#Proper Elven Etiquette

[celebrimbor-apologist]

Listen, Elrond having very styled and ✨proper✨ hair in season one and until the waterfall only to start getting fluffy curls after means that either, he was so MAD he stopped giving a fuck about a haircare routine that was destroying it, or he was so MAD he went to Camnir "I need a haircare routine. Now." And Camnir was like "Whatever keeps you off the waterfall dear" and THAT'S how we got the curls.

[schoenpepper]

Isekai'd Chronicles 5

Intro: Pomefiore in an isekai AU.

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, proofread by quillbot, Rook Hunt is a warning in his own right, some bullying, a duel, google translated French

A/N: The thought of elf Vil makes me want to do things. Cry, maybe. Thoughts on Neige in this AU: he's just a random pretty human celebrity that people are saying is prettier than even the elves (who are known to be hot af). Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist

It's a really big deal when you have the future ruler of the elves standing in front of you, especially when said elf has blond hair and purple eyes and ungodly beauty. You knew your new friend Epel was going to bring about chaos, but you just had to befriend him anyway and let him hide out in your room in an act of (stupidity) kindness. Thus, you carved your fate in stone and you really only have yourself to blame when Vil Schoenheit is glaring at you and the elf that so courageously jumped out to defend you.

This is not what a smart 'reincarnated into a villain' would do, you know? You should be avoiding them, so why is it that you seem to be a magnet for trouble? This one's definitely on you, though.

He seems mildly impressed that you have the guts to actually stand up to him, and he invites you to Epel's etiquette lessons hoping that perhaps the purple haired elf would calm his rebel spirit when the lessons are happening with a friend. You accept stupidly because Epel's puppy dog eyes are very hard to say no to, plus, Vil's regal aura did not seem like he would even take no for an answer. It's not too bad, you tell yourself, especially since elf etiquette isn't too different from the kind you'd needed to learn from childhood. It also started from beginner level basics, because apparently, Epel was born in a part of the elven forest where there were no nobles at all.

Vil isn't a bad teacher, by any means. In fact, he feels more like a caring mother hen when he fusses over your clothing and teaches you about proper skin, hair, nail and everything else care. He gives you tons of homemade products and serums and cosmetics, and you smell like a bouquet of flowers by the time you're done with the routine he'd set up for you. Time spent with him is soothing almost, and you eventually find yourself spending time with him even without Epel, outside of etiquette lessons. He goes out shopping for clothes with you as he teaches you about elf fashion, and you talk to him about human celebrity scandals that you'd seen in magazines. He lets you try makeup on his perfect face when he has nowhere to be, and you concoct healthy meals in the kitchen with him to try to make delicious food that still passes his caloric and nutrient standards.

Vil won't kill you. He's above that, you're sure. Then that's another capture target down.

There's just no way you can keep your eyes off Vil, you know? He's ethereal, too beautiful to be human. Because he's not, he's an elf. Lilac eyes meet your own in confusion when you hand over the small bouquet of lilacs to him.

"What is this for, potato?" You give him a proud smile and answer. "My lilac flowers bloomed, senpai. I planted them a while ago, but this is the first time they've had such pretty blooms. They reminded me of the color of your eyes, so I thought I'd give you some!"

There's amusement and...something else that's lingering in his irises, but you can't quite put a finger on it. He takes the bouquet. "I must thank you, then. These are lovely."

Some people have gotten on your nerves recently. You know who they are, they don't hide their snickers when they pull their stupid childish pranks. But they hide it well in public even when you know they mock you for 'sucking up to everyone', but you're not a suck up! They're your friends! In any case, you're also a duke's heir, so they definitely have a lot of guts to be picking on you. If you were any more cruel, you'd sic Floyd or Jade on them (or Floyd and Jade if you were feeling particularly sadistic), but you decide to call them out instead and challenge their dumb leader to a duel. So there you were, sword against the other person's neck and they use magic and that's not in the rules! Right before the flames catch onto your hair, an arrow whizzes past your ear (the PTSD from your childhood has you frozen in place) and grazes your enemy's arm. It wounds him but he's not going to die, so you call out to the referee and the duel is your win!

You still tell Floyd afterwards because you were pissed the guy had the audacity to cheat.

When you look up past the ring, you see another blond elf, this time with a bob cut and clear green eyes the color of peppermint leaves. Your savior tips his hat to you as he puts his bow away with a smile on his face.

Your savior is Rook Hunt, Prince Vil's most loyal retainer.

You really are a trouble magnet. But it won't do your noble upbringing justice if you don't pay him back, right? He did save your reputation after all, maybe even your life. Thus, the following days are spent with Rook, giving him gifts and doing everything you can to pay back the debt of whatever weight you thought that duel carried. He treats you like a friend even though you're sure you've never met him before, and he lets you stay in his room to help him scrapbook photos of Neige LeBlanche. He teaches you how elves wield a bow and arrow, and his eyes light up when you invite him over to your manor for the weekend to hunt some monsters that loitered around the edge of the woods. Typically, your family's knights would handle the culling, but he seemed to find killing monsters with you as a fun pastime so you do as he wants to.

He sits you down and tells you he really enjoys spending time with you, and that you shouldn't think of it as a debt to be repaid anymore. And surely, this very nice elf won't kill you...right?

You gingerly cross him off the list.

"Rook senpai, I'm glad I found you." You walk over to the bush that wiggled weirdly earlier, and you're not surprised when a blond elf pops out of the foliage. You show him the item in your hands. "Look! I got you a limited edition signed photocard of that Neige. This hasn't been released yet, so I know it's not in your collection."

You swear there are tears in his eyes as he captures you in a hug, laughing wildly. "Merci mon amour! C’est vraiment merveilleux, oh, je comprends maintenant pourquoi tant de personnes sont tombées amoureuses de toi."

You don't know what he said, but you're glad he's happy.

[daistea]

Your post about Mithrun being masculine/feminine made me think, because I do agree with you that his backstory radiates kinda traditional masculine rivalry vibes but for some reason I've always perceived him as kind of feminine? And then I realised why

It's literally just because of his hand mannerisms. Some of the stuff he does is the stuff that was taught to me when I had to attend a lady's etiquette class (don't even ask, wasn't my choice)

This is all just off the top of my head so I might be missing some stuff, but first of all I feel like we often see him (mostly pre dungeon but also post) putting his hand on his chest when he's talking to people or introducing himself. This is something I was specifically taught in etiquette class, you incline your neck and the hand on chest thing is supposed to make sure you aren't showing your boobs if you're in the wrong shirt

The other thing I remember him doing off the top of my head is when he's stopping Kabru from walking into the shapeshifter and he uses the back of his hand instead of the front of his hand to touch Kabru, that's another "ladylike" thing that I was taught - it's apparently improper/indecent for a lady to touch her palm to someone else, so you use the back of your hand if you have to touch someone

(For what it's worth I don't think he's intentionally feminine for this, it's probably just that elves have different gender standards and Mithrun was raised noble so this is just properness to him)

But anyway. My favorite part of all this is the way Mithrun's occasional ladyness is juxtaposed by his batshit insane behaviour. One second he's using the back of his hand to touch Kabru's chest because that's proper etiquette and then the next he's grabbing his fucking head like a claw machine. This mf was taught to be proper at some point but all of that goes out the window now. He ran out of fucks to give

You right you right, it’s interesting to think about how he probably retains some etiquette training without realizing it. And it mixes with his natural dgaf mannerisms. Like he can’t help but look like a noble sometimes but then he grabs and pins down Marcille without a care of whether it looks proper or not. I love him so much

And ye elven culture is canonly more geared toward the feminine! So it would make sense for their mannerisms to follow that. Mithrun is like if a man and a woman had a baby…..

[evilfloralfoolery]

And here is Indigo's character profile! Again, under the cut because I fucking RAMBLE . . .

Name: Indigo Stargazer Solaris

Age: It's complicated

Star Sign: Virgo

Birthday: September 1

Partner: Grimm Amadis

Family: Astralis Solaris (father) and Aurora Stargazer (mother)

Appearance: 6' 1" (185-ish cm), slender but athletic build, pale skin, blue eyes, delicate, almost elven features. Long, wavy silver hair that reaches about mid-back. Sometimes wears glasses due to an old injury. Usually impeccably dressed, even when at leisure.

Weapon of choice: Daggers, an icy demeanor, traditional bow, and the occasional whip (you heard me lol).

Other Weapons: Able to summon "cold fire" at will. His fire is blue because it's actually freezing. Also skilled in hand-to-hand combat and various forms of martial arts.

Likes: Classical musical (especially Beethoven), the color blue, tea (especially green tea), solitude, playing the piano, the ocean, astronomy, cold weather, Thai food (especially if it's SUPER hot), blueberry scones, city life, well-written literature, proper etiquette, dressing well, diplomacy, Grimm's ass.

Dislikes: Uneducated opinions, improper grammar, crowds, bad manners, extreme extroversion, disorganization, dishonorable intentions, processed food, music that has no actual structure, sneakers or sandals.

Allergic to: Oleander, tree pollen (especially oak and pine), ragweed, fresh cut grass.

Sensitive to: Strong manmade scents, incense, cooking with too much spice, ginger.

Other Snzfucker Info: Indigo has extremely bad allergies at certain times of the year. It can vary from day to day with him. He's rarely ill, but when he is? He's down for the count for days. He usually runs himself into the ground until his body just says "Okay, fuck you, then." And it's too late. Indigo has a violent, sharp, throat-scraping sneeze sound. He has very little to no buildup and can be startling, if you're not prepared. He is a multiple sneezer with no set number or pattern. It can range from 3 to 7 on average. I wouldn't call him "rapid fire," but he does tend to do "back-to-back"' sneezes in a fittish quality. He couldn't stifle if his life depended on it.

History: Indigo grew up as the only child to High Fire Master Astralis Solaris and High Ice Master and healer Aurora Stargazer. Astralis was extremely strict with his son, emphasizing discipline, control, and emotional regulation above all else. Typically, the son inherits the abilities of the father, but Indigo has both his father's fire wielding ability and his mother's ice wielding one. The result is a type of "cold fire" that is basically unheard of. Indigo's fire burns, but it's a freezing burn, a bit like liquid nitrogen. Because of this, Indigo's abilities were "unstable" to a degree. Strong emotions could cause him to lose control and his father did his best to make sure that Indigo was in control at all times. Luckily, Indigo also inherited his mother's healing ability to some degree, so this has assisted him in keeping himself level. His mother would have preferred her son to be a sensitive healer rather than the demon hunter that he became, but Indigo needed an outlet for his abilities or it could have caused great distress for him in the future.

Indigo's people are not entirely human. They came from somewhere else, possibly another dimension or world. They age much, much slower than humans do, so Indigo will appear as he is now for several centuries. His people came to this world to rid it of demonic forces that have been infiltrating other worlds for centuries.

Indigo has a "human job" as a book editor as a sort of "cover" for himself. Because of his extreme abilities and his high level of efficiency for destroying demonic forces, he's quite the target.

Fun Facts: Indigo's name comes from his high level of intuitive ability that he inherited from his mother. It's the color of the "third eye." She "saw" who he was going to be before he was born.

-Indigo almost lost his vision during a fight with a powerful demonic force. His mother was able to heal him, but now and then, his vision blurs and he has special glasses to correct it. There is no reason for this. It just randomly happens.

-Indigo's family (and all of his people) are actually considered "royalty" and are quite well off.

-Indigo's abilities are so extreme, he needs a counterbalance to keep him stable. Typically, his people would choose this person, but after several failed attempts to have him bond with someone, they sort of gave up. Grimm, an actual human, was never part of the plan, but HERE WE ARE.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Lore: Common Phrases and Words #2

Accuracy Disclaimer & The Other Stuff [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Abeir-Toril Why it's called the "Forgotten" Realms History | Time & Festivals | Lexicon [1] [2]| Languages | Living in Faerûn [1] [?] | Notable Organisations | Magic | Baldurs Gate | Waterdeep | The Underdark | Geography and Human Cultures --- WIP

Some more random assorted Common vocabulary and phrases - including some LGBT+ terminology and yet more swearing.

An interesting note about insults in the Realms is that you're encouraged to be creative about them. Performers in particular, like playwrights and minstrels, keep a cycle of new and creative phrases coming and going among the population (Earth has social media for its memes, on Toril you can blame the bards).

'tis and 'twas are not uncommonly heard peppered into speech now and then, though the everyday variants we use are just as common.

Badauler - Nonsense, Hogwash

To be "Right darlburl" / "Proper darlburl" - Pissed off

"The thrust of it" - "the gist of it"

Galad! - Wow!

Anyhail - Anyway

Mayhap - Perhaps "Perhaps" is used only in appropriate social settings as fancy etiquette, and only by the upper class and those who wish to affect such mannerisms (bards and the upper middle-class).

Casking - Vandalism (Sword Coast dialect)

a Nightblood - A thief

"The blood of the night" - Thieving, a phrase used by professionals in the trade.

a Sharpjaw - Juvenile delinquent

a Thruster - An aggressively ambitious social climber (not necessarily derogatory)

Brightbird/s - Lover/s

a Rose [Waterdhavian dialect] - Somebody you're in love with, anyone from a crush to a soulmate a Rose [outside of Waterdeep] - A Submissive [BDSM].

a Fancyman/Fancylad/Fancylass - A partner whom the speaker disapproves of. (So, like, your boyfriend knocks on the door and your mother, who hates him, answers, she'll inform you that your "fancylad" is around again.

Power - Divine magic

a Tavernmaster - Barkeeper

a Clevershanks - Know-it-all (usually used for men) a Clevertongue - Know-it-all (usually used for women)

a Highborn - Noble (polite) a Highnose - Noble (rude), also means "has a stick-up-their-ass"

a Holy-nose - Priest; mildly rude, but more rough than offensive.

a Thruss - Lesbian a Liyan - Gay man (elvish loanword) a Praed - Gay man (gnomish loanword)

a Dathna - Twink

a Harnor - Butch

a Tasmar - Bisexual (masc.) a Shaeda - Bisexual (fem.) (elven loanword)

a "No-thorn" - Asexual

a One - An agender term, similar to using they/them.

Sildur - Trans I didn't see much extrapolation on this one, so I assume it's an adjective: a sildur woman, a sildur man, a sildur one or just "I'm sildur" when providing your gender, I guess.

a Brightcoin - Nouveau Riche. Somebody rising through the social ranks.

a Highmantle - Old Money, or somebody with the etiquette and bearing of one

a Turncoin, Coin lass, Coin lad - Sex worker. Something of a generic term, but also refers more specifically to those unaffiliated with brothels and festhalls.

a Laughing-lad/lass, Highcoin lass/lad - A more affluent sex-worker

a Brightspear, Highcoin Lady/Lord - Sex workers who play the part of the noble and draw clients from that crowd.

"Sark!" - The impolite way to say "gods fucking damn it!" (in contrast to haularake - the polite way to say it)

"Bind me and tar me" - An oath of astonishment, milder but similar in form to "well, fuck me." "Bind me" - short version

"Dark!" - "Damn it!"

"Straek" - "Go drown yourself, right now and painfully." No, really, that's the translation given.

"To stlarn up" - to screw up "Stlarning it up" - Screwing up "Stlarn" - a mild "damn" "Stlarning [thing]" - "Bloody [thing]"

"Tluin" - an emphatic "fuck off"

"Those of all the Nine Hells take you!” - the full version of "Hells"

"Happy Dancing Hobgoblins" - a curse used by the old fashioned and parents trying too hard not to swear in front of infants, rather like that old lady I once met on a train who unironically used "jiminy cricket." Hobgoblins are noted to be unimpressed by this particular phrase.

[kabrumithrun]

Fic: A Most Peculiar Fondness

https://ift.tt/UudtsFK by sweet_rabbit "I hardly believe that marrying the victim is proper etiquette for me as a detective to exhibit, Miss Pattadol," Kabru tried to play off with a smile. "And I imagine even less so without the victim's consent." "Mr. Mithrun would never have been gifted consent, no matter should he...!" -She struggled for words- "... sh-should he be of sound body and mind. Please, Detective. Have faith in me when I say that I truly believe you are his only hope. Perhaps even saving him in more ways than you could ever know!" Kabru found himself looking towards the envelope from earlier. Atop it were two pictures: one beholding a beautiful young man, wavy hair, sharp elven ears and bright silvery wide eyes, while the other... the same man. His hair sheared and clumped, ear tips crudely hacked off and one eye, his now only eye, bruised with exhaustion, the light of life completely dulled to a black iris. He more resembled a memorial death photograph as opposed to a living portrait. This was the current Mithrun of the House of Kerensil: the victim of this case Miss Pattadol presented him with, and now, Kabru's fiancé. --- Please read the notes at the beginning! Words: 19973, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English Fandoms: ダンジョン飯 | Dungeon Meshi | Delicious in Dungeon Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Kabru (Dungeon Meshi), Mithrun (Dungeon Meshi), Rinsha Fana, Pattadol (Dungeon Meshi), Obrin (Dungeon Meshi), Laios Touden, Falin Touden, Marcille Donato, Thistle (Dungeon Meshi), Original Characters Relationships: Kabru/Mithrun (Dungeon Meshi), Rinsha Fana & Kabru, Mithrun & Pattadol (Dungeon Meshi), Mithrun & Obrin (Dungeon Meshi) Additional Tags: Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mystery, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Victorian, or as i call it 'vaguely victorian', Psychological Trauma, Brain Damage, Abusive Parents, ABO elements but not quite, intersex elves (kind of), Detective Kabru, Selective Muteness, kabru and mithrun learning to trust one another, mithrun in dresses, i apologize for spelling/grammar errors i do my best ;_;, any triggers for violence will be tagged at the start of each chapter, Kabru is 25 and Mithrun is 28 https://ift.tt/UudtsFK

[0rbularb0ys]

Life With Levael: First Date

Took a bit longer than I wanted it to, but here’s the next chapter! Once again, a special thanks to @sacred-dragonair/ @brushbrulee on twitter for being my beta reader!

Ever since Renyr had asked him out on a date, Levael had been anxiously waiting for the moment he would see the dark elf again. He’d agonized over what clothes he would wear, whether or not he should use any perfumes, if it would be appropriate to bring flowers on a first date, and more. Mother and Father had told him to always put his best foot forward after all, but he didn’t want to come on too strong. He’d just have to try and act casual and wing it.

Looking at his reflection in the cafe’s window, Levael saw a mortal staring back at him, and he sighed. He felt bad lying about his demon nature, but what other option did he really have? Mortals didn’t much care for demons, to say the least. The war between demons and… well, everyone else may have been millennia upon millennia upon millennia ago, but in all that time the demons were living apart from mortals for their own safety. Down in the seven spheres of the underworld, right where the angels trapped them, they kept to themselves even after they discovered a way to reach the world of mortals. No one had ever asked for the demons’ side of the story. Not when the angels had already written the history books. So demonkind was largely condemned to being the villains of history, and if Levael was to live in the mortal world then he had no choice but to hide his true nature.

And yet, even if Levael had no choice in the matter, he felt bad about lying. It’s hardly the foundation of a healthy relationship after all. Maybe Renyr would understand once it was explained to him. He would have to cross his fingers on that one.

“Hey!” Called a voice, and Levael whipped his head about to see his date hurrying down the sidewalk and up to him. “Sorry, bus had to take a detour.” Renyr asked, breathing heavier than usual. “Were you waiting long?”

Unaware of just how long he had been waiting, Levael checked his wristwatch. The dark elven man had only arrived a bit under ten minutes after their agreed upon meeting time, but in his excitement for their date the disguised demon had arrived about twenty minutes early. “Oh no, not long.” Levael said, smiling to his date. 

Smiling, Renyr held out his arm for Levael to hold, which the demon did with a smile and a blush. “Get whatever you want, I’m insisting on paying.” He said as the pair joined the line of customers.

“Oh no, that’s not-”

“I insist.” Renyr’s voice was friendly, but firm enough to make clear that this was non-negotiable. 

“Well, if you’re going to insist so strongly, I suppose it would be rude to refuse.” The pregnant demon relented.

After getting their drinks, the two men took a seat by the window. The people of the city were coming and going just on the other side of the glass as they sipped their tea and coffee.

 “So,” Renyr said, putting his coffee cup down, “You said you worked nights yesterday. What do you do for a living?”

“I work as a singer at this uptown lounge, Velours Rouge.” Levael said. He was careful in the way he handled his tea, very particular and proper. Centuries of etiquette lessons from his parents had deeply ingrained the habit into him, and he had to consciously tell himself to behave more casually. 

“Sounds swanky.” Renyr said with a low whistle. “Swanky and expensive.”

“Oh yes. It’s the sort of place you don’t really visit unless you have money or you’re looking to impress someone.”

“Hopefully ‘swanky’ means ‘pays well’.”

“Mmm, I make enough to live comfortably. I’m not swimming in money, and I certainly can’t afford any sports cars. But my apartment is nice, I have money to buy what I need and give myself some treats, and my bank account is healthy.”

“I see that’s not the only healthy thing.” The dark elf smiled, looking at the shifting of the infants in his date’s womb. “What about the money you make from surrogacy?”

Levael gulped. Of course he would ask that. Obviously he couldn’t say that he was a demon built for breeding, so what explanation would work? “Not a lot, truth be told. I work privately, and my clients are typically those who can’t afford to go through an agency. They’re very expensive, you know.”

“So you do it almost as a charity?”

“I’ve never really thought of it that way. I suppose you could say so, but I’ve always just believed that everyone should get a chance to have a family. Well, if they’re suitable for the role, that is. But some people have trouble conceiving, and they don’t have the money that large agencies would ask of them. So that’s where I come in.”

Nodding, Renyr sipped his coffee. “That’s very generous of you. Pregnancy’s a lot to go through, and for not much money? Damn.” He placed his cup down and looked again at the other man’s visibly shifting belly. “So, how far along are you?”

Oh crap. 

For as often as Levael was asked this question, he was never sure what the answer should be. Mortals gestate their children for so much less time than demons, what number should he give to not raise any suspicion? He certainly couldn’t tell him the truth.

Thank you for asking, potential boyfriend. I’m currently nine months pregnant and I have approximately six months left. After that I have to go out and get pregnant again so I can help my race survive.

Yeah, there was no way THAT wouldn’t raise questions.

He would just have to rely on his old fallback non-answer and hope Renyr would be too polite to ask for further details. “I have a hereditary condition which lengthens the duration of my pregnancies, and induction doesn’t work on me. I would prefer not to talk about it.”

Renyr’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask anything too personal.” He said quickly, desperately trying to avoid the blowback of whatever landmine he’d stepped on. The sincerity of his apology was evident on his face and in his eyes.

He didn’t need to be tortured over thinking he made some horrible mistake, so Levael shook his head and offered a smile. “It’s fine. Goodness knows I get asked this question too much to be offended by it anymore. But enough about me,” He said, placing his teacup on his belly and leaning back in his seat, caressing his bump, “tell me about you. What do you do for work?”

It took a second for Renyr to register the question, his eyes lingering on his date’s tummy. “Hm? Oh!” He snapped out of his trance and refocused on Levael, clearing his throat. “I work as a freelance graphic designer. I’ve been doing it since college, which means about a century and a half or so. I’m no millionaire or anything, but I live comfortably and I like to think that I’m fairly well-known in the industry by this point. At least here in Bohemia. That’s what I like to tell myself.”

“Trying to live off your art, huh?”

With a deep sigh, the sort that suggested this subject had been an issue for a while, Renyr nodded. “Yep. Nobody’s noticed my original stuff yet, so this’ll have to do.”

“How does someone get noticed in the world of art anyway?”

The elven man made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “For the most part? Have enough money to aim the spotlight on your work. Or have a name that’s already known beforehand. Or hire someone else to make it for you.” He grumbled, running his fingers through his hair. “Me, I can only rent out space at the gallery.”

“I knew that the gallery gave space to local artists, but what’s the process of your work being on display?”

“Easy. Talk to one of the curators, and you tell them what it is you want to put on display. The price is different based on what it is, like paintings are cheaper than statues, smaller statues are cheaper than larger statues, and so on. You figure out how much it’d cost for you to keep your piece up in the gallery for however many days, you pay, and boom. Your art’s on display for the amount of days you paid for.”

“I see. I hope their prices are at least reasonable, if people buying their recognition is truly a problem."

"It's fair, I'd say." Renyr looked into his coffee cup and smiled. "The gallery's actually pretty cool for smaller artists. They've got a ton of spaces in the back that you can rent out to work on your stuff. Painting, sculpting, making really weird and elaborate pieces, they'll let you make whatever once you're there. And if you can't finish your piece in one session, they'll hang onto it until you come back at no extra cost."

"So you rent out a space for a week and your work stays there waiting for you?

Renyr shook his head. "No, you typically rent by the hour. I'll usually rent for about four or five hours, for instance. Then when my time's up, they clean up after me and it's someone else's turn. You can pay for extra time, but renting for a week? You'd need some serious cash to do that."

Levael nodded, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "I see. It sounds like they really care about giving lesser known artists a chance to shine." 

"Yeah." Renyr took a sip of his coffee and looked at his date with a smile. "Okay, back to you. Where are you from?"

Hoping to stall for time, Levael took a few drawn-out sips of his tea. Getting-to-know-you type questions were the worst. As usual, he’d have to fall back on old lies. “My family moved around a lot. I’ve lived in so many places, I don’t think I can say I’m really from anywhere.”

“I get that. Which place would you say was most important, though? Or which one did you enjoy living in the most?”

Well shit, Levael thought to himself. What now? “Oh, it was so long ago, I can barely even remember.” He said with a laugh he dearly hoped didn’t sound forced. “It was this little town in the far north with the sort of name you’d never be able to pronounce and could never hope to spell on your own. I’ve certainly forgotten, anyway. I really only remember it because I always loved watching the northern lights, or the Light River, as the giants call it.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights.” Renyr said, smiling at the image of lights across the sky. “I’m from the Undercity myself, so as you can imagine the sky is kind of a big deal for me.”

“Yes, the Undercity is the home of dark elves, isn’t it? What’s it like?” Levael asked as he removed his cup of tea from his belly and leaned leaning forward, resting his chin in his hands.

Judging by Renyr’s frown, however, he wasn’t as interested in the topic as his date. “You know, I never liked the term ‘dark elf’. It makes it sound like surface elves are the norm and we’re the aberration.” 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” Levael said, moving to place his hand on Renyr’s forearm before thinking better of it, “I wasn’t aware that was a touchy subject.”

Renyr just sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, clearly unsure what to say. “I mean, I think it might just be a me thing? I dunno. Whatever, it’s fine. You’re hardly the first person to refer to us that way.” He took a deep breath and slumped back in his seat. “So, the Undercity. When I was growing up, we were still sealed underground, right? Thanks to the surface elves,” He grumbled, “And we didn’t have any of… of this.” He said, gesturing around the cafe, gesturing to the city on the other side of their window. “No electricity, no fresh air, no indoor plumbing… Basically just imagine how cavemen lived and you’ve got a pretty accurate idea.”

“Oh dear. But that’s not the case anymore, right? I mean, it’s been almost two centuries since the Undercity was unsealed.”

Renyr pursed his lips and shook his head. “But that’s not very long at all for an elf. Imagine living for centuries knowing only the underground. No sky, no sunshine or starlight. Just darkness, cold stone, and stagnant air. All you know of what’s above ground is that there are elves who are like you but different and they have it better, and their ancestors are the reason you’re stuck underground because your ancestors wanted to avoid conflict with orcs. And you only know that because you heard it from your grandparents, who only know it because they heard it from their grandparents, stretching back to who knows how long.”

“Then one day, everything opens up. After a life of never seeing the sun aside from the occasional crack in the cave ceiling and having every reason to think you never will, it’s suddenly just there. And not only that, but there’s also more people than just those surface elves and orcs your grandparents told you about. There’s dwarves, giants, vampires, werewolves, faeries, all of them speaking languages you can’t understand. And as if that wasn’t enough, it turns out that while you and yours were painting on walls and fighting off cave monsters and trying to grow food in a place with no sunlight, they were all developing electricity, automobiles, the radio, the television, freakin’ airplanes.”

The disguised demon was listening with rapt attention, fascinated to learn how the dark elves live. “That sounds like a lot to take in all at once.”

“It was. It still is. And that’s why it’s taking so long for us to catch up to the rest of the world.”

“Because they’re scared.”

“Exactly. I guess the dwarves see something of themselves in us, what with how we both come from underground, because they’ve been helping renovate the Undercity to catch up with the modern world. Been quite a while since I’ve been back there, but I understand we have plumbing now. They’re taking it slow, giving everyone time to adjust. But that’s just another way of saying it’s going to be a good long while until we’ve caught up with everyone else.”

“I see. Maybe I’ll visit at some point.”

“Ehh, I wouldn’t really recommend it.”

“Because it’s so low-tech?”

“No, because you’re too tall for the cave ceilings.” Renyr said with a charming, lopsided grin.

Levael chuckled despite how lame the joke was. “That was terrible.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

The disguised demon snorted and laughed a little harder, but was interrupted when he felt a sharp kick inside his womb. With a small yelp, his hands flew to his belly, rubbing the spot he’d been attacked. “Excuse you, we’re having a conversation here.” He said to his swollen middle. “If my laughter is bothering you, then I’m afraid you’ll just have to suck it up.” Patting his belly, he looked up and caught Renyr looking rather intently at his belly, his eyes betraying fascination with a hunger simmering just beneath the surface. Levael felt himself beginning to blush at the attention he was prompting from his date. “Would you like to feel?”

Renyr snapped his head up and looked at Levael, his eyes a touch wider than the elven man probably would have preferred. “Uh, yeah sure!” He placed his hands on his date’s belly, his touch gentle. Softly, as though going out of his way not to inconvenience the pregnant man, he rubbed the bump offered to him. “It’s soft, but firm too.” 

“Pregnant bellies tend to be like that.” Levael said with a small giggle. 

A sudden kick made Renyr jump and pull his hands away in surprise. “Whoa! Did you feel that? I mean, you must have since it’s your belly they’re in, but still! They’re strong little guys.” He said, replacing his hands on his date’s belly and gently patting the spot where the kick had been aimed.

“Yeah… I’m proud of them.” Levael cooed, stroking the underside of his bump.

The two men stayed that way for a time, with Renyr rubbing and patting the pregnant tummy before him and Levael enjoying the attention. The demon was blushing slightly as he watched the other man’s fascination with his swollen womb and trying desperately to shoo away thoughts of having his belly rubbed while they were both shirtless. 

I can’t think like that, this is only our first date!

Eventually, Renyr managed to pull his attention away from the magnificent belly in front of him to look at the clock. "Oh hell, is that the time already?" He groaned, clearly not wanting the date to end just yet. "Sorry Levi, I gotta get going. I've got a work meeting in a little bit and I need to go home and get ready." Reluctantly, he pulled his hands away from Levael’s pregnant swell, leaving the disguised demon quietly wishing he could follow his date and continue receiving belly pats and rubs.

"Ah, it's fine. This was hardly going to be an all day affair, after all.” Levael said with a reassuring wave of his hand. On the inside, though, he was a bit disappointed that their date had to end already. The clock said it had been a couple of hours, but it felt like time had gone by much faster than that. Still, he didn’t want to make Renyr feel bad when the matter was out of his control, so he put on a smile instead. “I had fun today.”

Renyr returned Levael’s smile, reaching into his pocket as he did. “I did too. Here, let me just…” He snatched a napkin and quickly wrote something on it, passing it to his date with a wink that sent a shiver down the demon’s spine and to the tip of his tail, causing it to spasm as it was wrapped around his leg, hidden down the leg of his pants. Looking at the napkin, he saw that Renyr had given him his phone number. Levael felt himself begin to heat up as his heart raced, further riling up the little ones inside of him.

Be still, my kicking babies.

“Could I borrow that pen for a second?” Levael asked, one hand desperately gripping his chair to try and keep himself centered. Renyr nodded and handed him the pen. Levael quickly grabbed a napkin and scribbled his own number on it, then passed it back to his date. “You’ll have to excuse my handwriting. I don’t think anyone writes well on a napkin.” He said with a small, nervous laugh, trying to ignore how his voice had cracked at the last second. 

“You’re pretty cute, you know that?” Renyr asked.

At this, Levael became so flustered that he almost completely lost the ability to speak, only just managing to squeak out a small “Thank you.”

The elven man picked up his coffee cup along with Levael’s teacup. “I’ll take care of these on my way out. I’ll call you!” He said over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving behind a flustered and frozen demon in disguise. 

When Levael finally, FINALLY snapped out of his stupor, the biggest, dumbest smile crossed his face as he snatched up the napkin Renyr had written his number on. Holding it like some kind of precious treasure, he went as fast as he could (or as fast as the bus would drive) back to his apartment, at which point he jumped onto his bed, clutched his pillow, and began squealing with excitement like a giddy teenage girl. He kept looking back at the napkin as if trying to reaffirm that he wasn’t dreaming, and he really had gotten the phone number of a cute guy. Every time he saw the number again, he’d start shrieking into his pillow with delight all over again. His heart was fluttering away, and it felt as though there was an entire swarm of butterflies in his stomach. That or the babies were kicking again, but he couldn’t care less. The rest of the world melted away and the pregnant man was alone. Suddenly he was an infatuated teenager all over again, on the phone with his bestie and squealing with delight over fantasies of being asked to prom by his crush. Though instead of prom, it was being asked out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. The sort with candles setting the mood, musicians providing a romantic ambiance, Renyr in a dapper suit and Levael dressed in a beautiful gown, all eyes in the building on the most beautiful couple as they took their seats…

It was a while before Levael was able to calm himself down, excited as he was. He just couldn’t stop thinking about Renyr. Thinking back on what he had been told about the gallery, he realized that he had no idea how long it had been since he’d last sat down and painted something. Suddenly he began to miss the feeling of brush against canvas and the satisfaction of transforming something blank and empty into something colorful and beautiful. He missed the pride he felt in knowing he had given shape to something only he could dream up. Ever since he’d gotten a job as a lounge singer, his creative pursuits had become limited to music (and knitting, but that was beside the point). Levael loved singing and playing instruments just fine, but he had put aside visual art for too long. Then and there, Levael made a promise to himself that he would visit the gallery and finally paint.

[fortitudina]

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Prince Castaelar Tiadeth Aleanundlin NICKNAME: Cas, Cassie, Caster, Prince, Brother, Son, Your Highness, Sir, Master AGE: 137 BIRTH DATE: 8th June GENDER: Male SPECIES: Sun Elf ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual RELIGION: Arshalarian ( God - Arshalaril - Sun God ) SPOKEN LANGUAGE: English, Elvish CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: High-end apartment in LA & Ulleanundin OCCUPATION: Dominant & Crowned Prince

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: • Eilmahther Aleanundlin • Amataevar Aleanundlin SIBLINGS: • Kerlarin Aleanundlin SIGNIFICANT OTHER: • Lucien Morningstar / verse dependent CHILDREN: • • FRIENDS: • Dantanian Daeva • Aeshma Daeva • Koralitahl • Aster OTHER CONNECTIONS: • Eris Ferguson • The Malikovs • Cooper Hemming

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOUR: grey-blue HAIR COLOUR: Dirty blonde HEIGHT: 6’1” BODY BUILD: Mesomorph TATTOOS + PIERCINGS: Elven mage’s mark upon his shoulder. NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: Scars upon his torso from where a past lover attempted to kill him.

POWERS & ABILITIES

POWERS: • Elven Magic • Energy Constructs • Elementumkinesis • Animation • Summoning • Telekinesis • Teleportation • Photokinesis • Accelerated Regeneration • Superhuman Strength • Superhuman Speed • Superhuman Stamina • Superhuman Durability • Superhuman Agility • Superhuman Reflexes ABILITIES: • Ability to bind others to a wall or floor by forming ropes with his magic • Can sing to a good level • Proficient in Hand-to-hand combat • Proficient swordsman WEAKNESSES: • Celestial / Fae weaponry • Dark Elves • Aging

PHOBIAS & DISORDERS

PHOBIAS: Dipsophobia MENTAL DISORDERS: - WHEN WAS THIS DIAGNOSED?: -

PERSONALITY

PERSONALITY TYPE: ENFP-A ( Assertive Campaigner ) MORAL ALIGNMENT: True Neutral INTELLIGENCE: Highly intelligent LIKES: • Listening to those he dominates • Wine • Animals • Singing DISLIKES: • People who drink excessively • Being called “Little Elf” DISPOSITION: Despite being a dominant, Castaelar is often seen as a cheerful being who is always eager and happy to help those who are in need. EXTRAS: ~

BIOGRAPHY

TW: Abuse, Stabbing, Alcohol addiction

Castaelar is the eldest child of King Eilmahther and Queen Amataevar Aleanundlin. He has always been raised to prepare him to take over the throne of his father one day; taught how to speak eloquently; to have proper etiquette; to hold himself correctly. But there has always been one thing about Castaelar that even his father could not finely tune.

He would spend every minute he could as a boy, learning with the High Mage of the realm and perfecting his magic in a way his parents never could. He would show his younger sister, Kerlarin all that he’d been taught; make her animals that danced through the air with the mist of his magic and watch as the joy-filled her features.

As he grew older, Castaelar began to learn more about himself and began to adventure more. He covered most of his realm at first. Many could say it was a Royal tour, but Castaelar just wanted to get away from the royal city as much as he could. He first began to delve into a new side of life during his adventures. He never needed to earn money to pay his way, everyone knew who he was by face alone, but that did not mean that he did not begin to find the more hidden parts of the realm ~ the parts that were for the more fruity of ventures. This was where Castaelar first began to find enjoyment in being dominant. He found great pleasure in pleasuring others and asserting control. Perhaps it came from having little control in his home life with his father but, this was freeing.

He saw to making being a dominant a full-time role for himself and, after returning home, he very quickly began to venture to Earth. He took on the look of a handsome human instead of a Sun Elf. Blending in was easy enough, as was finding submissives who needed pleasuring. He even became known in the area that he took to conducting his business, befriending Dantanian, a fellow dominant. The two became friends over the years and learned a lot about one another, including what they really were.

During a period when he returned home to his realm, Castaelar fell in love. The elf was beautiful and at first, she appeared lovely. However, as the relationship went on, things became more strained. Castaelar would often find himself coming home to an empty home or to her having spent the day drinking and intoxicated. It had begun to feel like the relationship was incredibly one-sided, with Castaelar putting in all the effort and her never being pleased about it. He tried to confront her one day when she came home drunk, however, rather than being rational, she grabbed a knife from their kitchen and lunged at him. He ended up stabbed in the torso several times before he could bind her with his magic and get out of the house. He ran to his father who immediately called for the guard to retrieve the woman whilst the healer saw to helping Castaelar tend to his wounds. Ultimately, the woman was imprisoned, far away from any contact with other elves aside from the guard.

Eilmahther decided from that point that Castaelar would benefit more from being the relationship between their realm and Earth, allowing his son to be free to go wherever he pleased and agreed with him, after a conversation that Kerlarin should also be taught the correct ways of conduct to perhaps become queen should she choose to. Now, Castaelar has his own home both in his realm and on Earth ~ a high-end apartment in Los Angeles, along with his own BDSM club there.

[animerina]

Wine for Freedom-9

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22)

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Thranduil x F!Reader

Summary: The Reader is left with nothing but three bottles of wine after Smaug destroys Laketown and somehow becomes Thranduil’s new brewmaster.

Note: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. This started as a one shot and ended up as a full story. You can read the rest on A03.

All Italics are Elvish.

Chapter 9: We All Fall Down

Sitting alone in the cellar, I couldn’t find the strength to get to work though I had much to do. After being tangled in the sheets with Thranduil for the better part of the day, the shock and subsequent bliss had finally worn off and the weight of last night finally settled over me.

What had I done? I sighed and set my head down on the table choking back a sob. How did I manage to accidentally marry the King of the Woodland Realm? These kinds of things did not happen to people like me and I was in disbelief. Yes, I was happy, but in reality, I realized just how much trouble the two of us had caused.

For one, I was stressed that in my time unconscious, no one had managed my stock and I was very behind for Turuhalmë. However, that stress had been pushed aside as I contemplated my accidental marriage.

I was certain the elves of Mirkwood would not take too kindly to Thranduil marrying not only a servant, but a mortal of all people. And not only that, but second marriages were unheard of in Elven culture as I had soon learned. The thought of having to stand by Thranduil as his queen made me shiver in fear. What would be expected of me? I had no idea how to be royalty or how to command people. Perhaps, I thought flippantly, Thranduil could just hide me in the cellar for the rest of my life. I did not think I could face his people.

I did not want to be Queen. That was so much responsibility to hand to someone who wouldn’t know the first thing about proper etiquette or politics. And gods knew how many rules I would be required to follow lest I embarrass the entire kingdom. I groaned in frustration and anger at myself.

Then the thought of Thranduil’s son crossed my mind. What would Legolas have to say about all of this? I knew the two of them had a falling out of sorts right before I came here, but this whole ordeal may be too much for the prince to forgive and I would be to blame. I did not think I could weasel my way out of this no matter how hard I tried. Thranduil claimed he would not let me go, but would he for his son?

All my thoughts swirled in my head preventing me from doing anything else but cry onto the wood of the table. I thought I could handle this, but it was obvious that I was overwhelmed. I knew my feelings were true, but it was all too much for me. All I wanted to do was sit here and disappear into the woodwork.

My shoulders shook violently as I sobbed praying that there were no patrols today. Unfortunately, not twenty minutes later, I heard footsteps rushing towards me.

“What ails you, mellon nin?” Elros pulled me up by my shoulders, revealing my reddened face.

“Leave me be, Elros,” I cried into his shoulder as he cradled me to him. I knew he was worried, but I couldn’t bother explaining everything to him.

“I will take you to a healer,” he shouted, trying to lift me. I pushed him away.

“Please, I am fine, but I want to be alone,” I begged, but couldn’t stop the tears.

“What is wrong?” Feren’s voice suddenly echoed in the cellar. I cursed my luck.

I was handed to Feren who grabbed a rag off the table to wipe my face.

“Calm yourself, Lady Y/N. What ails you?” He spoke softly.

“I am stressed and angry and upset and I want to be alone. Please just go!” I was practically shouting.

Feren, however, did not relent and would not let go, holding my arms at my side so I could not push him away as I had done to Elros. I shook violently instead, throwing a tantrum like a child, knowing I would be disgusted with myself later. Feren’s soft voice urged me to calm down and relax, but the task was difficult. These poor elves, I thought to myself. How can I manage with a kingdom when I cannot even manage myself?

In his worried state, Elros ran to fetch Calanthe, who swiftly came to coddle me along with Galion. Finally escaping Feren’s hold, I slumped into my seat as their eyes settled on me expectantly. I could not lie to them for I was sure they already knew. Rumors spread quickly in Mirkwood. I had learned that early on.

“I-,” I could not bring myself to explain it.

“I know,” Calanthe said softly. “When I was not allowed back to your room I knew. Tell me, Y/N, what has you so upset? I thought you were happy.”

“I was,” I whimpered. “But now, how can I be? I do not know what awaits me. All of this was thrust upon me and I cannot handle it. He will be hated.”

“He already is,” Elros spat and was quickly hit by Feren.

“And the prince!” I exclaimed. “He will never accept this.”

“I will not tell you that everything will be alright,” Galion stated. “But you are not alone in this. You did not make these decisions on your own. King Thranduil is also responsible and, while he tends to do what he pleases, he does not make decisions lightly.”

“I cannot be a queen, Galion.”

Feren and Elros’ faces fell at my statement which confused me. Surely, if Calanthe and Galion knew, they did as well. I realized I had just outed myself and Thranduil to them, but it was better that they hear it from me and not a decree or however it would eventually be announced. Feren’s mouth opened and closed several times before Elros spoke for both of them.

“When?”

Understanding his meaning, I muttered an answer. “Last night, after I awoke. I did not know, rather, I did not understand the significance of our-,” I stopped, too embarrassed to continue.

“Union?” Calanthe offered.

“Yes,” I said weakly.

They were all silent at my admission. Galion and Calanthe eyed me, concern evident in their features along with pity. Feren and Elros were still in disbelief, Feren needing to sit after a moment. Elros was the first to speak and his words left me feeling comforted.

“If anyone says a word against you, I will be glad to deal with them,” he insisted still visibly angry.

“As will I,” added Feren.

Their words brought more tears to my eyes, but I was feeling a little better now. I had support from my friends and from my husband. The word felt strange and I realized it brought excitement to say it even if only in my head. I had a husband, something I thought I would never find back home. I suppose I was right. It was not in Laketown that I found one.

—————-

“You’ve been crying,” Thranduil stated as he entered my room. He had not even knocked, just strolled in startling me. My eyes must have still been red from my breakdown earlier.

“I promise I will be fine,” I tried to brush him off.

“What has happened, meleth?”

Still frustrated, I ignored him not wanting to have this discussion for a second time and risk crying again. Thranduil, however, was taken aback by my dismissiveness. He stormed towards me, pulling me to him unexpectedly roughly. Eyes full of concern, he stood there awaiting me to respond.

“Are you not worried?” The dam broke and I turned so he would not see me cry.

“I thought we had discussed this,” he sighed in exasperation, eyes rolling.

Rage began to burn in my belly at his reaction. Were my concerns so unimportant? Was I so irrelevant that he could dismiss me so? Galion was right. I had not decided anything on my own. He needed to hear me out. Grumbling, I pulled out of his arms and sat down upset on my bed. His eyes followed me but he said nothing.

“I know that I love you,” I muttered. “But this is too much, Thranduil.”

“What are you saying?” He shouted, clearly angered by my choice of words.

“Think of your son, Thranduil. If the opinions of your people do not bother you, then so be it, but at least consider Prince Legolas. Do you think he will so easily accept this?” I growled back.

“He has nothing to do with this,” Thranduil seethed, bending down so that he was nose to nose with me.

“He is your son!”

“Yes, he is MY son and I will handle any resistance he offers.”

“He will hate you for this!” I could not stop myself any longer. I was shouting at him, but he only pressed forward against me.

“Enough!” He shouted back. “We will not discuss this further!”

“Do not dismiss me!” I stood from my spot, forcing him to stand properly. He towered over me with a glare.

“Perhaps,” his voice became cold and at once I knew I preferred his shouting to this. “This was a mistake.”

Freezing at his words, I stood there in disbelief. My fingers turned numb and the feeling slowly grew throughout my body. I blinked back more tears as I watched him walk away and slam the door behind him. Falling to my knees, I buried my head in my hands and wailed violently, wishing I was back in Dale.

Tag list: (If you’d like to get added please let me know.)

@velvetmotel20 @happycupcakeenthusiast

[bamf-jaskier]

Who the Fuck is Philippa Eilhart?

I don’t know if you’ve been following Witcher news lately but Philippa has just been cast!

Of course, many show-only fans might not be familiar with her character and game-only fans might not know how different her story is in the books, so I’m here to give a relatively brief overview of her plot line in the books. Warning: lots of book spoilers ahead as well as the standard graphic violence that is the norm in the books.

With that, Hi! I’m Aaliyah and this is Part 6 of my WTF Series - a crash course in subject from The Witcher books.

The first time we meet Philippa in Blood of Elves, she is an advisor to the King of Redania. Dandelion is brought before The Redanian Secret Service because they wish to know Geralt’s whereabouts. 

Excerpt:

Dandilion glanced at the fourth person present at the meeting, who until then had remained silent. Philippa Eilhart must have only recently arrived in Oxenfurt, or was perhaps intending to leave at once, since she wore neither a dress nor her favourite black agate jewellery nor any sharp make-up. 

She was wearing a man’s short jacket, leggings and high boots – a “field” outfit as the poet called it. The enchantress’s dark hair, usually loose and worn in a picturesque mess, was brushed smooth and tied back at the nape of her neck.

“Let’s not waste time,” she said, raising her even eyebrows. “Dandilion’s right. We can spare ourselves the rhetoric and slick eloquence which leads nowhere when the matter at hand is so simple and trivial.”

Here are some of Dandelion’s thoughts on Philippa:

Dandilion divided women – including magicians – into very likeable, likeable, unlikeable and very unlikeable. The very likeable reacted to the proposition of being bedded with joyful acquiescence, the likeable with a happy smile. The unlikeable reacted unpredictably. The very unlikeable were counted by the troubadour to be those to whom the very thought of presenting such a proposition made his back go strangely cold and his knees shake.

Philippa Eilhart, although very attractive, was decidedly very unlikeable. Apart from that, Philippa Eilhart was an important figure in the Council of Wizards, and King Vizimir’s trusted court magician. 

She was a very talented enchantress. Word had it that she was one of the few to have mastered the art of polymorphy. She looked thirty. In truth she was probably no less than three hundred years old.”

Then, Dandelion leaves to go back to Geralt and Philippa follows him in the form of an owl:

A big grey owl glided down to the sill without a sound. Shani cried out quietly. Geralt reached for his sword.

“Don’t be silly, Philippa,” said Dandilion.

The owl disappeared and Philippa Eilhart appeared in its place, squatting awkwardly. The magician immediately jumped into the room, smoothing down her hair and clothes.

“Good evening,” she said coldly. “Introduce me, Dandilion.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Shani of Medicine. And that owl which so craftily flew in my tracks is no owl. This is Philippa Eilhart from the Council of Wizards, at present in King Vizimir’s service and pride of the Tretogor court. It’s a shame we’ve only got one chair in here.”

Geralt is trying to hunt down a wizard, Rience, who is trying to get Ciri. When Geralt is about to kill Rience, Philippa lets Rience portal away and Geralt, Shani and Dandelion are quite upset:

“Philippa!” shouted Dandilion, still holding the weeping Shani. “Have you gone mad?”

“No,” said the witcher with some effort. “She’s quite sane. And knows perfectly well what she’s doing. She knew all along what she was doing. She took advantage of us. Betrayed us. Deceived—”

“Calm down,” repeated Philippa Eilhart. “You won’t understand and you don’t have to understand. I did what I had to do. And don’t call me a traitor. Because I did this precisely so as not to betray a cause which is greater than you can imagine. 

A great and important cause, so important that minor matters have to be sacrificed for it without second thoughts, if faced with such a choice. Geralt, damn it, we’re nattering and you’re standing in a pool of blood. Calm down and let Shani and me take care of you.”

Of course, this is all a part of Philippa’s larger plan to hold a coup and gain political power. Vilgefortz hired Rience and if Geralt had found that out then Vilgefortz would be revealed as a traitor to the Brotherhood and Philippa couldn’t have that happening before her coup.

The next time we see Philippa is in Time of Contempt at the banquet on Thanedd Island. She talks to many of the guests, here is a short conversation between her and Geralt:

“There’s no caviar.’ (Geralt)

‘One moment.’ (Philippa)

She looked around quickly, waved a hand and mumbled a spell. The silver dish in the shape of a leaping fish immediately filled with the roe of the endangered shovelnose sturgeon. The Witcher smiled.

‘Can one eat one’s fill of an illusion?’

‘No. But snobbish tastes can be pleasantly titillated by it. Have a try.’

‘Hmm… Indeed… I’d say it’s tastier than the real thing…’

‘And it’s not at all fattening,’ said the enchantress proudly, squeezing lemon juice over a heaped teaspoon of caviar. ‘May I have another goblet of white wine?’

‘At your service. Philippa?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m told etiquette precludes the use of spells here. Wouldn’t it be safer, then, to conjure up the illusion of the taste of caviar alone, without the caviar? Just the sensation? You’d surely be able to…’

‘Of course I would,’ said Philippa Eilhart, looking at him through her crystal goblet. ‘The construction of such a spell is easy as pie. But were you only to have the sensation of taste, you’d lose the pleasure the activity offers. The process, the accompanying ritual movements, the gestures, the conversation and eye contact which accompanies the process… I’ll entertain you with a witty comparison. Would you like that?’

‘Please do. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘I’d also be capable of conjuring the sensation of an orgasm.”

She is quite ruthless and cutting and while Geralt remains upset about Rience, Philippa, in true sorceress fashion, has already moved on. As well, she is explicitly queer in the books which I talk about here

Later, Geralt gets up in the night to go to the bathroom and stumbles upon Philippa attempting a coup. Triss temporarily blinds Geralt and Philippa and Tissaia exchange tense words. Philippa sends Geralt away with Dijkstra, offering him mercy despite him finding out about her coup. 

However, Geralt gets away from Dijkstra and goes back to Thanedd where a full-battle is going on. 

Turns out, Tissaia and Philippa’s fight cumulated in Tissaia releasing Vilgefortz and lowering the barrier as seen in this passage:

“They’re still fighting,’ said Carduin, grinding his teeth. ‘It’s hot down there, one spell after another…’

‘Spells? In Garstang? But there’s an anti-magic aura there!’

‘It was Tissaia’s doing. She suddenly decided whose side she was on. She took down the blockade, removed the aura and neutralised the dimeritium. Then everyone went for each other! Vilgefortz and Terranova on one side, Philippa and Sabrina on the other… The columns cracked and the vaulting collapsed… And then Francesca opened the entrance to the cellars, and those elven devils suddenly leapt out… We told them that we were neutral, but Vilgefortz only laughed.”

Geralt then runs in Keira Metz who was thrown out a window and she explains that after Vilgefortz was released the Scoia’tael (Elven and Non-human fighters who are allied with Nilfgaard sort of) attacked: 

“Sorry. How did the Scoia’tael get here?”

“They were hidden in the cellars. Thanedd is as hollow as a nutshell and there’s a huge cavern under it; you could sail a ship in if you knew how. Someone must have told them the way—Ouuuch! Be careful! Stop jolting me!’

‘Sorry. So the Squirrels came here by sea? When?’

‘God knows when. It might have been yesterday, or a week ago. We were preparing to strike at Vilgefortz, and Vilgefortz at us. Vilgefortz, Francesca, Terranova and Fercart… They conned us good and proper. Philippa thought they were planning a slow seizure of power in the Chapter, and to put pressure on the kings… But they were planning to finish us off during the Conclave… Geralt, it’s too painful… It’s my leg… Put me down for a second. Ouuuch!”

Later, there is a flashback to Philippa and Tissaia’s fight:

‘Enough!’ Philippa slammed her fist down on the table. ‘I shall satisfy your curiosity, Carduin. You ask who is preparing a war? Nilfgaard. They intend to attack and destroy us. But Emhyr var Emreis remembers Sodden Hill and has decided to protect himself by removing the mages from the game first. With this in mind, he made contact with Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. He bought him with promises of power and honour. 

Yes, Tissaia. Vilgefortz, hero of Sodden, sold us out to become the governor and ruler of all the conquered territories of the north. Vilgefortz, helped by Terranova and Fercart, shall rule the provinces which will be established in place of the conquered kingdoms. It is he who will wield the Nilfgaardian scourge over the people who inhabit those lands and will begin toiling as the Empire’s slaves. 

And Francesca Findabair, Enid an Gleanna, will become queen of the land of the free elves. It will, of course, be a Nilfgaardian protectorate, but it will suffice for the elves so long as Emperor Emhyr will give them a free hand to murder humans. The elves desire nothing so much as to murder Dh’oine.”

Tissaia states, “That is a serious accusation. Which means the proof will also have to be as weighty. But before you throw your proof onto the scale, Philippa Eilhart, be aware of my stance. Proof may be fabricated. Actions and their motives may be misinterpreted. 

But nothing can change existing facts. You have broken the unity and solidarity of the Brotherhood, Philippa Eilhart. You have handcuffed members of the Chapter like criminals. So do not dare to offer me a position in the new Chapter which your gang of traitors–who have sold out to the kings, rather than to Nilfgaaard–intend to create. 

We are separated by death and blood. The death of Hen Gedymdeith. And the blood of Lydia van Bredevoort. You spilled that blood with contempt. You were my best pupil, Philippa Eilhart. I was always proud of you. But now I have nothing but contempt for you.”

I won’t go into detail for the sake of brevity, but Philippa ends up escaping Thanedd unharmed after her failed coup and we don’t see her again until Baptism of Fire when she is forming The Lodge. 

Here is an excerpt of her pitch speech about The Lodge to the other mages:

Philippa Eilhart stood up, her dress rustling.

‘Distinguished sisters,’ she said. ‘Our situation is grave. Magic is under threat. The tragic events on Thanedd, to which my thoughts return with regret and reluctance, proved that the effects of hundreds of years of apparently peaceful cooperation could be laid waste in an instant, as self-interest and inflated ambitions came to the fore. 

We now have discord, disorder, mutual hostility and mistrust. Events are beginning to get out of control. In order to regain control, in order to prevent a cataclysm happening, the helm of this storm-tossed ship must be grasped by strong hands. 

Mistress Laux-Antille, Mistress Merigold, Mistress Metz and I have discussed the matter and we are in agreement. It is not enough to re-establish the Chapter and the Council, which were destroyed on Thanedd. In any case, there is no one left to rebuild the two institutions, no guarantee that should they be rebuilt they would not be infected with the disease that destroyed the previous ones. 

An utterly new, secret organisation should be founded which will exclusively serve matters of magic. Which will do everything to prevent a cataclysm. For if magic were to perish, our world would perish with it. 

Just as happened many centuries ago, the world without magic and the progress it brings with it will be plunged into chaos and darkness; will drown in blood and barbarity. We invite the ladies present here to take part in our initiative: to actively participate in the work proposed by this secret assembly. We took the decision to summon you here in order to hear your opinions on this matter. With this, I have finished.’

Then, later on in Baptism of Fire at the first official meeting of the Lodge Philippa discusses how she wants to make Ciri Queen of the North. 

“Who, then, is to be this Queen of the North?’

‘A girl from a royal family,’ Philippa calmly replied, ‘in whose veins flows royal blood, the blood of several great dynasties. Very young and capable of producing offspring. A girl with exceptional magical and prophetic abilities, a carrier of the Elder Blood as the prophecies have heralded. A girl who will play her role with great aplomb without direction, prompt, sycophants or grey eminences, because that is what her destiny demands. 

A girl, whose true abilities are and will be known only to us: Cirilla, daughter of Princess Pavetta of Cintra, the granddaughter of the Queen Calanthe called the Lioness of Cintra. The Elder Blood, the Icy Flame of the North, the Destroyer and Restorer, whose coming was prophesied centuries ago. Ciri of Cintra, the Queen of the North. And her blood, from which will be born the Queen of the World.”

After this, Yennefer, who was brought to the Lodge agains her will (although she is a member) escapes with Fringilla’s help in order to find Ciri and Philippa is furious. 

The next time we see Philippa is in The Tower of the Swallows and it is when Yennefer is hunting down Vilgefortz and contacts Philippa for help:

Philippa stared at her from under lowered eyelids. “If you believe,” she said finally, “that you've won peace, time, or security with this declaration, then you've miscalculated. Make no mistake about it, Yennefer. 

When you fled from Montecalvo, you made your decision. You chose to stand on a different side of the barricade. If you are not with the Lodge, you are against the Lodge. Now you're trying to forestall us from finding Ciri, and the motives that guide you are opposed to ours. 

You act against us. You do not want to allow us to use Ciri for our political purposes. You shouldknow that we will also do everything in our power to make sure that you cannot use the girl for your sentimental purposes.”

“So, it’s war?”

“Competition.” Philippa smiled toxically. “Competition only, Yennefer.”

“Decent and honorable?”

“You must be joking.”

“Obviously. Though on at least one specific issue, I would like to have an honest and genuine conversation. And, incidentally, it involves a favor to me.”

“Speak.”

“Over the next few days, maybe even tomorrow, events will occur whose consequences I cannot foresee. It may happen that our competition and rivalry suddenly has no meaning. For the simple reason that one of the competitors will not be there anymore.”

Philippa Eilhart narrowed her blue-shaded eyes. “I understand.”

“Ensure that I posthumously gain back my reputation and good name. I will no longer be held for a traitor or an accomplice of Vilgefortz. I ask this of the Lodge. I ask this of you, personally.”

Philippa was silent for a moment.“I deny your request,” she said finally. “I'm sorry, but your exoneration is not in the interest of the Lodge. If you die, you die a traitor. You'll be a traitor and criminal to Ciri, because then it will be easier to manipulate the girl.”

“Before you do something that could be fatal,” Triss said suddenly, “leave something behind for us…”

“A will?” Yennefer said.

“Something that allows us to… continue. To find Ciri. Because we are primarily concerned for her health! For her life! Yennefer, Dijkstra has found some traces of… some traces of certain activities have been found. If Vilgefortz does have Ciri, then the girl faces a horrible death.”

“Be quiet, Triss,” Philippa Eilhart hissed sharply. “We are not trading or bargaining.”

“I will leave you the information,” Yennefer said slowly. “I'll leave you the information on what I've found and what I plan. I’ll leave a trail you can follow to her. But not in vain. If you will not facilitate my exoneration in the eyes of the world, then to hell with you and with the world. But at least grant me exoneration in the eyes of the witcher.”

“No,” Philippa denied the request almost instantly. “That is also not in the interest of the Lodge. You will also remain a traitor and a mercenary sorceress to your witcher. It is not in the interest of the Lodge for him to furiously attempt to avenge you. If he despises you, he will not attempt to take revenge. By the way, he's probably already dead or will die any day now.”

“The information,” Yennefer said dully, “for his life. Save him, Philippa.”

“No, Yennefer.”

“Because it's not in the interest of the Lodge.” A purple fire kindled in the sorceress’ eyes. “Did you hear that Triss? There, you have your Lodge. You see their true colors, their true interests. And what do you think of them? You were a mentor to the girl, almost – as you put it – a big sister. And Geralt…”

“Do not attack Triss’ relationships, Yennefer.” Philippa retaliated with her own fire in her eyes. “We will find and rescue the girl without your help. And if you succeed, that's fine, a thousand thanks, because you will have saved us the trouble. You tear the girl out of the hands of Vilgefortz and we will be happy. And Geralt? Who cares about Geralt?”

“Did you hear that, Triss?”

“Forgive me,” said Triss Merigold dully. “Forgive me, Yennefer.”

“Oh, no, Triss. Never.”

I know this is a long scene, but it’s so important and isn’t one I felt right in slicing up. This establishes Triss’ true betrayal of Yennefer. Just prior to this, it is practically stated that Triss and Philippa slept together and despite Triss’ love for Yennefer her loyalty to Philippa is stronger in this moment which makes this hurt so much more. Philippa is also so cruel to Yennefer in this scene, denying both Geralt and Ciri the truth of her motivations as to better manipulate them. It really showcases how her lust for power overrides her empathy. 

The final time we see Philippa is in Lady of the Lake when Ciri is brought before the Lodge. Here, Philippa describes what their plans are for Ciri:

“You are coming with me,” Lady Owl (Philippa) said, breaking the heavy silence, “and Sile to Kovir, to Pont Vanis, the summer capital of the kingdom. As you are no longer Cirilla of Cintra, during the course of the audience you will be presented as an adept of magic, being protected by us. 

At that audience you will meet a very wise king, Esterad Thyssen. You will meet his wife, the Queen Zuleyka, a person of singular nobility and goodness. You will also meet their son and heir, Prince Tancred.”

Ciri was beginning to understand and rolled her eyes. Lady Owl did not miss that detail.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “First of all you must impress prince Tancred. Because you are going to become his lover and give him a child.”

“If you were still Cirilla of Cintra,” Philippa continued after a long pause, “still the daughter of Pavetta and granddaughter of Calanthe, you would become Prince Tancred’s legal wife. You’d be the princess and later the queen of Poviss and Kovir. Unfortunately, and I tell you with genuine regret, fate has deprived you of everything. Including your future. You will only be his mistress. His favourite.”

Then Later: 

“Your’s and Tancred’s child,” Philippa watched here with dark eyes, “will ensure the future and status of this Lodge. Take note that it will be a great thing. You will be a part of it, because right after the birth you will sit with us at this table. We will teach you. You are one of us, even if you do not want to admit it yet.”

“On the island of Thanedd,” Ciri overcame the tightness in her throat, “you said I was a mindless tool, even a monster, Lady Owl, and now you say that I am one of you.”

Then, the Lodge asks Ciri what her last name will be, Philippa and others offering theirs but Ciri declines in favor of choosing Yennefer’s:

“Thank you, Lady Philippa,” Ciri said after a few moments, squeezing the head of the sphinxes in her hands. “I also feel honoured with the proposal to take the surname de Tancarville. However, it seems to me that my new last name is the only thing that I can choose for myself, I thank the two mistresses. But I want to be called Cirilla of Vengerberg, daughter of Yennefer.”

Ciri requests to go and see Geralt and The Lodge votes on this and Philippa is the deciding vote. At first, she is hesitant but then Ciri shows her a vision and Philippa says this: 

“This Lodge,” Philippa said at last in a firm voice, “is to decide the fate of the world. So, this Lodge must reflect the world. Here, equilibrium and wisdom does not always mean cold and selfish, calculation and vileness, and sentimentality is not always naive. On one hand, iron discipline and on the other responsibility, resistance to violence, gentleness and trust. Cool reason… And heart.”

“I,” she said into the silence that reigned after her introduction, “cast the last vote. I will take into account one more thing. An element that without balancing anything, balances everything.”

“Following her gaze, everyone looked at the wall, to a mosaic of many multicolour tiles depicting the snake Uroboros, biting it’s own tail.

“That thing,” she continued, staring with her dark eyes at Ciri, “is destiny in which I, Philippa Eilhart have only begun to believe in recently, which I have only recently begun to understand. Destiny is not the way to providence or comfortable fatalism. Destiny is hope. I am full of hope that it will become what we want to happen, so I give my vote to Ciri - Child of Destiny, Child of Hope”

In the pillared hall of Montecalvo the was silence for a long time. From outside of the window came the hunting cry from a sea eagle.

“Lady Yennefer,” Ciri whispered. “It means…”

“Come, my daughter,” Yennefer whispered back. “Geralt is waiting for is and it is a long road ahead.”

This is the last time we see Philippa, but based on what we hear at other parts of Lady of Lake, we know she does not have a happy ending. After this, the Witch Hunt begin, a period of time when the Clergy hunted and murdered sorceresses and destroyed their pictures and images. The Witcher Hunts themselves could be an entirely separate post there is so much there. 

Many sorceresses, Philippa included as later considered Martyrs but she was killed viciously by the clergy as described in this passage from Lady of the Lake:

…As well as many of the other faithful, St. Philippa was also besmirched with betraying the Kingdom, inducing riots and plotting a coup. Willemer, a heretic and sectarian, unlawfully appointed himself the title of archpriest, and ordered St. Philippa to be thrown into a dark dungeon, and to plague her with cold and hunger, until she confessed to her sins of which she was accused and repented. 

Also various instruments of torture were used to try and break her spirit. But St. Philippa with disdain, spit in his face and accused him of sodomy.

The heretic had her disrobed and whipped her with barbed wire and placed sharp splinters under her nails. While unceasingly preaching about his faith and denouncing the Goddess. But St. Philippa laughed at him and recommended to him to heal his sick mind.”

“Willemer then gave the order to have her taken to the rack and stretched, while tearing her body with sharp hooks and burning her with candles. Although thus tormented, St. Philippa showed no weakness in body and indeed her resistance and endurance seemed almost superhuman. 

The executioner’s arms went limp and with fear they retreated from her. Then the filthy heretic, Willemer, began to threaten them and told them to continue the torment. They burned St. Philippa with red-hot irons, pulled her limbs out of their joints and pulled at her breasts with blacksmith tongs. And although she passed away from this torment, she confessed nothing.

The shameless heretic Willemer, we read in the books of our holy fathers, later suffered for this punishment and it was that lice and worms began to eat him alive, his entrails rotted away and he died miserably. 

His carcass carried with it a foul stench and nobody wanted to bury him, and so he was dropped in a swamp.

For the suffering and death of St. Philippa the eternal memory of a martyr’s crown rightfully belongs. Let us give the Great Mother Goddess praise for her lessons and teachings. Amen.

The Life of St. Philippa, Martyr of Mons Calvus

The Book of Martyrs Compiled in the Breviary of Tretogor, For the 

Contemplation of the Holy Fathers and Mothers.”

Needless to say, Philippa’s hunger for power and The Lodge end in ruin. There are very few happy endings in The Witcher and this is just another example. 

So that’s my overview on Philippa! I had to cut some scenes and moments in the hope of keeping it short, but I hope it was still an enjoyable read. If you want another character/topic WTF post leave something in my inbox and I will get to it when I can. 

[sabrinassims]

Gratissima “Grace” Aloysia for @wastelandwhisperer‘s Mist in the Mire

she/her

bisexual

high elf*

youngest child and only daughter of the Lord Nahuire and Lady Velutina of the noble house Aloysia

bookworm, introvert, proper (squeamish, reserved)

renaissance sim

likes: writing, reading, violin, sweets

dislikes: pranks, pipe organ, blood

Gratissima has lived a bit of an odd life, influenced in equal parts by her noble upbringing and natural introversion. She’s spent most of her time learning and reading, but very little of it having meaningful conversations and encounters outside of her family and tutors.

Now that her brothers Fiebrigii and Dusenii are settled down (with a family and military title respectfully) her mother has turned her attention to the next pressing matter; Gratissima’s future. After some . . . spirited discussion, an ultimatum was reached. Grace now has a limited amount of time to court and find a spouse on her own before Velutina starts taking matters into her own hands.

So out into the real world Grace goes. Will her vast knowledge of many subjects and etiquette make up for her lack of actual socialization skills or will she find book learning is no match for practical experience?

*Actually a tiefling due to dealings with fiends somewhere in her family’s history. She’s the only one of immediate family to exhibit fiendish traits (horns, fangs, abnormally hard nails, and tail). She doesn’t bring it up herself but will admit to it if asked. I didn’t forget her horns and tail in some outfits. I picked hair that covers the horns and if she has a long enough skirt, she’ll generally choose to keep her tail under it, unless she’s at home.

I leave the actual titles of her family up to you, didn’t wanna make them something you weren’t going to have. I also assume she’s traveling with a bodyguard. I’ll make one if you want/need, but leave that decision up to you as well. (She has an enchanted protection necklace, she’ll be fine, right lol?) She’s the elven (or tiefling i guess) equivalent of mid/late twenties. She has four everyday outfits, three formal (two for a masquerade - one with a mask, one without), and one for the other categories using maxis clothes. Please let me know if you need more information or have questions. Brain was fighting me the whole time I was writing this out and I’m not convinced it makes much sense.

[retrievablememories]

somewhere only we know | doyoung (m)

title: somewhere only we know pairing: elf!doyoung x dryad!reader genre: fantasy, major angst, fluff, smut, royal!au, 1800s!au summary: as the Crown Prince faces increasing pressure to select a wife, he finally falls in love over the course of a summer—charmed by the sounds of nature and a mysterious tree nymph. word count: 32,000+ warnings: major character death, descriptions of death, familial conflict, discrimination/prejudice (both regarding familial lineage and species), classism, physical violence, descriptions of fire, voyeurism (but not in a kink context), strict gender roles/gender stereotypes, sexism/sexist language, some sexual jokes/vulgar language, outdoor sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex (don’t try at home) a/n: this felt like writing a movie, especially towards the end, and i am TIYADDD. i usually actively avoid writing this many characters/plot points because it gets hard to keep things organized, so this fic was a serious test of my abilities lol... there may or may not be an epilogue after this, but that depends on the audience’s (y’all) interest in one

as always, let’s keep in mind this is just fiction and not a judgment of or truly accurate representation of the personalities of any of the idols depicted in this story. 

@constipation08​ thank you for the request and fic idea, this has been a wild ass ride lmao 😭

“Why do we have to leave the kingdom?! I was doing just fine right here!”

“Because our parents say we have to,” Mark replies nonchalantly, already growing weary of hearing Donghyuck’s griping about the King and Queen’s decision. The younger male throws himself onto his bed beside Mark, sighing loudly the entire time.

Donghyuck turns over on his back to give Mark a look. “But why do we need to leave to take gentlemen’s lessons? None of us here need to learn how to be gentlemen, we already are. At least, I am.”

“Your behavior is saying otherwise,” Doyoung counters, watching the two younger men from the bedroom’s doorway. “Perhaps it won’t be that bad. You’ll get to get away from the kingdom for a few months. It’s almost like a vacation.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “No vacation I’ve ever heard of involves work.”

“I don’t know, I’m a bit interested,” Mark says. “Everyone says Eupheme has the best gentlemen’s tutors in the country, so maybe it’ll be—”

“Ugh, don’t say fun.” Donghyuck grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and smacks Mark across the face with it, causing the other man to yelp in surprise and topple over. They soon become embroiled in a battle of who can land the most hits with their respective pillows, which eventually evolves into them wrestling each other.

“See, this is why mother and father say you all need etiquette lessons. It’s like everything you learned as kids evaporated as soon as you hit puberty.” Doyoung shakes his head, but he also can’t help but laugh a little at their continual bickering. “You’ll spend a few months in the company of the other princes, too, so it’s not all bad. I really don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Maybe because he won’t get to see Nayeon while he’s gone,” Mark says this while Donghyuck has him in a headlock, and the younger boy’s grip tightens around his neck.

“Shut up, Mark!”

Doyoung snorts. “Oh, how could I forget?” Nayeon was the daughter of a local lawmaker and someone who Donghyuck had obviously fancied for a while. Nayeon seemed to enjoy his company well enough, and she was undoubtedly within a proper social standing that everyone approved of, should marriage ever come into question. And, perhaps most importantly, she was also of elven blood. Nevertheless, there was talk that her heart had already been captured by another. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Maybe she’ll realize she really is in love with you while you’re gone.”

“Or she’ll enjoy the sweet silence she gets without hearing Donghyuck chatting her ear off at every available moment.” This comment from Mark sends them into another bout of rolling around on the bed, trying to land hits on each other.

“I pity your future wife,” Donghyuck huffs as Mark tries to overtake him. “She’ll get the title of princess in exchange for what? A husband who will be too frightened to peel the sheets back on her first night!”

Doyoung rolls his eyes when he sees the fighting clearly isn’t coming to an end any time soon. Despite that, he certainly isn’t inclined to try to break them up; the last time he got in the middle of one of their scuffles, he ended up with an accidental black eye. The thought of trying to explain to the public what had happened was too embarrassing for words, and he was resigned to stay confined to the castle as it healed.

It would not surprise him if that incident were a part of the equation that finally convinced their parents to send them away for additional royal training. He, for one, isn’t complaining about it.

Doyoung waves his hand and decides to take his leave, quickly tiring of their theatrics. “You two have fun, then. Try not to kill each other; we’re expected to arrive in Eupheme all in one piece.”

They spend the next few days making the necessary preparations to leave for Eupheme—picking out luggage, selecting which outfits to bring, and deciding which guards will accompany them. Their parents have already arranged for them to stay with the King and Queen of Eupheme, who they are long-time friends of, and their three sons, Jeno, Jaemin, and Jisung. Once there, Jungwoo, Mark, Donghyuck, and Sicheng will receive gentlemen’s tutoring alongside the younger three men.

Though they have been to Eupheme and the King and Queen’s home in the past as adolescents, their destination this time is a little different, with a new royal castle only just coming to completion a few years back. The King of Eupheme, always one to pull out all the stops with luxury and extravagance, had seen it fit to build a bigger and more attractive castle in the very center of the kingdom. Their old mansion would go to the oldest son and Crown Prince, Jeno, whenever he married.

The King and Queen of Ceres decide to appoint Doyoung as a chaperone for the boys because of his seniority as Crown Prince—and also because he’s the only older brother they’ll even attempt to listen to. Yuta and Jaehyun stay behind to handle other royal affairs and ambassadorial duties in Doyoung’s place. Some members of the Royal Court are far from thrilled by Doyoung’s departure and Yuta’s taking over a portion of his responsibilities in his absence, but they also know better than to air their grievances out in the open where any of the family could hear.

Yuta is initially not too pleased about being left out of the trip, but he knows there are obligations to attend to in Ceres. He also won’t deny that he relishes being given this role to play, feeling like he has obtained some heightened level of importance within the family for the first time in a long time. He tries not to be so conspicuous about how often he thinks about the position of Crown Prince, and what it might be like if he were only a year older and born of the same mother as his brothers. Yuta tends to think of himself as a master actor in maintaining his unfazed façade concerning his lowered station within the family, with no one the wiser. Well, except for the one he can trust.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, is not nearly so chagrined by having to stay as Yuta is. But of course, leaving would mean having to pause his budding romance with the daughter of the Marquess, so he’s more than willing to stay if tasked to do so.

The day of their departure comes fast. Soon, they’re all standing outside the castle as the servants load the men’s things into several of their stagecoaches. The five of them bid their farewells to their parents and two brothers, if a bit over-exaggeratedly.

“I hope you won’t miss me too much when I’m gone,” Donghyuck says, crowding up to Jaehyun and annoying him with kissy faces.

Jaehyun smiles and rolls his eyes. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Try not to torment our cousins too much.” Even with his joking, he gives the younger boy a hug and pets his hair before letting him go off to bother Yuta.

Doyoung is already there talking with Yuta, placing his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Take care of things while I’m gone, yeah? If there’s anyone around here who can do it, it’s you.”

“Of course, brother. I always honor my duties.” Then Yuta smirks. “Don’t let Jaehyun hear you saying that, though.”

Sicheng isn’t happy about being separated from Yuta for a span of months, but he doesn’t complain in front of the others about it. He simply gives his brother a long hug, sighing into his shoulder. “It’ll be fine,” Yuta insists, trying to get Sicheng to wipe the pout off his face. “Look at the bright side of it. When you come back, you’ll finally have some proper manners.” Yuta gently pinches his ear and Sicheng makes a face at that, though his lips quirk up in a small smile.

“Maybe. For their sake, perhaps these lessons won’t go to complete waste.” Sicheng glances at his other brothers as he says this, and he gives Yuta another nod before walking to one of the stagecoaches.

“Do take care of your brothers,” the Queen says to Doyoung, fixing his collar and patting his shoulders like she often did when he was smaller. Then she sighs. “We have not been parted for such a long time in years. Hurry back, my son…and please remember to be patient with them…you know how they can be.”

Doyoung smiles as she pats his cheek, though he feels a little embarrassed at his mother’s fussing over him. “I promise everything will go well, mother. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Sicheng and Mark take one stagecoach while Doyoung, Donghyuck, and Jungwoo take the other; their guards and servants have another two to themselves. After everyone is loaded in, they wave goodbye to the King and Queen as they ride away from the castle and towards a summer ahead in Eupheme.

In the stagecoaches, it takes a journey of nearly three days to reach Eupheme. By then, everyone is more than ready to get some space away from each other. Their stagecoaches are more finely outfitted than the ones used for public travel by the common folk, but that still doesn’t make them pleasant to keep an extended stay in. There’s nothing quite like being stowed up in one small space with your siblings for days to realize the value of alone time.

 The castle, they find out as they ride along the path leading to it, sits not too far from a nearby village. Beyond that village, an expansive forest stretches out along the land. As to be expected, new property comes with new people and sights.

 The princes had not last visited Eupheme since before the new castle was completed; now, all this newness comes as a welcome surprise. Donghyuck and Jungwoo press their faces up against the stagecoach window to catch glimpses of the village through the trees as they drive past. It’s raining lightly outside, and the waterdrops slide against the windowpanes as they peer out, obscuring their vision slightly.

Doyoung can already see the rapt excitement in their eyes. “Remember we didn’t come here to play in the village all day,” Doyoung tells the others, sighing deeply as he already knows what their plans will be

“Doesn’t mean we won’t, brother,” Jungwoo chuckles, and Donghyuck voices his agreement.

In Sicheng and Mark’s stagecoach, they also look at the scenery with fascination.

“It’s quite different from their old home,” Sicheng remarks. “But prettier.”

Mark presses his palm against the stagecoach’s interior wall, beside the windowpane, and focuses his energy to create a small portal to the outside. He sticks his hand through it to feel the raindrops pattering against his fingers; the air outside is humid and sticky.

“Showboat. You could’ve just opened the window,” Sicheng points out, though he smirks in amusement.

Their cousins’ castle is a grand thing. It’s similar to their own in many ways, but one thing the Euphemian royals have always prided themselves on is their outstanding landscaping. Their front lawn, backyard, and the surrounding fields create a vast world of their own, filled with intricately-shaped hedges, rare flowers, unique stone statues, and even a winding maze of greenery leading to the castle’s front entrance. It was more than enough land for anyone to get lost in for days. One could spend a week just traversing their entire property alone—forget the village and forest.

As their entourage of stagecoaches makes its way through the path to the mansion, the men talk more excitedly with each other, planning the things they hope to do once they get settled in. The King and Queen of Eupheme and their three sons are already standing in front of the castle steps ready to greet them once they arrive.

“Doyoung!” Jeno calls out the prince’s name as soon as he sees his head pop out of the window, and Doyoung waves excitedly to the younger man as he and the others get out.

Once all five men exit the carriage, they bow to the King and Queen.

“It is so good to see you all again after such a long time,” the Queen says, clasping her hands together with a warm smile.

“Surely, you’ve all grown into fine young men.” The King is a big, intimidating man, even for someone of his rank, and the current smile he wears does little to take away from that fact, but the five men return the gesture all the same.

The men get reacquainted with their cousins as the servants unload their things from the stagecoaches.

“You’ve grown up so much. Let me look at you,” Doyoung says, fawning over Jeno as the other men look on and laugh.

“You act worse than a parent,” Jungwoo says, giggling at Jeno’s blushing face.

Sicheng nods his agreement, looking at the two with an embarrassed expression. “Quite obviously—why do you think they picked him to be our chaperone?”

“Come on, we’ll give you a tour around the castle,” Jisung says, excitedly pulling Mark and Donghyuck along with him as he heads for the castle steps.

“I think we’ll be walking around for an entire day.” Donghyuck snickers. “It’s huge.”

Jisung grins, a knowing glance in his eyes. “An entire day? Oh, cousin, that’s just the east wing.”

Unsurprisingly, the group of brothers aren’t immediately unleashed to go exploring in the village.

Their tutors have them settle into a couple weeks of lessons before adding unsupervised free time to their schedules for them to do whatever they please with. It’s not a lot at first—only 30 minutes at a time—but Doyoung knows that’s more than enough time for them to get into trouble, if they so wish.

The men were hardly impressed with being treated like reckless children and would take whatever chance they could to escape the tutors’ watchful eyes, which meant staying on their best behavior and trying to adhere to all their professors’ instructions until they were granted more leniency.

By that point, their instructors were almost being driven crazy by the men’s frequent and not-so-subtle side conversations about what they’d see in the village once they finally got there.

“Alright, here is your first free break of the day. Go on, make use of it. I say, I’ve never seen a bunch of royals so infatuated with what the commoners are doing,” their music tutor exclaims, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t you much rather stay in here where things are clean and predictable and safe—and most importantly, clean?”

“Hmm, no. Clean’s boring!” Donghyuck counters, and he’s the first one to take off and leave the room once he’s gathered all his things. The rest of the men soon trail out of the room after him, with Doyoung heading up the rear. By their parents’ request, he usually sits in on their lessons to make sure they follow their tutors’ orders, or to help them out with whatever questions they have if the teacher is preoccupied with someone else.

“Are you all going to accompany us?” Donghyuck asks Jeno after the older man catches up to him in the hallway.

Jeno gives him a suspicious look. “Accompany you where?”

Donghyuck lowers his voice to prevent Doyoung from overhearing their conversation. “We’re going to visit the village today, see the lay of the land. There’s no time to waste, so if you want to come…”

Jeno shakes his head, a slightly unimpressed look coloring his features. “You go on ahead. If you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it a thousand times before.”

Donghyuck looks at him skeptically, then claps a hand on his back. “Suit yourself!”

It doesn’t take long for Donghyuck to convince Sicheng, Jungwoo, and Mark to use their free time to go to the village with him, and they decide to take the horses to shorten the time it’ll take to get there. They bypass their rooms and head straight outside for the stable, leaving their books and writing utensils sitting in a heap in a corner to avoid wasting any precious time with putting their things away.

While they’re out in the stable, Donghyuck fawns endlessly over the horses. He’s particularly drawn to an all-black one with a shiny coat and an impossibly long mane. Her expressions are almost elven-like, her eyes showing a certain eerie understanding of the words he speaks to her. A large golden label on her stall reads Lily in black curly lettering.

“She’s amazing,” Donghyuck says, gently stroking her muzzle as she peers at him with her huge black eyes. Mark and Jungwoo come over to take a look at the mare, and Mark agrees to Donghyuck’s observation, grinning softly as he brushes his fingers along Lily’s soft coat. Their moment is suddenly disturbed, however, by a voice coming from the stable entrance. The three of them jump a little in surprise.

“Where are you all going?” It’s Doyoung, of course. Donghyuck scoffs and rolls his eyes, trying to ignore his older brother as he keeps petting the horse.

“We’re going out,” Sicheng says, laughing from the other side of the stable as he leads one of the horses out of its stall.

“Obviously, but where?” Doyoung walks further into the stable with the other boys, though he screws up his face at the strong smell of horse and hay. Much like the others, riding horses is an activity he quite fancies, but he doesn’t enjoy the smell of it.

“Leave us for once, brother, please! If you come with us, it’s just going to spoil the mood. Between the tutors and the King and Queen, we have enough overbearing people breathing down our necks.” Mark shushes Donghyuck at that, as if he half expects the King and Queen themselves to come out from the shadows and reprimand them.

Doyoung crosses his arms. “I have no intentions of stopping you, but I’m also not going to let you return here with a herd of angry townspeople on your tail if you do something to set them off.”

“Yes, which means you’ll stop us from doing anything fun,” Sicheng retorts, nearly pouting. He’s used his sad eyes and natural charm on his older brothers to get his way in many situations in the past, but Doyoung isn’t budging this time.

“Doyoung is going to come regardless, can the rest of you just bear with it so we can leave?” Jungwoo says impatiently, leading one of the other horses out and fixing its saddle on. “We don’t have all day to argue.”

“Fine.” Sicheng and Donghyuck aren’t thrilled about the prospect of having their older brother tag along to thwart any mischievous plans they might’ve had. They don’t truly hate it, though; they rarely miss an opportunity to try to get on his nerves if they can, and now is no exception.

After they’ve all picked a steed, they mount their horses and take off to leave the castle.

On the horses, it takes only 5 or 6 minutes to reach the village rather than the 20 minutes they’d spend walking there. When they get there, they are greeted by a sign that reads Arthenia Village. It shows obvious signs of wear, but it looks to have been recently covered with a fresh coat of green paint.

From the first glance, it’s easy to tell that the small town mostly consists of supernatural beings—though they could figure that from the atmosphere alone. The air is thick with magic, and it dances across their skin like static. Fairies and orcs and the occasional elf like themselves walk, ride, or fly through the streets, plus many more beings beyond those. Even a small portion of humans live there, though they blend in almost seamlessly with the others—except for their lack of a magical aura.

Some townspeople stop to watch the men enter the village as they trot down the cobbled streets on their horses, all dressed up in their fineries. In the men’s own eyes, their outfits are quite average for a day of schooling, but the villagers rarely see such luxury in their daily lives.

The townspeople are not really used to interacting with royalty, due to the castle’s inhabitants mostly keeping to their own circles of nobility—and seeing everyone else as beneath them, even if they don’t immediately concede to it. Some villagers are in awe of their entrance, while others look on with expressions of contempt. Donghyuck doesn’t mind the glares, though, and waves excitedly to anyone who’ll wave back.

“I wonder about you sometimes,” Mark says to the younger man, and he narrowly avoids Donghyuck trying to reach out and swipe him off his horse.

They eventually dismount the horses and tie them up at a nearby stall so they can walk around the Market Square. There’s little danger of anyone trying to make off with one of the animals; their saddles decorated with the royal colors and insignia would immediately incriminate any person who’d attempt it. And in any case, a punishment of being sent to the guillotine is more than enough to keep potential thieves away.

Arthenia may be small, but it’s still filled with a distinct culture and a sense of hominess, with people selling their homemade wares and groups of little kids playing and weaving through the streets. A group of girls gathered at a small jewelry shop whisper animatedly among themselves as they watch the men walk by, and they freeze when Doyoung meets their eyes. He waves to them with a warm smile on his face, just as he was taught to do, and they wave back enthusiastically, their free hands covering their mouths to disguise their giggles.

Jungwoo quickly becomes entangled in a game of Horseshoes with a group of adolescents who bet he can’t beat them at their own game. And, despite Sicheng’s earlier complaints, he ends up trailing behind Doyoung for most of their trip, unsure how to interact with the villagers except for following his etiquette training and simply smiling politely at them. If he were in an “I told you so” kind of mood, Doyoung might’ve pointed out the irony of the situation, but he decides to let it be, knowing Sicheng is still trying to adjust.

At the very edge of the village, a small dirt pathway gives way to the same forest they saw on their way to the castle. The expanse of the forest is easier to see when outside of Arthenia itself; it spreads like a thick patch of dark green against the lighter green fields and hills. Up close and personal, though, the forest entrance is thick with foliage, making it hard to see through. The unknown nature of it beckons. Donghyuck catches Mark’s eyes lingering in that direction, and he comes up next to the older man, throwing his arm across his shoulders.

“Is that our next conquest?” he proposes, mischief written across his face. “Want to see what lies there?”

Mark looks back at him, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I’m willing if you are.”

A seller at a nearby stall—an elderly orc—overhears their conversation and shakes his head, chuckling as if he’s just heard something utterly ridiculous. “Young men...don’t go in there with bad intentions. The women will drive you out.”

Donghyuck and Mark turn to him with confusion written on their faces. “Women?”

“There are women who live in the trees,” the seller continues. “They protect the trees, protect the forest. Everything there is under their dominion. Before you step foot in there, make sure you’re thinking with your head up top,” he taps a finger against the side of his head, “and not the one between your legs.”

“U-um, that wasn’t—alright.” Mark is openly flustered at being called out, and Donghyuck only laughs, steering Mark away from the stall and back towards the heart of the village.

“Don’t get so discomfited about it, brother. Desires of the flesh are natural for men.” Donghyuck slaps Mark on the chest, and the other coughs a bit at the sudden hit.

“But do you think he said that just to deter us? Or is it true?”

“I’d say there’s only one way to find out.”

Sicheng turns a corner and nearly runs into them, and they both startle at his sudden appearance. “Whatever you’re so eager to find out, it’s not happening today. It’s time to go back already.” He’s no more happy about it than they are, though, rolling his eyes at the prospect of heading back to the mansion when there’s still much to see.

“Already?” Donghyuck questions Sicheng as he starts heading back to the Market Square where their horses are stationed. Sicheng unfolds his pocketwatch and shows him the time, nodding without a word before continuing on. “Ah, shit. We’ll see the forest next time, then. Don’t forget! We’ve got to make haste.”

“Remember what that old man said, though,” Mark says, calling back to Donghyuck as he follows Sicheng. “We aren’t using up all our break time to find lovers or concubines.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Who do you take me for? No one can find a lover in just 30 minutes, Mark, unless it’s you. Then you’d only need 5 minutes at most.” Then he takes off through the streets as Mark chases after him, threatening to kick his ass once he lays his hands on him.

It’s another week before they can make it out to the village—and therefore, the forest—again, but once the time rolls around, Donghyuck is once again the first out of the castle with Mark on his tail. Jungwoo and Sicheng decide to tag along too, along with Doyoung, which none of them are particularly surprised about.

The villagers’ responses are less awe-struck this time, though some of them still express some surprise at seeing the men come to their little town two weeks in a row. Many of them give friendly waves, though others look on with skepticism as they see the men heading for the woods. They pass by the same elderly orc from last week, who gives them a knowing look; Mark shoots him a nervous smile in return.

Entering the woods on horses requires them to duck their heads a bit to avoid the overhanging foliage threatening to poke them in the eyes or get tangled in their hair. A few of them gripe about this, but they quickly grow captivated with interest as they journey deeper into the terrain and survey the woods.

“This place is nice,” Jungwoo comments. His eyes dart to and fro, though, as if he expects one of the aforementioned women to come out of nowhere and sternly rebuke them for entering their forest abode.

“I can’t wait to see what kind of beautiful women live in this forest,” Donghyuck announces.

“Don’t be so eager, I’m positive none of them would be interested in a kid,” Sicheng scoffs. No sooner do the words leave Sicheng’s lips do a pair of pinecones come falling out of a tall pine tree just a ways above their heads. One only narrowly misses Sicheng, but the other catches Donghyuck on the shoulder.

“Ow! Did you see that?” He grabs his shoulder as if it’s injured and whips his head to look up at the pine’s towering trunk, but there’s no sign of anything other than a few unsuspecting birds.

Doyoung shakes his head. “I wouldn’t say anything else foolish if I were you, brother. Seems like the forest already has something against you.” He laughs to himself, steering his horse away from the others to explore more of the woods.

“It’s not the forest, it’s the women that stall vendor was talking about,” Donghyuck insists, looking over his shoulder for any more falling objects.

“Sure. Next, you will tell us you’re no longer an elf.” Sicheng is less convinced by the presence of the dryads than the other men, but he’s along for the ride anyway. He will at least get to see what all the fuss is about, and even if it’s not true, he’ll have some time away from the castle. Although the King and Queen are as dutifully welcoming as they should be, he can’t shake the feeling of the King’s judgment brewing just underneath the surface. It’s like his aura intentionally closes itself off to the younger man, too haughty and refined to be in the presence of a concubine’s son.

“Let’s just keep on and see what we come across,” Mark says, steering his horse around a fallen log as he traverses further ahead.

Doyoung catches sight of a large oak tree just a little ways off. It doesn’t look much different from the other trees around, save for a hollow hole in its front, but he’s intrigued by it and decides to look more closely. Once he gets over to it, he climbs off his horse and walks up to its large trunk, carefully maneuvering around the thick roots beneath his feet.

Cautiously peeking into the hollow, he sees a nest, but there are no current occupants. He presses one hand against the trunk and feels the grooves and ridges of its texture underneath his palm. It feels old and powerful, and he guesses it must’ve been here for a long time already.

Doyoung hears rustling a few feet above him from the branches, and a few leaves drift down, brushing his face. He expects to see some bird or squirrel when he looks up, maybe the owner of the nest come back to object to his snooping around, but he’s shocked at the sight of a woman.

Doyoung only catches a glimpse of you, for when you notice him looking at you, you gasp and dart further up into the tree’s branches, causing more leaves to fall on the way. Doyoung shields his eyes from them as they come cascading around him, but he fails to get another look. It’s like the tree has enveloped you entirely, hiding you from view.

“That was odd,” he says aloud. So the seller’s words were true after all. He lingers for a while longer, hoping to maybe stay long enough to see you again, but you’ve disappeared. He’s a bit reluctant to leave, but it’s apparent you’re not going to reappear while he’s still around, so he leads his horse away by its reins and looks for the others.

“I saw something,” he says as soon as he spots Donghyuck. “Or someone.”

“Seriously?” Donghyuck’s eyes light up. “What did she look like? Was she pretty? Did you get her name?”

“‘Was she pretty?’ Is that all you can think about?” Doyoung sighs. “I didn’t get anything. I barely saw her. She was among the tree branches one minute and gone the next.” Donghyuck slumps a bit at that, but he’s still determined to see one of the forest’s female inhabitants for himself.

“Hmmm…no matter. There’s many more chances where that came from. We can always return later and see who shows up.”

Their conversation is cut short by a nearby shout from Mark, who’s loudly complaining about his head. Apparently he’s been struck by something much messier than a pinecone—a robin’s egg. “Ugh. What have you fools gotten into?!” Donghyuck calls out, spurring on his horse.

Doyoung mounts his own horse and follows the younger man in search of their brothers. Just before they get out of sight of the oak tree, Doyoung throws a glance backwards, still burning with curiosity. He’s startled to see the same face from earlier staring back at him from the uppermost reaches of the tree, your eyes wide with an inquisitiveness he thinks must mirror his own.

When he blinks, you are gone again.

Even though the other men look at him a bit oddly for it, Doyoung decides to bring a gift the next time they go to the forest.

He doesn’t know much about tree nymphs. He does know, however, that there is a library full of books in the castle; many being history and reference books, no doubt. After visiting the library one day after his brothers’ lessons, he manages to scrape up a little information on tree nymphs—or dryads, as they’re also called—even though he isn’t entirely sure what he’s looking for.

His research tells him the tree nymphs are friends of the gods and goddesses, and history shows that the higher beings have always liked—even demanded for—gifts. So why wouldn’t the women of the forest be the same way? Maybe if he brings a gift, the women will warm up to their presence and realize they aren’t just a bunch of horny travelers. At the very least, maybe they wouldn’t have any more pinecones and eggs thrown at them.

When the brothers get a chance to go to the forest again, Doyoung carries a couple cinnamon scones and a small, bright clementine from their earlier breakfast in his saddlebag. The chef’s scones are the best he’s ever tasted, and he doesn’t think he could ever go back to eating the ones from their cook back home—not that he’d ever say that out loud, though.

Everyone likes food, right? He figures there’s no way to go wrong with this idea, and even if the girl in the oak tree doesn’t like it, maybe one of the other tree nymphs or woodland creatures can eat it.

You aren’t in sight when he stops by the oak tree again. Donghyuck, who’s accompanying Doyoung on his personal quest, watches as he leaves the food in the small tree hollow, keeping it carefully wrapped in its blue and white handkerchief.

“You think she’ll take it?” Donghyuck asks, keeping his voice low. He doesn’t really want you to hear him talking about you if you’re still around somewhere, which could possibly alert you to their presence and scare you off again. But unbeknownst to him, that’s unlikely to happen; dryads always know when someone enters their forest.

“I wouldn’t reject free food,” Doyoung says, laughing quietly. He steps back once he’s finished with his job and looks towards the branches, as if he expects you to appear right then and accept his offering. That won’t likely happen, but he wouldn’t mind seeing what you look like more closely.

“Well, come on then.” Donghyuck waves his hand. “There’s still more to see. We can double back and see if it worked later.”

They hear rustling among the trees as they guide their horses through one of the forest’s many paths, but they don’t see any signs of the dryads. There’s only the occasional forest creature, such as a racoon or squirrel. Mark, Sicheng, and Jungwoo are farther away in another part of the woods, though the two men can hear them talking faintly, their voices carrying on the wind. Sunlight from the midday sun filters through the leaves, turning the landscape into a speckled show of light and shadow.

When Donghyuck and Doyoung get far enough away from the oak tree, they eventually come across a lake that splits the forest in half. It’s not very wide, but if you tried to jump across it you’d almost certainly land in the water instead of on dry land.

There are signs that sprites have recently been near the lake, or quite possibly live within the forest. The ground is littered with half-eaten berries and chewed-on leaves, but that’s not the only clue; that could be the work of any forest animal. Sprites, however, leave a very distinct tinge of magic in places they’ve visited. It’s akin to walking through a spiderweb, or feeling the air change when you go from the hot outdoors to a cold room. Doyoung almost swears he can hear tiny tinkling laughter next to his ear, though it fades away as soon as he turns around.

Donghyuck is more interested in the lake, though, and guides his horse to walk along the edge of the grass where the water begins. “Do you figure we could go swimming in it?” he calls back to Doyoung.

Doyoung scoffs. “Now?”

“Of course not now! Maybe some other day, when we don’t have 20 other things to do.”

“Maybe. The water seems safe enough…” Doyoung peers into the running waters himself, watching a few twigs and stray leaves float past. There aren’t any apparent dangers or concerns, and the water’s shallow enough where you can see the bottom of the lake, but appearances aren’t always as they seem. It’s always essential to be wary in magically-charged places like this forest.

They ride through the woods for a while longer, listening to birds cry out from the trees and sing softer chirps that serve as background music. Despite the forest’s inherent mystery, it’s almost calming at this moment, with the steady hum of wildlife around. It’s like time has been suspended and they’ve been enveloped in a dimension separate from their own, even though they can see familiar signs of life prospering all around them. The contradiction of the forest’s calm and unsettling quality is both strange and wonderful to experience.

By the time their half-hour of exploration starts running out, they circle back to the grand oak tree to see what’s become of Doyoung’s offering. He’s actually a bit surprised to see it gone, handkerchief and all, and he gets off his horse to inspect the tree hollow.

“It worked!” Donghyuck exclaims this a little too loudly and a nearby bird takes off. He flinches reflexively, expecting another pinecone to come hurtling at him from the trees, though none do.

“It did,” Doyoung agrees, pressing his fingers against the wood as he looks into the tree hollow. He’s even more pleased than he expected to be, a small grin playing on his lips. “It did.”

Doyoung leaves more gifts over the next few weeks, which ends up in him actually buying things for your merriment. Many of them are cute and inexpensive little trinkets from the Market Square, like smooth blue moonstones and jagged sharp crystals that the vendors swear have been blessed with witches’ magic, though he often still leaves food.

Even with these regular visits, he’s still yet to catch more than a few glimpses at a time of you. Unbeknownst to him and Donghyuck, these sightings, no matter how sparse they are, are largely due to you throwing them a bone and allowing them to perceive you. At any other time, it would be all too easy to just disappear completely and wait for them to leave after depositing their offerings.

They don’t always see you when they come to the tree, but it happens enough to be worth noting.

Despite this inability to get you to stay, Donghyuck still tries his luck with calling out greetings to your retreating form. These words, no matter how friendly they are, are often swallowed up in the rustling of the leaves.

The same thing happens today. Donghyuck spots your feet peeking out from an uppermost branch, not quite concealed by the leaves, and he rushes out the first thing he can think of to say. “Hey, there—” At the sound of his voice, though, you quickly retreat. “Uh, nice tree-climbing skills? Oh, alright, okay…”

“I don’t think she wants to talk right now,” Doyoung remarks, a smirk on his face as he goes to leave his token for today. This time, it’s another food gift; a pair of peaches and a biscuit with jam.

“That’s fine!” Donghyuck tries not to seem embarrassed about his fruitless greetings. “I’ll just keep greeting her until she does feel like answering. It would be rude not to say hello otherwise! Unlike someone else here. Not very princely of you, huh, brother?”

Donghyuck sticks his tongue out at his brother and spurs his horse to gallop off into the trees, feeling the air whip past his cheeks. In the back of his mind, he himself knows why he keeps calling out to you even if he won’t get an answer, though he doesn’t intend on letting Doyoung know why. Some things are better kept to oneself; he’s had to learn that lesson over time.

He eventually ends up on a small hill in the forest, which is surrounded by tall trees and covered in sparse patches of moss. He hears giggling above him from one of the trees, though when he turns his head to look, there’s nothing there.

Still chagrined from the time he got hit with a pinecone, he keeps his head turned skyward, trying to see if he can spot anything among the tree canopy. However, all he sees is green and more green. He’s about to give up and go about his way when an acorn comes zooming down and hits him square in the forehead.

“Hey!” he shouts, rubbing the sore spot on his head. His exclamation reverberates off the tree trunks and bounces back to him. The echo of it almost overtakes the small set of giggles from just in front of him, but his ear catches them. “Whoever you are, come out!”

Donghyuck’s horse whinnies softly but does nothing else to alert him to where the possible culprit might be hiding, and he sighs heavily. He decides to get off the horse to walk around the area, inspecting it more closely as the wind stirs his hair and tickles his ears. The forest is almost eerily silent the entire time; all Donghyuck can hear is the sound of his own breaths and his boots in the grass.

Suddenly, he yells when a mop of black hair falls on top of his head. The shock of it sends him falling to the ground, dirtying his pants. When he gets enough distance between himself and the strange black hair, he realizes it’s one of the tree nymphs. Not you from the oak tree, though, to his slight disappointment. This one hangs upside down from a thick branch as she looks at him, her eyes playful and bright.

“You’re a cute one, aren’t you?” Her voice sounds like windchimes tinkling in the breeze, light and airy. Donghyuck tries to respond, but he finds himself lost for words after finally facing one of the women who have been an enigma this entire time. When she sees he isn’t responding, she says, “Cat got your tongue?”

“Who...where…?” Donghyuck scrambles to his feet, and the girl rights herself on her tree branch, skittering along the length of it to hide partway behind the tree trunk. She doesn’t appear to actually be shy or apprehensive, though. Her grin tells him that this is all part of her game.

“Hmm. Well, when you figure out what you’d like to say, call for me.” The girl disappears completely behind the tree trunk, and Donghyuck darts behind it, expecting to see her still hiding there. However, there’s nothing but air.

“But I don’t know your name?” Donghyuck calls after her, but there’s only his own voice reflected back to him.

“Don’t know whose name?” Mark’s voice makes Donghyuck turn around in surprise, a blush coloring his cheeks. He hadn’t even heard the older man’s horse come trotting up.

“No one,” he mumbles, shaking his head as he walks back to his horse. “You must be hearing things.”

You and three other dryads sit in a circle in a small clearing one night, talking amongst yourselves, eating berries, and gazing at the moon as it shines directly upon your little spot. Cassia lays her head in your lap, her long black hair splaying across your legs. The other two, Peony and Daphne, cuddle close to each other, their legs entangling as they feed each other berries.

You all only come out like this when you’re sure the forest is free of any unwelcome visitors or sudden drop-ins, so you can enjoy each other’s company in peace and talk without prying ears or eyes. And speak of the devil—the subject soon turns to the men who’ve been gallivanting through the forest as of late.

“We can never have any peace,” Cassia says, though her tone is laced with laughter. “If it isn’t one group of thirsty and untouched men, it’s another.”

“That one man always comes around this area, the one with the long hair. Along with the rest of them…all on their horses, making so much noise and chaos,” Peony complains.

“It’s impossible not to notice their presence. I wish they’d just stay wherever they come from; they make far too much noise out here,” Daphne says, shaking her head. “They must scare away every woodland creature within a 20-foot radius.”

You’re quiet and thoughtful as you listen to the other girls’ complaints. Finally, you decide to chime in. “I don’t know. They do seem a bit mannerless at times, but they’re kind of interesting.”

Peony shrugs. “Not surprised you’d say that. The one with the long hair is always looking up your tree and leaving you gifts.”

“She just doesn’t want the stream of admiration to stop,” Cassia giggles.

You sigh. “I don’t think it’s quite that simple, but whatever you say.”

“Everyone in the world likes attention, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Cassia admits, “especially when it’s coming from someone who isn’t half-bad. This batch of men is by far the most attractive we’ve seen in a while.”

“Hmm, if you say so,” Peony says, and her and Daphne giggle to themselves like they’re in on a joke only the two of them know.

“He must think he’ll get in your good graces if he gives you enough presents,” Daphne adds in. “What say you?”

You tilt your head and think. “Get in my good graces? That depends on what he wants.”

“What he wants?” Peony separates herself from Daphne and crawls over to you, mischief shining in her eyes. “And what do you think he wants?” Her grin doesn’t diminish as she waits for your answer. Daphne smiles and laughs and licks berry juice off her hands as she observes you both.

You stare at the other girl for a long moment, not wanting to laugh but cracking a grin anyway. “I couldn’t possibly know! Maybe you should ask him—or ask the younger one you all have been obsessed with.”

Cassia stretches her arms upwards toward the night sky, crossing her fingers over each other. “Nope. He’s just fun to tease.”

“Fun enough for you to reveal yourself to him,” you point out.

“Say what you will,” she responds. “But at some point, you will probably have to talk to the man. Think carefully. You want to make a good impression on your not-so-secret admirer, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” you say nonchalantly, though you are already thinking of what you might say to him the next time he comes around.

Daphne looks to Cassia, then at you. “Well, just remember this. I wouldn’t waste too much of my good time with him if I were you. We all know elves don’t like us.” The mood shifts a bit at this, with the three of you giving each other unsettled looks as a familiar thought drifts in the back of your minds. It is not uncommon for elves to demean other species, nor is it rare for them to use this perceived superiority to take what they want from others.

Cassia pulls up a handful of grass and throws it at the other girl. “Must you spoil the mood? We’re just having a bit of fun. Besides, these elves obviously don’t object to us if they keep hanging around here unprovoked.”

“I’m trying to look out for the best interest of a fellow dryad,” Daphne protests. “Elven men are very seductive…everything you want them to be until they’re not. But, by all means, do as you please.”

“Like Cassia said, it’s just fun.” You keep your voice nonchalant, though you are already rising to your feet to walk back to your tree. “And thank you for the concern…although I’m not certain it’s warranted.”

The other girls let you walk back alone, knowing you need a bit of time to yourself to think. You wonder what the man’s motive could truly be, and what it means for you. The elves of Arthenia have historically been easy to get along with as they don’t share the views of many others in their race. The same can’t always be said for elven people outside of this small area, though.

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

One day, Doyoung manages to go out to the forest by himself while his brothers are still busy with their studies.

He plans to leave you something again, maybe hoping to see you fully this time, though he’s also content to just be out in nature and enjoy the scenery if that’s not possible. At least that’s what he tells himself. Fortunately for him, Lady Luck takes his side today.

After getting off his horse, he heads straight for your oak tree with his gift in hand. It’s a small piece of dyed glass that he got from the Market Square, shaped like a maple leaf. It appears to change colors when held up to the light, as if it were a real leaf with the sun shining through its cells.

You’re already sitting on one of the upper branches when he comes to the tree. He stops in his tracks, thinking you might run off again if he comes any closer, but you simply sit and look at him, your knees close to your chest. He thinks about what a precarious position that is to take on a tree branch, but you’re obviously used to keeping your balance up there.

There’s a tense silence. Doyoung’s afraid you might leave, but he’s surprised when you stay put as the seconds tick past, wrapping your arms around your knees and watching him. When he becomes a little more confident that you won’t try to escape, he steps closer, albeit slowly. “Hello,” he says, keeping his voice even and quiet. Like he’s speaking to something vulnerable and scared.

After a few beats of silence, you say, “Hi.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m...Doyoung.”

“Doyoung.” You cock your head, weighing whether you should tell him your name or not, but you eventually do.

“It’s a pretty name,” he says, and he actually means it rather than saying it just to be polite. “Um…” He looks to the glass leaf in his hand, which is cradled in another handkerchief. “I was wondering if I’d ever get to see you in person.”

“I’m always here,” you say.

Doyoung nods and chuckles. “Well...I can’t argue with that.”

“You’re always here, too. With your group of men. Making so much noise that you scare all the creatures in the forest away.”

Doyoung winces. He already knew that they weren’t the quietest mice in the bunch whenever they came to the forest. “I’m...sorry about that. I’ll tell the others to keep it down from now on.”

You nod. “That would be nice. The other girls don’t like the noise.”

“What about you?”

You shrug. “They’re not wrong for being irritated about it.”

“Could this make up for it? At least, for you?” Doyoung pulls away the handkerchief and holds the glass leaf up for you to see. You climb down from your high post to look at it more closely, though you don’t leave the tree entirely; you just balance on one of the lower branches.

“It’s pretty,” you whisper, and Doyoung notices your eyes seem to sparkle a bit more at the sight of the ornament even though your outer demeanor is calm.

“Then I’ll leave it here.” Doyoung tucks it into the small tree hollow where he’s always put the rest of his presents.

“Thank you,” you tell him quietly, and he is surprised to see a slight smile on your face; the first one he’s ever seen from you. He realizes he’s staring at you a little longer than he should and catches himself.

“Ah, y-you’re welcome.”

You nod but don’t say anything more, and Doyoung knows he ought to speak again soon if he doesn’t want to surrender this small opportunity he’s had to talk to you.

“Are there...many of you here?”

“Dryads?”

“Ah, yes...dryads.”

“There are many, yes,” you answer. “Not every tree has a keeper; some are just empty. But many do. We live in our trees.”

“In?” Doyoung realizes this may be referring to something other than just literally living among the branches, which he didn’t think of until now. You nod.

“Maybe it’s a little different from your elven magic.” You glance at his ears and momentarily think of the conversation you had with the other dryads. “But it’s a type of magic all the same.”

“I see…” Doyoung remembers to file that bit of information away so he can tell Donghyuck, who’s been burning to know. The books in the library only provided so many answers, much to their disappointment, with them not having much recorded information on the tree nymph race. Dryads seemed to be a thing of mystery to many, though he could easily guess why.

“You’re not Eupheme-born,” you say abruptly. “Where do you hail from?”

“The kingdom of Ceres,” Doyoung answers. You nod, and he takes this as recognition. “Have you been there before?

You shake your head. “I can’t leave the forest.”

“You can’t? Why?”

“We’re connected to the trees. They keep us alive, and vice versa. If we’re separated over too far of a distance, both will die.”

“That’s grim,” Doyoung says, his eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t you ever want to leave? Go somewhere else? It can’t be happy to be chained to one place forever.”

You raise your eyebrows and laugh, incredulous at his statement. “Chained? The forest is my home. There’s nowhere else I’d ever want to be.”

Doyoung shrugs. “You have a much stronger constitution than me, then. I don’t know that I’d want to be tied to any one place for my entire life.”

You squint your eyes, staring at him carefully. “You’re royalty, aren’t you?” He nods in response. “Enjoy your freedom while it lasts. You can come to this forest however you please and have fun, but you’ll have to have a family sooner or later...something more permanent to tie you to this world.” You slip down from your branch, letting your feet touch the ground, and Doyoung steps back a little to give you space. “Men like to roam and be free and sow their wild oats. They’re more than welcome to do that, but I’ll stay here among the trees.”

He stares at you in wonder, your words repeating in his head as you gingerly take his gift out of the hollow. You turn back to him momentarily, giving him a quick parting smile and a nod before skipping off into the trees.

“A letter came!” Jungwoo holds up a cream-colored envelope that sports their family’s familiar crest on a wax seal on the back. It’s a letter from their parents—their first correspondence since the men have left the castle.

“What does it say?” Mark and Donghyuck crowd around him to persuade him into opening the envelope faster. Before Jungwoo can read it, Sicheng plucks it out of his hand and holds it up to the light, making a show of squinting at the inky black handwriting. “Well? Go on!” Donghyuck prods him.

“Hmm...” Sicheng purses his lips and crinkles his brows as if concentrating hard, then gives them all a sly smile. “It says you’re all kicked off the inheritance and I’m becoming the next Crown Prince.”

Doyoung shakes his head and takes the letter from Sicheng as the younger man laughs. The other three boys balk at his attempt at a joke, and Doyoung knows the atmosphere could easily turn awkward if he doesn’t step in now. “Anyway. Let’s see what it really says, I’m sure they must be missing our presence…”

They all stand around Doyoung as he reads the letter out to them, trying to look over his shoulder as if he can’t read fast enough to satisfy their curiosity.

“Dear boys, we hope Eupheme has been finding you well.

Affairs in Ceres have been running as normal in your absence, thankfully, and Yuta and Jaehyun have been handling their new duties well. They also send their regards and hope to see you back soon.

“There is also important news for our Doyoungie. We are considering a potential match for you—the Duke of Ceres’ daughter, with whom you should already be familiar—and plan to set a meeting as soon as you return at summer’s end. We think you will find her very agreeable...” Doyoung’s voice falters a bit.

“Aw, is our indecisive brother finally going to become a married man this year?” Jungwoo slings his arm around Doyoung’s shoulders, and the older man lets out a puff of air.

“By the beginning of next year, who wants to bet?” Donghyuck snickers. “Girls naturally love you, it won’t take long for you to charm her. Either way, it’s not like you have very much longer to wait.” Mark elbows him in the side and he complains in turn, but not before cuffing Mark over the head.

“...I suppose.” That comment about being a “ladies’ man” might have drawn a laugh or two or even a boast if it were said months ago, but now Doyoung just feels strangely unsettled about it all—the impending courtship and his inevitable marriage. He continues reading the rest of the letter, though if someone were to ask him later, he wouldn’t be able to remember the rest of the words.

“We think you will find her very agreeable and are thrilled for you to get to know each other better. It is nothing to worry yourself over now, but do keep this in mind.

“Boys—remember to keep following all of your tutors’ instructions, and please refrain from making yourselves bothersome. You all are guests, and the King and Queen of Eupheme are being very honorable by hosting you this summer.

“We all send our best regards.”

That night, Doyoung tries his best to fall asleep but is kept awake by the contents of the letter. It’s hard to tear his mind away from what will happen once he returns to Ceres. Though he’d thought he’d be prepared for this, he feels unexpectedly nervous and averse to the idea of yet again courting someone he barely knows for months—and quite possibly marrying them this time around. He doesn’t know how much longer their parents’ patience in allowing him to take his time with finding a partner will last.

It’s proper. It’s tradition. It’s what’s expected of him and his brothers, and he’s been primed for this duty his entire life. Yet, that knowledge does nothing to quell the uncomfortable sensation—dare he call it dread?—creeping upon him.

He watches the clock on the mantle across his bedroom, just above the fireplace. Its little black hands tick by endlessly, counting down the seconds, minutes, hours. When another hour passes and he’s still staring at the clock, Doyoung peels the covers back and decides to leave the castle for a bit. He already knows of a few tucked-away passages he can slip out of that lead to the outside in some way or another, having bribed Jaemin into telling him where they are in case any of his brothers tries to sneak out. How ironic that he’s now using that knowledge for his own gains.

Although he’s not sure if he’ll need it, Doyoung throws on a cloak for good measure before escaping to the outside. He spends a while walking through the castle’s extensive gardens and making sure he’s staying out of sight of the guards, though he feels no sleepier than he did when he first got there. Exasperated, he’s about to turn around and head back for the indoors when the woods beyond Arthenia pop into his mind.

Should he? He’s already outside; what’s the harm in it? Admittedly, the answer is a lot if he’s caught, but he pushes those thoughts away, as his feet are already turning to lead him away from the castle grounds. Doyoung decides he’ll use his glamor for a bit to disguise his face and elven ears once he gets to Arthenia, though there probably won’t be many people awake at this time of night.

Without a horse, the walk to the forest is long. Doyoung doesn’t create any of his light orbs until he’s sure he’s far enough away from the castle to not be spotted by any of the night watch guards. When he thinks it’s safe, he conjures a small ball of burning blue light in his palm, which is enough to illuminate his footsteps.

Doyoung’s boots are wet from the damp grass by the time he reaches the Market Square, and he passes by the rows of houses and outbuildings without a sound. Some lights are still on in some homes, glowing a warm yellow in the dim light of the half moon, while others are pitch black and fade into the surrounding darkness.

The forest looks even more intimidating at night, even with the limited light. He hesitates at the forest entrance for a minute, wondering if it’s safe to go inside. He’s yet to see anything truly dangerous during the daylight hours, but things can be different at night. He didn’t think to possibly bring his bow and arrow from their archery lessons, and there will be no easy escape on horse if something menacing crosses his path. Shaking his head and sighing, he enters anyway and prays to whatever goddess will listen for the best. He’s already walked this far.

Doyoung convinces himself that he’s just going to walk around for a bit, maybe sit at the lake for a while, but after turning in a wide, looping circle, his feet eventually end up leading him to the oak tree. You are already sitting on a low branch when he arrives, as if waiting for his appearance. He notices you’re wearing the moonstone he once left in the tree hollow; somehow it’s been fashioned into a necklace, and he wonders where you got the tools to do that. One of your legs trails off the tree branch you’re perched on, swinging leisurely in the cool night air, and he tries not to stare.

“Y/N,” slips from his lips. “You’re awake at this hour?”

You smirk. “So are you.” Doyoung moves the cloak’s hood away from his face with this free hand, and you study the glowing orb in his other hand. “You’re a Light User...that’s interesting.”

“I guess it could make for a fun trick at a ball,” he says, and tosses the glowing orb up into the air. He does this a few times until he throws it up one last time and it hovers in the air, as if stuck by an invisible force. Doyoung manipulates the orb with his fingers in a way that causes it to split up into a dozen more bright glowing spheres, all suspended in the air. By now, the entire area around the oak tree is lit up from the light emanating from these numerous orbs.

You laugh softly at this display, reaching out to touch the orb nearest to you and discovering that, despite your hand passing through it, the air still feels oddly warm in the spot where the light glows. “Very pretty. It’s peculiar to see you at this hour, though. Are you even allowed to be out this late?” you ask, your eyes still lingering on the orb.

“No, but…” Doyoung trails off, unsure if he wants to revive that concern. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You finally look back at him, and your face creases slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Doyoung says, and he doesn’t know, really. Getting married was always a part of the plan, as royalty. So why is he doubting it now? Maybe he knows more about why he’s feeling this way than he’ll admit to, but there are things he’s still not even sure of himself at the moment.

You decide not to press the matter for now, especially after seeing his conflicted face. “You don’t have your horse. Was it a long walk?”

He nods and laughs a little, thinking maybe it was a bit ridiculous to walk all the way here in the middle of the night. He still has to walk all the way back, which isn’t an appealing thought. “Nothing like a bit of exercise to tire you out, I guess. Hopefully I’ll sleep better after.”

“You sound like a troubled sleeper. I eat jasmine petals if I have trouble sleeping. You know, there’s a bush of them around here.” It’s an offer for him to partake, if he wants to.

“My mom likes jasmine tea,” Doyoung says, grinning slightly. “Do you often have trouble falling asleep? I would think it would be easier being surrounded by nature like this.”

You slide off the lower branch and land on the grass with a soft thump. “Not always…but I’d rather have an easy remedy than be left without one when I needed it.” Then you move to follow a dirt path leading away from the tree, but not before turning back to look at Doyoung. “Come on, then. I’ll show you the bush.”

Once again, he hesitates like he did just before entering the forest. “Is...it safe?”

You squint at him. “Safe?”

“I mean…there must be other creatures in this forest besides the agreeable woodland variety.”

“Yes…but they mostly live on the far outskirts. And either way, none of the other inhabitants will hurt a dryad. We’re the forest’s keepers. So you’ll be safe if you’re with me.”

Doyoung decides to take your word for it and follows you along the path, his blue orbs trailing after him. He sends some further ahead to light the narrow path so you both can see better, though you already know where the bush is by heart.

Soon, you’re both standing in front of the aforementioned bush, which is laden with white jasmine blooms. They seem to shine unnaturally brightly under the illumination of the blue orbs.

“Take some,” you say, carefully plucking one of the flowers from the bush. You hold it up to his nose so he can smell it, and he does so. The scent envelops him like a warm hug, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say it’s already making him feel better. When you hold the flower out to him, he takes it gingerly. He doesn’t fail to notice the soft blossom’s texture, or the equal softness of your hand.

“Will your friends be okay with this?” Doyoung asks tentatively, holding the flower in his hand with a certain fragility.

“They will. And if they aren't, it can be our secret.” There are no secrets in this forest, really, but you humor him anyway, wanting to do something nice in return for the gifts he’s given you.

Doyoung nods and takes a couple more of the flowers, their leaves included, for the tea. He tucks them safely in the pocket of his pants.

You smile at him once he’s taken what he wants. “You’re quite gentle,” you remark. Doyoung doesn’t expect to hear that from you, and he looks at you quizzically.

“What do you mean?”

“You just appear to be very...cognizant. Many people who’ve come to the forest before don’t give any thought to disturbing the natural balance of things and taking what they want. Not the villagers, but others.”

“I see,” Doyoung nods, feeling his face grow warm. He’s never had that particular attribute associated with him before. Gentle. Men are meant to be strong and brave and fearless; gentleness is for the fairer sex. He doesn’t dislike it, though. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You nod in return. “Well, it’s getting a bit late...later than it already is, anyway. I don’t know how things at your castle work, but you may want to be getting back before someone notices you’re gone. The sun will be rising soon enough.”

Doyoung smiles slightly. “You’re quite right.”

“Would you like me to walk back with you? To keep you safe, you know.” You giggle at this. “I will only go as far as the edge of the forest. But you should be alright beyond that point.”

“That’s fine with me.” Doyoung can’t help but feel a little embarrassed about being on the receiving end of such niceties, thinking that this is the kind of thing he’d be doing for you in any other context. He’s not going to pass up the offer of safety, though—and the opportunity to spend a few more minutes in your company.

You talk in low voices on the way back towards the forest’s opening. Mostly about things in the forest, though Doyoung does mention his brothers once or twice. Secretly, you think it’s a bit endearing how much he cares about them even if they get on his nerves.

“We’re here,” you say once you’re in view of the village again.

“Thank you for walking with me. And thank you for the jasmine.” Doyoung pats his pocket.

You grin and wave. “You’re welcome. Sleep well.”

Doyoung starts walking off but suddenly turns back to you as if there’s something more he wants to say. You raise your eyebrows in question, waiting for him to speak, but after a second, he only smiles—if a bit nervously—and returns your wave.

You shuffle back into the underbrush a bit, though you stay there and watch him walk away until he’s just a speck amongst the backdrop of the village.

Doyoung makes it back home undetected and climbs back into bed feeling tired enough to sleep now, though he also attributes some of his sleepiness to the pleasant smell of jasmine still clinging to him.

When he slumbers, he dreams of a soft hand touching his, ripe with the scent of jasmine flowers.

The days get progressively hotter as the summer months settle in. With their tutors’ increasing lenience thanks to them taking well to their educational and etiquette lessons, the men get more time to themselves to do whatever they wish. The heat encourages them to spend more time outdoors, whether it’s running through the castle’s expansive yards, shooting arrows at targets or some poor stuffed mannequins, or heading to the village—and subsequently, the forest.

One hot day when they have little responsibilities to tend to, Jungwoo comes up with the brilliant idea to head to the lake for a couple hours, perhaps to cool down from the heat by wading in the water for a while. Sicheng, who has grown a bit disenchanted with the forest, decides to spend the day with their three cousins instead.

However, when the men get within shouting distance of the lake, they realize it’s already occupied.

“Wait!” Mark hisses, pulling on the reins of his horse to make it stop. He holds a finger to his lips, and before any of the men can question him, the sound of shouting, laughter, and water splashing drifts to them on the wind. It appears they aren’t the only ones who’ve had the idea of visiting the lake today.

“Oh?” Donghyuck’s eyes widen, and he and Jungwoo waste no time with getting off their own steeds to head for the riverbank.

“Wait, where the hell are you leaving off to?” Doyoung whisper-shouts, but the two pay him no mind as they creep over to a cluster of bushes near the edge of the lake. The shrubs are big enough to conceal them while still providing a few gaps to peek through, and from their new post they spot the dryads farther down the length of the lake, standing in a shallow portion. The women aren’t near enough to spot the men hiding in the bush, but they are still close enough to see clearly from this distance.

“W-what do you see?” Mark asks, his body poised as if he wants to get off his horse and join them too, but he’s still unsure.

“You’ve got to see it for yourself,” Donghyuck snickers, waving the older man over.

Mark looks to Doyoung. Doyoung gives him an incredulous look, and Mark shoots an apologetic one back before dismounting his horse and going over to join his brothers, squeezing in-between them as they crouch on the ground. He sees a group of six dryads playing in the lake, splashing each other with the water. Two more sit on the bank observing the festivities and talking about something they’re holding in their hands, though Mark can’t quite make out what the small objects are.

Donghyuck has only barely seen you during the times he’s gone with Doyoung to deliver your gifts, though he instantly recognizes you as one of the girls standing in the lake. His breath catches a bit as he watches you with water glistening off your skin and your dress clinging to your body.

“Isn’t this a little distasteful?” Mark mutters, his big eyes darting nervously between his brothers. He shifts uncomfortably, looking like he’s ready to make a run for it if need be. “I mean, watching them through the bushes like this…”

“Probably,” Jungwoo replies. “But as long as they don’t notice us…”

Mark almost shouts at feeling a hand come down on his shoulder, and Donghyuck whips his head around when the same happens to him; however, it’s only Doyoung. “You all need to get up right now,” he hisses lowly. “Haven’t you learned anything over the past few months? This is inappropriate—”

“Why are you standing?! Get down before they—”

Before any of them can realize what’s happening, what must be a gallon of lake water splashes down on all four of their heads. Screams of shock ring through the forest, along with a loud round of laughter—coming from both above them and further down the lake.

Mark, Jungwoo, and Donghyuck get to their feet in a rush, looking and feeling very much embarrassed. They look up toward the treetops and see two dryads sitting in the cleft of some of the sturdier branches, openly giggling at them. Jungwoo notices they aren’t holding buckets or any other objects that could’ve explained how they got the water up there in the first place—just a net woven with leaves, which he is certain they couldn’t have been transporting the water in. And yet… “How did you...?”

The women aren’t interested in answering his question, though, and instead disappear into the branches, leaving nothing but a few stray leaves fallen to the ground.

“I think we probably deserved that,” Mark says, sighing and trying to shake some of the water out of his clothes. The rest of the dryads who are still in the water follow the lead of the other two girls, running out of the lake and scattering through the forest, the echoes of their laughter the only evidence that they were ever there. The only ones who stay are you and the two other tree nymphs sitting on the riverbank. Now that everyone is in full view of each other, Mark belatedly realizes that the “objects” the two girls were holding and cooing over are not objects at all, but small sprites.

You step a little closer to the group of men, and the other two girls watch them intently. “If you wanted to play with us, you could just say so. It would benefit you not to be a bunch of cads about it.” You roll your eyes, though you are somewhat amused by seeing them standing there looking soaked and embarrassed.

“O-of course! I tried to tell them, but you know how it is with these kids...we were just leaving, actually.” Doyoung grips Donghyuck and Jungwoo’s collars like he’s about to drag them off like two misbehaving children, and Donghyuck’s face flushes at being treated like a kid in front of you.

“Are you sure about that?” you ask, and Doyoung raises his eyebrows at your question. You lower your hand into the lake water as if you’re only checking its temperature or letting it flow through your fingers—which is why they’re taken off guard when you draw your hand back and send a big splash of water flying in their direction.

Donghyuck is the first to react, pulling away from Doyoung’s grasp and rushing into the water to splash you back. It’s not long before things quickly evolve into another splash battle, with the other boys wading into the lake to join. The other two girls give skeptical glances at first, but they eventually bid goodbye to their sprite friends and jump into the lake, too.

You all spend what feels like hours running through the water and splashing each other, and your two friends take more quickly to the men than you expected. When the hour for them to leave comes rolling around, you are all soaked but smiling.

“We’re never going to hear the end of it,” Mark says, looking down at their wet clothes. Still, there’s no concealing the bright and amused smile coloring his features.

Your two friends wave to the men and quickly slip off back to their trees, though you linger for a while longer as you watch them climb out of the lake and try to wring out their clothes. Doyoung’s the last one left standing in the water with you, and you turn to him.

“Did the flowers help?” you ask.

“The flow—? Oh, the flowers! They worked just as intended, thank you…” Doyoung blushes a little at the memory. As the others head for their horses, Donghyuck hangs back a little to hear the conversation, wanting to be nosy and wondering what flowers you’re referring to.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you reply, smiling and feeling a little proud that your remedy worked—even though you knew it would. “You know, if you ever need anything else, you can just ask…there are a lot of resourceful things here. It’s like living in an apothecary.”

“Well, I’m interested if he isn’t!” Haechan interjects.

You smirk lightly at him while Doyoung shoots him an irritated look. “Sure. I suppose you’ve taken interest in the forest itself and are no longer just looking for a pretty woman to mess around with?”

Donghyuck flushes at your words, and his smile falters a little at being called out on his earlier intentions. Beside him, Doyoung gloats internally, and he bites his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud. “Um…sorry about that.”

“It’s nothing new,” you say matter-of-factly. Then you turn to Doyoung. “Anyways…don’t forget what I said. I’ve gotten used to seeing you around here, so...don’t be a stranger.” You go to leave then, but not before turning back around once more. “And don’t go snooping around. You’re not as stealthy as you think.”

Donghyuck only nods, too embarrassed to respond and unable to justify himself. Both men watch as you walk away, likely back towards your tree. Doyoung turns to the younger man. “Come on, then. Let’s be heading back; maybe our clothes will dry out on the way there.”

After the lake incident, Donghyuck insists on using all his lesson breaks for the next couple of weeks to go with Doyoung whenever he travels to the forest to see you. Donghyuck becomes even more invested in this after knowing that Doyoung had already met you face-to-face after going to the forest by himself. The older man acquiesces, though deep down he’d like to spend more time with you alone—especially with managing to make these visits only once or twice a week. Still, seeing you with his little brother clinging to his side is better than not seeing you at all.

Donghyuck is talkative and lively and inquisitive in your presence, much more willing to learn new things from you than from even the highest-rated tutors in Eupheme. Doyoung finds that particularly ironic, though he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he listens intently along with Donghyuck as you tell him about the many different kinds of plants within the forest, including what purposes they serve. Doyoung is always reminded of the night you gave him those jasmine flowers, and even now, he stares at your hands as you point out different leaves and subtly wishes he could have any excuse to touch them again.

“These berries are safe to eat, though they look very similar to poisonous Pokeweed berries. That’s why you want to be sure you can tell the difference between them…” You place a few in your palm and hold them out for Donghyuck to see.

Donghyuck—who looks at you like you know everything in the world. You know many things, but not everything; but you’ll continue to let him look at you so admirably, because you find it endearing. He somewhat makes you think of what it might be like to have a younger brother or an amiable male friend. Someone to offer you a different perspective of the world external from the community of women you’ve always lived in.

Could Doyoung be that male friend or curious brother, too? Maybe, but maybe not.

Whenever you turn and speak to Doyoung to keep him included in the conversation, you don’t get that companionable feeling. There’s something much warmer there, something that makes you smile a little wider and causes more interesting facts to pop into your head. You enjoy telling him more about the forest, your home, and you somehow feel like you’d tell him anything he wants to know whenever he looks at you.

You like to see his smile, and the way his eyes grow smaller as he laughs or grins at something you’ve said. You haven’t felt this in a very long time, but if there’s anything to compare it to, it’d be eating warm honey straight from the honeycomb, or breathing in a lungful of jasmine scent before drifting off to sleep.

You don’t dwell on it for too long, simply wanting to experience the emotions as they are rather than spend too much time worrying over what they mean. Nevertheless…your idea of Doyoung is quite different from a friend or brother, indeed.

Although it is a Saturday when Doyoung comes to visit you, the sky is a dark and restless contrast to the day’s liveliness, the clouds looking heavy enough to drag down to Earth. He knows it’ll likely rain soon, which means he should probably stay in the castle and keep dry, but he ventures out to see you anyway. Today is the first time in a while he’s been able to see you without Donghyuck by his side, so he’s taking the opportunity.

You’re not in your tree when he comes. He thinks maybe he might go and look for you, but you’ll know where he is faster than he could find you. It takes a few minutes, but as expected, you appear from the further reaches of the woodland, laughing to yourself and holding a ring of flowers. There’s a similar one on your head made up of purple and white blooms. Doyoung thinks you look something like an angel against the sky’s gloom, with a halo made of blossoms instead of light.

“You’re here now? It’s about to rain,” you say, though your tone shows you’re clearly happy to see him.

He shrugs. “I felt like getting some air...I’m not concerned with a little water, as you probably already know.” I wanted to see you, is what he’d really like to say, but he doesn’t want to jump the gun. You nod in understanding, then hold up the ring of flowers in your hand; it has a few blue ones reminiscent of Doyoung’s light orbs. You offer the flower crown up to him, and he bends so you can place it on his head.

“Now you look like a true prince,” you say, smiling in satisfaction at your masterpiece. “I’ve never seen you with a crown until now. That’s a shame.”

“It is a shame.” Doyoung brings a hand up to feel the petals of one of the flowers between his fingers, and he grins. “I’m quite handsome in one.”

“Oh, my prince!” You start prancing around Doyoung and his horse like a fairy, or maybe like a young maiden at a fancy ball, brushing your hand along the animal’s shiny coat as you do. “It’s such an honor for you to grace our forest with your elegant visage.” You finally stop in front of him with a curtsy, though you have to take a moment to readjust your flower crown when it almost flies off at the sudden stop. “What can I have the pleasure of doing for you today?”

Though he laughs at your acting, he’s also a little awestruck for a moment, taken away by your cuteness and humor. Doyoung realizes there’s an awkward silence settling between you as he’s yet to say anything, and he finally stutters out, “There was something I...w-wanted to tell you.”

“What is it?” You come out of your curtsy and stand straight in front of him, all ears open for whatever he’s about to say.

“Well, it’s…” It’s a lot scarier to say what you want when you’re standing in front of someone and not just practicing in front of the vanity mirror. Doyoung is still piecing the words together when a few drops of rain hit his cheek. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but the droplets become impossible to ignore when they suddenly come hammering down without pretense, as if the gods have given word for the heavens’ floodgates to open.

“Come on!” You start running and Doyoung has no choice but to follow, tugging his horse along with him. It doesn’t take long for you to lead him to a small cave he’s never seen before. To his defense, that’s likely because the opening of it is partially obscured by hanging vines and other vegetation. It’s tall enough for someone of Doyoung’s height to stand in comfortably, which he’s relieved by. He doesn’t consider himself to be one of the more uptight royals like many others he knows, but he also wouldn’t be thrilled by the idea of sitting down in a cold, dirty cave in the rain. Even with your haste, though, you’re both quite wet by now.

Though the cave is spacious enough for you two, it becomes apparent that both of you and the horse won’t fit. Instead, Doyoung guides the animal to take shelter nearby under a willow tree with overhanging branches.

The cave is not very deep at all, only extending a few feet backwards. Perhaps that’s reassuring, at least for Doyoung, because there won’t be any disgruntled animals popping out to protest against their space being invaded.

“Well, that was interesting.” You chuckle as you squeeze water out of the hem of your dress.

“Suppose I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.” Doyoung does the same for the ends of his hair, though he knows it will be a while before it gets acceptably dry.

You laugh and nod. “You said you wanted to tell me something. What was it?” you ask.

Doyoung pauses and looks at you carefully, with rainwater dripping off his chin and darkening his clothes. He looks very serious, which is something you haven’t really seen before. It makes concern rise in your stomach, thinking maybe he has some bad news to deliver.

However, you’ve mistaken the intensity in his eyes for somberness when it’s something else entirely.

“I...love you.”

You regard him with wide eyes, feeling a little taken aback. The rain pours noisily in the background, but you’ve heard him loud and clear.

“I know we have only known each other for a few months,” he continues, “but I love you. I want to be with you.”

You’re surprised that he feels this strongly about you already, but it’s also true that you’ve felt yourself falling for him in the past few months, with his thoughtful gifts and kind smile and soft voice. You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, lips parting minutely. He catches the small movement of your mouth, like he notices everything about you—whether you acknowledged it before or not.

Doyoung takes your hand. Though his palm is wet from the rain, you don’t care about that. “I think about you when I’m not here in the forest…and when I’m overseeing my brothers’ lessons. I dream about you when I sleep at night. Every time I get another gift for you, it’s because I want to see you smile so brightly like that again, because of me. I never want to know a day without you.”

You know Eupheme isn’t his home, that he has to leave someday. You know elves don't generally think kindly of dryads, viewing you all as frivolous and foolish and loose; and even if him and his brothers don’t, there’s no telling what the rest of his family thinks. You also know that even without those two things standing in the way, he’s still a prince who’ll need to be married to a suitable bride at some point. All of those things make you nervous. There are many obstacles before you, but you allow yourself to forget them momentarily as you stand in this cave with him.

You bring Doyoung’s hand up to your lips and kiss his knuckles softly, taking what warmth you can despite his cool skin. You hold his hand tightly, like it might be taken away from you otherwise. “Doyoung…you have charmed me unlike anyone else.”

You bring that hand closer and place it over your racing heart, and he seems a bit hesitant at first because of the proximity to your breast, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he readily responds to the kiss you give him afterwards, drinking in your warmth as a balm for the sudden cool air. For a while, there’s only the sound of rain coming down and your lips connecting with each other’s.

You don’t know how long you kiss each other, but there’s nothing else you can do in this small cave, so you continue without thought to the outside circumstances. Even after your lips part, you huddle close together. You close your eyes in Doyoung’s embrace, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and breathing underneath your ears and basking in the fullness of your own heart.

When the rain finally stops, Doyoung has to leave. The sun will be setting soon; the downpour went on longer than either of you anticipated.

“I promise I’ll come back soon,” he says, clinging to your hand with both of his.

“You always do.” You already trust him more than you can say.

Doyoung nods to your words, smiling somewhat bashfully. He steps out of the cave and lets your hand slip from his. But before he can get more than a few feet away, he turns around and comes back to kiss you once more on the lips, his fingertips on your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

You laugh once you separate from each other. “The sun’s getting low, and the others will question you. Go on now.”

Doyoung keeps to his word and makes his way out after fetching his horse, but he keeps glancing back to you until he’s completely disappeared among the brush.

You feel like your mind has been filled with soft moss, all airy and soft and tangled together with unending thoughts. You walk back to your tree feeling as if you could float there instead, enjoying the damp grass under your feet.

The time slips by blissfully.

Doyoung keeps coming out to see you during his free time each week, as he has done since he’s been in Eupheme, though sometimes he’s able to manage more than just one or two visits. On those weeks when he comes out more often, whether it be at night or during the day, you hold him especially tightly, enjoying the extra time with him and wanting to live inside of it—to freeze a moment in time and keep it close to your chest for as long as possible.

“I wish you could see the castle,” Doyoung says this low and close to your ear like he’s telling you a secret. He lies on his side beside you in the grass, playing with your fingers. A gap in the treetops lets a lopsided circle of sunlight shine down on your faces, warming you both from the inside out. “Walk through the maze of land...or see the stable.”

You hum softly. “Hmm...I’m sure it’s nice.” Doyoung laughs, knowing you’re not interested in any place else other than your forest; you can’t hide the neutral note in your tone, though he knows it isn’t towards him.

“Or I could live out here with you.” He strokes the pad of his thumb along the length of your ring finger, and you don’t fail to notice this.

You turn to him, full on grinning now. “I thought you said you’d never want to be tied to one place. Remember?”

Doyoung grins sheepishly along with you. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

“Mmm, how indecisive you are…if you stay with me here, you can’t ever leave.” You pluck a tiny blue flower from the ground and brush it against his lips, tracing the shape of his cupid’s bow with it. “Make your choice wisely.”

Doyoung purses his lips against the small flower, as if giving it a kiss, and does the same with your fingers as they ghost across his mouth. “I’ve chosen already, princess.”

You lean in to kiss him, and he meets you halfway. The little blue flower slips from your hand. You don’t know if there could ever be a more perfect moment, kissing him like this with the warmth of the sun on your back and your ears full of the sounds of birds chirping and insects purring—and, in the very distance, the lake water running.

You don’t get to bask in the moment for too long, though, before something is interrupting you; and it’s not one of the other women like you might’ve expected.

There’s a rustling and a crash in the bushes, and you whip your head towards the noise, but it’s only a deer—or maybe some other creature—running off. You catch a few glimpses of its brown coat before it becomes obscured by the leaves. You still keep your gaze turned towards the bushes. Though there is nothing else there, you still get the odd sensation of being watched, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

“What’s wrong?” Doyoung whispers, his index finger touching your cheek. He glances at the source of the noise, but his eyes stay mostly focused on you.

“I know it’s odd, but…have you ever felt like you were being watched? Even though nothing’s there?” you ask slowly.  “I’ve…sort of felt like this a few other times when we were together.”

Doyoung looks suspicious for a moment, though he eventually shakes his head. “No, I...not really.” He sits up to look at the same space you’re staring at, but he doesn’t see anything more than you do. “If someone else were out here besides the other dryads and the animals, wouldn’t you already know?”

“I suppose that is true,” you say, though you still look towards the bush, trying to see if there’s something you’re somehow not spotting. The sense that you have a pair of eyes at your back still doesn’t go away, even when Doyoung finally pulls you away from the spot to walk further into the woods.

In the middle of August, the Archduke of Eupheme holds a ball. He has been renown for his exorbitant parties for many years, and although he couches this party in the excuse of making the Crown Prince and his brothers feel a bit more at home in the kingdom, everyone knows it’s really just a reason to get drunk and have some fun. No one would dare complain, though; after all, who’d pass up the chance to attend? To rub elbows with handsome men and women and forget more pressing worries for a while?

The King and Queen of Eupheme see it as a good way for the young men to show off their newly acquired social etiquette they’ve been sharpening during their lessons—and possibly mingle with noble women. Similarly, none of the brothers will object to the latter idea. Except for maybe Doyoung.

“Cheer up! I’ve never seen you look so unsettled when going to a party,” Jungwoo says, pinching Doyoung’s cheek. They’re all loaded into their separate stagecoaches, with Jungwoo, Doyoung, Jaemin, and Mark in one and the other boys inside another behind them.

“I’m fine,” Doyoung insists, waving away the concern and plastering a hesitant smile on his face. He can already guess what’s in store for tonight.

The ride to the Archduke’s place is shorter than Doyoung expected. It’s been a long time since they last visited the Archduke’s mansion, and he swears he remembers the journey being longer than this. He sucks in a deep breath as he steps out of the stagecoach. The mansion looms large up ahead, obviously not quite as big as the King and Queen’s castle, but extravagant enough to be of note. Its stone interior glows with rows of brightly burning torches decorating either side of its grand entryway.

The Archduke’s large ballroom is filled to the brim with high-ranking officials and other nobility, with everyone mingling together in a big glittering clump of bodies and puffy dresses and long hair. There’s no other race but elves there, which is usually expected at royal balls like these; other species are often relegated to roles of servant, cleaner, waiter, and so on.

There’s a notable stir when the King and Queen and the eight men enter, and the room parts down the middle to make room for them.

The men wave and smile and mingle like they’ve been taught to, though some revel in it a bit more than others. They’re quickly embraced by the crowd, and the Archduke and Archduchess come to greet them. A young woman walks slightly behind them, her brown hair pinned up in an elaborate updo, wisps of hair clinging around her elven ears. Doyoung remembers her as their daughter and only child, who was never allowed to play in the yard with them as children because “such rowdy behavior wasn’t fitting for a lady of her sensibilities,” as her mother used to say.

“I’m sure you all remember Eunomia,” the Archduke says, encouraging the young woman to come to the front. The brothers all nod in acknowledgement, answering her curtsy with their own bows.

“You’ve grown even prettier since we were young,” Jungwoo says, smiling politely. The girl smiles timidly back to him.

“Thank you. You’ve become quite handsome yourself.”

“We’re so glad that we could be graced with the presence of the Crown Prince of Ceres tonight,” the Archduke continues. “We’ve all been looking forward to your appearance since we got word of your family visiting Eupheme. The timing, especially, is quite extraordinary, as we’ve been vetting possible suitors for our Eunomia.” It’s everything just short of an actual proposition to marry his daughter, and Doyoung’s lips twitch as a thousand different thoughts flit through his mind.

Doyoung bows his head slightly in acknowledgement of their statement and schools his expression into something neutral and amiable. “Extraordinary timing, indeed.”

It’s not long before the music is rising to a grand swell again. The other boys part ways to search for dance partners in the crowd, and Doyoung already knows what’s expected of him. He holds his hand out to Eunomia. “Would you like to dance?”

She nods and takes his hand. Doyoung leads her onto the main dancefloor beside a few other individuals who have already coupled up. A relatively fast tune carries their feet across the floor like the wind.

Eunomia is pretty, nice, and quiet. She’s too shy to meet Doyoung’s eyes directly—no doubt as a result of her parents’ training—and she lets him lead the conversation the same way he leads their dance. She would make the perfect wife to any other man but him.

Doyoung might have been more willing to pursue something with her if this gathering had happened a year before or even a few months ago, before their visit to Eupheme. Now, he only feels uninterested at best—and burdened at worst—about it all. He’s uncomfortable with the way her hand sweats in his palm, and with how fragile she feels in his hold. His mind keeps drifting back to the forest, though he tries to be present in the here and now.

The next few dances go similarly. Though his brothers and cousins seem to be enjoying themselves with the number of pretty women they have at their behest, Doyoung doesn’t feel the same. He ends up approached by various noblemen throughout the night, all holding some prestigious rank or another and seeking to introduce him to their daughters and insinuate a dance. And of course, being the gentleman and prince he is, how can he say no?

Each of the women is unique in their own way, but still not quite enough to hold his attention for long. He’s already made his mind up about who he wants, though you can’t be with him here now—or anywhere but the forest, really. This knowledge is equal parts comforting and disagreeable. He finally has an answer to the question about whether he’d ever find someone to love, though it turns out he cannot even be with you in an easy, convenient way.

By the time the night ends and the royals are on their way back to the castle, Doyoung is rather tightly wound. His mind swarms with thoughts of everything that occurred earlier in the evening and how annoyed and restless it all made him. Increasingly, he’s beginning to feel like he’s up against a wall that he just can’t surmount. He almost yearns for the days when he unquestioningly accepted his duty and actually received some enjoyment from his courtships, but he’d never truly want to go back. Not if it meant not knowing you.

“Are you okay? You seem upset,” Mark says hesitantly, noticing Doyoung’s tensed jaw as he keeps his face turned towards the window, looking out at the nightscape. Doyoung only gives his brother a quick glance before nodding curtly.

“I’m quite alright.” It’s a lie, but Doyoung doesn’t feel like trying to explain his mood at the moment. Though it’s easy enough for them to guess why Doyoung’s visits to the forest have been so much more frequent over the past month or so—and subsequently, why his mood is so sour now—it remains an open secret.

Jaemin settles back in his cushioned seat, grinning slightly to himself before looking up at Doyoung. “Your name must be on many a lady’s dance card tonight, Doyoung. I suspect every woman at the party had a turn, if not the Archduchess herself.” Mark elbows him in the side, but the younger man doesn’t think anything of it.

“I suppose so.” Doyoung rubs his finger over his lower lip. “But maybe you should be more concerned that the competition is diminishing your chances.” Mark and Jungwoo chuckle at that.

“Not to worry. When the time comes, the only choice they’ll have is me.” The younger two laugh even more enthusiastically, and Doyoung only shakes his head, grinning slightly despite himself.

 Once everyone is settled in for the night, Doyoung waits in his bed for an hour to be safe and then decides to sneak out to see you. Once again, he doesn’t bother with visiting the stable to take the horse, nor does he try to make himself look “presentable,” tired of being princely for the night. The only thing he does is pull on his pants and shoes and button up his shirt halfway before losing his patience and yanking his cloak on.

He uses his glamor to momentarily disguise himself as he passes through Arthenia, though the few stragglers outside don’t pay him much mind.

“Y/N?” Doyoung calls out your name, slipping his cloak to the ground once he gets to your familiar oak tree. He soon hears and sees the fluttering of tree leaves as you descend from the canopy and touch the ground, alighting from the branches as gracefully as if you’ve been doing it your entire life—which you have.

“My, sir. Here at this hour again? What could b—” You don’t get to finish your sentence before Doyoung is gathering you up in his arms and kissing you hard, his forearms wrapped tight around your waist. He picks you up off the ground and you let yourself be lifted, toes barely grazing the grass.

It’s a long moment before you can regain your breath. You look at him incredulously as he sets you back on the grass, pressing his forehead to yours.

“What...what’s got you in such a state?”

“Love,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to your lips. You laugh at that, holding his flushed face in your hands.

“It’s a pleasant thing, isn’t it? But really, what is it? You seem tense.”

“I am tense,” Doyoung says, though he keeps his lips close to yours. He’s not really in the mood to go into detail about the evening and disturb what’s currently unfolding between you. “It’s just...royal niceties. They can become quite tiring.”

“That’s a pity,” you reply, though you pause in your next thought when his lips find your jawline and press against it firmly. This is the most intimate contact you’ve had since you met, or since he confessed to you, and it ignites a burning flame in your chest. “Maybe there is something that can help you with that.”

Doyoung pulls back to look you in the eyes, wondering if you’re insinuating exactly what he thinks. You step away from him and tug on his hand, pulling him away from the tree. “I’ll show you.”

You both walk along a section of the forest that Doyoung isn’t familiar with, and he conjures some light orbs to illuminate the pathway. You spend a long time walking—so long that he’s almost afraid he won’t be able to find his way back out. Or maybe he’ll encounter one of those unfriendly creatures that you previously mentioned lives on the outskirts. Wherever you’re taking him is farther than he’s ventured before.

You finally stop when you get near the west edge of the forest. The trees are slightly sparser here, and there’s a path through the middle that trails off onto the bottom of a steep hill. The hill marks the end of the forest and flattens out onto a field of tall grass. He catches glimpses of the grass swaying in the breeze under the moonlight and the light of his own orbs.

That’s far from the most eye-catching thing here, though. Another lake sits before you two, though it’s much smaller than the other one—more like a pond—and forms a nearly perfect circle.

You walk along the grassy bank and pull Doyoung along with you, and he’s surprised to feel heat coming from the water as he gets nearer to it. It’s not a burning hotness, but a comfortable warmth.

“Shall we swim?” You look at Doyoung over your shoulder, letting go of his hand to tug at one strap of your dress. He nods, watching wordlessly as you peel your dress off in front of him. His throat tightens to see you’re wearing nothing underneath. Standing nude underneath the combined glow of the moon and his own blue light makes you look positively ethereal, and Doyoung mentally imprints this image in his mind, filing it away as a permanent memory.

He watches as you step off the grassy bank and get into the pond, the black water lapping at your legs as you wade further into it. He’s still standing and simply observing you as you turn around to look at him and lift your arms out of the water, like you’re asking for a hug. “Are you going to leave me all alone in here?” You give him your best pleading eyes, and it doesn’t take long for him to strip his clothes off and come in after you.

He dips underneath the water’s surface and swims around you, and you giggle as you can just barely make out his form under the water. You can only spot the ripples he leaves behind.

Doyoung’s head pops above the water on the farther side of the pond, with his long black hair sticking to his face and covering his shoulders. It makes his ears stand out more, and you laugh. You swim over to him and he pulls you into him when you’re close enough, your naked bodies molding themselves to each other. You’re about to say something, but his lips quickly envelop yours and you forget any words you formerly had. You kiss for a while in the lake’s warm water, with the full moon and Doyoung’s lights serving as your only illumination.

You haven’t done much else but kiss so far, but you can still feel something hard and warm pressing into your stomach. Doyoung’s lips separate from yours to travel to your neck, pressing against your pulse point and softly sucking the skin there.

You pull away to look at him, your body feeling strangely light and hot all at the same time. “Maybe we should get out of the water,” you say, smiling coyly.

Doyoung nods and scoops you up, carrying you out of the lake and setting you down on the unnaturally soft grass surrounding the waters. It feels almost like a cotton blanket underneath you.

You’re both fully exposed in front of each other now, though you don’t really feel embarrassed about it. Doyoung’s hands are warm as he cups the sides of your face and nudges his nose against yours, teasing you momentarily with the promise of his lips before actually kissing you again.

You like feeling his hair underneath your palm, all wet and slick beneath your fingertips, and you run your fingers through the strands. They coil around his neck and shoulders like little snakes, or maybe vines on a climbing plant.

His member stands against his stomach, already leaking precum from the press of your lips and the warmth of your body against his. You reach out to touch him, tracing your fingertip against a vein and feeling the stickiness of the precum, and Doyoung sighs against your lips. His hands come to your inner thighs, pushing them a bit further apart so he can dip his fingers between them and feel you wet and warm for him.

You gasp sharply when he slides a finger into you. He reaches deeply inside you, his palm rubbing against your clit as he fingers you, and it makes you spread your legs wider and push your hips closer into his touch. You wrap your fingers around him, and you enjoy the pulse of his cock in your hand as you stroke him.

Doyoung soon slips another finger into you, stretching you out more for him, and you moan as he does. You press your mouth against the base of this throat and his collarbones, feeling the firmness of them as you lightly drag your teeth over them. As if by luck, he shifts his fingers a certain way and brushes against that sweet spot that has you leaning further into his body and moaning hotly against his neck.

“Doyoung…” you sigh. He gives you an answering moan as your fingertips slide over his tip, purposely lingering at the slit. Your lips brush against each other’s, not quite kissing but making some semblance of the motion. Despite how good you’re feeling now, with his hand working you up to an inescapable high, you decide you need to have more of him; you need to get as close as possible. “Doyoung, please.”

“What do you need?” he asks, his voice unbearably gentle and breathy in your ear.

“You.” You take your hand away from him to guide his body on top of yours, parting your legs to invite him in-between. You are less preoccupied with foreplay at the moment and just want him inside you, which he has no complaints about.

The firm press of him inside you is unlike anything you’ve felt in the recent past. It’s not like dryads go their entire lives without sexual pleasure—of course, there’s always self-pleasure and the company of other women, and even the occasional agreeable male visitor who comes into the forest—but it’s been a long time since you’ve experienced it delivered by another person’s body. It’s almost strange, but also good and familiar, if only a little painful at first.

You try to breathe evenly as Doyoung seats himself inside you, his hands stroking you so adoringly that it makes you lose your bearings. Him leaning forward to kiss you only takes more of your breath.

“Is this good for you?” he asks quietly. You’re not quite sure what part of it he’s referring to—him inside you or his hands strumming along your breasts and clit—but you nod enthusiastically. Everything he’s doing feels undeniably good. Just when you think it could not get any better, he pulls out a bit and starts thrusting into you. His pace is slow, allowing you to adjust, but it’s enough to make you cry out loud, gripping his slick shoulders for support.

Doyoung brings himself close to kiss your lips again, grinning against your mouth. “Shhh, my princess. If you’re too loud, you’ll wake all the others.”

You nod against his wet forehead, breathing heavily, though it’s a bit hard to keep yourself quiet as he fills your body over and over again. You press your thighs tight against his hips, feeling the muscles in his body flex as he thrusts into you. His movements create a slick sound between you, and the lewd quality of it entices you more.

While one of his hands slides slick and slow across your clit, you grasp the other and bring it up to your lips, kissing his fingers like you did the day he told you he loved you, and then nibbling on them, sucking them into your mouth. Doyoung twitches inside you when your mouth tightens around his fingers, and he groans into the night air. You’re reluctant to let his hand go, but you do it so he can leverage himself enough to dip his head lower and give more attention to your breasts, drawing his tongue across the round firmness of them and catching your nipples in his mouth.

He angles himself a bit differently so he can find your spot again and concentrates on repeatedly pushing into that sensitive part of you. His attentions bring you to your climax soon, and you can barely quiet yourself as you come around him. The pleasure seems never-ending, like it’s pouring into you from a bottomless well, and small tears bead at the corners of your eyes. Doyoung cups your face and kisses your tears away, and you hold the back of his head as he does.

When Doyoung gets close, he slips himself from inside you and thrusts in between the tight space of your thighs, his tip rubbing across your stomach. He comes soon after doing this, his seed pooling on your skin, some of it running into the grass.

You both lie in the grass after the aftermath, with Doyoung pulling you so you can lay your body on top of his. His heartbeat is still fast; you hear it hammering in his chest as you rest your head against his breast. You close your eyes and let the sound of it calm your own restless body.

After a few long moments of listening to the insects and night creatures making their midnight songs, you stir from your position on his chest and draw yourself up. “Doyoung…” you murmur, straddling either side of his waist so you’re hovering over him. You press your lips against his and he responds with a slow kiss. You can practically feel how satisfied he is as his lips push against yours, like a drunken sprite who’s gotten into a cup of ale.

You depart from his lips and trail your mouth over the rest of his body until you’re level with his softened cock. It jumps a bit when you grasp it, and Doyoung groans softly; his voice increases slightly when you press your lips to it, still tasting the remnants of his salty release and your own pleasure. His hand comes to hold the back of your head as you take him into your mouth, licking the shaft and feeling his balls in your other hand.

Though he was the one who’d hushed you earlier, now he has to choke back his own moans as you suck him and stroke your tongue around his tip.

You draw your mouth away from him, and a trail of spit follows your lips. “Does this feel good, my prince?” you ask, still stroking him languidly to keep his pleasure stoked. You know it does, but you want to hear it from his mouth anyway.

“So good.” He makes a noise between a whimper and a groan, and it travels straight to the apex of your thighs. His stomach tenses with his strained breaths as you take him back into your mouth, focusing your attention on the leaking slit.

His thighs tremble when he gets closer, and as much as you’d like to have him come in your mouth and drip over your chin, you decide to pull away and straddle your legs around his waist again. Doyoung whines needily, though his complaints are quickly forgotten when your sex slides over his slick shaft. He waits with bated breath as you grab the base of his member and line him up with your entrance, pushing him into you as you sink down on him. Feeling him part your walls makes your legs shake a little, and you readjust your posture so you can maintain your stability.

You seat yourself fully on top of Doyoung and let him press himself up into you as you push back down on him, your hands scraping for purchase on his chest. In this position, you can control the pace and ride him just so that his tip is pressing into your most sensitive spot.

Eventually, you lean forward with your mouth covering his. Another orgasm approaches you fast, and you pant against his lips as you search for that release again. “I love you,” you moan softly, trying to muffle your sounds with the touch of his lips.

Doyoung’s hands roam your body, coming up to palm your breasts and thumb at your nipples. “I adore you,” he whispers.

This time you both come within moments of each other, moaning into each other’s mouths. Doyoung pushes himself into you until you’re leaking over him once more, and then he hurriedly pulls out and comes across your thigh, leaving trails of white dripping down your skin.

Doyoung knows he’ll need to get up and get dressed at some point—and begin the long trek back to the castle—but he doesn’t think about that right now. He just pulls you closer and enjoys the warm stickiness of your bodies together, the lukewarm breeze stirring his hair, and the gentle grass tickling his skin.

“You don’t seem like yourself lately.”

Jungwoo brings this up to Donghyuck during one of their archery lessons as they sit beside each other underneath the sun. The younger man was noticeably not as concentrated or effortless as he’d usually be, and many of his arrows ended up being off-mark, if not missing their targets entirely.

Currently, they both sit in the grass after their instructor called for a break earlier, stating that they needed some time to cool off and pull it together—Donghyuck in particular.

“I’m fine,” Donghyuck grumbles, sighing deeply and closing his eyes. If he could close his ears, too, he would. Unfortunately for him, his brother doesn’t take that as a sign to stop talking.

“That’s doubtful. Really, what’s chafing you? I know all the lessons can be annoying, but there is nothing we can do about that for now.” The younger man doesn’t answer at all this time, but Jungwoo continues on. “I know Doyoung isn’t with us during our breaks as often as he was before, but isn’t that a good thing? He can’t tell us what to do all the time.”

Donghyuck groans, wiping his hands over his face at the mention of their older brother. Jungwoo perks up at this. “Oh? Is it something with Doyoung that’s bothering you? What is it?”

Donghyuck is quiet for a moment longer. When it’s clear Jungwoo won’t leave the matter alone, he turns to face his brother fully, looking at him more closely. He hesitates for a moment before finally saying, “What would you do if you wanted something you couldn’t have?”

Jungwoo thinks for a moment. “I don’t know. It depends on what it is. Maybe the logical answer would be to just give it up and stop indulging a fruitless case.”

Donghyuck sighs, hanging his head. “Of course. But what if...alright, what if it was a person? Someone you’re particularly fond of. And…they just make you feel as if…if they looked at you once, you wouldn’t hesitate to hand them anything they could ever want. Then would you give up on them so easily?”

Jungwoo’s eyes widen, and Donghyuck thinks he must’ve said too much. Before he can speak to try to defuse the situation, Jungwoo says, “Don’t tell me you’re still upset about Nayeon. I’m sorry Donghyuck, but—”

“Ugh,” Donghyuck pushes himself to his feet, taking up his bow and arrow again and walking off to one of the targets farther away from Jungwoo. “Nevermind.”

After Donghyuck gives a few more unsuccessful tries, the instructor decides to dismiss them early and encourages Donghyuck to keep his head clear for their next session. “I am well aware of what you’re capable of, Donghyuck, and I know you understand your own abilities. Just look at it as simply having an off day, but do try to keep your concentration next time.”

“Yes, sir,” he replies, already feeling drained even though they’re only halfway through the day. The walk back to the castle with Jungwoo is quiet, though crossing the ample landscape gives him plenty of time to think to himself. What you’re capable of...Yes. What is he capable of?

Maybe there was still a way to alter the course.

“You’re particularly quiet today,” you remark, studying Doyoung’s face. You’re both sitting in the small clearing where you and the other dryads often gather at night, only it’s daytime now and the other girls are off doing their own things. Deeper among the woods, you can hear their laughter from a distance.

Doyoung came to visit you with a solemn look, and though you can tell he is still glad to see you, there’s also a tinge of disquiet beneath it.

A strong gust blows some strands of hair into his face, and you brush them away before he can do it himself. He turns his head and stares at you as you do, his eyes big and imploring and brewing with a distress you can’t place. “Actually, you seem to be a bit different since...that night,” you continue. Your face warms at the thought of your first time together, and how Doyoung took you in the grass and whispered sweet adoration to you. “Is something wrong?”

Doyoung’s lips part like he wants to speak, though he remains silent for a few moments more. Then he says something that nearly makes your heart stop, the words coming slow off his tongue. “I want to give up my title.”

“Your title? As Crown Prince? How can you do that?”

“I could do it,” he says, his voice still low. “There’s no law against it. It might be...dishonorable. No, it would certainly not be…” He pauses, then abandons whatever he was about to say. “But there’s no law to stop me.”

“But why? I thought you liked being royalty, at least to some degree. Your station in life affords you many things others don’t have.”

“It doesn’t afford me you.” He grasps your hand where it lies in the grass. “We can’t be together if I’m still Crown Prince. If I walk away, though...”

You’re also quiet now, unsure how to respond to a declaration like this. For Doyoung to give up his royal title for you...it’s a much bigger implication than you think he’s really considering.

“But, the throne...you’re the heir, and it just…” You’re almost desperate to come up with at least 100 reasons why he can’t do it, though you aren’t sure why. Maybe you’re too afraid to hope it could be possible, even if it’s the slightest chance.

“I have six other brothers. Any one of them could...” Doyoung falters, remembering Yuta’s and Sicheng’s controversial parentage, and then sighs but tries to remain hopeful. You look at him with wrinkled brows, worry crowding your heart. You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder, looping his arm with yours.

“I don’t know if they’d ever agree to it,” you say it almost inaudibly.

“There’s no way to know if we don’t try…” Doyoung replies, hugging you tightly to him. “I don’t care about giving up my title.”

You shake your head. “There are so many other things to consider, Doyoung.”

Doyoung knows you’re worried and doubtful, but he holds you close to him and kisses your temple and tries not to think about those things. He only wants to think about all the good things the future could hold for you.

A small grin appears on his face as he wills his mind to drift elsewhere. “How many children would you like to have?” Doyoung asks suddenly. You give him an incredulous look, though there is a grin of your own slowly taking over your lips.

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want children.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “As long as I’ve been on this Earth, I’d have them by now if I wanted them.”

“Then it’d be just the two of us forever?” Doyoung pulls you so you’re both lying down and entangles himself with you, his head on your chest. He listens to your heart, a steady rhythm that lulls him into a sense of sleepiness. “That’s fine with me.”

You feel a tug at your heart, like the chambers are contracting in pain. “Yes, an eternity together.”

Despite your many doubts and questions, you have a warm dream that night. One of you and Doyoung living in the forest together, running through the hills, jumping across creeks, and enjoying each other’s company to your heart’s content.

Donghyuck knocks on the door of the King’s sitting room, his palms sweating as he waits for a response. Sicheng stands beside him, quiet and waiting to see if the man will respond. The King of Eupheme may be a long-term friend of their father’s, but Donghyuck can’t help the slight fear he feels whenever he’s in the man’s presence. Something about him has always been a little colder, more unforgiving, and more unyielding than their own father is.

“Who is it?” The man’s voice booms from behind the door.

“It...it’s Donghyuck and Sicheng, Your Highness.” Donghyuck’s voice wavers a bit as he speaks, and he tries to suppress the tremors in his speech. “We’re here for our...meeting.”

“Come in, then.”

Donghyuck turns the doorknob and enters the room, closing the heavy door behind him and his brother.

“Well, then. What is the pressing matter you have to inform me of?” The King raises one eyebrow, looking skeptical about whether Donghyuck has anything to report or not, though he waits patiently for the boy’s response.

The elven King’s presence seems impossibly heavier in this singular room, filling every corner of the space and physically weighing down the Earth’s gravity. Donghyuck almost doesn’t know what to do with himself in response to this force. Sicheng is less affected by it—or better at hiding it—though his face creases minutely. Donghyuck ends up speaking without thinking clearly about what he practiced prior.

“D…Doyoung is courting a dryad.”

“A...what, boy?” The King slowly leans forward, his sharp eyebrows drawing together, one hand coming up to stroke his long beard. They both know that he knows full well what a dryad is, but he seems unable to comprehend what Donghyuck has just blurted out. Or maybe he thinks the younger man is lying.

“A-a dryad, Your Highness. He’s been using his assigned free time—and sneaking out at night—every week to see her, in the forest beyond Arthenia. H…he’s even thinking of asking to be relieved from his title to be with her.” Donghyuck feels sweat gathering on the back of his neck, as if he’s the one about to be punished.

The King’s brows furrow even more, though this time his eyes hold a hint of rising anger. He leans back in his seat again, holding Donghyuck and Sicheng with a hard stare. “These are quite damning claims to make. Where is your proof?” Before either one can respond, the King continues on. “He will doubtless be questioned, but I would think that both of you have ample reason to try to sabotage the Crown Prince—especially you.” He directs his gaze to Sicheng at this, and Sicheng’s face falters. “A whore’s son will always believe he’s owed more than he’s worth.”

Disgust and hatred rises up in Sicheng’s chest at being regarded like this—always as less than his half-brothers—though he tries not to let his rage show. His jaw clenches as he speaks, keeping his tone measured, and it takes him a long moment to force out a proper response. “We indeed have proof…Your Highness.”

“If you’ll allow us, we need a mirror, Your Highness,” Donghyuck adds.

Still with a skeptical look on his face, the King waves his hand towards a small round mirror hanging on the east wall, sitting formerly unacknowledged despite all its ornate trappings. Sicheng walks over and takes it off the wall, coming back to stand in front of the King with it. Donghyuck comes up behind Sicheng and lays a hand on the back of the older man’s neck, pressing his index and middle finger where his brain stem would be. Donghyuck closes his eyes and concentrates, while Sicheng keeps his own eyes open, staring into the depths of the mirror and his own reflection.

In the mirror image, his eyes turn a foggy gray. Donghyuck’s memories flood into his mind as if they were his own, experienced with his own five senses; he can almost smell the forest grass and feel the sun burning his skin. Sicheng then takes his right hand and presses his fingertips against the mirror, forcing it to bend to his power and replicate what he’s seeing in his mind’s eye.

When the image becomes steady, Sicheng holds the mirror up to the King and lets him see what it displays; you and Doyoung lying in the grass together, with you dragging a tiny blue flower across his lips. Doyoung tilting his head up to accept your kiss. You looking straight ahead, trying to figure out why you sense a disturbance in the forest, only to see a deer—and missing the invisible form of Donghyuck staring at you and your lover from the bushes. Your conversation is hard to hear, consisting of mostly vague echoes, as if you were speaking underwater—channeling sounds is harder than conjuring up images—but there’s no need for words to understand what’s going on.

The King’s eyes are a windstorm of emotions at this point, a close rival to the actual stormy gray of Sicheng’s eyes as he reveals the memory. He is silent for an excruciatingly long moment. Still, he continually strokes his beard in a repetitive motion, though his gaze displays the true anger burning beneath the surface.

“And where is Doyoung right now?” he finally asks, after it seems like an eon has passed. Then he waves his hand sharply towards the mirror. “I’ve seen enough of that.”

“He has no duties to attend to as of right now, so he must’ve gone to the forest,” Sicheng responds. Donghyuck takes his hand away from his neck then, stepping back in a jerky motion as he tries to regain some of the energy spent from transferring the memory. Likewise, the mirror image fades once Sicheng takes his hand away from the glass, and the normal brown of his irises bleeds back into his eyes. “To see her again, no doubt.”

The King nods, pressing his fingers together into a steeple, his thick rings glinting in the light of the room. “Just as you say, the matter is quite grave. The King and Queen of Ceres will have to be notified immediately...and it will be handled accordingly.”

Donghyuck and Sicheng nod to the King’s statement, shooting each other looks out of the corners of their eyes. Donghyuck feels a small sense of triumph at knowing his brother will likely be sent back to Ceres soon—or at least, forbidden to see you anymore—even if he knows deep within that he shouldn’t be reveling in Doyoung’s impending heartbreak like this.

“Unfortunately, it also cannot be forgotten that you two, and all your other brothers, withheld this information for months.” The King blinks slowly. “I must also assume that my sons have been swept up in concealing this utter nonsense, to some degree. Those transgressions will be dealt with accordingly as well.” He draws the last sentence out to emphasize his claim, though the men have already heard him clearly. The tiny smirks they allowed themselves to show quickly fade.

Donghyuck feels as if he’s just had a bucket of cold water poured down his back, and Sicheng’s fists curl tightly around the mirror.

Donghyuck is the first to respond, bowing his head. “A-as necessary, Your Highness.” Sicheng lowers his own head after the younger does, though with noticeable reluctance.

The King waves his hand as a signal for the two men to leave, though he still looks thoughtful for reasons neither of them could guess. “You are both dismissed.”

Sicheng is fuming once they leave the sitting room, though Donghyuck’s anxiety manifests itself as tense silence, which is a true rarity for him.

“Look what your impulsiveness has gotten us into this time,” Sicheng gripes once they’re far enough away to not be heard. Donghyuck reawakens at that and shoots his brother daggers with his gaze.

“I didn’t think we’d get punished, too! And if you thought it was such a bad idea, you should’ve never agreed to it!”

Sicheng shakes his head, scoffing. “It’s neither here nor there anymore. Whatever comes of this had better be worth it.”

“You’d better hope,” Donghyuck continues. “Like we don’t know you’d sell us all out to have Yuta, your favorite brother, as the Crown Prince instead of Doyoung.”

Sicheng whips back around to Donghyuck. “I’d think he’d deserve it more than any of you ingrates who’ve had everything handed to you. You could never even imagine what it’s like to have to fight and scrape for an iota of respect among your own family.”

Donghyuck wants to scream something childish and hurtful back at him, but he’s lost on what to say. They all know Sicheng and Yuta have always been a bit separate from the rest of them despite their best efforts to make them feel included, but he hadn’t realized Sicheng felt quite this forsaken. The King’s earlier words certainly don’t help. Donghyuck has enough conscience left to feel guilty, though he refuses to acknowledge that aloud now.

When Sicheng sees that Donghyuck doesn’t have a response, he nods in vindication and stomps off.

After Doyoung returns to the castle that afternoon, the atmosphere in the castle is notably more tense. It’s as if storm clouds have gathered in the rafters, waiting for the perfect time to rain down hell. He senses this acutely, though he can’t quite understand the reasoning for it.

Donghyuck is uncharacteristically quiet today, and Sicheng is similarly reserved. Jeno, Jisung, and Jaemin conduct their business as usual, though there is a certain stiffness to their auras; the kind of careful and cautious demeanor you learn to adopt when living under the constant presence of a ticking timebomb. Mark and Jungwoo, who accompanied Doyoung on his visit to Arthenia and the forest, remain just as clueless as him about what’s wrong, though they also feel uncomfortable underneath the weight of the tension.

The air stays this way for hours, including during their nightly dinner. The Queen and King don’t do or say anything out of the ordinary, though Doyoung can feel the King’s eyes on him as he eats. The sensation of being watched makes his stomach curl into a ball, and his heart kicks up like a drum at the thought that pops into his mind. Maybe he’s been found out? But how? He’s been as careful as he knows how to be. He doesn’t truly believe any of his brothers would tell, and his cousins have been too disinterested in the affair to go stirring up trouble behind it.

Their three cousins eat quietly with their eyes glued to their plates, wondering what could be the cause of their father’s anger this time. They’ve known him long enough to pick up on the telltale signs of his rage, even when not openly expressed.

It’s nothing short of a relief when dinner is finally over, though Doyoung’s blood turns to lead when he hears the King’s deep voice booming from behind him. “Doyoung. Come with me.” The other men shoot him varying looks as they file out of the dining room, though none of them say a word. Donghyuck throws him a concerned glance in an attempt to remain unsuspecting, though there is a slight unsteadiness in his step.

By the time he gets to the King’s sitting room, Doyoung’s heart is beating overtime. He stands in front of the older man with his spine ramrod straight and his lips tucked into a thin line. The King doesn’t even acknowledge his presence for a few moments, simply stroking his beard and looking at some spot in the distance. Doyoung can’t decide if this is worse than being pinned under his gaze or not, though he quickly gets his answer when the King finally looks at him.

“Do you understand your position as Crown Prince?” This is not what he expected to hear first, though it fails to ease his anxiety.

“Of course, Your Highness. It’s a high honor, and one that requires a certain discipline.”

“Then why have you allowed yourself to become quite so undisciplined in your activities?”

Doyoung doesn’t know how to respond to this at first. He blinks rapidly and sweat breaks out over his skin. “Activities?” he stammers out, his mouth drying up.

“You’ve allowed yourself to be enamored by a woman who is so low she must live in the forest like an animal and forage for food. And you think this behavior is becoming of a man of your station?”

The room appears to spin. If his heart was hammering before, now it stops momentarily. Doyoung feels like he’s just smashed into a stone wall head-on. “Your Highness...I…”

“Have you lain with this creature?”

“Sh-she’s not...I…”

“Have you? Do not lie.”

Doyoung thinks of your hands on him and feels sick at such an intimate moment being forced out into the open like this, in such a cruel manner. “Y…yes.”

The King shakes his head, his frown deepening even more, if that’s possible. “And is there any chance that she could be with child now?”

Doyoung can’t remember ever feeling this humiliated, flayed open for all to see. “No. I was...careful.” The King pauses for a moment, like he doesn’t quite believe Doyoung’s claim. He doesn’t ask any further questions about it, though, and Doyoung doesn’t know whether to be concerned or relieved about that.

“Understand that you are infinitely lucky that you are not a woman, Doyoung, and can remain relatively unsullied by such acts. Nevertheless, I would’ve thought your father would’ve raised more diligent sons than this.” The King leans forward, and it seems like the Earth itself shifts with this movement.

“Then let one of the others have my title,” Doyoung blurts out, finally finding his voice again. “Yuta or Jaehyun. It doesn’t matter who it is.”

“Yuta isn’t getting anything,” the King spits. “Do you mean to make a complete mockery of your family? Your kingdom? To have a bastard sitting on the throne? Your father is a noble man, but laying with whores has resulted in the two biggest mistakes of his life.”

Doyoung’s head swims, and he has to bite back the first response that rises to his mind. “Your Highness, you’re correct in noting that I’ve made a grave error. Perhaps I’m truly not suited for the role. Don’t you think having my title transferred would be the best way to remedy that? Jaehyun is fit to be the Crown Prince. He can take my title, and I—”

“And you can do what? Live in the forest with the rest of the dregs?” The King draws himself up in his chair, and the action reminds Doyoung of a big brown bear attempting to intimidate a trespasser in its territory. His muscles turn rigid with fear. “It would behoove you to abandon this insane talk if you don’t wish to make the consequences worse for yourself. I’m not your father, boy, but as long as he’s left you under my care, I won’t entertain such dishonor on his behalf. ”

Doyoung wants to continue protesting but also knows that, just like you told him, this appears to be a fruitless case. He lowers his head as his stomach twists and his body tenses up further with the fear of what will come next.

“As you can expect, there will be no more visits to the village or the forest, if you can exercise no more self-control than this.”

Doyoung blinks rapidly, though there are no tears coming. “Will you send me away?”

“That would only draw more attention, which is the last thing we need to do. You are simply to remain in the castle until it’s time for you all to return to Ceres. Barring any more royal events, you will not be going anywhere further than the front lawn.”

Doyoung says nothing to this. To speak or nod would feel like sealing his own fate, though it’s already been chosen for him.

“You are lucky, Doyoung. Remember that. It is easier than you think for all of this to be forgotten, swept under the rug, so you can return to your homeland with your title and dignity intact. See—we do not even need to let your mother and father know. In a year from now, you will be wed, and this will be nothing but a regretful—if vague—memory.”

Still, Doyoung does not respond, his tongue heavy and immobile.

“You are your family’s honor. The consequences will not be as harsh for you...as long as you obey.” The King’s body relaxes now, as if all the day’s tension has suddenly unwound itself, though this is more of a false sense of security than any true calm. “Is that understood?”

Doyoung’s throat burns. It seems like he’s being pressed in on all sides. Not answering the King is not an option. Not seeing you again is not an option, either, if he wishes to preserve any iota of happiness on this Earth. Here it comes, now—the wetness gathering in his eyes and the tightening of his chest.

“I understand, Your Highness.”

It has only been a few days since Doyoung last saw you, but this alone feels like centuries to him, especially with the King’s order trailing him like a cement block tied to his leg.

He doesn’t intend on following it, regardless of the consequences. Maybe he’s not thinking straight anymore, but nothing else matters as much as you to him now.

There isn’t any way to easily get to you, though, considering the guards that have been stationed outside his room every night. And the other guards who follow him around the castle nearly 24/7 now. His glamors only grant him enough leeway to disguise his face, which is no use in making it out of his doorway undetected.

The stress of it all nearly makes him physically sick.

His brothers and cousins are not guarded quite so constantly as he, but they are similarly forbidden from leaving the castle—lest they try to report back to you with a message from Doyoung, or something similar.

Doyoung still does not know how the King found out and has had no free opportunity to question his brothers and cousins about it. In the back of his mind, though, the idea that he could’ve been betrayed lives constantly among his thoughts. Thinking on it for too long makes the back of his mouth taste sour, but he can’t help the festering sense of distrust he feels towards everyone around him.

Frayed and at his wit’s end, Doyoung finally thinks of an idea after an entire week of missing your presence. It’s a lot to ask for and may not work, but he needs to at least try it once before ruling it out. He has to be careful about it, of course, to avoid being found out by any of the watchful guards. Still, he manages to write a note during an etiquette lesson with his brothers, when the guards are standing outside the room. It’s easy enough to disguise his pen’s movements as him simply taking notes.

When the instructor looks down to read something from his book—squinting harshly even in his glasses, for his lack of sight—Doyoung slips the piece of paper to Mark. Mark gives him a questioning glance, though he says nothing. He only opens the note towards the end of the lesson, which is probably for the best because he makes a startled noise after reading it. Thankfully, it goes unnoticed by the instructor who is too busy listening to Sicheng answer a question he just asked him. Mark’s eyes burn into the side of Doyoung’s face, though the older man only gives him a sparing glance and returns his attention to his papers.

 Mark and Doyoung don’t get to talk formally until their next set of archery lessons. Only one of Doyoung’s guards is present that day, and he hangs back far enough outside of the archery range that it’d be difficult to hear their conversation, especially with them talking in low tones. Doyoung is the first one to initiate once their archery teacher becomes preoccupied with showing Jungwoo and Jaemin the technique for a trick shot.

He glances over at Mark after letting his arrow fly, then turns slightly toward him as he grabs another from his quiver. “Mark.”

The younger man’s eyes widen a bit at hearing his name called. “What?” he answers full-voiced, which causes Doyoung to give him a glare. Catching onto what’s going on, Mark throws an anxious glance behind them to the guard and to his left to the instructor, but no one pays him any mind.

“The note.”

Mark makes a face as if he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then quickly tries to relax his expression. “Doyoung, I don’t think…is this really a good idea?”

“I need to see her, Mark,” Doyoung hisses.

Mark’s eyebrows crease. He takes a moment to shoot his arrow at the target, not wanting to come off as suspicious to the others by just standing there. “I’ve never created a portal like…between Donghyuck’s room and mine, back at our castle? Yes, that’s perfectly fine. But from here all the way to the forest? That’s…” The younger man shakes his head, biting his lip.

“You have to try,” Doyoung begs. “Practice it or something. All you need to do is create one to get to my room, and then to the forest. I don’t care if it takes you a while, as long as I can see her again before we have to go back.” He does care, but at this point, he figures it’s better to have something than nothing.

Mark gives Doyoung a long look, shakes his head again, and then nods. “Okay. Okay. I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

Doyoung presses his lips together and nods. His eyes are desperate, though he tries not to be. “It’s okay. Just try, Mark.”

Mark spends the next few days in the library in-between lessons. Though he hasn’t taken much interest in this part of the castle before now, he finds himself pouring through old, dusty books in search of something that can help him find a way to create a long-distance portal.

One of the books he finds describes simply just concentrating all your energy into your hands and putting it forth to open up a rip in space—which he is already capable of, but that doesn’t help him with projecting it out further. Another contains a weird chanting verse that he tries to pronounce, to no avail. Even if it did work, he wouldn’t know how to say it.

However, he eventually happens upon something that catches his eye.

“The Root Chakra serves as the foundation of your body and soul. Only when you are firmly grounded in your current body, space, and time can you begin to manipulate other spaces in time…whether it concerns generating long-range portals through space manipulation or even accessing different moments in history.”

“Opening the Root Chakra, huh?” Mark laughs to himself quietly and shakes his head. Despite being a magic user since birth, along with the rest of his brothers, this is the first time he’s heard anything of the sort. But it’s better later than never to learn.

Perhaps he’s more invested in this scheme than he should be, for both his and his brother’s sakes, but he also knows that he hasn’t seen Doyoung so fulfilled and joyful since discovering the forest. If his efforts can make a bit of difference in Doyoung’s current sunken mood, Mark is willing to try.

Therefore, he sets to work on “opening” this purported Chakra, keeping his practice to late-night hours to ensure he won’t be walked in on by anyone else. He feels a bit awkward at first, maybe even a little foolish, with “meditating” and trying to reach out to some strange energy inside himself. He’s never had to put much thought into creating portals before; it’s just something that happens as he wills it. He never considered that there might be more to the practice—that he’d need to tap into some kind of extra energy to improve his skills. He thinks back to the magic crystals in the marketplace and wonders if they’d be any help in this situation, though there’s no way of finding out.

Mark practices opening portals within the floor, knowing his room is above an empty guest room, as it’s too risky to try any of the walls; Jisung and Jungwoo sleep in the rooms on either side of him. He is soon able to make his portals wider than before—where they used to be the width of only his palms—which allows him to peer more clearly into the empty room below, though he still hasn’t tried to conjure anything farther away than that.

Once he feels he has more control over his energy, Mark soon begins experimenting with visualization, a technique the book cites for conjuring up long-distance locations. Allowing his energy to concentrate in his hands, he places his palms just above the floor of his room and pictures a place he’s fairly familiar with by now—the library. If it goes as planned, he’ll have created a portal to the library; if not…who knows what will be on the other side.

He feels the energy flow through his body, from his core, up his back, across his shoulders, and down his arms…it gathers in his palms and fingertips and triggers a small rip in time, which he gradually coaxes open wider, all the while visualizing the library as clearly as he can. Mark pushes the portal open a bit wider still and opens his eyes slightly to see if it’s worked. He’s dismayed, however, when he still sees the empty guest room sitting below him. A heavy sigh leaves his body, and it pushes the rest of his energy out with it; the portal closes with a silent snap.

Guess he’ll just have to try again.

The next few tries work similarly, and on those nights, he often ends up climbing into bed feeling discouraged and sapped of strength and wondering if he’ll ever get it, or if any of this is worth it. He keeps at it, though, for Doyoung’s benefit. And also partly because he’s curious to see what he’s capable of; now that he’s opened these floodgates, he needs to see how far he can push himself.

The first real hint of success takes him by surprise. It doesn’t happen quite as cleanly or perfectly as the book says, but something happens. When Mark opens his eyes that time, he’s still looking at the guest room—but now there appears to be a faint afterimage of the library merged with it, as if someone had tried to paint two different pictures at once. It’s not a complete location shift by any means, and he doesn’t try to go into the portal—afraid he might somehow get stuck between two realities—but it’s a start.

Improving on that start requires a little more time. More hours of meditating, reading, pushing his energy out and expanding it, visualizing. The afterimage begins growing clearer all the while.

On one blessed night, Mark opens his eyes, and the library itself is sitting below him. Not a faint representation of it, merged with some other room of the castle, but the actual library. He’s so surprised that he almost closes the portal by accident and has to steady his concentration to keep the energy flowing. Carefully, he sticks one hand through it. Then the other. It is still hard to keep the entrance open without physically guiding it with his hands, but he can manage it for a minute or two.

He looks at the long distance beneath him to the floor, with nothing but a lounge sofa to break his landing. Sweat breaks out on his skin, but he takes a moment to steel himself and take a deep breath. Then, he jumps through the portal feet-first, bouncing clumsily onto the sofa and tumbling onto the floor. Just as quick as he can right himself, he hurries behind the sofa to hide, afraid he might’ve alerted one of the guards with his rough landing. The portal has already closed above him with the loss of directed energy.

Mark waits for what feels like forever, his legs burning from holding the crouch, but no one comes. When he’s positive it’s safe, he places his hands on the floor and this time tries to create a portal back to his room. The spacetime-rip flickers briefly as if it won’t work, and a surge of panic rises in him, but soon it displays the sight of his bed and the nightstands on either side. A sigh of relief leaves him, and he jumps through the portal as smoothly as he can, landing on his bed this time.

Now, he is ready. He hopes.

The end of September—and the end of their stay in Eupheme—approaches. By that time, it has been weeks since you and Doyoung have seen each other. The one bright spot, though, lies with Mark.

Mark passes Doyoung a note during another of their etiquette lessons. The older man doesn’t wait to open it, though he keeps a watchful eye on the instructor as he does.

I think I’ve done it. Let’s try tonight.

Doyoung sucks in a breath and slowly lets it back out. Then, he crumbles the piece of paper up and shoves it into the pocket of his pants. He gives Mark a small nod, and Mark returns it before facing the teacher again as if nothing has happened.

Even though Doyoung had already given Mark instructions for how to create the portal, he is a bit unsure what to expect that night. He sits on the edge of his bed fully clothed, his hands clasped nervously together as his eyes dart all around the room, wondering where Mark will show up at.

He soon gets his answer when a teal ring of light manifests itself on the east wall of his room. It remains small only for a few moments before widening out enough to accommodate Mark’s form as he steps through it. Mark himself looks a bit shocked at what he’s just accomplished, even though he’s been doing it for a good amount of time now. Doyoung leaps up from the bed, about to speak, though he winces and remembers they still need to be mindful of the guards outside his door.

“You really did it,” Doyoung whispers, watching in awe as Mark closes the portal to his own room behind him.

“I did,” Mark affirms, and he can’t help but grin a little. However, his smile slips. “There is one thing, though.”

Doyoung’s stomach drops, and he can only imagine what this caveat will be. “What is it?”

“Well, once I’ve created the portal, I’ll have to keep it open,” Mark says. “Otherwise, I won’t know when you’re coming back…since we can’t communicate. But…I’ll only be able to keep energy flowing into it for about 15 minutes, maybe less, so…”

“…so make it quick. Right?” Doyoung replies. He is not surprised. Not because of any lack in Mark’s abilities, but more because this just seems to be the kind of luck that’s afflicted him as of late. Mark nods sheepishly.

“Just…be aware of the time,” Mark says, giving Doyoung an apologetic look. The older man only nods silently and steps back as he lets the younger do his work. Mark walks over to the wall he just came from and places his palms against it, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and concentrating. He holds the image of the forest entrance in his mind’s eye and shifts the power out from his hands and to the wall, opening up a gap in space as the portal widens.

Doyoung’s heart rate picks up as he sees that familiar forest entrance forming in front of him, still crowded with overgrowth and greenery. He steps over to Mark to see it closer, and he can even feel the cool night air brushing past his skin as he peers in.

Mark opens his eyes and nods for Doyoung to go on, and the older gives him a nervous smile. “Thank you.”

Indeed, the forest on the other side is the exact same one he’s been visiting for the entire summer. The same dirt underneath his feet, the same trees crowding each other in. For that reason, he doesn’t waste any more time with rushing inside, heading straight for the oak tree.

There’s an indignant sentence waiting on your lips when you hear Doyoung crashing into your forest late that night, not having seen him in weeks. You’re hurt, but you also realize there must be something serious going on back at the castle if it’s taken him this long to get back to you. However, the words die when you see the pure anguish on his face as he bursts out of the vegetation.

You slip out of the oak tree to meet him on the ground, and he scoops you in his arms like he did all those weeks ago, though this passion is now charged with fear. “Doyoung, what’s happened? What’s the matter? What has kept you so long?” you ask worriedly, taking his face in your hands.

Doyoung holds you close and simply buries his face in the front of your dress for a long moment, breathing in your scent and absorbing the warmth of your skin. Though you are terrified and confused, you wait for him to calm himself enough to speak to you.

“I can’t anymore,” he says, his voice low and broken. Your heart drops at this.

“Can’t what?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“The King has forbidden me to come here—I shouldn’t be here now, but Mark...Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You hold Doyoung tighter against you, as if you could both become one being if you concentrated hard enough—wished hard enough. Your head throbs with the hurt of it, and your heart feels as if it’s being cleaved in two. You don’t say anything for a while, biting your lip so hard that it nearly bleeds.

“I tried.” He presses his forehead to yours. “Forgive me. I tried.”

“There’s no one to blame,” you argue, breathless from the vise pinching your heart and lungs. “I think we both knew how this would end…”

“I don’t want it to be this way. Y/N, forgive me. I should’ve never told you anything…perhaps if I’d kept my feelings to myself, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. You could live happily as you were, and I—”

“Don’t. Please don’t. I wouldn’t trade our time together for any living being…not even the gods.” You shake your head as tears begin to slip down your cheeks. Doyoung tries to wipe them away, though tears of his own escape without his permission. “It may be selfish, but…I-I just ask that…p-please don’t forget about me when you leave and start your own family.”

Doyoung takes a deep, shuddering breath and presses your head into his chest. “I could never,” he whispers.

He thinks he’s safe in your arms, and you safe in his. That’s what he’d like to believe, as you sit here together in the forest for the last time. Unbeknownst to him, something in the castle stirs and then bursts to life, violent and red-hot with rage.

Mark, on the other side of the portal, waits. He feels his energy weakening the longer he holds it open, but he does so anyway as nervous sweat gathers on his temples. He wants to call out to Doyoung to somehow warn him of the time limit, but remembers that the guards will hear it if he does. So he remains silent and waits impatiently as the end of the 15 minutes approaches.

However, he can’t wait any longer as the time ticks past. His magic flickers once, as does the portal, before disappearing completely. Mark nearly keels over at the loss of energy and has to catch himself as quietly as possible, bracing his shaking hands against the floor. He pushes himself up a bit and sits on his knees. He thinks desperately to himself, I should make another portal, but he doesn’t have enough energy for that at the moment.

The next move he makes is a costly one.

He reaches into his pants pocket for his pocketwatch, which he remembered to bring with him. He intends to see how far it is past the time they’d agreed Doyoung would come back, and how long it might take him to regain enough strength for another portal, but his shaky hands cause him to drop the small watch. He tries to grab the chain, but the movement is too sudden and clumsy and causes the watch to bounce even farther away from him, skittering clear off the rug and onto the hardwood floor.

Mark swears all his organs stop functioning at once when he hears a knock on the door. It’s quiet at first, and the silence is deafening. He thinks about scurrying up into the bed and lying there to pretend like he’s Doyoung, still asleep and not out in the forest, but his legs are locked with fear and lingering weakness. The second knock is more forceful, and the guard doesn’t wait for much longer before jamming his key in the lock and swinging the door open.

Mark whips his head around, and they both stare at each other dumbstruck for a moment. The guard’s gaze lingers at Mark in confusion, then quickly sweeps over to the empty bed. His eyebrows draw into a furious expression. “Where is the Crown Prince?”

Doyoung’s heart squeezes painfully at the thought of returning to Ceres without you, his brothers going on with their lives as normal despite his own secret heartache—and it’s only then that he realizes he’s lost track of the time. He jerks away from your arms, looking around frantically. “Wait—Mark.”

“Mark?” you repeat, confused.

“I…he made a portal so I could get here, but I was supposed to…shit. Come on.” Doyoung takes your hand and you both rush to the forest entrance. When you get there, though, there’s no portal and no Mark. Doyoung’s grip around your hand tightens. 

Though you aren’t totally sure what’s going on, a sudden dread overcomes you. “What happened to it?”

“He probably had to close it, but…I’m sure he’ll open it again once he gets his energy back.” Doyoung’s voice is uncertain, though, like he’s trying to convince you both. You look at the side of his face and try not to voice your fears, but as you both stand there waiting to see if the portal will reappear, it becomes apparent that something has went wrong with the plan.

“Explain yourself.”

“Your Highness…I…um…” Mark’s mouth is too dry for him to properly form words, and his legs shake where he stands. Not because of having his energy sapped—because of the King’s overbearing presence. The King stands in front of him, not even bothering to go to his desk this time, and Mark has to crane his neck a bit to look at him, though he can’t meet his eyes. “It was just…”

“I won’t ask again.”

Mark shakes his head and pulls at his hair, silently begging Doyoung for forgiveness in his mind. Still, he doesn’t say anything to give his brother up, keeping his eyes averted more out of fear than deference. “Please, Your Highness…I just…”

When the King sees that Mark won’t give a direct answer, he scoffs in disgust, sweeps the younger man out of the way, and heads for the door. Though Mark only moves a few inches, he feels like he might as well have been thrown clear across the room. The King speaks to one of Doyoung’s guards, who was standing just behind Mark. “Call the rest of the guards. I’ve exhausted my patience on the matter; these lecherous whores cannot be allowed to continue defiling my kingdom.”

“Wh-what does that mean?” Mark’s small voice is lost to the air as the King leaves the room without a glance backwards. The guard goes to enact his order, while the other one grips Mark tightly by the upper arm and drags him out of the sitting room. “N-no, wait, what’s about to happen?”

The guard yanks Mark’s arm in a gesture that calls for the questioning to come to an end. “Best keep quiet, boy. You and the Crown Prince have gotten yourself into enough shit tonight.” Then he chuckles. “One of these days, he was bound to find out that everyone won’t keep coddling him and wiping his ass. About to lose his title over some pussy. Quite sad, isn’t it?”

The guard’s words—and the realization that none of them have ever really cared about Doyoung’s wellbeing beyond being his hired watchdogs—sets Mark off. “Shut the fuck up!” Mark spits in his eye and stomps on the man’s foot at the same time, and the guard curses and lets him go for a split second. Mark doesn’t wait. He takes off down the hall, unsure where he’s going but knowing the castle is big enough to lose the guard—as long as he doesn’t run into anyone else.

He just needs to get somewhere where he can have enough time to create another portal.

“This can’t be good…” you finally say. You and Doyoung must have a death grip on each other’s hands right now, but neither of you are willing to pull away.

Doyoung shakes his head slowly. “No…it’s been too long. Maybe I-I should go back. Maybe if I go back willingly now…” He trails off, not knowing what could come at the end of that sentence.

“Doyoung, no. I…please don’t leave me.” You feel mentally torn between sending him away and knowing this is the last time you’ll see him versus having him stay here with you, if only for a few minutes more. At this point, you’re not sure what the right answer is anymore.

“They might come looking for me, Y/N, and I don’t want them coming here disturbing the forest—"

“Stay! You can hide somewhere, I…as the keepers of the forest, we’ve been handling ourselves against intruders for years. We can protect ourselves—and you. If they come, you can hide out here until they leave. Please, stay.”

Doyoung cannot say no to you or your pleading eyes. He nods. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen after all this—if he wants to go back to the castle, or if he’ll even be allowed to return. He doesn’t know what they’ll do to him in retaliation, and even the vague idea of it frightens him. Having his title removed is one thing, but the King of Eupheme is far more vindictive than that.

You and Doyoung only make it to the small cave you’d hidden in on that rainy day before you hear the distinct sound of another pair of feet crashing through the woods. You both whip your heads around, though you also grab Doyoung’s arm and pull him under the cover of the willow tree. Your mind is racing a mile a minute, and you are too frantic to be able to sense who this new person is; though the question is quickly answered by a sharp whisper.

“Doyoung! Doyoung?”

“It’s Mark,” Doyoung hisses, his eyes widening. He slips between the tree branches and softly calls Mark’s name. In another few moments, the younger man is standing under the tree with you both.

“What happened?!” Doyoung asks, holding onto the younger boy’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Doyoung.” This is all Mark can say, and the words roll off his tongue repeatedly. He hangs his head. “The King knows, and he’s sent the guards to come here—I don’t know what he’s going to do, but—please believe me. It doesn’t sound good. He’s done being reasoned with.”

You and Doyoung look at each other with trepidation gripping your chests, realizing the stakes are much higher than you anticipated. This does not sound like just another case of “unwelcome intruders,” but “unwelcome intruders with bloodlust on their minds.”

“But—I can create another portal. I’m sorry, the last time, I just—but I can make one now. Come with us, please.” The last sentence is directed at you, and you shake your head.

“And go where? They’ll still be waiting for me at the castle. Are you suggesting we run away from Eupheme?” Doyoung’s voice is not reprimanding, but more incredulous than anything else.

Mark’s hands shake at the idea of turning his back on his family, which is something he’s never had to consider before—not even in the slightest sense. Things have gotten much more out of hand than he could’ve predicted.

You shake your head again, your hand slipping from Doyoung’s. “Just…I’ll stay here and help the others. You should go.”

“Y/N, I...” Doyoung’s throat tightens as he tries to speak, but his thoughts are disrupted by a quickly mounting commotion. The sound of hooves beating in the distance, though getting increasingly closer. The shouts of men who are ready to wage a battle, with fire racing through their veins.

Though most of Arthenia is asleep at this time of night, the noise of the horses’ hooves and the soldiers’ shouts is enough to begin waking the townspeople up out of their beds. Faces press against windows and peep out of doorways to see what’s happening.

The villagers are terrified when they see a group of soldiers adorned in the royal insignia and riding on horses enter Arthenia with lit torches in their hands, thinking their homes are about to be destroyed. However, they become even more confused and frantic when they quickly realize this band of men is paying their properties no mind and heading straight in the direction of the forest instead.

Some of Arthenia’s magic-wielders rush from their homes to try to put a stop to the men once they understand the situation, and the orcs and ogres meet them with brute force alone. The guards are met with a fight fiercer than they expected, even with their torches and daggers, not realizing the villagers could be so battle-hardy.

The King watches the battle ensuing in Arthenia from a hilly vantage point above the small town. The guards have failed to make much more headway against the villagers, who are gradually inching them back towards the village entrance. Shaking his head in disgust, the King pulls on his horse’s reins. “If you want something done, do it yourself.”

Some of the townspeople notice the King’s appearance just before he rides into the village. A few of them falter and cower in fear, finding the nearest exit point and taking their leave. Some others, incensed at their town being threatened and generally filled with rage at the King’s lack of fair leadership, decide to charge him head-on. They’re quickly extinguished, though, when the King conjures a great sphere of fire in his hands and whips it across them without a second thought.

He does the same to any other Arthenians who attempt to challenge him as he cuts a path through the village, uncaring of the land and homes he sets on fire as he does. A couple of the guards hop back on their steeds and follow him to his ultimate destination.

The King drives forward into the foliage. The women of the forest are armed with their own heavy rocks and sharpened arrows and daggers dipped in poisonous berry juice, though their weapons can barely leave their hands before everything is suddenly being enveloped in a wide swath of fire, meted out by the King’s hand. He leaves a path clear for himself and the guards in the middle, but the trees on either side are sent up in a blaze.

The two guards remain in single file behind him to use his fire as a shield and avoid the sharp rocks and poison-dipped darts zooming past their heads. Perhaps they’ve underestimated these tree-dwellers; already, there have been a few scrapes that were too close for comfort with the jagged edge of a rock or two. The guards light up as much greenery as they can as they go, using their torches to ignite leaves and low-hanging branches.

All around them, there are the sounds of Arthenians and dryads screaming in tandem as their homes go up in flames. A few nymphs lie fallen among the grass, unmoving as their tree homes burn up in the night.

The King, who has had the foresight to bring his shield, keeps it steady in front of him as he blasts fireballs out from behind it, lighting up one group of trees after another. He doesn’t know which one belongs to you, but he is willing to burn down the entire forest to find out. His movements are wilder than they’d normally be, which says a lot even for him, who has previously had no trouble slashing down anyone who stood in his way during battle—even if they were innocents.

“Doyoung!” The King shouts, and he whips up a great blanket of fire. He sends it careening up towards the sky like a shooting star, and it lands high among the tree canopy, heavy and far-reaching enough to burn treetops several feet in every direction. The guards become a bit wary at this, as the flames blaze above their heads and send sparks and burning debris flying down. “Doyoung!” His voice shakes the leaves like thunder. “If you do not wish to burn alive with these forest dregs, show yourself now!”

Doyoung’s spine stiffens as he hears his name echoing through the woods. It comes from a distance behind you all but is still too close for reassurance. If you stay in this spot for another few minutes, the King or one of his guards could be right on top of your heads.

“Come on!” Doyoung pulls your hand tightly as he helps you up the edge of a steep grassy incline, Mark supporting you from below. Though you’d be able to make it up there any other time by yourself, you don’t dare deny the help now. Your whole body feels like a live wire of fear and panic; the forest burns around you, and the encroaching smoke threatens to choke all three of you to death. Most of all, you feel devastated to see what’s happening around you, being essentially powerless to stop it. Nothing of this degree has ever befallen your home before; even the rare small blaze could be easily enough snuffed out. But not when the flames are being stoked and encouraged like this—building upon each other to see which can reach the tallest tree or the farthest edge of the forest.

After you reach solid ground, Doyoung drags Mark up behind you. There’s no time to pause after all three of you are on the ground; Doyoung grips your hand again and Mark follows behind the two of you as you run.

“The tree, the tree, the tree…” These words spill from your lips in a frenzy. Though your tree hasn’t been touched by the flames yet, it’s only a matter of time with the forest rapidly catching on fire. You can still feel the deep anguish of every other tree in the forest as their trunks catch fire, their leaves shrivel up, and the water evaporates from their root systems. Their silent screams and the shouts of your fellow dryads ring in your head loud enough to make you fear that your skull will split.

“Where are we going?” Mark asks, covering his nose with his sleeve and coughing profusely at the smoke all around.

“Out of the forest!” Doyoung shouts back. He doesn’t really know where to go except for the edge of the woods, and you aren’t in a state to tell him where to head. Deep down, he knows you want to turn back and go to your tree. The oak tree lives innately in you and you inside of it, and it calls you to come back, but the path is too dangerous; returning to it would only speed up what appears to be progressively inevitable. The King and his guards are somewhere in the forest behind you all, and turning back would only land you right in their hands or in the tendrils of the fire.

One of the guards feels a tinge of nervousness grow as the fire rages on around them, and he decides to try to reach out to the King. “Your Highness! I will go in search of Doyoung. Perhaps we should fetch him now before some danger befalls him; the fire is spreading exponentially.” The King gives him a signal to depart, though his eyes still burn just as brightly as the flames do.

The guard separates from the King to cut a path diagonally through the woods, going off to find Doyoung. The Crown Prince may have disobeyed the King—which is as good as committing treason against the kingdom—but it would still not look favorable for him to have died in a fire started at the King’s hands. However, the King is too far engulfed in the whirlwind of his own rage to consider these things more deeply.

The other guard stays by the King’s side, though his horse nervously shifts in place at the flames all around. The two men come to a stop in a wide and messy half-circle of fire, their backs to the flames as they watch the woods ahead for any signs of approaching creatures—or Doyoung himself.

Unbeknownst to the King, your oak tree sits only a few feet away in a yet-untouched portion of greenery.

A few leaves suddenly fall off a tree up ahead—too sudden to merely be caused by the wind—and this makes the King whip his head around and raise his hand to unleash more fire. Nothing appears from that spot, however, and the leaves remain as still as they were before. That moment of hesitancy costs him.

A small poison-tipped dart shoots from the leaves, catapulted by the force of a sudden, expertly-timed breath through a wooden blowgun. It lands squarely in the King’s open palm, which still faces the tree. A shout bursts from his throat in response, and it is only then that the guard realizes what’s just happened.

“Your Highness—!”

The shock and pain of the sudden assault causes the King to strike out in delayed anger, sending a wave of fire at the row of trees ahead of him—and a little further beyond, your oak tree in its small, grassy clearing. The dart burns up in his palm as he does, but its sharp point has already broken his skin. His reaction, though hampered by a few seconds, doesn’t afford Cassia much time to do anything but watch as a wall of feverish red and orange overtakes her, but her last few thoughts linger with you—where you might be within the forest right now, and if she could see you again in some faraway afterlife.

You’ve always known you would die when your tree finally did, but you weren’t sure what you expected it to feel like.

Certainly, not this kind of great reckoning—a sensation of every living element simultaneously being drained from your body. It feels like the core essence of your being has been cracked like an egg and is now flowing out endlessly, laid to waste in the grass. The sudden weakness that eclipses you makes it so that you can barely move your legs to continue running, and you collapse to the ground.

Mark nearly trips over your fallen form, but he quickly finds his voice and screams for Doyoung. The older man is already turning around, however, at feeling your hand slip from his. He rushes to you immediately, his eyes growing wide as he tucks his hands under you and scoops you into his arms.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, please! Y/N, please, no!”

“Doyoung…”

“No. No! I’m begging...please, stay with me.”

Tears spill from his eyes in an endless torrent. You would like to touch his face at least once more, and you are infinitely glad—if not also heartbroken—when he grabs your hand and holds it to his cheek. His tears wet your skin, running down your palm.

“I…I already told you not to forget me, so please…”

“Y/N, I’ve got to get you out of here…” Doyoung says desperately, and he struggles to make it to his feet. His legs tremble too much to support him, though, and his shoes slide in the leaves and dirt underfoot. Mark stumbles backwards, his back hitting a tree trunk as his muscles tense in horror at the scene in front of him.

“D-don’t. Leave me here.” Even saying this much feels like a massive effort.

“What?”

“Th-the forest and I are one in the same. I live and die here. Please…do this one thing for me, Doyoung.” You look at him imploringly with as much strength as you can summon despite your eyes growing heavier. Beyond the smoke, the cloudiness of your own tears, and the pull of death, it’s becoming harder to see; his features blur amid your surroundings.

Doyoung is quiet for a moment, though he slowly nods, gripping your hand tightly. He lowers his forehead to yours, and through the smoke and fire, he swears he can still smell the scent of jasmine. “I love you, Y/N.”

“My prince…” The corners of your mouth rise in a tiny smile. “I love you.”

The Crown Prince keeps his forehead against yours, his tears raining down on your cheeks long after you’ve gone limp in his arms.

Mark slumps to the ground, feeling as if his stomach will turn itself inside out, his heart hammering in his chest. He tries to breathe evenly, though his chest tightens painfully from the attempt. Eventually, he buries his face in his hands, trying to physically shut out the ache. He’s not sure how much time passes like that, with him and his brother immobilized on the ground, but he does know they need to leave, soon, as the air around them grows more stifling.

“Doyoung…D-Doyoung, we need to…w-we should…” Mark’s voice cracks, coming out weak in the roar of the noise around them. He coughs again, then shuffles to his feet, leaning on the tree for support.

Doyoung looks up at him without a word, his face streaked with tears and dirt. Then, slowly, he unravels himself from you and lays your body gently on the ground. He shuns his cloak to cover you with it, though part of him desires to stay here and perish with you instead of leaving only a portion of himself behind.

Him and Mark travel a few more yards through the woods, and though he’s never seen this part of the landscape before, he can guess they might be nearing the edge of the forest. The trees have begun thinning out here like they did at the small circular lake.

“Wait—" Mark calls out. Doyoung doesn’t bother looking back at Mark, but he can hear it too. The sound of horse hooves increases in volume, and they soon see one of the guards riding towards them, torch still in hand.

“Crown Prince! Prince Mark!” he shouts. “Come with me immediately!”

Doyoung looks frantically towards the ground. A sizeable rock catches his eye, bigger than the palm of his hand, and he picks it up. Without a second thought, he launches it at the guard’s face. It catches the guard on the left side of his face with a sickening pop, causing him to yell out in pain and fall from his horse. His torch falls from his grasp, starting yet another small fire where it lands.

With its rider gone, the horse slows its pace, though it does not stop. Doyoung catches it by the reins and is able to bring it to a pause long enough for him and Mark to get on. Everything else falls away from him as he guides them towards the forest’s outskirts; he barely feels the wind whipping past them, the lingering smoke stinging his eyes, or even the sturdy animal racing underneath him. He has a brief thought about what happened to those dangerous animals you said live on the outskirts, as there are none here now, but he reasons that maybe they’ve already made their own escape.

The sky is turning lighter now from the approaching dawn. When they finally breach the last row of trees in the woods, they come out onto an expansive field, only broken up by stray trees here and there and other landforms. On the far horizon, another town looms against the sky, though it’s much bigger than Arthenia.

Doyoung signals for the horse to stop, and both he and Mark sit there for a few long moments. Mark sucks in a few deep breaths, as if he were the one running this entire time. 

“W-what…what now?”

Doyoung doesn’t answer at first. Then, quietly, he asks, “Are you coming?”

Mark doesn’t know where his brother intends to go, but he wordlessly understands that it isn’t back to the castle. Or even Ceres. He swallows against the lump in his throat.

“I…I have to see the others.” He means their brothers. He means their parents back in Ceres, if he is even allowed to live. He is not sure what the King will do to him once he returns—if he’ll be tried for treason. Still, his chest burns with the desire to see his siblings at least once more.

Maybe that’s how he justifies it.

He’s not entirely sure why he refuses Doyoung in this moment, even when he thinks back on it years from now. Maybe he is too ashamed of the guilt—of feeling like it was all his fault. (If he hadn’t dropped the stopwatch…) He doesn’t want to serve as that constant reminder for his brother.

“Can you get back, then?” Doyoung asks. Mark realizes he’s referring to creating another portal, and he nods, though somewhat hesitantly.

“Y…yeah. I can.” He swallows again and hesitates for another moment. Then, Mark dismounts from the horse and looks up at Doyoung. “Where…where will you go?”

If the older man has already planned his route, he doesn’t disclose it. He simply looks at Mark with an expression that can only be described as pitiable, broken. His eyes are red-rimmed and his skin is ashen. “Goodbye, Mark.”

Mark stares at his retreating back as he leads the horse away and across the field. The space between them stretches out into forever, with a million unsaid thoughts and emotions falling in the gap.

Behind him, the forest continues to burn, taking all life with it. In front of him, Doyoung’s form turns into a speck against the endless green. It is a long time before Mark leaves that spot in the grass.

In the castle, Donghyuck slumps against his window as he watches smoke rising in the far distance, already knowing where it’s coming from. Like a mirror image of his older brother, tear tracks make their way down his face as he buries his head in his arms.

“What have I done?”

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: The Medic

(A/N: Takes place somewhere around ten years after Arya leaves Ellesméra and joins the Varden. I’ll probably do another fic going into the injury that sent her back to Ellesméra for further healing {something that occurs probably every other year or so, as she’s not a skilled healer and none of the medics in the Varden know elf biology} at a later date. Cheers! Oh, and a reminder, 20 years old is around 10 in human years apparently, or at least how we’re going for MIC. Cheers again!)

Arya leaned back in her chair, eyeing the elf across the small camp table as he scribbled out another note in the Varden medical file spread before him.

Glenwing was the first and only person on Arya’s personal, official squad. He had trotted up to her a day before she was to leave Ellesméra and handed off orders straight from the Queen that he was to become her medic in the field. Even after multiple readings and consultations with Oromis, the orders were clear and gave no leeway or loophole through which Arya could escape. Despite her obviously annoyed acceptance at his sudden addition, Glenwing seemed unfazed and calm throughout the entire process, and set out with his new commanding officer the following morning.

They had reached the edge of the forest now, camped upriver from Ceris at Arya’s request. Three weeks in Ellesméra had left her antsy and entirely fed up with the prim and proper etiquette that made open speech so damned difficult in the pines, something she had not missed in her years with the Varden. Glenwing hadn’t protested in the least, and had spent a majority of the time setting up camp asking her questions about her previous injuries, examining scars, and doing his best to ease into the more personal questions of mental health that he hadn’t had time to ask before they left Ellesméra.

The silver haired elf signed a stop glyph at the end of his most recent note in the margins of Arya’s file before tapping his pen against his lip. “Any trouble sleeping in the past six months? Falling asleep, staying asl–”

“Are you going to report all this to the Queen?” Glenwing looked up, somewhat startled by the sudden interjection. Arya had her arms folded now, regarding him with that solid stare that expected answers and would take no deflection or lie that he could give. “I’m assuming that’s why she assigned you to me. People weren’t exactly lining up behind me to join the Varden, so I doubt you volunteered. Plus, after this long she’s probably realized that I need to return to Du Weldenvarden to be fully healed after larger injuries so she’s probably not keen on giving me more time away from her influence and reach. So there has to be another reason that supersedes that. A way for her to influence and keep tabs on me while I’m away as well as while I’m in the pines.”

Glenwing straightened from where he had been leaning on the table and carefully placed his pen parallel to the top of the file before meeting Arya’s hardened gaze with his steady one. “Do you want me to?” There was a soft curiosity behind his golden eyes.

The question seemed to catch the other elf off guard. Arya blinked, lips parted to snap a retort that now didn’t seem necessary.

“I won’t lie to you.” Glenwing continued. “The Queen has asked– or rather, she has ordered– that I report back on your status and any developments in your mental and physical health.” Anger flashed through Arya’s countentance, but before she could spit out a string of swears the elf across from her held up a finger. “However. You’re wrong about me volunteering. I’m here because I want to be, not just because the Queen accepted my offer. That means that I have willingly taken you on as a patient, and while I am a subject of our Queen’s rule, I am also your medic and doctor.”

“Look, I don’t care if you’re a ‘subject of the Queen’ first.” Arya snapped. The phrase seemed to have set her off enough to break through the final barrier of elvish manners that remained as she cut him off. “If you’re going to be telling the Queen every little thing about me, I’m just not going to accept your help. You might as well go back home, alright?”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.” Glenwing replied, voice calm yet lacking the patronizing edge that Arya had expected. “I’m saying that as my patient, you have complete control over your care, including who, and when, I give information to regarding it and your status in the past, present and future.

“If you don’t want me to inform the Queen as she ordered, I won’t, and I’ll tell her as much. I’m one of the Queen subjects, yes, but now that you are my patient my purpose here is to keep you alive, and I can’t exactly do that if you refuse care or don’t trust me.”

Arya was silent for a long moment, the silver haired elf’s words sinking in. The elven nation was a monarchy, yes, but there was always an understanding that any elf could act independently unless called to war in defense. Even then there was a choice of remaining behind to tend to the forest and those who returned. Orders given in common elvish, even from the Queen, were considered the rule of law, but in actuality could be challenged or even ignored if the individual thought the orders would cause more harm than good. It could incur the wrath of the Queen, yes, but there was no formal system of punishment beyond the decision of the council. Or, in personal cases such as Arya’s own, the decision of the Queen herself.  

That being said, most people followed their orders when they were given, and as such things were rare it was unusual to find an elf that was quite as willing as Arya to bend or break the rules so to speak. Yet here one was, practically raising his eyebrows in quiet eagerness to open loopholes and ignore centuries of custom all for a chance to…

…to what?

Arya chose her words carefully. “Glenwing…why are you doing this?” She gestured to the square photographs that were scattered on one side of the medical file, images detailing the numerous wounds of note, most in their unhealed state, that the young elf had incurred over the course of just a little over a decade of service in the Varden. “You’ve seen what it does physically. Magic can heal but I think we both know that the scars of the mind do not close so easily. I’ve almost died more times than I can count and watched countless others who were not so lucky lose their lives on and off the battlefield.”

“I’ve seen war, Arya. I’ve not participated in one, but I’ve seen the damage it does.”

“Then why join me?” Arya leaned her elbows on the table, shoulders hunched as her brows furrowed. “Why? I have my reasons, some of them more morally sound and others more or less reprehensible, and the things I’ve already done to further the goal of toppling Galbatorix… I’ve done some terrible shit. I’m not going to skirt around that. You know that you’ll probably have to do similar things, get blood other than that of your patients on your hands. So why? Why risk everything like this?”

Glenwing held her gaze for a time before lowering his eyes to the table. With a fingertip he rearranged the pictures, aligning the edges so that they fanned out and displayed a gruesome line of war wounds over the years. “…I’m not much older than you are, you know.”

“…Pardon?”    

His lips twisted up slightly in sad eyed grin. “I was eighteen when the Fall began. My father was a healer, my mother a warrior.” Gently, with the back of a fingernail, he dragged out one of the pictures, the one of the ragged stab wound to the abdomen that sent Arya back to Ellesméra most recently. “She died of an injury similar to this one. That’s what they told me at least.” Glenwing raised his eyes to meet Arya’s, gauging her reaction to his next words. “She was in the final group that the King led. My father died beside her as he tried to heal her. They were bathed in dragonfire. Nothing to bury.

“I watched my father treat wounds like all of these as the injured returned. He never stopped trying to help, down to the last second of his life, and mother never stopped fighting for our people.” He spread his hands out. “I cannot sit by knowing that I could do the same.”

The he paused. “And there is another thing.”

Arya swallowed. The mention of her father and the battle that had felled not only him but Glenwing’s parents as well made her mouth go dry. The final moments of the conflict before Galbatorix hunted Vrael always did. “Oh?”

“You said that I should go home if I was to report on your condition to the Queen. I cannot return home, which only leaves obeying your orders and remaining as your medic my only option.”  

Glenwing’s feral, bared tooth smile shocked a flash of familiarity and kinship through Arya’s mind. She had seen that smile on her own face before, that wild unrestrained drive to right the wrongs of the world, to take on war and violence so that others could be at peace, tenuous as it was.  

“You see, Arya…I was born in Ilirea. With Galbatorix on the throne, I have no home to return to.”

~~~

To Queen Islanzadí, Your Majesty.

After a lengthy consult with the combat liaison I have been assigned, it has come to my attention that the mentioned patient, Arya, house of none, is against the sharing of medical information beyond a set of predetermined ailments and injuries. As I am bound first to act in the best interest of my patient, I must oblige by her requests. Arya has also indicated that any sharing of information without her consent would result in her refusing any treatment or healing by my hand, which has further forced this issue as she has displayed sufficient aptitude for wards that would block any of my attempts to heal her if the conditions presented were broken in any way.

However, Arya has agreed to allow the sharing of some small yet vital pieces of information concerning her health as seen fit. Thus, any injury resulting in amputation, permanent blindness or hearing loss, traumatic brain damage, complete mind breaking or death will be reported. Arya has impressed on me that she will continue to aid the Varden in the event of non-lethal injuries, and any report of the previous wounds will also include an evaluation on how she can continue to aid the Varden in her current state.

I apologize that I cannot carry out the full extent of your orders. Unfortunately, it is clear that any deviation from the agreed upon conditions that Arya has set would likely result in severe injury to Arya’s person and would constitute reckless and wanton disregard for my patient’s safety and health on mine. I cannot in good conscience go against her wishes, nor can I do so if my conscience were to tolerate it. Arya has forced me to agree to these conditions in the Ancient Language, and I cannot break my oath.

I continue to serve to the best of my ability, and will do my utmost to ensure Arya’s health is taken care of.

May the stars watch over you.

Yours in service,  

Glenwing of House Svanran.

Islanzadí folded the letter again, put her elbows on her desk, and allowed herself a long, frustrated sigh.

Leave it to Arya to ferret out her reasoning for accepting Glenwing’s offer and so quickly appeal to the young elf’s sense of ethical duty. A political force the Queen’s daughter was not, but she still had a knack for picking up on a person’s true motives and finding ways to fit them around her own.

However, this was faster than anticipated. Maybe this Glenwing’s true motives weren’t what he presented to Islanzadí at all. There had been something about his energy that seemed familiar. The Queen now recognized it as a glimmering thread of that determination and wild resolve that Arya so openly displayed.

But what to do now? Islanzadí rubbed her temples, a headache coming on. She knew that there was little she could threaten them with if she ordered Glenwing to return to Ellesméra. The young elf had volunteered after all, and even under duress Islanzadí doubted she could convince any other elf as skilled as he was to abandon their calm life in Du Weldenvarden for years of conflict and uncertainty outside the forest’s protective stands. And she couldn’t just call him back and not send a replacement, not with the state Arya had been in when she finally made it back to Ellesméra. What little Oromis had told the Queen of her wayward daughter’s injuries past and present clearly indicated that an attached medic was a necessity if there was any hope of Arya making it through the war alive.

So what to do….

The clatter of talons on well-polished wood sent a cascade of jolts through Islanzadí’s burgeoning headache, the pops and clicks that followed doing nothing to help the pain.

“The latch is open, Blagden.” The Queen leaned back in her chair and massaged her forehead as the white raven swooped in. Blagden alighted on the desk with a gentle flap of his wings to slow his speed and cocked his head at her, looking smug as he always did. He parted his beak slightly. “Don’t you say i–”

“Wyrda!”

Even as the Queen winced at the cried word the raven flipped a small, densely folded paper onto the desk with a flourish of his leg. He pecked at it twice before fluttering to his carved stand on the back of the chair, settling in before starting his usual fastidious preening.

Confused, Islanzadí picked up the folded note. It hadn’t been but an hour since Glenwing’s letter had arrived, but the glyph that graced the fold of this paper was the one Arya always used. Blagden must have dropped it while flying and went back to retrieve it. The Queen unfolded it with a hint of trepidation in her heart, as always accompanied any correspondence with her banished child.

The young elf’s handwriting had started to take on a sharper shape, but was no less bold in its strokes. It still held the same familiar base that reminded Islanzadí so much of those days that Arya would scamper into her mother’s study and throw notes of love for her mother and records of her daily adventures onto the desk before scampering out, giggling as she departed for her next escapade. All those notes still sat in the drawer to Islanzadí’s left, bittersweet.

The headache throbbed, chasing away the memories. The Queen focused in again, and was somewhat surprised to find only a few short sentences.

Stars watch over you.

Good medic. Intelligent, can toe lines if needed. Fixed a scar issue in short order. I like this one. Requesting permanent assignment.

~ Arya of Du Weldenvarden, combat liaison officer  

Islanzadí frowned slightly as she caught sight of a different handwriting in the bottom corner. It was Glenwing’s, and she couldn’t help but chuckle as she read it aloud. “Please?”

Maybe this Glenwing would be a good influence after all. With that in mind, and the comfort of Arya now less likely to return maimed (or not at all), Islanzadí picked up her pen.

Granted.  May the stars watch over you. Queen Islanzadí.

[anchcred]

→ ABOUT MAHA.

DETAILED ABOUT.

“Take it back! I never asked for it!”     - Mahanon Lavellan, DA:I.

General Characteristics

Name: Mahanon Lavellan. Appearance: Slender build, red-brown hair, blue eyes. Red detailed Elgar'nan vallaslin.  Pronunciation: Mah-hah-known Lah-veil-ahn Name Origin: Dalish. Name Meaning: ‘He who moves ahead towards a good place.’ Other Names: Maha. Titles: Inquisitor, Herald, Your Worship, Lord Lavellan, Master Lavellan. Theme Song: The Gardener - Sarah Sparks Zodiac: Pisces.

Personal Characteristics

Birth Date: 9:14 Dragon. Birth Name: Mahanon Lavellan. Manner of Birth: Natural. First Word(s): Ahn? (Huh?/What?) Primary Objective: Defeat Corypheus; save the world. Secondary Objectives: Restore order, spread peace. Priorities: Assisting those in need. Motivation: Lack of options. Self-Confidence: Low. Embarrassments: Falling asleep in strange places. Worries: Failing. Disappointing people. Losing everyone. Soothers: Comforting words. Visits from friends. Letters from his clan. Instigators: Lack of sleep. Pushing past boundaries. Shouting. Aggressive behavior. Harsh criticism of his actions/decisions. Earliest Memory: Light filtering through the leaves of trees, the smell of woodsmoke, laughter, warmth. Fondest Memory: Receiving his vallaslin. Worst Memory: Seeing the future in which he fails. Favorite Dream: Traveling with his clan again, forgetting this all ever happened. Worst Nightmare: Corypheus capturing his friends and infecting them with red lyrium. Desires: Love, comfort, support, reassurance. Wishes: The happiness of the members of the Inquisition. Confidantes: Cole, Varric. Soft Spots: Emotional hurt, crying, loss. Simple trinkets, carved figurines, soft cloth. Cruel Streaks: An eye for an eye thoughts on judging people, though he often errs on the side of mercy. Musical Instrument: Wooden pipes. (He’s not very good.) Quirks: See headcanons. Dominant Hand: Right.

Mental Characteristics

Known Languages: Elvhen (Limited), Common, Orlesian (Learning) Memory: Good. Savvies: Dancing, scouting, carving. Ineptities: Politics. Temperament: Phlegmatic. Hobbies: Carving, studying, training. Pet Peeves: Unnecessary cruelty, untidiness.

Intellectual Characteristics (1-10)

Logical-Mathematical: 4 Spatial: 6 Linguistic: 6 Bodily-Kinesthetic: 8 Musical: 3 Interpersonal: 10 Intrapersonal: 6 Naturalistic: 8 Existential: 4

Philosophical Characteristics

Morality: Strong sense of justice and right and wrong. Sometimes skewed perception due to limited interaction with the world prior to leaving his clan. Etiquette: Proper, as far as Dalish are concerned. Learning to be polite in other situations. Attitude: Nervous. Outlook on Life: Grim, uncertain. Perception: Glass half-empty. Standpoint: See world state. Philosophy: Kindness.

Spiritual Characteristics

Animal: Rabbit. Religion: Elven Pantheon. Devotion: Believes and respects, but not 100% invested/devoted. Superstitions: See headcanons. Virtues: Temperance, charity, kindness, humility. Vices: Lust, envy.

Highs and Lows

Likes: Fall, firepits, lively music, laughter, warmth, physical affection, emotional support. Dislikes: Loneliness, silence, snow. Favorite Animal: Rabbit. Favorite Arts: Stained glass. Favorite Color: Amber. Favorite Country: Ferelden. Favorite Drink: Water. Favorite Food: Roasted berries and toasted nuts with fresh bread. Favorite Flavor: Mint. Favorite Number: 6. Favorite Pastime: People-watching. Favorite Season: Autumn. Favorite Story Genre: Romance. Favorite Subject: Herbalism. Favorite Words: Lethallin/lethallan, lath'sal'in. Least Favorite Color: Purple. Least Favorite Country: Tevinter. Least Favorite Food: Very heavy meats. Least Favorite Pastime: Lectures (of the chastising sort). Least Favorite Season: Winter. Least Favorite Story Genre: Political Intrigue. Least Favorite Words: Goodbye.

Apparel

Accessories: Carved wooden ring, delicate floral design. Dress Style/Wardrobe: Light armor, thin boots, leather gloves. Equipment: Dual daggers.

Social Characteristics

Communication: Excellent. Criminal Record: Never caught. Discriminations: Poor opinions of Orlais, wary of Qunari. Dominance: Submissive. Ego: Tiny. Emotional Stability: Fair, but fragile. Expression: Intricate wood carvings to vent feelings on. Humor: Quick to laugh. Liveliness: Fair. Mannerisms: Very polite, if inquisitive. Patience: That of a saint. Reputation: Good. Sociability: Fair, if somewhat awkward.

Intrapersonal Connections

Immediate Family: Mother (warrior/hunter) in clan, Father (healer) deceased. Close Relatives: Cousins, uncle, and aunt in clan.

Acquaintances: Allegiance: Inquisition. Allies: Mages, Grey Wardens, Celene of Orlais. Enemies: Corypheus, Samson. Followers: Members of the Inquisition. Heroes: Hero of Ferelden. (If Dalish.) Inspirations: Hero of Ferelden. (If Dalish.)

Reactions

Angry: Clenched fist, locked jaw, red cheeks, few words. Anxious: Toying with fingers, touching items, avoiding eye contact, fidgeting. Conflicted: Chewing lower lip, frowning, deep breaths. Criticized: Lips pressed together, shoulders forward, cheeks red, arms crossed. Depressed: Avoiding eye contact, avoiding conversation, few words, absentminded responses, listlessness. Excited: Wide eyes, big smile, lots of hand gestures. Frightened: Shoulders forward, quick breaths, wide eyes, lax mouth, tense posture, head slightly lowered to protect throat. Guilty: Biting inside of cheek, hands clasped, averted eyes, stumbling words. Happy: Warm smile, open expression and posture, small hand gestures. Humiliated: Red-faced, lips in a thin line, shallow breaths and slumped shoulders, averted face, mumbling words, avoidance. Instincts: Light steps, relaxed posture, stands with back to a surface if possible. Mistaken: Brows drawn together, subtle frown, head tipped. Nervous: Fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, speaking quickly. Offended: Clenched jaw, sharp, quick answers, avoidance. Praised: Flushed neck and cheeks, uncertain smile, eyes down, hand rubbing at neck or arm. Rejected: Avoiding eye contact, ears red, lips pressed tight, mumbling, eagerness to leave. Sad: Quiet, few words, lowered head, forced smiles. Stressed: Fidgeting, snappiness, frequent pacing, quick speech. Thoughtful: Absent expression, tracing lip with finger, quiet, slow speech.

Physical Characteristics

Species: Elf. Nationality: Dalish. Skin Color: Fair. Height: 5'5”. Tattoos: Elgar'nan vallaslin in red. Face Shape: Almond/Oval. Hair Color: Red-brown. Hair Length: Short. Hair Type: Healthy. Hair Style: Messy. Eyebrows: Medium. Facial Hair: None. Eye Type: Almond. Eye Color: Blue. Teeth: Slight overbite.

Health and Fitness

Allergies: Bees. Broken Bones: Left arm, in childhood. Disorders: PTSD. See headcanons. Birthmarks: Small collection of dark spots, right hip. Dexterity: High. Diet: Fairly healthy. Exercise: Plenty. Figure: Slim. Fitness: High. Hygiene: Decent. Posture: Poor. Scent: Wood.

Sexual Characteristics

Gender: Male. Gender Role: Male. Orientation: Gay. (With a few exceptions.) Turnons: Slow build-up, foreplay, neck touching/kissing, ear nibbling, hip rubbing. Turn-offs: Violence, not to be confused with rough play. Virginity: Not a virgin.

Residential Characteristics

Abode: Skyhold. Culture: Dalish. Traditions: Dalish. Sleep Patterns: Poor.

Vocal Characteristics

Accent/Dialect: Free Marches. Laughter: Breathy.

Other information to be added via headcanons and developed through interactions.

[maythedreadwolfbreakyou]

Character Profile

NAME: Ghilina Lavellan

NICKNAME: Ghili (Gill-lee)

AGE: 30 at start of Inquisition

SPECIES: Elf

GENDER: Female

ORIENTATION: Sapiosexual

INTERESTS, HOBBIES, PASTIMES: Ghilina's prowess with magic classifies her strongly as a Mage. Even so, she holds an interest in rogue talents and skills. Because of this, you will often find Ghilina at the end of the day venting frustrations of the day with every arrow loosed from her bow.

Ghilina also has creative interests, such as self expression through dance (think modern and lyrical meets ballet) and music. She cannot play an instrument to save her life, in fact many musicians go out of their way to keep their instruments from her reach. However, Ghilina does enjoy singing elven folk songs and lullabies to an audience of none. 

SPECIALIZATION: Rift Mage. Ghilina always had an interest and fascination with the Fade and the spirits that swelled there ever since she was young. When that fascination came to light among members of her clan, they feared for her safety and sternly discouraged her interest. They told tales of demons masquerading as friendly spirits in the hopes of encouraging her to agree to possession. The normalized superstition and fear pressures Ghilina into agreeing to stifle any interest in the Fade she had. She had all but forgotten her fascination when she met Solas, who rekindled it anew. That fascination gave way to her study of Fade magic with the help of her trainer and Solas.

BODY TYPE:  Lithe, willowy spoon (pear) shaped figure. 

EYES: Icy blue

HAIR: Long, wavy, raven-black hair

SKIN:  Fair, milky white

HEIGHT:  167 cm (5'6")

COMPANIONS: Cassandra and Blackwall have saved Ghilina's hide more times than she would care to count. Whether it be from a surprise flank attack, or a charging shield wielder. Thank goodness for her Fadestep ability. 

Dorian quickly became Ghilina's closest friend within the Inquisition. She trusts him implicitly, and as such he often accompanies her outside Skyhold. Iron Bull also tends to accompany them, as Ghilina enjoys his company and unique yet unimposing views. 

Varric she enjoys around for his stories and his wit, while Cole she enjoys to have around for the insights he offers and the swift knife in the dark that protects her from harm. 

The only companions that typically remain at Skyhold, with the exception of extenuating circumstances, are Vivienne and Sera. Vivienne is enjoyable when she is discussing nobility scandals, etiquette, and fashion. However, Ghilina has found on more than one occasion Vivienne's very conservative views on Mage rights and the Chantry have been at odds with her more progressive ones. 

For a similar reason, Sera tends to stay within the confines of Skyhold, terrorizing the nobility, due to her rather offensive and unapologetic views of elves and elven culture. 

COLOURS: White, Lavender, Black

SMELLS: The wet earth after a fresh rain, lilacs, cedar

FRUITS: She loves the sweet tart of Rivaini peaches, and the spiced baked apples of Antiva. Strawberries grown in Fereldan's Hinterlands are also very sweet and juicy.

DRINKS: Not much of a drinker at all. Sometimes socially. 

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: If there is anything that doesn't taste strongly of alcohol, or has a sweet taste to it, Ghilina will drink it on the off chance she decides to do so.

SMOKES: Not applicable.

BAD HABITS: biting her lip when thinking, strumming her fingers when waiting impatiently, and fidgeting with or picking at whatever is in her hands of she is nervous or anxious.

GOOD HABITS: proper hygiene maintenance, up early each morning, goes for a morning walk along the ramparts (greets the soldiers along the way), and mostly keeps a healthy diet.

What do they say about themselves?

Eyes blue and piercing like the frigid bite of a plunge into a frozen lake peered back at you from beneath long, dark lashes; a rather thick tome cradled in her lap. Those twin pools of winter made your heart thud inside your chest. You wondered, momentarily, if this was how the canary feels before a cat.

All around were shelves of musty tomes waiting to be read, their fading gilded titles illuminated in the dancing torchlight. Tomes with tattered spines lay stacked unevenly amidst scattered parchment upon a time-worn table at her side.

Her eyes closed, brow knotted as a frustrated sigh passed her bow-shaped lips. The tome in her lap slammed shut with an echoing thud before it was gingerly rested upon the table's surface beside her. 

The simple white gown she donned complimented her lithe figure, glistening in the torchlight with her movements. Silk, perhaps? Her hands gripped the armrest edges as she leaned into her high-backed chair. A leg gracefully swept beneath the other until they rested askew, interwoven at the ankles with one another.

Her eyes met yours then, and not only did she meet your gaze, she held it there. Pinned. And as your heart continued to thrum in your chest, you realized then that this woman who was lovely yet appeared so frail, was in fact a spider sitting patiently upon her web. Never to be underestimated. Though she may be beautiful, she was equally as deadly. Only a fool would overlook such knowledge. 

As you debated internally with yourself whether to feel awed or intimidated, her gaze lowered from yours to the floor before she spoke, "What I have to say of myself may no longer apply. The young Dalish woman I was before, the woman who stumbled out of a rift, she became who I am for a role she didn't ask for." 

Her voice was soft and sad as her fingertips thoughtlessly touched the bare flesh of her cheek. But when she looked up at you, hand fallen away, she was beaming, "Though looking back, if I could never go back to who I was before, I believe I could make peace with that."

Smile still playing upon her lips, she picked up her book from the table and opened it to the page she had last left it. 

So this was a post I found while browsing the tags on @honeypeabrain 's blog. It looked like fun and I could think of many on this side of Solavellan Hell who would enjoy this. So...

Tagging || @waterwhisp-rivergoblin @wayward-lavellan @modernagesomniari @dreamerlavellan @dreadwollf @calwyne @my-solavellan-hell @sopml @solaspls @riazures @river-goddess-sionann @lavellanpls @wepepe-draws @ar-lath-ma-vhenan

And anyone else who wants to participate. No pressure if you don't. If you have done this before, please disregard. If you don't want to be tagged, let me know.

[arrantsnowdrop]

The Hardships of Love - Aragorn x Reader (angst/fluff)

Request: "...the reader is a dunedain ranger like aragorn and they're very good friends. one day they're talking and the topic of love comes up and they're both sorta upset at their luck for falling for elves. the reader reveals she is/was in love with haldir but sorta ran from that romance because it was doomed (due to the difference in races)"

Tags: @subtle-sunrise

Warnings: angst (break ups and sadness as a result), 2,335 words

A/N: The lovely @subtle-sunrise gave me several ideas about how to finish this request, I chose to go the route of the reader and Aragorn bonding/perhaps falling a little in love with each other. You can choose to read this as platonic or romantic, it's deinfitely up to your interpretation. I LOVED THIS REQUEST UGH I would also love to write more Aragorn stuff bc he's hella cool so lemme know if you are interested, otherwise enjoy :)

The Trollshaws had always been a dangerous place, filled with Stone-trolls who came down from the north looking for people to snack on. Luckily, most of them stayed within the confines of the woods, only eating those dumb enough to trespass on their territory.

However, for the past month or so, the Trolls had been venturing out of the woods, terrorizing the many villagers and halflings who lived on the East-West Road. The situation had escalated to the point where several townsfolk got together and asked the Rangers of the North to intervene.

In (Y/n)’s mind, their plea for help was indicative of the severity of the situation; under normal circumstances, most people were too afraid of the Rangers to even mention them in conversation, let alone willingly talk to them.

You’d been sent out from Rivendell with Aragorn to diffuse the situation by whatever means you saw fit. Though you did not want the confrontation to escalate to violence, you knew it was nearly impossible to bargain with a Troll. 

The two of you had ended up fighting a cohort of twenty or so Trolls, killing a few and chasing the rest back into the Trollshaws. You’d returned to the town you’d chased them out of to help dispose of the corpses and offer suggestions on how to deter the Trolls in the future (“Building some fences would not hurt,” you’d said sarcastically, grinning as Aragorn stifled a laugh).

The sun was already beginning to sink beneath the horizon by the time you and Aragorn had begun your trek back to Rivendell. You’d both agreed to travel for an hour or so before setting up camp and getting some much needed sleep; you’d hopefully return to Lord Elrond’s domain sometime tomorrow afternoon.

The ride was almost completely silent, save for the sounds of your horses’ hooves hitting the dirt road and the crickets chirping in the woods around you. You were both extremely tired, and when Aragorn noticed a small patch of moss nestled between a cluster of trees, you’d gladly agreed to stop.

Aragorn was beginning to light a fire in the middle of the small grove, and you were making sure the horses’ reins were tightly secured to a fallen branch. You tossed them both some carrots from a sack you’d brought along with you, then turned back to where Aragorn was piling wood onto a steady orange flame. You grinned, relishing in the warm feeling the fire provided.

“Thank you, Aragorn,” you murmured, sitting down across from him and holding your hands up to the flames. He hummed in reply. It was early fall, and though the cooler air allowed you to fight without producing copious amounts of sweat, it was now too chilly at night for your liking. Aragorn looked up and noticed you shivering slightly.

“Would you like a blanket, (Y/n)?” he asked, gesturing to where your bags sat behind him. You shook your head and Aragorn chuckled, standing up to grab one anyways.

“Aragon, that’s not necessary,” you whined as he rummaged through your bag.

“If you catch a cold, the Elves back in Rivendell will tease you relentlessly for the rest of the week,” he replied as he walked over to you, blanket in hand. “I’m saving you from that rather unlikable fate.”

You laughed, grabbing the blanket and draping it over yourself.

“Thank you for sparing me from certain Elven humiliation, then,” you said, noticing the corners of Aragorn’s mouth tilting upwards into a small smile.

You’d never understood why Aragorn, or Strider as he was more commonly known, had a reputation for being serious and unfriendly. You’d known him since you were a teenager; he’d been your mentor and close companion as you trained to become a Ranger. You were used to seeing him smile and laugh, though it seemed the majority of the common folk thought he was incapable of doing so.

“Would you like some bread?” Aragorn asked, carrying his own bag closer to the fire. You squinted at him in the dim lighting.

“If it’s Lembas bread, I don’t want it,” you replied bluntly. Aragorn chuckled, knowing far too well your hatred for Elven Way bread.

“Luckily, this is sourdough,” he said, grinning as your eyes lit up. “It’s probably stale at this point, but-”

“Throw me a chunk of that,” you interrupted, gesturing to the loaf of bread he had procured from his pack. He ripped off a sizable piece and threw it over the fire, laughing as you caught it in your mouth.

“Elrond would most definitely not approve of that behavior,” he remarked, ripping off a piece of bread for himself and tossing it in his mouth. You rolled your eyes and groaned.

“The other day, he felt the need to lecture me on my dining etiquette,” you said, grimacing at the memory. “Apparently, not knowing the difference between the different sized forks is absolutely disgraceful.”

“Ah yes, the classic salad versus dining fork conversation,” Aragorn grinned. “I myself have received that same lecture on several occasions.” You laughed.

“I’ve always find it funny how when I visit Lothlórien, the Elves only ask about my duties as a Ranger, but in Rivendell, they only comment on my lack of proper manners,” you noted, watching Aragorn simultaneously laugh and choke on his mouthful of bread. He glared at you as you chuckled at him.

"You must never repeat this,” he said seriously, “but the Elves of Rivendell have a reputation for being the most judgemental and fussy in Middle Earth.”

You laughed loudly, nodding in agreement as you popped the last bit of bread in your mouth. It was not very filling, but over the years you’d learned that some food was always much better than none at all.

“Speaking of Lothlórien, how are the Elves there doing?” Aragorn asked, referencing your visit there a few weeks ago. You’d just returned from the other side of the Misty Mountains when Elrond had sent you and Aragorn out to deal with the Troll problem.

“They’re doing well, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn seem to be in good spirits,” you said, a little too softly for Aragorn’s liking. His brows furrowed in concern.

“How about Haldir?” he asked, noticing you shift uncomfortably.

For the last decade or so, you and Haldir had been in an unofficial relationship. The first time you accompanied Elrond to Lothlórien, you’d managed to capture the blonde Elf’s attention. Since then, you spent most of your frequent trips there with him, writing letters to each other between visits.

You had always thought you were unworthy of his affections. He was so wise and thoughtful, his many centuries of life having influenced his placid demeanor. He was also kind, happy to spend much of his time ensuring the safety of his fellow Elves. Meanwhile, you were a hot-tempered Ranger who was known in the West for being a harbinger of danger.

“Haldir is, uh, well he’s good,” you replied, purposefully avoiding Aragorn’s gaze.

What you weren’t telling him was that you’d ended your relationship with Haldir during your last visit. Of course you still cared for him, very deeply as a matter of fact, but that was the exact reason you had decided to take a step back.

“(Y/n)?” Aragorn asked softly. You nodded, still not looking up from the fire flickering in front of you.

“(Y/n), look at me.”

You bit your lip and shook your head, not wanting him to see the tears threatening to fall down your face.

Silence from Aragorn. You focused on the crackling of the fire, the way the soft orange light danced across the ground. It was a little mesmerizing, and honestly, you were more than happy to be entranced by the lambent flames; it was a welcome distraction from the sadness that had begun to permeate your consciousness.

You snapped out of your daze as soon as you heard Aragorn shuffling from across the fire. You finally looked up, watching as he stood and walked around the fire, sitting down next to you.

“I do not know what troubles your mind,” he murmured, gaze locked on the fire in front of him, “but I know the importance of companionship in sadness, and I’ll gladly offer you comfort if you want it.”

He turned his head, eyes filled with compassion and concern. You felt the tears you’d been trying so hard to contain begin to fall down your face, and you let out a very shaky sob.

Aragorn leaned forward immediately, wrapping you in a strong embrace. You didn’t know how long you spent weeping into his shoulder, him whispering soothing words in your ear as he rubbed your back.

After what seemed like hours, your sobs reduced to small sniffles. You pulled back, exhaling loudly and burying your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you said meekly.

“Don’t be,” Aragorn replied, hands moving from your shoulders to your forearms.

“I told him we couldn't be together anymore,” you whispered, focusing on his thumbs rubbing circles on your skin.

“Ah, then it’s my fault you’re crying,” Aragorn said regretfully. “I’m sorry for bringing it up, (Y/n), I truly am.”

“No, no it’s not your fault,” you reassured him. “It’s better this way anyways. I’d rather cry with someone I trust than break down in front of the rest of the Rangers or the Elves.”

“I don’t know if our Elven acquaintances know how to manage the more intense human emotions,” Aragorn chuckled. You grinned, wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks with the palms of your hands.

“I just, I couldn't do it anymore,” you said, struggling to find the right words. “I felt guilty every time we were together.”

“Why?” Aragorn asked genuinely.

“Because he’s an Elf,” you groaned, flopping backwards dramatically. Aragorn grinned as you stretched out on the mossy ground.

“Like, he’s basically immortal, but everyone knows Elves can die if they experience really deep loss or sadness,” you said, “and then Haldir told me he loved me, and I just couldn’t help but feel ashamed.”

You sat up and looked at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

“I don’t want to be the reason he dies,” you said softly. “I mean, I’m definitely mortal. Hopefully I’ll live a long life and die when I’m old, but with this gig, who knows.” You gestured to your sword, lying behind you on the ground.

“And then he’s just so, so important in Lothlórien, especially now, with Sauron gaining power and all that,” you said softly. “Staying together could result in me unwillingly killing one of their strongest defenders. I couldn’t do that to him, to them.”

“I understand,” Aragorn said softly. “I understand you completely.”

You looked up at him, confusion evident on your face. He sighed, looking at the fire next to him.

“I ended things with Arwen for the same reason,” he clarified, grabbing a stray twig and throwing it haphazardly at the flames. You gasped, inching closer to him and setting your hand on his thigh.

“Aragorn, I’m so sorry,” you said softly, easily detecting the pain in his eyes.

“You don’t have to be, I’m fine,” he said, turning to you and giving you a very unconvincing smile. “But I do understand where you’re coming from, it’s hard to let an Elf love you knowing that you could easily cause their demise.”

You nodded, leaning over to rest your head in his lap.

“I’m still sorry, I know how much you care for her,” you murmured. Aragorn rested his hand on your head, mindlessly running his fingers through your knotted hair.

“I think we’ll both recover,” he replied. “Besides, it’s not like she was the only being I loved. There are plenty of people in my life I care for.”

You looked up, blushing when you saw he was looking down at you adoringly.

“Does Elrond know you’ve stopped pursuing his daughter?” you asked in an attempt to change the subject.

“Probably,” he replied. “We haven’t talked about it yet. I don’t know whether he’ll be pleased or angry at me.”

“Pleased? Why would he be pleased?”

“He was always upset with me for courting Arwen,” he sighed.

“That’s stupid,” you huffed, causing Aragorn to chuckle. “You’re a great person, Aragorn, Elrond’s standards for Arwen’s suitors are intentionally set impossibly high, that way he’ll never have to part with her.”

“Thank you,” Aragorn said with a small smile.

“No, thank you,” you said.

“Why?”

“For letting me talk about Haldir, I guess,” you clarified. “There aren’t many people who understand what it’s like courting an Elf, and how unworthy they make you feel.”

“Hey,” Aragorn said softly, tilting your head in his lap so you met his gaze . “You are not unworthy of Haldir’s affections, or anyone’s affections for that matter. You’re one of the kindest and bravest people I know, do not be so hard on yourself.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, face flushing at his compliment. “You are also worthy of Arwen’s love, though I know why you feel as if you aren't.”

Aragon nodded thoughtfully, eyes darting to his bag lying on the ground.

“We should get ready to sleep,” he said. You nodded and yawned, suddenly remembering how exhausted you were.

You sat up, wrapping your blanket tighter around yourself as Aragorn grabbed his own worn quilt.

“Is there anything in your bag that you want?” he asked, chuckling as you shook your head and stretched out on the ground.

You smiled as you felt him lie down next to you, sleeping side by side as you’d done so many times before. You turned over so you were facing him and buried your face in the soft fabric of his tunic.

“Good night, Aragorn,” you mumbled, surrendering to your own drowsiness.

You had dozed off before you could feel Aragorn press his lips to your forehead and whisper a good night, draping his arm over your body before falling asleep himself.