ve been keeping an eye out for them for days,” he says, shrugging. “They haven’t moved.”

Andromache stares at him for a moment. She is about to yell at him, to tell him what he was thinking, going against orders like that, but then, she remembers the soldiers sitting around them. Jurian is their commander and a councilmember, they hold the same rank – she can’t lecture him in front of his soldiers like he’s a wilful child.

“Of course,” Andromache says with a forced smile. “Congratulations on your victory, that’s great news.” She takes another sip of her ale. “And you’re right about Vallahan’s army, too. I’m sure you sent scouts out to check on them, we’d know by now if they had moved.”

Jurian nods hastily, but from the frantic look in his eyes, he hasn’t heard back from his scouts yet. Andromache tries hard to conceal her ire. She knows Jurian is struggling and that his revenge against Amarantha is all that keeps him going these days. Being angry with him for that always seemed unfair, but it is very hard not to when he keeps putting his private revenge before the war effort.

They sit together for another couple of minutes, chatting idly with the soldiers. Their conversation gets interrupted by a panting man who stops next to Jurian and whispers something into his ear. His eyes widen.

“What is it?” Andromache asks. Now, she can’t quite keep the edge out of her voice.

“Vallahan’s army has been spotted,” Jurian says. “They…” He clears his throat. “They slipped past our defences and are now moving east. Towards your camp.”

Andromache stares at him for a moment, then jumps to her feet. She doesn’t even bother to yell at Jurian who is still staring at her wide-eyed before she rushes out of the camp.

----

Mor stares out at the army stretching out before her, panting. There is blood splattered all over her golden armour, blood in her hair, on her hands. A sword cut through a slit in the armour on her arm, but she barely feels the sting of the wound. She takes a swig out of a waterskin. Only a moment of pause, then she will need to head back into the fray where Andromache is still fighting.

They are losing. Reinforcements won’t be here for another few hours, and by then, Mor isn’t sure how many of them will be left. They need a miracle. Or a very, very powerful magic-wielder, but none of the ones they have on their side turned up yet.

It was said that she could see the truth about anything in this world, that she could make the proudest Fae beg for mercy in the blink of an eye, and destroy entire armies. The power to destroy an army would come in handy now. If only Mor knew how.

Truth. How does one wield truth in battle?

One attempt, that’s all Mor will spare before she returns to the battle. She closes her eyes and tries to feel the power inside her. She already used it, at least fractions of it, but there must be more and now, Mor goes looking for the core.

She is just about to give up when she finally finds it. The power feels strangely cold and a shiver runs through Mor’s body. The power slips her grasp, though. It keeps slipping away from her, remaining just outside of her reach.

“Come on,” Mor hisses through clenched teeth.

This power is hers. Hers. It doesn’t get to refuse her, certainly not in a moment like this. There are people relying on her. She reaches out, stretches her mind to the point where it strains. A cold spreads from her fingers and all over her body. It feels like she is drenched in cold water. Her power feels like ice, cold and unforgiving. Is scares Mor as it shoots through her, but there is still an army for her to contend with.

Mor grips her power tightly. It is there, filling her entirely, but she doesn’t know what to do with it. She never learned to use it against anyone, has no idea how to weaponize a power that seems entirely harmless.

Out, she orders, attack them. Her power trembles inside her body for a moment longer. Then, miraculously, it goes shooting towards the enemy soldiers. Mor can feel it, rushing out of her and towards the enemy army. Then, her vision turns grey. A crack echoes through her mind. She feels herself falling, falling and falling. She should have hit the ground by now, but still, she falls. Then, the voice starts speaking.

Morrigan, it whispers. No, it isn’t one voice but several, speaking all at once. Morrigan, you call for truth and you will receive it.

Mor tries to struggle, to fight her way out of the darkness she is caught in, but her power keeps a tight grip on her. This is all wrong. It was meant to attack the enemy, not her.

But you so love to lie to yourself, the voices continue. You lie when you tell yourself that your cousin is different from your uncle. You lie when you tell yourself that this little family you made for yourself is so close that nothing could tear it apart.

“No,” Mor whispers. Her head is throbbing and her heart beats far too quickly. “No, stop.”

Before her eyes, images rise. She sees Rhys, standing in his army’s camp, whip in hand. A soldier is bound to the flock below him and Rhys’s face is frozen in clod rage as he swings the whip. He’ll be no better than his father, the voice whispers.

And Azriel… His face appears before her eyes, always impassive. Deep down, you know he won’t be willing to move on. And if he ever finds out the truth… You know how he’ll react. He wants you, will always want you. You’re the symbol for the acceptance he always wanted, and he’ll never accept that he can’t have you.

Azriel’s face vanishes from before her and she is standing in a room with Andromache. They are kissing, embracing each other, but they aren’t alone. Shadows lurk in the corner, shadows like the ones that report to Azriel. Her skin crawls like there are thousands of ants running over her body. She’s being watched, always watched.

When he finds out, the voices continue, your secret will come out. He’ll tell Azriel and Rhysand, and eventually, everyone will know.

She’s standing opposite Azriel in a room. He is yelling and even though she doesn’t hear the words, she knows what he is saying. There are people standing around them, watching. Keir is there. Eris. Her uncle.

“Stop,” Mor sobs, “Please!”

But it doesn’t stop. And you lie to yourself when you tell yourself that you and Andromache will be together forever. She won’t want to be with you forever, not when your opinions differ so much. Eventually, she will realize that you are no less privileged than the other Fae. That you may care for humans and all the things she values, but not nearly as deeply as she does. She will realize that deep down, you don’t understand, and she will leave.

“This isn’t what it’s like, I’m not like that!”

But you are, the voice says. You joined the war as a way to get out of the Night Court. You genuinely think that many of the humans have it easier than you do. You like to split your world into good and bad, and everyone who isn’t actively horrible is bad, everyone else is good.

“No!” Mor screams. She tears at her hair, struggles against her power’s invisible hold on her.

I am truth, the power whispers, You cannot escape me.

Mor screams without words. She wants this to stop, wants the voice to go away. She claws at her head, but something stops her hands.

And just like this, it is all gone. Mor’s power snaps back into her. It quivers in her for a moment, then dissolves into nothing. Pain flares through her head.

“Mor!” Someone is shaking her. “Morrigan, look at me.”

Mor blinks. Slowly, the world comes into focus around her. Andromache’s face appears before her, blurry at first, then more clearly.

“Hey,” Mor mutters. She tries to push herself upright, but Andromache gently presses her back into the grass.

“Stay still,” Miryam says. She is kneeling next to Mor, still dressed in her council clothes, a long silk dress with silver embroidery that seems far too thin for the brisk night air. She must have raced here straight from a meeting if she didn’t even bother to change clothes. The air around her seems to shimmer, alight with power. “Are you in pain?”

Mor wants to say yes, but then, she realizes that she actually isn’t. She has a headache, but beyond that, she can detect no physical pain. Her mind is reeling and her chest feels painfully tight, but that hardly counts.

“No,” she says. “I’m…” She chokes on the word fine.

Words keep echoing through her mind, far too loudly, drowning out any thoughts. Her chest feels far too tight, she can barely breathe. Over her, Miryam and Andromache exchange a worried look. The air around Miryam glows with power. Mor doesn’t understand why her power is out, what is going on around them. Are they still fighting?

“The battle…” She stammers.

“We won,” Andromache says. She gently pushes a strand of hair out of Mor’s face, but her face is tense.

“Did you lose control over your powers?” Miryam asks. She glances over her shoulder, then returns her attention to Mor.

She shakes her head. “No, I…” She breaks off. Her tongue feels strangely heavy. “I meant to do this.” She doesn’t even know what this is. But now, she finally understands why her power feels so strange. “It’s fine,” she says to Miryam. “You can give it back.”

“Are you sure?” Miryam asks. “Control can be difficult, especially when you are already exhausted.”

“It’s fine,” Mor repeats. She doesn’t know how to explain to Miryam that she has no trouble at all with controlling her power. She never had. Truth seems to be pleasant in that regard, if in no other.

Still, Miryam only releases her grip on Mor’s power slowly. Bit by bit, it slithers back into Mor’s body. Controlling it is easy enough, though.

“See?” She says once all of her power is back in her body. “All fine.” If that isn’t the biggest lie she ever told.

Neither Miryam nor Andromache seem convinced and when Mor tries to sit up again, Miryam grabs her arm.

“Rest,” she says in a tone Mor likes to call her healer voice. It’s somehow both gentle and firm. “No matter how much control you might have over your power, using that much of it is still a strain and you should give your body time.”

Hearing that from Miryam, who only considers resting when she passes out from pain, is somewhat ridiculous. But getting her to change her mind would require a discussion and now that her head is beginning to clear again, Mor realizes that even though the battle might be over, both Andromache and Miryam likely have duties to deal with.

“Okay,” Mor says. “I’ll just lie down. You two can go, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Andromache asks, but she’s already looking over her shoulder at the battlefield. She must have lost many soldiers today. Mor can already see the shadows on her face.

“Yes, just go.”

“I’ll bring her back to the camp and return to help you,” Miryam says.

Andromache nods and is off before Mor truly has time to process what is happening. Miryam looks over her shoulder.

“Don’t you dare get a stretcher,” Mor warns softly. “I can walk.”

Miryam sighs. “Alright.”

She holds out a hand to pull her to her feet. Mor sways a little and has to grip Miryam’s arm to stay upright, but otherwise, she manages just fine. Miryam pulls her arm around her shoulders and helps her walk back to the camp. In Mor’s tent, Miryam deposits her on the bed. Mor half-expected her to rush off back towards the battlefield immediately, but she sits down next to her.

“What happened out there?” Mor asks softly.

Miryam arches an eyebrow at her. “That’s what I was about to ask you.” When Mor remains silent, she says, “I only arrived at the very end. But Andromache says that the enemy soldiers suddenly fell to the ground, all at once. She thought they were dead at first, but then, some of them started screaming and clawing at their heads. Some allegedly died on the spot, although that may be a rumour. Andromache’s army had an easy game after that. Your power was all over the place, and you were on the ground as well. As soon as the enemy soldiers were taken care off, I turned your power off since you didn’t seem to be able to do it yourself.”

Mor nods. She doesn’t know if she could have pulled her own power back, how much control she had actually left. She doubts she would have been able to fight her way out of her own mind for long enough to call the power back, though.

“Do you know what you did?” Miryam asks softly.

“I showed them truth,” Mor says. Only now that she says it does she realize that’s exactly what she did. “The truths they hide from, the ones that scare them. The ones they hate.”

“And in return, you had to see your own truths,” Miryam says. Mor nods and Miryam walks over to put a hand on her arm. “That was a very brave thing to do,” she says. “Everyone has truths they’d rather not face; doing so anyways takes a lot of strength.”

Mor doesn’t feel brave or strong, though. She feels terrible. Like a pretender. I didn’t know this would happen, she thinks. If I had known, I’m not sure if I would have done what I did. And that isn’t bravery. It’s quite the opposite. She didn’t face anything. She just ran from it, and she can’t get herself to stop running.

“I need to go help Andromache,” Miryam says, rising. “But if you have any trouble with your powers, if you need help with anything, pleas tell me. We’ll figure something out.”

Mor nods and watches Miryam walk out of the tent. After that, she lies on her hard bed, staring up at the ceiling. She doesn’t know how much time passes. Her mind is empty, save for the voices that keep ringing in her ears. The pain she feels has nothing to do with physical wounds, but she feels it nonetheless. It’s nearly driving her insane.

Outside of the tent, the sun has already vanished behind the horizon when Mor gets up. She doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be running around, but she can’t take the confines of her tent anymore. She needs some fresh air. Carefully, she pushes the entrance to her tent open and slips out.

“Aren’t you on bedrest?” Yanis asks. Apparently, he’s been waiting outside of her tent.

“Consider me well-rested,” Mor says. “I’m going for a walk.”

Yanis doesn’t stop her as she walks past him and into the camp. All around her, soldiers stop their work to stare at her, whisper with each other. The Morrigan, they call her, voices hushed in awe. It seems the entire camp already knows about what she did.

Mor doesn’t want any of it. Her head is still pounding, the words she heard while she used her power echo through her mind. She can’t shake that voice. Is it now permanently etched into her mind? Will she be forced to hear those words over and over again for eternity?

She can’t stand the whispers. The noise of the camp hurts her ears, the lights of the pyres burn in her eyes. The only person whose company she cares for right now is Andromache, but she is a queen whose first duty will always be to her people, and she cannot abandon them in the aftermath of battle. Besides, she might not be all that interested in Mor either way. Just like the other Fae, a voice whispers in her mind. And so Mor is alone when she sneaks out of the camp, away from the eyes and the whispers, and sits down on a small stone.

“Hey,” Andromache says softly and sits down next to Mor.

She never knew truth could be so cruel. It’s the cruellest gift of all.

Mor gives her a tired smile. “Let me guess,” she says, “Yanis told you where I went.” When Andromache simply gives her an apologetic smile, she shakes her head. “You don’t need to worry about me,” she says, “I know you have duties to fulfil with your army.”

“Miryam is filling in for me, so I’ve got time,” Andromache says. “How are you feeling?”

“It didn’t hurt me,” Mor says. Which is not entirely true, but physically, she is fine.

Andromache puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. “When I saw you lying on the ground there, I thought you might die,” she whispers. “I was so scared.”

Mor buries her face in Andromache’s shoulder. For all the horror she experienced today, it’s good that there was at least one person who genuinely cared about what happened to her. It is prove that she isn’t entirely alone. Maybe she can talk to Andromache about what she saw.

“It’s truth,” she says, “My power. And it’s…” She shakes her head. “It showed me things, told me things…” Her fingers tremble. The words repeat over and over in her head, but she can’t bring herself to say them out loud. “It was terrible.

How stupid was she to ever want this? If she thinks about how she spent her day pouring over a book, desperately trying to unlock her powers. What she would have given to be able to turn back time now. She should have listened to Andromache.

“You don’t have to use it,” Andromache says softly. “If you have been able to keep it locked away until now, you won’t ever need to use it again. No one would blame you.”

In a way, this is absolution. They are still at war and Mor’s gift might prove to be invaluable. But what Andromache offers is a free pass for not using it. She won’t be a coward. No one will be able to blame her. It will be fine.

“I won’t ever use it again,” she whispers. “Not in a million years.”

----

Miryam draws a few odd looks as she walks through Drakon’s camp. Her clothes are splattered in blood and mud, she only barely managed to get the dirt off her face and hands. She spent the past few hours alternating between organizing the post-battle work and helping the healers out.

Well over three hundred soldiers dead. The enemy lost their entire army, but their own losses are still high, the highest out of any battle this month. Miryam gives it an hour at most until the council starts demanding answers. Two hours until they find out what happened. Then, they’ll surely summon Miryam, demand an explanation for what Jurian did. As if she knows.

She stops one of Drakon’s soldiers, a woman she knows briefly from past visits. “Where’s Drakon?” She asks.

“I believe his Highness is in his tent, my Lady,” the soldier replies and hurries on.

Miryam sets off towards Drakon’s tent. She expects him to be stuck in some kind of meeting, but he is alone when Miryam enters, sitting at his desk. He’s drumming a quick rhythm on his leg and flinches when Miryam enters. She immediately knows that something is wrong and wants to ask, but Drakon beats her to it.

“What happened?” He asks, looking at her ruined clothes.

Miryam gives the briefest possible explanation. “Jurian went against orders to chase after Amarantha, which means that a few thousand Vallahan soldiers slipped past our defences. Andromache’s army lost a several hundred soldiers and the only reason it wasn’t more is that Mor used some very strange truth magic I’d never seen before to disable most of their soldiers.”

Drakon seems startled. “Is she okay?” He asks.

Miryam shrugs. “Physically, yes,” she says. Mentally, Miryam isn’t so sure. Mor wasn’t in pain, didn’t seem hurt, but Miryam has never seen her this distraught.

Miryam is far from an expert on Higher Arts – she only barely managed not to let hers kill her – but she knows that they are generally weird. Difficult to master and near-impossible to understand. In her private interpretation, they also tend to come with a price to match the gift, although she is sure most Fae would disagree.

“And you?” Miryam asks. Drakon still seems far too tense. “Is everything alright?”

Drakon shakes his head, shrugging lightly at the same time. He’s still drumming around on his leg, tapping his foot on top of it. Miryam walks over to him and puts an arm around his shoulders.

“What is it?” She asks softly.

Drakon picks up a letter from the table and passes it to Miryam, fingers shaking slightly. Thick paper, a seal pressed into red wax. A sun with a crown hovering over it. Ravenia’s seal.

----

Thanks @croissantcitysucks for helping with this chapter! And in general for being the best person to talk to about writing ❤

#miryam #jurian #drakon #andromache #before the wall

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magicalforcesau · 3 years

Text

Dancing With Ghosts in Your Garden~ Chapter 18 - Year 2: February

(ao3 link)

In lieu of the incident with the sleeping draught, all prefects were mandated to enroll in Professor Palpatine’s brand new weekly Potions seminars. As the misstep with the Vitamix potion along with Maul’s nearing presence showed, it was ideal that all prefects be properly trained in the event that professors were once again subdued. This, they felt, combined with Professor Fisto’s ongoing dueling club, would prepare them.

Obi-Wan’s doubts of how prepared they could possibly be for something so unpredictable grew stronger with each day. Although he was already enrolled in the advanced potions class, he would never deny the opportunity to learn more. If anything, it would at least offer more practice.

“Given that it’s February, I figured it best we start with a common favorite amongst the masses of troublemakers,” Palpatine’s shoes clicked on the ground as he paced at the front of the room.

From what Obi-Wan understood, Palpatine didn’t receive any punishment for the accidental sleeping potion brew. Yoda had, of course, received a rather scathing howler from the Ministry at his supposed flightiness, of which he took the blame for. It seemed Anakin had stepped up and claimed it was he who accidentally knocked the draught in the already brewing potion.

That all certainly added up and did not help Anakin’s reputation amongst his peers.

“Any guesses to what that would be?” Palpatine asked, eagerly taking in the small crowd of Hogwarts’ best with expectant eyes.

Because this was a class full of prefects, each were considerably decent students and wanted to learn. There were exceptions, Obi-Wan realized as he looked over to a nearly snoozing Zeb, but they were outliers.

“Love potions?” Breha Organa said rather dreamily. Obi-Wan didn’t need to turn around to know she’d been looking at Bail as she said it.

“Right you are, Breha!” Palpatine smiled, “Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world, at that. Many of you and your students are for the first time diving into the wondrous and mysterious landscape that is romance. Some of you aren’t even aware that you are.”

Did he look at Obi-Wan on purpose? No, that would be silly. Palpatine always took care to rove eye contact throughout the classroom. It was a sufficient method of maintaining focus and Obi-Wan knew this, but he still shifted his gaze immediately elsewhere like he’d been caught copying homework.

“Love and potions aren’t all that different, really.” He continued, “The right and organic combination makes a fruitful and prosperous brew. The wrong and inauthentic combination is bitter and not made to last.”

“And if you’re not careful, you could end up with a wrinkly, scrawny little creature.” Zeb added knowingly, earning a few chuckles throughout the group.

“As if you’ve got anything to worry about there.” Caleb muttered, and much to Zeb’s dismay, acquired a more popular response.

“Boys, please.” Palpatine chastised, “I don’t want word to travel that Gryffindor’s prefects lost them points.”

“Cody would have an aneurysm,” Satine whispered and Obi-Wan only nodded in response. It was no secret to either of them that their friend was less than pleased with how bleak Gryffindor’s odds of obtaining either the House or Quidditch cup were becoming. If he heard that Caleb and Zeb worsened those odds, neither would be awaiting a very pretty conversation.

The troublesome two seemed to recognize this and justly shut their traps.

The class turned back to Palpatine, who seemed rather satisfied with the change in their mood and circled around the cauldron at the center of his desk. From it, emerged a pink fog that resembled a cloud at sunset and judging by the smile its scent drew from Palpatine, it smelled as pleasant as it looked.

“A love potion manufactures the deepest desires from the person who ingests it, manifesting them all at once in an intoxicating fashion that causes them to see the intended target in a different light.” He said almost reverently, “Ironically, it’s called a love potion, when it should really be called an infatuation potion.”

“That’s because you can’t build love from a substance.” Satine muttered from beside him. “Try as some might.”

Obi-Wan stared at the cauldron. He’d heard of amortentia. Evidently, a cheap ineffective version was sold at Zonko’s in Hogsmeade, though he never took much care to notice. He didn’t know much about love, save for the fact that it seemed highly unlikely for anything to recreate something as complicated as attraction.

She raised her hand, “Professor? Aren’t love potions banned at Hogwarts?”

“That they are,” Palpatine said with crossed hands, “Though that’s not to say they haven’t been smuggled in before.”

“Why would they do that?” A familiar high pitched voice from the back called.

Despite his interest in the subject, Obi-Wan couldn’t resist snapping his neck in turning to see none other than Anakin Skywalker sitting at the back desk, looking incredibly small in stature next to Onaconda Farr. Farr, in his defense, looked just as confused by Anakin’s presence as Obi-Wan felt.

“What are you doing here?” Obi-Wan asked him, “This is supposed to be for prefects only.”

“Not to worry, Mr. Kenobi, I did grant Anakin permission to attend.” Palpatine answered before Anakin could muster up a smart response, “Anakin shows a real knack for potions and given the circumstances, I would say it’s best that he be included whenever he could be protected.”

Obi-Wan slumped back in his chair, feeling properly admonished. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Anakin was capable. It was quite the opposite, actually, but there was an order to these things and learning advanced spells before one was ready did not seem indicative of a sound idea. Anakin needed to learn the building blocks still, whether he believed it or not. Despite his talent, he knew there was an absence of maturity to handle heavy source material. Dueling was one thing, as there was an obvious precedence for it right now and it was typically taught to some degree during second year anyway. Teaching Anakin about love potions felt more like giving a dog a steak and telling him not to eat it. He could try to convince everyone that he was over his crush on Padmé all he wanted, but it simply wasn’t true.

“To answer your question, Anakin,” Palpatine continued, “When someone is too blind with desperation to see reason, they will do just about anything to acquire what they want. A love potion, while sounding frilly and fun, occludes all rational thinking from the person it's given to.”

“And typically, it’s not ingested voluntarily.” Satine added.

Obi-Wan frowned, thinking of the potentially dastardly effects such a tool could provide for a desperately lovesick person. It was no different than being under a curse, in a sense, because the poor sap trapped in such a state had no agency whatsoever.

“How does one tell if someone is suffering from the effects of a love potion?” Fenn Rau asked.

“Why, you see them every day in young and happy couples as you walk through these halls. They’re starry-eyed, flushed, unspeakably happy, practically in a trance.”

“How are we to tell the difference then?” Obi-Wan asked.

“These features tend to be a good deal more exemplified and elongated.” Palpatine said, “For instance, while the honeymoon phase is technically normal, it’s really not meant to last. There’s also known to be loss of memory in the person as the potion begins to fade. We advise that you all keep an eye and see if you notice any excessively clingy and almost controlling couples.”

Obi-Wan thought about his parents, finding it very hard to believe they ever had any semblance of a honeymoon phase. They were so professional all the time that he’d rarely seen them even smile in the other’s presence. Of course, he was always splitting up sneaky couples that tried to sneak off to snog, so he supposed he did have some experience witnessing what Palpatine was referring to. Part of him was having a difficult time reconciling with the fact that it was their ancient potions professor who was explaining to them the complexities of romance.

“Because of the dangers that this possesses,” He waved a little pink vial around for all to show, allowing the light to catch it in a way that made it sparkle, “I believe it’s important that you understand these properties quite well and that you take care not to share this information outside of this room.”

There was a warning tone to his voice that was rarely used and Obi-Wan swore everyone sat up even straighter, though he doubted that was possible for Satine, who already appeared quite alert.

“It’s okay to take notes, of course, right?” Hondo asked from the other back corner of the room opposite to Anakin.

“Yes, but-” The older man did a double take as he whipped back around, “Hondo, what are you doing here?”

Obi-Wan thought it was fairly obvious what Hondo was doing and why he was suddenly so apt to take notes. He hadn’t thought to say anything when he originally saw him, seeing as if Anakin was invited, maybe he’d thought to include another unexpected guest. Hondo was possessed for a significant amount of time, after all.”

“Just trying to perfect my recipe is all.” Hondo had the gall to shrug, “What’s so wrong about that?”

“You mean besides intruding upon a meeting where you are not welcome and admitting in advance that you intend to sell an illegal substance throughout the school?” Palpatine asked, “I suppose we could discuss your time management skills, seeing as you have plenty of potion’s homework that you could be catching up on.”

Reading the room for a change, Hondo sighed like a great disservice had just been done to him, “You can’t fault a guy for trying.”

“Actually, I can. 15 points from Slytherin.” Palpatine crossed his arms, “And I expect your essay on Felix Felicis on my desk tomorrow morning.”

“My tutor isn’t going to like that.” Hondo grumbled as he walked by Obi-Wan, “He’s not even finished my Charms presentation.”

“Why would you say that to us?” Satine hissed, knowing full well that they were now going to have to look up the legitimacy of Hondo’s new “tutor” in their dwindling free time.

“I’m honest to a fault!” He shrugged as he fully exited the room and was promptly locked out by Palpatine. He even took the effort of using two padlocks to secure the job. To be fair, Hondo was quite slippery.

“Now,” He said as he clapped his hands together once, “Why don’t we get to the important part? Brewing!”

***

This was a colossal waste of his time, skills, and resources.

While Sidious normally enjoyed when the school devolved into chaos, he did not appreciate when it stood in the way of his plans. Right now, his former apprentice was the obstacle that could feasibly destroy everything he’d worked tirelessly to achieve, all before it could truly start.

He knew he should have killed him when he had the chance, but Azkaban just seemed all the more fitting for the murder machine to waste his days away at the hand of his own failure. He would not make that mistake ever again.

So, it seemed Sidious’ own interests aligned with the rest of his colleagues: get rid of Maul. It felt peculiar- to be on the same side as the enemy, but if he wanted to defeat them, he needed this loose cannon of a pawn to be decimated before it was too late.

And through it all, the putrid “open-minded” community only served to remind him why they needed to be brought to an end. In what world would enlisting the Potions professor to teach love potions be useful? How he managed to seem convincing, he was unsure, because there was no greater waste of time than the frivolous pursuit of love. Well, unless it was being manipulated as a fulcrum for change.

Even with as little soul as he had remaining, if any, he still found the smell of amortentia to be utterly arousing. They certainly wouldn’t enjoy to know what he smelled when he breathed in amortentia: fire, ash, rubble, stained blood.

They should be barricading, sending students out in troves to hunt the demon down, and utilize the muggle-borns as bait in a trap to be sprung. Maul couldn’t resist the hunt. He knew such instincts never changed, not even from the waning sense of purpose that Azkaban reduced men to.

Instead, here he was, giving a pointless lecture on the dangers of love potions. After which, they’ll have another practice dueling session with snowballs. It was pitiful. At the very least, they should be using stones. Children needed to learn pain at an early age. They needed to become so familiar with the sensation that they found home in it. In the hearth of that home, is the power that exists from within. Only then, can they prevail.

He glanced to the back corner of the room and felt his lips twitch. Between this year and the last, Skywalker was becoming quite acquainted with pain. He grimaced as he took in the rest of the lot, noting how soft they all were as they nervously discovered what attracted them when they leaned over their brewing cauldrons. At least he’d been able to kick that waste of blood Ohnaka out. He was spared of that particular headache, especially when just looking at the boy angered him to no end when he considered how deeply that botched experiment failed. Truly, that family couldn’t do anything right- not even when under hypnosis.

He had no doubts that Maul was scoping out the land, realizing just how weak these wizards had gotten since he was in school- that his lessons from Sidious had always reigned supreme and that no one stood in his way, save for Yoda and Sidious, himself. That would be disastrous if anyone witnessed a reunion between the two. They would know instantly.

Then again, if Sidious were to capture and kill Maul, he would only further his popularity amongst the simpletons that allegedly “ran” their community. Perhaps, there could be salvaging of this wreck. Tyranus need not be the only one to pull strings in the wake of Maul’s drama. It was only fitting, since Sidious was the marionettist and this was to be his show.

Not only that, but such a feat would certainly impress the boy, who clearly had a sound reason for disliking Maul. While Sidious loathed the concept of needing to work towards the trust and approval of a child, understood that in due time, it would be worth it.

Even if such a boy nearly killed them all with his own klutziness.

Sidious breathed a steadying breath, just barely turned away from any possible lingering gazes.

He moved over to his desk and opened the top drawer. He needed a drink.

***

Satine, like many of the curious girls in her year, had done fair research on the subject of amortentia. Apparently, it had ruined its fair share of marriages as well as mental health states, making it completely illegal to produce for private or public subsidization. It seemed, curiously, only the aurors could do so with Ministry approval. That, much to Satine’s confusion, was the case for many subjects.

“Because I would hate to have a bunch of little zombies in my class, we’ll just be smelling the potions today.” Palpatine announced.

Despite her knowledge that amortentia affected everyone differently, she still wasn’t quite expecting the drunk-like sensation that filled her up from head to toe as she took a deep breath in from the fumes that emanated off the surface. Everything around her seemed to move in slow motion and her chest rose and fell with the relaxed notion of falling asleep, except she simultaneously never felt more stimulated in her life.

She’d never known that you could smell so many wonderful things at once yet still differentiate them for what they were and more importantly, how it got her flushed in a way that made her shift in her seat.

New books, homemade apple pie, crisp fall air, the lingering remnants of a minty aftershave wrapping around her like a scarf…

She started out of her reverie, blushing too mad to even consider looking to her left no matter how curious she suddenly was. Her heart was beating out of her chest and if she wasn’t absolutely certain of the potency of amortentia, she’d have the decency to be more embarrassed. Instead, she willed herself to calm down and refused to breathe through her nose any further, no matter how warm she felt when she had.

While none of what she witnessed was news to her per say, it wasn’t like she made a habit of lollygagging and daydreaming in the middle of a classroom setting. It was quite disarming to be so vulnerable yet also so close to what (or who, for that matter) was driving her crazy to begin with.

“Problem, Mr. Kenobi?” Palpatine was suddenly standing in front of them, which was at least a little bit of a distraction.

A ringing in her brain wanted desperately to ask him what he smelled, but she felt herself frown deeply when she noticed Obi-Wan was leaning with his entire face in his little cauldron, trying desperately to catch a whiff. Surely, if he got any closer, he was going to accidentally inhale the potion through his nose.

“I might have brewed it incorrectly.” He muttered, echoing a bit from still having his head in the cauldron.

“Let me see,” Palpatine urged him to lift his head and under normal circumstances, Satine might tease him for the little creases that the rim brought to his face.

The professor raised his nose to the fumes that still wafted through the air and smiled dreamily. She wondered if they would ever know what he was seeing when he inhaled the scent. It was none of their business to ask, but she really couldn’t picture Palpatine being in love with anyone.

“No, no, it’s perfectly correct,” He said with the airs of residual glee, “Why?”

Instead of giving him a straight answer, Obi-Wan turned to Satine, “I think I need you to move.”

Any previous concern, as per usual with Obi-Wan, was replaced with a scalding sort of annoyance only reserved for him, “What? Why?”

As she held her own special adverse reaction to him, he had one for her that matched. His eyebrows furrowed as he gestured to his cauldron. Sometimes, he was far too serious for his own good, “As lovely as your perfume is, you don’t need to go so heavy-handed with it! I can’t smell the potion.”

Satine, who initially believed they were going to get into an argument, found that she had no points to be made, because all that came out of her mouth was a little puff of air. Palpatine, if she had the eyes to spare him a look, was equally as surprised, even if not nearly as emotionally invested in such a rebuff.

“What?” Obi-Wan finally asked, growing more annoyed at not being in on the punchline.

Everyone else was suspiciously quiet too, much to Satine’s growing unease, but she could hardly spare a thought other than to say, “I’m out of perfume, actually. I sent Copikla home yesterday so my mum could send me a new bottle.”

Instead of being annoyed, the clouds seemed to clear, if only a little bit, and he flickered back to the potion, “But how-”

“-It smells different to everyone.” Palpatine, who looked between the two of them with his face stretched in discomfort and eyebrows raised beyond physics, clarified with a tone that was clearly meant for only them, “Based on what the individual finds attractive.”

All of the color seemed to wash out of Obi-Wan’s charmingly embarrassed face as his mind worked rapidly to wrap his head around that answer. Even though she hadn’t breathed in her potion again, Satine still swore she was suddenly feeling the effects of it.

“I- Well,” He tried to formulate a response, but to his credit, he had just admitted that he was at the very least attracted to her perfume (which she made the mental note to stock up on more frequently), in front of the entire class of prefects and Anakin.

“Oooooooh Obi-Wan likes perfume.” Anakin, while completely missing the point and a big teasing opportunity, shattered the tension that previously froze the entire room and everyone burst out into a fit of needed laughter. Even Obi-Wan laughed, though nervously, as he flashed Satine the occasional glance here and there through lowered lashes, as if trying to gage her reaction to this accidental admission.

She smiled. Clearly, it was to her benefit to read ahead of him.

“For what it’s worth,” She said in the midst of the uncontrollable chatter that erupted thanks to Anakin’s offhand comment, “You smell nice too.”

He blushed, which she found she quite liked the shade of pink on his face, “Thanks.”

It didn’t address the underlying implications, just as neither of them seized the moment to do so on Christmas Eve. She found it was just as frustrating trying to guess what was going on inside of his head as it was waiting for him to do something about the things she did know.

As much as she wanted the cat to be fully out of the bag, she knew the middle of Palpatine’s potions class wasn’t the time or place.

***

“I believe it’s a mistake to have any more Hogsmeade trips this year,” Qui-Gon said to his other heads of house and to Yoda, who was staring quite pensively out the window, “Not when we know what we know. It’s quite possible that Maul has an entrance to the school if he truly is behind what happened to Bultar Swan.”

“We have no real proof that he is, though.” Shaak Ti said, “It certainly doesn’t seem like his style.”

“While I know the usual term “innocent until proven guilty” is our mantra, I think we should consider being more hesitant with Maul.” Qui-Gon said.

“I agree,” Windu nodded, standing firmly next to him, “Though having more students out of the school would allow us a proper amount of time to sweep the school and see if he had any secret entrances.”

“We have that same opportunity at night.” Qui-Gon said.

“You know this school shifts and changes between night and day,” Palpatine said warily, “It is ever-moving and Bultar Swan was attacked in broad daylight in a common room.”

“Why are we not interviewing more Ravenclaws then?” Windu asked, “We’ve got to do something! Skywalker’s mother is missing and we all know that boy isn’t going to lay down and allow for speculation to simply rise without doing something foolish.”

“I don’t appreciate your assumptions of Anakin.” Qui-Gon said, “He’s a bright, even if impulsive boy, who is going through an unspeakable grief.”

“No one twice his age should have to endure what he’s going through,” Shaak Ti said kindly, “Let alone as young as he.”

“I’m not saying he has no reason to act out.” Windu raised his hands, “I’m merely stating that it is only a matter of time before he takes matters into his own hands.”

“That would make it easier for Maul, unfortunately,” Palpatine agreed, “Perhaps we should motion to shut off the Floo network?”

“Done that, I have.” Yoda spoke up, “Because used it, he did.”

“For what?” Qui-Gon asked eagerly.

“Unknown location, he accessed.” Yoda mused, “Unregistered through the network, it is. Talk to Dooku, I suspect.”

Palpatine frowned, “That can’t be good.”

“No, it can’t.” Windu agreed, “Can you extend your protective charms to Hogsmeade, Yoda?”

“Do that, I did, after we woke up from the sleeping incident.”

“Oh, so it’s safe then.” Shaak Ti shrugged, “The dementors haven’t detected Maul on the inside and he was last seen on Diagon Alley.”

“I’m sure this is quite exhausting for you, Headmaster.” Windu acknowledged.

It was true. Extending his powers over an entire settlement as well as the castle at all times would have drained any normal wizard to death. Yoda, as it were, was not a normal wizard. Even still, it was visible on his worn features that he was exhausted.

“Safe, the students should be,” He said instead, “But careful we will still be. Search the school we will for secret entrances while they are gone, we will.”

***

“Are they gone yet?” Anakin asked, ducking up from where he’d been digging furiously through his trunk. Rex who was sitting on the window sill keeping watch over the massive gates of Hogwarts nodded slowly.

“Yeah I think so,” He confirmed, stretching his arms above his head and yawning, “I dunno mate, don’t you think a nice Saturday in might be nicer than trying this again. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Psh!” Anakin waved a hand, “Well we’re certainly not trying anything like that again. Although I would like to get another look at that sword.”

“I figured you’d seen enough swords in your short life,” Rex rolled his eyes, “Didn’t Dooku intend to sacrifice you with one?”

“It was still cool, but I’m not really trying to go to Hogsmeade, just give off a good impression.” Anakin shrugged before he pulled out his nicest T-Shirt, swiftly pulling the one he had been wearing off and switching them out, “Well how do I look?”

“The same but in green,” Rex deadpanned leaning his head on his hand, “If all we’re doing up here is playing dress up then I’d much rather get this show on the road.”

“Oh come on,” Anakin checked himself out in the dingy mirror on the back of the door. He was really hoping he’d run into Padmé; he thought she’d like it. He’d already seen her leave, but overheard her talking to her friends about Rabé meeting them later and taking the tunnels. His mum had bought it for him over the summer and he tried to push past the rising feeling of sadness, “We had to wait until all the prefects left anyways, I’m not really looking to be caught and dragged back here by any of them and especially not Zeb, who was eyeing us up pretty hard at breakfast.”

Rex shuddered, “Definitely don’t need him tossing us through the portrait hole again. It’s not our fault that the rest of the second years left without us!”

“I’d hate to see what happens if we’re caught alone of our own accord,” Anakin grinned, despite the true statement, such a thing wouldn’t stop them, “Well, let’s go before Windu gets here to babysit.”

“Right,” Rex grimaced, standing up and grabbing his wand. Anakin grabbed his as well, throwing it into his robe, it was much too cold to go around without it, and they headed down and out of the common room. He really hoped no one would snitch on them.

The two traversed the halls carefully. Keeping quiet for once to listen for approaching footsteps and ducking into a few empty classrooms to avoid the ghosts lurking around the otherwise empty halls. It took much longer than they’d have liked to make it down to where the tunnel’s entrance would begin. Luckily, the map showed Rabé’s little figure moving in that direction too, marking a bit of a clear path. She would lead them straight to Padmé.

Anakin’s heart rate increased for more reasons than being caught.

He thought better of it. Obi-Wan would probably kill him on the spot if he slithered out of the tunnel and into Hogsmeade. Not to mention, Maul was lurking around in the area looking for him. Maybe, if they caught up with Rabé in the tunnel, he could simply give her the necklace to give to Padmé.

It didn’t sound incredibly indicative of his house in terms of bravery, but he knew at least Obi-Wan would approve of his method.

“Almost there!” Anakin grinned at Rex, but almost had his head knocked clean from his body when Rex grabbed his robe and yanked him hard into an empty classroom, “Wha-?”

“Shh!!” Rex was very much alert and his eyes narrowed as they both heard footsteps echoing off the walls. The footsteps paused just outside of the door and Rex cursed under his breath as a shadow moved towards the entrance. Rex glared at Anakin for a few minutes before mouthing, ‘You owe me!’ and straightening.

“Mr. Fett?” Palpatine’s confused voice echoed off the stone walls, “What are you doing here? And all alone?”

“Sorry Professor,” Rex gave Palpatine a rather over the top concerned look, “It’s just, I haven’t seen Anakin since breakfast and he did mention he was thinking about coming to see you.”

“To see me?” The professor sounded a little more surprised than Anakin thought he should, but perhaps he was trying to avoid looking like he picked favorites, “Well I certainly haven’t seen him. I’ll keep an eye out, but I’m going to need to escort you outside with the other second years.”

Anakin winced, of course even Palpatine wouldn’t be willing to overlook a student wandering the halls without an escort. He’d have to bring Rex back something good from Hogsmeade.

“Alright, thank you Professor,” Rex nodded, although he didn’t look very thankful in Anakin’s opinion.

Their footsteps faded away, but still Anakin waited a minute longer before darting from the classroom himself.

He wandered the empty halls, being extra careful to listen and flicker his eyes to the map. Rex was a little more perceptive than he tended to be. Anakin certainly didn’t want to get caught, but at least he knew what story to go with if he did.

Finally, he reached the entrance of the tunnel, looking around carefully, he quickly slipped inside and hurried to close the entrance, plunging him into complete darkness.

Anakin pulled his wand out, lighting it with a, “Lumos Maxima,” They’d been working to improve their maximizing skills in charms recently and Anakin felt it was paying off. The tunnels were rather boring and unremarkable. He remembered them being pretty long, though he’d never made it all the way to the end the last time.

He took his time, kicking away rocks and humming softly. He still didn’t want to give his position away if there was someone scouting the tunnel for mischievous students, but boredom without Rex crept in fast.

He paused a moment at an odd noise and listened hard. It was a soft shuffling noise and despite the echo, it sounded like it was coming from behind him. Could it be another student trying the same thing he was? Unlikely, most of the houses were pretty locked down outside. He wasn’t sure why the professors had been so insistent on a supervised snow day, but most students went for it.

That left the possibility that he was about to be caught.

Letting the fear of boring evenings in detention spur him on, he picked up the pace until he was running rather swiftly. With the way his wand was swinging, the light bounced around enough to make him motion sick so he gave it a quiet, “Nox,” not letting up on the speed of which his shoes pounded the ground.

He slowed when he nearly tripped over something lying on the ground, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid running right into someone.

Anakin fell backwards with an, “oof,” He tried to catch his breath for a moment, “Sorry, Rabé,” He said softly standing up, “While I’ve got you, I’ve got a question for you. Lumos.”

His wand tip glowed again, revealing him face to face with a student’s face frozen in a scream. This was not Rabé. Anakin stumbled back, tripping on what felt like the fabric of a scarf, before he saw the glint of eyes reflecting the light off his wand.

Yellow. Bright yellow eyes narrowing as they realized they’d been caught. Anakin felt his heart leap in his chest. Fear filling his lungs, causing him to nearly choke on a scream. He heard the eyes take a step forward and he scrambled to his feet and fell into a sprint. His wand light faded as his concentration waned and he shoved it into his robes.

He shouldn’t be running from Maul, because that’s who it was, of course. He’d vowed revenge even if Qui-Gon always gave him that sad sort of look when he said it. He should be back there giving that kidnapper a piece of his mind. He was the Chosen One, it was his job to save everyone and take down the bad guys.

Even as these thoughts played in his mind, he continued to sprint, fear pushing him into overdrive. He nearly screeched again when he ran full tilt into something human knocking them both to the ground.

“Bloody hell!”

“Rex!” Anakin was relieved to find someone he knew, but it wasn’t enough to stop the adrenaline that had him back on his feet and pulling desperately on Rex’s arm to get him to move, “We have to go now!”

“Great, I just escape Palpatine only to get caught again. Who is it? Windu?” Anakin nearly growled at the slow pace Rex was moving at.

“It’s Maul! We have to go!” That was enough to get him moving.

They didn’t stop to even breathe again until they burst from the wall and right into Professors Palpatine and Qui-Gon who nearly got bowled over.

“What-” Qui-Gon looked ready to start a lecture and Palpatine even looked like he was ready to dole out a few point reductions, but Rex cut them off quickly.

“Anakin saw him!” Rex was pointing his wand at the entrance to the tunnel like Maul was about to come out right then and there for a fight.

“Saw who?” Palpatine asked head tilting to the side in curiosity and Anakin nearly spat the name out as he joined Rex in his battle stance.

“Maul.”

***

The deafening screech that stretched from Hogwarts through Hogsmeade with painful clarity was one that very few students attributed meaning to. It wasn’t unreasonable that students, particularly younger ones, immediately leapt into disorder, running hither and yon, terrified they were about to be dive-bombed. It was a horrible sight to see, even if it didn’t make his job all the more difficult.

Designed with the vocal cords of mandrakes, the emergency siren was only used in times of utter duress and was a means of warning students and faculty to return to Hogwarts at once. Historically, it hadn’t been officially sounded since the early twentieth century. Even still, prefects were always trained on what to do in the event of hearing the siren.

All the training in the world still didn’t fully prepare Obi-Wan for the very real visceral reaction that the ear-splitting sound brought. Of course, he could not spare a single moment to think, a tough reality for a Ravenclaw, and immediately moved forward with what he’d been taught: gather his house, ensure they were all in company, and get them back to the school.

While not given a direct message with it, everyone seemed to share the same thought as he did. There was only one true reason that the archaic alarm would be used right now accompanied by the dementors that jetted across the sky: Maul was close.

Not only close, but likely in their midst.

Shop owners wasted little time in evacuating their premises and battening down the hatches, effectively snuffing the warm glow of Hogsmeade in a singular swoop. His brain was busy scanning the hysterical crowd that was amid constant motion, searching for every and any blue-robed student that he might come across. It occurred to him now that there was perhaps more meaning to the explicitly placed Hogsmeade dress code than the professors led on to. It certainly made rounding up students a lot easier when they were color-coded.

Moving around on the ice-laden stone walkways? Less easy. He’d not only had to catch his own balance in his haste, but many other wobbly students. Even Satine’s elbow was caught by him a time or two, of which she spared no time to thank him, though he knew otherwise she would. She was just as stern as him in their mission, practically grabbing students and sliding them across the way to the huddle of other students, hardly blinking in the process.

It was with this goal in mind that he was able to develop a razor focus that practically tuned out the alarm. That, or the pounding in his ears did a decent job of it. Silently, he found the space to be relieved that Anakin was safe back at the castle with the other younger students.

It couldn’t have taken more than a couple of minutes to successfully corral all of the students that lingered about. It wasn’t as though any of them truly wanted to sneak off, after all. The horror on everyone’s faces spoke volumes of their concern.

Each of the prefects did their headcounts rapidly, trying not to dawdle for a moment longer than necessary, all praying they reached the same number they started with. He felt capable of breathing again when Ravenclaw reached that quota. Gryffindor prefects, it seemed, had forgotten to include themselves for a moment, which briefly induced a panic that was quickly assuaged by an irritated Mace Windu.

Perhaps it was a bit presumptuous to be relieved that Mace Windu and Kit Fisto were the supervising professors that day, but it certainly helped their odds to have experienced fighters of dark magic alongside them. The sky grew dark above them, not from the descending sun, but from the mere presence of the dementors swarming together like an ominous storm cloud.

No one looked back as they were ushered down through the storm cellar beneath Honeydukes, which remained open only at Windu’s order.

“Move quickly, don’t linger, don’t stop, don’t pause!�� He ordered in a booming voice that didn’t even need to be amplified with a charm.

While Gryffindor’s prefects had nobly volunteered to lead the charge of students down and through the tunnel, the others remained on the side, performing last-minute counts to ensure all made it safely while urging them to hurry it up. No one seemed to have a problem with performing the latter, but some were getting a little rowdy in the process.

“Hey, hey, this is not an excuse to push or shove!” Satine chastised a few overeager Slytherins, “The only way this works is if you work together!”

She was right, of course, but Obi-Wan believed it was falling on deaf ears. They were terrified and rightfully so. Perhaps they shouldn’t have allowed the Hogsmeade trip to occur in the first place with everything going on. It was almost like they were trying to lure Maul in. If that was the case, it was a very sadistic choice.

Padmé Amidala as well as her friends had been some of the last people to filter in, surprisingly, and tears stained their cheeks.

“Keep it moving, ladies!” Kit Fisto ordered.

“We can’t find Rabé!” Sabé, the girl who looked most like Padmé, cried.

“I’m sure she’s here somewhere.” Windu said, “Slytherin house reported no missing students based on their earlier count. Now GO!”

“She came later!” Padmé insisted, pushing back against the hands of Fenn Rau, who was trying to make them descend down the ladder. “We never saw her!”

“Then maybe she never came at all?” Satine tried.

“She came.” Padmé looked between both of them, “I know she did! She wouldn’t flake out on us like that. What if something horrible happened to her? What if-”

“-We can explore these possibilities back at Hogwarts.” Windu said, “If she is indeed missing, I will waste no time in coming back for her. I promise you.”

“That is already a waste of time!” Sabé protested, “What if she’s hurt?”

“I cannot risk all of you, including these prefects, for one possibly lingering student. I need to get you back to safety. The tunnels will be locked behind us.” Windu said and waved his wand to provide a gust of air, sending all of the girls down the tunnel against their own will. Satine looked horrified at the choice and frankly, so did Windu for a moment, before he began insisting the prefects follow.

For Obi-Wan, time began to slow down as his brain methodically and almost mechanically traced back through that day, desperately trying to recall if he’d seen Rabé. She stood out among Padmé’s friends in that she was the only Slytherin and yet it was still odd to see them apart. Before the alarm had turned the world on its head, it had been a rather mundane and peaceful day at Hogsmeade. The weather had been nice, if not quite nippy. He’d popped into Tomes & Scrolls with Satine while Cody lingered around Spintwitches, but none of them bought anything. If they had, surely, it would have been lost in the chaos with many other student’s purchases.

He’d debated getting a box of every flavor beans, since Hondo said he had a game of Russian Roulette, but with the beans, brewing. Cody seemed interested and it sounded like less of a consequential gaming experience than Hondo’s usual ventures. He wasn’t afforded the opportunity to go into Honeydukes, but…

Obi-Wan felt his heart stop altogether in his chest. He hadn’t gone into Honeydukes, but he almost did. And who was lingering by the butterbeer stand when he was busy deliberating with Cody?

Rabé.

He’d only caught a glimpse of her for a fraction of a second before he turned around. Clear as daylight and standing at the far end of Hogsmeade. There were other Slytherins around her, but like Padmé, her hair was always intricately woven and this made her stand out.

Where did she go so that none of her friends saw her?

“She was here today,” Obi-Wan lurched forward, grabbing Satine by the arm on instinct.

“How do you know?” She began to ask, eyes searching his own with growing concern.

“I saw her.” He said and then shoved against the stream of students that were still pouring down the tunnel.

“Ben,” It was her turn to grab him, “Wait!”

He didn’t wait, though. Instead, he slipped out of her grasp, which had been firm enough to take his robe with it, and pushed through the crowd. Windu, never the slouch, noticed him instantly and his eyes widened as he realized what Obi-Wan was trying to do. Unlike Padmé and the girls, he didn’t give him the opportunity to stop him, instead lunging forward and falling into an immediate sprint out the door- the cold wind whipping his face so hard that it caused tears to freeze in their wake.

He vaguely heard his name shouted from behind him, but he could only think of finding Rabé before it was too late. It might have been impulsive and it was definitely foolish, but he wouldn’t be able to leave with a clear conscience unless he did everything in his power to bring every student back safely. He understood that the professors needed to do their duty, but Obi-Wan was to be an auror someday. Running into the line of fire was surely a requirement of such a field.

All he could think of was how he knew what it was like to be forgotten. If there was even a small chance of preventing someone else from befalling that fate, he had to try.

Running across the slick stone walkway proved itself to be even more difficult than walking had, but Obi-Wan was utilizing the forward motion that the ice provided him for acceleration. The sky above him was almost completely black- as though Hogsmeade was at risk for being sucked into outer space. Suddenly, the cold that Obi-Wan felt no longer seemed to be as a result from the climate.

He’d studied dementors a good deal over the years and objectively understood how they drained a person from their hopes and dreams, removing the parts of them that basically made them human, but he realized then that he never really knew. He wasn’t even the target for these dementors and just being in their presence made him feel like all color was depleting from the landscape.

He forced himself through it, focusing on the task at hand and what purpose that gave him. He decided to slide by the (now closed) butterbeer stand at the end, where he’d last seen Rabé. After all, it was entirely possible that he was the last person to see her alive. That certainly didn’t give him much comfort.

He turned his head from side to side, trying with a last stitch effort to see if she’d taken refuge in one of the closed shops. The keepers were kind and would more than likely house a lost student during a crisis such as this.

As dread pooled deeper in the pit of his stomach and his body struggled to fight off the shaky chill that climbed its way up his spine, he dared to look up, noticing that the dementors were no longer searching, but swarming. The snowfall only seemed to thicken, which was rather unfortunate as Obi-Wan had to swipe his arm over his eyes several times to continue seeing.

They congregated at the Three Broomsticks- in front of which, Obi-Wan did not stop, but in his haste, did meet the bloodshot amber eyes of none other than the Dathomirian known as Maul. In their midst, Obi-Wan found he would rather embark on a lengthy stay with a dementor than look another second into the killer’s eyes. He was leaning back in his seat with casual aplomb and raised his stein of butterbeer as though in cheers or celebration, selling the chilling lack of regard for life with a cruel smile curling his black and red lips.

It was if he was saying, “I’ve won.”

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly and averted his gaze immediately, understanding that this might be his final moment. If that were so, he would use it wisely.

“No, you won’t.”

Maul’s smile broadened, resembling the actual devil as he did so.

Yes, Obi-Wan was definitely about to die.

However, the moment ended as quick as it started, for once the dementors dive bombed past Obi-Wan and straight for Maul, he flipped a galleon into the air and caught it, allowing himself to disappear to whatever rock he dragged himself from before.

Obi-Wan only thundered forward until he arrived at the end of the limits of the town, sighing deeply and wincing at the wreath of frost that circled his head as he caught his breath. He was immensely cold and with nothing to do about it and worse, began to feel quite defeated. Part of him wanted to rationalize that Rabé did likely go back to the castle. However, whether it was intuition or simply an unknown magic in the air, he could practically feel the presence of another.

Then, from the corner of his eyes, he noticed something poking out of the snow- just next to an old townhome, and drew closer. His steps were heavy and without hopeful anticipation as he regarded the gray fingers breaking through the massive snowdrift.

He knelt down slowly, and raised his wand to blow away the piles of snow and ice and used his hands to remove the last remnants on his own. Attached to the outstretched hand, which served as much as a warning as it did a signal of distress, was the petrified gray face of Rabé.

***

“You have to go back for him!” Satine demanded as she was practically carried by Fisto all the way back to Hogwarts. It had been the only way they were able to prevent her from slipping after Obi-Wan in a panic-induced gut-reaction. She believed he was an idiot for running off the way he did, but that wasn’t to say she didn’t understand the feeling.

“The dementors are mobilizing, Satine!” Windu turned on her with fire in his eyes, “Had Mr. Kenobi not been so uncharacteristically impetuous, we wouldn’t be here.”

“And there would still be a lost child out there!” She growled, not usually one to ever speak to a professor so brazenly, but this was Obi-Wan they were talking about, and she would always be a bit irrational when it came to him. “It doesn’t seem like anyone really cares about that though!”

“Not care? I would lay down my life for every single one of you. Do you think it pleases me to know that not one, but two students could be suffering at the hands of that animal on my watch?” Windu said hotly, “But I cannot jeopardize the dementors potentially catching a murderous sociopath. Obi-Wan would not want me to do that!”

She knew deep in her bones that he was right, but she didn’t take to it any better, instead feeling bile rise up her throat- only subdued by the way it seemed to constrict at the wretched thought of losing her best friend. The cold weight of pure dread settled on her chest, evaporating her fury and nearly suffocating all logical thought.

Nearly.

She turned on her heels back to Ravenclaw house, who were staring at her with a mixture of sympathy and shock. Satine knew she had the capacity to lose her patience, but she tried to always do so with some semblance of professionalism.

“We’ll go find him ourselves then!” Cody, equally as heated as she had been, raged alongside Echo and Fives. All were still dressed for the winter and had their wands at the ready.

“You will do no such thing.” Professor Fisto pulled Cody back by the arm, “Headmaster Yoda is the only one who can save your friend now.”

“What was the point of teaching us all that stuff if we aren’t going to use it?” Cody fired.

“In the event that there is an inescapable situation, Cody.” Fisto said, “I commend your bravery, but there is a line between courage and stupidity.”

“So, that’s it?” Echo chimed in, “We’re just going to run and hide every time a bad guy comes knocking on our door?”

“Yeah, you’re supposed to teach us defense against the dark arts!” Fives added, “I’d say Maul qualifies.”

“Maul is much more than any of you can understand or handle.” Windu’s voice no longer spoke with anger, but from a deep place that teetered on remorse and pity. There was a defeated look in his eyes that Satine would never forget, as though Maul had already won.

“Glad you’ve all been effectively wasting our time then.” Cody snarled, “Propping us up and making us feel as though we’re really doing something all year. What has all of this been? Some show for the Ministry?”

A few other Gryffindors pooled around him and it occurred to Satine just then that if Cody hadn’t been so set on pursuing Quidditch as a career, that he’d make a mighty fine commanding officer. People rallied behind him. They believed in him.

She just wished that call to order wasn’t coming from a place of wishing to fight a dark lord.

“Cody, I highly recommend that you stand down.” Fisto said, “I get that you’re upset, but we need to remain calm. Take your brothers back to the Great Hall and wait for further instructions.”

Cody was teeming with anger- she could tell just looking at him and for a moment, she feared he was going to act brashly. Windu seemed to think the same thing judging by the appraising look he gave him.

He didn’t move, but he did send Echo and Fives back with the Gryffindor prefects and the rest of the house. The other houses and their respective prefects trickled afterwards, each going to the Great Hall for what was surely to be another lockdown.

“Great, another sleepover.” Fives huffed as he went.

“Yeah, telling ghost stories by candlelight altogether will surely keep us safe.” Echo complained under his breath.

“I thought I said-” Fisto began.

“-I’m not leaving until Kenobi is found.” Cody said, “Dead or alive.”

“Don’t you dare talk like that.” She seethed, grabbing his attention instantly and Cody, to his credit, did appear riddled with guilt at her reaction.

“Sorry.” He muttered.

“I expect this level of irrationality from Cody.” Windu said and eyed Satine, “But not you.”

“I’m not leaving either.” She said, clutching Obi-Wan’s robe tightly between clenched fists, “Consequences be damned.”

Where she thought there would be retribution or even more yelling, there was not. Fisto, of the two of them, actually appeared more upset. Windu, instead, nodded slightly. It seemed he understood that this was a battle he would not be winning today.

Satine scanned the area, remembering someone very curious to be missing from the pack. As if it were possible, more horror gnawed at her nerves, “Where’s Anakin?”

That was Maul’s whole purpose for scouting out the school, right?

Windu grimaced, “He did try to sneak out to Hogsmeade earlier.”

Her eyes widened, “But he’s alright?”

“It is to my understanding that young Skywalker is with Professor Jinn.” Palpatine swerved around the corner, dark cloaks flowing behind him dramatically as he reconvened with the professors, “Any update on Maul?”

“No,” Windu said tartly, “But seeing as our students have been debating on staging a coup, it might have been useful to have your presence, Professor.”

The tension, as it was, seemed unbreakable.

“My apologies, Professor Windu, but I will say these students have the right to be upset. All of our efforts to protect the school have thus far failed.” Palpatine said.

Satine also couldn’t blame everyone for being upset. In their effort to make everyone feel safe, they only propped them up with delusions of grandeur. There was a fine line to walk between keeping the student body informed and propagating debilitating fear- at least in this predicament.

“You’re here now.” Fisto said, “That’s what counts.”

Satine wasn’t so sure, but then again, Maul hadn’t broken in yet.

“Surely, it’s not wise to have students so close to the entrance.” Palpatine said.

“Yes, well, it also wasn’t wise to allow Anakin so close to your Vitamix potion.” Windu countered, “I guess we’re all doing things a bit differently right now.”

Palpatine seemed properly slapped by that, because there was little argument that could be brought up to counter the comment. That was, indeed, what happened and it left the school wide open for possible attack.

“Yoda should be back any minute.” Fisto paced the floor, his wet boots making a squeaking noise as he did so, “And hopefully, he has good news.”

“If not?” Cody asked.

“If not, we might have to help him and if that’s the case, you two will stay back.” Windu ordered.

Even Cody didn’t argue with that logic.

Not but a moment later, erratic banging came from the metal door, growing more desperate as the seconds went on. Palpatine leaned forward as if to open it and Fisto grabbed his wrist before he could perform the charm.

“There’s a password.” Fisto said.

“And why would Maul just come knocking on the front door?” Palpatine scoffed.

“Maul is anything but conventional.” Windu reasoned.

Cody and Satine looked between each other as the three professors deliberated. They were beginning to understand why it sometimes felt like it took forever for anything to get done. No one could agree on the simplest things.

“What if it’s Ben?” Satine stepped forward, “You’ve said it yourself that the tunnels are blocked off now.”

“Yoda would have found him and brought him back by apparition.” Fisto said.

“And if he didn’t?”

Windu opened his mouth to respond, but then from a familiar voice, “HELLO THERE? IS ANYONE THERE?”

She glared between the three professors, who were all a bit dumbstruck as they hastily moved to open the door. As it swung open unceremoniously, her heart resumed beating as Obi-Wan Kenobi, pale, drenched and speckled with snowflakes, practically fell through the entryway.

She moved on instinct rather than thought and caught him in a tight hug, combatting the sharp chill that traveled up her spine at his frigid body with the warm relief that he was alive. She only removed herself enough to tightly wrap his robe around his shoulders before pulling him closer.

“Get him some blankets!” Windu ordered while Palpatine was simultaneously brewing a warm beverage from thin air. Satine, for her part, could not let go.

“N-nice t-to see you t-too.” He shivered and did not reject the warm contact.

“You’re an idiot, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” She muttered into his shoulder, but it really didn’t have as much fire as she would have liked it to- not when he looked so pitiful with wet hair in his face, teeth chattering, and a nose and cheeks red from the cold.

“I’m aware.” He said.

“You could have been killed!”

“I know.”

“And you really couldn’t have at least brought your robe with you if you were going to go running off on a deadly mission?”

“You’re right.”

“Stop agreeing with me!” She leaned back and glared at him.

“My apologies,” He smiled ruefully, but it faded almost instantly, “All the trouble I’ve caused, I’m afraid it was for nothing.”

“What do you mean?” Fisto cut in.

“I saw him.” Obi-Wan’s voice was hollow when he said it. His eyes became downcast as he reminisced, “And Rabé. I couldn’t move her on my own… She was frozen in carbonite.”

Windu cursed, scrubbing a hand over his bald head, “And Maul?”

“Gone.” Obi-Wan said, “He used a portkey before the dementors could get to him.”

***

The dementors separated like parting clouds, allowing for remnants of dwindling sunlight to cast a yellow beam onto Hogsmeade. Even with the sunset behind it, the usually buzzing and quaint town looked barren without the lively folk that inhabited it. It was to their best interest to hide, of course, and he knew that once this awful storm passed, they would return again. Yoda moved slowly through the snow, feet unbothered by the crunch of the ice beneath him.

He had no doubt that Maul was here, but held equal assurance that he no longer was. His protective charms were supposed to stop people from getting in, not out.

He grimaced as he knelt to the Slytherin girl’s motionless body- frozen in time with a horrific expression painting her features. She would need to join the growing group that took up beds in Madame Nema’s hospital wing. He just hoped with everything in him that they could make this right.

It tugged at his heart that children always seemed to be the ones to suffer for the choices of adults. This one was not excluded as Yoda and the other professors deemed that it would be safe.

It should have been safe.

He cursed as he thought back to the extensive lengths he’d gone to in protecting the school. He was exhausted, constantly firing off on all cylinders to keep this place safe. Even Hogsmeade hadn’t been exempt from his reach.

Well it had, but it seemed the small window of Maul’s murder in Diagon Alley to Yoda waking up from the botched Vitamix potion was the hole he’d crawled through. The dementors hadn’t detected him, which was a whole other concern that he would need to investigate at a later time.

There were so many ways that they failed.

Yes, well, this girl’s parents will not enjoy a meager response like that, so he ought to think of something better. Either way, he would not be sleeping well for his hubris. Maul might not storm the castle with his being there, but he was not above dancing around it. He was boxed out for now, but there was only so much that could be done. He had managed to convince them to disallow apparition for the time being without Ministry approval. This combined with the monitorization of the Floo network, limited Maul significantly.

However, there were always portkeys, which was the most secure way for a person in hiding to quickly transport. You didn’t need a license for it and you didn’t even leave a trace on your wand in the process.

It seemed Maul was getting significant joy from toying with them by instilling fear. It was just like a dark wizard to play on people’s emotions as such.

And yet…

He looked back down at the girl with a different sort of befuddlement. Not that he was complaining, but why hadn’t he killed her? Was it because it would have drawn too much attention for his liking? That didn’t seem right, though, because he had no problem murdering the guards at Azkaban or that store owner on Diagon Alley. Why utilize this mysterious alternative method now?

It hadn’t been the first time, obviously. There was the first official occurrence in December, not to mention the carbon remnants found in Shmi Skywalker’s flat, and Obi-Wan and Satine’s discovery at the Shrieking Shack.

Maul had certainly developed a predilection for the long con in his time locked away in Azkaban. Yoda would say it was out of character if he didn’t understand how much a man could change from trauma. He’d seen it in his own face and he’d seen it in many other’s. Maul didn’t want to mess up this time. He wanted his target and he wanted it done right.

But why Anakin Skywalker? Surely, Maul didn’t buy into the Chosen One prophecy. And if he did, why the sudden malevolence towards the boy? Nothing from the ancient texts seemed to make any reference to Maul in the slightest. It wouldn’t have affected him in Azkaban.

Would it?

As Yoda waved his wand once to lift the casket of carbon from the ground to float aimlessly behind him, he turned back towards the castle, realizing not for the first time that the more he learned, the more he had to ask.

***

“We were worried you became a popsicle out there,” Cody said as he took off his own robe and coat to also wrap around Obi-Wan. They all sat in the Great Hall with the rest of the student body, each positioned on their own sleeping bag as they faced each other. Despite having been inside for over an hour, Obi-Wan still clutched the blankets that were given to him tightly and didn’t reject Cody’s addition to the pile.

“I’m sure he was more concerned about seeing Maul.” Satine said.

“I’m sure he was.” Ventress sauntered by with her trademark smirk painted on her black-stained lips.

“Come off it, Ventress,” Cody scowled, “Kenobi wouldn’t lie about such a thing. Dementors were there too.”

“They’ve been here the entire time, Fett.” Ventress said, “How many false scares have there been? I’m beginning to believe it’s all conspiracy, myself.”

“It’s that level of thinking that’s going to get someone seriously injured.” Satine said, “Or worse.”

“Maybe then someone will start to take legitimate action,” She sighed almost dreamily, like she was fantasizing about the possibility.

“And I suppose Rabé basically turning to stone was just nothing.” Cody barked.

“A pity, truly.” She inspected her fingernails, which were actually quite noticeably jagged and cracked with chipped black polish, “Have we not noticed that every victim has been pureblood? You don’t hear the Ministry talking about that, of course.”

“What are you getting at?” Satine growled.

“I’m just saying, Duchess,” Ventress displayed her best pout, which coming from her, still had all the appearances of a cat ready to pounce, “I would hate to see a group marginalized by their blood type.”

“Listen here, Ventress-” She clutched his sleeping bag tightly and was surely ready to fire off on a meaningful tangent of her own, but was interrupted by the sound of barreling footsteps coming their way.

Anakin and Rex came sprinting down the aisle and slid onto their knees towards where they sat. Anakin, for his part, skidded right into Obi-Wan and nearly knocked him over by the velocity at which he traveled.

“Where have you two been?” Cody asked.

“We were with Qui-Gon!” Anakin said and looked around to Obi-Wan, “Fives just told us about what happened at Hogsmeade and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Obi-Wan’s heart melted at the thought of Anakin’s concern and ruffled his hair, “Not a scratch on me.”

Anakin nodded in relief, “That’s good. It’s crazy that we both saw Maul today and he didn’t even do anything to either of us!”

Obi-Wan, Satine, Cody, and the briefly forgotten Ventress all snapped their attention towards Anakin in surprise.

“I’m sorry, what?” Satine was the first to speak.

“When and where did you see Maul?” Cody followed shortly behind.

“And you lived?” It was unclear whether Ventress was surprised or disappointed.

Obi-Wan, in all fairness, was still processing the small twelve year old boy, who presumably alone, faced the bloodthirsty killer that had it out for him. He knew he must have looked horrified, because Anakin’s own worry seemed to grow by just looking at Obi-Wan.

“I’m okay!” He said first, knowing that this was the most important thing, “And for the record, it wasn’t my fault.”

“It was a little your fault.” Rex winced.

“Rex! You’re supposed to be on my side!” Anakin whined.

“What did you do?” Obi-Wan pinched his brow.

“I already told Qui-Gon and he promised me immunity and while I don’t know for sure what that means, I’m pretty sure it means you’re not allowed to get mad.”

“That’s not what it means.” He said.

“Well, then, who’s got a decent ghost story to share?” He tried, looking around to each of them, “Ventress? I’m sure you’ve got some just by looking in a mirror every day.”

“Anakin…”

“Fine…” He sighed, “I… Might have sort of tried to go give Padmé her Valentine.”

“Of all the foolish and impulsive things to do!” Obi-Wan roared instantly.

“You said you wouldn’t get mad!”

“No I did not!” He snapped, “Do you not realize how incredibly dangerous that was? And the kind of risk you were putting yourself at? What would have happened if he had gotten you? I swear, I know you’re young but you need to think in terms of the long-”

“-Mate, not sure you are in the best position to be giving that lecture today.” Cody said, “Seeing as you also ran right into Maul’s clutches.”

“Yeah, really!” Anakin defended, “I heard all about what you did!”

“To save someone!” Obi-Wan rounded on his friend, “Not to retrieve a pretty trinket for a girl I fancy!”

“Based on your taste that’s a good thing.” Ventress scoffed.

Satine, who was admittedly calmer than Obi-Wan, frowned and looked at Anakin, “What happened?”

“If I’m allowed to continue.” He said pointedly before going on, “I wasn’t actually going to go to Hogsmeade. Believe it or not, I’m not completely stupid.”

“You just said-” Obi-Wan’s voice cracked.

“-Ben, let him finish.” Satine admonished.

“Thank you,” Anakin nodded and the kid really had the nerve to look smug, “I wasn’t going to Hogsmeade, but Rabé was and believe it or not, I get nervous too sometimes. I wasn’t sure I would have the nerve to give it to her in person, so I was going to ask Rabé if she could give it to Padmé for me. So, I used the map to follow her, obviously, and was never going to leave the tunnel system. But then about halfway through, I saw him.”

“Maul?” Cody asked in awe.

“No, the boogeyman. Yes, Maul.” Rex rolled his eyes.

“Seems like the same thing to me,” Ventress yawned, clearly unimpressed, “Seeing as Maul can’t be in two places at once, I would say one of you is lying.”

“I’m not lying!” Anakin asserted and looked to Obi-Wan, “And he’s not either.”

“Rabé didn’t just turn to carbonite on her own.” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin’s eyes widened, “He got Rabé too?”

“What do you mean too?” Satine asked.

“I mean, Tiplee was also frozen in carbonite down in the tunnels. I only managed to get away because I must have caught him off guard. I ran as fast as I could.” He patted his pockets, “Dang! I think I dropped the map in the process. Again.”

“Seriously, no more of those for you.” Satine said.

“Not like it’ll be of much use now that Yoda is closing the tunnels again.” Cody said.

“That’s horrible.” Obi-Wan frowned and stroked his chin thoughtfully, “But I wonder why he wouldn’t have come into the school.”

“He’s afraid of Yoda.” Ventress scowled, “Everyone knows that, but clearly, he’s a fool to be leaving all of these little clues around.”

“There’s got to be a bigger plan at play here.” Satine said.

“Like what? Two Maul’s?” Ventress rolled her eyes, “I could see the creep going after Skywalker as that is clearly his primary intent, but Kenobi? Who would bother to go after someone who cowered at his own shadow at one point?”

The particular incident that Ventress was alluding to happened when they were only five years old, he might add, but even in his head it didn’t pack the same impact that she wanted it to. Instead, Obi-Wan flashed her a disapproving look.

“Rabé is a member of your house.” He pointed out, “I didn’t see you running back to save her.”

“Actually, I didn’t see you at all.” Satine added.

Ventress, nonplussed, rolled her eyes dramatically, “Good to know the two of you are still conjuring nonsense that would rival The Quibbler, but if you must know, I was tutoring in the library.”

“Wait a second,” Obi-Wan allowed some of the blanket to slide off of him when he sat up straighter, trying his best to suppress a shiver that immediately followed. He was grateful that Satine set it back into place, “Don’t tell me you’re Hondo’s tutor.”

Ventress furrowed her brow, “Be wary of the tone, Kenobi. My marks often rival your own.”

She wasn’t wrong. Horrible personality aside, Ventress was an exemplary student. Like him, she sort of had to be, given the reputation their respective families upheld.

“I wasn’t underestimating your intelligence,” He said, because he wasn’t a total fool, “But I never took you for a good samaritan.”

“Surely, he’s paying her.” Satine groaned as she leaned back on her hands.

“I don’t need the money, muggle-born.” She hissed.

“Since when has galleons been his only form of currency?” Satine shrugged, “Everyone has a price, is all I’m saying.”

“Fools,” Ventress shook her head as she walked away, “All of you.”

“Yeah, well, when you turn to stone, it’ll match your heart.” Anakin said and stood up, “I’m going to go apologize to Padmé.”

Obi-Wan watched him sadly as he walked over to where the crestfallen group of usually chipper girls huddled together. At least they were able to comfort each other in this trying time. Obi-Wan looked to Cody and Satine, who were both wearing a considerable amount of concern on their features.

He knew their responsibilities as older students and prefects, alike, were only going to rise as the fear and sense of danger increased. Anakin had nearly come to his end if he hadn’t been so quick on his feet. He supposed those dueling classes did have their uses if implemented properly. As it were, Maul would likely not make the same mistake twice.

***

The atmosphere was much more subdued than most Quidditch mornings. Even Cody found himself sitting quietly across from where Obi-Wan was falling asleep over a plate of pancakes. Ventress was the only one not subdued, she was glaring around at her team, snarling at anyone not paying attention to her. He didn’t think she’d get very far with an attitude like that. As captain, sometimes the best thing you could do was read the mood of your teammates.

Obi-Wan’s head dropped forwards almost landing in the syrup before Satine managed to pull him back without even a glance over. He blinked, looking around like he hadn’t even been aware they were in the Great Hall in the first place.

“Might want to eat something, mate,” Cody suggested, gesturing to his plate that he seemed surprised was loaded even if he had done it himself.

“Right,” He did so without another word. Satine looked fairly volatile this morning, having woken up extremely early for a morning patrol so there wasn’t much conversation for them to be had. He was tired too, having been picking up a few patrols of his own. Palpatine’s accidental sleeping potion may have been an unfortunate idea, but a few extra hands that could take on prefect duties were still welcomed. It’s not like Cody could say no after watching his friends be run ragged.

“You sure you’re going to be awake enough to stay on a broom?” Cody asked as they both watched a piece of pancake fall slowly off his fork. Obi-Wan just nodded looking up with a sigh.

“We’re all tired,” He nodded towards where Koth had passed out at the breakfast table. Aayla and Cin were awake enough to doodle on his face so it maybe wasn’t the entire team, “Hopefully this will make for a short game.”

“Hopefully,” He nodded, but he wasn’t sure he was honest in his statement. Ventress was looking especially poisonous this morning and wouldn’t take anything sitting down, “Maybe we shouldn’t be playing anyways.”

Obi-Wan and Satine both looked at him like he’d just grown a second head and he met their looks with a glare.

“Who are you and what have you done with Cody?” Kenobi squinted at him as if checking to make sure he hadn’t been cursed.

“I think hell must have frozen over,” Satine added with a nod, “I never thought I’d hear Cody Fett, not want anything to do with Quidditch.”

“Hey! Woah!” He shook his head quickly, “I never said that.”

They both raised an eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes.

“Even I am not enough of a sports fan to look past the elephant in the room,” He jabbed his fork at them, “Maul’s close and we’re just going to take the whole school outside? Again? Plus, morale is down,” Instead of gesturing to the two obvious examples in front of him, he pointed to Koth, who had just woken up and hadn’t figured out why everyone was laughing at him yet.

“When you put it that way...” Obi-Wan flicked his eyes to the professors, who were desperately trying to keep warm inviting facades. He took a sip of pumpkin juice.

“Why go through all this trouble for such a barbaric game anyways,” Satine glowered, “We need a break from potential violence not more.”

Cody knew explaining the dynamics of Quidditch would not change her mind any so he kept his own thoughts to himself on the matter. He thought of Quidditch as a much needed break most of the time. But it was hard to deny the fact that only a few people would be having a good time today and that wasn’t how he felt a healthy Quidditch environment should be.

The screech of an owl alerted everyone to the arrival of the morning mail. It was always a little hectic, but it didn’t stop them from being able to spot one of their three owls if it chose to show up. The only owl Cody could recognize was a large tawny one. Well manicured and, if memory served, sharp talons. Obi-Wan barely avoided getting his letter dropped on his head, his hand flicked up to catch the falling parchment with deft precision. As most letters from his parents, he was careful to shield it so Satine couldn’t see, something that always had her frustrated despite knowing that it was fair given the nature of these letters.

Obi-Wan read the whole thing in lightning speed, eyebrows furrowing the further he got, although he nodded before swiftly depositing it on the table next to his plate. His owl swooped down again landing on his head causing him to wince.

“Alright message received,” He tried to pick up the pesky owl, but it looked rather indignant to be manhandled. Still because he was gentle and fed him a bit of breakfast, the owl allowed itself to be set on his arm, “Tell them they’re early,” He tried saying it quietly enough so neither of them would hear, unfortunately they were both rather intune to his voice. If an owl could show emotions, which Cody had, up until this moment thought untrue, Obi-Wan’s owl would look almost melancholic for a moment. A hard thing to do for a bird that had permanent angry eyebrows colored into its feathers.

It took off in a hurry, nearly taking off a few heads as it went and disappeared back into the flock it had arrived with.

“What did they say?” Satine asked, as she usually did, but he just shrugged.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” He gave her a smile, but she frowned.

“That never makes me feel better,” She told him sternly. He just shrugged.

There was a loud pop and they all looked up to see Palpatine and Qui-Gon standing at the head of the Great Hall, the two of them would be escorting both teams outside and to the pitch. It was best to have an experienced teacher at the helm and who better than those who had earned their titles as Heads of House.

Obi-Wan stood swiftly, accepting their well wishes and good lucks, before falling into line behind Eeth. Satine was watching them leave with narrowed eyes and Cody wasn’t sure what was going on, but she certainly looked much more focused than earlier. She slid her hand across the table, snatching the note from where he’d left it, clearly for the trash pile, and spread it open.

“Should you do that?” He asked even if he was curious himself, he wasn’t about to get accused of reading other people’s mail.

“It’s a suspicious piece of parchment I found unattended,” She lied as she peered down at it. Her nose scrunched up in disgust as she read it just loud enough for him to hear.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,

As you are about to turn 17, we remind you once again of your duties and expectations. In one year you will turn 18 and we’ll discuss then your future. Despite your best attempts to undermine our plans we will do what we can to work around your failure.

Don’t expect a gift this year, you received one last year and we’ll be happy to give you one when you turn 20. Consider continuing to go to school despite your constant disappointments gift enough.

-Mother”

Cody felt the grip on his fork tighten as he stared a hole through the paper. A correspondence with Obi-Wan’s family really was never pleasant, but did they have to be so outwardly despicable? What surprised him most was the excitement lighting up Satine’s eyes as she read the letter over again.

“Brilliant!” She grinned and he practically snapped his fork in half.

“What’s so brilliant about those two bastards continuing to tighten the noose around his neck?” Cody growled and Satine looked up, having the decency to look aghast.

“Oh heavens no,” She looked sick at the thought, “That’s not what I was referring to at all. How could you think-?”

“-How could I not? Maybe hell is freezing over,” He ran a hand down his face as she rummaged around in her bag before shoving plates and goblets out of the way, nearly toppling a few over. She set down a massive book-like object with a white exterior and silver rings. It was full to the brim with pages and she opened it up excitedly.

“It’s a binder,” She told him at his look before moving on to what must have been the important thing at hand, “You know how Ben’s rather dodgy about his birthday?” Cody nodded, “Well I’ve been tracking him ever since 2nd year,” She flipped around in the binder and Cody could see so many color-coded graphs it made his head spin.

“You did this? For what?”

“If he won’t tell us, I’ll find out on my own,” She glared sternly at a picture of Ben that blinked up at her from the page, “That’s what I told him,” She flipped through it, pointing at various sections, “I was able to surmise that his parents tend to have a letter pattern. They only send him mail on major holidays or if he’s done something they disapprove of.”

“When is that not the case,” He muttered.

“I was able to narrow it down after a few years to February or March,” She was in the back of the book now where a calendar full of crossed out dates sat, “It was confusing, sometimes they sent him a letter end of February like this one,” She waved the letter at him, “Sometimes it was in March. This is the first time I’ve been able to read one,” She grinned proudly tucking the letter into the back pocket for evidence purposes.

“What good does that do? They didn’t say what day it was,” Cody studied the calendar in interest.

“It does a lot of good!” She pulled a fancy highlighter from her bag, “He said they were early, meaning it can’t be any of these dates,” She ran her finger through most of the month. They only had a few days left until March though, maybe she’d figured out the month, “Most importantly!” She looked at him face as serious as it was when she was taking her OWLs, “They said they got him a gift last year-”

“Yeah a ruddy gift,” Cody frowned, “What good is an antique quill if it doesn’t even work?”

“I agree,” She said impatiently, “That’s not the point. They said they’d get him another one when he turned 20. He turned 16 last year-”

“Your point?” Cody was beginning to get lost and would rather she hurry up her point than leave him thinking.

“He doesn’t have a birthday this year at all!” She announced and Cody straightened, staring at her in shock.

“Well that’s not possible!” He declared, “Everyone has a birthday once a year! Even those who don’t care much like Kenobi.”

“It is possible!” She grinned proudly drawing a line on her calendar right between the 28th of February and the 1st of March, “He was born on February 29th! A leap year!”

Cody blinked. That actually made a lot of sense. Kenobi wasn’t a liar and he was sure he’d asked about specific days and been told he was wrong. He’d only seen Kenobi get a birthday present their first year (a pack of gobstones) and their fifth year (the aforementioned broken antique quill). Cody had just figured they wouldn’t ever figure it out unless he told them himself, so he usually just tried to get him a good Christmas present every year. He had noticed Satine had started to give him a present around this time of year, but now they had the exact day.

“Does this mean his parents use that as an excuse to never get him anything?” He frowned and Satine angered instantly.

“I’m almost shocked they haven’t forgotten the date themselves.”

“So,” Cody looked at the little highlighted line indicating the fruition of 5 years of work, “What are we doing about it?”

***

“I still say we should have gone with March 1st,” Cody said from where he was balanced rather precariously on a ladder taping the end of a streamer, “Then we’d be celebrating him having turned 17.”

Satine, who was holding onto the ladder to make sure she didn’t have to take anyone to the hospital wing today, glared up at him, “Absolutely not! He has a February birthday, we’re celebrating it in February. Otherwise he’s going to assume we’ve forgotten it!”

“He doesn’t even know we know it,” Cody rationalized, but came down from the ladder anyways to admire his work with her.

“Alright,” She looked down reading her list. She’d had years to plan this event, he’d never had a party before that she knew of and she wanted it to be perfect, “We’ve got the streamers and the balloons. The guests have been told what time to arrive...” She checked off the boxes as she went, “Can I trust you to go and get the cake without dropping it?” She looked up at her friend and he grinned giving her a thumbs up.

“Oh yeah definitely,” It didn’t instill in her a lot of hope, but he was at least eager to do it.

“Alright go, but hurry!” She checked the time off the clock in the corner. “They’ll be here soon.”

“On it!” He saluted her and raced out the door.

Satine observed her surroundings once more. They’d chosen an empty classroom rather than something elaborate like the Great Hall or too intimate like Qui-Gon’s office. She’d gotten approval, Qui-Gon was to arrive any minute now to supervise. He’d been the only professor she could think of that would understand how important this was to do. She was sure if she’d talked to Windu or even Headmaster Yoda, she’d have gotten shot down before she even began. Qui-Gon knew about Ben’s family though and like her, seemed to want to give him the best experience he could.

There was a spot for the cake on the teacher’s desk as well as plates, utensils, and napkins. The ceiling was practically drowning in streamers of all different colors and balloons were floating around aimlessly. Her and Cody’s presents to him were sitting in a neat pile on a couple of tables pushed together. She hoped he’d get a few more, but hadn’t explicitly said anything on the invitations. It was rather short notice after all.

“You’ve done a wonderful job,” She turned to see Qui-Gon in the doorway. He was holding a colorfully wrapped package which she gratefully took from him placing it on the table next to the other.

“Do you think it’s too much?” The last thing she wanted to do was overwhelm him, but she’d learned over the years it was hard to figure out what would.

“I’m sure we could all do with a little cheeriness,” He said in lieu of answering. Maybe he didn’t know any better than she did.

It didn’t take much more time before the students she’d invited began to arrive. The entirety of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team poured in along with Stass. They’d been a little downtrodden at being beat so terribly by Slytherin, but seemed happy enough to be there. The clones were the next to arrive with Anakin in tow. Anakin proudly added his gift to the stack before going back over to Rex.

Cody arrived again, loudly kicking in the door gingerly holding the cake. It hadn’t gotten squashed which she was thankful for. Behind him was Breha and Bail, both levitating trays of food and a bowl of punch, letting them settle into place on a row of desks.

More prefects appeared as well as a few other students. Hondo had seemed rather pleased to have been invited, but Satine was a little worried about what he had possibly brought as a present. Soon the room was pretty full and Satine shushed everyone as well as she could without shouting.

“Alright I’m going to get Ben,” She announced, “Be ready.”

“Yes ma’am!” The Fett’s all saluted her and the others in the room nodded keeping their chatter to a minimum.

***

Obi-Wan was growing a little concerned. Satine had been the one to ask him to meet her in the library, but she had yet to appear. He’d kept himself occupied with his textbooks, but he was tempted to go out and look for her. It was no sooner than he closed his textbook and stood that she rounded the corner looking rather flustered.

“Sorry I’m late,” She panted as she flipped her hair back and out of her face. It was down today, which was becoming a bit of a rarity and he smiled.

“It’s no trouble,” He said sitting back down, “Was there something in particular you wanted to work on? I’ve already finished my essays, but I can help you with yours.”

“Actually,” She was fidgeting nervously and he gazed up at her in concern, “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if we went on a walk first.”

“A walk?” That was an unusual request.

“Yes I- I just think it would be nice, don’t you?” Well, he was hard pressed to deny her anything. Especially something as simple as a walk around the castle.

“Alright,” He agreed, sliding his text book back into his bag. She was scrutinizing him and he looked down to make sure his clothes were straightened, because the last time he’d gotten that look his fly had been undone. Rather embarrassing.

He looked up again, starting in surprise, when he felt a hand in his hair. She gave him an apologetic look as she stepped back.

“Sorry, your hair was messed up,” She told him and he felt his face warm slightly, but she just coughed awkwardly and started walking. He ran to catch up.

He couldn’t help, but to run his own hands through his hair, just to ensure that it wasn’t still a mess, “It’s fine Ben,” She told him as she walked just far enough ahead to force him to follow her path.

“I didn’t think you minded much if it was messy,” He said instead of removing his hands.

“I don’t, I just-” Satine cut herself off with a shake of her head. Obi-Wan was confused, but let his hands finally drop to his sides.

“Well alright?” He wasn’t sure what else to say. She was acting off and he couldn’t pinpoint it. Maybe she was upset? But she didn’t look it. Even if she was, the library was perfectly quiet that evening. His heart beat a little faster in his chest as he remembered another time the two of them had been alone, the Christmas party. Did she- were they going to talk about it? He wasn’t sure he knew what to say about such things.

“Ben?” He looked up at his name and she was frowning at him, “Are you alright? You look pale.”

“I’m completely fine,” He confirmed, “Are you?”

“Yes?” Maybe they were both acting a little off this evening.

“Good,” He smiled at her and she returned it easily.

She turned then and walked towards the door of an empty classroom, disappearing inside. What on earth could she want with him in an empty classroom?

He refused to lose her though and quickened his pace until he was pulling the door open only to be assaulted by many loud cheers. It took him a moment to register what they were saying in the first place.

“Happy Birthday!”

His birthday? He blinked, taking in the scene. Many of his close friends were there, his Quidditch team, Anakin, Qui-Gon. All of them were standing there watching him which made him more than a little nervous. The ceiling was decorated in nearly every color of the rainbow and it was complete with balloons. He gripped the strap of his bag, unsure what was expected of him. He certainly had never had a party for himself before.

“Happy Birthday, mate!” Cody appeared in front of him practically dragging him into the room and pushing him towards the professor’s desk. It broke the tension in the room and chatter resumed much to his relief. There were less eyes on him.

“Uhm, thank you,” He managed a smile.

“Look at your cake! We had it made special.”

He looked down in surprise at a white cake decorated with 17 silver candles. Written in delicate blue icing was, “Happy Birthday Obi-Wan!” He’d never had his own birthday cake before, but he’d seen them when Satine or Cody had celebrated theirs. It was kind of them to think of him, he just wished he knew the proper way to respond. The parties he attended usually had scripts to follow and he had never been instructed for one like this.

“It’s chocolate,” Satine’s hand landed right next to his on the desk and he looked up catching her eyes, “I know it’s your favorite.”

“It is,” he agreed almost solemnly.

“Do you like it?” She asked and he nodded quickly, his face heating up, how rude that he hadn’t immediately offered them a thank you.

“Yes of course! I- Thank you,” He told them both seriously, “I’m sorry, I’m just not at all sure how I’m supposed to react.” Satine’s eyes flashed sadly at him for a moment before it was gone and she smiled at him softly, bumping her fingers into his.

“You can react however you’d like,” She assured him, “Yell at me that you hate it for all I care,” He took a step back and nearly tripped over Cody at the insinuation.

“Absolutely not, I’ll treasure it!” He vowed with a stern expression and she laughed a little, it was a sound he quite liked.

“Don’t treasure it too long,” Cody warned him, “Because after we sing to you we’re all going to eat it.”

“Sing?”

Neither of them answered, but he found himself pushed into the professor’s chair and everyone seemed to gather all around him. He felt his face get warm and he hoped it wasn’t too noticeable. Both Cody and Satine were lighting the candles on the cake and right when they were done a rather off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday” was sung and shouted at him. There wasn’t much for him to do except sit there and try to look less uncomfortable. When Fives and Echo finally finished drawing out the last “you” Satine told him to make a wish and gestured for him to blow out the candles. It took him two attempts and he wondered if he looked as foolish as he felt.

Soon, however, everyone was preoccupied with their slices of cake and mingling with one another. Obi-Wan had to admit despite his embarrassment of having so many eyes on him, the cake was rather good. It was certainly his favorite kind from the Great Hall and he was quietly delighted when Satine offered him another piece.

“You know today’s not my birthday,” He told Satine as she sat down next to him cutting into her own slice.

“I know,” She smirked, “I know that your birthday isn’t today or tomorrow, but is actually February 29th. Despite what anyone else may say about this though, is that it’s still worth celebrating even if the day won’t appear again for a few more years.”

He blinked at her, shocked. He knew she’d been interested in figuring out his birthday, but he had assumed she’d dropped it by now, “How did you find out?”

“Years of observation,” It wasn’t a helpful answer, but he had to admire her intelligence in getting this far, “So am I right?” She leaned in close to him, her eyes searching his for the answer.

“Yes,” He answered quietly.

“Kenobi!” Hondo nearly knocked him into his cake when he slapped him on the back, “Why have you not shared your birthday with me before! Hondo gives fabulous presents that one would not wish for in their wildest dreams!”

“Ah thank you Hondo,” He peeled Hondo’s arm off his shoulders. He was fairly sure Hondo was correct in his assumption that he definitely wouldn’t have wished for whatever lurked in Hondo’s present in any of his dreams.

“You’re welcome, my friend! Only the best for one of my closest associates,” He winked at him before waltzing away back into the crowd. Obi-Wan watched him go as Satine stifled her laughter.

“I assumed you’d want to open your presents later?” She asked.

“I have presents?” He looked around the room until he spotted them and blanched. There had to be at least 10 sitting there in a pile just for him, “I can’t accept that,” He looked at her with wide eyes and she narrowed her eyes.

“It would be ruder for you to reject them,” He looked between her and the presents. A catch 22.

“I’m not opening Hondo’s in front of anyone,” He decided and she laughed again.

Suddenly there was a loud crash and they both looked up to see Anakin sprawled out on the floor. Obi-Wan’s heart flew into his throat thinking of a similar event at the last party he’d gone to at this school. Before he could run over there though, Anakin was sitting up with a dopey smile on his face. He giggled.

Obi-Wan let out a sigh of relief, but something still didn’t seem right. Anakin had Qui-Gon’s help to stand up, but he wobbled. He looked a little bit like he was drunk, but he doubted Satine or Cody would spike the punch at his birthday party. Cody seemed to have a similar guess because he took a sip of his own punch and frowned.

“Don’t you think,” Anakin giggled so hard he almost fell down again, “Don’t you think that Miraj Scintel is the most beautiful girl you’ve ever met?”

The room went silent.

“She’s really beautiful,” He said again giggling wildly. He tripped and Qui-Gon just barely managed to catch him.

Half the room broke out into laughter, it was a ridiculous sight, but Obi-Wan was more worried about what the cause of this was. Qui-Gon was too and immediately slapped a cookie out of Hondo’s hand.

“Someone’s snuck a love potion in,” Satine said standing up, looking particularly mad.

“Miraj Scintel by the sound of it,” Cin Drallig raised an eyebrow as they all quietly set their food down.

“Must have been after you Kenobi,” Fives pointed out, “After all this is technically your party.”

“Me?” He barely talked to the girl and found her quite detestable, they were as different as they came.

“It’s possible any of you were the target,” Qui-Gon frowned as he picked up Anakin to keep him from getting anywhere.

“Hey put me down! I need to go tell Miraj Scintel that I love her!” Anakin cried, “Rex, do you think she’ll like me back.”

Rex was looking at Anakin as if he were contagious, but he just gave him an awkward nod and a, “Sure mate.”

“I’ll take him to Madam Nema,” He told everyone and gave a steady gaze at Obi-Wan, “He’ll be fine. In the meantime I’m sorry, but it looks like we’ll have to cut this party short.”

Before long the room had thinned out leaving just Obi-Wan, Satine, Cody, and a mess to clean up.

“You don’t have to help, Ben,” Satine said with a sigh as she pulled out her wand, “It’s your birthday after all.”

“And leave you to do all the work? I don’t think so,” He stood beside her as they both pulled the streamers off the ceiling with their wands. Cody made short work of sending all their food back down to the kitchens. The three of them moved the desks back to where they were meant to before collapsing together at a section of desks in the center of the room.

“Who knew a party would be so much work?” Cody complained as he picked a bit of streamer out of his hair.

“I did,” Obi-Wan answered quietly, “I really appreciate the thought, but I’m not sure I like having all the attention on me.”

“The point of a birthday party is just to be around those that love you,” She told him, “Yeah it’s a little embarrassing being sung too or opening presents, but there are some things in life you just have to accept.”

“I’m not sure,” He would really rather not make such a big fuss about something as mundane as the day he was born. Satine gave him a rather scathing look for a moment before sighing deeply and reaching into her bag.

“Do you remember when I was late coming back to school?” She asked them.

“Only every day,” He complained and Cody just nodded. She sized them both up before pulling out her wallet and, as if it was physically painful for her she pulled out a thin white card.

“I was late because I was getting my driver’s license,” She set the card down in front of them, revealing Satine in rather bad lighting. On the right was a list of identifying information and quite interested, Obi-Wan picked it up to look at it.

Cody immediately had broken into a fit of laughter, catching the end of Satine’s fiery glare, “It looks like a mug shot!”

“That’s why I wasn’t too interested in telling anyone!” She snatched the card out of his hands and Obi-Wan just blinked looking over at her.

“What’s wrong with it? You look lovely,” That comment just made Cody laugh harder and earned him Satine’s glare as well.

“It’s a bloody terrible photo!” She shouted shoving the thing far back in her wallet and stashing it back where it belonged, “The point is,” She emphasized, “Sometimes you have to suffer through some embarrassment in life, I doubt having a birthday party is as terrible as having that as an identifying picture.”

“I don’t see what’s so bad about it,” He looked between Cody and Satine. It showcased her hair and although she wasn’t smiling, in it he could see the softness in her eyes.

“You are unbelievable, Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Satine’s face had gone red, “I show you the worst picture of me forced to exist and you still think being sung too is worse?”

“Let’s open presents!” Cody changed the subject quickly, shoving a shoddily wrapped gift into his hands and trying to whisper, “Come on mate, open it! She already has a mugshot, what’s going to stop her from murdering us.”

“Cody!”

#anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obitine #anidala #the clone wars #star wars #hpau #magical forces au

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chidoroki · 4 years

Text

The Promised Neverland S2EP6

aka: manga content is bliss!!!!

I will never get over how perfect those match cuts between the demon/human handshake, the chains & Emma are during the OP.. and how it builds up to the chorus is just.. aaahh, fantastic.

Oh! Lambda crew was added to the OP alongside the GF escapees. Norman too!

AAhh they really did fill in that empty spot with him during the last shot of Emma and Ray.. that’s wonderful!

“Emma’s Determination” starts up as I realize how foolish these kids are right now. Y’all are really about to have a touching reunion with each other in the middle of a demon town? With your disguises off?

Aaaaww that hug though!!

Look at her touching his face to make sure he’s real! I’m so glad they kept that panel! And how he noticed her missing ear too!

“I brought Ray out, too.” Well no shit honey.

YAAAYYY BEST BOY SLAPPED NORMAN!! Too bad it wasn’t hard enough to knock him to the ground like in manga but I’ll take it!

“But you say something cool, right?” “Yeah. Thanks to you. I’m glad I’m alive.” Dude, my heart.. aahhh!

The trio hug!! They’re all so cute!! I can’t handle all these happy feelings!

The Lambda crew is just standing there in the back like.. yeah, okay.

The younger kids are so happy to see Norman too.. but again manga did it better when they all tackled him to the ground. Granted that was a different scene but I would’ve loved to see it happen still.

Ah there’s his Lambda marking.

“I only took tests, so I’m fine.” Are you sure? Or are you just saying that so they won’t worry? Kind of like how he told the Lambda crew he didn’t get seizures when he actually did.

Also, I know some might think what was just said is true since Norman looks young and not like the “boss” Norman we were hoping for, but the anime is actually accurate in regards to that. Ch129 shows a flashback that takes place in February 2047 where Norman still looks younger. When the initial reunion in ch118/119 happens in November 2047, so perhaps the experiments/drugs manga Norman was given take time to affect his physical state or whatever. What I’m getting at is the anime isn’t denying us of “boss” Norman, it just hasn’t happened yet in this timeline.

Oh, Smee was actually mentioned!

Here comes the demon chatter and the poison.

“No, we’d fare better than going against a smarter demon.” True, not that anyone would truly know that because, you know, no GP..

“We’ll make the demons extinct. There will be no more Neverland.” Okay yeah, Norman takes Emma’s wish to heart by trying to create a world in which their family can live happily, but do you have to go through such extremes dude?

“Let’s establish a paradise for all of us in this demon world.” Manga Norman accomplished that, anime Norman.

Ohhh Ray notices Emma’s bluff, doesn’t he?

“If I give the word, even as early as tomorrow.” That’s quick, but fits with the pace of this season well enough..

“Now we can move forward, thanks to Norman.” Ah yes, we’re all saved thanks to our main character. Oh, wait.. that’s right. She’s over here being disrespected!

The base Smee left them? Is that the Paradise hideout? I forget.. or are we talking about the D100 location now?

Norman’s going back somewhere?

“It’s great.” “Is it really, though?” AH! Shut the fuck up! Are we getting the balcony scene here?? Right now?? Sure the duo is on top of a tower right now but y’all know what conversation I’m referring to!!

“About Norman’s plan.. you actually don’t want that, right?” IT’S HAPPENING!!! Oooh my god!!!

“But that’s not the future you want, is it?” “Something’s wrong with me.” Quick! Someone hold me! I’m not ready!!

Aww, Gilda helping Alicia with her nightmare.. that’s so precious!

Emma’s voice actor is totally nailing this scene so far.

“Yeah, nothing can be done.” Y’all, the way his voice became significantly confident and so positive and Emma’s reaction to him were perfect!!

“Don’t dig up my buried feelings, you jerk!” Emma sweetheart, I love you so much!

“If you’re going to bury your feelings, then take them to your gave, no matter what.” I know I said this once in the past, but after what happens in ch180, yeeaahh she takes his advice reaaallly well.

Oh they brought back “Emma’s Sorrow” to really make me even more emotional during this scene!!

You can always count on Ray to be completely blunt.

“Depending on the circumstances, we might get a clue on how humans and demons can coexist.” “Ray!” Bro she looked so hopeful and thankful that he’s even considering it! You could literally hear the relief in Emma’s voice!

“Choose what you want to do, and I’ll support you. No matter what you choose, you’ll be okay.” AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!! HE SAID IT!!

“You can do the impossible. That’s your specialty, right? Let’s create a future we won’t regret.” “Okay! Thanks, Ray!” AAH I AM SO FUCKING HAPPY!!! And the sunrise makes this scene so beautiful!!!

“My head feels clearer now.” “You’re too easy!” They even remembered those tiny lines too!!!

Y’ALL!! I am feeling.. SO DAMN SOFT RIGHT NOW!! Holy shit.. yes, this scene would’ve been 5x better in terms of weight and importance if we saw every manga event that built up their bond and led up to this scene, but still!! The dialogue was on point! The emotion in their voices was everything I hoped for! The animation itself was good too!

Also, the sunrise?? Genius! Here we have our girl lost within her own mind and feeling completely alone due to her ideals, then BAM! Ray listens to her concerns, lends his assistance by thinking through a different course of action that would ease her wavering heart and restores some of her usual optimistic attitude. My boy literally helps our girl out of the dark and shined light on her mood/plan and that’s absolute perfection. (my ship bias is real obvious right now huh?)

Did we get the head pat? No, of course we didn’t. But I’m so happy to actually see & hear this conversation that I don’t care! I love these two so much. I honestly didn’t think we would get this scene. Even after the episode preview yesterday I still had my doubts but aahh my heart is so insanely happy right now!!

Oh? The duo is off to the location Norman gave them? This random, small house in the middle of no where?

Aaah Lambda crew! And THEY SPOKE WORDS!

Pfft they still had Barbara mix up “shield” and “field” and I love it.

Look how much shorter the duo is compared to Vincent!!

“He’s with Boss now, they’re..” Okay, one: I love that they still refer to Norman as “boss” despite him still looking like a child. Two: is he making the fake alliance with that demon clan already or nah?

Haahaha YEESS! They still had Ray choke on his drink!!

Vincent has such a deep voice.. he’s what, 17? 18? But damn.. who is his voice actor?

Also, just noticed the star on Barbara’s shirt doesn’t have the little face on it.

Mmhhmm, Barbara’s frustration was nice.

Oh, Norman returned.. and left as quick as he came.

Ahh! This is the conversation the duo had at the start of ch126!

Well, a real tiny part of it.. thanks for cutting it short, Norman.

“The Evil-Blooded girl is still alive?” Aayy the anime did their best with that panel. I’ll give them that much.

Okay.. that episode was great. Ya see what happens when you actually follow the manga? Sure some scenes/locations/panels were off but overall it was just so wonderful.

I’m happy. Granted the RE scene put me on a real high but yeah.. anime, I’m praising you! Keep it up!

(though I’ll be salty over no GP for the rest of my life, don’t worry.)

#the promised neverland #episode reaction

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zims-left-shoe · 4 years

Text

Agent Mothman (Dib x Male Reader)

Like most of my other fics, characters are aged up to high school. Plus, a friendly reminder that my request box is open!!

The silence was overwhelming. The pressure of everyone's collective held breath was almost palpable, your chest reactively tightening for no good reason. As you looked around you, eyes were wide, jaws were set and clenched in preparation to cringe. The only two who stuck out from the crowd were Zim and Dib, when did they not? Zim looked lost in thought, mind seemingly several thousand galaxies away, hands folded together neatly in front of his face, his chin resting on them. Dib, on the other hand, appeared to be over the whole ordeal. His posture was slouched as he stared ahead at the board through half-lidded eyes. As the quiet persisted, an anxious energy settled over your classmates (besides the two previously mentioned, of course). Eyes twitched, fingernails scraped the tables, feet began to tap restlessly on the floor.

"Y/n." The teacher finally spoke, bringing the whole class to sigh in relief, the building pressure suddenly released all at once. Many students leaned back in their chairs, high fiving each other. "Y/n, you will be partnered with Dib." You shrugged your shoulders as many looked to you in pity, some even whispering their sympathies. You had never aligned yourself with any group in particular throughout your school year. Granted, you were only a few months in, but you had switched schools so much you had learned to play the field. You avoided Dib considering his stigma, enabling you to be tolerated by the majority, however you were never mean to him. In fact, you rather liked him. You only chose to silently observe him rather than act upon your curiosity.

"But wait, who's going to be paired with Zim?" You heard a student groan, everyone's breath being held once more. You let your gaze drift over to your partner. He seemed relieved, a slight smile settling on his lips. This was probably the best case scenario for everyone. No one else had to work with Dib, and you were the only one who never picked on him for being just a bit different.

Once your teacher had finished reading names, you were all asked to sit with your partners. Without an ounce of reluctance, you sauntered over to Dib's otherwise empty table, taking one of the many available seats surrounding him. You needed to figure out a plan quickly, considering you only had one night to do the project. The project wasn't super taxing, in fact it seemed almost like busy work that would promote socialization at the same time, but it wasn't like your time frame was ideal.

"Dib, right?" You held up your hand in a slight wave. "I don't think I've officially introduced myself. I'm Y/n."

"I know. The new kid who has no real friends yet is somehow still deemed acceptable by the popular kids? An anomaly for sure." Red painted his face, his eyes widening as he realized how his words may have came off as. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound rude. Or creepy. You know what? I'll just stop talking." An awkward chuckle escaped your lips as his eyes fell to his sneakers. After a slight pause, Dib spoke again, his tone much more reserved than before. "I can just do the whole project and you can put your name on it if you want. It's not that hard." He was giving you an out, not wanting to piss you off. Reaching an arm out, you slugged his shoulder lightly.

"Nah, come on. I don't roll that way. Besides, I want to hang out with you a little."

"You...want to hang out...with me?" Dib pointed a finger to himself, eyes wide behind his large glasses. An incredulous expression was etched into every single feature of his face, as if he couldn't believe those words left your mouth.

"Yeah." After that syllable, the bell rang, dismissing you from school. You stood up, gathering your things. "Anyway, I'll be at your place after dinner. Just text me your address or whatever." You quickly scribbled your digits down on a scrap piece of paper that was laying around, passing it to him. "See ya!" You dashed away, sneaking one last glance back to see Dib still sitting in his chair, as still as a statue, not believing that this was even happening.

Your stomach felt as if it was full of butterflies, and you couldn't shake the grin that had spread across your face as you began your walk home.

God...he was even cuter than I thought... You were embarrassed by your own thoughts, pinching yourself on the arm. Truth was, you may or may not have been stalking him a little. He lived in your neighborhood, and you just couldn't help it. You had always been a hopeless romantic of sorts, and all it took was one look at him in class giving a presentation on the gremlin in his backyard and you were in love. You didn't even need his address, you knew where he lived, but you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable, so you asked for it anyway. Plus, it was a way to sneak him your number. And it wasn't as if you were actively trying to find out where he lived. It was pretty much impossible to ignore him and Zim screaming at each other as they ran back and forth between their houses all day.

"This is going to be a long night." You sighed out, foot striking out to kick a rock, the satisfying skittering sounds it made calming your nerves a small amount.

You drew in a deep breath as you brought your fist to the door, rapping on it a few times. Rocking back on your heels, you clutched your notebook and other supplies tightly to your chest, internally cringing at yourself. Everyone at school thought you were incredibly cool, but on the inside, you were just a lovesick gay who was overflowing with big dumb energy. The door swung open, bringing you to jump and be pulled from your motivational speech that was being given inside your head.

"Come on in. I'm surprised you showed up." Dib stepped aside to let you in, gesturing past the living room to the kitchen where a purple-haired girl sat at a table, picking at the remaining food on her plate. A floating monitor hovered near the table as well. "We're just finishing dinner, but you can follow me if you want." Nodding, you padded behind the social outcast wordlessly, taking a seat next to him at the table. "Gaz, this is Y/n, my partner for my project. Y/n, this is my sister Gaz."

"Hey." You waved to the girl. Her expression remained squinty as she continued to pick at her food, eyes dancing between her plate and a Game Slave which was charging on the counter.

"Whatever." She grumbled, never even directly acknowledging your existence once. You began to wonder if Dib was actually the most normal out of his entire family, which was saying something. Dib awkwardly cleared his throat as he pointed to the floating monitor, which displayed a man in a lab coat and goggles furiously working on something.

"Oh, and this is my dad. He's at work right now, like usual. When he can't be with us for dinner, he either videocalls us from his lab or plays a pre-recorded video reminding us of chores and dinner instructions." Despite how sad the things he had just said sounded, not an ounce of bitterness was up for display on his face. Instead, his eyes shone with pride, happy to have a dad who was making a difference in the world, even if he could never really be a conventional father. "Anyway, just let me clean up and then we can get to work." Dib stood up, bringing his own plate over to the sink and running it under water, placing it in in its respective place in the dishwasher afterwards. Waving for you to follow him, he led you down the hall to a room that was clearly his. The door was covered in posters and stickers of aliens and other supernatural creatures, a good sized "Keep Out" sign the centerpiece. You wondered what would be inside, becoming excited. You figured you were the first person besides his own family to be seeing his room. He twisted the knob, casually pushing the door open, allowing you to step inside.

"Wow..." You trailed off as you glanced around. There was so much to look at. Your eyes darted from one thing to the next, barely able to take it all in. There were several computer monitors surrounding a desk that was littered in papers and catalogues for supernatural hunting items, a few prototypes of possibly his dad's inventions scattered there as well. His room was lined with posters of aliens and other entities, an important looking briefcase thrown haphazardly onto his bed. The one thing that held your gaze the longest was a ginormous cork board. Several photos, drawings, diagrams, and hurried scribbles of notes were tacked up there, filling it to the max. Each paper was connected with color coded strings, things circled in colored pen seemingly at random, although you knew better. It was the definition of organized chaos. In large, bold, red letters, one word was scrawled on a paper at the top of the board: ZIM.

"I'm sorry, I tried to clean it as best I could. It's still kind of a mess." Dib hurriedly stacked papers together on his desk, trying to make it look presentable.

"It's fine, don't worry about it. You should see my room. Half of my shit isn't even out of boxes yet, and we moved in months ago." You laughed, sitting down on his floor. "So, alien invasion, huh? Isn't Zim that kid with the skin condition?" You asked, gesturing to his cork board. His shoulders tensed as he unplugged his computer and brought it down to the ground, taking a seat beside you.

"Could we just get to work? Please?" He seemed to want to sweep that subject under the rug, and you decided that you would let him.

"Okay...so anyway, this research poster. You got a topic in mind?" Your prompt drew him out of his unsociable shell, albeit hesitantly.

"Personally, I was thinking Area 51, but if you wanted to do something else..." He genuinely appeared to not want to upset you, despite usually not caring about how he came off to others.

"That sounds great, Dib. Interesting too. You think they're really hiding aliens there?" Laying down on your stomach, you rested your face in the palms of your hands, gearing up for a long talk. A smile crept onto your face as immediately his eyes lit up.

"I'm glad you asked."

"I think we have the essentials. Now we just need to get them onto the poster, which is probably the most time consuming part." Dib stretched his arms towards the ceiling while you yawned and cracked your back. You didn't know how long you had been sitting on the floor for, but a glance to the clock by his bed told you it was 8:01 pm. The two of you had spent the last couple of hours researching, organizing notes, and mainly just talking about yourselves. You had no idea why everyone constantly was ragging on him. You found him to be incredibly interesting and entertaining, hanging onto every single word he spoke. You weren't really sure if you believed in all of these supernatural creatures, but you also didn't think that they couldn't exist.

"I think so too. You ready to start on the poster now?" Reaching out, you gathered the posterboard and construction paper Dib had brought in from his garage together.

"Yeah, in a minute. I have to use the bathroom and then see what Gaz is up to, I'll be back in a few." You hummed a response, Dib standing up and exiting, closing the door softly behind him. Deciding to take a closer look at the Zim conspiracy board, you pushed yourself to your feet, leaning close to try and decipher the grainy images. One in particular caught your eye. It wasn't in color, and everything seemed fairly blurry. Zim, or what was supposedly Zim, was hunched over something that looked to be a robot. Except, as you looked even closer, Zim seemed to have these buggish eyes and long, skinny antennae in place of his hair. Rubbing your eyes, you flopped down onto Dib's bed.

"God, I must be seeing things." You had managed to convince yourself that you had been staring at computer screens and papers for far too long, and that your eyes were playing tricks on you, showing you what Dib wanted you to see. Closing your eyes for a minute, the rise and fall of your chest turned slow and steady, and you could feel your grip on reality loosening.

A ringtone of sorts snapped you back from your almost-doze, and at first you thought it was your phone, but after waking up a bit more, you realized it was coming from one of Dib's monitors. It appeared he was getting a call. The monitor showed nothing besides a logo of some sort of eye, as well as an option to accept the call or decline. Filled with curiosity, your feet took you to his desk where his monitor sat. You barely felt in control of your body as your finger swiped at the screen in the direction to accept the call.

"Agent Mothman-" The voice coming through the monitor was distorted, but you got the impression that it was on purpose. The image displayed was a dark silhouette of what seemed to be a man. "You're not Mothman."

"You mean that cryptid from West Virginia? No. I'm not." You took a seat in Dib's desk chair, which was very comfy. You assumed he spent a lot of time in it when he wasn't hanging out with Zim.

"Who are you and what do you know?" The voice was menacing, and you vaguely wondered if Dib was involved in something more serious than you thought. Quirking an eyebrow, you tried to not let any miniscule amount of fear you were feeling show.

"I'm, we'll just say Agent, uh...Nessie." Feeling uncreative, your mind drifted to the Loch Ness Monster.

"You're not Nessie either."

"You got one of those too? Ugh, fine. What about Agent Chupacabra?"

"Well, no, but...you're not any agent we know of."

"But I could be! Agent Chupacabra reporting for duty!" You brought your hand up to your head stiffly in a mock salute.

"But you're not a member of the Swollen Eyeball! What are you doing on Mothman's computer?"

"The Swollen what now?" You were smiling stupidly, only because you couldn't really grasp what the current situation was.

"Hey, sorry, Gaz decided to hound me over drinking the last soda, so I took a little longer than I thought-" Dib opened the door to reveal you sitting in his desk chair, trying to look all spooky for the guy in the monitor. You thought he'd laugh at your stupidity, but he was not in the least bit amused. "OH MY GOD AGENT DARK BOOTY!" Slamming his room door, he darted over to where you were sitting, almost tripping and falling on his face. He made a strangled noise as he noticed the disappointed expression that rested on the silhouette's face.

"Who is your little friend, Agent Mothman?" The distorted voice was cold, and you could feel Dib almost shrink next to you.

"Listen, I can explain-"

"I thought we stressed secrecy, and the fact that you are not allowed to have outsiders sit in on our important meetings."

"Meeting?" All of a sudden, several of the other monitors sparked to life, various other silhouettes coming into view. Just in one glance, you could see that Dib wanted nothing more than to fade away into a cloud of space dust in that moment. You stayed silent, knowing that Dib was in some serious trouble because of you.

"We had a meeting at 8:30 pm sharp, Mothman. You knew this. And you had a friend over?" Dib's face, already pale, turned even more so. Any lighter, and you thought for sure he'd become a ghost on the spot.

"I am so sorry, I had a school project, and he's my partner, I lost track of time." He looked absolutely helpless, and without a word, you stood up and gathered the poster supplies. Snapping back to his senses, he turned to you and began shoving you out of his room and herding you to the front door.

"Dib, I-"

"You really need to go!" There were no other words said between the two of you as he quite literally slammed the door in your face. A sigh slipped past your lips as you clutched your project items in your arms, dragging your feet across the pavement on your walk home. You lazily stumbled through your front door, mumbling a greeting to your parent(s) as you headed to your room, gearing yourself up to finish the project before morning.

"Thank you to Y/n and Dib for their, erm, informative...presentation on Area 51. That was your last one, so enjoy your last five or so minutes of class." Your teacher went back to their desk as you and Dib retreated to your own table. You hadn't talked much since the incident last night, and quite frankly, you were tired from spending hours of your night creating the visual portion of your project. Dib's lips were tightly pressed together in a thin line, and you guessed there was something he wanted to get off his chest.

"Look, Dib. If there's something you want to say to me, just do it. I'm sorry for answering your call, that was not a good move on my part, and I also apologize for getting you in trouble with your, uh...society." Running a hand through his dark hair, Dib shook his head.

"No, that was my bad. I forgot I had a meeting. I'm also really sorry for kicking you out and then forcing you to finish the project on your own." Your expression softened, unable to resist forgiving him.

"Yeah, that was kind of a dick move." You elbowed him jokingly, hoping he would loosen up now that bygones were bygones.

"No, seriously. How can I make it up to you?" He looked as if he wouldn't be taking no for an answer. He had gotten a taste of what having someone who genuinely enjoyed being around him was like, and he wasn't willing to let that go. A sly grin tugged at your lips, and almost immediately an idea came to mind.

"Consider yourself forgiven if you take me ghost hunting, or whatever it is you do." His shoulders tensed, but relaxed when he realized you weren't making fun of him.

"Well, you're in luck. I just received a case file investigation last night on a bigfoot lead. I'll pick you up at eight, if that works?" His words were cautious, almost as if he still believed you were phishing.

"It's a date!" You cheered happily, already excited about getting to spend more time with him. A faint blush dusted his cheeks at your wordage.

"Of-Of course." He stammered out, grateful for the bell that rang not even a second after.

"See you tonight, Dib!" You waved as you made your way home, wanting eight to come as fast as possible.

"He knows the project is over, right?" Torque Smacky raised an eyebrow, questioning Dib and wondering why someone as cool as you would be hanging around with a guy like Dib by choice.

The doorbell rang, and you sprang up from where you sat on the couch, overjoyed to head out. Practically throwing open the door revealed Dib in all of his trench coat glory, albeit a bit nervous looking and sweaty.

"Alright Mr. Mothman, where are we going?" You grabbed onto his arm, eventually linking it with your own. He cringed at the nickname, but resisted nothing else.

"To the park. Apparently, some woman saw bigfoot there the other night. Also, fun fact, I saw bigfoot in my garage one time. He was using the belt sander." Your eyes widened, and you immediately realized why everyone called him crazy. You took it upon yourself to believe him. He obviously believed in himself, so why shouldn't you?

"Interesting. You see any other spooks in your time here?" He shrugged as you walked.

"I mean, I think a few ghosts and, well, aliens of course, but we've been over that. Also, I have vague memories of being abducted by aliens as a kid. I think they were trying to experiment on me to create some sort of genius super baby or something." You couldn't help the laughter that tumbled from your mouth. It wasn't necessarily laughing at him, more so that you weren't sure how else to respond. You didn't want to put him down, but at the same time, his story was very out there. And although you weren't 100% on board with the whole supernatural thing, you believed in him and his words. If that was his truth, you would stand by it. "You ever see anything supernatural?" You pointed a finger to yourself, as if to ask, 'me?'.

"Well, I mean...I did live in West Virginia for a while when I was younger...a lot younger. And then we moved around a lot." Your eyes instinctively narrowed as you tried to recall those times with you and your neighborhood friends. "And, you know, Mothman was like the local legend. He's basically a celebrity down there."

"No way! Did you actually, like, see him?" If you didn't already have it, you sure had his full attention now.

"No. I believed in him for a while, but we never saw him, and as I got older and distanced myself from there, I just kind of figured it was bullshit. My friends and I, we would go out at night trying to hunt for him with flashlights and stuff. Sometimes we'd bring lamps onto the porch and plug them in, building little 'Welcome, Mothman' forts to sleep in." You chuckled, remembering how much you had believed in all the spookies and specters as a child.

"That's adorable." Dib's lips were parted in a smile as he continued to lead you deeper into the park. You weren't sure when you had actually gotten there, but you weren't really paying much attention.

"Well, maybe we could do that together some time. I know Mothman isn't really big in this part of the country, but who knows. Maybe he'll come." Softly bumping Dib in the side, you were pleased to see his smile only grow.

"I'd like that." The nice moment was interrupted by rustling of the trees, and Dib turned on his flashlight, pointing it to the treetops. "There!"

"I thought bigfoot was more on the ground!" You called as you raced after him. You both came to a grinding halt, your feet skidding in the grass to try and avoid ramming straight into Dib's back. The boy you were with aggressively pointed his flashlight into the tree, resulting in a loud hiss from whatever was up there. "Maybe it's just a cat, Dib!" You tried to pull him away, not really liking how riled up he was at the moment.

"Zim! What are you doing here?! What evil things are you planning?"

"Zim?" You looked upwards, following the beam of the flashlight. Sure enough, there was a green body hunched in a tree branch, a robot of some sort next to him.

"None of your business, Dib-stink!" Zim spat, turning to face your friend. It was then you got a good look at his face. It wasn't the slightly abnormal one you were used to seeing every day. His eyes were red and buglike, sleek, black antennae sprouting from his head.

"Holy shit, Dib. You're not crazy." You flicked your flashlight on as well, aiming it at who you thought was your classmate. "He really is an alien!" A strangled cry came from the alien sitting atop the tree branch.

"GIR! Do something!"

"Yes, master!" The once cheerful-looking robot suddenly turned much more serious, dropping down from the branch to where the two of you were standing. You yelped, unsure of what this thing was capable of.

"Relax, his robot is pretty much usele-" Dib began, but his sentence came to an abrupt end when several missals and other weapons emerged from his head.

"How do you like GIR's new adjustments, Dib? I finally got his behavioral chip fixed to where he's responsive, but not too serious." Zim smirked, and with the point of one of his clawed fingers, his robot was on the two of you.

Simultaneously, both of you let out a scream, reaching desperately for each other's hands as you ran for your lives back to Dib's place. Your feet pounded the pavement, lungs feeling as if someone was raking knives down your throat and organs, yet despite all that, you both refused to look back. Only when you were on his porch did you feel comfortable sneaking a glace behind you, only to find an empty street lit up by streetlights. Breathing heavily, the two of you leaned on each other for support. Dib looked very worse for wear. He didn't seem to be too athletically inclined.

"I think...we lost him..." You spoke between gasps for air, grinning all the while. He nodded vigorously, still wheezing. After the two of you had regained your breath, you both managed to catch each other's gaze. You felt every portion of your brain that was in charge of thinking shut down as you leaned in closer to him. You were barely even aware of what you were doing as you pressed your lips to his. His eyes looked as if they were about to burst from his skull, but after a moment, they eased shut as he relaxed into the kiss. You pulled away, feeling heat rush to your cheeks, almost as if your face was on fire. Your stomach was tied in too many knots to even look at Dib, but if you had, you would have seen that he wasn't fairing much better. In fact, he was probably in worse condition. "Thanks for the night of fun, Agent Mothman."

"Uh-huh." He mumbled out, and his brain looked miles away. You decided just to go home before you did or said anything else that could be classified as stupid. As you power-walked away, Dib's hand found its way to his lips, where the feeling and warmth of your own still lingered.

#invader zim #fanfic #fanfiction #dib membrane #dib x reader #invader zim x reader #invader zim fic #invader zim fanfiction #oneshot #one shot #invader zim oneshot #invader zim one shot

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bouwrites · 4 years

Text

Even Heroes Have the Right to Dream: Chapter 12

I’m no Superman. I hope you like me as I am.

First, Previous, Next. Ao3.

Story under read-more.

Jon is fairly certain Marinette is only joking when she agrees to visit each other during the holidays, mostly because agreeing is as far as any planning for it goes. They don’t even go as far as saying they’ll do it this year, or this summer, but as far as Jon’s concerned, he’s got one summer and two holiday seasons left with Marinette before they’re just living their regular adult lives.

And he certainly doesn’t intend to let her go after college – no, he’s going to ask her to move in together permanently. Maybe they’ll even stay in New York. Or Jon will move to Paris with her. It doesn’t matter yet, they still have a year and a half before they graduate anyway, but either way Jon has no intention of letting graduation separate them.

To that end, they have their entire lives to visit each other’s homes. Even so, Jon really wants to invite Marinette back to the farm at least once for holiday. It’s criminal that they still haven’t enjoyed more than a video call for any holiday thus far. Granted Christmas was in the middle of their drama both years (Not this year, he resolves.), but they still had other opportunities!

Unfortunately, she’s always in Paris during the breaks, and Jon doesn’t want to take her away from her friends. Spring break is out, as are the breaks between semesters, so no summer or winter breaks. Jon might be able to visit her, then, especially in the summer with months without any real holiday to call the family together for, but Marinette will be treasuring the time she has with her friends in Paris, so he can’t invite her back to America and interrupt that.

But Paris is far, and there are smaller opportunities to take advantage of. Jon’s mind goes almost immediately to Thanksgiving. The break is only the end of the week, so Marinette doesn’t actually go back to Paris for it, especially since they don’t have Thanksgiving where she’s from, so she has nothing to celebrate in the first place.

Which makes it perfect, because it’ll be Marinette’s first real Thanksgiving! The Kents love Thanksgiving, and Jon is no exception. It’s just such a warm, feel-good holiday full of family, great food, and thanks for all that they have. And Jon has a lot to be thankful for, not the least of which that Marinette is in his life and hasn’t given up on him after their chaotic first years together.

He can’t even imagine where he’d be if Marinette wasn’t his roommate. If he had come to New York two years ago and found himself in this little apartment with Jesse instead of her, where would he be? Still hiding, no doubt. From the hero life he left behind, from his own instincts to protect, maybe even from his lineage. If he didn’t have Marinette to work with, would he have found his ideals? Would he know yet what he wants his life to be? Would he ever have had the example to fix his ideals around, or would he still be struggling to reconcile Justice and Peace?

The Girod is certainly not an easy standard to live up two. Eleven virtues, all embodied in one man. Jon still thinks it’s impossible to truly achieve, but they offer him guidance, a path to follow now that he’s cast aside the one his dad put in front of him. Marinette is that path, and the Girod is just the handrails. What he finds living with Marinette, normal or not, is what he wants. He’s certain of that. The Girod guide him further if he stumbles or gets distracted, but the path is and always was, from the moment he arrived in New York, Marinette.

No offense to Damian, but she’s his best friend. Jon will follow her to hell and back, and he knows with absolute certainty she will never ask him to compromise his peace for her – that’s why he can so easily charge down the path hand in hand with her. They made a promise, to themselves and to each other. A promise that no one else in Jon’s life, no matter how much he loves and trusts them, would ever make. A life of peace. To find that together. He trusts her, and he does his best to live up to her trust in him, keeping her on the path she tells him she wants just as she does for him.

Jesse is a great guy, but Jon will never find that with him. If Jon had come to New York and roomed with him instead, Jon’s sure they’d be great friends, but… Jesse could never be the rock that Jon needs to keep him grounded. Very few people could. In fact, it might just be her.

When Jon itches to fly, all he needs to do is look at Marinette, and all that desire disappears. He’s content on the ground, if Marinette is with him. That is something extraordinary.

It’s selfish of him to want more, but he does. He wants to share more. He wants to have those loud, boisterous party experiences with her, those intimate family moments of holidays with her, he wants to take her flying, not off to any goal, just to the horizon, to see what she’ll do so high up in the sky. It’s selfish, but it’s also what he wants. He can’t just not try, not without sacrificing something dear to him. And he’s not a hero anymore, so he’s not sacrificing a thing.

So, while Marinette is out working on her commissions for the Wayne’s Christmas party, Jon starts making dinner and uses the time, also, to call his mom.

“Hi, Jon!” His mom coos through the phone. “I wasn’t expecting a call today. Are you cooking?”

“Getting started, yeah.” Jon smiles to the image of his mom on the phone, perched on the counter so he has his hands free. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I’m always available for my boy.”

Jon gets all his pots and pans in order before focusing on the ingredients themselves. “So, I actually called to ask you something.”

“Yes? What is it?”

“You know my roommate, Marinette? She’s from Paris.”

“Yes, you talk about her a lot.” Jon flushes despite himself. His mom sounds so teasing about it, and Jon can’t help but let the implication fluster him. “What about her?”

Jon can’t seem to look at the phone as he draws in his breath for his next words. He focuses instead on preparing dinner. “I was wondering if it’d be alright if I asked her to have Thanksgiving with us. They don’t have Thanksgiving in Paris, so she’s usually just hanging out here alone when I go back. I thought it’d be nice to invite her.”

A glance tells him his mother has that knowing smirk that she always has when she knows more than she should. Jon just pointedly focuses on the vegetables and tries to ignore how his cheeks burn. It’s not like that. “That’s a wonderful idea, Jon.” His mom says. “We’d love to have her over.”

Jon breathes out a sigh. “Awesome.” Now I just need to ask Marinette if she even wants to come. “I’ll bring it up with her when she gets home.”

“Oh, is she busy?”

Jon nods. “Damian hired her to make his family’s outfits for their Christmas party, so she’s been working a bit later on that. She’ll be home in time for dinner, though.”

“That’s good. I hope she isn’t neglecting her studies for Damian.”

Jon snorts. “Don’t worry, I’m making sure she studies. Lord knows she’s told me to study enough times. I got to repay the favor.”

His mom laughs. “It sounds like I should thank her. I’m glad you two are there for each other.”

Jon smiles down at the vegetables on his cutting board. “Yeah. Me too. I’m lucky to have ended up with her.”

“No doubt about that.” His mom says. “Now the only question is: when we introduce her to your grandparents, will it be as your roommate, or as your girlfriend?”

“Mom!” Jon fumbles for a moment with his knife and shrinks a little as he gives up and just throws the vegetables in the bowl they’re meant to go in. “It’s not like that!”

“Are you sure?” His mom asks calmly. “Because the last time I’ve seen you this smitten with someone, it was Damian Wayne back in-”

“We don’t talk about that!” Jon only burns hotter at the mention of Damian. To himself, he whines, “Marinette teases me about that enough.” Louder, after clearing his throat awkwardly, he says, “And I’m not smitten!”

“Oh, honey. You’re basically married.”

“We live together.” Jon counters. “The domestic stuff is just being decent roommates.”

“I’m not talking about cooking for her, Jon. I’m talking about how you’re always talking about her. Even Damian noticed you always bring her up.”

Do I? Jon thinks back and realizes that his mom is totally right. That’s why Sam looks so irritated with him when they talk. Every time she tries to flirt or compliment him, he’d… well it must look to her like he deflects to compliment Marinette. He thinks he’s just being friendly and sharing a pretty major part of his life. Maybe I should be a little more careful next time I talk to her.

But that doesn’t mean anything. “She’s my best friend!” Jon says. “Of course, I talk about her.”

“Just like when you couldn’t shut up about your best friend Damian, right?”

“Mom!” Jon whines, drawing the word out.

“Okay, okay, I’m only teasing. You should be ready for it, though. You bringing a girl home will definitely set your grandparents off.”

Jon groans loudly. That’s probably true. Unfortunately, there’s not much he can do about it. He’ll just have to suck it up. Besides, there are much worse things in life than being mistaken for Marinette’s boyfriend. He and Marinette know what they’re doing, mostly, and they’re not kids anymore. They can handle assumptions. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

“Are you excited?” Jon bounces in his seat, leaning over to Marinette, who is pressing herself close to the window to watch the farmland pass them by.

“I am!” Marinette’s eyes sparkle as she takes in the scenery. It’s just flat and honestly pretty drab, but she’s looking at it like a whole new world. Jon supposes that it is, to her. “I’ve never celebrated Thanksgiving before. And it’s so pretty out here! I feel like I can see for miles!”

“You can.” Jon’s dad says from the front seat. “On clear nights, you can even see the light from Metropolis.”

“That’s amazing! Thank you all so much for inviting me!”

“It’s our pleasure to have you, Marinette. Jon talks about you all the time. We’re all very happy to finally meet you properly.”

“Yes! I’m so happy to have this chance to get to know you, as well!”

Marinette is practically glued to the window for the entire drive, and frequently takes pictures with her phone of the speeding vast emptiness surrounding them. Wide fields of dirt or low-lying crops with the occasional tree or copse (usually as windbreakers surrounding property) is the exact opposite of exciting for Jon, but for a girl raised in Paris who has never been in the American countryside, it’s a completely new experience. Jon wagers she’s never seen so much sky.

If the way she clutches her sketchbook and scribbles in it without hardly looking down at it is any indication, it’s inspiring, too. That makes Jon happy. That’s part of the reason he wants to invite her back to the farm. A completely new setting for her is sure to spark some creativity. Just wait until she sees the stars.

When they roll off the asphalt and onto the packed dirt path leading to their home, Marinette loses none of the awe. In a hushed whisper, straight into Jon’s ear as she grabs his arm, she says, “I’ve never been on a dirt road before.” Which, now that he thinks about it, makes sense, but is such a little thing he would never have realized had she not told him directly.

Then they spill out of the car and Marinette gasps, staring at the horizon uninterrupted by the Kent home. Jon smiles at his parents and gestures for them to go on. He’ll wait with Marinette for as long as she wants to revel in the sight, ordinary as it may be to him. “Jon!” She grabs his arm tightly, hugging it unthinkingly. “It’s… I can see forever. It’s like being on top of the Eiffel Tower, except I’m on the ground. And the air! It feels so different!” She giggles breathlessly. “I can’t believe you live here.”

Jon smiles fondly down at her, warm from her touch. “It’s cleaner out here, right? Hard to find fresh air like this in a city.” He agrees. “I’m glad you’re here.”

She looks up at him and smiles, an ear to ear grin that shines like the sun. “Me, too. Thank you again for inviting me.”

Jon’s stomach flutters in an interesting way that makes his cheeks burn. Sharing little things like this with Marinette is probably his new favorite thing in the world. Seeing the inspiration in her eyes, how her excitement reminds him to appreciate the view he’s long considered uninteresting. Just because the view is a whole lot of nothing doesn’t mean there’s nothing to appreciate. The emptiness itself is as awesome as the greatest of cities.

Jon gives Marinette a brilliant smile and says, “Come on, let’s get inside. I’m sure my grandparents are getting impatient to meet you.”

“Oh! Of course! Sorry for taking so long.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

Marinette separates from him and starts towards the house. Jon opens the door for her, smiling because he can already hear movement in the kitchen. No doubt that’s his grandma, getting started on the pies.

“Ah, there you are!” Jon’s grandpa says with a glint in his eyes as he examines the two. “We thought for a moment you’d gotten lost on your way in.”

“Ha ha.” Jon rolls his eyes. Those dad jokes will never be funny. Or, never not be funny? It’s a weird balance. “This is my friend Marinette.” He nudges her gently to introduce her.

“Of course, of course. It’s nice to meet you, Marinette. Jonno’s told us all a lot about you.” Marinette politely shakes his hand as he says, “I’m Jonathan, or just Grandpa if you’re under this roof.”

Marinette makes an odd expression that strikes Jon as somewhere between amused and uncomfortable. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kent.”

Leaning close to Jon, as if to speak as an aside but not lowering his voice nearly enough for it to matter, Jon’s grandpa says, “Ah, she’s too polite for you, boy.”

Jon wants to retort, but he’s honestly not sure whether to be offended at the implication that he’s anything but a gentleman. He knows his grandpa is just teasing him, so he doesn’t take serious offense to it, but still.

“Do my ears deceive me? Is she here?” Suddenly, Jon’s grandma comes out of the kitchen, brushing her hands on her apron, making a beeline for the two youngest. She immediately gives Marinette a hug, and holds her still to examine her. “Oh, you’re just the prettiest little thing! Please, make yourself at home. I was just getting started on the pies for tomorrow.”

Marinette stands a little straighter at the mention of baking. “Can I help?” She asks.

Jon interjects to say, “Marinette’s parents are bakers in Paris. She grew up in a bakery.”

Marinette flushes a little and fiddles with the turtle Miraculous around her wrist. “I- yes, that’s true, but truth be told I don’t have much experience baking pies. Not the kind you have here, anyway. I’ve always wanted to try, but they’re not as common in Paris as they are here. I never had reason to.”

“Will you be able to handle using American measurements, though?” Jon teases.

“Of course, I can. Because I’m not a baby who refuses to try new things.”

“You literally insist our recipe book is written with European measurements.”

“No, I just take the effort to convert things for myself. If you want to convert the recipes into your measurements, then you’re more than welcome to.”

Jon makes a face. “But that’s so much math.”

“Then don’t complain.” Marinette pokes him playfully. She looks back to the adults, as if remembering they’re there, and composes herself again. “Ah, but, may I please, Mrs. Kent?”

“Call me Martha, honey. And you don’t have to help cook. You’re a guest here.”

“But I enjoy it!” Marinette says eagerly. “And I want to. Jon’ll help, too.”

Martha hums thoughtfully. “The more the merrier, then. Let’s find you an apron.”

As Martha leads them to the kitchen and the rest of the adults start talking amongst themselves, Jon is pulled closer to Marinette so she can whisper to him. “Your grandparents are adorable!” She says, grinning giddily. “Their accents are so cute!”

“So’s yours.” Jon says back. He feels satisfied when she blushes at the comment but is quickly brought out of their little conversation with the aprons his grandma hands them.

They fall into the groove of preparing the pies for a while, conversing lightly as they do. Marinette and Martha get on like a house on fire, mostly talking about recipes, which Jon watches fondly. Apple, classic American. Pecan, necessary for Thanksgiving. Pumpkin, also a staple. Pies spend a lot of time in the oven, but between bakes conversation never lulls. If things in the kitchen die down, someone from the living room will pop in and liven things up again. Jon is even dragged outside at one point to fix the tractor, and Marinette follows out of self-admitted fascination.

Jon explains what he’s doing as he does it for Marinette’s sake, but he’s pretty sure it goes mostly over her head. She probably doesn’t know much about machinery like the tractor in the first place, so he doesn’t expect her to grasp the details. All he knows is that he needs to wash the oil off his hands, and better yet take a whole shower (it’s late November, so he’s not exactly sweaty, but the inside of a tractor isn’t clean, no matter how hard he tries to avoid getting covered in filth) before he goes anywhere near the kitchen again.

It’s only after Marinette assures him she’ll be fine alone with his family for a while that he does so, though. She’s talked to his parents before in passing over the phone, but ultimately today is the first time she’s really met any of them except him. He doesn’t want to just leave her feeling uncomfortable without him around, and he notices that she gets a little quiet while he’s working on the tractor, so he’s worried. But she insists and practically pushes him into the bathroom herself, so he has little choice but to relent. It’s not like he wants to stay filthy, anyway.

When he steps out of the shower, warm and refreshed, he realizes it’s getting late. So, he throws on some pants and goes to ask Marinette where she’ll be most comfortable. “Unfortunately, my grandparents have the guest room.” He tells her, guiding her to his own room. “So, you can take my bed. I can sleep on the floor, or on the couch in the living room if you’d rather have the space to yourself.”

Marinette reels back at the very idea. “I can’t take your bed from you, Jon! I can sleep on the floor, it’s fine.”

Jon chuckles good-naturedly. He knows what she’s doing, and he’s not about to let her. “Not a chance, Marinette. You’re a guest here. You get a proper bed. I’m not budging on that.”

Marinette rolls her eyes. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed!”

“You’re not. I’m offering it.”

“Jon! I’m serious, I’m no- woah.” A slow grin stretches across Marinette’s face when Jon opens the door to his room. “This is your room?!” She gasps, following his gesture to step inside.

It’s not hard to guess what she’s looking at. The lights are still off in here, and her head is tilted back, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars all over his ceiling and the free space on his walls. Jon checks out the window, just to see that there are clouds covering the real stars. Shame. Hopefully that clears up tomorrow. If she’s impressed by this, just wait until she sees the real thing.

Truth be told, he doesn’t think much of those glow-in-the-dark stars anymore. He put them up with his dad when he was little and never bothered taking them down unless he needed space on the wall for whatever reason. There’s so many of them, it’d just be a hassle to clean up if he did, and they don’t bother him, so he doesn’t need to. They’re just part of the background of the room. He’d actually forgotten they were there until Marinette points them out.

“Yep.” He says. His eyes search the stars, finding a set of them at the wall opposite his bed, where he’s facing when he’s lying in it.

“It’s so pretty.” Marinette says softly. “And it almost looks like… are those real constellations?”

Jon laughs, mostly to himself. “Yeah, I had a pretty big astronomy phase as a kid. You can imagine why.” Marinette giggles in agreement. “I found some star maps and, together with Dad, put all these up.” He looks fondly at the dim, glow-in-the-dark stars for the first time in a long time. Maybe years. It’s hard to believe, when he looks at them with the appreciation he used to, that he had ever lost that wonder.

The true sky just outside his window is better still, and he never abandoned his wonder for that, but this is… this is special, too. It’s nice to be reminded of that.

Jon looks at Perseus at the end of his bed and smiles. Initially, Jon wanted to put Corvus there, where he can most easily see it, since from Earth’s perspective, that’s where Krypton is located, but Corvus is a southern constellation so even when it is visible in the real sky outside here, it’s low down and doesn’t work well as a starting point for the rest of the sky map of his room. And Perseus, the hero, is just as good. Better, even, since Jon never connected to Krypton, but to heroes? That’s what Jon wanted since he was born.

(And maybe he also read The Lightning Thief at just around the same time his astronomy phase got into full gear. Sue him.)

It’s funny in hindsight. If he wanted it a little less badly, hadn’t tried so hard to reach it, maybe he would have been more ready when he did. Maybe be wouldn’t be turning his back on it now. Maybe now would only be his start.

But pointless hypotheticals get him nowhere. He likes where he’s at now. He likes being with Marinette and working together towards their mutual life of peace. It gives him meaning that he doesn’t need to fill with heroism, and it gives him perspective, so he can gaze upon Perseus and smile, even if it’s a tad weak. He wouldn’t change a thing about his life, if it has led him to this moment.

Even if he does still have to argue with Marinette over who gets the bed. (He wins, in the end, and smugly pulls a spare pillow and blanket out to put on the couch.)

Thanksgiving goes about as expected. Marinette fits in seamlessly with the family and insists on helping with the cooking. There are a few too many of them to all be in the small kitchen at once, but they agree to take turns and split the work of making each dish. While it’s his parent’s turn in the kitchen, Jon’s grandfather has to coax Marinette into throwing a football with them to get her to abandon her spot at the oven.

It’s a lot of laughing and running after the ball, since even though Marinette is coordinated and has a mean arm, she’s literally never thrown a football in her life until today. She’s awkward with it and always apologizing for every wildly inaccurate throw, but it’s still a nice time overall.

Aunt Kara shows up, too, and she immediately adores Marinette. She fawns over her almost as much as she fawns over Jon, which is saying something. For her part, Marinette takes it in stride, eagerly striking up conversation and spending so long just chatting that Jon’s grandfather eventually gives up on including the girls in their game of catch altogether.

Eventually, they gather for the meal itself. Jon makes sure to sit next to Marinette and watches her closely. She seems a bit awkward, maybe even startled, when Martha says grace, but she relaxes again quickly, noticing Kara waiting politely but clearly not participating, and then fully relaxing at the “Amen.” Then, they eat. It’s not all that different from any other meal, except they’re sharing it with more people.

They eat, they watch a football game on television, they laugh, they chat, and it’s all normal. It’s family. And Jon couldn’t be happier.

He keeps an eye on the sky, though. He still wants to show Marinette the stars. The real ones. So far, so good, and when the sun finally goes down, Jon sighs with relief.

He catches Marinette with her sketchbook, sitting on his bed as she hums a tune to herself and sketches. Reluctant to interrupt her, he waits for a moment until she looks up and smiles at him. “Want to see something really special?” He asks, holding out his hand for her.

Marinette grins widely and takes it. He squeezes her hand gently and guides her to the door. His parents absolutely notice them leaving, but aside from some pointed looks they don’t interrupt. That works for him.

They step outside and he barely manages to tell her to look up before he’s interrupted by her gasp. “You weren’t kidding…” She breathes, fixated on the stars.

“Right?” Jon asks, equally breathless. He grabs her other hand, so he’s holding both her hands, and looks up with her. More stars than he can count stretch out before them. The entire night sky is a light show just for them, more extravagant and more beautiful than any city, in his opinion. It’s something that just can’t be replicated, no matter how devoted a twelve-year-old may be. Sometimes, Jon sees this, the soft glow of the galaxy, a gentle band promised to the inky sky, and wants nothing more than to fly up into it. Today, the starbursts between his fingers and Marinette’s is more than enough for him.

“Thank you for showing me this.” Marinette’s voice is small, vulnerable, and when Jon looks closely, he can see the sparkle of the stars in her eyes. They’re a little too wet, but Jon smiles knowing she’s just overwhelmed. It truly is a beautiful sight.

“Want to get a little closer?”

Marinette blinks the wetness away – no tears fall – and looks strangely at him. “Closer? What do you…?”

Jon lifts just a foot off the ground, never letting go of her hands but leaning forward so as not to pull her feet off the ground.

Marinette grins from ear to ear and agrees. “Hold on tight.” He says ensuring she has her arms firmly over his shoulders and he’s holding her just as tightly himself. She’s pressed up against him, head on his shoulder, eyes on the stars.

Jon swears he will never forget the look on her face when he rises into the air. As the house and the trees fall away and all that’s present anymore is her, him, and the constellations. It’s a look of awe, of wonder and bright, bright light, like the stars themselves. The universe he spends so long gazing at out here is written on her face, its constellations in her freckles and its burn in her eyes. There’s so much beauty all around them, but all Jon sees is her.

He leans back just a little, drifting in that direction, and then with a cheeky smile, he spins abruptly. Marinette squeaks and clutches him tighter, and then glowers cutely at him when she calms down. “What?” He asks, innocently.

“Don’t do that!” Marinette pouts.

“No?” Jon gives her his best puppy eyes. “You don’t want me to go…”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Over,” Jon dips her, giggling at her small shriek, “sideways,” he spins again, and Marinette starts laughing along with him, “and under?”

Truthfully, playing around too much is dangerous. Marinette can’t fly, after all, but Jon lays back in the air, letting Marinette lay atop him, essentially using him as a platform. She smacks his chest lightly. “You’re mean.”

“I can show you the world!” Jon starts singing, loudly. He and Marinette both know he can sing better than he does, but being off-key only makes them both giggle harder. “Shining, shimmering, splendid!” He doesn’t know what comes over him that makes his boisterous, off-key yell give way at the next line, but it does. Instead, he barely whispers it. It’s just a sigh in the wind. “Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?”

Marinette blushes deeply, but laughs. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Jon chuckles. “But you’re stuck with me.”

Marinette hugs him tightly, rests her head on his chest and sighs contentedly, and Jon swears his heart skips a beat. “Thanks, Jon. This has been… there are no words. I’m so glad we met.”

Jon smiles softly. He has to resist the urge to kiss the top of her head. “Hey, that’s what Thanksgiving is about.” He takes another breath, but thinks better of it and instead says, “Hold on, let’s get down from here. I’ll show you one of my favorite places.”

Marinette nods silently against him, so he flies slowly over to his favorite tree and sets her down on his perch. They sit together, watching the stars, and Jon says, “I’m so thankful to have met you, you know. I… you gave me direction when I didn’t have any. You showed me what life without being a hero can be, and you helped me figure out what I want it to be. I hadn’t thought about that before. I always assumed, even later on when I hated it, that I’d always be Superboy. Or… or that I’d eventually be Superman.

“Marinette, I… I can’t imagine life without you. I have so much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving, and you’re… so much of it.” He sighs. “I wish I knew how to tell you how much it means. This doesn’t feel like enough, but… thank you. Thank you for sticking by me. Even when you found out I was Superboy, even when I doubt myself and whether I can really live peacefully- hell, even that, even looking for peace is because of you. If not for you I might still be chasing some unattainable ‘normal’ that I’ll never reach. I… It’d be an exaggeration to say you saved my life, but… you definitely changed it. For the better. I’m happier now than…” He lets out a weak chuckle and looks away. “Well, yeah. That’s what I wanted to say. I’m just… really thankful that you’re a part of my life.”

He sits there, cheeks burning, looking for constellations in the grass, for a long time. Then, Marinette’s melodic voice, strained ever so slightly, makes him jump. “I’m thankful for you, too.” She says. “When I left Paris, I left behind everything I knew. I was so scared, I- I didn’t have any safety net. But then I met you, and… I felt like things would be okay. I was an ocean away from home, from my friends, from everyone and everything I loved, but you made me feel at home.

“I don’t- I don’t know about normal, but you helped me find the life I want, too. This life. You stuck by me when I reacted… really immaturely and shut you out for so long. You stuck by me when I turned my back on all this and fought as Ladybug again- don’t… don’t say anything about that. Please.” Marinette takes a big shaky breath as Jon obediently shuts his mouth. That… that is a wound healed by their promise, but a wound nonetheless. Jon can only hope to continue nurturing it as they have been, rather than picking at it and reopening the thing. “You helped me reconcile being the guardian with the life that I want. I… I never thought I could do both. It never even occurred to me. If you hadn’t been here, I would… I would definitely have given Chat the guardianship and forgotten everything. Eventually, at least. In that sense… I think you did save my life.”

Jon looks over at her, at the constellations in her freckles, barely visible in the starlight, at the burn of the sun in her eyes, the gentle promise ring of the galaxy crossing her irises. Marinette worries her lip and ducks away. “So… this is my first Thanksgiving, but… the thing I’m most grateful for is you. Thank you for being a part of my life.”

Jon’s eyes water. He can’t help it. He knows he’s important to Marinette, just like she is to him, but to hear her spell it out so plainly casts a spell over his heart. It’s hard to breathe. All he can do is stare at her.

She looks up at him, too, and they share a small smile. A tiny, barely-there thing but one full of so much warmth and love that it’s unmistakable. She grabs his arm, leans on his shoulder, and they share that moment, sitting in the tree, gazing at the stars on the horizon, their touch like a hearth warming them from the onset of the chill of late November.

She looks up again; he can’t recall when she gets so close. She smells like the pies they baked last night, somehow, but also everything else. Like Thanksgiving, like gratitude, like her. He can feel her breath on his lips, lighter than the gentlest breeze. It takes him a moment to realize he’s leaning in, too.

That realization makes him jump. Marinette reels back, surprised, and they’re both sitting there, faces burning, not looking at each other.

Aw, hell. Jon beats himself up inside because he knows this is his fault. He doesn’t even know why he jumps. It just takes him by surprise. How stupid of him to react that way! To startle himself with something so… so… Especially because it’s not as if he doesn’t want it. He does! He wants to kiss her! Hell, I want to kiss her.

And when the hell did that happen?!

He needs a moment.

——-=——-

Tag List: @moonystars14 @pawsitivelymiraculous @magic-miraculous @vixen-uchiha @buticaaba @bigpicklebananatree @lozzybowe @moonlightstar64 @amayakans @theatreandcomicfreak @toodaloo-kangaroo @too0bsessedformyowngood @justcourttee <3

#miraculous ladybug fanfiction #ml fanfiction #ml x dc #maribat #marijon #ehhtrtd

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katastrophycal · 4 years

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Okay y'all want full targ restoration au? Imagine a story with Rhaenys lives and raised by the Sand Snakes AND instead of Aegon living/Jon joining them give me a bastard Targaryen from either Aerys or Rhaegar combine it with Gendry's botched storyline of being a nobody raised to the throne...

Imagine the idea of this child (Let's call him Jaehaeron, after Jaehaerys I and Daeron II who are considered to be some of the best Targaryen kings). Jaehaeron, grew up a street rat (maybe we'll employ some of the Young Griff storyline and have him be a member of the Golden Company or have him be a sell sword with Daario) and knows the struggle of being lower class and fighting for a way to make something of himself. He's never had a family, anyone he's ever cared about he's lost, either to disease infighting, to the law etc. He's learned that he's just one of those people who doesn't get to be in a family.

Imagine him not knowing who he is, never known family and never wanting any, but he meets Daenerys. He joins her because he believes in her and her cause. He knows what it's like to fight for yourself but he wants to learn how to fight for those who can't do it themselves, and she seems like the right person to learn from. Daenerys knows the minute she sees him. Maybe she dreamt it, maybe she could see the ghost of her brother's in him, maybe blood just calls to blood. In any case, of course she hesitates at first to let him know. She gathers evidence from spies around the world, she studies his intentions/ his mannerisms/ his very heart to make sure that he's not like Viserys. And he's not, he's the first sign of home she's had in a long time. And she becomes his first taste of it, essentially granting him saftey to love people and not get killed over it.

Imagine Rhaenys training with the Snakes, surrounded by home and family, but still feeling like something is missing. Imagine her Uncle Oberyn bringing her news of Daenerys in Meereen. At first she's guilty for wanting to know her but Oberyn reassures her that no one can have too much family, in fact Daenerys across the sea might have too little. So she sets off, with the assurance that the full weight of Dorne is behind her. Imagine her meeting Daenerys, matching title for title and after the following silence grows to be too much Daenerys launches down from her seat and Rhaenys just knows that she's gained another sister. After hearing Jaehaeron's story she just gathers him up in her arms and bawls. While he can't replace Aegon, the hole in her chest labeled brother does shrink a little.

They work flawlessly together. Jaehaeron walks Rhaenys through life in Essos, maybe sprinkles in a little bit of personal stories. Dany and Rhae pour over the Targaryen history and tentatively start making plans for Valyria. Jay pretends to be not paying attention (he is) and he and Dany agree on most things and he actually sits in on a lot of her meetings with her citizens. They all have moments of impulsivity tempered with control, but generally Jaehaeron tends to be the patient one, he tends to wait for all the information to make a final decision. Daenerys has her ideals and her determination to make it happen. Rhaenys is very action oriented but also is aware that forgiveness can sometimes go a longer way than retribution.

He and Rhae both teach Daenerys how to fight. She comes out fighting best with an Arakh, which means after they teach the basics they bring in one of Daenerys' remaining Dothraki to teach her while they learn from Grey Worm (Missandei being taught as well) but generally the stick with the tools of their trades.

Daenerys introduces them to Viserion and Rhaegal and tells them of Drogon. As they grow closer to each other, they do so towards the dragons as well. You'd think Rhaenys would be drawn to Rhaegal but Rhaenys barely remembers her father so it's actually Viserion who she bonds with. In the right light his scales remind her of the sands of Dorne, his fire of the light that filtered through the tent she shared with the snakes, his eyes of each piece of gold she earned from their battles and conquests, and while she never knew Viserys she's not gonna let something like a bad namesake keep her from her dragon. Jaehaeron just thinks that Rhaegal exists to hate him. He shows no sign of interest towards Jay, so much so that it almost gives him a complex about not being a "true" Targaryen. But Jay is persistent. He's there whenever he can be, he's always the one to bring Rhaegal his meals, eventually he's able to get close enough to stroke the neck of Rhaegal and when they look into each other's eyes Jaehaeron realizes that it's not hatred or indifference, it's loneliness that's keeping Rhaegal from bonding with him. From then on Jay is in the line up the pyramid every day, to ask Dany to release the dragons from their cells.

Imagine if when Dany leaves on Drogon Tyrion does not start running things, Jay and Rhaenys do. Rhae judging from her experience and compassion, Jaehaeron from his knowledge on the ground and instincts. They take Tyrion's advice into account but also Missandei's, Grey Worm's, even Oberyn's opinions. Imagine Rhaenys truly getting to know the people, and slowly but surely she starts to fall in love with this land. Imagine Jay training the Meereeneans(?) Because the need to and because he doesn't want to see a single one of his citizens helpless. They follow in Dany's footsteps, ruling as she would, so when the slavers siege (because of course they would) the Targ's are ready for them. When Daenerys returns with the Dothraki she's met with her sister at the head of the Sand Snakes and the soldiers of Dorne. She sees her brother riding with the Second Sons and the Golden Company (who are now convinced honor is as good as gold). The battle for Meereen was over before it began, especially after the dragons join the fray. As soon as it's over Jaehaeron and Rhaenys are ecstatic (and also demand Dany teaches them how to ride).

Imagine if it's Oberyn who brings Olenna to Dany and her cause, and Yara knows Jay from years back so she's even more confident for her cause when she sees him at Daenerys' side. During her time away they managed to comission armor for the dragons and their riders. When Daenerys sets sail for Westeros her siblings are by her side, her dragons are safe above them, her best friends are at her back, and she has some of the wisest minds advising her (including/excluding Tyrion depending on how you feel about him). They have the Dothraki, the Unsullied, a decent amount of Ironborn, the Second Sons(with or without Daario depending on yada yada....), the Golden Company, and the whole Dornish army. They stayed long enough for the new Meereen Guard to have been sufficiently and leaders put in place. The citizen's hearts are behind their Targaryens and they know if they ever even fear trouble they will fly back to assure them.

Imagine that they do take King's Landing first. The dornish get the majority of the lower town evacuated before the gold cloaks even notice. The dragons decimate the scorpions early on, with only glancing blows thanks to the armor. Even the wildfire Cersei throws out as a last resort doesn't stop them and as the trio makes their way to the throne room they have to walk past the what little is left of Cersei's forces. They decide to pardon every soldier who bends the knee, the rest are set to work rebuilding the damage of the siege. Cersei is sentenced to execution, via dragonfire where the Sept of Baelor once stood.

Imagine that the Iron Throne does melt, but only enough to shape into a bench. Just like in Meereen, however this one is long enough to seat three. No arguments, no hesitation, the Targaryens work better as a family anyway.

They rule as one. They leave a small council in charge of King's Landing and set off to the rest of Westeros. They do meet some resistance but no one is strong enough to stand against them, and honestly after meeting them and hearing their vision no one even wants to. Then there's the north.

Depending on how anti stark you are you can visualize the war for the dawn however you like. But imagine them hearing through Jon's story, taking a stealth mission to observe the white walkers themselves. Imagine that in addition to granting them access to Dragonstone they also command soldiers from each kingdom. (Jon is... commanding troops? Attempting to make an alliance that doesn't have him bending the knee) Imagine a fleet of red Priestesses, giving their fire to each soldier (not just the dothraki cause why not??), Jorah fighting with Missandei and Grey Worm, and hiding Bran at the starks head table (which reminds us of Ned and how long it's been for all of them). Imagine not housing the innocents in the crypt (cause they have common sense) and actually send them to the godswood to be protected by some of their own soldiers but also Jay overhead on Rhaegal. Imagine Rhaenys on the front lines with Viserion lighting her way (no walker proof storyline=no Viserion death win-win). Imagine Danerys cutting the wights of from behind, and when spotting the night king she goes to meet him. (However you view the show end to the NK/the prince who was promised prophecy this is gonna Dany, sorry).

Imagine Jaehaeron fighting like hell for Winterfells innocents, dancing through the fire almost as though he's a part of it. Nothing seems to touch him. Imagine Rhaenys cutting through wights like paper, grinning from ear to ear cause she's riding on the battle high and the strength of the Sand Snake around her. Imagine that when Drogon's fire doesn't work, the Night King throws a sword into Dany's child's chest. She pulls it out of his chest plate(again thank you armor) and Drogon lights it ablaze. She meets the monster for blow. Seeing her in danger both Jaehaeron and Rhaenys make their way to her. Imagine the Night King dealing her a viscous blow but getting knocked down by a spear from Rhae and kept distracted by Jay. They give Dany enough time to stab the so called king in the back (mirroring when her father was lost and their kingdom was officially lost to them; all these years later her family is remade and the kingdom is theirs again). As Jon sees them from the remains of the wights, let's pretend no r+l=j or at least he doesn't know and if he found out there's no way he gets enough support to take the throne from them or feel the need to. He decides to bend the knee, only to find that the Targaryens don't really plan on keeping the kingdoms together, as they were anyway.

Being rulers does have its share of problems, especially as they dissolve the country into something more democratic but they make it work. One of them is always in Kings Landing, even with Rhaenys' frequent trips to Dorne and Meereen, Jaehaeron's explorations of Essos and his quest to rebuild Valyria, and Daenerys' continues mission to make every land truly free. They always make time for their people and each other.

And so while Daenerys is the Mother of Dragons she is also the Hero of the People, Rhaenys is the Fierce Queen from Dorne, and Jay is declared Jaehaeron the Fortunate and he cannot find reason to disagree. They each have their titles, their armies, their stories. But they also have each other. After all, the dragon has three heads.

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anotherkindofmindpod · 5 years

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Thanks for such a well-researched and well-argued series! It still stuns me how defensive and angry people get about Yoko’s claims about John’s feelings for Paul. I wonder: if Paul had died prematurely and Linda publicly claimed that Paul believed everyone was bisexual, “didn’t mind” attractive men, wanted to have sex with men (but never found the right guy) and contemplated an affair with John…. Would people be pushing back this hard? I suspect jean jackets would run amok with that info!

Well, we agree.

The thing is that no matter how overexposed the Beatles’ lives have been over the years, there is still plenty we don’t know about John and Paul. But we do know that the standard story of their relationship and its fallout contains numerous plot holes. Essentially we are striving to get to the emotional core of their relationship and understand the events that occurred between them. Granted, it’s very hard to be objective about these topics and I think we all end up relying on our perceptions of John & Paul’s individual personas -along with our own particular life experience- to make sense of their behaviors. But when we get down to it, we don’t know these people. Memoirs notwithstanding, the vast majority of authors don’t know them either (Barry Miles being an exception). Still, we rely on books to feed us a comprehensible narrative. Yet once you realize that Beatles biographers can’t really be trusted to be objective and are often working from rehashed information and outdated stereotypes, it gets very difficult to suss out the truth.

If we treat the study of the Beatles’ disintegration with the seriousness we would afford, say, a basic civil lawsuit, it should go without saying that all credible evidence should be considered. We have argued repeatedly that the information provided by Yoko in the past 15 years (regarding John’s sexuality and feelings for Paul) is important and should inform the way we interpret the events of the break-up (and HDYS, for example). This is as close to a “break in the case” as we have gotten in 50 years and yet the mainstream authorship (and most of the fandom by default) is still unwilling to redress and reassess the Old Story or reconsider things we’ve collectively taken for granted for 50 years. Not to sound whiny, but it is very frustrating to hit this wall over and over and over again.

We understand that reconsidering new evidence is challenging and that people can be extremely resistant to abandoning ideas they cherish or have an emotional attachment to. We at AKOM certainly aren’t immune to having strong emotions about the Beatles, which is why we are constantly checking ourselves (and each other) and why we mandate that we consider every voice in the Beatles/McCartney/Lennon universe, not just the ones we like. Furthermore, we believe it is never wise to hold too tightly to any particular theory and important to remain receptive to new information as it comes to light. We also believe the glut of wishful thinking demonstrated by everyone in Beatles world (fandom, authorship) is harmful to discourse.

But in terms of Yoko’s comments, let’s just pressure-test it for a moment. What exactly is unbelievable about it?

Is it plausible that John was bisexual? Yes. Is it plausible he never fully acted upon his sexual attraction to men? Yes. Is it plausible that he never acted upon it because he had an ideal version of a boyfriend/partner, one that was not just attractive but “mentally advanced?” Yes. Is it plausible that John contemplated an affair with Paul? Yes. Is it plausible that there was “something there, from John’s side, not Paul’s,” either in Yoko’s perception or John’s perception or reality? Yes, yes and yes.

Is it plausible that this is what John is “so angry” about? Yes.

We can’t “prove” these claims provided by Yoko, but we have no cause to dismiss them. So we should pursue them.

What would Yoko gain from revealing this info? Nothing. It does her no favors to suggest John had deep, sexual and/or potentially romantic feelings for Paul.

Did she regret letting the cat out of the bag? Perhaps, as she tried to scare Norman with a team of lawyers (but ultimately had no legal grounds to recant).

Is it consistent with how Yoko behaved toward Paul since 1968? Yes, she became suspicious about John & Paul two weeks after she and John started dating and we have evidence she worked to keep them apart on several occasions throughout the 70s (and eavesdropped on at least one phone call).

Does this information make sense of John’s confounding behavior towards Paul? Potentially, yes. This is what we’re exploring in our series.

We never want to oversimplify things. We’re not suggesting that John’s behavior was motivated solely by romantic rejection or that John didn’t have mixed feelings for Paul (evidence shows he very much did, at least post break-up). We just think that maybe a part of John fell for Paul and hated himself for it - not just for homophobic reasons, but for competitive reasons too - and that he ultimately took that anger and embarrassment out on Paul.

Feeling rejected is rough for everyone, but John’s sense of self was so closely tied to Paul’s validation and love. We suspect the notion that John cared more or wanted more would be something that would eat away at him for a long, long time (regardless of critical acclaim or being awarded the Coolest Guy in Rock trophy). Perhaps years. Perhaps always. And perhaps it would make him forever bitter about Paul in a way that cannot be explained by Paul’s “bossiness” or “granny music.” Anyway, this got ridiculously long but thank you for the ask! And thank you for listening. :) -The AKOM crew For the record, we always welcome different POVs, ideas and constructive criticism. We do not respond to trolls. 🙂

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silverandarsenic-hcs · 5 years

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Magically Papa Nil, Papa I, Papa II, Papa III, and Copia are all young again (I'm talking early 20s young) What's the first thing they do? How do the Ghouls react?

oh this is gooooooddddd. Also i see this and raise you: they traveled to an alternate dimension where theyre young again but also time went back too so everything is as it was. The ghouls quickly found a way to communicate with them, but are actively trying to figure out how the hell to get them back.

Papa Nihil: He would do everything he realized he couldn’t do after having kids. Whether it’s traveling he missed out on, or really getting around, or just spending time alone. He would make sure not to take a second of silence in which there was no screaming toddlers or one of his adult sons committing felonies on church grounds for granted. Of course he thinks about all of the things he could have (or should have) done differently in raising his sons. In his relationships with their respective mothers. With Imperator. Oh how things were good with Sister when they were young. Foolish, they say in their old age while reminiscing about the good old days. But that will never stop his heart from yearning to live forever in a world where him and Sister are together, and happy, and carefree, forever.

Papa I: Probably some self reflection. Think about how he could have changed things, and what he would want to tell himself if he could be young again. He thinks about it a lot - everything great he did, everything great he could never accomplish. Much like his father, he would take the time to get some of those things done, and treat every moment like it’s his last before they those damned ghouls find a way to make him old again. He also spends a lot of time thinking about the way he treated his brothers. He should have seen it when II needed his help, or guidance, but was too hard headed to ask. He should have seen when III was struggling with his emotions and coming to terms with the fact that he has to become a Papa one day without a choice. He holds no remorse for the way he treated Nihil though - even with his wise mind, he sees that the way he and his brothers were treated when they were young was unacceptable by any standards. And will not hesitate to confront his old man when the ghouls bring him back.

Papa II: Probably party if im honest. His older body doesn’t recover nearly as well as a twenty something year old body did after several nights of binge drinking and reckless behavior in a row. He sure did get those nights in during his first go around of being young (See: my murder hcs) but he would probably be smarter than the first go around - he can’t really let himself go like he thought he would be able to when he idealized what might happen if he was young again. He put so much of his time and effort into being a good Papa. Doing what was right for the church and for everyone that believed in him. And doing even more to spite those who didn’t. It’s nice for him to go back to a time of such little responsibility for him - his older brother was still Papa, his younger brother was still young enough not to need real emotional guidance yet. He puts his restful mind on autopilot while his body is in some dreadful club getting batshit wasted with a couple of hot chix.

Papa III: As much as I would like to say he would Go Crazy Ah Go Stupid Ahghhh, he would probably attempt to fix mistakes his younger self made in love. He would probably find the most emotionally fulfillment out of all of them. Maybe he would find the one that got away, and make sure to never let them go. To cherish any time he has with them before the ghouls bring him back to what painful a reality it is knowing that they're gone. And maybe he gets the closure that even in another life, another world, things still might not work out. Maybe he could stop a terrible event from happening to himself or someone he loves. Lucifer know’s he’d try. He also really takes the time to understand what his older brothers and father are saying to him - this and that are mistakes, you should be doing this. Even though he knows that things won’t be different when he goes back, it gives him some peace to relive those painful moments through a different set of eyes. To relive it with wisdom no one should have expected a twenty year old to have, back then.

Cardinal Copia: The most interesting of all, I say, would be the Cardinal’s choice. I HC that he was III’s assistant for a long time, even in his 20s, and even brought up in/around the church (i will Not reference canon because I simply do not vibe with it). He would look at things a lot differently. He thought for a long time that if given the chance at a young age, maybe he would have left the church to pursue what might be a more meaningful career. Maybe he would have at least taken a break to build meaningful relationships outside the clergy. Or maybe he would have just taken III’s head off a lot sooner. But when he really goes back, he sees things much differently than he even expected he might. He doesn’t hate III. He doesn’t resent any of the emeritus’ brothers like he used to. Though he’s still only a Cardinal, he’s had to make a lot of hard decision in the church, and he understands the choices each of his predecessors had to make on a deeper level. When he returns to the right time, all he’s left with is sort of an empty sadness. A longing for things to have gone differently. Maybe he could have gotten what he wanted without going to such drastic measures.

The ghouls response: As I mentioned, when the ghouls figure out for only a few moments how to communicate with their disappeared leader, they tell them they’ll bring them back as soon as possible. The girls, Dew, and Swiss think it would do those old bastards some good to see what it’s like to be young again, and maybe they’d be cut a little more slack. Rain is just awfully worried about them even though it’s clear they lived decently well through where they are now. Aether and Mountain are just the ones trying to figure out how the absolute hell to bring someone back from another dimension, nevermind how they got there to begin with. After two weeks of reading every book in the church library and every related webpage they can find, they bring back their disappeared Papa/Cardinal, they’re eager to hear about what’s happened and what they learned. But mostly Dew is just a little pissed off he didn’t have more time to cause more trouble without the supervision of a Reasonable Adult and with Aether busy in the books.

P.S i know these ghouls were not around for the papas and again, i simply do not vibe with that, so suck it up.

- Kat, who just posted six new chapters of her book because It Is Wednesday My Dudes huhaggGGHAHHHHHH

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jenovahh · 4 years

Text

The Honey Pot - Ch. 12 - Lies

When you first wake, it is to the sound of beeping.

“Have you finally woken up? It’s certainly taken you long enough.”

And a familiar voice.

Prying your eyes open, you push yourself to sit up, running a hand through your hair. Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you feel an I.V. has been inserted in your arm, groaning at how it tugs the cord. Glancing at the clock it is only past noon, making you wonder how long you slept. Last you had been awake, you had been...fighting?

Zenos.

Clarity strikes you like lightning, making you turn to the voice you had heard earlier. Zenos is seated in an overly plush lounge chair, flipping through a book. He too, is dressed in hospital robes, his arm also hooked up to an I.V. Once he feels your stare he finally looks at you, giving you a strangely pleasant smile. “Good afternoon.”

You only stare at him dumbly, noting how aside from the I.V., he looks relatively fine. There’s hardly a bruise on him despite the blows Lambard landed on him, and you have to wonder if there’s treatment that only good money can buy.

But he’s alright.

Thank the Twelve, he’s alright.

“Still out of it are you?” He asks, gently closing the book and setting it to the side. Standing, he towers over you as he nears your bed, taking your chin in hand to turn your face this way and that. His touch makes you aware of the bandaging on your face, as well on other parts of your body. “Granted you have nearly slept for twenty-four bells. The entire ordeal had clearly taken a lot out of you.”

Pursing your lips you jerk your face from his hand, burrowing yours in your lap. You open your mouth to speak but find your throat is parched, looking around for water. With a sigh, Zenos hits the call button to summon a nurse. “Really, my beast, you act as if you’ve never been in a medical facility before.”

Fixing him with a glare, you refuse to speak to him out of spite now. A nurse is at the door within seconds, asking if anything is the matter. Zenos orders them to fetch water, and they’re gone in a flash. While his back is turned you take the time to scan him for injuries. He looks like he hardly needs to be in the hospital, and is in the robes just for show. “See something you like?” He teases, turning around to face you.

Your face flames red noticing at how his muscles seem to intentionally flex underneath the loose robe. “As if.” You rasp, throat still dry. Deciding to interest yourself with the curtains instead, you sit in silence until the nurse returns with water. “Is there anything else you need?” They ask, to which you shake your head, graciously accepting the small pitcher from them. You pour yourself a glass as they shuffle out, chugging the entire thing in one go, surprising yourself with your thirst. “Much better.”

Zenos hums in affirmation, coming to stand by your bed once more. Fixing him with a look, your curiosity gets the better of you. “Where are your bandages?” You ask, watching him smirk.

“I tore them off.” He replies with a shrug. When you tilt your head in confusion, he continues, “From what I was told, I had only been hit while I was unconscious. Nothing but minor soreness, and I do not bruise. You’ve seen this yourself, haven’t you?”

Thinking back for a moment, you realize for all the times you’ve handed his ass to him, he’s never bruised. Not only did he look sturdy, but his body also played the part. “If you’re feeling so great why do you still have your I.V. in?” you ask, giving him a deadpan look.

“Appearances, my beast.” Walking over to the window, he throws the curtains open, causing you to groan as your eyes adjust to the sunlight. Sitting up, you see several news vans parked outside, reporters bustling to try and get into the hospital, stopped by a wall of security. “We have been all over the news since last night. I am under orders from my father to garner public sympathy.” He drawls, as deadpan as your expression.

“As much as I would enjoy going home, I had been informed that you are actually required to be monitored for another day or so. I’ll stay here with you until you are well.” He moves to sit back down in the chair, missing how your cheeks flush. “They want to make sure you suffer no permanent side effects from the gas, as well any internal bruising from your fighting…” His lips curl into a devious smirk. “Which, from what I was briefly told, you were quite the sight.”

Blood drains from your face, body going rigid, but Zenos doesn’t take notice. “What...what were you told?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Livia was only able to give me the basics. I’m sure she is currently typing up a full report to give to the police as we speak.” Zenos says as he reclines in the chair, fixing you with a smile. “She told me how you saved me, my beast.”

“Isn’t that my job?” You huff, feeling sickened by the pride in his eyes.

“Of course. But it is the savagery you displayed. The lengths you went to to protect me.” He rumbles, grin growing larger with each syllable. “How you killed to protect your prize.”

It’s all too real too suddenly; your hands can feel Lambard’s head in your hands, can feel the bones in his neck snapping, his hollow eyes staring blankly at you--

The machine behind you beeps in a frenzy, a nurse rushing into your room making a beeline for your bed. “Ma’am, are you alright?!” He asks, eyes scanning over your monitor.

“Where are you hiding?! We know you’re in here!”

“We just want to take you away to somewhere nice…”

“You must stay safe for me, my friend. You can’t let them know of your power…”

Your head is pounding. These voices, these images...where are they from?

“Sir we must ask you to leave while we calm her--”

“Her breathing is slowing, quickly, bring medicine so that she may sleep--”

Your eyelids feel so heavy.

It is time to rest.

After your “episode” you are ordered to stay at hospital for a few extra days in solitude, much to Zenos’ apparent annoyance. They are only able to deter him with the need to be cautious and keep you from having another episode, as they are unsure what caused it. When you are questioned on what had happened you merely play the fool, knowing that were you to tell them the truth, Zenos would threaten the information out of them, and that’s not something you could afford. You overhear the doctor’s feed Zenos the lie that you had an adverse drug reaction, which he seems to buy, if his stoic nod is anything to go by.

You allow yourself to rest, the days in the hospital your first time in months not being stuck to Zenos’ side. The circumstances aren’t ideal of course, but you will take what you can get. The thought of calling Y’shtola and Lyse comes to you more than once, but you wouldn’t be surprised if every action of yours was now being closely monitored by Zenos, or at worst, Varis. You pray your friends are alright, and not unnecessarily worrying for you. Already you can hear Y’shtola’s voice fussing over you, Lyse’s chirpy voice pepping you up…

“Well don’t go and make that face, eh?”

Jolting from your reverie, your eyes dart to the door, finding Ardbert standing there with some “get well” balloons. Giving you a shy smile, he hurries in, shutting the door behind him. “Hey there.” He greets, stepping into the room. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, you realize this is the first time you’ve seen him outside of his work uniform.

“How did you,”

“Lied. Told ‘em I was goin’ to go see my sick, dying grandma.” He snorts, setting the balloons on the nearby nightstand as he pulls a chair up by your bed. The casual air immediately relaxes you, your lips quirking into a smile before you can help it. “If someone does come in here, I’ll just say you were so cute I had to come talk to you.” He adds with a wink, making you laugh.

“And Zenos? He doesn’t know?” You ask, reaching for the button to adjust your bed to sit up a bit more.

Ardbert shakes his head, leaning on the bedside railing. “His lordship hasn’t left the house since he could go home. Think he’s still playing up the ‘injured son’ bit for Lord Varis.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “When I heard the hospital had banned him from visiting you, I figured now was any good a time to visit as any.” He beams, brown eyes twinkling.

Your heart warms at his genuine concern for you, struggling to find the right words to say. “Thank you, Ardbert. I really appreciate it.” You decide, knowing that those words alone don’t do him any justice for the friend he’s been to you.

Shaking his head, he reaches for your hand and takes it in his. “It’s nothin’. I’m more worried about you, you know.” He murmurs, his voice suddenly serious. His cocoa eyes hold your own. “I’d watched the news about what happened; hoping to find out what happened at the opening. It was a right mess outside.” He begins, holding your hand in his warm one. “Most the general public knows is some gang tried to take out Lord Varis and Lord Zenos. No one knows what happened inside…” he trails off, casting you a wary look.

“What I mean to say...what I want to ask,” he takes a deep breath, clutching your hand tighter. “Are you okay?”

You know what he’s asking, and find it hard to answer. It’s hard to hide anything from Ardbert; he seems to know you as well as you know yourself. You want to tell him as much as you want to lie; that you’re fine, that there’s nothing to worry about. But anytime you think on it too hard, the feelings become too real too suddenly, your brain begins throbbing to where you can hardly think straight. Those images flash through your head again--

A tight squeeze from Ardbert’s hand grounds you, pulling you from your mental prison. “Honey.” he whispers harshly, eyes scanning your eyes. “Something happened didn’t it? Something happened and,” he stops himself, frowning deeply. “I should’ve said something, should’ve had you run while you had the chance,”

You shake your head furiously. “Ardbert...it’s fine. I’ll be fine.” You grin, returning his squeeze. He clearly seems doubtful (with hints of remorse), and you fumble to change the subject. “Why don’t we see what’s on TV?” You offer with a smile, grabbing the remote and clicking the TV on.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, we have breaking news to share with you today. Varis zos Galvus, known CEO of Galvus Enterprises, has just announced his formal bid for prime minister of Kugane.”

Your smile falls immediately.

“Now as you all may know, Sir Galvus had quite recently suffered an attack when opening his new hospital to the public. He has since been recovering at his estate, but had time to offer a few words to the public when asked why he would announce his place in the race after such a traumatic incident. Here’s what he had to say,”

The screen cuts to a small press room, Varis sitting primly at a large table with several microphones before him. His usual frown is in place, his eyes look harder, more serious as he looks directly at the camera. Several reporters are abuzz with questions before Varis silently raises one hand to quiet the room. Pointing to a reporter, he nods.

“Sir Galvus, you’ve been recovering from nearly being kidnapped! Why not spend time recovering instead of preparing to take on Lord Hien in the upcoming election?”

There’s the sound and sight of several cameras flashing, but Varis doesn’t blink an eye, looking as poised and relaxed as ever.

“For now, I have sated the public with the knowledge of my good health after this ordeal. In truth, I was attacked by a gang, determined to deliver me to an unknown buyer where one can only presume he was to have my life. Thankfully, my team of highly skilled bodyguards made sure I came to minimal harm.”

He pauses, reaching to take a sip of water. The room is quiet except for the light hum of machinery and flashing cameras.

“I will admit, I have been planning for this bid for quite some time. But only after this incident have I decided to take it seriously. Not only did they try to auction off my life; but also my son’s.”

Several gasps fill the rooms, more shuffling as reporters take notes.

“Due to this inexcusable, unforgivable action, I have decided to come forward earlier than planned with my bid to run in the race against Lord Hien. Once I have fully recovered, I plan to release more information about my campaign. For now, I appreciate and thank you for your understanding in these months going forward.”

With a slight bow, the camera cuts back to the newscaster, but you do not hear them.

Varis is running to be a world leader.

Kugane’s biggest crime boss, running to be a leader of a nation.

“Oh boy.” Ardbert sighs.

You couldn’t have said it better yourself really.

Once you stop wincing in pain from a bruised rib, the doctors give you the all clear to return home, but to refrain from rigorous, physical activity. Which of course, did not go over well.

“Zenos, for someone who unexpectedly knows a lot of things about anatomy you are being, dare I say, ornery about me needing to fucking rest.” You ground out, tempted to throw you the nearest hard object at him from your bed.

He stands in the doorway, looking annoyed and put out, and it would be cute had he not literally attempted to drag you out of the bed, leaving you having to (also literally) kick and scream at him to leave you alone.

“I suppose I have no one but myself to blame. I forgot how weak and frail you were after you had bared the brunt of my might.” He preens, arms crossing over his tight shirt. You swear you feel your eyebrow twitch in irritation, but decide you really don’t feel like having this fight right now.

“Look. I get you miss having your ass handed to you, but I’m pretty sure you want me in top physical condition. Would you really accept a victory against me when I’m less than one-hundred percent?” You ask, grinning smugly as his bottom lip pokes out in a barely noticeable pout.

“Very well, I shall allow you your rest.” He concedes, making you release a tension you didn’t know you had. “However, you are to not leave your bed except to bathe and relieve yourself so you may recover as quickly as possible.” He doesn’t bat an eye as you reach for your alarm clock to chuck at him.

You miss.

“When you are finally feeling well enough for physical activity, we will have to slowly get you used to it again...I am loath to do even more waiting, but as you said, I cannot have you in less than top shape.” He finishes snootily, and you hate you can’t get up to wrap your hands around his neck lest he take it for you feeling like a spring chicken and hauling you off to train.

“Just...please leave.” You sigh, exasperated.

“Make sure to get the rest you crave so dearly, my beast. I’ll know if you set a foot outside your room otherwise.” He calls over his shoulder, stepping out the door.

This was the man you put your life on the line for.

Once again, you would take what you could get. Sure, you were a prisoner in your own room, but at the very least Zenos left you alone. A doctor would swoop by nearly every two hours to monitor your condition (and make sure you were still in bed you were certain), and all your food was brought to your bedside. You felt lazy being waited on hand and foot, itching to get up for any kind of exercise or activity, but unable to risk Zenos descending upon you. Ardbert would thankfully keep you company by sending you texts on your phone, keeping you distracted during the day.

It was when night fell and the house was quiet that fear paralyzed you.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Your eyes are wide as dinner plates, curled in on yourself as you clutch your head in fear.

“Why so scared? You didn’t hesitate to even kill me…”

Lambard lies on the ground, head twisted unnaturally…

As if someone had broken his neck.

“You’re a murderer now. But maybe not really? Raubahn said any crimes you commit will be wiped clean from your record...all those men you’ve maimed. All those bones you’ve broken, all the blood you’ve spilled...the law may forgive your crimes but do you think the Twelve have turned their eyes away?”

Your head is pounding, both from crushing your hands over your ears in an attempt to block out his lies, from pinching your face together in pain.

“Why did you do it? Was it to not jeopardize your mission?”

You nod furiously, tears streaming down your face.

“Liar.”

You gasp as you hear a strangled choke, eyes shooting open and to your horror, Zenos stands before you, his sword thrust into Lambard’s throat. His eyes glow a fierce red like a demon, bright and unnatural as he gives you a wicked grin.

“You killed him to save me.”

He steps on Lambard’s body as if it is no better than the dirt beneath his feet, closing in on you. Tearing your hands from your ears, you try to backpedal away from his looming approach as his features are cast in dark shadow.

“And I am so proud of you. So proud, for becoming as monstrous and savage as I knew you could be.”

He does sound proud, he does sound happy, but the words he speaks only make more tears flow forth, whimpering as your back hits an invisible wall, leaving you nowhere to run.

“Will you give me the same pleasure?”

He twists his sword just slightly in his hand, the sheen of Lambard’s coagulating blood glinting in the light behind him. You tremble in fear as he finally stands over you, a merciless grin on his face.

“Show me that same savagery, my beast. Howl.”

He raises his sword, angled for your neck.

“Howl!”

You scream as you shoot up in your bed, hands clamping over your mouth to mute the shrill pitch of your own voice. Tears stain your hands as your entire body is wracked with shivers and shakes from your sobbing, your lungs trembling as you try to gulp in air. Falling back on the bed, you sob and you sob, crying for so many reasons, your brain cannot process them all and you fall into a dreamless slumber.

“You look like hell…”

Ardbert has whispered to you as he watches you escort Zenos to the car, eyes filled to the brim with worry. You offer him a weak smile, trying to do your best to comfort him, but you know it falls flat. Zenos has not paid him any mind, and enters the car, you following shortly behind him.

You feel like hell.

Fully recovered after two weeks of rest and rehabilitation, you’re back to work as Zenos’ bodyguard and gym buddy, doing your best to retain any sense of normalcy. If Zenos has noticed a change in your demeanor, he’s not said anything, possibly content with you giving him the same level of skill you had promised. Your teasing and scathing remarks are absent, whereas you now only speak when spoken to, following orders to the letter.

Only Lyngsath and Ardbert seem to take any notice of your change. Lyngsath does his best to cheer you up with your favorite dishes, even going as far as to go against Zenos’ orders to pick from a select menu to maintain your physique by baking cookies and cake. You wish you could tell him anything, but you would rather him live in his ignorance as the prestigious head chef for the Galvus family.

It is only on a return trip home after work that Zenos deems to finally speak up about your crushed spirit, though as usual, his methods are anything but normal.

The car pulls up to the estate, the majority of it’s windows already darkened for most staff have gone home due to Zenos working particularly late hours tonight. A weary exhaustion sets into your bones and you cannot wait to drag yourself into a hot shower and eventually climb into your plush bed.

Zenos won’t let you have that luxury however.

Stepping from the car, his frigid eyes are upon you and though you feel their frosty glare, you pay little attention to it, eager to get him across the threshold so your work day may end. Hand laid brick clicks under your shoes as you head to the door, but you don’t get far as Zenos’ quickly moves to block your path. It is in these moments you really feel small before him, his stature allowing him to loom over you.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks, features cast in shadow as he approaches. Instinctually, you step back to keep even space between you, the prey to his predator.

“What do you mean,” Your query is cut off with a yelp as he swings his fist at you, your hand coming up to catch it in your own, managing to only wince slightly at the impact. Shoving it away, you put more distance between you two. “Zenos, what in the seven hells,”

“Show it to me. Show me the same savagery you had shown Lambard.” He demands, slipping into his fighting stance. His business wear somehow manages to stretch to account for his rippling muscles, making you take another step back.

“Don’t play around! It’s late, and I want to go to bed.” You laugh shakily, but his eyes show he’s one hundred percent serious.

With no more words, he strikes out, showing you his full speed that has you fighting to keep up due to your exhaustion. You quickly take notice of your surroundings, fighting to keep as much distance between you as possible. Zenos won’t have it however, practically stalking you down with each ilm of space you put between you. Eyes widening, your fight instinct turns into flight, and you make a break for it.

Adrenaline fuels you with a mix of other emotions as you fight to round the front of the estate. Thankfully there are no metal gates preventing entry into the back, merely tall bushes that create a natural pathway to the gardens in the back. You hear his footsteps pounding behind you, his long legs allowing him to easily keep pace as you duck around another bush and further into the gardens.

“Why’re you chasing me?!”

“Don’t let her get away!”

Your head pounds as visions assault you, face clenched tight as you run vault over the rows of flowers and small plants, considerate of the gardners even if you feel like you’re running for your life.

“How could she have done this? She’s just a girl…”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, you hesitate for one second too long, and Zenos arms lock around you sending you both crashing into the ornate fountain in the center of the yard. You claw and you kick and you scream, mouth shutting tight as your body fights to keep water out. The arms around you don’t budge and you struggle harder, black curling in the edge of your vision.

“There she is!”

Your head is pounding, hard enough to make you scream.

“Stay here, Honey. You have to stay safe--”

Someone is screaming. Is it you?

“There was just this girl here? But then who killed all these men…”

“Honey!”

You lash out without thinking, as you’re pulled bodily from the waters, lungs gasping for air. You thrash wildly like a mad woman, unable to get yourself free. “Get off of me! I’ll kill you! I’ll end you--”

“Calm yourself!”

You’re twisted suddenly, back against the marble wall of the fountain that you’re still halfway submerged in. Your jaw is captured in a strong hand, forcing you to look into ice blue eyes.

Those eyes alone catapult you back into the present. Zenos stares long and hard, blue eyes searching your own. He’s pinned your arms to your sides, legs on top of your own to keep you still. “What has come over you?” He asks in a harsh whisper, his eyes scanning your face. You wonder what you must look like to him, for it is the first time you see something aside from apathy or bloodlust in his eyes.

You swear you see something akin to concern.

“What has changed you, my beast…?” He asks with palpable confusion, uncaring that his expensive suit is now ruined, that his lustrous hair now clings to his face. “What secrets do you hide?”

Tears spill from your eyes, standing out against your skin even though you’re soaked with water from the fountain above. You gape like a fish, wanting to say something, anything, but no words will come out. Is it because you can’t speak? Because you don’t know what to say?

You don’t even know yourself.

Pursing his lips, Zenos’ expression goes gravely serious. “Let’s not worry about it, for now.” He decides, shifting to hook his arms underneath you. Standing, his broad figure shields you from the droplets of the fountain as he moves you both from under its spray. “Perhaps...not everyone is meant to kill.”

The statement is said casually, almost as if he was musing. What a sorry pair you two must make, soaked in water, Zenos’ shoes squelching with each step he takes as he trudges back toward the estate. You hang there limply in his arms, offering no resistance as he manages to get the back door open.

“If I must keep you from making the final blow in order to return you to your natural state...so be it.” He murmurs, shoes squeaking against the polished tile in the hallway. You slowly cant your head to gaze up at him in a daze, unsure if you heard correctly. From here you can see the sharp edge of his jawline, how the shadows dance along his face in a much more attractive fashion, compared to...compared to…

He grunts as he manages to get your door open with an arm full of you, stopping in the middle of the room. He sets you down on your feet gently, not dumping you on the floor as you would expect, and the surrealness of it all is so jarring all you can do is stare blankly at him. Silently, he reaches to brush hair that’s sticking to your face away, eyes unreadable. “Rest, my beast.” He murmurs, voice oddly soft.

Dropping his hand back to his side, he leaves you there and steps out your room and into the quiet hallway.

“Your bodyguard...Honey was it? Are they unwell?”

Zenos glares at the source of the voice. “Father.”

Varis stands slightly further down the hall, golden eyes twinkling in the darkened hallway. Dressed to sleep, he still has a rather imposing figure.

To anyone that wasn’t his son, of course.

“The police have finally allowed us to take a full look at the report of the incident.” Varis begins, voice quiet, but Zenos is not fooled. Holding up a stack of paper, Varis waves it lightly. “Have you taken a look at it?”

Zenos lips are a thin line as he doesn’t let up his glare. “Will you deign to share it?” He growls.

“Of course.” Varis chuckles, holding out the documents with an outstretched arm. Zenos snatches the papers from him, eyes quickly scanning over the police report. “I thought you had told me that your little bodyguard could not kill.”

Frowning, Zenos resists crumpling the papers in his fist. “I had not lied. On several trips she had been too soft to kill, only able to follow my orders to injure those who needed...discipline.”

“Ah, but it seems that she can kill...with the right motivation.” Varis hums thoughtfully, eyes pointedly looking at the police report. “Livia spared no detail in her report. Her efficiency, her ruthlessness, it is unmatched.”

An ugly feeling rears itself in Zenos’ chest, already knowing that tone from his father. “That is why she is mine.” He snaps, unable to stop himself from crushing the report in his hands. Any normal man would cower in fear beneath the glare Zenos gives his father, but Varis looks at him as a parent would look at their child throwing a tantrum.

“So you say.” Varis grins coyly, beginning to stride down the hall. “Rest well, my son.”

Filled with rage, Zenos stands still as he waits for his father to go upstairs. The wall looks incredibly good to put a fist through right now, but he remembers you are resting, hopefully asleep not but a few fulms behind him. Taking calming breaths, he does his best to smooth out the wrinkles he caused in the papers, glancing over their dried ink once more. Lips pressed in a thin line, he stalks upstairs, making a beeline for his office, not bothering to turn on the light as he sits in the chair and turns his computer on.

Bathed in the blue glow of his computer screen, he sighs, hand impatiently tapping on his lap as he waits for pages to load.

He should’ve done this long ago.

He blames himself for being in this position; once again his father yearns to take something from him. He would not lose his only challenge to whatever trauma tormented her mind, and certainly not to his father.

Not again.

He had his suspicions you were not who you said you were; he was no fool. But perhaps he was a little too eager for the challenge you presented that he was willing to overlook all the signs that hinted at potential lies. Lies, that were he not careful, his father would undoubtedly find out.

With their power and influence, it was no issue to dig deep into one’s background; even if they were doing their damndest to hide it. What were you hiding from him, and why?

The moon hangs high as he digs deeper and deeper, growing more frustrated at various forms of encryption and shadow anytime he found a lead. You were hiding something, but finding out was proving more trouble than it was worth this late at night. He must rest, so that he wouldn’t be exhausted in the morning…

Wait.

There.

Clicking through several links, he finds a lead, leaning forward on his desk as he finally finds what he’s looking for, eyes narrowing before widening in surprise. Your real name, your residence, your origin, but the thing that stands out the most is:

Police Officer.

You’re a spy.

Zenos sits there in silence, unsure what to do with this information, the pieces finally clicking into place.

You’re a cop. A cop most likely sent to infiltrate and take down his father.

Father.

His fists ball up, chest heaving a huge sigh. The “right” thing to do would be to inform his father. Should his father’s company fall, he would lose his only means of amusement, his life would be dull, he would be cursed to be stuck in this empty, ephemeral world--

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever had someone make me work as hard ‘til I’ve met you.” You grin, sweat slicked skin glistening in the fluorescent light of the gym. You’ve pinned him again, foot on his chest as you grin down at him in triumph.

“Is that so?” He asks, unable to hold back his own smile, despite being bested again. It falters for a moment as you reach out a hand toward him, wiggling your fingers as you remove your foot from his chest.

“Yeah. I still hate getting up at the ass crack of dawn, but...you make it worth it.” He passes off the redness in your cheeks as exertion. Standing to his feet with your aid, he stares down at your glowing face, something warm bubbling deep within him…

Without thinking, his hands click the necessary functions to erase it all.

Whether the police will notice, he doesn’t know, but he does know he will be damned if he lets his father find out you are a cop. He had let his father get away for too long.

No longer.

When you wake, you feel refreshed, having slept deeply. For the first time in awhile, you had slept soundly through the night, completely free of nightmares. The sun shines gently through your window, warming your skin, and for the first time in weeks, you feel ready to meet the day.

Dressing for your morning workout, you step out into the hallway, finding the staff as busy as usual. Your stomach rumbles as you make your way down the hall, choosing to deviate instead to grab a piece of fruit from the kitchen before heading to the gym for your workout with Zenos. You chose not to think too hard on his actions last night, saving it to dissect another time. It wouldn’t hurt to thank him at least, by grabbing an extra apple for him from the kitchen.

“It has been far too long, Emissary.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, overhearing voices from the foyer up ahead. That sounded like Varis...what world leader is he rubbing shoulders with?

“Indeed, once I had heard of the incident concerning you and young Zenos, I felt it prudent to visit as soon as I was able.”

The next voice is smoother, its baritone rich like a fine brandy. Curiosity gets the better of you and you deviate to the foyer, wanting to see who could be the owner of such an amazing voice. Creeping close to the wall, you slowly peek your head around the wall.

Varis stands in the middle of the foyer, dressed for the day in a tailored suit. But it is not him that grabs your attention.

The man before him stands far shorter, closer to Ardbert’s height. Cleanly cut silver hair adorns his head, reflecting the gentle light of the sunrise. He too wears a suit, though his is pure white with gold accents, highlighting his slim figure.

“You honor us with your concern, Emissary.” Varis bows slightly, showing deference, but there’s a slight tightness in his voice that doesn’t escape your notice.

“It’s nothing, Varis. I only intend to stay for a few days at most, to catch up…” His red eyes drift over to your hiding spot, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “And to give my thanks to your dutiful bodyguard.”

#zenos #ff14 #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy 14 #THP

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