#POV before and after you have just taken a bite of fresh fish. Why is it bitter

[bonefall]

Me: "Hmmm... I'm not sure if Bright Whisker is looking wolfy enough"

Partner: "It's probably because her muzzle is kind of broad, you should make it more narrow while also making the top of the nose bigger"

Me: (hears the word 'broad' and enters a fugue state, awakening to this when I return to reality)

[justasimptm]

The Bride C17

The voice rings clear and stern, tone filled with rage and disbelief. Heisenberg stands a few feet away, leaning on his hammer, watching Moreau hesitant in front of me. It’s kind of funny to me, watching him panic, it’s like he’s hitting all the stages of grief at the same time. His mouth flaps like a fish, which is even funnier given his ugly other form, but to give him credit, he doesn’t back away. Heisenberg barely twitches a finger, but the knife he was holding flies from his hand, banging loudly on the support beam behind us. I feel both relieved and tense still as he steps closer, knowing I’m not alone but unsure how he’s going to deal with this situation.

“Mother wanted me to do another test! I’m making progress!” Moreau whimpers, matching his steps moving backwards, only stopping when he bumps into his little table and trips, falling to the ground with a nauseating wet slap. Heisenberg doesn’t even look at me, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the dolt that’s trying to skitter away from him. “You should-you should go! Let me finish my work!” Heisenberg scoffs at the effort, twisting his fingers slightly to pull the needle from my arm, letting it ping to the ground before sliding the bucket that had started collecting my blood over to him. It sloshes slightly, and I realise he had already started draining me before I woke up.

“I think, you have plenty. And I also think if you ever try something like this again, I will tell Mother Miranda about your betrayal, because that’s what this is, and she’ll cast you out for it. Let her out of your filth.” He hisses, leaving no room for argument or discussion. Within seconds I feel the sludge holding me up release, which is both a relief and a shock, because without it I feel a million pounds heavier and I tumble forward into Heisenberg, who with all his grace, manages to catch me before I hit the ground.

Without so much as letting the other creature breathe a syllable in reply, Heisenberg turns, and promptly stalks from the mines, resurfacing through the hut before walking us slightly downstream. He sets me down carefully on one of the bigger rocks, letting me adjust myself before fully releasing me and sitting down next to me. Part of me wonders how he found me, but part of me doesn’t want to ask, wanting instead to break down slightly and thank him for saving us again, even after our last encounter had been so cold. I scramble for the words to say to break our silence, even a simple thank you not feeling good enough. My buffering seems to register with him, so he fortunately takes the initiative and speaks first so I don’t have to.

“Do you need blood? He got a lot before I got there.” He asks, eyeing me up and down before looking out at the running water. The concern in his voice shocks me for a split second before I reply, humming thoughtfully as I focus on my body to see if I can get it to wake up. He must’ve really taken a good portion of what I had running through me because even now, out of his slime and out in the light, my body feels like it could drop into a coma at any second.

“I will. Before I go home if I can manage it. Thank you for coming, Lord-” I start, watching him from the corner of my eyes so I can look without staring directly. Before I can finish my miniature praise he cuts me off with the waive of his hand.

“I wasn’t gonna let that Fish Chum kill you. And I’m pretty sure I told you to call me Karl.” He states, turning to face me head on, but keeping his attention low as he shrugs off his jacket and rolls up the sleeve of his shirt. My brows furrow at his movement and I have to force myself away from staring at his now exposed arm and flexing biceps as he moves them. “I know I’m probably not preferred dinner, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get anyone fresher.” He mutters and it suddenly strikes me what he’s planning. Before I could protest, both at the intimacy of it and the idea of drinking from him and hurting  him, he pulled a thin knife from his belt and made a small cut across his arm. Not so deep as to cause much damage, but enough to make his blood sing in the air. “Don’t even think about saying no. Can’t have you dying’ on me yet, Doll. I still gotta make you like me.”

His words barely register on my mind as I reach for him on instinct, he pulls me closer to his side, running his fingers through my pinned hair and letting it fall fully loose from it’s half destroyed bun. It’s interesting as I latch on, not biting really, more like suckling, the conscious part of my brain trying not to cause too much harm. What’s even more interesting is that instead of tensing, like most would under the fang of what could arguably be considered a vampire despite our real creation, he relaxes into me. Sighing as my lips close on his skin and I apply the first light pressure of sucking, not flinching as my tongue swipes over the cut he made, tasting him for the first time.

He tastes like the best treats you could imagine. Like a fresh strawberry, dipped in rich dark chocolate, both sweet and bitter, but a perfect combination of both. He tastes like nothing I’ve had before, something I can only imagine could be compared to having your favorite meal at the end of a long week. My eyelids flutter close at the first drop that I pull into my mouth. Trying so hard not to be greedy, but wanting so desperately to bite and drink until I can’t. I think I hear myself whimper slightly, but I’m quickly soothed by his gentle shushing as he runs his fingers through my hair, scraping slightly along my scalp. The paired sensations of his coarse fingers on my head, his calm voice telling me it’s okay and to take what I need is almost too much to handle.

It makes me not want to stop, even though I know I need to. My body feels alive, humming with strength and more energy than I’ve had in years, and I fight every single nerve I have as I pull my stained lips away from his arm. When he asks me if I’ve had enough I almost laugh. No, I want to say, I need more, I need everything, but I say yes, because I am sated, belly full and happy, warmth flowing back to my fingers and my cheeks. His face is tinged red, just so slightly, a thin layer of sweat along his forehead, and for a split second I’m terrified I took too much. But as smoothly as he had rolled it up, he tugs his sleeve back down, nodding to himself. We sit in silence for another minute, letting both of our breathings steady before trying to return to conversation.

At first our conversation is light, he asks how I ended up in the mines, I ask how he knew I was there. Both of us give half truths, evading what we think will embarrass ourselves, but walking on eggshells grows tiresome fast.

“Are you scared of your mother?” He asks out of the blue, making me choke slightly on the breath I was taking. I can’t stop myself from looking around at who might have heard him, but we’re alone, just as we were when we came down.

“My mother is...a very complicated woman.” I start, treading carefully, but he scoffs at my statement, making me smile lightly. “Maybe a bit more than complicated. She’s always wanted what she thought was best for me. For her, really.” The sadness in my voice sobers him quickly. As I find the next words he gently pulls his glasses off, putting them to the side on his jacket. I started explaining that we were both sick, her and I, but she wanted to be cured, leading into her magical find, the thing that would keep her alive for ages. He knows what I mean without having to say it. “She came home that night different. Physically, mentally. She looked like my mother but she didn’t exactly act like her. I was terrified, if I’m going to be honest. She changed me though, even though I…” I can’t finish that sentence, but I don’t have to, judging by the look on his face he already understands. “It took me a while to accept this, and when I finally did she really wasn’t my mother anymore. She was twisted up, and if I’m going to be honest, yes. I am afraid of her. I think everyone should be, really. She has no remorse for anything she does, wanting only for us all to love her. Me, my sisters, Miranda. That’s the only thing that drives her anymore.” What he asks next sends a spear of shock through my gut.

“So why haven’t you left?”

Why haven’t I left? God, that’s a very good question. I can go outside, I can fend for myself quite easily. So why not? The answer is much harder than anything else I could say.

“Because if I leave, I die.” His mouth drops at the bluntness of my response, and I have to fight to keep my voice steady. “My pendant is burned into my chest. If I try to leave, my mother can break the charm on it that keeps the silver poisoning from spreading, and kill me. I stay with her because I’m sick of dying. I’m sick of living. I’m sick of not having a choice on which I do. So I choose to stay, because it’s the only choice I have.” He doesn’t  have a follow up question, and the silence that was once comfortable now feels suffocating. “Thank you for helping me, Karl. I need to get back now. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”

Without so much as another beat of my heart I swarm, quickly finishing the ascent back up to my home, not reforming until I’m firmly inside the doors.

Heisenberg's POV

When I found her, mounted to the wall like some goddamn experiment, it felt like my entire world stopped moving. She was alive, but the white sheen on her face told me that wouldn’t be the case for very long. I know for a fact that this oaf didn’t ask Miranda if he could do this, so that was my opening, and thank god it worked. I was able to get her out of there before something bad really happened. Out in the sunlight she seems more calm, but she’s still too pale. It strikes me that she needs blood, to replace what he took. I start to scramble mentally, not sure where to find her something to eat, not wanting to leave her to do it.

The thought breezes through my head in a split second. If she needs blood, I think, she can drink mine. Then I think about the parasite infecting my body and I grimace, I doubt she’ll really want that. Still, however, I offer, and a warm tingle goes up my back when she agrees. When she starts mouthing at the cut I made on my arm I fight every fiber of my being to stop myself from shivering. The feeling of her tongue swiping over it, the deep but gentle sucking and the blissed out look on her face is almost too much for me. Almost too much but somehow not nearly enough.

The moment is over almost as soon as it starts. She releases my arm from her hands and pulls back, her breath still ghosting over my skin. I want to tell her she can keep going, just to feel it again, to see her like that, but I know she stopped for a reason so I don’t push it. After steadying our breathing and calming down, I decided to break the silence and try talking to her.

Our conversation is airy, but I can’t stop myself from asking the question I’ve been dying to know the answer to for ages, ‘are you scared of your mother’. When she says yes my blood boils. She tells me how her mother came back fucked up and forced the change onto her. She didn’t want this life either. She tries to keep her voice stable but I can still hear the hints of it shaking. The next question falls from my mouth before I can stop it.

“Why haven’t you left?” I propose. This seems to stump her for a minute, but she pulls her shoulders back and her face droops in resignation. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to answer, but she does before I get a chance.

“Because if I leave, I die.” She tells me, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the throat. She explains how the pendant she has is burned into her body, which explains why I never see it move, and that if she leaves her mother will take the charm off of it and let her die. It’s silver, the same material used to stab her those weeks ago. If I look close enough I can see small back veins around where the pendant sits, evidence that it would kill her. Before I can say anything else she’s gone, whisked back to her tower, far away from me. When she’s gone it feels less warm in the sun, everything somehow dimmer. I’m going to find a way to save her, I think to myself, and nobody will ever hurt her again.

@foggyturtleknightangel @beingviolentlyhappy @inesalexandra1995 @loveboldlywingedangel130

[powerfultenderness]

The Baker’s Daughter

Title: The Baker’s Daughter 

Rating: T

Pairing: TWM/Reader.

Summary: When the Red Paladins make a stop in town you meet their fearsome Weeping Monk. Only, he might not be as fearsome as they say. 

Word count:  2464

Warnings: cliches and fluff. 

Notes: 2nd POV. Female reader. 

[Masterlist]

Red Paladins. The mere sight of them was enough to make you shiver in fear. Although you certainly had nothing to fear from them. You were human and a good and upstanding citizen of the town. Still, the Paladins behavior and attitude evoked a sense of dread that matched their bloody garb. The most frightening of them all was no ordinary paladin. The Weeping Monk. The only red he wore were the tear stains flowing down his face. Well...that’s what they said anyways. You weren’t sure why the man was weeping blood, or even if that was real or just a rumor. Either way, a man who frightened even the other paladins must be fearsome indeed. 

Your father woke every morning well before sunrise to bake, and though you’d sometimes help, your job was to take the goods to the town square to sale. You spotted the red cloaks just an hour after sunrise. Your father liked when they were in town, as did other artisans, as they often had enough gold to patronize many. So you steeled yourself for some scrutinizing looks (they were always so intimidating!) But there was no preparing yourself for what you saw next. 

There was a  young man walking alongside an elder paladin, a man who you would later find out was Father Carden, leader of the Red Paladins. Not that you were interested in that august man. Instead, as the young man looked at the elder man, you happened to catch a glimpse of his eyes. Even with his face hidden under a hood, you could see that azure. He would have had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen, but that they were devoid of emotion. They did not react to whatever the other man said to him. Perhaps more interestingly, faded streaks of red poured from his eyes. 

He caught you staring at him, you’re certain, for though it was just a second, maybe two, his eyes locked with yours. Whatever he thought of you, no doubt determining the level of threat you offered him (none!), he quickly looked away, hid his face under his hood again and walked away. 

That man had to be the Weeping Monk. Now you knew the rumors to be true: Among the Red Paladins was a man with blood stained tears trailing down his face. 

A woman coughed politely and snapped you out of your reverie. As you filled her order, and those of other customers, you were haunted by visions of the Weeping Monk. Every time you closed your eyes, you would see his: Pools of a sadly dull blue surrounded by a sea of dusty red.

You sold the last two loaves of a hardy dinner bread just around noon. That was the bulk of your father’s business, common folk buying what they needed for dinner. Which made sense, of course, but was also kind of a shame. Your absolute favorite thing to bake were sweet cakes and pies. It wasn’t just the sweetness, but to watch someone’s expression of genuine enjoyment and even happiness that came from biting into something that you made was something else entirely. Perhaps if you baked enough pies for the whole of the Red Paladins, they’d calm down! And maybe, just maybe, even The Weeping Monk’s eyes would sparkle. 

-

You were done with the evenings sales, which usually went by quickly in any case, with some daylight to spare. It was mid summer and with berries at their peak you decided to forage for some wild berries. Sure you could buy some from one of the local farmers, but you figured your father would appreciate your money saving initiative. 

There was a river only a few miles from town, that which the town drew most of its fresh water from. Around its banks was good foraging of mushrooms, tubers and berries. In addition to fishing, one needn’t go hungry in the summer months. So it was that in no time you had half a basket of wild berries. 

You were so busy thinking of what you would be baking (and only half thinking about how the Weeping Monk would react to whatever it was you baked!), that you didn’t notice a couple of men approaching you. Not until a rough hand forced you to turn around. 

Though you were met with two men, the first thing you saw was the color red. Two Red Paladins. You sighed, believing you had no reason to fear them. “Oh sirs, you frightened me. Can I help you?”

The man who grabbed you grinned, a deceptively nice thing of clean teeth and pretty dimples. His friend didn’t have nearly as nice a smile, his was that of a predator. “Aye, little lady. See, our camp’s gone quite cold, we were wanting a pretty local to help...warm us up.” 

Your smile dropped and you tried to step back. You weren’t expecting such a crude response from Red Paladins, men associated with the Church. Although your more cynical friends and family would caution you to be weary of these men especially. 

“Uhm...I would suggest a campfire?” You tried to step out of the man’s grasp again, and again his grip strengthened. 

The man pulled you forward, forcing you to trip over your feet and stumble into his chest. “No. We were thinking something a little more fun.” 

“Were you now?” A deep and slightly gravelly voice interrupted. 

The three of you looked towards the voice and you sucked in a surprised breath along with the two paladins. 

“You! What are you doing here?” The one who didn’t grab you asked, his voice half accusatory and half angry.

“I could ask you the same thing.” The Weeping Monk stepped out of the tree line, lifting his face just enough that his blood stained glare looked even more menacing in the fading sunlight. 

The two men stuttered out some nonsensical excuse as the monk took another step closer. Soon they were gone, not quite running but moving fast enough that even you could see their fear.

“Are you hurt?” 

His gaze met yours for a second time that day and for a second time you could do nothing but get lost in his eyes. 

He sighed and took a step back, not that he was close to you! “I won’t hurt you.”

You blinked as you processed his words. “No! Uhm. I mean. I’m not hurt. Thanks to you, sir. I don’t want to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t come along. So, thank you?” 

Great. You meet the man you’d been thinking about all day and all you could do was ramble. You tried your best to ignore the heat spreading across your face as you picked up the fallen basket of foraged berries. Even as you scooped up a few berries that had taken a tumble onto the ground, you could feel him watching you. 

For his part, the Weeping Monk hadn’t moved from his spot, what little you could see of his expression, for he had moved his hood down, was unreadable. Was he judging you? Angry at his fellows? Or just bored? 

He made a sound, something between a sigh and a chuckle, and turned slightly. “I am heading back to the village.” 

You didn’t miss the invitation to join him, or rather to have him escort you back. “Oh!” You practically leapt to his side. “Thank you, again, sir.” 

He made a humming sound, acknowledging your words but said nothing in return. 

By the time you made it back to the road the sun had fallen completely and you realized just how far from town you had actually walked. How careless of you!

The monk seemed to think you were careless too. “It’s dangerous so far from town.” 

You tried to hide a wince. “I didn’t mean to travel so far. I just got caught up in foraging. And, and I thought with the Red Paladins camping outside of the village grounds, that I’d be safe from bandits and the like...I didn’t expect…”

You stopped when you noticed lamp light illuminate two robed figures on the road ahead. Even from that distance you could tell that the two paladins were not the same that attacked you, but that didn’t stop your instinctual reaction to hide from them. Thankfully the monk beside you was observant enough to notice. He took a sideways step, closer to you. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and close enough that you wanted to slide your arm into his. But you restrained yourself, he was a monk for goodness sake, not a gentleman caller walking you home!

You looked up at him and realized that you didn't even know his name. “I’m sorry, sir, it was rude of me not to introduce myself.” You began and gave him your name.

Again he acknowledged you, this time with a nod, but he said nothing in return. 

“May I have your name?”

He glanced at you from under his hood, only a hint of blue visible in such low light as star light. 

“So that I may properly thank you. Please?” 

He looked back to the road, “They call me the Weeping Monk.”

You gave out a quiet huff of air, half a laugh. “Well they call me the baker’s daughter but that’s not my name!” 

Once more the monk was silent.

“Oh. How long has it been since anyone has used your real name?”

“Many years.” 

“I see. Well then, you shall simply have to respond to “Hey you!” 

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve been called.” 

You chuckled, was that a sense of humor peeking out from under that hood? 

By now you had turned into town and were on the path to your father’s house. While it wasn’t quite late, the house and outside lamps were lit higher than usual. He was a sweet man, a pacifist, and always very worried about you. 

Your father rushed out of the house, yelling your name in both relief and exasperation. “There you are! I’ve been searching for you since sundown! I was about to alert the city guard!” 

You sighed, it wasn’t that long past sundown! And yet, after what you experienced perhaps his anxieties were warranted. “I’m alright, father. This fine monk here was kind enough to walk me home.” 

The Weeping Monk looked up just enough to nod at your father, revealing his face enough that your father could see him in the lamplight. If you had heard about the Weeping Monk then your father certainly had. He noticed the monk’s eyes, or rather the blood stains under his eyes and his distress was suddenly doused. 

“I see. Thank you for seeing my daughter safely home.” 

The monk took a step away from you, either as a way to assuage any unease he read from your father or to signal that he was leaving. You moved from his side to stand beside your father and gave the monk a small bow, “Yes, thank you, sir.” 

The monk returned your bow with a slight inclination of his head. For a final time that day you stared into those haunting blue eyes, the edge of your world dusty red of tears.

-

You spent the rest of the night baking hardy and sweetened traveling scones. As the sweets were cooling you gathered some cloth to bundle them in. Only you weren’t sure which cloth to choose. 

“This one.” 

You jumped, surprised by your father's appearance. 

“Father! It’s late. You should be sleeping.” 

He smiled fondly at you and handed you a simple looking cloth of a dull gray color. Not one of the ones you were considering but it did remind you of the monk’s rather plain color palate. 

“He’s not a flashy man.” Your father reasoned as he moved about the kitchen. 

He took the jar of vanilla beans, the most expensive ingredient and a treasure in its own right. He then poured the beans out onto the cloth.

“What are you doing?”

He wrapped the cloth around the beans, “Let them sit overnight. When he has finished the scones, the cloth will smell of the vanilla. And remind him of you.”

“Oh!” What a great idea!

Your father smiled at you once more, “It is how I won your mother’s love.”

Your face heated up with a blush, “He’s a monk, father, not-”

He chuckled, “Yes, yes. Of course he is.” 

-

That morning was busy and many times you caught sight of what you thought was the gray garbed monk, only to be disappointed. You were beginning to think you would make a lunch of wild berry scones when you saw the familiar gray colors of your favorite monk. He was walking in the opposite direction of where your stall was, so you had to risk calling out to him or miss him for who knows how long. 

“Hey you!” 

The monk stopped and slowly turned. You could have sworn there was a slight smirk on his face when he turned but by the time he reached your stall his face was neutral.

You smiled at him and held up the wrapped package, with a half portion of a scone on top. “For you. To thank you for helping me last night, the fruits of last night's foraging.” 

Gently, almost as if he were afraid to touch you, he took the package and broke a piece off the small offering. As he bit into the scone you could see him contemplating the flavors, enjoying the sweet and tangy berries and the slightly caramelized sugar coating. And a small smile formed at his lips, where he had just a crumb lingering. Most wonderful of all, that smile reached his eyes! A brilliant sparkle glistening among that beautiful deep sea blue. Even the tears that stained his face seemed less sorrowful. 

He inclined his head slightly in thanks, “Delicious.” 

“Thank you!” Not even the strongest of magics could stop the happy warmth that filled you as he finished eating the offered treat with eagerness, especially as his tongue quickly slid across his lips to savor every last crumb. 

“Lancelot.” 

“Hmm? Lancelot?”

He nodded once and, you were so enamored with his smile that it took a second more than you would have liked to realize that he was giving you his name. 

You smiled and glanced down for a moment to cover up your embarrassment. “Well, don’t worry, Lancelot, your secret is safe with me.”

This time the smile that crossed his face was not hidden, though it was short lived, and he returned to his stoic demeanor when he turned around. But you would never forget that smile. 

[tarithenurse]

All is fair in Love & War - 4

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader Content: angsting, imprisonment, sexual undertones, killing, suffering, sneaking about, doubt, reluctant epiphany, more angst...the usual. A/N: This is a semi-AU in the sense that it is in a sort of medieval/fairy-tale setting, but Loki and MCU’s version of Nordic mythology still applies. If you want a tag, just let me know! I’ll be more than happy to hear anything on this as the continuation depends on popularity/feedback.

4. Gilded cage

You are not restrained for long, thankfully. Loki appears briefly to release you but does not utter a single word. Later a servant arrives with clean clothes (all dresses of fine fabrics and lavishly embellished) who helps you dress. She too leaves without giving you any information on what will happen. Another equally silent servant arrives with more wood for the fire.

Hours pass with nothing to do but walk about in the room, stare out of the window, and tend to the fire. By the time food is brought to you, it seems as though you have been starved for days. Perhaps time passes differently? Maybe the windows are enchanted to show me the wrong time of day? Either way, your stomach is growling at the sight of the steaming meal which is carefully served upon the little table by the fire together with a fine glass and a carafe of wine. You should at least hesitate to consider the option of poison in this meal despite the safety of the last, but it seems a waste of effort for the god to go through all this trouble only to kill you in such a manner (not to remind yourself that he has not seemed averse to violence). And so, you sit for the first time in one of the wide chairs, almost getting swallowed by the cushions and furs until you manage to rearrange them.

Grilled fish, vegetables, some type of mash. All of it smells of herbs and spices, most of which you cannot identify despite the mouth-watering effect it has. The cutlery is finely wrought of silvery metal. Perhaps the knife can serve as a weapon. It looks spindly, but it is better than nothing. For now, however, it will continue to be used as intended by the maker. A satisfied hum escapes you at the first bite.

“Glad you like it.” You almost choke at the sound of Loki. “No need for that, I’ve brought you something.”

That’s easy for him to say! There is plenty of reason to fear the madman and whatever he may have brought, so it is with a wary mind you watch him walk over to take the remaining seat. In his hands is a stack of books, all of them considerably thinner and with lettering on the spines that somehow is…simpler. Clearer. Gaudy colours grace some of the volumes.

“Please…you can continue your meal,” he urges, a smirk dancing on his lips, “I will show you these in the meantime.”

Not daring to enrage him again, you do as you are told trying hard to enjoy the taste of the food like with the first bite though your appetite has gone. Putting the stack aside, the god grabs the first book and holds it up for you to see. Only three letters are at the front and he points to them, as if explaining to a child, and announces that they spell out “A B C” which (according to him, at least) are the first three letters of the alphabet. Inside the book, each page is devoted to just one letter, and pretty images of things beginning with that letter (again you have to trust Loki on this) are depicted in pastels.

“Tell me, what is your name?”

It slips out of you before you can think better of it. Flipping through the pages, he reaches the page where the first letter in your name should be rendered and judging by the images, it may be correct.

…   LOKI’s POV   …

Putting the cutlery aside, the young woman, [Y/N], reaches out for the book with eyes round with wonder. Of course, he lets her hold it and watches as she traces the letter with a slender finger. He can almost recall the same wondrous feeling from his own discovery of the treasures words can hold. The power.

“What are the others? Your highness.”

She still feels compelled to show I am not her king in any way she can, Loki muses, but does not comment on it. Taking the children’s book back, he leaves through it until he has spelled out her name. In this moment, there is no fear. The air between them sings with victorious curiosity, sending warm ripples of her scent each time she reaches for the book to study it closer.

Then he takes another from the stack and opens it for her to see the pages with him. The smile on his own lips cannot be supressed when she scrunches her nose and wrinkle her brows in an effort to find any semblance in the few lines of text on each paper. This will be much easier than I thought.

“Your food is getting cold, little mortal.” And then he begins to read for her while she finishes the dinner.

…   READER’s POV   …

One day takes the other and a pattern starts to show. The morning includes a lavish breakfast with exotic fruits followed by a warm bath. Unfortunately, you are no longer taken to the bath hall by the kitchens, rather a smaller (though still full sized) tub is brought to your chambers each time and both filled and emptied by a flock of servants, people who do not say a single word to you…in fact some even scowl although you try to be kind to them, reminding yourself it is not their fault they have been born to serve someone like Loki.

It is odd, though. Looking at these people and their master, one would not think they hail from the same kingdom because these beings have subtle signs of the horrors you have heard ascribed to the god: nails reminiscent of claws; teeth too sharpened for comfort; lumpy scars and tattoos littering what skin there is to see. Their skin…each has an undertone of grey or blue reminding you of frost-touched mountains. It makes your own skin look as if it is burning in comparison.

Having people attend to you is disconcerting, making you heave a sigh of relief when the last one has left, locking the door behind them. If you are to be alone, then you would rather be so without anyone around you. And so, you while they day away in solitude, silently happy for the books that give you something to do with your mind – learning to read is not a skill most people possess and if you ever make it home again, then you know your fortune will be made thanks to this.

Home. More than once, you catch yourself staring out the windows (on a good day even pushing the glass pane aside to let the fresh air and shafts of sunlight in). Somewhere out there, maybe behind the forest at the horizon, is your homeland suffering under a decade-long war with the very same person whose prisoner you are. Because that is what you are. No luxury can change that you are locked in this room, held at Loki’s mercy until he bores of you…but so far, he has not. Each evening he arrives when your dinner has been brought and sits to read for or with you.

Tonight is no exception, and though the book he is reading from is too complicated for you to master your skill with you are hanging at his every word. He is telling a vaguely familiar story of the creation of the kingdoms. He calls them “realms”, but there is no doubt he means the same. Once there was peace (everyone knows that), but things changed as kings and gods broke treaties and grew greedy. The worst wars were between Asgard and Jotunheim, and the peace was new like the first leaves after the winter when the king of Midgard sought to grasp his opportunity, delving into a strife that still rages.

“No, that’s not right!” you exclaim with indignation. “Your highness, you cannot make me believe we- my country, my king would attack unprovoked?”

“Unprovoked?” A chuckle escapes Loki. “Resources and greed has been the motivation for worse deeds throughout history.” Reaching to the floor, he grabs a roll parchment and spreads it on his knees.

(Author’s note: decided to keep it overly simple because I’m no cartographer)

During your time in the army, you have seen enough maps to recognize what you are looking at although most of those hadn’t been anywhere near as detailed or for that matter featuring the entire world! All the maps you saw had to depict where to go to find the enemy. Blue and red lines zig-zag through the pastels of green and any variety of earthy hues you can think of, sometimes punctured by larger blotches of the first colours. Black dotted lines lead to the red blotches and you find lettering there.

Testingly, you begin to spell your way through a word that looks oddly familiar. “S-sjo…ö…sjöb-leek…lik. Sjöb-lik…OH! Sjöblik!” The capital of Midgard is penned out carefully on the map.

“Well done.” One of those unreadable glints plays with the green of his eyes, but it is gone and he is pointing at the mark. “That is where your kings sits, safe and sound while his loyal subjects fight and die for him.” He points to a red line between Midgard and the area to the east. “This border had been unrivaled for centuries. After the war, truce came about due to the death of the former king of Jotunheim, Laufey, and many thought this realm defenseless. Leaderless. They were wrong, as it turned out.” Loki chuckles coldly.

Again, indignation and rage bubbles within, making you slam the glass of wine you would been holding on the table with a clang. “How dare you?!” He does not answer, does not even look at you. “Look at me! You call yourself ruler. You mock my king for hiding behind safe walls, yet don’t you do the same this very moment? Why should I believe a word you say to discre–“

He is upon you faster than should be humanly possible, one grabbing your hair to force your face upwards while the other is raised as if to strike you. Instinctively, your jaw clenches, but the hit never lands.

“By Odin’s –“ He pauses to look you over and blow a wayward strand of black out of his face – “Why did I think it was a good idea to take you in? You do not want to learn the truth, stubborn mortal.”

“Learning’s not the same as accepting everything without question!”

A sharp tug of your hair tilts your head painfully, but it is the hurt in his eyes that silences you. “You think I would simply lie to you?”

“I know some of the names you go under. Silver tongue. Lie smith.” Your eyes are beginning to prickle, still you do not look away.

“And yet it is lies you seek to hold on to.” Seemingly lost in thought, he clicks his tongue a couple of times. “I suppose there is only one thing to do, then.”

Loki’s got you on your feet and drags you along. Thankfully he is favouring a grip on your upper arm rather than pulling you by the hair like some savage. At first the path is familiar: down the corridor and the stairs until reaching ground level, then the path differs and soon you have lost your way. It doesn’t matter, he won’t leave me ought of sight.

The two of you come to a halt to allow him a chance to open a smaller door that leads you into what must be some sort of storage mainly housing clothes and fabrics and...my gear! It is all there. Boots, leather armour, breeches, all of it. You grab it eagerly, happy to hold something that feels familiar. Safe.

“Change.” The god smirks at you from where he is leaning against the closed door. “And be quick about it.”

There is nowhere to hide from his gaze. Resigning, you tug at all the silly ribbons to loosen the dress which soon pools on the floor, allowing you to continue. All the time, you feel the bile of panic burning in the back of your throat. Even at the encampments on the way to and at the front, your fellow comrades had had the dignity to allow the women to sort their affairs in private, yet this so-called god shows no such manners. He is no king. Never will be. Finally dressed like the night you fell into his trap, you look for the few weapons you had.

“Do not be foolish. I would not trust you with my life.”

The words sends chills down you spine. Yet I have to trust you. There is no reason to voice the thought, because he must know what any sane person would think when at his mercy.

Silently, he leads you through the courtyard to the stables where he orders the stable boys to prepare his horse. The saddle is surprisingly simple, you manage to notice when an enormous steed is brought out moments later. Black like his hair, the beast blends in well with the night despite the torches and braziers. Standing before you, it bows its head to smell the shaking hand you present to it. Please, be kinder than your master, the prayer loops in your mind, and it is rewarded by the soft nudge of a muzzle begging for strokes and scratches between the ears although you have to stretch to reach.

All too soon, the calm moment ends. Loki lifts you onto the back of the horse before following swiftly and settling behind you. No matter what you do, you cannot avoid being pressed against his chest, caged by his arms and legs as he nudges the animal forward in what soon turns into a dashing gallop through the impenetrable darkness. Gripping the leather of the saddle tight, you try to focus on the movements of the horse rather than those of the man even as he sometimes slips an arm around you waist to pull you tighter. He’s simply making sure I don’t try to escape, the logical side of you reasons…even when his nose is buried in the hair by your neck.

“Now listen carefully, pretty mortal,” the cold  breath speaks in your ear, “I am taking you to the front, but I cannot have you betray our presence once there, so I will cast a spell to silence you, and I will be carrying you tied up to prevent you from doing anything…foolish.”

Naturally, there is a lot you want to say to him about that. Appease him. Yes, if you play his game then you might be lucky that he lets his guard down long enough for you to get away because surely, he cannot carry you all the time. Probably. Strong muscles are pressing against your back, butt and thighs, and somehow you do not fully believe that normal stamina has anything to do with any of…him. Also, there is his magic to consider.

“I know you are weighing you chances.” Once more a cold hand finds your midriff before blatantly sweeping over your chest (thank the gods for the barrier of the leather armour) until finally coming to rest on your throat. “I cannot recommend it, although it would a delightful change of things to truly hunt you down.”

Now that you believe.

The horse comes to a halt in, judging by the smell and sounds, a forest. How the creature and the god can have navigated the place without running headfirst into a tree or something is far beyond logic. You want to ask, but the hand on your throat burns hot and cold, stealing your breath away as your windpipe spasms uncomfortably. It is not painful, simply…wrong.

“ – !” None of the curses leave your mouth.

Feeling the air stick in your lungs, your tear Loki’s hand away, your nails digging into the skin before he manages to restrain you.

“Shush, breathe. Just breathe.” Somehow, he manages to soothe your frayed nerves. Shallow gasps turn into deep inhalations that in turn combat the tension in your shoulders, neck and chest. “Much better. I will restore your voice once this endeavour is over. Now, we have to walk from here.”

You feel him sliding away, and although you do not hear it, he must have landed on the ground too because a moment later his hands are on your waist and he pulls you down to stand next to him, both of your wrists in one of his large hands. Familiar golden-green-glowing dust emanates from his fingers and lights up the narrow space between you as it coils around your wrist where it turns into metal, cold and hard against the skin, but by then the light disappears. Blind once more, there is no warning before Loki hoists you onto his back and wraps you legs around his hips where he keeps them pinned as he begins to move effortlessly through the night.

The jostling motion continues for a long time, or so it feels, and you almost cannot believe it when you finally see a flicker of fire between the black silhouettes of tree-trunks and bushes. As Loki reaches the edge of the camp, it is evident that this is no little outpost.

The colours of the Midgardian army can be seen everywhere despite a thick layer of dirt and the worn condition of the fabrics, both a telling symbol of the state the forces are in. Most are asleep, exhausted and hungry as they are it is impossible to truly get any rest (you remember this all too vividly), and the few that should be on guard are fighting the urge to mimic their comrades. They’re not fulfilling their tasks! The enemy is walking through the camp, silent as a cat he moves from shadow to shadow and not a soul stirs as he passes, allowing him unchallenged access to enter the biggest tent in the camp.

In there, things look different. You have never been inside any other tent than your own (which was more of a shelter than an actual tent) and you are stunned at what you see in the soft light from the embers in the firepit. An actual cot is covered, improved with furs and a few cushions so that the man sleeping there suffers none of the hardships his men does. Of course, you expected the captain to have more favourable conditions, they were all thanes or chieftains and as such their status would merit certain comforts. But to see this leader snoring comfortably next to a low table with the unfinished scraps of his meal made you shake with anger. Chicken, vegetables, barley-mash, even fruit and wine! More than he could eat and drink, which contradicts everything you have been told on the “consequences everyone suffers from Loki’s invasions”.  Apparently, some suffer less than others.

“Look.” The god’s whisper makes you reposition your head to his other shoulder so you can get a clear view at the item he is pointing at.

On the table (a real, proper, wooden table) are documents in gnarly handwriting, but it is a crudely drawn map that has caught your captor’s attention. The borders are familiar thanks to the landmarks and the letters inserted in the rivers’ flow. The arrows signaling troop movements and planned battlefields, however, tell a different story than the one you were told by your superiors. According to the orders you had listened to, had memorized, the Midgardians were fighting to take back their own lands which had been stolen by the instigator Loki who, according to your king and commanders wanted nothing more than to wipe your homeland off the face of the earth. That is not what the map shows. Each arrow crosses from Midgard to Jotunheim.

“See that river?” Loki points to a set of somewhat parallel likes snaking across the parchment. “This used to be the border. You can even see the old line has been blurred, here.” Tapping his finger to indicate where for your sake. “We would need to walk west for two days before reaching where Midgard ought to begin.”

Having no words, you are left to nod mutely. Whether he cares remains a mystery to you because he has become engrossed in the letters, studying the (for you) impossible handwriting before stuffing them inside the leather armour together with the map. When did he change? Only now do you realize that the refined shirt has been gone for a long time, replaced with an outfit similar to the one he had worn the night you found him. It doesn’t matter. Why should you care what he wears? Truth is you do not, of course. The whispered sound of metal calls you out of the nonsensical babbling of your mind to see Loki leaning over the bed, a long knife gleaming in his hand for half an eternity before it is plunged into the unsuspecting Midgardian. Bloodshot eyes flutter open, locking briefly with his killer’s. Then they see nothing but the emptiness of the afterlife.

You have seen people die before, both naturally and by the hands of someone else. Witnessing the murder of this gluttony commander, it is the fact that you do not feel sorry for him that shocks you to your core. Lost in a debate on whether or not you are losing your soul, you pay little attention to Loki’s actions as he makes his way through the camp by seeking out the armouries, the enclosures for the beasts of burden. Bit by bit, he sabotages all he can, before eventually returning to the cover of the forest and the darkness there.

“This is what I do.” He still whispers although the enemy, the Midgardian camp, is safely behind. “Each night after we have read, I head out to gather information and delay the next wave of attacks to prevent meaningless bloodshed on both sides. You must understand this too.”

The rest of the journey back to Loki’s keep is passed in silence even though he restores you ability to speak once you reach his horse which has been waiting exactly where he left it.

…

The next evening, the god only visits briefly in your fancy prison to inform that he will be away.

It is a promise he keeps which at first feels wonderfully freeing but soon brings a new emptiness to the stale routine where the only other company grows increasingly hostile and negligent. Meals become simpler (still filling, at least), and the bath is replaced by a single bucket of cold water and a cloth in much the same way that the clothes suddenly are simpler too. You are not lacking anything, as such, but it is clear to you that only Loki has been the reason for the lavish attention you have received before and most likely it is their fear of him, or warped loyalty, that is keeping you alive.

Then comes the day where no one sees to you. Then one more…and one more. You keep the thirst at bay by drinking sparingly from the bucket of dirty bath water, prizing yourself fortunate that you had not poured it down the loo after use when no one had come to collect it as usual. The temperature, however, is a different matter: during the day, the room is cool, but at night the place does little to insulate against the dropping temperatures that penetrate the walls and the glass of the narrow windows. Some mornings, you wake to frost on the furs and pillow, and ice on the water in the bucket. No one comes. You grow lethargic from the hunger that no longer bites and tears at your insides but simply…is. At least sleeping can take your mind away from it.

[totallyrhettro]

The Lone Jedi, Chapter 23 (final)

Word Count: 2744 Rating: This chapter: G. Overall story: explicit Warnings: none Summary: Jedi Knight Rhett McLaughlin managed to escape the purge of the Emperor to become one of the last of his celibate order. After years of a solitary life, he finds himself with a former slave for a friend. Despite his efforts to maintain anonymity and the jedi code, he starts to realize that doing either is easier said than done. Notes: Star Wars AU; Events take place between episodes III and IV

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

*See the end of each chapter for additional notes on star wars terms*

Link POV

It was late when Link returned to the house. He was surprised to see the lights in the small hut weren’t on yet, but it didn’t concern him right away. Even as he stepped inside, looking around the rounded wooden structure, and saw that it was empty of life, he didn’t fret. The main room, consisting of the kitchen, a dining area and a living room, didn’t look disturbed. All was neat and tidy, without a trace of any struggle or turmoil. Setting down the large bag of fruits and vegetables that he had purchased earlier onto the stone kitchen counter, he walked out through the back door. It was a short stroll through the long grass to the edge of the nearby beach. There, on the shore, sitting on a long-ago toppled tree with a fishing pole in hand, was his friend. His love.

“You’re going to get sunburned,” he noted, stepped up behind the tall figure. Rhett didn’t turn, but sighed quietly.

“Not one bite,” he complained, ignoring the warning. “On a planet renowned for its ocean life, I haven’t gotten a single bite.” Link chuckled, sitting down next to Rhett, and shook his head.

“Didn’t you tell me this planet has some of the most dangerous ocean life in the galaxy?” Link asked. “Why would you want to catch any of it?”

“So I can eat it,” Rhett answered simply. There was a bright smile in his eyes as he tried to keep a straight face. Link gave a low chuckle.

“How about you make that cassarole you were talking about earlier. What’s it called?”

“Tiingilar. It’s Mandalorian.” Reeling in his empty hook, setting aside the rod, he leaned against Link and put his arm around him. “I think you’ll like it.” Ducking down, he nuzzled against Link’s neck.

“Something tells me you aren’t exactly hungry just yet.” Not that Link would be unhappy about that fact. They had lived here for several months now and he had never been so content. This seaside abode was a far cry from the towering ruins of the academy. The massive complex was long gone, replaced by luscious grasslands on a tiny island in the middle of a giant ocean. Stone and bricks walls replaced by those of wood, straw-filled mattresses by a real bed with cotton sheets and fluffy pillows. It was still a simple life, but a cozy one, and one that Link was thrilled to be a part of.

“Oh, I am,” Rhett admitted. “I’m just having a little bit of an appetizer.” Link pushed him away in a huff.

“I am not an appetizer,” he asserted, looking hurt. Rhett’s smile was gone instantly, replaced by worry and confusion. Then Link smirked. “I’m dessert.” There was a split second were Link saw the light go on in Rhett’s mind before he got to his feet and out of the taller man’s grasp. “Come on,” he said, walking back to the house. “I’m starving.” As he started making his way back home, he walked with a slightly exaggerated swagger, swinging his hips. He knew it made Rhett crazy, and he loved to make that man crazy.

He didn’t make it far. After just a few steps, Rhett was right behind him, his presence like a gathering storm. Link stopped by a large tree near some giant boulders, turning around just as Rhett caught up with him. He leaned against the trunk, casually. This was one animal he was always pleased to have pursuing him.

“Yes, Rhett?” he asked, teasingly. Rhett stepped closer until they were toe to toe, placing his arm against the tree just above Link’s head.

“You’re a tease, you know that?” There was a soft growl in his voice, his eyes looked deep into Link’s, half lidded and dark. Link felt his heart begin to flutter, thoughts of past nights of them together racing through his mind. His love for this man never faded, his desire as fresh as the first time he felt it. Rhett was intoxicating and Link adored him.

“Oh?” he inquired. “I was just walking…”

“You know what your walk does to me,” Rhett accused. Link tried to hide his smile, but it was no use. “I’m not sure I can wait for dessert.” His green eyes gazed over Link’s loose-fitting shirt and matching pants. Even dressed in these clothes Link felt completely naked under Rhett’s scrutiny.

“I think you might be letting your emotions take control of you,” Link teased, raising a single eyebrow. For a moment he thought he had gone too far, Rhett’s expression faltering into a solemn frown.

“Perhaps.” Bending down, the former jedi kissed Link, his lips both gentle and full of passion, his hands holding the other man tightly. He held him there for a blissful eternity before finally taking a breath. It took a moment before Link’s world stopped spinning. “Or maybe I’m controlling them.” Link glanced around, seeing three huge boulders and a multitude of smaller rocks just casually hovering around them. Rhett’s head didn’t turn, his eyes still boring into Link’s soul. The shorter man couldn’t help but feel a rush of something surge through his body; a tiny bit of fear mixed with a great deal of excitement.

“You’ve got to teach me how to do that,” he whispered, unable to hide the lust in his voice. Rhett grinned and kissed him again, this time soft and chaste. The rocks and boulders fell gently to the grass.

“Let’s eat first,” he suggested. “I really am hungry.” Link gave him a playful shove.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. “I’d hate to keep you from your fancy bean dish.” Taking Rhett’s hand in his own, Link led the way back to their little abode, a smile plastered on his face.

“I do like beans,” Rhett pointed out with an exaggerated nod.

“I remember.” There had been at least ten different kinds of beans growing in the gardens back at the academy ruins. With Link’s help, Rhett had started a new garden when they moved here, but the plants had yet to sprout anything edible. “Hopefully we’ll be able to grow some here and you’ll never go without.”

“Truly, this will be paradise,” Rhett noted, mockingly. Link gave him another shove for that one.

~

After they had left Svivren, the small rebel base there, and found this secluded spot, Rhett continued his daily meditations. He didn’t really consider himself a jedi knight any longer, but that didn’t matter. He still believed that the practice was important; it helped him feel at peace, and more attuned with the Force. Once he managed to craft a new bokken and a new target dummy, he resumed his martial training as well. He enjoyed keeping up with his workouts, both physical and mental. After very little coaxing, Link joined him for the combat portion of his routine. Pretty soon he was quite adept at hand-to-hand fighting. Never again would he fear being taken against his will, and he grew stronger every day.

That evening, once their food was digested and the sun started to get low, Link joined his friend by the water’s edge. He didn’t usually participate in the meditations, getting quickly bored with the whole process, but today he wanted to try. Today he was ready to listen.

“Now, don’t get discouraged if nothing happens,” Rhett told him, sitting down cross-legged on the blanket he had laid out for them. “Communing with the Force isn’t about moving rocks around with your mind, it’s about finding inner peace.”

“How long did it take you to learn how to move rocks?” Link wondered.

“Uh, well…” Rhett flicked the hairs on the back of his neck nervously. “Let’s not focus on that right now…”

“How long does it normally take?”

“Well… Look. Not everyone is force-sensitive, Link,” Rhett explained. “It’s actually very unlikely that you’re ever going to be able to move rocks like that.” Link slumped across from him, disappointed. “It’s not impossible,” Rhett added, trying to cheer him up. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up for nothing.”

“I understand.” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath just as he had seen Rhett do a hundred times. ‘How hard could it be?’

After a few minutes of breathing exercises, Link felt himself become very relaxed. The soothing sound of waves gently washing upon the sandy shore was incredibly calming, and just having Rhett nearby always left his mind more at peace then when he was alone.

“Clear your mind,” Rhett instructed. “Feel the Force, its energy flowing through you. Let go of your conscious self. Stretch out with your feelings.” Link tried to empty his thoughts of everything but Rhett’s voice, but instead of feeling calm he felt restless. Despite his efforts to stay focused, he could hear everything all around him at once. The wind, the waves- it all rushed in at him. After a moment his eyes flung open and he panted, overwhelmed and out of breath. Rhett was very understanding.

“It’s alright, Link,” he told him. “Meditating can be its own reward. I think you’ll find it to be quite satisfying, even if you aren’t Force-sensitive.” Link shrugged. Maybe it was naive to think he could be a jedi just like Rhett.

“It isn’t very relaxing,” he countered. “What do you say we just watch the sunset for a while?” Not waiting for an answer, Link flopped onto his back with his hands behind his head. Rhett followed suit with a gentle smile. “This is my kind of meditation.”

“Good idea,” Rhett agreed as he laid down beside Link. “Maybe we can try again tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

~

Over the next few weeks, Link meditated with Rhett every evening, but he couldn’t seem to move so much as a grain of sand.,though he didn’t tell his friend he was even still trying. Eventually he gave up completely, just using the time to clear his mind of stress and worry. Any day now the rebels were going to make a move on the nearby Imperial base. That was one of the reasons Rhett and Link had moved to this planet after the Hutt’s mining facility on Andasala was put out of business. Lovely and serene though it might be, it would probably just be temporary. Link tried not to think about that, or what dangerous the future might hold. Now that he was out of hiding, Rhett was determined to help the rebel alliance defeat the Empire as best he could, without revealing his jedi past. As far as they, or anyone else knew, he was just a soldier looking to help out in the fight.

“Chances are we won’t have to leave,” Rhett assured his companion. “Though we might have to stay off world awhile in order to keep the imperial troops from finding us.”

“I really like it here,” Link sighed. It had been his home for some time now, and he was just starting to feel like his life was almost perfect.

“Me, too. Believe me, I don’t want to move anywhere either, but I want you to be prepared to leave and find a new home if we have to.” Link knew Rhett only meant to keep them both safe, to keep Link ready for what might happen in the future, but sometimes it made him worry. Meditating helped immeasurably, clearing his mind of unease and negative thoughts. It definitely seemed to help Rhett as he never appeared concerned about anything.

“Are you really not worried at all?” Link asked one night, as they settled into their shared bed.

“Sometimes. I’m just like any other man-”

“-who can lift giant rocks in the air,” Link added.

“Still, I do worry sometimes, but I’ve been meditating for nearly my whole life. Jedi are trained to control their emotions, including anxiety.” Rolling onto his side, Rhett looked at his friend and lover, the starlight that shone through the window sparkled in his emerald eyes. “Besides, no matter what happens, I’ll have you to protect me.”

“I am getting pretty good with a bokken.” Rhett hummed in agreement, pulling Link in close and settling in to sleep. “Maybe someday you can teach me how to use a real sword, or your lightsaber.”

“I think you’d would do better with a blaster, but if you want to learn, we can buy you a metal blade to train with.” Link’s face lit up at the thought. Chances were good that he’d never be able to be a full jedi, like Rhett, but maybe he could live like one. Once Rhett was able to tell him the truth about his past, there seemed to be no end to his tales about the jedi. The legends and passing rumors Link had heard over the years didn’t seem to do the great knights justice and he quickly grew enamored with notion of becoming one himself.

“I almost wish we had grown up together,” he mused, snuggling closer. “Then we might have been jedi together.” Rhett gave an amused nod.

“But we couldn’t have been anything more than friends,” he reminded Link. “Or I probably would have been thrown out of the order as soon as I hit puberty.”

“Still, it would have been wonderful to have those years with you.” Rhett kissed his nose as he wrapped his arms around him.

“We have many years yet to go, and I intend to spend every single one of them with you.” Link sighed contently, holding Rhett’s arms against his chest.

“I love you,” he whispered. ‘With all of my heart.’

“I love you, too.” For a few minutes they were silent, but while it was more than enough time for Link to drift off into dreamland, he had one last question to ask.

“Do you think I could have been a jedi? If I had grown up in the order?” Rhett didn’t open his eyes, but gave Link a cozy hug.

“You would have made a great jedi.”

~

A few days later Rhett and Link were sitting by the ocean meditating, as they did every morning now, when Link opened his eyes. He couldn’t seem to concentrate today, unable to stop thinking about the impending rebel strike on the nearby Imperial base. In just a few hours it would begin, and the two of them would be right in the thick of it. He wasn’t worried about their victory; along with the rebel fighters, both he and Rhett had been making attacks on various targets for some time now. The rebellion was slowly growing in strength and size. It wouldn’t be too long before they landed a great blow against the mighty Empire. No, it was the usual worry that something would happen to Rhett. Link wouldn’t have been able to bear it if his love got so much as a scratch during their raids. He couldn’t help but worry.

“Everything will be fine,” Rhett told him, not opening his eyes. “We must trust in the Force, trust that the light is on our side.”

“I know,” Link sighed. “I just…”

“I understand how you feel,” the former jedi began. “This is why we meditate. So we can clear our minds of these thoughts. Close your eyes.” Link nodded and did just that. “Focus on your breath. See the world around you through the force, not with your eyes. Feel the light flow through you. Embrace it. Make it part of you.”

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, Link tried to reach his calming space. He had been practicing these meditative techniques for some time now and he was getting very good at it. Eyes still closed, he reached out with his thoughts, sensing the environment around him. The waves crashed nearby, rolling waters serene and powerful. The wind blew through his hair, gentle and warm, caressing his skin and winding through the long grass. Small animals scurried nearby; Link could feel their life force as well as he could hear them. Reaching out to the small rocks near him, he examined them through and through, fascinated by their texture. Concentrating on them, he could almost feel their rough surface with his fingers, though he had not moved from his spot. He concentrated a little more…

“Link.” Rhett’s voice was a whisper. He was obviously trying to remain calm, but there was astonishment in his voice. “Link… Open your eyes.”

The End

Additional Notes-

None required.

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