#I’m sick of reading about nobles. I didn’t even know they had slaves until I started looking for lower class life. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joestarsecrettecnique · 4 years ago

Text

I am so very sick and tired of the toxicity that’s been poisoning the snk fandom as of the last couple years. I gave myself time to digest the ending and my feelings on it, before embarking in a journey to debunk many misconceptions and critiques I’ve seen floating in the fandom.

By the way, by no means I think this ending is perfect. I think this is textbook execution by Isayama to tie together every loose end left behind in an orderly manner, and I think that it was a bit rushed and oversimplified. I would’ve wanted more of Eren and Armin’s conversation, more of the squad realizing what his true goal had been, and some narrative choices I don’t 100% agree with. But still, what I saw in other fans’ critiques post 139 frankly appalled me, so I feel the need to make this. Also, this obviously are my own interpretations, I am not Isayama himself lol

“Ew, so Eren did pull a Lelouch after all”

No, Eren did not pull a Lelouch. While his action and the final result may seem similar, I find very different nuances between the two. Lelouch wanted for the whole world to be united in fighting against him, and thus he made himself the world’s greatest enemy. His will to turn himself into a monster was selfless. Eren didn’t give a damn about the world, he had no noble intentions whatsoever. He said it in chapter 122, his goal was to protect Paradis and, more specifically, his closest friends. He turned himself into a monster, killed 80% of human population, and endangered the lives of those very friends he wanted to protect, so that by stopping him, those friends could be safe. Eren had no intentions to break out of the cycle of hatred or unite the world against himself, he just wanted to give his friends a chance to survive, and that is not selfless, it’s selfish. Eren’s goal was incredibly selfish, and biased, and driven by his feelings instead of rationality. Nothing like Lelouch!

Now this, this I myself am not the greatest fan of. I feel like it makes that great scene in chapter 122 loose a bit of its strength, Ymir obeying the king for 2000 years just because she loved him. Honestly, I always thought there was a bit of Stockholm Syndrome going on, but I didn’t think it would be the only reason. However, like it or not, it’s undeniable that it makes perfect sense in the narrative that aot has always strived to tell. Love has been a theme strongly woven in the story, and it also draws a great parallel between Karl Fritz/Ymir and Eren/Mikasa. Ymir was a slave to her love for King Fritz, just like Mikasa was a slave to her love for Eren, in that she struggled to accept reality until the very end despite the atrocities that Eren committed. Ymir stayed bound by her love for King Fritz, until she saw Mikasa break from her own poisoned love, aknwoledge it, and kill Eren despite of it, or maybe because of it. Only Ymir knows that one, heh. But the point is, Mikasa showed Ymir that she could break free of a toxic love, she was that someone that Ymir had been waiting for to finally free her of her burden.

“What? But that makes no sense!”

Now, on my first read, I simply thought that Eren had ordered Dina to avoid eating Berthold, and that he had made her walk down that road unaware that his mother was trapped (because we know that the Attack Titan’s future memories aren’t infallible, there are still gaps), killing her indirectly. I’ve since then read some theories stating that Eren willingly killed his own mum in orther to give kid himself a reason to feel enough hatred to kickstart the whole story. Honestly, I like this version maybe more! But let me explain to you why this is not a plothole, like many people think. In this same chapter, we have Eren explaining how the Founder’s power works in synergy with the Attack’s: “There’s no past or future, they all exist at once”. This means that time travel in aot doesn’t work in a manner where Eren extracts himself from time and space, and from a separate realm he operates on the past. The way I understood it, the mechanics works kind of like Tokyo Revengers’ time travel. MInd you, I only watched episode one, so my understanding might be jackshit.

Spoilers for Tokyo Revengers’ episode one. In the show, the main character loses consciousness and finds himself reliving his past. He interacts with someone in this “new” past, and when he wakes up again in the present, past events had been over-written by the changes he made. I think this is how aot timetravel works, with the exception that, since past and future (and present, of course) all happen at once, side by side, there is no old past to be rewritten, neither a future to return to, and present Eren wouldn’t be aware of the changes that his future self would make. It creates sort of a time paradox, yes, in the sense that there’s a loop where present Eren’s mom has been eaten because future Eren, in the future, operated on the past by causing past Eren’s mom to be eaten, but all these Erens are one and the same, as all timelines exist at once.

“Boo-hoo they ruined Eren’s character, he’s such a wimp!”

I have to confess (isn’t this appalling, that this is a thing that I have to confess, what the actual fuck), I am an Eren stan. I absolutely do not consider myself a Jaegerist, I think Eren’s option was better than Zeke’s, yes, but it was morally wrong and awful and he absolutely was not only in the wrong, but also if he wasn’t dead I’d want him to be punished for his crimes. I didn’t particularly enjoy him pre-timeskip, and I started to like him because I found his evolution fascinating. I wanted to understand his motives, what was going on in his head, he was a puzzle that I wanted to solve. Maybe because I’m a psychologist, who knows. Anyways, if you’re an Eren stan only because he acted like a chad and now you cry his character was ruined, I’m sorry to say, you never understood him. Eren was not a god, he was not a strategist playing 5d chess with perfect rationality, Eren was the same he has always been. He was a young man spun along by his passions. Eren feels things with burning intensity, he lets himself be driven by his emotions. He almost flattened the world because he was disappointed that he and his friends weren’t the only human beings inhabiting it, for fuck’s sake, he’s always been irrational, selfish, and immature. Of course he doesn’t wanna die, of course he want’s to live with all of them. You really expected a 15 year old hot-headed brat to become Thanos after he suddenly found out he killed his own mum and all his dreams had been crushed? Of course he felt conflicted, of course he suffered, of course he wanted to live, “because he was born in this world”. Honestly, when I read his meltdown, I felt relieved that his character hadn’t been turned on its head, it was heartbreaking to see that he really was the same brat he’d always been, that he’d tried to steel himself to do horrible shit for his friends’ sake and that he felt bad about it! It made me appreciate his character a lot more, I felt nostalgic towards the times when I was irritated by his screaming and pouting. Suffice to say, this is also my answer to all those people that believe his internal monologue to convince himself the Rumbling was what he really wanted were bullshit since he “pulled a Lelouch”. How can it be bullshit? Maybe he planned to be stopped, but he also said that he thought he would’ve still done it if they hadn’t. He also said that killing a majority of the population was something that he wanted to do, not a byproduct of the alliance not stopping him early enough, because with the world’s militaries in shambles Paradis would’ve had time to prepare accordingly. Anyways, of course he needed to convince himself to do this awful thing even if he knew he wasn’t gonna succeed completely, can you imagine how horrible it would be to know your only chance is to kill thousands?

I also maybe think it was because of the spine centipede thingy? When Eren says “I don’t know why I did it, I wanted to, I had to”, he gets this faraway look on his face and we get a zoom in on one of his eyes, which is drawn very interestingly and kinda looks like the Reiss’ eyes when they were bound by the War Renounce Pact? So maybe it was also the centipede’s drive to survive and multiplicate that forced Eren to do the Rumbling so that its life wouldn’t be endangered. I don’t know how much I like this, I feel like it takes some agency away from Eren and also makes it feel like he’s not as responsible for the genocide he committed that we initially though, which mhhh maybe not, let’s have him take full responsibility for this. As I said, I’m not defending Isayama blindly, I do have some issues myself with what went down.

“What the fuck, did he say thank you for the genocide?”

Guys c’mon, this is like,, reading comprehension. Yes, it was poorly worded and a bit rushed, but by now you should have full context to make an educated guess on the fact that no, he didn’t thank him for committing a genocide what the fuck you guys. Armin started bringing up the idea that maybe they should have Eren eaten because he was doing morally questionable things ever since the Marley Arc, which for manga readers was like what, 2018? Isayama has been showing for three years how not okay Armin was with Eren’s actions, how could it make sense for him to thank him for a genocide? You see some poorly worded stuff, and your first instinct is to ignore eleven years’ worth of consistent characterization to jump to the worst interpretation possible? Let’s go over this sentences and reconstruct what they mean.

“Eren, thank you. You became a mass murdere for our sake. I won’t let this error go to waste”. Armin recognizes that Eren had no other choice, but does not condone it. He clearly calls it an error, which feels like an euphemism but for all we know the japanese original term used could’ve been harsher. Point is, he clearly states he think what Eren did was wrong. But he recognizes that Eren’s awful doing opened up a path for Paradis to break out of the cycle of hatred. Not a certainty, but an opportunity. He thanks Eren for giving them this chance, and promises not to waste it, even if it was born out of an atrocity. He thanks Eren for sacrificing himself for their sake, even if he doesn’t agree with the fruit of his labor, so to speak. He’s thanking Eren for the opportunity that his actions gave them, not for the actions themselves! Where the hell do you read “thank you for the genocide” guys, sheesh. I’m mad at y’all.

“How could Eren send MIkasa memories if she’s an Ackerman and an Asian, and their memories can’t be manipulated by the Founder? I call plothole!”

Now, here we’re going into speculation territory, so you’ve been warned. I don’t think that that information they gave us was true, about Ackermans being immune to memory manipulation. We know at least that the clan is in some way subject to the Founder’s power, or Mikasa and Levi wouldn’t have been called in the Paths by Eren multiple times. Stories never being entirely true or false, or relativity, better said, has been a strong theme in the story, we know this by Marley’s and Eldia’s different accounts of history compared to the actual Ymir backstory we got. So who’s to say that the belief that Ackermans aren’t manipulable is the truth? Maybe they’re just hard to control, not impossible. We know that by the Founder’s ability Eren experienced past and future happening simultaneously, so he could’ve very well been trying to send those memories into Mikasa’s head ever since the beginning of the story, only just succeeding in chapter 138. It would at least explain Ackerman’s headaches as Eren trying to manipulate their memories and failing. Of course, we’d need Levi side of thing to know for certain, as he had headaches too and we weren’t shown in the chapter if Eren spoke to him in paths like he did with the rest of the squad. We know he didn’t talk to Pieck, but he even went and spoke to Annie who he basically hadn’t seen since Stohess, so I hope he spoke to Levi too. Who knows, maybe he even spoke with Hanji, but she died before she could remember. I wish we were shown that, honestly, I’m sad that it was skipped, especially after Levi said in an earlier chapter that “there was so much he wanted to tell Eren”. Fingers crossed for the anime to expand on it.

“So Historia’s pregnancy was useless”

What? No, it wasn’t useless! Eren told her to get pregnant to save her life, so that she wouldn’t be turned into the Beast Titan. If she became the Beast Titan, then Eren would’ve had to enact the plan with her instead of Zeke, and yeah, Ymir brought the power of the titans with her, so theoretically Titan Shifter Historia would’ve had her time limit removed, but we saw that the only way for the Alliance to stop the Rumbling was killing Zeke, so Historia would’ve had to die. Useless to say, when Eren talked to her about his plan, she was very vocally against it, so I don’t think she would’ve helped Eren with his plan. It was Zeke or nothing, and the only way for Zeke to keep his titan was for Historia to be unable to be turned, hence the pregnancy. Did y’all read the same thing I read? Anyways, she could’ve definitely been handled better, but she wasn’t necessary to the plot anymore, and her being removed from it in such a way was sad, yes, but it made sense.

“They massacred Reiner!”

Yeah, can’t really say anything about this. I definitely understand the sentiment behind this scene, which I appreciate. It’s to show that thanks to his Titan being removed and the times of peace approaching, Reiner was finally able to shed the weight he bore on his shoulders and “regress” to his more carefree persona he had when he thought he was a soldier, instead of a warrior. I am very happy for him, and I think it’s a nice conclusion to his arc, that he’s finally happy, but it could’ve been portrayed in a less comic relief-y way. It just sledgehammers all his characterization. Feels surreal that we saw him attempt suicide a couple month ago in the anime and now he’s sniffing Historia’s handwriting.

Guys, this absolutely sends me. There are people who unironically believe Eren actually reincarnated in a bird? Guys. It makes no sense, it violates every rule that Isayama established for his universe’s power system. How could he even reincarnate in a bird? Guys, c’mon, this is symbolical! Birds have been heavily used in aot to portray freedom, and this is a nice, poetic, symbolic way to show that Eren who lived his whole life chasing freedom and never actually got it, is finally free, like a bird, now that he’s dead. It’s also a pretty explicit nod to Odin, I think. Aot is heavily inspired by Norse Mithology, and I think there were some pretty clear parallels between Eren and Odin/Loki in the later arcs of the story. Eren has been shown to “communicate” through birds like with Falco in chapter 81, or with Armin in chapter 131. Emphasis on “communicate” because again, this is symbolic, I don’t think he actually spoke through the birds, he simply talked to them via paths, but birds are associated with Eren’s character (see also the wings of freedom, y’know?) and the shots were framed so to give the impression that he was talking through the birds, but he wasn’t. Symbolism. Anyway, I really think they were supposed to be a nod to Odin’s crows.

Aaaaand that should be it! Even though I most definitely forgot some other criticism on the chapter, it’s crazy the amount of negativity floating around. Hope I didn’t bore you!

#attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #snk manga #aot manga #aot spoilers #chapter 139 #aot ending #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #aot 139

24 notes · View notes

pikapeppa · 4 years ago

Text

Felassan/f!Lavellan: Imshael

Chapter 14 of The Love That Grows From Violence (Felassan x Tamaris Lavellan) is posted!

In which a lot of lore is discussed, including the story from Tevinter Nights that’s narrated by a character named Hollix. A note before we start: Hollix is a master of disguises whose gender identity is non-binary or fluid, but in this fic, I have Dorian calling Hollix ‘she/her’ because that’s what Dorian calls Hollix in the Tevinter Nights story — he gets the impression that Hollix is a ‘she/her’ based on Hollix’s disguises, an impression that Hollix doesn’t correct because they easily and cheerfully slip into either gender identity/role as part of their position as a Lord of Fortune.

~6000 words; read here on AO3 instead.

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

“Listen closely now,” Dorian said jauntily. “My story begins with a series of unsolved and rather gruesome murders that had been going on in Minrathous for some time. Rumours had started to circulate that the perpetrator was a creature that came to be called the Cekorax.”

“Cekorax?” Varric asked. “What does that mean?”

“It’s a butchering of the old Tevene word for ‘headsman’,” Dorian said. “The creature earned this charming name because its victims were all found without their heads.”

Tamaris grimaced, and Felassan laughed. “This story is exciting already.”

“Not quite so exciting for those who lost their heads, but I digress,” Dorian said delicately. “No one was doing anything about it, unfortunately, especially since the beast hadn’t attacked any of the altus class yet. So I put out a bounty for the perpetrator’s head, and the person who came to my aid was a wily little thing whom I’ll affectionately call Hollix.”

Tamaris raised an eyebrow. “That you’ll call Hollix? What was their actual name?”

“I haven’t a clue,” he said cheerfully. “I called her Hollix on a whim. She decided to keep the name while she was in Minrathous, and who am I to argue with the adoption of a silly nickname?”

“Fair enough,” Varric said.

“Of course you’d agree,” Dorian said drolly. “In any case, Hollix did some unsavoury investigating for me — for a fair price, of course — and discovered that the creature doing all the killing was…” He sighed. “Frankly, it was a creature of unearthly and uncanny horror. And you know I don’t say this lightly, considering all that we’ve seen together.”

“No kidding,” Tamaris said flatly.

Felassan sat forward and rested his elbows on the table. “What did it look like? This uncanny creature of horror?”

“I can only tell you so much firsthand, as I was high above the action when the creature presented itself,” Dorian said. “But Hollix described it more fully. It was…” He hesitated for a moment before going on. “It was an enormous fleshy mass as large as a house that was able to peel parts of itself away to produce… tentacles. Unbelievably long tentacles bearing human eyes that it had stolen from its victims’ heads.”

Tamaris exchanged a horrified look with Varric. “So it just took the victims’ eyes?” she asked Dorian.

“Unfortunately, no,” Dorian said. He sounded very serious now. “In the deepest part of this fleshy mass, it was harbouring the heads of all of its victims. Over two dozen heads, Hollix said — all perfectly preserved as though they were still alive. And the monster was… animating the heads. Speaking through their mouths.”

A cold ripple of revulsion ran down the back of Tamaris’s neck. “Oh fuck,” she breathed.

“Shit,” Varric muttered.

Felassan narrowed his eyes. “It was speaking through the heads? Using their mouths to express its own thoughts?”

“Apparently,” Dorian said. “Hollix said it was trying to lure her into joining it. To ‘keep her safe’, it said.”

Felassan leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table. “So it seemed to have motivations of its own. That’s fascinating.”

Tamaris tilted her head. “Do you know something about this?”

He grinned. “Are you asking if I’m responsible? That hurts. I’m clever, but I’m hardly diabolical.”

She tsked. “Of course I don’t think you’re responsible. But is it an ancient monster or something like that?”

His smile faded slightly. “I… honestly can’t say.” To Dorian he said, “How did you defeat this creature in the end?”

“An ingenious plan that I regret to admit was not mine,” Dorian said. “The creature had entwined itself in one of the city’s finest public gardens, which happens to be just below my apartment. Hollix cleared the gardens and exploded the fountain with gaatlok so the creature was drenched, and Maevaris and I electrocuted it from the upper balcony of my apartment.”

Tamaris raised her eyebrows. “So wait, you weren’t even in the garden during all this? I thought you said you were involved in the disgustingness.”

“I was involved,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I was in it. Can you imagine?”

Tamaris snorted in amusement. “You’re such a spoiled noble.”

“I do miss your loving insults,” he said. “In actual fact, though, Mae and I had to keep distant so the monster wouldn’t suspect anyone else but Hollix was involved. I do feel sorry for Hollix though, poor thing. The creature popped like an enormous filthy balloon when we zapped it, and she got rather, er, moist in the process. When all was said and done, only the creature’s skin was left behind.”

Varric grimaced. “Like a sausage casing?”

“Ugh,” Dorian said. “That’s what Hollix said. Believe me, you wouldn’t be thinking about food if you’d seen what I had.”

Tamaris looked at Felassan. “So? Does it sound familiar to you?”

He twisted his lips. “Yes and no, actually. It almost sounds like one of Ghilan’nain’s delights, but not completely.”

Tamaris blinked in surprise. What did Ghilan’nain have to do with a horrific murderous monster in Minrathous?

“Ghilan’nain?” Dorian said. “Isn’t that one of the Dalish gods? Er, so to speak.”

“Yes indeed,” Felassan said. He raised his eyebrows at Tamaris. “Would you care to start us off?”

She groaned. “Do I have to?”

He chuckled. “No, you don’t. But it would be informative for everyone.”

“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. Then she addressed Varric and Dorian’s crystal. “The Dalish say that Ghilan’nain was the mother of halla, and the goddess of navigation and wayfaring. She was actually a mortal who was raised to the status of a goddess thanks to Andruil, who’s the goddess of hunting.” Then she frowned at Felassan. “But in the Temple of Mythal, we found an old inscription that Solas translated. It said that Ghilan’nain created all kinds of creatures, but the creatures ran rampant through the elves’ lands until the Evanuris offered her godhood in exchange for destroying them.”

Felassan grinned. “Fen’Harel translated that for you?”

“Yes, he did.”

Felassan chuckled. “I can just imagine him screaming on the inside while he read that to you.”

She offered him a slightly bitter smirk, and he folded his arms. “Well, that inscription had the right of it. Like all the Evanuris, Ghilan’nain was a powerful mage, and her favourite hobby was creating new forms of life.” He held up a finger. “Wait, I should be specific: she created new forms of life from ones that already existed, blending and forming them into new creatures that were increasingly spectacular and powerful.”

Tamaris harrumphed. “Until the Evanuris got sick of her shit, it seems.”

Felassan smiled at her. “Blunt as always, avise, but yes. This was before my time, but my understanding is that Andruil became enamoured with Ghilan’nain, who created increasingly insane creatures for Andruil to hunt. Andruil praised her efforts, which spurred Ghilan’nain’s experiments on.” He smirked. “They encouraged each other’s insanity, just as any good couple should.”

Dorian chuckled, and Varric ruefully shook his head. “Very romantic, Jester.”

“I am, aren’t I?” he said. “In any case, Andruil and Ghilan’nain’s… activities eventually drew concern from the other Evanuris, who offered to raise Ghilan’nain to the status of a goddess if she destroyed her more disturbing creatures. By that time, she had already gained a measure of infamy among the people, so it took little propaganda for them to believe she was a goddess like the others.”

“Let me guess,” Dorian said. “Her experimenting didn’t stop just because she became a goddess.”

Felassan widened his eyes in mocking surprise. “How did you know?”

Tamaris folded her arms. “But you don’t really think that this Cekorax could actually be one of Ghilan’nain’s creatures. That would mean it was thousands of years old.”

Varric shrugged. “It’s not impossible, Cuddles. Think about some of the old shit we’ve encountered. Corypheus, the Titan…”

“A certain person in this room,” Felassan said blandly.

Tamaris snorted a laugh, and he winked at her. Then Dorian spoke through the crystal. “Whether this creature is new or old, what was it doing roaming around beneath Minrathous?”

“That is an excellent question,” Felassan said thoughtfully.

“Can you answer it?” Tamaris asked.

He shrugged. “I can try.” To Tamaris and Varric he said, “Recall that I told you about Mythal’s Sentinels, and how the other Evanuris sought warriors who were equally dedicated and fierce?”

“Yeah,” Varric said.

Felassan nodded. “Ghilan’nain’s efforts involved attempts to make hybrid… species that would be good fighters and soldiers. And her experiments didn’t just use non-sentient animals anymore.”

A cold stone of horror dropped into Tamaris’s gut. “She started experimenting on slaves?”

“Yes,” Felassan said. His manner was completely serious now, without a hint of levity. “From what we gathered at the time, she wanted her… creations to have some level of sentience, but not so much that they would try to rebel. Which is why I wonder if this Cekorax wasn’t just a simple monster, but a monster possessed by a spirit, since it sounds like it had more… motivation than Ghilan’nain’s surviving creatures had.”

Varric sighed and rubbed his chin. “A possessed monster? As if a regular monster wasn’t bad enough.”

Felassan didn’t reply, and Tamaris looked at him; he had an oddly absent-looking half-smile on his face.

“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He met her eye, then let out a little laugh and shook his head. “Oh, nothing. Just an idle thought, really.”

She narrowed her eyes, but Dorian spoke before she could press Felassan further. “This still doesn't explain why one of Ghilan’nain’s creatures might be roaming around beneath Minrathous now.”

Felassan sobered once more. “Ghilan’nain had multiple hidden… laboratories, for lack of a better word, where she was creating her so-called soldiers. I don’t know where they were located as her activities weren’t my particular area of focus, but if one of Ghilan’nain’s laboratories was recently… activated, or disturbed, then it’s possible that this Cekorax broke free.”

Dorian sighed. “The murders started shortly after some surviving Venatori opened an underground cavern of some kind.”

Felassan grimaced. “That could explain it. You should probably look into where that cavern was, in case you start getting more lovely visitors from the deepest pits of Ghilan’nain’s twisted imagination.”

Dorian tsked. “Fasta vass. Of course. We’ll look into that.”

“Felassan,” Tamaris said.

“Yes, avise?” he said pleasantly.

She frowned slightly. “You mentioned that you thought the Cekorax was possessed by a powerful spirit.”

“I did, yes.”

“Do you know the spirit that might have been possessing it?”

A slow smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Why do you say that?”

“Why are you dodging?” she said quietly.

His smile faded. “Force of habit,” he said ruefully. “I apologize. I did wonder if the spirit might be one that I was acquainted with in the past.” He smirked and rubbed his chin. “Possessing a many-headed and many-eyed monster that can shape itself at will would be in keeping with this particular spirit.”

“What spirit?” Tamaris asked.

“It called itself the Formless One,” he said. “As you can probably guess, it didn’t have any particular shape that it preferred, nor a name to go by.”

“A name?” Dorian said in surprise. “Spirits have names?”

“If they want one, certainly,” Felassan said. “Though many of them are boring and keep the name of the virtues they embody.” His tone was bland once more, and Tamaris shot him a chiding smirk; he was clearly taking a jab at Solas.

Dorian’s voice was keen with curiosity through the sending crystal. “What are some of the spirit names you’ve known?”

Felassan casually laced his fingers behind his head. “There was an amusing group of spirits who were banished from Elvhenan long before I was born. Or were supposed to have been, at least,” he added with a smirk. “The Formless One was one of them, though it obviously didn’t have a name. Gaxkang was one, and Imshael was another—”

Tamaris straightened in surprise, and Varric interrupted. “Imshael?” he said.

Felassan’s eyes widened, and he smiled. “Don’t tell me you met him.”

Varric and Tamaris stared incredulously at him, and Dorian answered. “We didn’t just meet him. We killed him.”

Felassan’s face slackened with surprise. Then he laughed. “You’re kidding. Well, now you have to tell me how that happened.”

They told Felassan how they’d met Ser Michel de Chevin during their travels to Emprise du Lion, and how Michel had asked for their help defeating Imshael at Suledin Keep. When they described how Imshael had been directing and guiding the growth of red lyrium in the Red Templars and peasants in the quarry, Felassan laughed and tugged his ear.

“Well, I suppose I did tell him to have fun,” he said dryly. “Not the sort of fun I would have chosen, but…”

Tamaris recoiled slightly at his flippant reaction. “Were you friends with Imshael?” she asked.

“More like long-time acquaintances who made deals sometimes,” he said. “He was supposed to have been banished from our lands along with the others I mentioned, but he, er, stuck around.”

His tone was curled with mischief. She eyed him shrewdly. “Did Solas know you made deals with a spirit who was supposed to be banished?”

“He knew, but... unofficially,” Felassan said.

“Why unofficially?”

“Because Mythal didn’t know,” Felassan said slyly. “She was one of the Evanuris who banished him, you see.”

He was grinning now. Tamaris frowned more deeply. “How is this funny?”

“It’s not, actually,” he said. “Not at all. Can I ask if Fen’Harel was present when you met Imshael?”

Varric nodded. “Yeah, Chuckles was there.”

“And he didn’t say anything?” Felassan said. “Any… recognition or anything?”

“Not a fucking word,” Tamaris said bitterly.

Felassan let out a snort of laughter. “I bet he was fuming on the inside. If I wasn’t already out of the picture, he probably would have skinned me.” He snorted again and rubbed his mouth, then suddenly burst into laughter.

Tamaris’s heart clenched; the quality of his laughter was wild and uncontrolled. She took his hand and squeezed it. “Hey,” she said quietly. “Just breathe.”

Another blast of laughter left his lungs. Tamaris stroked his arm with her metal fingers. “Look at me, brat,” she said softly.

He wheezed as he met her eye, and Tamaris nodded encouragingly. A few breaths later, he was calm again.

She squeezed his hand before releasing it. “Why did you say Solas would skin you?” she asked.

“Because it’s my fault Imshael was free to run a red lyrium farm in Emprise du Lion,” Felassan said. “And whatever shortcomings the Dread Wolf has, he does not like red lyrium.”

“No one in their right mind does,” Varric said flatly.

Tamaris frowned. “What do you mean, it was your fault Imshael was free?”

He looked at her, and her belly jolted; for a split second, an odd flash of wistfulness had crossed his face before his usual pleasant half-smile returned. “Imshael had been summoned and bound by a Dalish clan,” he said. “My… lack of involvement, shall we say, led to him being set free.”

Her gut twisted with apprehension. A Dalish clan?

Dorian’s words echoed her thoughts. “You were with a Dalish clan?” he asked.

“For a very brief time, when I was travelling with Briala and the others,” Felassan said. His tone was light and pleasant, but he was still gazing steadily at Tamaris, and there was something about the neutrality of his expression that she didn’t like.

Then Dorian spoke in a peevish tone. “I beg your pardon, but what in Andraste’s sacred underthings are you talking about? I’m feeling terribly left out.”

Felassan finally looked away from her to face the crystal. “I travelled for a time with Celene, Briala, and the illustrious Michel prior to the Orlesian civil war breaking out in earnest,” he said. “At one point during our travels, we were hosted by a Dalish clan.”

“Hosted?” Dorian said. “The Dalish hosted Celene and Michel?”

Varric spoke up. “I didn’t think Dalish hospitality extended to humans. No offense, Cuddles.”

She didn’t reply; she was too focused on Felassan, who was now wearing a little smile that somehow made his face look empty.

Felassan shrugged. “Well, they tied Michel up and beat him, and they kept Celene under guard. Does that count as hospitality?”

Tamaris’s gut twisted. Something awful had just occurred to her. “Felassan, what happened to the Dalish clan after Imshael was freed?” she said quietly.

His eyes returned to her face. “Imshael killed them all.”

A jolt of shock stabbed her in the gut. She stared at him for a second before finding her tongue. “Imshael killed them?” she said weakly. “The… the whole clan?”

“All but one, yes,” Felassan said. He was still wearing that empty little smile, and he sounded so casual, and it… it didn’t add up.

“Wait,” she said. “He…” She trailed off; her heart was thrumming now, and it was making it hard for her to breathe. She forced herself to inhale. “Imshael went after the clan because you let him go free?”

“Yes,” Felassan said.

She dragged in another breath. “Did you know that Imshael would attack the clan?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he said.

He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked so serious now — no, not just serious. He looked…

Her heart twisted. He looked wolfish, somehow. Dangerous. This wasn’t the Felassan she knew.

She swallowed hard and lifted her chin. “So you… you purposely let a demon go free, knowing it would kill an entire Dalish clan.”

“Yes, Tamaris,” he said. “I did.”

She stared at him in shock. His face was so forbidding and his voice was uncharacteristically hard, and … and he’d purposely given a demon free reign to kill a Dalish clan.

She hadn’t known. She hadn’t known about this. He hadn’t told her about this, for obvious reasons — he’d gotten a Dalish clan killed, for fuck’s sake, so of course he hadn’t told her. But if he hadn’t told her this, what else was he hiding from her? What other ugly secrets was he keeping?

Nauseous with horror, she gazed into his violet eyes — his beautiful violet eyes that were usually full of warmth and humour, and that she’d been growing to trust more and more with every passing day.

Beautiful violet eyes that were probably hiding all kinds of deeds that Tamaris knew nothing about.

She rose from her chair, and his hard expression cracked. “Tamaris,” he said.

She shook her head and took a step back from the table. Felassan stood up and reached for her hand. “Tamaris, don’t—”

She whipped her hand away. “Don’t touch me,” she snarled. She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs.

She went straight to her room and shoved open the window, then climbed up to the roof and started pacing. Her heart was pounding in her chest and behind her eyes, and her fingers shook as she dragged them through her hair.

Felassan had gotten a Dalish clan killed. He had purposely let a demon run rampant and kill an entire clan, and he hadn’t told her. They’d been living here for weeks and he hadn’t… she had no idea.

She was so stupid. She was so fucking stupid to have thought she could trust him. He was thousands of years old and she’d only known him for three weeks, and — she knew basically nothing about him. How could she have thought she could trust him at all?

It’s Solas all over again, she thought. Once again, she’d been lulled into a false sense of safety with a compelling older man, and once again, he’d betrayed her trust.

Her ribs felt like they were swelling with misery. She sat down abruptly and leaned back against the chimney, and for some uncounted time she just sat there ruminating on her own idiocy.

Eventually, she heard the distinctive soft shuffle of bare feet joining her on the roof. She clenched her jaw and looked away, but Felassan sat beside her anyway.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

His voice was back to its usual warmth, but this only made her feel worse. She shot him a venomous look. “Don’t act like you know everything about me. You’ve only known me for a couple of weeks.”

He elegantly lifted an eyebrow. “Can I speak without you biting my head off?”

“Why should I let you?” she snapped. “So you can talk circles around me?”

His eyes narrowed. “I have never done that to you and you know it.”

A pang of remorse penetrated her anger, and it was enough to make her relent. She shrugged and looked away from him. “Fine. Talk.”

“As I said, I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You’re thinking that I’ve withheld this terrible tale from you, and that if I was hiding this, there must be an entire thaig’s worth of villainous secrets that I’m keeping from you. I am extremely old, after all. There must be hundreds of skeletons in my proverbial closet that you don’t know about, so how can you possibly trust me?”

His tone was annoyingly playful, but what really rankled her that he was right. “Look at you, using your spy skills to figure me out,” she said snidely.

“I am only using the information that you told me yourself,” he said. “I know you’re on alert for reasons to cast me aside. I am not going to give you any.”

A sudden throb of pain in her chest took her by surprise. She swallowed hard and lifted her burning eyes to the sky as Felassan continued to speak. “I was not purposely hiding this from you. If the topic had come up before, I would have told you.” He lowered his voice. “And I think you know that.”

Fuck, her lips were trembling. She looked away from him and didn’t speak, and Felassan was silent as well.

When Tamaris was able to control her face once more, she shot him a hard look. “Tell me why you let that clan get killed.”

His shoulders loosened slightly. “The practical reason is that Imshael had something I needed: a keystone to unlock the eluvians. Setting him free gave us access to the keystone, which ultimately ended up in Briala’s possession.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” she said coldly.

“I do know what you mean,” he said calmly. “The real truth is this: I could have gotten that keystone in other ways. I knew Imshael, and I knew how his mind worked. But I wanted that clan to suffer.”

“Why?” she demanded. “What the fuck did they ever do to you?”

“Nothing,” he said. “They did nothing to me, and there was nothing they could have done to harm me.” He paused and clenched his jaw, and her gut twisted; his expression was hardening again in a way that she didn’t like.

“It was the way they treated Briala,” he said. “Briala had been supplying information to that clan for years through me. She’d pinned her hopes and dreams on them, and do you know what they said to her when they finally met her?”

“What?” Tamaris said faintly.

“They called her a flat-ear and said that she was not their people,” Felassan said.

For a moment, Tamaris stopped breathing. That was what Abelas had said to her at the Temple of Mythal, and she still remembered the way his disdain seemed to stab her straight in the heart.

Felassan went on. “Their Keeper, Thelhen…” He curled his lip in disgust. “It wasn’t that he was blind to the plight of the alienages. He knew what they suffered, and he didn’t care. He was no better than the human nobles that beat and killed city elves for looking at them the wrong way. He knew the problems that city elves faced, and he chose to do nothing, claiming that they were not his people.”

His voice was growing angrier by the second, and Tamaris held up a hand in surrender. “Okay,” she said quietly. “Okay, I… I hear what you’re saying.”

He took a deep breath and nodded, then leaned his head back against the chimney, and for a moment they were both silent.

For once, Tamaris broke the silence. “Was that the only clan you ever had dealings with?”

“No,” he said. “But I had dealings with Clan Virnehn for as many years as I have known Briala. No matter how many times I told them that a city elf was the one to thank for their knowledge of Orlais and how to avoid the shemlen troubles that plagued the country, they still refused to accept her as their own.”

“I hear you,” she said gently. “Honestly, I do. And that’s… it’s fucking awful, and I’m sorry Briala had such a shitty experience with the first Dalish clan she finally had a chance to meet. But do you really think that’s enough reason to let the entire clan get killed?”

He exhaled heavily. “Tamaris…”

She pushed on ruthlessly. “What about the kids in that clan? There had to be kids. Did they deserve to die because their Keeper was a piece of shit?”

“You don’t understand,” he burst out.

“What don’t I understand?” she asked.

“The…” He dragged his hand over his hair and glared at her. “The frustration of living through the same short-sighted stupidity from thousands of years ago. The fact that our people are still so divisive and blind. You can’t understand how frustrating it is to wake up thousands of years later to realize that the worst attitudes of my time were one of the things that survived.”

“You can’t judge all of the Dalish based on that one clan’s attitudes,” she said firmly. “That’s you and Solas’s biggest problem. You’re judging all of us based on just a few.”

He let out a rather tired-sounding laugh. “This kind of sparkling optimism is a strange look on you.”

She couldn’t tell if he was complimenting her or insulting her, but it didn’t matter right now. She shifted a little closer to him. “My clan isn’t like that, Felassan.”

“You’ve said that before,” he said. “You told me you take in city elves who run away from the alienages.”

“Yes, we do,” she said.

“And the elves who can’t run away?” he said. “Those who are stuck in the alienages with no means of escape? You told me you knew of the massacre of Halamshiral’s alienage. What did you do about it?”

His tone was calm but piercing somehow, like he was trying to dig beneath her skin with his pointed words, and Tamaris forced herself to reply just as calmly. “Me personally?” she said. “Nothing. By the time I heard about it, it had happened six months before and I was travelling to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to spy on the Conclave.”

“And once you became the Inquisitor?” he said. “Once you had power? What did you do then to help your brothers and sisters in the alienages?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I allowed the Empress of Orlais to be murdered in order to make a city elf the real power behind the throne,” she said quietly. “Or have you forgotten that already?”

His eyebrows rose. After a brief pause, he smiled and bowed his head to her. “Fair enough, avise.”

She relaxed slightly. “I can’t speak to that clan you ran into,” she said. “And… fine, all right, I’ve known some people from other clans who… who feel like we don’t owe anything to the city elves.” She scowled at him. “But Clan Lavellan is not like that, okay? I’m not bullshitting you. We don’t look down on city elves that way. My clan purposely went into Wycome to protect the city elves, for fuck’s sake.”

He looked at her in surprise. “They did?”

“Yes,” she said. “This was a couple years ago. The Duke of Wycome was involved with some Venatori, and they were trying to frame the elves for red lyrium getting into the water supply. The humans tried to burn the alienage down, and my clan interfered to help the city elves fight back. After the Duke was killed, my clan stayed in Wycome to support the city elves, and my Keeper and a city elf got sworn in on the city council along with some human merchants to run Wycome. A third of the clan is still there.”

He nodded slowly. “And the rest?”

“They didn’t want to stay in the city,” she said. “Most of us prefer the woods. But a number of city elves wanted to leave the city with them, and guess what? My clan adopted them.”

He gazed at her appraisingly and didn’t speak, and she gave him a pointed look. “What, nothing to say? That’s new for you.”

“It is, yes,” he said. “It’s an interesting change. It’s not often I’m struck speechless.”

“You do talk a hell of a lot,” she said.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he retorted.

She scoffed, then realized she wasn’t feeling angry anymore. And then she felt weird about the fact that she wasn’t angry.

He tilted his head. “What are you thinking?”

“I don’t… really know,” she said slowly. She was feeling oddly at a loss, and she couldn’t say why.

He gave her a slow smile. “You’re not used to winning arguments about the virtues of the Dalish, are you?”

She lifted her chin. “So you admit that I’ve won.”

He chuckled and flicked her knee. “Yes, avise, you’ve won. You can gloat if you like.”

She didn’t laugh. Instead, she studied him thoughtfully. “You really care, don’t you? About the elves of this time. The city elves especially.”

“Why wouldn’t I care about them?” he said.

She didn’t reply right away, but instead continued to study him. The more she thought about it, the more she understood where his attitude about present-day elves came from. Felassan might wear vallaslin and know things about the elvhen gods, but his origins as Andruil’s slave gave him far more in common with city elves than the Dalish.

A little pang squeezed her heart. That was why he cared about the city elves and their suffering. He’d essentially been one of them, back in the times of ancient Elvhenan.

He lifted one eyebrow quizzically, so Tamaris replied. “Solas didn’t care about the city elves,” she said. “Not like you do.”

Felassan sighed. “I suspect the issue is more that he couldn’t care. He couldn’t afford to. With all that guilt hanging over his head? He couldn’t afford to carry any more by caring about anyone else that he couldn’t save. It would crush him.” He suddenly grinned at her. “I imagine he must have been furious with himself when he realized he was in love with you.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You think that makes it okay that he… how he treated me?”

“No,” Felassan said. “Not by any means. A stronger man would have distanced himself from you.”

She huffed, then shrugged. “He tried to. Sort of.”

Felassan shot her a half-smile. “Meaning what exactly?”

“He warned me more than once that getting involved with him was a bad idea,” she admitted. “I guess I… I should have listened.” She scowled. “But he was saying one thing and acting a different way… fucking Solas.”

Felassan smiled to himself, and Tamaris shot him an exasperated look. “What’s so funny now?”

His smile widened. “If I tell you, you’ll say I’m full of shit.”

“Well, now you have to tell me,” she said.

He huffed a little laugh and shook his head, then looked her in the eye. “Fine. I say a stronger man would have distanced himself from you. But it would require the strength of Titans to resist your brassy charms.”

She stared at him. Then she started laughing. “You are completely full of shit.”

He placed one hand on his chest and bowed his head politely. “Acknowledged and accepted.”

She smiled at him, then chuckled and shook her head before taking a joint out of her breast pocket. She lit the joint and took a drag, then offered it to Felassan.

He accepted it with a nod and lifted it to his lips, and as she often did, Tamaris appreciatively watched his lips as he drew from the joint and released the smoke into the air.

He took another drag and blew a perfect series of smoke rings before offering back the joint, and she carefully took it from his fingers. “You know,” she said, “for someone that he tried to kill, you sure spend a lot of time trying to make me forgive him.”

“That’s not my intention,” Felassan said. “I told you before: I’m not defending him, only explaining him. Know your enemy, blah blah and so on.” He shrugged casually. “Besides, there is only so far that sheer anger can take you. An adversary as unexpected and subtle as Fen’Harel can be requires an approach that’s equally unexpected and subtle.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What approach is that?”

He gave her a fond look that made her heart flip. “This is one thing I won’t tell you,” he said. “Think about it, avise. You’ll figure it out on your own.”

She harrumphed, but with no real ire. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” She took a drag from the joint.

He gently took the joint from her fingers. “I will say this: of everyone who is working against him, you stand in a unique position. You are someone who knows Fen’Harel, loved him, and still wants to defy him. You may be the single most dangerous person to him in all of Thedas.”

She shot him a sharp look. “Is that really what you think?”

“Of course,” he said. “I always tell the truth. To you, at least,” he added with a smirk.

“Then you’re just as dangerous,” she said firmly. “You know him and loved him, and you’re defying him too. You’re just as dangerous as me.”

He raised his eyebrows, then brought the joint to his lips. “How about that? What a team we make. The woman who dances with fire and the slow arrow.”

Her heart did a little squeeze. He’d called himself a slow arrow, not a broken one.

She smiled at him, and he smiled back at her. Then she reached up and plucked the joint from his lips. “I still think you’re a fucking asshole for letting a demon loose to kill that clan.”

“I know you do,” he said. “And I’m not asking your forgiveness. But I will ask you to recognize that I did not lie about this to you.”

She eyed him appraisingly for a moment, then nodded. “I know. And… I do appreciate that.”

They smoked together quietly for a moment, and the silence between them stretched like warm taffy. From the corner of her eye, she watched as the joint met his lips and moved away to let the smoke bleed from his perfectly sculpted mouth.

She had no reason to trust Felassan. There were thousands of years’ worth of heinous things he could have done and hadn’t told her about. But he had been honest with her about his reasons for doing this one heinous thing. He hadn’t tried to sugarcoat anything, and he hadn’t tried to prevaricate. He’d even followed her to the roof in order to tell her the truth, knowing full well that she wouldn’t like it.

He offered her the joint once more, and she took it. But instead of bringing it to her lips, she leaned into his side and rested her head on his shoulder.

He shifted slightly so her head was tucked more snugly against his neck. When he turned his head to speak to her, his words wafted over her forehead in a soft murmur. “You walked away from me.”

She sighed and closed her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “It gave me an excuse to watch you walking away.”

She snorted a laugh. “You’re such a fucking rogue.”

He chuckled and took the joint from her fingers, and for a time they simply sat pressed together on the roof with her head tucked against his neck. The longer she sat there savouring the steady warmth of Felassan’s neck against her temple, the more she realized how strange it was to feel this relaxed and at ease after a fight. How strange it was to feel so… resolved.

“Any particular thoughts on your mind?” he said.

His voice was low and warm, and it was just as comforting as the warmth of his neck. She shrugged and nibbled the inside of her cheek as she considered her reply. She was having plenty of thoughts, thoughts about Felassan’s mischievous smirk and his righteous anger and how patient he was with her, even though she’d walked away.

She was having thoughts, all right. But nothing that she was ready to say out loud just yet.

“Not really,” she said. “I’m just… content.”

“Ah, contentment: my favourite,” he said. “It really is an underrated feeling, you know.”

“You said that before,” she said drolly. But in the privacy of her heart, she knew what she was really feeling.

Athdhea’lath, she thought: the precursor to love. A feeling which Felassan had openly admitted to having, and which he was so carefully fostering in the closely guarded garden of Tamaris’s heart.

A little jolt of nerves plucked at her gut, but she took it in stride. She drew from the joint once more, then exhaled and closed her eyes. She breathed in the scents of herbal smoke and Felassan’s skin, and she enjoyed the feeling of being… content.

#felassan #save felassan #felassan romance #felassan/lavellan #felassan x lavellan #felassan/inquisitor #felassan x inquisitor #the love that grows from violence #pikapeppa writes

17 notes · View notes

faiseuse-d-histoires · 5 years ago

Note

Would you agree that Dany was a tyrant?

Mmmm... Do I agree with the plot D&D gave us? Well, first of all... Nope. Not at all. Tyrant or not, there were a lot of bad writing and incoherences in this.

Plus, I think you know exactly where I stand. And to add with my own arguments, I think you should read some of the brilliant metas I’ve reblogged. You may find interesting things, told in a better way and more precise than I could do myself.

As for tyrant. Let’s be clear about this, and set a common ground. I don’t know how you define “tyrant”, so I’m going to go with a few definitions.

Did you know that being a “tyrant” was at first not presented as a bad thing in Antiquity? It was not connoted at first with bad ruling and abuse of power. It only meant that power had been taken by force. By that definition, it could fit Daenerys with her invasion of King’s Landing (Astapor, Yunkai and Meeren are more particular cases, as there was a good part of the people actually choosing Daenerys as their leader... but still, it hadn’t been done legally). It was clearly a matter of taking the power with armies.But by that definition, Robert Baratheon was a tyrant. Aegon Targaryen too. And no other house is safe from that definition, even the Starks. Bronn had said so himself: the great families all took their place with brutality and/or tricks. Honor was a thing that had been created when these families actually settled down to think about their policies.

Heck, even Jon and Sansa could be seen as tyrants, they had seized power at Winterfell from the Bolton with armies! (the Bolton being also tyrants by themselves)

So, in this case, we have a definition which could fit quite a lot of people in Westeros.

Let’s take the other, which is more employed today, in a pejorative way.

“A person exercising power or control in a cruel, unreasonable, or arbitrary way.”

Let’s separate Book Dany from her TV counterpart, would you? At this point, they became different characters entirely after a few seasons.

“A cruel way”:cruelty can be expressed in a lot of ways, and is also linked with the way the others see the act.

It can be by forcing one’s views on the others for example. But here, until season 8, we’ve seen Daenerys actually trying to adapt in the culture she was set in, even more so in her book counterpart: she ate like them, dressed like them, talked their langage with them. The only thing she disagreed clearly in Essos was the fighting pits and the crucifixion of the slaves, and it was for what? For their brutality and because it was the sign of the oppression of the masters, who were the ones organizing it (no, the slaves did not enjoy to kill each other for their own amusement).It’s not like Viserys who didn’t care about trying to understand the culture he was in, and thought everyone was waiting for him. Had he seized power, he would have been a true tyrant, and Daenerys shows that, when he wouldn’t adapt to the Dothraki’s culture.

Crucifying some masters was a cruel move, yes, and the TV series really simplified that by seeing most of them were crucified, when in the books, those who were crucified were those who had harassed the most the slaves according to them. It was cruel, yes. But so was crucifying children and men and women, as it had been done so by the masters (oh, tyranny once again. funny)..

Show Daenerys had always been described as more brutal and unwilling to compromise than her book counterpart. Whereas we see Book!Dany negociating, caring about the people at the point of seeing personnally that sick and/or injured ones are taken care of. Show Daenerys had been more portrayed as a distant figure mostly, and all the things that could show her being politically savvy had sadly been used for other characters, to clearly show she needed to be kept in check, or to show that other characters were good advisors. And that is clearly disgusting. In the books, Dany doesn’t consider she has the right to rule just because of her Targaryen blood and her dragons, and she knows she has to prove herself. She does everything she can for that, sacrifying her own happiness by marrying a Meereen noble. In the TV show, it was described as actually useless, whereas in the books, it had actually had its own role to play.

“unreasonable, arbitrary way”: well, for that part, everyone can be described as a tyrant. People aren’t always reasonable. Take Show!Sansa with North Independance for example. Why would she directly ask Dany it while they are being at war with everyone? Why couldn’t she wait for a better time, and actually find something to offer Show!Daenerys in return? (ANd no, you can’t count food and armies for King’s Landing as it; food was part of the guest rights and armies had been promised because Daenerys actually set that bargain: “you fight for me, I fight for you.” And actually, is North independance really a way to solve anything in that country? Nope, to survive winters, the North need alliances with the other kingdoms, and the fact that it was united with it as one really helped the trade between the territories.I personnally think she considered that North Independance meant her own independance, which would actually make sense considering her traumas.

Take Jon at the Battle of the Bastards. Was he reasonable that time? Nope, and he had good reasons not to be: his brother was about to die, and his sister kind of forgot to tell him she had other cards on her sleeve, so they couldn’t create a plan that actually made sense together according to it. And let’s be honest, the Northerners did not raise Jon as KitN because he was reasonable, but because he had Stark Blood, just as Sansa became QitN because her brother accepted she set the North as an independant kingdom (not really reasonable for both of them, don’t you think?)

Also, by all these definitions, Cersei was a complete tyrant. Tywin was a complete tyrant. Joffrey too.

Daenerys though? It’s much more complex than what you let on.Especially when you have to add for that the cultural and psychological parts, with the Dothraki especially. Did she oppress the Dothraki? No, these ones choose her. The slaves in Astapor, Meeren and Yunkai? No, they choose her (even if at one point, they turned on her. But that was also because of bad decisions that are not included in the books, and propaganda from the masters). It was the nobles in Essos and Westeros that truly had problems with that, because it actually questioned their own tyranny.

Had not Daenerys been strong-willed, she would not have had survived. And that is something that you should always keep in mind while seeing her character.

But in the end, I guess it’s like what happened in the War of the Roses and the beginning of the Tudors monarchy. Only those who claimed victory and kept it got to decide what was right and what was wrong. Daenerys was truly seen as a “tyrant” in the bad way in the end because men (and one woman) decided she was.But what was the most important, I think, was the complexity of her character, who had been seriously reduced and trampled on in the last seasons, and the message it gives to women and persons with traumas.

Daenerys deserved better. We deserved better.

28 notes · View notes

ryder-s-block · 5 years ago

Text

Jaig Eyes (Ch 35)

Jaig Eyes (35/?)

Can always read on fanfiction.

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

Chapter Thirty-Five: Count Dooku

Dooku paced towards me, his eyes dark and his face grim. Obi-Wan was barely regaining consciousness across the room, his eyes dazed and unfocused as he lifted his head. The clones and I raised our blasters at the count, but were never able to fire. Dooku swept his hand sideways, the Force surging at me and slamming me backwards into the Commander.

We all tumbled to the floor, our weapons clattering with us. As we struggled to rise, my fist grabbing my pistol and raising it once more. And then...electricity shot through us. I clenched my teeth against the scream that wanted to erupt from my throat. I’d been electrocuted before, whether it was a taser or a mishap with fixing my ship...but this was something else entirely. I could feel the sheer Force power behind it. The darkness and anger that sent it through the air and into my body. It made my muscles convulse and seared my skin, my entire body trying to shut down. I fought it, letting out a groan of relief when he stopped. I fell to my knees, my blurry vision looking sideways to see the clones all sprawled on the floor.

I glanced at Rex, seeing his sweating face, pain splayed across his features. I looking back to see Dooku glaring at me, his hand stretching out again. Pain blossomed across my chest as I was struck with more lightning, my body tipping sideways to fall into Rex’s body. I panted as the burning stopped, leftover electricity bouncing between our bodies. My hand rested over Rex’s chest, my own force sensitivity feeling him struggle. It was too much. It was killing him.

Some of the other clones had already lost consciousness. I reached out for Cody in the Force, feeling him struggle as Rex was.

If this continued, they’d all die...as I would.

I could feel Dooku’s rage ripple towards me with the next onslaught of lightning. I wasn’t going down from the pain, my own determination and stubbornness fueling me to stay upright and awake. Should I go down to save the clones? They couldn’t take much more of Dooku’s anger. Then again...would Dooku stop if I fell?

I slumped slightly as the lightning stopped again, Obi-Wan’s voice barely audible past the pounding in my ears. “Enough, Dooku!” he was trying to stand, his body battered and worn out. “Your quarrel is with me.”

“Obi-wan,” Anakin said faintly, obviously struggling against his own pains as well.

My body made the decision before my mind did, finding its way back to its knees. My eyes lifted to glare angrily at Dooku, letting my anger seep from me. He sensed it, his dark eyes turning to watch me sit up again, my body placed between Rex, Cody, and the Count. Obi-Wan slumped again, struggling to defend us, the desperation clear on his face.

“Do you wish to die, child?” Dooku finally spoke directly to me.

I pressed my lips into a line, clenching my jaw as I fought against the pain in my limbs. I’m going to get myself killed, aren’t I? I watched as Dooku raised his hand again, electricity dancing for a moment on his fingers before jumping towards me. I grit my teeth and lunged forward towards it, my hands lifting in a desperate attempt to save myself and the soldiers behind me.

To the shock of the room, the lightning stopped in a rippling pool before my palms. The searing heat pushed against me, but I collected my resolve, finding my own connection to the Force and drawing from it. The room shook slightly, but I couldn’t tell if that was just for me or if the others felt it too. Dooku increased his power, something he seemed to have an endless well of.

“I feel your anger, child,” he spoke over the popping of electricity between us. Sweat beaded across my forehead as I struggled to keep his rage away from the clones. “Your power,” he continued. “You need a teacher.”

I grit my teeth, knowing only some of the differing teachings between the jedi and the sith. I knew what Obi-wan had told me. I knew what the voice in my visions had whispered. What Qui-Gon had warned me about. None of it made sense. I didn’t know what I believed.

Yet...I knew in that moment that Dooku was evil. Not for his beliefs about the Force or which side of the war he was one. He was the enemy simply for the fact that he would kill Obi-wan and Anakin. That he would kill Rex and Cody and the rest of the men.

He would kill those I cared for.

“What I need,” I growled, pushing a bit harder against his lightning. “Is for you to shut up!” I let out a yell, pushing as hard as I could with the force. A wave of power shot across the room, throwing both Dooku and Obi-Wan backwards. My body felt drained, but I forced myself to stand, breathing heavily. Obi-Wan was still fighting unconsciousness, struggling to reach out for his lightsaber, which I saw resting beside Anakin’s atop a console on the far end of the room. Dooku found his feet, drawing his own red blade in anger.

“I’ll teach you your place, child,” he hissed, striding towards me. I reached out my hand, feeling the Force shift around my appendages like water rippling in a pond. I could practically feel my fingers wrapping around the lightsaber across the room. In a final tug of power that buzzed in my ears, Obi-Wan’s lightsaber met my palm swiftly.

I’d only ever held one once before, but this was different. It was lighter, the kyber crystal inside filled with a noble quality that I could only connect to Obi-Wan. The one I’d held before was of a much darker essence.

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

I’d seen the blade wielded a few times, its glowing black energy striking fear into more than just the slaves. Even members of Death Watch tensed in its presence. I usually did my best to avoid their leader, his cold blue eyes constantly searching for someone to find fault with. There was only once that I sought out the displays of the Darksaber’s punishments. A member of Death Watch, one of the many that had violated me in my short time there, was particularly vile. His twisted mind took pleasure in mutilation, going so far as to carve a line from my right temple, straight down to my chin.

With the crude bandage adhered to my still-smarting skin, I’d found my way to the part of the camp I usually avoided- Vizsla’s tent. I peered around the various boxes and tents that stood there, watching my abuser kneel before his leader. He begged for mercy, my nose scrunching in response. Vizsla, his armor proud and shining, his blond hair pushed back from his sharp face, mimicked my own scowl. He drew his lightsaber, the blade dark and intimidating, pointing it towards his victims face.

“Don’t you know the rule?” Vizsla spit, swinging his blade through the open air angrily. “Never touch the face of a pleasure slave! That’s merchandise!”

My scowl deepened as Vizsla continued his rant, explaining how a pleasure slave could only be hurt where clothing could hide. I wanted to steal the blade and kill them both. I swallowed thickly, but refused to look away as Vizsla finally finished his speech, swiftly bringing the blade down to kill my abuser. All the while, his victim pleaded for mercy until his last breath.

“Hu’tuun,” I growled lowly, having picked up the rough Mando’a language in my short time there. It seemed I was a bit too loud in my anger, Vizsla’s head snapping sideways to see me glaring at the corpse before him.

My heart skipped, the sick pleasure at my abuser’s death fleeting as it was replaced by fear. Vizsla strode to me, his hand reaching between the cracks in my hiding spot and wrenching me into the open. Still waiting in the courtyard stood a woman I’d learned was called Bo-Katan. I’d avoided her, hearing she had a brutal streak, being the leader of an inner circle group called the Nite Owls. Her sharp-edged mask hid her face from me, but I knew the pale face, red hair, and striking green eyes that hid beneath it.

I was thrown down beside the decapitated corpse of my abuser, immediately feeling a twinge of guilt. Of course, he deserved it, but being beside a dead body worked well in bringing someone back to reality. I looked up fearfully at the leader of Death Watch, but could feel a smidge of curiosity beneath his anger.

“You call this man a coward, yet hide in the shadows,” he spoke at me, pacing as he had before the previous execution. I breathed heavily for a moment, closing my eyes and mustering my courage. Or maybe it was stupidity. “You say-”

“He was,” I cut him off, barely keeping the shake out of my voice. Both Vizsla and Katan seemed taken aback, their heads tilting slightly. I urged myself on. “He was a coward because he pleaded for his life. And he was stupid enough to think you’d give it to him.”

Vizsla was silent for a moment before igniting his blade again, the energy hot as it drew near my face. “Are you a coward?”

I lifted my gaze from the blade to his steely eyes, my jaw clenching. “Am I begging?” I asked rhetorically.

Despite his best efforts, an amused smile twitched along the sides of his lips. He glanced quickly to Bo-Katan before staring at me again. “Who are you?” When I hesitated to respond, Katan jumped in.

“She’s one of the slaves we picked up from the Hutt transport, sir,” she said curtly.

“The Hutts,” Vizsla mused, looking me over. “What did you do for the Almighty Jabba?” he asked sarcastically.

“I was a translator.”

“And now?”

I didn’t answer again, glaring at him past his blade. “She’s a pleasure slave, sir,” Katan answered for me, but I could hear the distaste in her voice.

Vizsla’s eyes scanned over my ragged, malnourished body, landing on the bandages on my face. “You’re the one he scarred,” he put together, still looking me over. “It’s strange. You’re not like the others he liked.” Bile wanted to jump up my throat, but I pushed it down, still glaring at the Death Watch leader. The blade found its way closer to my skin, the heat beginning to sting. “I should just kill you,” he mused aloud. “We’ll never fetch a good price for you now. Who would want you like this?”

I breathed deeply, watching him, but didn’t respond.

“What good are you to me?” he asked, trying to get me to say something. To plead for my life. “Is there some purpose you could serve? I don’t need a translator.”

As he continued, my resolve settled. I wasn’t afraid to die. In reality, it didn’t even feel like I was living anymore. I was likely going to die no matter what, so why die with a plea on my tongue? I’d prefer to get the last snide remark and go with some dignity.

“If you’re going to kill me, stop stalling and get it over with,” I spit. Vizsla seemed shocked, but I continued. “You think I’m going to cetar when you’re just going to kill me? I’m not that stupid.”

To my great surprise, Vizsla laughed. His head flung backwards as he sheathed his blade, his blond hair flopping slightly. When he relaxed, he looked down at me with amusement before twirling the hilt of his lightsaber and offering it to me. My heart froze in my chest, glancing between the hilt and his waiting gaze.

“Take it. I know you want to hold it.”

Slowly, I lifted the hilt from his palm, Katan��s tension rippling behind me. Vizsla nodded to me, my thumb dusting over a button before the blade ignited. It surged with energy, its power dark and lusting for blood. Despite not knowing too much about the Force at the time, I’d heard enough from those around me that I could control my senses a bit. The blade practically spoke, trying to tell a long story with sorrow, betrayal, and death. But beneath it, there was a hopeful nature. One of unison and harmony. But it was buried deep below the dark influence of its current master.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Vizsla broke into my thoughts, pacing before me. “It’s called the Darksaber. Do you know its origins?” I shook my head, my eyes still dancing over the curved black blade. “It was built by the only Mandalorian Jetii. After his death, the saber was kept in the temple on Coruscant. But my clan took it back many years ago, using it to keep Mandalore united.”

I felt the blade obey me as it found its balance in my hand, twisting it slowly. I glanced up, encouraged by the fact that I held the weapon. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”

Vizsla didn’t respond, but I felt his mood darken. “Do you know what we’re called in Mandalorian?”

“Kyr’tsad,” I responded immediately, the blade raising slowly to be held in both my hands.

“You learn fast. Let’s see how fast,” he said with a smirk. “Prove to me your worth.”

“I already said I wouldn’t do tha-” I started before he lunged at me. Not thinking, I merely dodged instead of trying to use the Darksaber. I composed myself again, having gotten into some scuffs in my varying street jobs as a child. My legs spread and my knees bent to give myself a better stance, the blade rising to be gripped by both hands beside my head.

Vizsla was upright, examining me. “Good stance. Weak, though.” He ducked swiftly, his heel whipping around to sweep out my ankle. My tired, sore, and malnourished body fell easily to his hit, the blade disengaging and falling with me. “Pleasure slave,” he spit.

I growled, gritting my teeth and scooping up the blade again. I raced towards Vizsla angrily, the blade igniting again as I let out an enraged scream. I couldn’t think of anything but how I wanted him dead. I swung wildly, feeling the Force ripple around me and guide the blade. Vizsla ducked, but barely, his striking blue eyes expressing his surprise. His mouth curled in the slightest of smiles as I rounded again, the hilt growing hot in my hand, my anger channeling into it.

Vizsla caught my wrist on the next swing, but wasn’t expecting my angry cry and a kick to the chest. In my rage, something dark inside of me woke up. It urged me to kill him. To kill everyone in the camp. To torture those that had dared to touch me. To defile me.

I agreed with the whispering voice in my head, swinging with wild abandon at the leader of Death Watch. He ducked and dodged all of my attacks, but even his cool facade couldn’t mask the slight worry blooming in his hard stare. My rage was even surprising to me, in those moments.

He leapt over my next swing, using his jetpack to give him an extra boost.

We were both pretty shocked when I didn’t turn with him, swinging the blade behind me deftly to strike the rocket pack as he landed. He rolled away, discarding the damaged pack as it sizzled and smarted.

I looked at him over my shoulder, the blade hot in my hands. It begged for more blood...its insatiable lust for death. I sensed that somewhere deep down, that wasn’t it’s true nature. But it had seen so much...killed so many.

Vizsla was angry now. Any amusement he’d taken in our little altercation drifted away with the next chilled breeze through the encampment. In addition, the sound of the blade hitting the pack was loud--it drew attention. Other members of Death Watch were beginning to appear, watching carefully from behind their masks.

They likely knew it wasn’t a challenge. Still...a young pleasure slave was holding her own against their grown leader--a warrior with an impeccable record.

Vizsla wasn’t about to let our little show go on any longer.

My rage was tapering off, being replaced by fear. I couldn’t take all of them, even if I could down Vizsla. I wasn’t a Mandalorian, nor had I challenged him. If I defeated him--or stars forbid, killed him--I would be given no honor. No reward.

They’d just kill the child who murdered their leader...before spitting on his cowardly corpse.

That thought alone almost stirred me to continue fighting and kill him. Knowing that his name would be forgotten due to his defeat.

But then he drew his pistols and fired. My nerves came to life in a string of fire across my skin. My arms titled, somehow using the blade to deflect the shots. That was certainly surprising to everyone present.

Vizsla charged, still firing. I ducked below his shots, sweeping the blade at his legs. He dove over my attack, landing a hard kick to my right hip. I fell forward harshly, the Darksaber disengaging so it didn’t slice me in half.

When my fatigued and malnourished body found its back, Vizsla was standing over me, holstering his pistols. In a last-ditch effort filled with anger and desperation, I swung my legs up so I was on my knees, ignited the blade, and thrust forward.

He twisted around my attack, grabbing my wrist and wrenching my arm sideways. I screamed, ready to drop the blade, but his gloved fingers wrapped around my own, forcing me to keep it in my grasp. His other hand came up to close around my throat, my free fingers clawing at the gaps in his armor desperately.

His face was close to mine, his usually kept hair falling into his angry eyes. The Darksaber was between us, the man pushing it towards my face, his mouth curled into a sneer.

“Are you going to beg?” he growled as the black blade came closer to the skin of my left cheek, making it burn.

I winced, but forced myself to return his hard gaze. Through my terror, I gathered saliva in my mouth before spitting it into his face. He grew very still, my spit sitting on his cheekbone. If it were possible, his blue eyes got even colder, his jaw tensing.

I still pushed hopelessly in his grip, trying to free either the Darksaber or my throat. Preferably both.

And then he moved.

It was sudden, taking me by surprise and knocking me over. The hand on my throat pushed me back so I was arching backwards, struggling to keep my legs beneath me to offer some form of leverage.

He growled through clenched teeth, the first around the Darksaber pushing it closer to my cheek. “You have courage, slave,” he hissed. “But you are nothing to me. And you’ll remember this day for the rest of your life.”

The blade kissed the skin of my cheekbone, my eyes squinting shut against the burn, my voice crying out as best as it could with the hand clamped around my neck.

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

“Your emotions betray you, girl,” Dooku said in a small grunt. Our lightsabers were interlocked, pushing against the other.

When had we started fighting?

I remembered the whole fight until that moment as if it was a blur. The way my feet danced and circled as if they were trained to do that. The heavy force of his blade crashing against mine. But I’d been so immersed in my terrible memory, I’d barely noticed.

“You’re unfocused,” Dooku continued, giving my blade a hard shove and separating us to pace sideways. “Unbalanced.”

I didn’t answer, despite knowing he was right. More memories started to spring up in my mind.

Flashes of my time with the Zygerrians. Mines and the flashes of wips. The auction, where a crowd of thousands roared bids for different slaves. The feel of the Death Watch warrior’s blade as it raked down the side of my face. The way his scarred skin felt too hot when he pushed it against me.

But most of all...pain. Anger. Fear.

“Don’t listen to him, Kida,” Anakin yelled from his restraints. “He’s trying to distract you!” I breathed deeply, listening to Skywalker’s voice. Focusing on his energy. His connection to the Force pulsed like a steady heartbeat. Sure. Firm. Strong.

Dooku was guiding my thoughts. Trying to get into my mind to deter me. I pushed back mentally, a brief look of surprise crossing his features as I put a wall around my thoughts, blocking him as I had to Obi-wan.

“Stay out of my head,” I growled. My fingers curled around the hilt of the lightsaber, lifting it to my side in a ready stance. I remembered what Vizsla had said, all those years ago.

“Good stance. Weak, though.”

I wasn’t weak anymore. I steadied myself, like I did before taking a shot with a sniper. It was like I could see Dooku’s moves before he made them. It was easy to sidestep his next attack, parrying my blue blade against his.

I thought back to how Vizsla had fought me. Mandalorian warriors were well versed in fighting jedi. They were jedi killers, with tools made specifically to counter the abilities of the Force.

My memories, though filled with darkness, were tools to teach.

I ducked Dooku’s next attack, stepping back easily. My feet followed the path Vizsla had when he avoided my attacks, my body following with ease.

Dooku got angry, thrusting out his hand and sending me flying backwards into one of the metal pillars that climbed the arching wall. My body protested the abuse as I crumpled to the floor, Obi-wan’s lightsaber falling beside me.

“You are weak, girl,” Dooku chuckled, sending lightning flying from his fingertips. I rolled to the side, scooping up the lightsaber and igniting it in time to deflect the onslaught. Still, it pushed against me as any force would, shoving me back into the wall.

“Leave her alone,” Obi-wan tried again, but his body was far too weak. Across the room, the clones were regaining consciousness, only to see me locked in a lightsaber battle with a sith lord.

I guess more than Cody and Rex would know now. My secret was out entirely.

What would the Jedi Council do now?

Dooku stopped his lightning, detecting my train of thought shifting. I slumped, the exertion in the Force taking its toll on me. I could fight physical battles, as I was trained to do. But using the Force like I was?

It was a new form of fighting that I was only just scraping the surface of. My stamina was complete osik.

“You’re afraid. Afraid of what the Council will do with you. Afraid of what your friends will think.” He sneered the word ‘friends’ like it was sour on his tongue. His blade fell to his side as he paced, looking between the clones and jedi that were sprawled around him. “The jedi cannot be trusted. They will fear you, girl.”

He sounded so sure of himself. A part of me believed him.

“Do you hear the darkness calling to you?” he asked, his expression stern. Yet, his voice was somehow softer. Not gentle, per say, but not as booming. I felt him nudging at the wall that I’d built around my mind. Still, I’m sure he could feel the same darkness I was feeling in the room.

But that darkness was him...right?

“You do,” he reasoned, glancing at Obi-wan, who was looking at me with wide, worried eyes. “Kenobi already knows this. I feel his concern. I’m sure he told you that he trusts you, yes?”

My eyes darted back to him at his words as I slowly found my feet again, Obi-wan’s blue saber held loosely at my side.

Dooku chuckled. “Yes, I know he has. You don’t believe that, do you? Bringing you into the Republic was only a means to keep an eye on a threat that they could use. You were useful. But now you’ll be too powerful. You’re beyond control, aren’t you, girl? You hear the darkness. It calls to you, even now.”

“Stop it,” I whispered, curling my hand around the hilt of my saber.

“Don’t deny it,” Dooku pushed. He wasn’t attacking me. He was baiting me. Trying to get a reaction from me. It was working. “You’ve felt this power inside you, but suppressed it out of fear. You’re not the one who should be afraid. They are.” He gestured to the jedi. “You see things for how they truly are. You see how the jedi are flawed.”

That wasn’t a conclusion I’d come to yet. I’d hesitated at some of their customs, sure...but who was I to judge an entire religion?

“Their fate is not mine to decide,” I tried, pulling the blade up to a defensive position before me, hoping Dooku would attack. Fighting was better than this talk of temptation. Anything was.

“But it can be,” Dooku smirked, lifting his hand. He pointed it at me and I prepared to block more lightning. But he turned at the last moment, electrifying the clones who were struggling to find their feet. They screamed, their fear rising in my mind like a tidal wave. Through the cries, I heard Rex whisper my name. Was it a plea? Or a goodbye?

Peace is a lie.

“No!” I screamed, throwing my lightsaber at Dooku. He deflected it, but the attack on the clones ended as I charged towards the sith lord. Energy burst through my muscles, my strength revitalized with a desperation I couldn’t explain.

There is only passion.

I ignored the hissing voice I’d begun to recognize from my dreams and visions. Something about the voice’s presence though...it gave me power. I sensed it was dark. Qui-Gon had warned me against it.

But I had no training in the Force aside from Obi-wan’s brief discussions of control. I didn’t need control in that moment. Control wouldn’t save my friends.

Power would.

Through passion, the voice hissed in my mind as I rushed towards Dooku with no weapon. I gain strength.

I leapt in the air, my hand flying out to draw Obi-wan’s saber to me. It met my palm obediently, igniting as I crashed down onto Dooku. Our blades collided with a spray of angry sparks, the older man stumbling back slightly. Still, he seemed smug, despite the power shift.

“It calls to you even now,” Dooku chuckled, blocking my next ferocious attacks. “Can you feel the power your anger gives you? You’re angry because I’ve hurt your friends. Because I’ve hurt you. Because I’m right.”

I screamed, slashing as hard as I could to push his blade back before sticking out my hands. It was like a wave rising up from my gut and out through my arms. Dooku was forced backwards, his cape fluttering as he rolled.

Through strength, I gain power.

Something deep inside me screamed that what I was doing was wrong. This power I was tapping into--a well of incredibly abilities--was dark and dangerous. I shouldn’t be doing it. But something drove me. The voice was melodic in my head as it spoke words I could only define as a creed.

I didn’t know what for, but it gave me the ability to win.

Through power, I gain victory. The voice sounded proud. Confident. Strong.

I reached out my other hand, beckoning Anakin’s lightsaber to my free hand. Armed with two blue blades, I advanced on Dooku slowly. Even he looked a little worried right now.

I attacked with a fury I didn’t know I had. I was a good fighter, but I never fought with swords, nonetheless lightsabers, apart from the one time with Vizsla. But they were light in my hand, humming with the Force. The kyber crystals, alive within the sabers, seemed disturbed by my anger. Hurt, even. It put them under immense stress.

“You need a teacher,” Dooku insisted again as we fought. Despite both of my blades, Dooku still parried and fought easily. He was graceful, especially considering his old age.

I backed out of his next attack, trying to keep myself from getting too tired too fast. “I don’t need anything from you,” I huffed, crossing the sabers to catch his blade between mine.

His face got close to mine, his yellowish eyes gleaming over the light of the lightsabers. “Don’t be a slave to the Republic.”

“I’m not a slave to anyone,” I growled, pushing against him to no avail.

“You are,” he insisted darkly, his eyes glinting.

Through victory, the voice started in my mind, the room seeming to darken. The cavern shook slightly again, and this time, I wasn’t the only one who noticed it. Behind Dooku, Obi-wan and Anakin looked up at the ceiling where dust was falling from before sharing a concerned look.

I closed my eyes, desperate. Afraid. Angry. I focused on the voice, letting it inside my mind. My muscles burned with power, my nerves aflame, sensing everything in the room.

When I opened my eyes again, the sureness melted from Dooku’s face. “My chains are broken,” I finished for the voice only I heard. I knew the rest, despite it not whispering it to me. Instead, it planted in my mind. I stopped straining, gaining more strength with our blades interlocked. “The Force shall free me.”

Said Force exploded from my chest, sending Dooku flying past Anakin and over Obi-wan towards the far door. I was aflame with energy, my blood hot in my veins, my eyes wide and searching for blood. I felt like I had when we’d faced members of Death Watch.

I could feel my finger squeezing the trigger to kill Duchess Satine’s traitorous senator friend. It felt...good.

I felt my back straighten, my shoulders curling slightly as I dipped my head to watch Dooku struggle to his feet. “You say I’m afraid?” I asked, my voice suddenly loud in the quiet room. I pointed one of the blue lightsabers at Dooku. “It seems like you’re the only one who’s afraid here.”

My strides were sure. Powerful. I’d never felt so free in my life, even when I was saved from slavery. I felt in control of every factor. I could achieve anything I wanted to. I always knew I had the ability...but now, I knew no one would be able to stop me.

I walked past Obi-wan’s prone form...and nearly fell over my own feet.

I risked a glance down at him, feeling the look he was giving me before actually seeing it. His bright blue eyes were wide. He wasn’t afraid...he was sad. Shocked, maybe. But mostly sad. I stopped in my tracks, the blue blades falling to hand at my sides while I allowed my senses to touch his.

He was scared for me, not of me. I became suddenly aware of how cold the room felt, and how hot my skin felt against the cool air. I was aware of how tense my legs and back were, the muscles coiling and flexing to a point of discomfort. My fingers were curled so tight around the lightsabers, that my knuckles were white beneath my torn up gloves, pins and needles erupting along the skin when I loosened them.

The red in my vision faded away, my mind clearing of the darkness that was accumulating there.

I suddenly felt incredibly tired, as if all my energy had been drained in that moment of immense power. Of immense darkness.

I mentally shoved away the guilt and fear over what had just happened...of what I’d just allowed to happen. I swung one of the blue blades to my left, slicing through the console beneath Skywalker. He was released from his suspension, falling to the ground in a heap. Obi-wan was more or less out of the game--a fact I determined as the clones finally found their feet again, Cody gently touching his general’s shoulder to try and get him up.

I met Rex’s gaze for the briefest of moments. He was afraid. For me. Of me. I stared at him like I was memorizing his features. I was about to face Dooku...without whatever dark power had just given me an advantage. I didn’t know if I’d ever see Rex again.

“Get them out of here,” I commanded to the clones, none of whom seemed to argue with my newly gained authority. I tossed down Anakin’s lightsaber, watching it land near the kneeling jedi. He grabbed it slowly, looking weak, but determined.

I turned towards Dooku again as Rex stopped at his general’s side. The dark lord had found his feet again, looking anxiously between the group that opposed him. As I advanced, however, his face contorted in a sneer.

“Lost your nerve, have you girl?” he asked, igniting his blood red blade again. “Only cowards run from the Dark Side.”

The voice that was buried deep in my moon stirred angrily, but I forced it back into submission. I didn’t understand it, nor the power it gave me. I wasn’t a fool. I wouldn’t use it until I understood all that it could do and how to control it.

“I’m not the one who’s backing towards the door,” I countered, slowing my approach to raise my saber in a defensive hold.

Dooku stopped as if he hadn’t noticed he’d been edging towards an escape, his gaze dark. He didn’t speak, but his swift jab was enough of a response as any. I countered it, but I could already feel that I was moving slower now. My friends were safe, the clones trying to coax the jedi towards the other exit and to where the rest of the squads were holding a position. Where they could escape when reinforcements arrived.

I just had to hold Dooku until then.

I didn’t really think about what I would do. Maybe I’d die. It wasn’t ideal, but it would sure solve a lot of my problems at once. If I somehow survived both Dooku and the eventual likely decimation of the facility, I’d have to escape. The Jedi Council wouldn’t allow me any freedom anymore, knowing what I’d done.

Would they have me killed? Or would they lock me up on Coruscant? Surely they’d know I could find a way to escape...so death?

What was the jedi’s form of punishment anyway?

Or maybe I’d be turned over to the Republic. To the Chancellor. That thought made me shudder slightly, barely dodging Dooku’s next attack.

“You’re weakening, girl,” Dooku growled, crashing his lightsaber against mine. I stumbled back a few paces, lifting my blade again to clash with his. They crossed, searing hot and sparking against my exposed skin.

My mind flashed with the heat of Vizsla’s blade against my cheek. I shoved Dooku off with a hard push, but found no help from the Force. I ducked below his next swing, coming up with my blade aimed at his chest.

Pain erupted across my face, bouncing down my neck, as Dooku’s other hand lifted and shot electricity from his fingers. I was thrown backwards with a scream, crumpling hard on the stone.

Dooku felt confident now, striding forward as I struggled to find Obi-wan’s lightsaber, which had flown from my grasp. I was acutely aware of the clones lifting their weapons, but Anakin, pushing them away and encouraging them to help Obi-wan. But apart from the smallest of hints of where they were in the room, it was hard enough to focus on staying conscious as was.

Dooku was above me now, my eyes finding the fallen lightsaber a few feet away, just out of reach. As the sith raised his red blade, I reached out my hand, willing Obi-wan’s blade to me. And then it flew past me, nearly whacking me in the head as I lost focus from the pain of Dooku burning my shoulder. The red laser sword sizzled when it contacted my skin between armor plates.

“Pity,” Dooku clicked his tongue at me. “I sense great potential in you. Great potential for darkness. But now, you are only an ant...trying to stand in my way.” He lifted his blade and brought it crashing down over me.

I wish I could say that I’d faced the end with some dignity. That I stared Dooku in the eyes as he killed me.

I didn’t. I screamed. I turned my face away in terror, not wanting to see my end coming.

But it never came. I briefly heard the sound of another lightsaber igniting before hearing two crash together, a flurry of sparks falling over me.

When I looked back, Anakin was standing over me, glaring at Dooku, their blades crossed over my prone form. He’d saved my life, despite whatever darkness I’d just unleashed in the room a few moments prior.

With a determined shove, Anakin pulled out of the crosslock and pushed Dooku away with the Force. The jedi looked down at me, his scar somehow looking deeper within his face in his barely concealed anger.

“Help them get Obi-wan out of here.”

“I can help you,” I protested weakly. But we both felt my fear. And my growing weakness. Skywalker gave me a stern look as he stepped away, advancing on Dooku. I resigned myself, forcing my way back to my feet. Skywalker ignited a second blue blade--Obi-wan’s--as he clashed with Dooku, the two fighting with such speed that I could barely keep up.

I knew now...Dooku had been toying with me. I held no real power over him.

You could.

I shook away the dark voice, hurrying over to join the clones as they tried to get Obi-wan out the door. Rex’s golden eyes glanced over me, but I could feel his nerves. He didn’t understand what I’d done. Maybe he couldn’t feel the Force, but I was sure everyone knew something dark had happened.

A cry made me look over my shoulder as Cody and Rex tried to usher us all from the room. Anakin...was losing.

“Kida, don’t,” Rex said under his breath, practically hissing the words. His hand came up and grabbed my right shoulder, making me wince and pull back. He muttered out an apology, but still looked like he wanted to grab me and drag me from the room, any pain he caused me aside.

I watched for a moment as Dooku pushed Skywalker back, the already bruised jedi barely blocking a stream of lightning. The two crashed together again, Dooku gaining the upper hand.

“Don’t, Kida.” The voice was frail, but it was firm. I glanced back at Obi-wan, seeing the jedi held up between Cody and another clone I didn’t know. He was barely awake, not to mention, standing, but his Force presence remained. Stoic. Powerful. Intimidating.

“He needs help,” I argued, feeling some of my anger boil again. He didn’t trust me. Was what Dooku said true? Had Obi-wan ever really trusted me? Ever really believed in me?

Or was it all a ploy to control me?

“I can feel your thoughts, Kida,” Obi-wan said, his voice getting stronger now. “You’ve lost control once already. I won’t allow it to happen again.”

“Anakin could die,” I growled. “Is that what you want?”

“Anakin will--” Obi-wan was cut off as Skywalker yelled, lightning enveloping his body as Dooku threw him backwards. Both lightsabers tumbled from his grasp and skittered across the floor towards us.

I steeled myself in my decision. I yanked away from Rex’s grasping fingers and strode towards the lightsabers. As I scooped them up, Dooku chuckling from his place near his exit, I felt the first blossom of anger from Obi-wan.

“Kida,” he called, barely containing his frustration and fear. “I gave you an order.”

I stood, lightsabers in hand, and looked back at the older jedi. “Don’t try and tell me that I’ll still be allowed in the GAR after all this, Obi-wan.” His blue eyes were pained, but I could feel his acknowledgement of the truth through the Force.

“Kida,” he started, but tapered off to the confused looks of the clones.

I gave him a small smile. “I’m sorry Obi-wan, but I can’t obey your orders this time.”

I turned away from them and walked up to Skywalker, who was struggling to stand. Holding both lightsabers in one hand, I offered my free one to him. He took it, leaning on me for a moment before finding his own footing.

“You could go to prison for this,” he said gently.

“I was in chains for most of my young life, Skywalker,” I responded smoothly, handing him his lightsaber before igniting my own. “I don’t plan on returning to them any time soon.”

To my surprise, he smiled at me and ignited his own blade, joining me as we advanced on the sith lord. Dooku kept up with us easily, considering both Anakin and I each had our own injuries by then. Still, two against one certainly was evening the playing field.

It only got better as Cody and Rex joined the fight. Somewhere behind us, the other clones had removed Obi-wan from the room, getting him to safety. Their commanding officers, however, had elected to not let their other general die.

They rained blaster shots down on the count, giving him one more thing to do. Dooku shot electricity at me, but I blocked it with my blade. Meanwhile, Anakin swiped at the count, who leapt over his attacks.

It seemed like the sith was going to stay and fight--and probably find a way to win--until the entire facility shook. Alarms blared, the lights flashing red.

Attack alarms. The Republic reinforcements had arrived.

It was at that moment that Dooku decided to cut his losses. I felt the energy surge through him before anything happened. I barely held up my blade before electricity burst forward from both of Dooku’s palms. I, along with Anakin and the clones, were slapped with a wall of raw Force power, the four of us flying backwards. I was thrown into the base of the contraption that had once held Anakin, my skull colliding with solid metal.

My vision blurred, my head feeling like it’d been split open. When I groggily touched my hand to the top of my skull, I felt something warm and sticky.

That wasn’t good.

Through my wavering sight, I saw the far door hiss open, Dooku rushing through it and towards a ship. It looked like a type of solar sailer.

“Cyare,” I heard someone whisper, as if it was through water. I tried to turn and look, but nearly fell on my face, my wrists giving out in my sprawled position. Firm arms caught me around my shoulders, making me whimper a rather pathetic noise of pain. “I’ve got you,” Rex muttered to me, his arms encircling my body.

You lost because you didn’t use what you could have. You don’t understand what you are. How to control your abilities.

I tried to shake away the voice, but had no mental power left. I felt drained. Beaten.

“She doesn’t look good, sir,” I heard Rex say to Anakin as he and Cody approached. I realized with a start that I could barely make out their forms with my blurry vision. Spots danced at the edges of my eyes as Anakin came into focus.

“We need to get out of here,” he commanded.

“Dooku,” I managed to mutter. Rex’s hands squeezed me just a little bit tighter.

“Gone,” Anakin sighed. “For now, we need to get out of here before our rescuers bring the place down on top of us.” He seemed mildly amused by that. “Can you stand?”

I think I nodded. Rex helped me to my feet, which was basically him lifting me and setting me on my feet. I wavered slightly, my head pulsing. Rex caught me as I nearly toppled over.

“She’s barely conscious, sir,” Cody expressed, waving his hand at me, his eyes glancing up at the rumbling ceiling as our reinforcements battled outside.

“I’m fine. I can walk,” I said. Or, at least, that’s what I intended to say. It came out in an incredibly slurred grumble, making Cody and Anakin lift their eyebrows in mildly amused concern.

Rex, looking more worried than amused, ducked below me and swiped his forearm behind my knees. My legs buckled, a wine of protest spilling from my lips as his other arm caught my back and hefted me into his arms.

I looked up at the bright lighting fixtures that shook in their casings above us. Rex glanced down at me, his golden eyes the only things in focus amongst my blurring vision. I felt him moving, mildly aware of how it felt like I was floating through the room. Cody and Anakin led us out, the sound of a gunfight meeting my ears.

I tried to fight my own body and keep consciousness, but I was coaxed into the darkness slowly. Despite the hellfire raining down outside and the sounds of fighting just around the corner, I felt safe in Rex’s arms.

“I’ve got you, Cyare,” I heard him whisper as my eyes closed, my head finally falling against his armored shoulder.

I would have been happy with his voice being the last thing I heard before passing out. I would have loved it, even. It would have been peaceful. A reassurance that if I, for some horrible reason, didn’t wake up, my last memory was of someone I--

I cut off that thought as another voice spoke.

You must learn what you are. What you are meant to be. Find me.

I tried to push the voice from my mind. The last thing I wanted to be aware of was Rex. His short breaths as he ran through the halls. The way his fingers curled around my form to keep me safe and in his arms.

The voice didn’t like that.

Moraband. Moraband, it whispered like a mantra until I fell asleep.

Moraband. Moraband. Moraband.

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

MANDO’A

Hu’tuun-- coward (worst possible insult)

Cetar-- kneel in submission (as in licking someone’s boots)

Jetii-- jedi

Kyr’tsad-- Death Watch

Osik-- shit

Cyare-- beloved

11 notes · View notes

dabard · 6 years ago

Text

Immortality Is Wasted On Oneself

It was 1348 and London was in shambles. I had not been here since the time of the Romans and I had sought it out hoping for a final resting place, for a way to die here where the great Republic began to fall. People were sitting in the streets, either dying or already dead, nobles hurried by clutching perfumed cloths to their noses in an attempt to mask the scent and stop the spread of the disease. I was dressed modestly, but people still glanced at me nervously as I walked among the bodies of those that were not long for the grave without a care. My leg caught on something and to my surprise it was not an errant stick or wayward bramble. It was a child. “Water.” The girl croaked, her neck was swollen with the tell-tale lumps of the Black Death yet her grip held firm on my ankle. “Please, water.” For a moment I considered simply walking away, she would die anyway, if not today then in a few years when she took a wrong turn down a dark alley, or sometime after that when age got her. These people can’t help but perish. And yet I didn’t. There was a well nearby and although I was unfit from the apathy of my last few centuries, I hauled a bucket from the local smithy to the waterhole and filled it to the brim. No doubt I looked a fool as I struggled to drag that laden container from one side of the square to the other, but when I reached the girl she surprised me with a genuine, heartfelt smile. “Thank you m’lord.” She coughed, before almost plunging her head into the water and gulping down great amounts. “Woah, wait a moment.” I admonished, much to my own surprise. I pulled her back from the water and gently leaned her against a wall so that she was upright. “You need to drink it slowly, or you’ll just be sick and throw it up everywhere.” “I’m already sick sir.” The girl said, her wry laugh dissolving into another fit of coughs. “Then there’s no sense in making it worse.” Came my stern reproach, cupping some water in my hands and offering it to her. “Drink it slowly this time.” Her name was Emily, and underneath the grime of her days on the street she was a fetching young woman. I helped her first out of pity, but as hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks, I found myself worrying over her eating eating habits, her sleep schedule, whether she was being treated kindly by the other teenagers. When my ministrations brought her from sickness to health I thought my part in things was over, but a realization took that thought from my plans. “Where are your parents Em?” I had asked not long after “Borrowing” a blanket from a royal’s house down the street for her. “Dead.” She had replied simply, avoiding my gaze. “Rats got them. Where are yours?” “Dead.” I replied, already standing as the next half century or so of my life suddenly had a purpose. “Sumerians got them. Why don’t we find somewhere better for you to sleep? There’s plenty of empty houses around, there’s no sense in letting them rot with no one inside.” She was a curious creature, wry and laconic with a good sense of when to leave certain topics alone. We squatted in a house near the Thames for a time, I began working as a doctor to bring in some money so that she wouldn’t starve. Weeks became months and she finally broke the golden rule. “Why don’t you eat?” Emily had asked at the breakfast table, toast and oatmeal in front of her while I read a book on herbs rumored to be cures for the plague. “Can’t afford to feed two people.” I said with a shrug. “But you don’t eat at all.” She pushed, curiosity burning behind her eyes. That wit I admired so much in her now pointed directly at me. “That isn’t normal.” “I suppose it isn’t.” I admitted, resolving to give her at least a partial truth. “I don’t need to eat, I can if I want, but it isn’t necessary. That’s just how I am.” She accepted that with a nod, biting into her toast with a thoughtful expression. “Are you the devil?” I snorted, turning a page in my book. “Even if I was, what makes you think I wouldn’t just lie about it?” Months became years, and Emily grew nervous around me, at first I believed she still suspected me of being the devil, or a demon in some capacity, but that suspicion was dashed when she finally broke her peace while we sat in the living room. “When are you going to do it?” She had blurted, slightly fearful. “Do what?” I had asked gently, afraid of startling her. Tears welled in her eyes and I panicked slightly, worried that somehow I had upset her with some action or lack thereof during our time together. “You know what!” She had accused. “Girls don’t just get given dresses and a house and food and love. Not without something in return.” Realization dawned on me, along with a horror at the implication my new ward was making. “Emily. I’m not going to… To force you to do anything. You aren’t some prisoner or servant here, you aren’t some investment I’ve made. You’re my friend.” Those tears finally broke over her cheeks, relief and guilt mixing in her eyes and spilling down her face. “I am?” I stood, but made no move towards her, simply opening my arms and waiting. She lurched forwards and hugged me tightly, her face buried in my shirt for the longest of moments.

Months became years, and a new person joined our home. Her name was Christine, and her father was a drunkard named Thomas that I had no patience for. When Thomas’s wife had died of consumption the poor girl found out why her mother never went a day without “Falling down”. Emily and Christine were fast friends and often spent the night in Emily’s room gossiping and playing checkers, or so my young friend would have me believe. I hadn’t realized Christine had spent almost a week living in our house until Thomas came to my door. He was a foul tempered brute and the swill he had been drinking didn’t help that fact at all. “Give her ‘ere doctor!” He had yelled, red faced with anger and balled fists at his side. “She ain’t been doing her chores and I’ve had enough of it!” “Tom, you’re making a scene.” I said calmly, glancing up the stairs to find the girls watching. Christine was all but cowering with fear, while Emily gave me a simple, single shake of her head. “I don’t give a fuck what you think of what I’m making!” The drunk bellowed, trying to force his way past me. “CHRISTINE, GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE NOW!” I put my hand on Thomas’s chest and my leg swept behind him as I gave a slight push. The other man went tumbling into the street as I descended my front steps and rolled up my sleeves. “I think she’s perfectly fine where she is thank you Thomas.” “You’re gonna fight me doc?” Slurred the slovenly brute with a laugh before he brought up his fists. “Man like you probably never seen a real fight in your life.” I could describe for you what happened next, but if you had never seen the Visigoths lay siege to Rome, or the Persian invasions of Greece then you’d have no context for how my experiences played a part in the struggle. Needless to say however, that it was not my first or last fight. With Thomas squared away Christine moved into the house permanently, the girls would have liked me to believe they were living in separate rooms but I had visited the Isle of Lesbos and spoken with Sappho herself. They eventually came to realize that I understood their relationship and after years became decades we moved from London to the country, where Christine became my “Wife” and Emily became my “Widowed Sister” so that the girls could get by with relatively little problem. My appearance soon raised further questions with Emily, but at that point she accepted my vague answers with a small smile and a wry joke. It was when we had to move the third time, where Christine became my spinster aunt, and I became Emily’s son that I finally sat down with them and revealed what I was. It went over fairly well, but at that stage they had already accepted my divergence from mainstream humanity. “You’re my friend.” Emily had repeated, over four decades separating my words from hers. “Nothing changes that.” It was 1598 and I had just cleaned Emily and Christine’s grave stones. They seemed at peace beside one another in the churchyard, a fact I found solace in before returning to the task I had set myself. The Irish were trying to throw off the yolk of English oppression and there on the battlefield I put to work the skills I had honed in caring for my two friends throughout their life. I sewed the wounds of an English pikeman that had fallen victim to the claymore of a scottish mercenary. I treated the broken arm of an Irishman that had been separated from his kinsmen and run through with a spear. I shepherded villagers out from their town before the army of Robert Devereux could trample them into the mud. It was 1701 and I was headed for the New World with a ship full of others escaping the Spanish Inquisition, who had began a renewed hunt for those bearing the devil’s touch. Again I tend to the sick, because it has become a habit for me. If only the poor could afford the medicines of rich men. It was 1850 and I was running. We just needed to reach the border, where my Comanche friends would take over, but on our heels was a US Marshal that didn’t take kindly to people who freed slaves. I fired behind with my revolver, missing the Marshal by mere inches and forcing him to pull his horse to the side so that trees would give him cover. We were approaching the site and I could taste the freedom my friends deserved. I stopped in my tracks and waved them on, hoping to keep the Marshall busy while they escaped with the Natives and made their way to Canada. A few bullets weren’t enough to take me down, and it would be worth the reward. It was 1999 and Lana was talking to one of the boom operators. “I don’t know how to do it, I’m just not earning enough to put Casey through school and with my wife’s scoliosis acting up our medical bills are just…” Jack sighed. “It’s all just a little much right now.” “We’ll sort something out.” Lana promised, patting his shoulder. It was 1999 and I was in Lana and Lilly’s office. “You want us to do what?” Lilly asks with a gobsmacked expression. “Donate it all to the crew.” I repeated. “I’ve made enough right now, I can go without another ten million, especially if it means they earn what they’re worth.” “This is just… You don’t really see this happen in Hollywood.” Lana said, shaking her head. “Especially not from someone so young.” “Oh, it’s nothing.” I said, waving it off. “People my age should know better by now.” It was 1999 and a letter had been left in my trailer. Work on the movie had closed down for the last time and I was just going to fetch my laptop. Curiously I opened the letter, the writer had left out their name, but I had a feeling I knew who had left this two word note for me to find. The cursive letters were in an almost completely different language, but they reminded me of a study in London, where I taught a young girl to write. Now, thousands of years and miles apart, I found the same satisfaction in how I ended up spending my immortal life. “Thanks, Keanu.” Read the note.

#writing #keanu reeves #immortality #fic #fic prompt #I've reuploaded so it's easier to find #my writing #LGBT #Matrix #The Plague #Sumeria

23 notes · View notes

from-etihad · 5 years ago

Text

Sa bháisteach

[ The following is a log of a scene involving Hana Yasmin and Eamonn. ]

Rain had fallen over Etihad in the morning, and lasted until early afternoon. The sky cleared enough to let the sun through by that late afternoon, drying the ground, but there was still a cooler breeze through out the day, bringing relief after days of being under a hot, summer sun. Taking advantage of the cool, gentle wind was Hana Yasmin, who was sitting under a large, open tent that was deep red, in the large water garden adjacent to her home. The tent itself, along with the pillows, carpet and floor seats, were red, and a wooden table with fruits and wine sat at the center. Hana was sitting on one of the seats, not wearing her crown, as she did not expect any officials visitors upon that day. She instead wore a jeweled head band that matched the deep magenta gown that she wore. She was alone, with only her guard around keeping watch. When Rama had arrived to take Eamonn to Amon, he took a moment to advise Hana to try to relax as much as she could that day, as the following days would be filled with anxiety and anticipation of war, and he worried about her health, especially since she had just recovered. She tried to and managed to clear her mind for an hour or so, even while it was very hard, but at that moment, she was reading a letter which caused her to feel concerned once again. [d]

The rain had the proceedings of the day arduous and difficult. Eamonn had been ushered into a meeting with the Military Governor, his captains and lieutenants, as well as nobles from the city and other parts of Etihad who had been summoned to lend their support. They had gathered in in a tent of their own inside of the barracks courtyard and held a long council on how to prepare, how to fight and where their rally points should be. Eamonn was concerned throughout the whole ordeal. The army of Etihad was small indeed. She had more men than he'd thought, but far less than he had hoped. The men that it had mustered in such a short time were not eager to leave their homes and fight a foreign enemy they knew nothing about. Eamonn explained as much as he could, suggested as much as he could, but could only meet consensus on few things. He fervently put down the idea that people should be evacuated. The abundance of poorly manned civilian vessels in open water would be like ringing a dinner bell for the raiders. Eamonn told them that they would be sending them into slavery or a watery grave. But the counterargument, or rather the accusation, was that Eamonn would rather see them trapped inside of a city that could be burned. Another was that they would be safe because the raiders could not perform a naval assault while overloaded with slaves and captives. The arguing went on for hours while they planned and at the end of it, while the defending forces would be armed and positioned straight away, and barricades would be built, there was still deep mistrust and enmity for Eamonn. When Rama brought him back to Hana, he entered the tent followed by two handmaids who sat him down and supplied him with a large cup of wine, some fruit and pulled meat. The rain had only just stopped by the sky still thundered, another storm announcing its presence close by. Eamonn drank deeply and stared at the gardens in front of him as the next showers began to drop. [d]

When Eamonn finally returned, she offered him a warm smile, but didn't say anything. He had been gone for many hours, and she figured he would want a few moments of silence. She always did. Whenever she was with her council for hours, discussing, arguing, or both, she made sure to at least give herself a few moments of still silence. If she didn't, her anxiety would keep her on the edge for a long while. With the things going on, anxieties were already at an all time high. So, she let him sit there for a few long minutes, as she quietly read the long, detailed letter that had been delivered that day. Finally, she let out a long sigh, and put the letter aside. A part of her wanted to tell him the contents of the letter, but after a long day of meeting with the military personnel, she didn't wish to cause him further stress. So, she refrained from it, and looked out at the garden as he did instead. "I used to love playing in the rain," She commented quietly, "Vali used to run after me, fretting about my health and trying to get me indoors by mentioning how I'd get sick, but I would run from him, laughing. I got your sister to do it once and she got sick. Your father was furious. " She smiled lightly, remembering how scared she was of Maxim's angry glare. She never tempted Slania into the rain ever again. "I still enjoy the rain, although it rains less often here. It reminds me of my days at home." Despite all the years that went by, she still regarded Doar as 'her home.' [d]

He blinked, looking around the tent before settling on her as if he'd been pulled from a dream or a deep sleep. He hummed as she reminisced, even smiling and nodding his head at the mention of Váli and his father. He was quiet a moment longer before his lips moved. "My father was protective of my sisters, particularly little Slán," He said. "He chased me around our home in Wexford once when I was a boy because I pushed Riley into the creek. She came running home to change, crying and tattling and when my mother and father dried her off and changed her clothes, there were leeches on her upper thighs." He snorted at the memory. "Mother tried to calm him down, but he came outside with a bit of wood to lash me with." He looked at her and his smile softened. "The irony of this story is that it was Fay who spanked me, not him." [d]

She covered her mouth, stiffing back a laugh at the very thought of a younger Eamonn committing such a misdeed. "I've heard of your mischievous days. Riley loved to tell us those stories, you know. If any of our children does that to the other, I'm blaming you." She commented amusingly, standing to pour herself some wine. She sat back down, and nodded. "Oh yes, your eldest sister. My first memory with her was one particular night. Your parents were asleep, I believe, but Katy and I were awake, playing in her mother's room," Katy was a few years older* than Slania and Hana, but still played with them a lot back in Doar, "We heard a noise. We alerted Fay, followed her as she investigated, and it turned out to be Riley sneaking in through a back door. Fay scolded at Riley for hours, but then turned around and made us swear not to tell your mother or father." She raised a brow, before she took a long sip of her drink. She watched the rain once more as she spoke on. "I used to envy Slania for having the three of you. Svein always avoided me when he wasn't scolding me." She shrugged lightly. It was hurtful many years ago, but a long time had passed since then. "The day I set eyes on you as when this one time, Slania fell and scraped her knee while we were playing. You were nearby. You practically ran to her when she began to cry and picked her up effortlessly. I practically melted."She laughed then, looking at him, "Each time you were around after that, my face would turn red and Slania would worry I was getting ill again." [d]

Eamonn smiled, listening as she spoke. It was refreshing to speak Englisc with her, after to go back and forth through Rama all afternoon. The comfort of his native tongue was warm. "Riley had a rebellious streak in her. Still does. Our father wanted respectable, chaste daughters whom he could marry away to good men and good allies. Neither of them liked that." He sighed and drank from his cup. "He turned a blind eye to alot of things they did. He would have rather not known. It kept him from being heartbroken. As much as he loved my mother, her free spirit and independence influenced his children far too much for his liking. King Maxim wanted obedient children." He gave her a sad smile. "Instead, he got us." He tried to laugh, but it just wouldn't come. Eamonn was tired and slightly sad when talking about his father. He was glad when Hana mentioned him and little Slán. He sighed wistfully. "I loved her then," Eamonn said. "So small and innocent... and very curious." He nodded at that, putting a grape into his mouth and chewing slowly. He washed it down with a sip a wine before continuing. "Old man loved her, too. So, so much. Riley was prone to jealousy when Slania grabbed his attention." He blinked, his eyes becoming wet. He wiped them without a thought. "Slania could have done so much for our family. Everyone loved her. Even Svein held her hand and walked her in the fields... we both took her riding when she was old enough to sit on a saddle." He stopped and turned away from her. Eamonn pretended to pour more wine into his cup while trying to control himself. The sudden melancholy that washed over him made him want to cry, but he knew now was not the time for that kind of weakness. Not when all of the armed men in Etihad had their eyes on him.He drew a deep breath and coughed, clearing his throat as he turned back to her with a new cup. He drank deeply again. "I love her now," He said. "Perhaps, when all of this is done, she will learn to love me." [d]

Eamonn mentioning that none of his sisters were 'chaste' made her take a long drink. She was well aware of that, as she knew a secret of the youngest Sargenis sister that proved that correct, something that not even Fay or Riley knew. Slania told Hana anything she felt like she couldn't tell her older siblings. Hana frowned upon seeing how despondent Eamonn began to seem. She stood up briefly to sit closer to him, and once she did, she rested her head on his shoulder. She had no idea what had occurred, but she knew something had happened that involved both Slania and Eamonn, and it clearly was eating away at him. "We kept a very consistent correspondence, your sister and I. From her letters, it was clear as day that she loved you and missed you. I would know when you visited her because she would tell me how happy she was..." She trailed off, confused by his words. She then took his free hand and held it with her own, entangling his fingers with hers. "Eamonn... I don't know what exactly happened, but I know something has. Your sister has stopped writing to me, and every time you bring her up, you look so disheartened... It's worrying me." She slightly tilted her head upwards so she could look at him. "You don't have to tell me now, but I'd like to know what occurred. I hate to see you like this." [d]

"There are many things that I have to answer for," He said simply. "And I think in the months to come, I shall answer for them all. The Wolf shall make me answer for them." He shook his head and stared hazily at the rain soaked garden before them beyond the cover of the tent. The rain also reminded him of home. He frowned. Home, He thought. Where is that? I haven't settled in any one place for years. He rested a hand on hers and squeezed it gently. "Hana, I can only change who I am going forward," He said then with a sudden steely voice. "I cannot change who I have been these long years." He looked at her then, his face serious. "What you learn of me in these next few turns of the moon, I pray you will forgive. I pray you will urge my loved ones to forgive also." He drank deeply from his cup, emptying it completely. "Váli is not the only wolf in the North." He let her go and proceeded to pour more for himself. He was silent thereafter. [d]

Hana accepted his answer with a nod, trusting that with time, she would learn what had occurred. There had been a resistance from fully trusting him years ago, and one of the reasons for that was because he felt like an enigma to her. She felt like she knew him, but at the same time, she felt like she didn't. She always felt like he was holding back things, so she held back in return. But something had shifted. There was a change happening in him. Now, she truly felt like she finally could see who he truly was after he finally opened up to her. When she gave herself in to the love she had for him, trust came along with it, as well as forgiveness. "As you move forward, so do I. I've already forgiven you, Eamonn. If I hadn't, I wouldn't have agreed to become your wife. I wouldn't have given myself heart, body, and soul to you. Even if I do not like what I learn, that's in the past, and I am focusing on us right now in the present. And, I will help you with your family as much as I possibly can." She told him before she grimaced at the mention of Vali, the man she did not want to forgive. "What do you mean? Is there more like him ?" She asked, standing abruptly to pour herself more wine. As time passed on, as they grew closer to facing Vali's ships, just the mention of his name began to stir an anger in her. [d](edited)

You'll learn in time, He thought. He wanted to say it, but chose to say nothing. He picked at a piece of cheese and played with it for a moment before eating it slowly. "Amon wishes to commission what few garrison ships your city has, as well as several merchant ships to ferry civilians off the isle and across the water to Al-Andalus and Paraiso." That word thickened his tongue and made it hard to swallow. He grimaced at the thought of the place; long had Paraiso been a country of enmity with Doar and the Sargenis. Eamonn hoped his presence in Etihad would be overlooked by their prying eyes. "I do not like this plan. Those ships are better served here defending the port. If the port and the beaches fall, the city is exposed." He took another piece of cheese and chewed softly while speaking. "The people are at risk of being overtaken by the raiders on the water. We'll be handing them slaves and ships." He looked to her now, worry on his face. [d]

This made Hana frown, and her eyes went on the letter she had left on the seat. "Amon loathes Paraiso, so if he suggested to send some of our people there and to Al-Andalus, then he probably deems it necessary." She commented, her demeanor now somewhat detached. It was like a switch, where she was open and warm one moment while speaking of personal things with him, but the moment he began to speak of the topic of invasion and warfare, she became reserved. It was part of adapting to the life of a royal leader. "I agree. We do not know when these raiders will come, so we could be sending them at the same time they arrived to our waters, and it could be disastrous. Al-Andalus would be ideal, but the distance..." She grimaced, and took a long drink of her wine, "It's too much of a risk. Paraiso is closer and King Tristian Delacruz is indebted to me, but..." She chuckled, but it was one of bitter amusement, "...I just got a letter from a few friends left in Paraiso. He's about to lose the capital and the country's war has escalated as a result. To send our people there will mean they may die as well." [d]

Fuck Tristian, He almost said. The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, ready for the flyting. But Eamonn made only a shrill 'fff' sound and then lifted his cup to his lips to mask the intent. "There are barricades being raised, spikes and false walls covered in pitch and... well, we're going to try to corral them into one neck with caltrops, pits and sharp stones. With enough archers on the roofs or on the flanks, we can just..." He drifted off then. Eamonn realized what he was thinking and it was truly bloody work. The dead and the dying in their streets, the smoke and the ash. He frowned. "The dead will be numerous," He said flatly. [d]

Had he said that out loud, she would have joined in, because she was thinking it. The man left the capital wide open like an idiot. The more she thought of his incompetence, the more angry she felt. She crossed her arms and went quiet when he spoke of the inevitable. She suddenly felt her anxiety begin to suddenly increase. Her breathing got more rapid, and her eyes darted back and forth, her mind racing. Her stomach began to hurt. She was visibly become affected by his words, by the weight of the upcoming reality, and she seemed to be embracing herself, trying to remain in control. "Then make sure to slaughter the enemy." She said sharply to him, but closed her eyes. She felt like vomiting. "I need to... take a walk." She said slowly, and just turned around, stepping out from the tent and into the rain, walking aimlessly around her garden, trying to keep herself from vomiting the little food she had eaten that day. [d]

"Hana," He said her name gently, watching her leave. His brow furrowed with worry as she stepped out of the tent and into the deluge. The sky cracked with thunder and Eamonn rose from his seat. "Hana, it's raining," He called. "You'll get sick!" He set his cup down and followed her out in weather. The drops beat down on his tied hair and brow making his grimace in discomfort. The air was cool and even gave him a shiver, feeling goosebumps rise on his skin as his clothes became wet and stuck to his skin. "Hana, wait," He said again as he trailed behind her. She moved quickly through the different walkways and rows of plants and flowers, intent on her leaving him behind. Eamonn lost sight of her and began jogging down the aisles, water splashing beneath his feet. She appeared again in his peripherals on the opposite row and Eamonn attempted to stop suddenly which resulted in his slipping and falling into the water. He cursed loudly, now so soaken that he may as well as submerged himself in the sea. He stood up and limped his way around the rows of flowers to finally catch her. Gently, he took her by the arm from behind. "Hana," He said again, pulling her around to face him. [d]

Hana didn't even realize she was walking so fast. Breathing became difficult, and she began to take shallow breaths through her mouth. Her heart was beating so hard, it made her chest ache. Blood was pounding in her ears, making it seem like his voice was further away than it was. She was shaking, but it wasn't just because of the cool air against her wet skin. She was trying desperately to maintain control of her own body, but the thought of so much death and destruction headed their way made it seem impossible. She jumped when he touched her, not even noticing he had finally reached her. When she was turned around, her eyes were wide, her gaze on the ground. Her chin was trembling as she began to cry. "People are doing to die..." She began slowly, her voice strained, "..They have no fault in all of this. They have nothing to do with this. They're going to die and yet again, I can't do a damn thing about it. Just like in Paraiso. I tried to save so many people there, as Tristian told me to, and I couldn't." The more she spoke, the more overwhelmed she sounded. "Both of my mothers died because of me. People got hurt and died around me. It's like I'm a damn curse, and there was nothing I can do about." She finally looked up, making eye contact, the anguish evident in her stare. The moment she looked at him, whatever left there was of a restraint broke away. "I loved him like a father. I honored him every day of my life. I took his name. The worst part of all of this is a part of me still misses him." She laughed bitterly, stepping away from him as she felt like she couldn't catch her breath, evident by her increasingly labored breathing, "And this is what he does?! For a son that is gone?! " Hana raised her voice in pained anger, "He's going to cause so much death here, and he even might kill you... I can't lose you, Eamonn. I can't. I just can't..." She cried, frantic by just the thought of him dying."It doesn't matter than decision I make, it doesn't matter what I do, I've failed. I've failed all of them. I can't protect anyone, and I was a fool for even thinking I could!" Her voice finally broke, her body wracked with heavy sobs. After years of restraining and holding back pain and grief in order to be a strong ruler, she had finally reached her limit. [d]

Eamonn's heart sank seeing her so disconsolate, overwhelmed by the impending doom that lingered somewhere out there on the waves and by the seemingly unending gauntlet of trials and tribulations that had plagued her all her life. While Eamonn found commonality in her struggles, he couldn't quite share the experience; she had been thrust into a position more like his father than he himself. Reluctant, reticent and always timid, Hana instead put the same mask of strength that he had worn his entire reign as King of the Marches in Doar. Now it had begun to crack. He wrapped his arms around her as she cried, only to stare helplessly when she pulled away and wailed her sorrows to the booming sky above them. I've failed, He thought. Not you. But he couldn't say it. There were no words he felt he could say. And perhaps none that were even meant to be said. Eamonn snatched her wrist suddenly, his grip tight. He pulled her fiercely to him and kissed her wildly. He brushed wet hair from her eyes, wiped her running make up from her cheeks and lock their lips together. The rain made their clothes form fitting, her soft curves distinguishable beneath the ruined silks. A strong hand ran down to her waist, around the curve of her buttock and hooked underneath her thigh. He pulled her inward to him and pressed her back against the trunk of a swaying palm. He traced their tongues together in their kisses, parting their lips only to explore her cheek and her neck. He lifted her silks with his hands and found the warmth between her thighs with his fingers. "Hana," He breathed between passionate hums of his lips against her skin. "I will never leave you."(edited)He undid the sash and belt which held his clothes to his waist. Half naked there, beneath that dark rain and swaying tree, he entered her and made love. "Never," He said softly between passions. "Never."

#log

1 note · View note

eternalsshipsandfics · 6 years ago

Text

In Cold Blood: Chapter 3

Summary: The illustrious Kuran family is thrown into disarray when the crown princess disappears under suspicious circumstances. Will she ever be found?

"Shouldn't we have heard from Yuuki by now?" Kaname asked his harried looking father. It had been a fair few days more than the family had expected to hear about Yuuki's safe arrival at the Shizuka estate. Haruka had cited a number of reasons as to why Yuuki may not have arrived yet, or why the letter had not made its way back to the Kuran estate, but even he had a worried edge in his expression.

"I'm sure she's fine, Kaname. She's a capable girl." He had every faith in Yuuki's ability to handle herself. Whilst she was still a young noble, she had proven herself many times, pulling herself out of any number of dangers when she was a child. However, she was even more of a target for rebel factions now that she was older and had more influence.

"She might be capable, father, but she's not invincible." Kaname retorted, addressing his father's internal worries. "Shouldn't we send someone out to check? It's been too long, and it's not like her to forget something like this."

"You're right." Yuuki could put across the image of an airheaded girl when it benefited her, but she was smarter than many gave her credit for. She knew that her family would worry if they didn't hear from her.

"There have been more hunter attacks lately." Rido's calm voice reached their ears. "And as you are aware, our young princess Yuuki is a prime target if they wish to strike at us."

"That's not the only answer." Haruka replied.

"If she was simply injured, we would have heard by now. If not from Yuuki herself, then from one of the servants." He could see the logic of his words sinking in for both Haruka and Kaname, despite the slightly doubtful look he was getting from the younger male. "I think the only conclusion we can reach is that the hunters have taken her."

"How can you be so calm about this, uncle?" Kaname challenged. There wasn't a hint of worry in Rido's voice, and it rubbed him the wrong way. They were supposed to be family.

"Believe me, I'm far from calm. However, I don't believe they will harm her. She's too valuable of a bargaining tool."

"Rido has a point. If she is in captivity. We can't be sure until we have confirmation."

"We need to get confirmation. Send someone out to find her!" Kaname demanded, a dangerous aura surrounding him. He resented his importance in the Kuran estate. If his presence wasn't necessary to the smooth running of the kingdom, he would have left to find Yuuki himself. No matter the potential danger.

"I'll have someone out tonight."

"Tonight? This is your daughter!" His anger and worry were building.

"Please, Kaname. If Rido is correct, she is not in danger yet. I don't think we'll need to worry until we hear something from her abductors." Haruka ran a harassed hand through messy hair. "This is as quickly as I can act, I'm afraid."

"And as you two have said, she is capable. I'm sure she can defend herself for a little while." Rido added, a hand coming up to cover his mouth in an almost thoughtful manner. "The hunters will certainly be punished for their crime."

"We should prepare ourselves for any outcome. Not just a hunter abduction."

"Oh, excuse me. You're quite right."

Kaname took in a deep breath, using a technique he had taught to Yuuki when she was small. He would send out his own men alongside those he was certain his father would send, for extra insurance.

As he left the elder Kuran's in the reception room, he barely registered the worried looking Yori who had overheard the whole exchange.

~Z~

Yuuki shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. The room had been silent for a couple of minutes as both men in front of her silently appraised her. She couldn't read anything in the leader's expressionless eyes, and it was leaving her feeling rather nervous. Just what would he do to her? Was he as savage as she had heard? Did she really have something to fear here?

She sucked in a breath as he finally spoke. His voice was calm and strong, eliciting the feeling of a tranquil lake in her.

"You're looking better."

"Uh…yes." That hadn't been what she expected. What did he want her to say to that?

"How are they treating you?" These were odd questions from a man who was supposed to be her enemy. She could handle the open hostility she had experienced at the hands of the hunter man who had brought her here, but she really didn't know how to respond to this subtle kindness. He was the hunter leader, so he couldn't really care about her wellbeing as a pureblood. Was he feeling her out?

"As well as can be expected." She responded in a guarded tone. The man standing menacingly by Kiryuu's side spoke frostily to his colleague.

"So what are we going to do with her?"

"We'll need to keep her here."

"If we can't give her back, why don't we just get rid of her?"

"And how do you propose we do that? If we harm her, we'll draw even harder retaliation from the vampires."

"This is a lose/ lose situation either way. Why use resources to keep her when we can just kill her?"

"Stop talking about her like she isn't even here!" Yuuki cut in. "I don't care how many hunters you send at me, I won't just let you kill me!"

"We're not going to hurt you." Kiryuu calmly stated. His companion scoffed.

"Yet."

"At all." Kiryuu gave the auburn haired male a stern look. "However, you must understand our situation."

"I won't tell them anything." Yuuki knew that this line was less than meaningless to the two hunters.

"Oh, that's fine then. I guess we should just let you go." She gave the second male a cold glare at his sarcastic response.

"Kaito. Control yourself. We'll discuss this in further detail later." He got another warning look from Kiryuu, before his leader turned to Yuuki. "You know that I can't trust your word. A lot of lives are at stake here."

Yuuki's mind flashed to Yui. As much as she didn't want to remain here, she understood his plight. She got the sense that he'd rather she wasn't here either, but she didn't feel a sense of danger from him like she sensed from the other older hunters.

He stood elegantly, exuding the strength of a tiger on the hunt. Her senses were suddenly on high alert as he approached her. Her sight fixed firmly on the untrustworthy brunet while she honed her focus on Kiryuu.

"You'll only need to worry about him if you try my patience." Yuuki was suddenly reminded that as courteous as this man appeared to be, he was still her enemy. He only needed a reason to put a bullet in her if he wanted to. "Come. I'll take you to your room."

"You make it sound like it'll be pleasant." She finally removed her gaze from the hunter named Kaito, reassured that he wouldn't attack her. At least not while the quietly threatening Kiryuu was around.

He was apparently done talking, just giving her a silent look as he held the door for her. She looked into his eyes for a second, taking in the strong and determined gaze. He had a neutral expression, but there was a cold fire shimmering beneath the calm exterior. She wondered what it would take to set that fire ablaze.

She obediently followed along behind him as they passed through a densely populated area of the colony. She could almost feel the distrust radiating off of the residents, the silence an unnatural accompaniment to the crowd. She was astonished by the variety of people around her. She had assumed that a hunter colony would be primarily made up of capable, strong hunters, but there were men and women of all ages. Some were clearly normal humans, their impartial aura separating them from the hunters.

"There are so many people here…" She muttered to herself. Yui's presence should have alerted her to the possibility. Hell, the fact that she had clearly woken up in a medical bay fit to hold many sick and injured bodies should have told her that.

"Where else would you vampires expect them to go?" His tone was accusatory. She started slightly.

"Are you saying that they're escaped slaves?"

"Not all, but plenty are." He cast her a cold glance over his shoulder. "You see why I can't just let you go?"

She did. A group of hunters was one thing, but slaves who even attempted an escape were treated cruelly before they were, perhaps, executed. The very public torture of these slaves was permitted as a message to others who may attempt the same thing. If she proved herself untrustworthy and brought an army of vampires down on these people, she would be subjecting them to a fate worse than death.

But then, what was he going to do with her? He couldn't just keep her locked up, as the one called Kaito had said.

She couldn't help but feel relieved as the angry glares fell from her body. Her mind kept telling her that she was now alone with quite possibly the most powerful hunter in the world, but she quelled the uneasy feelings that arose with the thought.

"Here we are." She was pulled from her thoughts by his quiet statement. At least there was a door, she thought. It'd feel a lot less like she was in a cell than if she had bars, as the Kuran dungeon had. Stepping around Kiryuu's firm body, she looked around the room that was to be her temporary home. It was small and held the bare minimum, but it didn't feel totally empty. There was a warmth to this room that she couldn't identify.

"Make yourself comfortable."

"Right." And then she was left alone, a soft click letting her know that she was locked in. She sat down on the bed, her thoughts wandering in a million directions at once. So, she was officially a prisoner now. Her captors had no idea what to do with her now that she was conscious and moving. And in that vein, were her companions also conscious and moving? Were they being afforded the same protection that she was? Were they in danger because they weren't important to the vampire sphere?

She didn't think so. While Kiryuu definitely didn't like vampires, he didn't come across as cruel. His first concern had been how she was, despite her very existence being an affront to him. She had seen minor slips in his mask as his ire shone through, however he also didn't appear to be the type to kill without reason. In short, he was the logical type.

Having sufficiently reassured herself of her companions' immediate safety, she let her mind shift to her family. Did they know that she hadn't reached her destination? Were they frantically looking for her? She could imagine Kaname losing his mind with worry. She wished she could let him know that she was alright. He had always been overprotective of his baby sister, often to his own detriment.

Another soft click reached her ears. The door slowly swung open, a small figure emerging from the doorway.

"Yui!" She stated in astonishment as the boy quickly shut the door behind him. He put a finger to his lips in the classic 'shh' motion.

"I'm not allowed to be in here." He whispered, coming closer to Yuuki.

"You shouldn't come if you'll be punished!" She admonished. "They're concerned for your safety, you know!"

Yui waved a hand dismissively. "You're not going to hurt me."

"That's not the point." She smiled softly. "But I am glad you came to see me."

"Yeah. It's hard work being surrounded by angry guys."

"You're not wrong." She giggled. She leant back, gazing at the ceiling. Yui hopped up beside her. A rhythmic rocking motion told her that he was kicking his legs merrily.

"Don't worry about Zero. He'll do the right thing!" He suddenly stated confidently.

"You seem certain of that."

"Yup. Zero seems scary, but he's really nice."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"You'll see!" He grinned a boyish grin at her. She hoped that he was right. A thought struck her, now that she was stuck here indefinitely…

"I want to hear what happened to you after I let you go."

Yui studied her face for a minute, before he settled himself flat on his stomach. Yuuki adjusted herself according to his position.

"Well, what happened was…"

~Z~

As Yui hurried into the woods, he was struck by just how dark it was, despite the searing sun up above. Everything seemed ten times larger now that he wasn't with the kind vampire anymore. Each tree glared down at him, branches blocking out the heat from the sun and reaching for him as he ran for freedom. Every screech in the abnormal darkness sent his heart pounding into his mouth; every scampering footstep leaving him convinced that the vampires had discovered that he was missing.

The feeling of anxiousness only rose as the trees thinned out, and the ominous trees were replaced by ominous buildings. He tightly gripped the pendant around his neck, hoping that what the female vampire had told him was the truth. He kept himself out of sight, his skills at thievery coming in handy. He didn't want anyone here giving information on his whereabouts to the vampires who would be set the task of returning him.

He could feel his heart rate calming. While most of those actively walking around the town were human, there were a few brave vampires who had also ventured outside. They would have noticed his obviously panicked aura by now. Keeping to the shadows, he searched out a secluded spot to rest for a while. His legs were beginning to burn and he was having to focus far too much on bringing his noisy breathing to an acceptable level.

He travelled through a few vampire towns over the following days, stealing just enough to survive and remain beyond the realm of discovery. He was feeling safer and safer as each day passed without incident. Maybe he had gotten away scot free?

With the growing sense of triumph, his confidence grew beyond his means. He was getting bolder in his actions, the risks that he'd be seen growing greater and greater. Finally, a few towns away from the one he had started in, his luck ran out.

As the sun reached its zenith in the sky, Yui decided to make a bold grab off of an apple cart that had trundled into town for the day. He had noticed that some particularly business oriented vampires would bring themselves out to work throughout the day to appeal to the humans wondering about carrying out arbitrary tasks for their masters.

The business vampire's attention apparently taken by an interested customer, Yui made his move. He darted forward and made a wide sweep to take as many apples as he could carry. He was quickly stopped by a powerful grip on his arm.

"I do hope you're intending to pay for that." The vampire glared down at him as he tried to free himself from his grip. His heart stopped as the vampire's glare changed into a cruel smirk. "Oh, you're a street urchin. No one will miss you then."

The humans milling around were nervously ignoring the struggling child in the vampires grasp, lest they brought punishment down upon themselves. Casting a warning glare to any other humans with the bright idea to take from his cart while he was gone, he began to drag the youngster away. Yui began to beg for help, knowing that he wouldn't receive any.

"That necklace can fetch a pretty penny." The vampire taunted. "This is my lucky day."

Having taken Yui to an isolated area where he would be left to his business, he yanked the boys head to the side, exposing his creamy white neck. He let out a panicked scream before the weight of the vampire was suddenly yanked away from him.

He scrambled back against the wall before he opened his eyes. He saw a second male he had not seen before pinning the vampire to the ground. He was holding something to his head.

"You like to prey on children, hmm?" The second male's grip tightened on the vampire's hair. "Unfortunately for you, that's something I can't forgive."

"Who are you? This is none of your business!" The vampire spat angrily as he squirmed.

"You were about to murder a child. This is my business. Don't worry, I'll make sure you never harm a child again."

"What are you-" The vampire's response was cut off by the sharp retort of the gun in his hand. The man's body slumped as the support under him crumbled to dust. He wiped his weapon before getting to his feet and turning to the prone Yui.

He flinched as the man approached, causing him to pause and bring himself down to the child's level. Yui was struck by how angelic the man looked, a soft expression on his face and the vibrant silver hair glinting like gunmetal in the light.

"It's alright. You're safe now."

Yui whimpered softly. He was struggling to hold back the frightened tears that had been threatening to spill since the start of the whole encounter.

"You can cry if you need to. I won't let anything scary happen to you." His voice was soothing, almost like a father talking to his child. Yui threw himself forward at his saviour, burying his face in his chest and letting the tears spill. He felt the safest he had in days as the man's arms enclosed him in a comforting embrace.

As he slowly began to calm down, he felt the man pull away from him. He tightened one little fists grip on the older male's shirt, keeping him close for a bit longer. He watched curiously as the other reached into his pocket, and then extended his hand towards him.

"You must be hungry. Here."

Yui carefully checked over the small packet that he had been handed. It wasn't like anything he had seen before, not that the vampires had had any obligation to feed him more than the necessary amount. He looked up to see a small smile playing across the other's features.

"It's not much, but it should keep you going." Realising that the younger didn't know what to do with the small packet, he gently took it back to prise it open for him.

"Thank you!" The boy sniffed inquisitively at the new food item in his hand, before he took a cautious bite. The new flavour took over his senses, almost drowning him in sugary sweetness. As he took another excited bite, he heard a soft laugh in front of him.

"You like that, huh?" The man took advantage of his newly secured freedom to stand. "I guess you parents aren't around here?"

"I don't have any…"

"I thought so. It's not safe for a human child to be wondering around a vampire town." Yui grabbed at the soft fabric of the man's coat as he turned, fearful that he would leave. After a quick sweep around the area, the man turned back to Yui, mindful of his small hand. "I have somewhere safe we can go, until you get back on your feet."

"Yes please!" Another small smile. An open hand was extended to the child, who eagerly took it.

"My name's Zero. What's yours?"

"Yui."

"It's good to meet you, Yui."

~Z~

"And I've been here ever since. He still sneaks me food if I didn't get enough to eat!"

Yuuki let go of her knees, which she had pulled up to her chin as she had listened to Yui's tale. She couldn't quite believe that the cold and calculating man she had visited was the same kind man who had dropped in to save a scared child. But then, she reminded herself, Yui is a human child.

"I'm sorry… I wish I could have done more to protect you."

"I get it. You would have been punished if you weren't around that night." He beamed up at her. "It's fine, because Zero was there when I needed him!"

She smiled. His affection for his saviour was simply adorable. Both jumped when the cell door was roughly thrown open. Yuuki had been so engrossed in Yui's story telling that she hadn't sensed anyone approaching.

"Yui! Get away from that vampire at once!" The tall male hunter roared.

"She's not as bad as you think she is!" He yelled back before obeying the older man's orders. He gave Yuuki a tentative wave, a gesture she appreciated a lot more than the hostile glare the hunter gave her before he locked her back in.

She sighed softly. They'd probably keep a closer eye on Yui now. She prepared herself to be alone for a while.

~Z~

The next few days all merged together in a tangled mess of boredom and frank idleness. Yuuki wished that there was at least a window for her to look out of, instead of being trapped with only the same four walls to fill her vision. She tried pacing in an effort to stave off her growing anxiety, but it didn't take long for her to feel ridiculous and stop.

She allowed her mind to wander once again to thoughts of her family. How were they doing? Were they looking for her right now? Did they still have hope of her return? She wasn't sure how long she had been left alone in this little room, but she was almost certain a decent amount of time had passed. Her thirst was awakening.

She focused her senses in order to determine how many humans were outside the door, considering knocking the door down and making an effort to escape, as inevitable as her death would be. It would at least be stimulating. She decided against it. Her brother would never forgive her if she put herself in danger.

~Z~

Yuuki traced the crevasses in the ceiling above her for what had to be the thousandth time. She was more and more willing to just fade away as the inactivity slowly drove her mad. She blinked as she heard an angry sounding voice approaching the door. Was someone actually coming to see her?

"I don't care what she is, we are not savages! Honestly, I'm away for five minutes and you forget to take basic care of her?"

There was a mumbled response before the door was flung open.

"No more excuses! Kuran, up, now!" She glanced up at the livid silver-haired man above her. His nose was wrinkled in response to the smell she was certain to be emitting by now. She slowly twisted herself around to stand.

She was surprised when a strong hand helped her to her feet. His grip didn't remain on her for long.

"Is this how you treat all your 'guests'?" She questioned, her voice cracked and strained from her lack of use. Kiryuu threw a glare at the guard standing in the doorway, who visibly shrank away from him.

"I thought they had more manners than this." He looked into her red tinged eyes, the disgust evident in his features. "She's starving. Fetch a blood pack."

The guard was thankful for the excuse to leave his angry leader. Yuuki returned his angry glare with one of her own.

"Come. I'll take you to get clean." He turned his back to her, expecting her to follow. She eagerly did, finally presented with a reason to leave the small room she had been confined to.

"Were you hoping I'd just turn to dust in there?" Yuuki heatedly bit out, keeping close to his powerful strides. She heard him sigh.

"As much as one less vampire in the world would be a good thing, it's not really in our interests to turn you to dust."

"So you would if I wasn't the princess?"

"You certainly wouldn't be here."

"You don't have to talk around it. Just say you'd have killed me!" Her frustration and hunger were boiling over. Kiryuu didn't answer her, instead bringing her to a stop in a secluded area in which a small stream flowed from a medium depth pond throughout the cavern. The water poured down from a small opening in the ceiling, cascading through the small cracks in a pretty pattern.

"Here?" She looked at him nervously. "But it's so open…"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." Was he boasting to her?

"Well, you haven't seen anything on my body before! So uh… could you at least turn around?" She would have much preferred to bathe on her own, but she couldn't blame him for wanting to keep an eye on her after she had been abandoned in his absence.

"You sound confident of that."

"What?" Yuuki squeaked, before attempting to regain her composure. Losing her cool in front of this man probably wasn't a good idea. Especially while she was beginning to eye his rather delicious looking neck. Where was the man he had sent away to get blood? Did he know to come here? She assumed that he would know where Kiryuu would take her, but she didn't know how well she could trust such an assumption.

"I won't let him see you." He said, as if he had read her mind. He had a warning look on his face despite his seemingly friendly banter with her as her eyes wandered once again.

"So only you can see? Perv."

"There's nothing to see." He finally complied with her request, turning his back to her. He had apparently had enough of her nervously playing with the top of her dress. "This area is more isolated than it looks."

"That's good."

"Be a good girl and wash up. Then you can have…dinner."

Yuuki finally began to unbutton her dress, satisfied that Kiryuu wouldn't look. She chose to ignore the repulsed pause in his statement. "Will I be the only one who gets dinner?"

"Your friends are fine. Shinmei only forgot about you."

"I'm not that forgettable…" She muttered, slipping into the surprisingly warm pool. She sighed a little as the cleansing water enveloped her.

"I wouldn't risk forgetting you. Even a young pureblood is a dangerous pureblood."

"Well, aren't you quite the flatterer?" She replied bluntly. He refused to comment, instead casting his lilac gaze around the area like a loyal guard dog protecting its master. She let herself sink lower into the water, allowing it to cover half of her face. After the long days building up an awful layer of dirt, the water felt simply heavenly. Not even the continued presence of the watchful hunter could ruin this moment.

Though she didn't particularly know the man accompanying her, she could trust his survival instinct. She allowed her eyes to slide shut and her head to tilt back a little before she ducked her whole body under for a minute. When she had finished happily cleaning herself up, she was astonished to see a fresh set of clothes lying next to the pond.

"Where did you get these from? And when?" Yuuki was certain he hadn't been holding them when he had brought her here. They were actually quite nice. She had thought there would be the most basic, hideous clothes to change into, just behind the expectation of having no clothes to change into at all.

"That's a secret." He replied unhelpfully.

"Well, thank you."

He glanced over his shoulder into her garnet eyes. "You're ready to go?"

She merely nodded in response, now eager to get the blood that had been promised. Yuuki almost led the way back. Kiryuu spoke, apparently in response to her desperate thirst.

"I'll make sure you're properly taken care of in future."

"That's fine. If you forget me again, you'll just have to give me your blood."

"Don't push your luck."

~Z~

After the hunter's apparent mishap, Yuuki was being personally taken care of by Kiryuu himself. He would come by each day, taking her to bathe and providing her with more stimulating conversations than a one woman room could provide. Whilst she was aware that he was probing her as much as keeping an eye on her, she was grateful for the company.

Yui had either disappeared, or he was being deliberately kept away from her. She restrained herself from asking about him in case it put him in further trouble with his elders.

Eventually, Kiryuu decided that she had earnt herself some extra stimuli. He began to provide her with books and games to keep her quiet, as she had begun to not-so-subtly hint that her enclosure was mind numbingly dull.

When she switched her complaints to the games, and how they were no fun alone, she even got him to play with her once or twice. He never went too far in the friendliness factor, but she had begun to enjoy his company anyway.

She wondered if this was part of his duty. To find out as much as he could from her in order to effectively decipher what was to be done with her. Or whether he could attack. She frequently pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind. There was no use worrying about it. Her father and the others could handle any incoming threats.

"And with that, I am once again the victor!" Yuuki placed her piece triumphantly on the board. Kiryuu scoffed.

"I won't let you win again."

"You're losing to vampire girls now? You've gone soft." A new voice made Yuuki glare lightly. The hunter he had called Kaito was standing in the doorway.

"You have to give them a victory now and then."

"I beat you fair and square!" She caught an irritated look from the newcomer, as though he had expected her to stay quiet. She returned it confidently.

"You have to beat their confidence down, not build it up."

"Vampires or girls?"

"At least Zero can get a girl with confidence." She clapped her hand over her mouth. What was she doing, bantering with these hunters as though they were friends? Kaito apparently agreed with her thought, giving her an icy look.

"On a first name basis, are you? You really have gotten soft." Yuuki silently chided herself. She hadn't even realised that she had called Kiryuu by his first name.

"Stop it, Kaito." Kiryuu stood, casting Yuuki into shadow as his body blocked the flickering flame behind him. She was surprised that he hadn't rebuffed her for her casual use of his name. He spoke to her next.

"You'd better prepare yourself for some hard labour tomorrow. Earn your keep."

Earn her keep? She wasn't here for fun, despite his efforts to make her stay more enjoyable. The look she gave Kiryuu told him everything he needed to know.

"Don't you want to leave this room?"

"I do." She considered the odds of being able to come back into contact with Yui. The child had put all his faith into her, and she had felt a little better when he had come to reassure her in her first few hours. She decided that it was worth it to see him again. "Alright, I'll do whatever you want me to."

#vampire knight #zeki #eternal zeki #radiant zeki #fanfiction #archive #repost

4 notes · View notes

snarkybluechristian · 6 years ago

Text

My OC x Out of Character Yandere Male

Edit: I don’t remember if I submitted this before, but it is worth sharing again.

Chelsea sat on the floor of the dungeon taking pictures of the window leading to the outside with her smart phone. It was rare for her to be locked inside a large spacious castle dungeon, so she took the opportunity to take the best photographs she could.

She looked at the pictures and sighed in frustration. The dungeon was too dark to take any decent photographs until the moon finished rising.

Her phone buzzed. She received some funny text messages from her friend Albina and responded to them with witticisms that she knew didn’t match hers. She got another text message from her father telling her dinner was almost ready. Chelsea responded to him with reassurances that her work would be done soon.

The 18-year-old half Japanese girl had been kidnapped by [insert psycho main character here] and was waiting for him to make up his mind to show up to fulfill his misguided, unoriginal “50 Shades of Gray” fantasies.

She had been chained up in a compromising position, but being really bored and highly competent, she used her mutant powers to escape them. Chelsea could leave whenever she wanted to, but she had a point to make.

“Author, would you please finish your eternal revision of the first fan fic and get to writing your original content soon!” Chelsea yelled at the person writing this parody story. “I’m so sick of being a damsel in distress in almost every story you have with me! It sucks!”

As if on cue, her captor slammed the door open with an over-the-top evil grin. Imagine him to be whatever fictional character you want as long as he’s uncharacteristically evil. He was wearing a scary dark outfit that was all black to match his over-the-top persona and hopefully make up for his one-dimensional personality.

He looked at the spot where she was chained before, and his eyes flashed in panic when he saw the chains cut apart on the ground.

Chelsea scooted herself away quietly so that she was more completely covered in shadow. She was grateful that she was wearing dark clothes for the occasion. She was wearing dark blue jeans, black tennis shoes, a green and brown plaid coat, and a black blouse with a neck line that ended just above her breasts to throw him off guard, of course. Chelsea had been planning this for a while. The brightest thing she wore was the red-beaded necklace her mother made for her.

“I told you not to escape, slave!” her captor said angrily. “Now, you will pay the price!”

He left the door open and started walking around the prison cell to look for any trace of his new plaything.

Chelsea facepalmed. At least, GLaDOS and the dream organization people were smart. It was worse than she thought.

Once he was close enough and had his back turned, Chelsea quickly activated her powers. Hard blue light photons flowed out of her hands to form two large discs. She put one of them on the ground and jumped on top of it. It rose into the air and she quietly flew over her captor’s head. Chelsea then dissolved the disc under her feet and fell on top of him knocking him over immediately onto the ground.

“What the hell?!” he yelled while Chelsea kneeled next to him with her disc still on her arm which she held above his neck. “I’m supposed to be the one doing the torturing!”

“What are you doing right now?” Chelsea asked.

“What?”

“Seriously, what are you doing? Why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean? I’ve kidnapped you, so I can torture you and traumatize you and make you fall in love with me somehow!”

“If you want to hurt me, why would I fall in love with you?”

“No, I’ll turn into a gentleman, you’ll forget all about the abuse, and we’ll be happy ever after!”

Chelsea rolled her eyes.

She then stood up, dissolved her disc, and said, “Please tell me you know what’s wrong with that sentence.”

The frazzled Christian Gray wannabe stood up and said, “You will not be disrespectful to me, slave!”

A whip appeared in his hand out of nowhere and he prepared to strike it at Chelsea, but she created a shield with both her hands and until it surrounded her. Her captor struck at her shield while she yawned in boredom.

“No fair!” the black clad villain yelled while jumping up and down like an upset toddler. “You have superpowers and can fight back!”

“How do you like them apples?” Chelsea asked with a smirk.

“No, this isn’t over!” he yelled extra dramatically. “We can still make this work! Follow me or else!”

“Or else what?” Chelsea asked. “I could kill you right now if I wanted to, and I have established that I can defend myself if you threaten me with anything. I also know for a fact that none of my biological or spiritual family is in any danger. I have literally no reason to go with you. Face it. This whole setup is dumb.”

“No, it’s not!” her captor whined before pulling a maid outfit out of his coat. “Now, for your impetuousness, you have to wear this maid outfit and clean my house!”

Chelsea gagged in disgust and said, “You can’t be serious. The skirt of that dress barely even covers my ass.”

“Put it on now! I’ll watch!”

“How about no?”

Chelsea created a disc and fired it at the outfit immediately splitting it in half.

“No! No! NO!” her captor yelled once again throwing a tantrum like a small child. “It’s all ruined! You messed up everything! You have to make up for it! Come have sex with me!”

“No,” Chelsea said.

“Why not? I haven’t even tortured you! We have to go straight to the happy ending now!”

“There would be nothing happy about that ending I assure you. I’m not doing it, because one, you’re crazy. Two, I’m a Christian. I don’t believe in having sex before marriage.”

“What? You mean you’re a virgin?! That’s ridiculous!”

“Yes, clearly, that is the most ridiculous thing about this whole scenario.”

“Now, you have to have sex with me!”

“No, I don’t! See, that’s your whole problem!”

“What do you mean?”

Chelsea sighed in frustration, created another disc under her feet, sat down on it, and rode it until her light blue eyes were locked with whatever kind of eyes this character has.

“You’re clearly not getting the point, so let me explain it to you,” Chelsea said. “This whole scenario we’re in right now and your whole fantasy in general, is unoriginal and screwed up beyond comprehension.”

“No, it’s not, slave!” he replied acting completely shocked and offended. “This scenario is completely original and completely good!”

“It’s been used in every dime store novel ever made, including in 50 Shades of Gray.”

“Okay, fine, but ladies like this sort of thing. Every woman wants to be dominated by an evil man who turns out to be good.”

“No, they don’t. They might get off on it, but they really don’t.”

“Huh?”

Chelsea sighed as she prepared to give a longer explanation that she wasn’t completely confident would make this guy understand and silently wished Albina was there since she was much more competent at wordplay.

“Look,” Chelsea said. “I believe in the First Amendment and being a member of a disliked faith and disliked race of mutants that society distrusted before it fell apart, I believe in tolerance. Live and let live, you know?”

“What? Society fell apart?” he asked in shock.

“It did in my dimension. You mean you haven’t read InGodzHandz’s 330,000-word Portal fan fiction story that’s in a perpetual state of revision? And whose characters will eventually be in a separate fiction series? You monster!”

When he didn’t reply, she knew her sarcasm had fallen flat again.

“I was kidding,” Chelsea said. “But seriously, check out Portal 3. It’s long af, but it’s a great story. Anyways, ADHD is getting me off track again. That’s not the point. The point is that people have the right to tell whatever kind of story they want, but that doesn’t mean they should.”

“What?”

“People are influenced by the stories they read. That’s why in the Bible Paul makes a point of telling the Philippians and us to make sure they’re only putting true, noble, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy things in their minds. The stories you read influence your view of reality, and even if between believer and non-believer these beliefs about the right way to view reality vary, we can still agree that there are certain ideas we should be perpetuating and ideas we should be discouraging.”

“You say a lot of big words for a teenager. I like intelligence in a slave.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes and continued, “Your idea here in this story that women should fall in love with a man who abuses them is wrong and people need to stop pushing it.”

“It’s just harmless fun…” he complained.

“It is not harmless. Men and women have been guilty of abuse in romantic relationships since the fall of man. Bad ideas like these have consequences and victims, especially when they’re on the Internet. Any impressionable young person could read this and think this is a desirable relationship to be in or that this is a good way to go about romance. The abusers will think they’re doing nothing wrong in forcing people to do what they want, and the victims will endure abuse thinking the person will change or that they deserve it when tragically they could die as thousands of people do from this every year all over the world. I don’t believe in censorship. I never have, but people need to start pushing better ideas or people will continue to abuse or be victimized. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, but you’re being quite preachy. Aren’t you?”

“I’m too outspoken for my own good,” Chelsea with a proud smile. “It’s because I’m passionate about this. Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“No, there isn’t,” he said. “Since I listened to you, will you have sex with me now?”

Chelsea’s face fell in exasperation.

“Okay, that’s it,” Chelsea said. “You’re never allowed to have sex again. If you ever do, I’m gonna come back here and cut off whatever you use to reproduce.”

“You can’t do that!” he yelled.

Chelsea created two more discs in her hand and said, “I can cut through chains. You think your dick is that much stronger?”

Her captor screamed and ran away. Chelsea dissolved the discs in her hands, pulled out her phone, and took some artsy photos of the dungeon in the moonlight. When she was done, Chelsea used Elizabeth’s tear opening powers from “Bioshock Infinite” to go back to her own dimension.

#parody #fanfictiontropes

1 note · View note

cedarmoons · 7 years ago

Text

a little gift for @buttsonthebeach, inspired by our convos of our respective inquisitors as companions! ft. her ellana as the solasmancer quiz and ariala as the hyper-dalish companion. hope i did her justice, babe!! 😘

Ariala doesn’t know what to think when she hears that Ellana and Solas have gone off to Crestwood together. She isn’t blind—she’d seen the looks they shared over the campfire, and had sometimes overheard, ahem, their nightly activities—but to her knowledge they’ve never gone off alone before.

The Iron Bull just shrugs when she asks about it. “It’s probably a date,” he says. “They do it all the time.”

So she frowns, and accepts it, and goes about her daily life—archery contests with Sera (that Sera always wins, somehow, much to Ariala’s chagrin and confusion), and pranks, and laughing with the Chargers over an ale or five at night.

Until Ellana returns, alone, with no evidence of her lover in sight. Ariala’s sitting on the tavern rooftop, one floor above Sera’s own little space, when she sees Ellana’s horse ride through the gate. Ariala grins to herself, swinging around and climbing through her window, landing on the bed that’s been shoved underneath it. But by the time she reaches the stables, Ellana is gone, her horse in the hands of a stableboy who only shrugs when Ariala asks about her. And Ellana remains just as elusive throughout the day.

Josephine finds her that night at dinner, and draws her aside. “Mistress Ariala, I’d advise that you do not ask the Inquisitor of her time in Crestwood,” she says. “It may be… an unpleasant topic for her.”

Ariala’s eyebrows go up. “Why?” she asks, but Josephine only shakes her head and leaves her to go talk to Dorian, who looks equally confused when Josephine leaves him. Ariala drums her fingers on the table, no longer interested in the food on her plate, and leaves dinner with her food only half-eaten. She checks the rotunda, but Solas still isn’t back, and Ellana isn’t in the library. So she goes to the only place she can still think of: Ellana’s quarters.

She knocks on the door and, upon receiving no answer, jiggles at the doorknob only to find it unlocked. She steps through, closing the door quietly behind her, and walks up the stairs, uncertain as to what she’ll find.

Ellana is behind her desk, reading paperwork, a half-empty decanter of wine within easy reach. She does not look up at Ariala stops at the top of the stairs, and Ariala leans on the staircase banister, taking in everything. It’s a cold room, and large—far too large for her, she thinks, and too gray. There’s an enormous Orlesian bed at the far end of the room. Inquisition glass. No Dalish patterns, or fabrics, or tapestries. Nothing to denote their shared heritage.

Ariala frowns, slightly, and straightens. “Ellana,” she says. “Are you all right? I haven’t seen you all day.”

Ellana puts down the piece of paper she’s reading, sighs, and lifts her head. Ariala stops halfway to the desk, unable to keep herself from gaping. Ellana’s face, her friend’s face, is bare as a child’s, free of June’s pattern. She looks naked. Exposed. Not like herself.

“Your vallaslin is gone,” she says.

“Oh, really?” Ellana asks, eyes narrowing. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Your vallaslin is gone,” Ariala repeats, voice harder than before. “What happened? Why is it gone?”

“Why don’t you ask Solas?” Ellana asks, looking back down at her paperwork. Ariala strides forward and slams her hands on the desk, leaning forward. Ellana doesn’t startle, only meets her gaze, expression tight with annoyance.

“I’m not asking Solas, Ellana, I’m asking you. Why is your vallaslin gone?”

Ellana’s shoulders slump, as if all anger has suddenly been drained away. But Ariala doesn’t relax—a strange feeling, a mix of anger and betrayal, is hot inside her chest, expanding until her chest is tight and she feels like she can’t breathe. “I let Solas take them,” Ellana says, quietly, meeting Ariala’s gaze. Her chin lifts, as if daring her to say something, and Ariala takes a few moments to find her voice, to attempt to calm the rising tide of anger, bitter in the back of her throat.

“You let him… take your markings,” Ariala repeats, and her voice sounds too distant to her ears. “You let him take the most important part of our culture from you. As if it was a ring you could just slip off your finger.”

Ellana winces. “It wasn’t like that,” she says. “I—”

“He has mocked our people,” Ariala says, interrupting her, “denigrated them and disrespected them, and you let him—you let him—how could you let him take that from you?”

“It was my choice!” Ellana insists, standing. “You don’t understand, Ariala, he told me that the vallaslin—”

“He told you what? Let me guess, the Dalish invented vallaslin, and it was never something that actually existed in the time of Arlathan? Or, no, were they makeup for Elvhenan’s actors, only used to portray the gods in their little operas in their pretty floating castles? By the gods, Ellana, what were you thinking?”

“They were slave markings!” Ellana says, voice raising. Ariala’s mouth snaps shut. Ellana takes a breath, her hands clenching into fists at her sides before she relaxes them. “They were slave markings. Nobles used vallaslin on their slaves, to show which god they served.”

Ariala pulls back, dropping her hands to her sides. “And you believed him,” she says, letting out a low, bitter laugh. Her stomach feels like it’s sitting at her feet, and her hands are shaking. “You believed him? Did you even ask for proof, or were his fucking Fade stories enough for you? Tell me, Ellana, if I told you I’d seen ancient elves do nothing but wear daisy crowns and prance naked in the moonlight for three thousand years in the Fade would you believe me, too? Did he even give you a choice?”

“Of course he gave me a choice,” Ellana snaps. “And I chose—”

“To abandon your people! Our people!” Ariala shouts back. “That’s what you chose. Let me guess, he looked at you with his puppy eyes, right? ‘Oh, vhenan, I hate the Dalish and I hate your vallaslin so if I tell you this total bullshit will you give it all up for me’? Did you even think before letting him do that?”

Ellana swallows, looking oddly stricken. It does not take Ariala long to piece it together.

“You didn’t,” she says, and Ellana’s silence is confirmation enough. Ariala laughs, lowly. “You just did it. He snapped his fingers, and you asked him how high you should jump. By Mythal, Ellana, I don’t—”

“You weren’t there,” Ellana replies, steel in her voice. “You don’t get to judge me.”

“Oh, I absolutely do—”

“No. You don’t.” Ellana inhales, her breath shaky, and rounds the desk, coming face-to-face with Ariala. “Your grandmother’s your Keeper. You don’t know what it was like, to have parents whose loyalty to the clan was constantly questioned because they were city-elves. You don’t know what it’s like to be regarded as an outsider despite being born into the clan, or to be called a flat ear as some sick joke by your own clanmates. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like an outsider to both worlds. You can’t. Solas—I can’t explain it, but I never felt that way with him. So don’t fucking judge me based on your own half-assed assumptions when you don’t even know what happened. Some choices are bigger than the Dalish.”

Ariala crosses her arms, rolling her eyes. Before she can speak, Ellana holds up a hand and continues, sounding exhausted. “You’ve seen the Temple of Mythal. You were there with me, and I know you’re not an idiot, Ariala. Is it really so hard to believe he’s telling the truth?”

Ariala looks away. “Even if he was,” she says, very quietly, “and that is a big fucking if, that’s not what they are anymore. They’re symbols of our adulthood, our accomplishments, our willingness to face pain and emerge stronger for it. We are the last of Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.” She looks up, meeting Ellana’s gaze. Her voice, while strained, is calmer, and by some miracle she manages to keep herself from shouting. “You gave him exactly what he wanted. You didn’t choose to give up slave marks, Ellana, you chose to give up being Dalish. You chose to abandon our people for a man who never would have done the same for you, and apparently doesn’t even love you enough to stay with you.”

Ellana’s jaw clenches—the only warning she gets before, suddenly, Ellana’s fist is in her face. Ariala’s head snaps back and she staggers, tripping over her feet and falling to the floor, her eye pulsing in pain. She hears Ellana suck in a gasp above her, but Ariala keeps her gaze on the stone under her scratched palms as she lifts her hand, gently pressing down on her right eye. It’s sore, tender, and already she can tell it’s going to bruise. Gods, that’ll be painful.

“Lethallan—” Ellana says, kneeling beside her. She touches Ariala’s shoulder and Ariala jerks away.

“Don’t touch me,” she snarls. Ellana shrinks away, stricken, eyes wide and glossy. Ariala scrambles to her feet, heart racing, wincing as the pain increases to a throbbing ache. She regards the Inquisitor through narrowed eyes, taking a step back, her anger dark under her breast bone, all-consuming. “You are not my kin, Inquisitor. I will not be kin to someone who would willfully abandon our people. Never.” She sniffs, fighting tears—an involuntary reaction to the pain. Nothing else. Nothing else. “You… I can’t even look at you.” The insult slips from her mouth carelessly, thoughtlessly. “Harellan.”

The moment she says it, she regrets it. It’s too cruel, and she wishes she could take it back, but she lets the curse hang in the air between them, heavy and unable to be taken back. Ellana’s breath hitches, her expression twisting up—an expression Ariala cannot decipher, until Ellana blinks and tears run down her cheeks. Ariala swallows hard, her hands curling into fists at her sides.

“I’m never enough for people like you,” she gasps, leaning against her desk for support. “Or for him. Or for this fucking Inquisition.” She sniffles, wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist, and sheds no more tears. She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. “Please leave.”

Once, Ariala might’ve offered to take her to the tavern, told her stories to cheer her up, make her laugh. But Ellana is bare-faced, like a child, and the betrayal of it is a cold weight in her chest. Ariala swallows hard and turns on her heel, walking out of the Inquisitor’s rooms without another word.

Over the next few days, her black eye darkens until it’s a ring of mottled reds and purples and browns. Some part of her is impressed—Ellana had always been a good fighter, and she’d always had a mean left hook. But it still hurts, and every time she looks at it she remembers their fight. No one’s asked how she got it, but she can’t shake the feeling that someone—Varric, or Cole, at the very least—already knows.

She takes the long route to the library, surreptitiously searching for those old fairytales she could use for writing practice, when she glances over the balcony and sees Solas standing at his desk. She doesn’t even think before she acts—she slides the book back into its place on the shelf and trudges down the stairs.

“Hey. Solas.”

Solas stiffens at the sound of her voice and looks up, his eyes widening when he sees her black eye. “Mistress Ariala. What can I—what happened to your eye?”

“Ellana happened,” she says. “We had a fight. Honestly, I made her cry, so I think she got the worse end of the deal.”

At once, his surprise is gone, replaced with a fierce, protective anger. “What?” he asks, straightening, his voice low and dangerous, the corners of his eyes tight. “What did you say to her?”

“Don’t act like you care anymore,” she sneers, crossing her arms. Solas sucks in a breath, his expression dark with fury, and Ariala shakes her head, speaking before he can even get a word in. “If you really cared, you wouldn’t have made her choose between her people and her love for you.”

At once, he deflates, something old and weary flickering over his expression. He turns away, returning to his desk and sitting in his chair. He opens a book, but only pretends to read. Ariala doesn’t move. “She was way too good for you,” she finally says.

It’s true—Ellana is a good person, compassionate and funny and always willing to listen, all that and more. She’s everything Ariala wishes she was. Even thinking about their fight leaves her with a terrible sinking feeling, but she is too proud to seek her out and apologize. And, she suspects, Solas is too proud to make things right between them.

She watches Solas’s shoulders slump, and he closes his eyes. “I know,” he says. “I know.”

Ariala watches him for a little while longer, then turns on her heel and leaves him alone in the library.

#solavellan #buttsonthebeach #MMM imagine the dynamic of having a dalish companion and solas??#instead of solas n sera or w/e lmao #F O I L S gimme #anyway I hope you like it!#:)))#fic

59 notes · View notes

adriianvl · 7 years ago

Text

eminem vc: guess who’s trash, trash again - alex’s trash, don’t tell a friend becauSE EVERYONE KNOWS AT THIS POINT

➰ ( BRETT DALTON, CISMALE, HE/HIM ) *✧.:°░｡ —- is that ADRIAN VINCENT LANCASTER ?! you know them, right? they are the 314 year old VAMPIRE !! they’re known for being INTELLIGENT & NOBLE - but i’d be careful if i were you because they’re also SELF-LOATHING & RESERVED. i heard they volunteered to be paired with ELIZABETH HENSTRIDGE, CLARK GREGG, MING-NA WEN, ELIZABETH OLSEN, ANY FC.

DEATH / MURDER / SELF-HATE / SELF-HARM TW !!

okaY this is gonna be total garbage but bear with me

pupp(dadd)y vamp, his jaw could cut your soul, looks like he could kill you and could actually kill you but he doesn’t want to

born in 1703′s lancaster, adrian was the eldest son of a duke, quite wealthy and all that jazz

growing up, he had been a young boy who was full of life; he loved to attend events, read books, ride his horse, flirt with ladies -- everyone knew him as the golden child and he genuinely was.

despite all the attention he got - the only person who truly loved him was his mother as his father was quite distant and his siblings would only envy him.

but since nothing ever goes well in wilshire and he’s my character especially, things couldn’t stay all sunshine and rainbows

at a young age, adrian got sick and no doctor could help him. despite his state, he never lost his love for life and humorous side, still trying to make people happy all the time

a very good friend of his ( later, his best friend ) auden offered to turn him into a vampire so he could live. at first he didn’t want to accept it, he wanted to grow old and have children and die naturally, but after a while, when he was about to slip, he accepted the offer only for his mother who was devastated to see her son like that

after he turned, he had no other choice but to leave. he couldn’t go out during the day anymore and even his appearance wasn’t the same. he never wanted to, but a few nights after he turned, he left the family castle for good

for some while, he was good at controlling his lust for blood and tried to feed on only animals, not getting close to the mundanes. despite not being human anymore, he still wanted to keep the humanity in him alive

that was until another vampire and his warlock wife who wanted a slave to their dirty work found him. upon figuring out his only weakness, they captured his mother and bonded her life to theirs, keeping her hostage while making it impossible for him just kill them and get his mother, the only person who loved him for real, back.

without any other choice, he started to work for the couple, doing everything they wanted. ( imagine the winter soldier without the brain-washing ) he has done numerous awful things in his life, which made him slowly but surely hate himself.

that continued for about two and a half centuries and when his agony ended (the warlock died in a fight, which resulted in his mother’s death as well), he wasn’t himself anymore.

that happy and cheerful boy long gone, it was only the shell that remained - the humanity in him was buried deep, deep inside.

even though they stopped doing all those evil things he never wanted to do in the first place, he never stopped hating himself. to the point of hurting himself on purpose.

“i’ve got nothing left to live for, got no reason yet to die.” THIS IS ADRIAN

for a long while now he’s just been existing, doing nothing much

his favorite hobbies include: looking scary to other people so no one gets close to him, being sad with his Emo Bro ( auden, who else??? ), reading ancient books, lurking in the shadows, hating himself.

OKAY I GUESS THAT’S ALL NOW IT’S TIME TO GIVE ME ALL THE PLOTS I’M WAITING

love him

#wilshire:intro #( these voices won't leave me alone: adrian. )#view the tws under read more first !!

13 notes · View notes

cipherr · 7 years ago

Note

3, 7, 8, 10, 16, 24, 32 !! (also i know you aren’t as far along with her but any of these for our girl Kyhilia after Razhie as well if you want !! ;3c )

YASSSS THANK U BLESS U I LOVE U :’DDhmmmm i would do Kyhilia as well but it’s kind of tricky considering we haven’t really gotten a chance to develop her personality or story yet, and also THIS POST IS REALLY LONG AS IT IS LOL (speaking of, we gotta sit down sometime and rly plan out how we want her to be, once we get a little further on in the story :3ccc i know we have some vague ideas but beyond ‘VICIOUS AND MERCILESS’ we haven’t gotten very far LMAO) so i’m thinking once we do that, i will revisit this and make a nice new post just for her :D because i love her already too and SHE DESERVES HER OWN POST TBH

so, i’m gonna answer these for this lovely lady who fought for her own damn survival with tooth and claw and razor-sharp wit, no fancy space magic, and who really just needs a vacation and a raise (please just give her a break oh my god)

(this got SO long and i feel SO bad about it that i’m putting it under a cut LMAO)

3. Do they fit in with their faction or were they sort of born into it?she’s only ever known life in the Empire, in fact she’s not even entirely sure of her own origins herself. her earliest memories are of essentially being kept as an ‘exotic pet’ by some scummy Imperial noble, which was where she spent pretty much her entire childhood up until her late teens. whether she was taken from her native planet Shili or born into the slave trade, she has no idea. regardless, her former owner got himself in a lot of trouble, and that’s how she found Imperial Intelligence; she actually helped the operative who was sent to the estate reach him and kill him :’) so while she was a slave because of the Empire, she was also given the opportunity for freedom through the Empire…in some sick, twisted way, it worked out for her. the irony was, of course, not lost on her during Certain Events That Transpired In Chapter 2 (that you haven’t seen yet lmao but hoooo fuckin boy are you in for a trip)

7. Are they loyal to their faction? this is…INCREDIBLY difficult to answer, and part of why it’s taking me so long to make this post LMAO because this is the one aspect of Razhie’s character that i’ve had to give the most hard thinking into, since all things considered… she really should not be loyal at all. she should never have been in the first place. she was given the opportunity to defect...and didn’t take it. now here i gotta admit it: a lot of this was before i really started getting into Razhie as a character. i just played the game and made whatever decisions that came naturally. i don’t want to change her in-game “canon” history, so she’s going to live with the decisions “she” made, and now i get to come up with justifications for all of them :’D it’s a work in progress, needless to say. and my answer here is subject to change as i figure out even more about her character.

THAT SAID,as an alien, and a former slave at that, she never really had any true love or loyalty to the Empire. however, she learned pretty quickly while growing up that when it comes to the Empire, obedience is the best way to survive…and she’s all about surviving :’) she did place some semblance of trust and loyalty into Imperial Intelligence, because they were the ones who helped her leave behind her old life, and her role as a Cipher agent gave her power–something she’s never had. even as an alien, even not Force-sensitive, Intelligence made her influential. so she’ll play the loyal servant of the Empire and do its dirty work from the shadows, given that her alternatives were much, much worse. so if anything, she was loyal to the work she did. she had a job to do, and she was going to damn well do it. besides, no one ever said she was a good person (at least she certainly didn’t start out that way. she’s had a lot of character development and she’s resorted to more diplomacy, thanks to Vector’s influence over her heart lmao) but as she said to Kaliyo once: “I get to lie, cheat, and murder, legally and for profit”–like it or not, she must play the hand she’s been dealt, and despite all that’s happened to her, she is very good at her work. and of course she comes to learn that there are countless good, innocent, and worthy people in the Empire, and those in power (namely the Sith) just squander them, so she will fight for them as well. after all, for better or worse, the Empire is all she’s ever known.

unfortunately, every time Razhie starts to put in trust, it comes back to betray her. she stayed with Intelligence because at least there, she has some agency of her own… or so she thought, until Watcher X, and the Castellan Restraints, and “keyword: onomatophobia,” and suddenly she’s feeling more trapped and powerless than as her days as a slave. so, when the Black Codex fell into her hands, and she had a choice to make–stay with the new Sith Intelligence, or defect, or ‘disappear’–her sense of self-preservation made it pretty clear. she chose to become a shadow agent and work for herself. but one does not simply stop being ‘loyal’ to the Empire, and one does not simply walk out of Imperial Intelligence, and the last thing she wants is to be hunted down by her own kind. so it turns out that working for herself still led to working in the best interests of the Empire, but at least now she gets to answer to no one. and she’ll take all she can get :’)

what’s more, she absolutely does not like the Sith at all (and you may recall me mentioning once that she has a sister who is a Sith :3c but that’s a post for another time lmao) and very much disagrees with the current form of government that the Empire has (where it’s basically controlled by a bunch of egotistical Sith that are more concerned about power and in-fighting and killing each other and going rogue than actually doing their jobs) so with the disappearance of the Emperor (this is a recent development, and like i said, haven’t done KOTFE or KOTET yet so there are Big Changes Coming lmao) she’s (tl;dr) kind of…holding out for what the Empire could be, a future where those in control are actually reasonable, rational beings, not some unstable Sith… and she’ll do it herself if she damn well has to.

8. How do they feel about the opposite faction?the Republic likes to think of themselves as better than the Empire, and she’s seen firsthand that they are capable of just as much atrocity as the Empire is, they just try to hide it under the guise of being the ‘good guys.’ Razhie knows that war is ugly, and she sees the worst in both sides. her time with the SIS left a bad taste in her mouth, and even after being given the chance to defect, it was a no-brainer in her mind. so basically she doesn’t have the ABSOLUTE BURNING LOATHING for the Republic that many Imperials do, but she has a job to do, and (for the most part, these days) she works in the best interests for the Empire ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ basically, she doesn��t think the Republic is all its cracked up to be. it’s all shades of grey, anyway.

10. What is their specialization class? Was there a reason they picked that discipline?she is a sniper specializing in engineering! she wanted to take full advantage of the technology and (literal) firepower that Intelligence could supply her with, and as she usually finds herself against multiple opponents at a time, it’s a lot easier than just having to rely on her sniper rifle alone :’) she takes every edge she can get tbh

16. What do they do in their spare time?SPARE TIME WHAT’S THAT LMAO honestly i’d imagine she loves nothing more than to lay low on her ship and just decompress whenever she gets the chance, enjoying not being shot at for once. she values her quiet time :’D another big one would be sightseeing…especially since Vector makes multiple sweet comments about seeing new places, going on vacations with the husbug would be quite nice n.n

24. If they could be part of another group, what would it be? You can choice from Old Republic, Expanded Universe, or Cinematic Universe.i’d imagine she’d make a good smuggler! her…special talents in lying, cheating, taking things that don’t belong to her, usually right out from under the person’s nose would just go to waste in any more ‘respectable’ professions :’D but really, given her personality and how much of her life has been built around being an infiltrator and a spy, i can’t really see her doing anything else!

32. Do they have any special skills?basically, all her special skills make her very well suited to being a spy :’D thanks to the training she underwent for Intelligence, she’s adept at using pretty much any kind of weapon you could throw at her. she can talk her way out of just about anything, and shoot her way out of everything else. she has no problems with resorting to seduction (and she’s VERY good at it lmao) and has a talent of figuring out just what is necessary to manipulate a person–their weaknesses, faults, etc–basically on the fly. she can play a situation to turn out exactly how she wants, and if something goes wrong, she improvises. she’s charming, intelligent, manipulative, quick-thinking, and knows about a hundred different ways to kill people–but can de-escalate a situation almost as easily. she didn’t make it this long as a secret agent for no good reason, after all :’D

OK I AM DONE TALKING NOW but yeh thanks so much for asking because it forced me to sit down and really work through more of the roadblocks i’ve been hitting in developing her character, i still have a lot of work left to do but i love her as a character SO MUCH and i’m really excited to see where it all ends up :’D

and if anyone else actually read this whole thing…pat yourself on the back, holy fuck. thanks for caring :’D

#THIS LITERALLY TOOK ME HOURS #I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT LMAO #this is LONG AS FUCK i'm warning y'all now #thank youuuu so much :'D #ask meme #razhie fetale

3 notes · View notes