#Proper starters often get longer just because scene setting

[shroudedhero]

@xxaberrationxx​

Kurai had been nervous ever since he’d been accepted into U.A. Truthfully he’d passed the actual battle part of the entrance exam by the skin of his teeth, since he was still figuring out how to best combine his skills, but once he’d gotten a few points, he’d just hidden in a dark little space until the time was up, and until his other quirk had deactivated again. It was enough to pass, and he wasn’t trying to stand out. That wasn’t really his thing.

But he’d passed, by some miracle, and yet, honestly, he was wondering if he was even going to make it. With his quirks.. Was he really even allowed to become a hero? Even if he’d been accepted..

His first day as a proper student though eventually rolled around, and he was extremely nervous, because there were so many people. He was like a mouse trapped in a box, and being chased by a cat, and it was everything he could do not to panic. It also didn’t take him long to find his favorite hiding spot, wedging himself between the vending machine and the wall, having somehow skirted his way past all the students in the hallway mostly unnoticed. Class wasn’t starting yet, and he needed to calm down.. 

He curled up in a ball on the floor, in that shadowy little corner, taking deep breaths, trying to calm his racing nerves. Breathe.. Breathe.. This is what he wanted. More than anything else, he wanted to be a hero. He wanted to prove he was nothing like his family, that he cared, that he was good. He didn’t care about being the strongest, or most well known, he just wanted to be seen as good, and be able to actually help people.. 

He was oblivious to the other students walking around, most not noticing that he was there even as they came and got their drinks or their snacks from the machine, and he was fine with that. Small space.. Dark space.. Safe space.. Safe... 

He wasn’t supposed to, he knew that, but he felt like the world was spinning, and so just around himself, in the smallest possible space, he encased himself in a little ball of complete darkness, and the noise faded a little, muffled by his quirk. 

He closed his eyes, and hid his face inside of his arms, tucking tighter into a ball, not realizing one student had lingered longer than everyone else had.

[always-evak]

9th December

Time to be brave and make good on the description that I might write fic occasionally so here’s my first attempt at writing anything for SKAM.  Ideally I would have got this out on the right day but I only got inspired to write after rewatching *that* episode.

It’s 9th December 2020 and Isak has somewhere he needs to be.

If you prefer to read on AO3 you can do so here

*****

"Isak, where are you going?"

"Nowhere."

Isak pauses in the act of grabbing his jacket, guilt written clear across his face and calling him a liar.  The fact he's already got his shoes on doesn't help his case.

"Isak?"  There's a single raised eyebrow from Even where he's leaning against the doorframe to the lounge, watching as Isak squirms uncomfortably.  

"I'm just heading out.  Okay?" Isak responds with twin raised eyebrows of his own and a glare of teenage rebellion that isn't often seen now that he's no longer a teenager.

"Jonas?"

Isak shrugs a non-answer, throws a jacket on over his hoodie, pulls the hood up over his snapback and heads out into the grim night.  

Even watches the apartment door click closed then rolls off his own doorframe and heads back into the lounge.  He's used to Isak's moods, and after 4 years together he can read them pretty well, but there's something about Isak's demeanor tonight that doesn't sit right.  Pulling out his phone he quickly scrolls through the contacts to J and starts tapping out a message.  

Til Jonas:

Is everything okay with Isak?

The typing bubbles appear almost immediately and he sits, staring at the screen.

Fra Jonas:

You'll have to ask him yourself

The message does nothing to quell the misgivings Even has.  There had been nothing to suggest that things had been anything but fine, if anything Isak had been in good spirits looking forward to spending Christmas in their new apartment.  The move to a place that actually had a separate bedroom and lounge meant the chance to have a proper Christmas tree and Isak has displayed almost childlike glee at the prospect of picking out new decorations.  They were settled.  Happy.

At least everything had seemed okay until today.  Isak had been fine over breakfast but this evening had been a different story, his boyfriend had been distracted and distant, preoccupied with something weighing heavy on his mind.

It's a short scroll up from J to I and this time Even hits the dial button.  He's not entirely surprised when the call gets rejected after two rings, shunting him through to the electronic tones of voicemail.  He doesn't bother leaving a message.  All he can do is sit and wait and hope that Isak comes back to him.

***

It’s not really a surprise when the phone in his pocket starts vibrating, the ringtone cutting through the night air.  Isak isn’t too sure why he couldn’t tell Even where he was headed, except Even probably would have insisted on coming too and for some reason Isak knows he needs to make this pilgrimage alone.  He gives the screen a cursory glance to confirm it’s Even before hitting the icon to reject the call.  The lock screen flashes back up and his steps quicken when he sees the time, their new apartment is closer to Nissen than the old one but he’s still going to be cutting it fine.  Tonight, just like four years ago, it’s vitally important he makes it in time.  

His breath in making clouds in the freezing air and he’s running, dodging across roads and skittering round corners until he’s there.  The area looks the same as ever, the bench framed by the bush behind it, perhaps a little more paint has flaked away from the weathered planks but essentially it’s the same.  This time there is no feeling of dread at seeing the seat empty, no stomach plunging heart stopping moment of fear that he had been too late, instead it’s a relief that he doesn’t have to share this moment with anyone.

He jumps up to perch on the back, the same way Even had been sitting that night during the kosagruppa meeting.  He’s come a long way since that night.  So much has changed since that shared smoke that got interrupted by Emma.  There have been good times and bad but for some reason this bench with it’s scuffed yellow paint has become an anchor point for him.

He pulls out his phone and checks the time.  21:20.  There’s just time grab the crumpled envelope out of his other pocket, the one he knows Jonas is responsible for despite the only writing on it being Isak, for ikveld, he would recognise that untidy scrawl anywhere and anyway, who else but Jonas would think of it.  The envelope is empty apart from a single rolled joint.  He doesn’t smoke much now, the responsibilities of life mean that there are much more pressing uses for his and Even’s limited funds, a bigger apartment for starters, and it doesn’t seem fair to smoke when Even has given it up completely.  He makes a mental note to thank Jonas who still seems to know him better than he knows himself sometimes.

There’s the spark of a lighter and then he’s drawing in the first breath as the clock ticks over to 21:21.

It’s their time.  It’s his time.  21:21 has punctuated his life and so he settles down to smoke and think, the same as he has done on this night for the last three years and will probably continue to do.  

There’s a ritual now and he finds himself going through the motions, pulling out his phone as the first buzz of weed hits his system and scrolling through the photos.  It’s a different phone to the one he had 4 years ago but he has a screengrab.  The text message fills the screen and he reads through the words even though he knows them by heart.  As he reads he can almost see the two figures meeting in front of the bench, his past self rushing in from the street to be confronted by devastating loneliness until Even appears like a fallen angel through the door that is currently locked and in darkness,  

The joint burns down as he replays the scene in his mind’s eye.  Their night of salvation.  The night he chose, once and for all, to leave behind the baggage of the past, to leave behind his parents.  The night he chose Even, fragile and broken as he was.  But Even wasn’t the only broken one.  9th December was the night he himself became whole again. 

Only when the last stub has been ground out against the planks that have witnessed so much does he leave the silent square and turn his steps for home.

***

The sound of the key in the lock startles Even out of his brooding.  He hadn’t expected Isak back so soon, hadn’t even been sure if he would return at all that night, so it was with some relief that he turned to watch as Isak sidled in through the door, beads moisture glittering on the curls that have escaped his hood.  He knows better than to crowd Isak when something is wrong, knows that if his boyfriend needed his comfort he would seek it out as he so often had, so however much he yearns to reach out and crush Isak against him instead he gives Isak space to toe off his shoes and rehang his jacket.  It takes a lot of willpower to stay on the couch but somehow he manages it.

Isak appears in the lounge a moment later and there’s serenity about him that hadn’t been there earlier.  He flops down on the couch and drags Even’s arm around him, settling himself down comfortably.  Even uses his free hand to throw Isak’s snapback into a corner so he can press a kiss to the top of that bonde head pressed against him.  It’s as though the entire last hour hasn’t happened except the Isak of an hour ago was decidedly more grumpy.

“So, are you going to tell me what all that was about?”

Isak nestles in deeper, gently entwining his fingers with Even’s.  He knows he probably owes Even a reason for his abrupt departure but he’s not meant to be the sentimental one in this relationship.  Even is the artist that ascribes meaning and significance to things, he’s the counterbalance, the one that rolls his eyes at traditions.  The role reversal makes him feel awkward. 

His first year of observance had been wholly coincidental.  Mostly coincidental.  Okay, he hadn’t really needed to take the route past Nissen on the way to the party but it wasn’t that far out of his way and so he’d found himself at the bench, a bag of beers in one hand and a pouch of weed in his pocket at just the right time to pause and take a moment out of his life to reflect on when things had changed.  Of course afterwards he’d had to explain to Jonas what had taken him so long which was why he knew about the whole thing.  Even hadn’t been at the party, had pulled a late shift at work, and for some reason best known to himself Isak had never mentioned his visit to the bench.

The following two occasions Even had been busy too, 2018 had been another work shift, 2019 he had been setting up for an exhibition for part of his university course.  On both occasions Isak had made use of time alone to bend his steps towards Nissen and reflect on the past year and everything Even meant to him.

This year should have been no different.  A quiet moment to himself with just the ghosts of the past for company.  Except this year Even had been home and now he was worried, Isak could feel the tension in Even’s body, the frame moulded round his not quite so soft and yielding as usual. 

“You’ve been smoking.”  The tone isn’t quite accusatory but there is bluntness with a slight edge of disappointment.

“Jonas gave it to me.”

“You’ve been with Jonas?”

“No.”  And he pulls the now empty envelope from his pocket in answer to the questions he knows are coming, the words ‘for tonight’ clearly visible.  “He sent it earlier.”

“But why?”

And this is the moment Isak knows he has to choose.  The choice between baring his soul or brushing the moment aside because as much as he might try and claim he doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body the truth is that moment is etched into him profoundly.  And because this is Even he chooses the truth.

“It’s 9th December.”

There’s a slight shift of confusion and that's perhaps not a surprise, at the time Even had been in the riding the peaks and troughs of the vicious cycle of mania and while he might be able to place the events at some time in mid-December, the 9th is unlikely to spring to mind specifically.

“The night of the Christmas concert,” Isak elaborates slightly.

“The last time you saw your parents,” it’s little more than a whisper as the realisation of what night this is hits Even.  9th December 2016 had been the last physical interaction Isak had had with the people who used to be his family, the only contact afterwards had been one very explosive phone call and the occasional money transfer until even that had fizzled out.  It’s enough to make Isak irate.

“Nei!” he exclaims as he twists towards Even, the vehement anger on his face at the mention of his parents enough to scare off lesser men than Even Bech Næsheim.  “This is nothing to do with them and they do not get to be a part of this,” his voice softens before he continues, “it’s the night I realised I couldn’t bear to lose you.”  A whisper, “it’s the night I thought I had lost you.  Forever.”

“I'm sorry I scared you.” Even now understands why Isak had disappeared even if he isn't certain what he has been doing to mark the occasion.   For his own part he's not quite sure what would have happened if Isak hadn't arrived that night and he had been left to face his demons alone.  He's glad he never had to find out.  

"It wasn't your fault.  But every year since…" he pauses and takes a deep breath, "every year since I've gone back to our bench.  It's hard to explain why but it's kinda grounding.  Makes me grateful for everything I've got.  For us.  But I wasn't ready to share that moment.  It had to be just me.  Alone."

"Oh Isak." Even pulls him in closer, burying his nose in blonde curls.  "Du er ikke alene."

[alchemic-elric]

HOW I RUN MY BLOG —

SPEED.

★  - Variable. 

Sometimes I’m fast as the speed of light and I get things to you so we can play back and forth all night long and other things the draft just sets there and collects dust for a while since my muse won’t let me think of what to do next.  Sometimes I have to re-read entire threads just to reply because things have sat for so long. 

There are factors that contribute to this but I’ll get into that further down. 

REPLIES.

★  - I normally write in Novella. 

Longer replies are just how I function because I’m long winded and have a lot to say. The thing I normally tell my partner when I’m starting or it’s my first post and it became a monster of a book is. “Sorry, I had to set the scene.” I like to establish where things are and where the character(s) are.  I’m not shy about using NPCs in the least, and I welcome my partner to use them too. World building is important to me. Small details make it easier to reply. The more I have to work with the more Edward can react to, and that in turn helps keep the thread alive. 

When I don’t know where my character is, and I don’t have much world building around them threads tend to die out simply because I don’t have a lot to work with. 

STARTERS.

★ - Starter Calls are overwhelming. 

I used to do starter calls, even on this blog and I always got a lot of reaction to it but because of that it would become overwhelming and then I end up getting people who have not discussed things with me on them and end up not knowing what to write. I tend to use memes more to interact with new people or I just write them something and tag them directly.  

INBOX.

★ - It’s always open for all to use. 

Mutual or not, please feel free to use both my inbox and my DMs to ask me or Edward whatever. I generally reserve my DMs for OOC conversation but there’s one person in mind who drags me into IC from time to time; you know who you are. -pointed look at bro- 

If you have questions, or concerns please ask me. I’m happy to answer any of your questions. Sometimes I forget to write things out, and sometimes when I do write things out I forget words or flip things, thanks dyslexia, I’m trying.  I’m always here for clarification.  

My inbox is open to all to speak with Edward however you want. If you want to use it to start IC interact just be aware I’m likely to move it to a new post because reblogged asks drives me insane. You can speak to him however you like, know that if you are rude to him he’s 9 times out of 10 going to bite back. If I feel you’re crossing a line I will likely block you from the ask without explanation or warning.  If you’re going to be a jerk, I don’t want you on my blog. 

Teasing him is fine, but please read the room and learn to tell when enough is enough because more often then not I’ll write as much in my tags. I talk in them a lot. 

SELECTIVITY.

★ - This is a non-private blog.

I will RP with most people who approach me to interact with Edward. I’m not very picky about how I write with as along as you can write well.  By that I mean, proper grammar, spelling and sentence structure.  I understand typos and late night posts being trash fires; happens to the best of us - but I just want the proper use of “They’re | Their | and There” to be applied - dialects not included.  ( Anything between quotations can be written however you’d like because it’s speech.) 

I’ve stated before this blog is OC friendly. I have quite a few that I RP with and I love them all dearly but that’s normally because they have their OC so established it’s easy to interact with them. If things are confusing about an OC or a crossover character approaches me and I don’t know how that character would interact with Edward it’s hard to write something to start.  I don’t mind interacting with OCs because I see it no different then all the characters The Elrics have interacted with in the video games, however as the same with replies I need as much to work with as possible.

I also need people to have a basic understanding of the world they’re RPing and if they don’t, be it because they are an OC or a character outside of FMA’s fandom, please be willing to research and/or ask questions. I will do the same for you. 

Lastly just because I am non-private does not mean I won’t tell you “No”. I am not obligated to RP with every person who approaches me and sometimes I just get overwhelmed. 99% of the time it has nothing to do with you, I simply am just overwhelmed and can’t handle more than I already have on plate right now. 

WISHLIST.

★ - This is mun dependent. 

A lot of the things I wanted to accomplish with this blog I have, and there are still things I would like to do yes, but most of the time I just want a really engaging plot. I don’t mind if my muse gets injured or hurt in plots because normally these things are being discussed OOC. 

My biggest wish for this blog is that my fellow muns speak to me OOC. It’s easier to plot things, create stories and all around write together if I know something about the person I’m writing with, so please feel free to come talk to me. 

HONEST NOTE.

★  - I’m a nervous person. 

I spend a lot of my time wondering if I messed things up.  I have mental illness to deal with and my brain likes to lie to me a lot. So I get nervous and worried and I have to go do things to make my brain stop thinking about what my anxiety is telling me.  I love talking to people OOC but at the same time it’s hard for me to do it too. Some days it’s as simple as breathing and I don’t think twice about it and other times it isn’t.  When I’m quiet, I’m crashing or trying really hard not to. 

This effects the speed of my replies. I used to have a really bad habit of getting so depressed I would fall off the face of the Earth for literal months on end because I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I don’t want anyone to deal with my issues, just know that they’re there. Sometimes I can be mean and harsh and I apologize for that. Sometimes it’s like I have two different faces because well I kinda do. Mania and Depression are hard to deal with and I get scared of people knowing too much about them out of fear of what they’ll think of me; because I get scared of being too much.  

I’m sorry if that’s a lot to handle and I understand if people unfollow me for it but I believe in transparency because it’s not something I can get rid of but only control. I try to post OOC stuff to let people know what’s going on in my life when there’s a significant dip in my mood, and I apologize for all my disappearances. Please know I cherish all of you and I appreciate all the people that have taken the time to get to know me and Edward. 

tagged by stolen from: @dolcetters​​ (they said if I saw it I had to take it so here we are) tagging:  Anyone who is interested in filling out this monster.  

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 49.7-49.10

Every so often I manifest an incoherent plan to stop watching YouTube, borne out of some inchoate idea to do with productivity, but then I’ll watch a video so mundanely profound and inspiring that gives me more of a creative boost than any amount of time I would save by not watching 20-minute explainers on Game of Thrones lore. On this occasion that video was this, on the toolbox fallacy.

Simply, as the Passion of the Nerd puts it in his video, its the idea that one can’t do (x), until one has (y) - or, the lie one tells oneself in order to put off doing something, whatever that something may be. In my case, as is so often the case, the (y) is time. I haven’t written a blog for early two months, and in that period I told myself repeatedly that I was just waiting for that big long stretch of time where I could sit down and get everything done at once. 

But that never happens, and the longer you go without starting, the bigger the pile gets, so eventually it becomes impossible to get through everything at once without a parcel of time so monstrously huge it is terrifiyng in its own right. 

And thats where the fallacy comes in - you don’t need everything to be perfect in order to get started, and once you’ve started, you don’t need everything to go perfectly either. You just need to start. So lets get started.

Episode 7 - Jesus, Oxford vs Manchester

I live in Manchester now (aside: before I got my job here I applied for a PhD at ManUni with a guy called Dr Kiss, a sliding doors moment which could have resulted in my failing to qualify for a University Challenge team for a record eight times in a row, assuming it was a three year doctorate), which should make them my second team, but to be honest they’ve probably held that title for a while anyway. Like Michael Schumacher in his glory days, or Roger Federer in his prime, the University of Manchester produced consistent levels of supreme performance in the Challenge between 2005 and 2014 that gained them many fans, myself included. 

They reached nine out of ten semi finals in that time, and brought the fight to the Oxbridge duopoly with four series victories. Jesus haven’t had anywhere near as much success in the Paxman Era, but won the penultimate Bamber series against Imperial in 1986.

Manchester are mascotted by a bee, the buzzy symbol of the city; and Jesus are sponsored by a jumper? Thats what it looks like anyway, it might just be a bit of draping with the college logo on it. A lot of the Oxbridge teams do this, but there may as well be nothing there because its pretty half assed. 

Its the Jumpersquad who unravel the night’s first clue, with Cashman taking the ten points for the Cashmere Collective. Manchester equalised with the next Starter, and moved into the lead with a full set on the third. A delightful picture round on Premier League football team finishing positions followed, but Manchester could only manage one (I took the hat-trick, naturally). I always enjoy it when the setters put the sports questions into inventive UC formats.

The Mancunians would get into triple figures before Jesus could build on their opening points, but two Starters in a row got them out of the quagmire, and a third, the music round, brought them within thirty points again. However, they were helped out a little bit by Paxman allowing ‘They Must Be Giants’ in place of ‘They Might Be Giants’. I guess accuracy doesn’t matter as much when its merely pop culture.

This would prove the end of Oxford’s comeback though, as Manchester surged ahead with eighty five of the next hundred points to seal the victory with plenty of time to go. They must have known they had it in the bag as well, because at this point they sat back and let Jesus race for a high scoring loser spot, which they may well get.

Final Score: Jesus, Oxford 145 - 185 Manchester

Episode 8 - Durham vs Trinity, Cam

Durham reached the semi finals last series, the third time they have done so since they won their only title of the Paxman Era in 2000, having also claimed a Bamber Trophy in 1977. Trinity won under Jeremy’s stewardship in 1995 and 2014, along with a victory in 1974, making this a match-up between two of only three teams (the other being The Open University) to have won the Challenge in both of its iterations. 

Adding further weight to the not-so-mythical myth that Durham is a surrogate for Oxbridge, the Northern team have also got a jumper-y object as their mascot (at this point I have realised that there is a proper word for what those things are, but I’m in too deep with this jumper thing. Is it just a banner? A sigil?). I’m glad to see that Trinity have tried though, and are proudly displaying what looks to be a hand-knitted bear (possibly Sooty from Sooty and Sweep?).

Durham charged out of the blocks with four of the first five Starters and ten of their first twelve bonuses. Trinity would have to wake up soon if they didn’t want to get blown completely away. Fortunately they heard their alarm clock when it next went off and in the blink of an eye they were ahead. 

Wait, surely not... *checks notes* No, I was right first time round, following a 90-20 opening stint, Trinity went 80-0 to turn the game on its head. Now it was Durham’s turn to feel shell-shocked, but they took the next Starter and we were level again. A hundred each. The game was being played like rugby, with one team smashing forward until the momentum could be stopped, at which point the tide would flo the other way. Scintillating quizzing.

The turnovers started coming faster, with a frenetic back and forth developing. It was Trinity who finally managed to stamp their authority on proceedings, opening up a significant lead with only a few minutes remaining. Durham would need to work even quicker than in the early stages to add further topsy-turviness to this topsy-turvy match, but they couldn’t manage it. A brief spurt at the death may however be enough to drag them into the play-offs.

Final Score: Durham 145 - 200 Trinity, Cam

Episode 9 - LSE vs Courtauld Institute of Art

Like I said in the introduction, the longer you leave something before starting, the more difficult it is to start because of how much you’ll have to do once you start. Another issue with this blog in particular, is that the more you have to do at once, the more difficult it becomes to not just write the exact same things over and over again. If I do one per week then even if I do repeat myself word for word then I don’t realise because seven days if far too long to remember anything for, and ignorance is bliss etc. With a big batch like this one then it becomes painfully obvious how many times I use the word Starter, even if it is somewhat necessary.

Oh well, lets start with a recap of the two teams previous appearances... LSE made the final in 1996, losing a high-scoring match against local rivals Imperial. They made the semis two years later, and the quarters in 2009, meaning that they’ve been elimiated at every stage of the competition apart from the second round. For Courtauld, it would be a success to be knocked out at that stage, having lost their only two matches, in 2015 and 2018.

Courtauld took the first points of the evening with the amusing fact that the Nobel Peace Prize hasn’t been awarded on a number of occasions due to a lack of deserving recipients (could they do the same with the British Prime Minister?). LSE fumbled a science starter, leaving the board (in this case the circuit board which makes up the buzzers) wide open, but Courtauld can’t even guess, which amuses Paxman no end - “they don’t study a lot of that [at an art institute], do they?”.

They know Shakespeare though, and take the picture Starter on one of his ‘lost rhymes’. The match ambles on slowly, at a far more leisurely pace than last weeks (a good thing about this batching is that I can reference the previous games with the confidence that I’ll be understood), and its Courtauld who are ambling slightly faster than their London counterparts.

With a few minutes remaining, LSE decde to give it a go, with Engels cheekily waving Paxman on after another science Starter was left unanswered. I just spent about fifteen minutes trying to make a gif of this, but the websites kept crashing and the one I did make was only loading as a picture here. So if you can just imagine it that would be great.

Final Score: LSE 90 - 145 Courtauld

Episode 10 - Goldsmiths vs Southampton

Goldsmiths lost on their first Challenge appearance, and made it to the second round last year, the only other time they’ve made it to the televised rounds. If they continue their current trajectory they’ll make it to the quarter finals this time out, which is the furthest their first round opponents Southampton have made it in the Paxman Era, in 2014.

The Southampton mascot, a fluffy deer, has fallen off of the table between the middle players and has consequently gained some camoflague so you have to squint to figure out what it is. I don’t know if it was placed there on purpose, or if they simply didn’t notice that their mascot resembled that scene from Bambi. Goldsmiths have a teddy bear who is wearing graduation robes, indicating that they award degrees to cuddly toys - where will the liberal agenda take us next?

Paxman informs us that Goldsmith’s Sibley hails from the same Canadian town as human PA system Eric Monkman, and when he introduces himself you can detect a similar lilt to his accent, but without the sense that you’ve accidentally sat on the volume button. 

It is he who takes the first Starter of the evening, and indeed the second too - perhaps he does bear some more relation to his noisy neighbour. Goldsmiths took two more on the bounce to go 70 points clear. They were unlucky not to be further ahead, having guessed wrongly between both York and Leeds and Southampton and Portsmouth on the picture round (with no other clues its pretty hard to tell the difference between 20 miles on an unannotated map).

Maybe it was the mention of Southampton (and its misidentification) that woke the Southern side up, but they claimed their first points on the next Starter, along with two bonuses on the Lake District that I knew too, but only because I was literally in Windermere at the weekend.

Once they’d figured out that you need to buzz in and answer questions in order to win the game, Southampton were actually pretty good, and their confidence seemed to grow with every point they put on the board (in this case the circuit board which makes up the - hang on, I’ve already done this one, haven’t I? See, I told you this whole repeating malarkey was difficult), and they polish up two of three bonuses on haikus which describe chemical elements (I missed the explanation of the question format when I watched this the first time, so was astounded that they had even been discussing anything with any conviction. “Just doing your job holding plants together. No fireworks, no fuss”. I mean, what is that on about?)

In fact, just as Southampton remembered how to play, Goldsmiths forgot, and they only managed to shake themselves of this malaise twice more for the rest of the match, allowing Southampton to canter away, mostly unchallenged. 

Final Score: Goldsmiths 95 - 175 Southampton

Phew! That was a big one - well done if you made it all the way to the end. I still have two more to catch up on, but I haven’t even watched those episodes yet so I’ll just do them as regular posts, hopefully tomorrow. 

I’d also like to give a huge thanks to Tough Soles who are supporting me on Patreon! (sorry for falling so far behind - I’ll catch up soon)

[deadlydreamin]

okay time for me to ramble about how much i love bts and how much those seven boys mean to me (this is actually a whole 2,390 word fucking essay so you can probably ignore this lmao):

for starters i want to talk about their talent. they have worked so hard as trainees and since their 2013 debut, and a lot of people seem to think they’re overrated. they have worked their asses off to get where they are today and they are always setting new records (or the army is for streams and shit) and doing things never done before when it comes to kpop. members like jin, who started off as a bighit actor with no singing/dancing talent - his vocal coach (and anyone who had heard his vocals from 2013 to now) says that instead of improving, that he’s completely transformed after probable years of staying up until 3am practicing. this is also shown with hoseok, who was meant to be a vocalist and main dancer but instead a rapper and main dancer - he worked hard (with the help of yoongi and namjoon) to learn HOW to rap, and again, if you compare cypher pt 1 to cypher pt 4, there’s a massive improvement in his rap. all of the members work so hard and have natural talent and i just- they deserve to be where they are today. 

i also want to mention each of the members and what they’ve taught me.

starting with worldwide handsome kim seokjin, he’s taught me that hard work and perseverance will get you where you want to go in life. like i said, his vocals have completely transformed and he can sing notes higher than the sky [see his crystal snow triple high note, it gives me chills everytime], and his vocals have become so stable now while performing and i am proud of him. in his wings album solo, awake, he also expresses how he feels that he isn’t as talented as his other six members, and i can relate to this - i also feel inadequate compared to nearly everyone else around me. the bridge also makes me cry a little bit because it’s just- holy shit man. he’s also like the mum of bts, despite his love of cracking dad jokes whenever he can. 

min yoongi, my ultimate bias. he is someone i look up to and aspire to be. yoongi is an incredible producer, lyricist, and rapper, and i could go on and on about his skills. he also works incredibly hard making music and his rapping is no joke, especially in cypher pt 2, 3, and his mixtape are brilliant. more than this, he talks about his struggles with anxiety (social) and depression, and especially his mixtape song the last - a lot of his songs on the mixtape have amazing lyrics, and specific instances of something happening that was incredibly personal to him. despite struggling with his issues, he has kept going, and when i ever get down, i think of how he has learned to love himself, and that i am capable of this too. also i think i relate to him most on a lot of levels - he’s the tired grandpa of the group, but can be silly and fun when he’s with hoseok. he has a hard time showing how much he cares for the others and isn’t as touchy as the other members tend to be, but he still does show he cares in subtle ways and i also can relate to this, because i often have no fucking clue as to how i should express my emotions. he looks like someone that could beat the shit out of you but is actually a big ol’ softie on the inside and he constantly says shit that makes me go “wow, same.” going back to his rap again, yoongi can rap fucking fast, but still can put so much energy behind his verses while doing it - he often builds up, he will go off and rap so fucking fast you question whether this man has lungs, and then go back - all the while you can tell he puts his entire being into his rap, if that makes sense. he also has a wide range - he can go from a kind of harsh, fast rap to a slower, smooth one (compare his verse of cypher pt 2 to seesaw - though seesaw does have his great vocals in it too, the change in his voice is remarkable). 

your hope, your angel, j-hope. jung hoseok is an insanely talented dancer and rapper, and like the other members works so hard. his rapping, like i said, has improved over the years and he’s incredible now. his dancing has always been amazing to look at, because unlike jimin, who was also a dancer pre-debut, he did a lot of hip-hop based dance and he can express literally all of his emotions in his movements which i think is incredible. his vocals are also amazing and bighit needs to give him more vocal lines (like in blood, sweat and tears. that shit gets me every time). he is definitely the member who bias wrecks me a lot and i love his sunshine attitude. he’s a ball of joy and an angel (but also his fancam for that no more dream dance break does actually murder me) and his random outbursts and the fact he is also such a meme makes him lovable too. he’s taught me that i should always have a positive attitude to life and that it makes other people feel good too. hoseok has this effect on the other members (i believe it is referred to as ‘mood setter’ or something?), especially yoongi, where the other members may feel down but hoseok just has to be his extra self and they start smiling - like, yoongi will go from being tired and grumpy. place him in a room with hoseok? they’ll be goofs together and it’s the cutest shit (okay this is supposed to only be about hoseok but i do love me some sope content and i’m gonna go on about them here for a little bit longer). yoongi and hoseok are my two ult biases out of the various groups i listen to, because the two together create this chaotic energy and i love it - see the sope me behind the scenes duet bangtan bomb on youtube. those two are so chaotic in that video. 

the kim namjoon himself. he’s the leader, rapper, and also produces/writes songs for bts. he’s also fluent in english due to watching friends, yet again he has an iq of 148 so he can do pretty much anything. namjoon is the glue that holds bts together - he does a good job of it, too, with sorting out solutions to disagreements and comforting the members when they need it most. if seokjin is the mum of bts, namjoon is the dad. namjoon has taught me that it is important we learn to love ourselves. his two mixtapes are different, particularly with the overall sound and tone of each mixtape - rm has a very hip-hop/rap sound, and is quite aggressive, while mono. is calming and very relaxed and reflective. i listen to rm when i’m feeling aggressive, and mono. when i need to relax or calm down (it is one of three things that helps me relax before going to sleep and also good to listen to after i’ve had a panic attack or something). i feel a particular connection with moonchild, from mono. the message namjoon portrays throughout the song is something with a calming sound, but also something that offers some encouragement to me when i need it, especially the chorus: “moonchild, you shine, when moon rise, it’s your time/moonchild, don’t cry, when moon rise, it’s your time” 

park jimin. his high vocals are incredible and his high notes also give me goosebumps. he has a beautiful dance style that is unlike hoseok’s, as it is more contemporary/ballet focused and his movements reflect this. he has gone through hating his looks and becoming anorexic because of this, and i think that he is doing so much better now (i am talking him not eating a full, proper meal for upwards of ten days). he’s still quite self critical, and hates whenever he makes a small mistake, but i think that he puts so much work into making sure his performance is always perfect that he doesn’t always take care of himself, and that’s what i have learned from jimin - take proper care of yourself, and you should never have to hate your appearance because others develop high expectations for you. again, he works so hard to make sure he has a perfect performance every time and i commend him for this, but also he tends to overwork himself a lot and i’d love for him to take a week off at some point where he can just relax a bit more. he definitely deserves it. 

kim taehyung. i think of the whole vocal line, his vocals are my favourite. he has a wide vocal range, going from notes lower than my not achieved grades to notes higher than the sky (stigma and singularity are great examples of this) - i can also actually sing his parts as i have a lower range and when i can sing a few lines with taehyung, i always feel good. like yoongi, tae can change and influence his rapping “voice”, taehyung can do a similar thing - he can be low and smooth with some high notes, and then suddenly he goes raspy and it’s fantastic (again, singularity vs war of hormone). the other three vocalsists can make their voices rough and raspy, but taehyung i think does it especially well, and it suits his incredibly low notes. despite his low voice, he’s actually got the personality and mental age of a child 99% of the time and to see him on and off stage is certainly interesting lmao. i would also like to add that he too is quite the meme (gucci boy) and he looks really good in a bandana/headband and i need more of that content in my daily life. taehyung was also behind the meaning of the army phrase “i purple you”, which means “i love/cherish/support you”, and whenever someone says that to me, i always feel great for the rest of the day. taehyung has taught me that bts do genuinely love us all and that as long as we support them, they will support us, and the shared love between bts and army. 

the golden maknae, jeon jungkook. jungkook’s vocals are great, and in all honesty i do miss and go back to bts’ older music purely for the reason of seeing this young lad as one, a fetus, and two, to hear him rap. he’s good at pretty much anything he tries, having a black belt in taekwondo and various other things, and he’s currently working hard to study and learn english so that namjoon isn’t the only fluent english speaker in the group. honestly i find the concept of namjoon helping jungkook with english wholesome and it brings a smile to my face. despite jungkook being thrown into fame at a young age, he’s stayed humble and a happy person and i think it goes to show that fame won’t always screw someone up if they have the right people around them. jungkook had six older boys who practically raised him from when he became a trainee (which he must have been 12-13 when he became a trainee) and they taught him well. i’ve learned that from jungkook - by surrounding myself with the right people (though he wasn’t willingly technically, i’m grateful he did have the boys there for him and i couldn’t see anyone else in the group), i can remain what is most important in life - staying happy and humble. 

bts has taught me several lessons in life, and i think that a lot of people dismiss them because they’re korean, because they’re overrated, because their music isn’t in english. what they seem to fail to understand is that emotion transcends languages, and that multilingual people do exist who translate lyrics for those who wouldn’t understand the entire song. even then, if you listen to the truth untold without english (or your native language) lyrics, you can still feel the sad vibes of the song. likewise if you listen to something like anpanman - you will feel the more positive energy and hype that the song conveys without the lyrics. a lot of people don’t want to listen to kpop because they might not understand what the songs are saying right away, but if you take your time and find music with messages you find inspiring and that impact you, it shouldn’t always matter what language the song is sung in, as long as you have a translated version that you can read and understand the basic message of the song. a lot of people wonder why bts has become so popular, and not just for their golden visuals, or their talent, but also the message they spread, especially with their love yourself album series - and it’s easy to see why after that. self love is something that many, many people struggle with and once people understand this message, people like bts because of this. people will listen to music that may not be in a language they speak because once they have seen/read the lyrics to the song in question, if the message stays with them, they will remember the message when they listen to the song, and just the association of the song and the message is enough for people to feel comfort from it. i am like this with magic shop - it is a song made specifically for the army, and about how we can take comfort in them when we are in pain/struggling/etc. the thought of this message enough while listening to the song makes me smile (and cry too lmao). 

anyways, i think this is the end of my rambling. goodnight y’all, and if you read this far holy shit, you are a champion.

[psychosistr]

Worth It Chapter 11- Taste of Freedom

Summary: Joseph lets Caesar go outside for a bit, but it’s not quite what he expected.

Notes: Back to the hypnosis with this one, but only for a little while. There’s also another edited out sex scene in this chapter that will be linked to when available.

Also: Lots of scene and character perspective changes as this is a bit of a long chapter. Reminder that ~~ means just a scene shift and ____ means a scene and character perspective change.

Edit: Here’s the uncensored chapter on AO3 :)

Things had been going so much better for Joseph lately.

Ever since their shower together, Caesar had been even more open to the idea of Joseph touching him. Whether it was something intimate like pleasuring each other in bed or getting off in the shower again (Caesar still seemed hesitant to go all the way), or something simple and sweet like lying together in bed at night or sitting closer together, Caesar seemed far more okay with it all than he used to be. The biggest but best surprises for Joseph were whenever Caesar would openly initiate the contact- the best example being one evening when they were sitting together on the couch in the living room watching TV and Caesar slid closer to Joseph, leaned into his side, and rested his head on Joseph’s shoulder. Caesar never really brought up why he started doing these things, but Joseph certainly didn’t mind. If Caesar wanted more touches, than Joseph was more than happy to reciprocate.

Caesar also seemed to respond well to the little bits of extra freedom and trust Joseph had shown him. Joseph started with something simple, like not locking up arms when he was in bed anymore, and Caesar, while surprised, seemed to enjoy the extra movement this granted him. Joseph also started showing him more trust by letting Caesar help him cook in the kitchen- giving Caesar the benefit of the doubt that he wouldn’t stab him with a knife or poison him somehow. Caesar masked it well, but Joseph noticed the glimmer of excitement deep in his eyes at being able to cook again. The cherry on top was that Joseph had started asking Caesar if there was anywhere besides the bed that he would like to be chained to while Joseph was out and even stopped using the blindfold. He still had the earbuds put in with the subliminal music keeping him calm, but Caesar seemed to like being able to choose between being left on the bed or the couch or anywhere else he felt like.

Now, though, he was about to take a huge step forward in his plans.

Joseph knew that, logically, he couldn’t keep Caesar chained up forever. For starters, it wasn’t healthy mentally or physically to never leave the house. It would also be impossible to keep him locked away from everyone else.

Up until this point, Joseph had gotten away with little excuses to the very few people who asked about Caesar. Whenever Smokey or Speedwagon asked how he was doing, Joseph would just say that Caesar was doing fine but had been busy with a new job lately. When Granny Erina asked if Caesar wanted to join them for tea or dinner, Joseph would make up some excuse about why he couldn’t make it that day. Surprisingly, even Lisa Lisa, the owner of the small real estate firm that Joseph worked for, and Suzie Q, her personal secretary, occasionally asked how Caesar was doing (Caesar had stopped by the office quite often in the past to have lunch with Joseph or meet him after work for drinks) and he would just say he was doing okay. Something about the way his boss looked at him when he gave that answer unsettled him, though- like she could see through him and knew something that he didn’t. He brushed it off, though, and just kept weaving his web of excuses about why Caesar couldn’t come to visit or say hi. But, he knew he couldn’t keep that up forever and would have to work on bringing Caesar outside again.

To this end, Joseph would have to get Caesar used to the idea of leaving the house while still feeling like he couldn’t leave. It sounded like a paradox, he was aware, but he was fairly certain he could manage it if he was careful with the execution.

The first step was to introduce the idea in a casual way and have his first experience outside be somewhere he could still feel restricted and bound to Joseph. After that, he would need to use some more subliminal music to reinforce this idea of attachment outside of the house. Then, he’d introduce an element of danger that would dissuade Caesar from trying to leave. Finally, he’d need to remind Caesar that no matter where he went, Joseph would always be right there with him or close behind him to love and protect him from anything dangerous out in the world.

His plan was laid out, now all that was left to do was implement it…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, Caesar, do you know anything about gardening?” Joseph broached the subject casually one morning over breakfast, eating his fried eggs on toast as he looked across the breakfast nook table at Caesar.

Caesar looked up from his coffee with a raised eyebrow. “I know a little bit, I suppose. Why?”

Joseph swallowed his mouthful and took a drink of his coffee before continuing. “Well, remember that storm the other day?” He referenced a particularly heavy bout of rain and wind the day before. At a nod from Caesar, Joseph continued. “A bunch of branches and crap got knocked into the garden out back and I could use some help cleaning it all up.”

Caesar gave him a surprised look and set down his mug. “We have a garden?”

Joseph fought back a smile, the fact that Caesar used the word “we” really showed how far he’d come in accepting this place as his home. Joseph hid how warm and fuzzy that made him feel and instead put on a puzzled expression. “I didn’t show it to you?” When Caesar shook his head, Joseph just gave him a nervous smile and rubbed the back of his head. “Oops..well, surprise, we have a garden! Hahaha!” He gave Caesar a sheepish look and clasped his hands together in a pleading manner. “Sooo..please help me out so I don’t have to be out there all day?”

Caesar sighed and nodded reluctantly. “Fine, just let me finish my coffee first…also, I expect a massage afterwards if I end up sore from this..”

Was that supposed to be a punishment or a treat? Joseph considered it more of a treat, personally- anytime he got to touch Caesar’s gorgeous body was special to him~<3 But, if that was the price to pay, he’d gladly take it. “Of course! I’d do that even if we weren’t working~<3” He said with a smile and a wink.

Caesar rolled his eyes at Joseph’s flirtatious behavior, but he hid a small smile behind his coffee mug that Joseph could still see. “Idiota..”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After breakfast they changed into proper outdoor wear- mostly consisting of worn out blue jeans and light tee shirts with work boots and sneakers- and Joseph introduced a special surprise to Caesar: An extra-long chain that connected to one of Caesar’s wrist shackles on one end and had loop of chain fashioned into a belt that Jojo threaded through the loops on his jeans. He got Caesar hooked up to it and led him to the back door.

Caesar glanced at Joseph as they walked down the hallway, hands resting in his pockets. “I have to say, Jojo- I’m surprised you’re letting me outside. You’re not worried I’ll find a way to escape?”

Joseph shook his head and smiled at him. “Nah, I’m not worried. The chain’s short enough that you won’t get that far without me feeling it.”

“I could just knock you out with a rock then drag you to your car and drive into town.” Caesar retorted, but his voice no longer held the venom it had from his first weeks there and Joseph knew it was an empty threat.

“Wouldn’t do you much good- I don’t have my keys on me, so you’d have to drag me through the house first. With how heavy I am, that’d take too long and I’d wake up way before you got to the car.” Joseph chuckled at the idea of Caesar trying to haul his unconscious body through the house.

“Not if I hit you hard enough to give you brain damage.” Caesar shot back at him as they reached the door.

Joseph grabbed the door handle and unlocked it with his key (he’d set the door locks like that so Caesar couldn’t get outside if he managed to break free of the chains). “You wouldn’t do that.”

Caesar quirked an eyebrow at him. “Oh? Why not?”

Joseph opened the door, stepped back to let Caesar through, and placed a kiss on Caesar’s cheek in one smooth motion. “Because I trust you not to hurt me~<3”

Caesar turned the cutest shade of red and punched Joseph’s arm. “Idiota! Don’t do that out of the blue!”

Joseph chuckled and rubbed his arm, Caesar did still have a mean punch. “Fine- next time I’ll tell you when I’m going to kiss you~<3” He laughed when Caesar punched him again. He was easy enough to rile up and had been responding far better to Joseph’s flirting than before, so it was hard for him to resist sometimes.

Caesar turned away from him, trying to look annoyed despite his red cheeks, but he paused when he was about to step outside. “….” He stood there, just staring at the doorway with trepidation.

Joseph gave him a kind smile and gently took Caesar’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Hey..it’s okay..I’m right here..” He rubbed the back of Caesar’s hand with his thumb in a comforting manner.

Joseph had planned on this reaction, of course. He’d spent months subjecting Caesar to subliminal messages about the house being safe, so it made sense that he would view the world outside of the house in a less favorable light now- even if he wasn’t aware of why. However, Joseph also laced those recordings with messages about how Caesar was safe with him, as well, so the two forces should cancel each other out.

Caesar took a deep breath and gave Joseph’s hand a squeeze. “I’m fine..” He stepped outside, but did not let go of the other’s hand.

Joseph just smiled more and followed him outside into the yard. ‘Caesar’s so cute when he’s nervous~<3’

He observed the way Caesar’s expression changed from tense and nervous, to cautious and surprised, to finally relaxed but still cautious. “So, where do we start?”

Joseph brought himself out of his reverie and showed Caesar to the garden. “Right, it’s this way.”

The garden was a nice little outdoor area behind the house where the forest just started encroaching on the property again. Majority of the multi-colored flowers and blossoming trees and bushes there were native to the area, so they didn’t require a lot of upkeep. An old flagstone trail wove between the plants to create a path for them, though it was so old that it almost blended in with the dirt. There were a few bird houses hung up in the trees with many of the birds either outside or taking advantage of the old stone bird bath below. And, to complete the relaxing feel of the garden, there was a carved stone bench sitting beneath one of the blossoming trees. It was a nice little slice of paradise.

At least..it normally was…

Joseph had not been lying about the storm creating a mess- many of the trees had lost sticks and even whole branches in the storm and were creating a problem for the flowers and bushes on the ground. It would probably take them a couple of hours to clear everything, but that was fine with him. It just meant he would have plenty time to make sure his plan went off smoothly.

He reached into his back pockets and pulled out two pairs of work gloves, handing one pair to Caesar. “Lets make this quick so we can get back inside and relax.”

Caesar took the offered gloves and put them on without complaint. “Agreed. I don’t want to be out here any longer than I have to..” That was probably meant to sound bored and irritated, but Joseph could still pick up on the nervous energy Caesar was giving off. Luckily for Caesar, Joseph was ready with the next step of his plan.

“Oh yeah, here.” He reached into his right pocket and pulled out the MP3 player and earbuds. “I brought these in case you wanted ‘em. Work goes by faster with music, right?”

Joseph just barely managed to keep the smile on his face within normal levels when Caesar didn’t even hesitate to take the earbuds. “Thanks. Can you set it up while I put these in?”

Joseph bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking. Damn, Caesar was making this almost too easy for him. “Yeah, sure.” He selected the playlist he’d set up for his plan and started it, leaving the volume loud enough that Caesar would hear it perfectly but low enough that Joseph could get his attention as needed while they worked. He then tucked the MP3 player back into this pocket and called out just loud enough to be heard over the music. “Lemme know if you want me to change it, OK?”

Caesar nodded, the earbuds secured in his ears now, and gave Joseph a thumbs up to show he heard him. The two men then began the arduous task of cleaning up the yard.

____________________________________________________________

Caesar knelt down by one of the bushes and began removing some sticks that had fallen into it. Part of him was excited to be outside again, to have the freedom he’d longed for for so long finally be so close that he could taste it. But..somehow..it didn’t feel as comforting as he thought it would…

The fresh air felt nice, but every breath made him feel anxious…

The direct, warm sunlight was pleasant on his skin, but it made him miss the filter of the glass windows in the bedroom that he’d become used to…

The ground was firm and solid beneath his shoes, but it felt strange compared to the hard wood beneath his bare feet inside…

The flowers were beautiful and smelled sweet, but he wasn’t used to them like he was to the comforting scent of Joseph wrapped around him in bed…

The chain connected to his wrist jingled as he moved and he looked down at it, a feeling of relief washing over him. He followed the length of the chain with his eyes and saw Joseph a few feet away picking up a large tree branch that had fallen close to the stone bench in the center of the garden. Caesar felt even more relieved at seeing Jojo so close by. He faintly heard the song playing through the earbuds change to the next track. The familiar feeling of calmness he got from the music finished putting him at ease.

Caesar closed his eyes for a minute and let himself relax. ‘Everything is fine. I’m outside. I should be happy about that. It’s what I wanted, right?’

‘Joseph is here with me, so I know I’m safe.’

‘Right. Joseph is right here with me, so it’s not like I’m alone out here.’

‘Joseph would never let anything hurt me.’

‘I don’t really need protecting…but I know he would gladly do that…’ He briefly thought back to the various bar fights they got into in the past, the two of them fighting back to back, throwing punches or bar stools or bottles at whoever messed with them. Caesar wasn’t weak, by any means, but it had been nice to know someone else had his back for a change. He’d even enjoyed the feeling of bandaging each other’s wounds after the fights and joking about how easy the whole ordeal was. ‘Yeah…I know Joseph will always watch out for me..and I’ll do the same for him…’

‘Joseph is always with me, looking out for me, even when he’s not here.’

‘He’s..always with me…’ Caesar didn’t know how he felt about that at first. One part of him still felt like he should be worried about that- Joseph was keeping him here, keeping him locked up, the thought of him always being there with Caesar, watching him, never leaving Caesar alone even when he wasn’t physically there should frighten or repulse him……but the other part of him, the part that seemed to be growing stronger day by day and was working on drowning out the other part of himself, it actually LIKED that idea. Instead of being scared of Joseph always watching over him, he felt safe. Instead of being repulsed by the idea of never being away from Joseph, he felt comforted.

It was like he was becoming more and more used to the idea of being with Joseph forever, and Caesar didn’t know if he liked that idea or not anymore. When he first came here, all he wanted was to get away- to escape from the oppressive house and from Joseph’s looming figure and watchful eyes. But now..now the idea of leaving his safe, peaceful home and being apart from Joseph just made him feel anxious.

If he got away, where would he go?

He could go to the police, report Joseph for what he did, then he’d be free and Joseph could get the help he needed. But..then Caesar wouldn’t be able to see Joseph anymore..and those institutions sounded like horrible places, he didn’t want Joseph to go through that…

He could go to Erina and the others, then they could find a way to help Joseph together. But..did they already know Joseph was this messed up? It seemed odd that they wouldn’t have come to look for him by now. Were they in on it too? No, no, Caesar couldn’t believe that. They were all good people who probably just made the same mistake he had of trusting Joseph too much. But that meant they would probably believe Joseph over him if he went to them…

He could just run away and keep going- leave the town and start fresh somewhere else or even go back home to Italy. But..then he would be all alone..back to how he was before he met Joseph..and, just like before, the idea of never seeing Joseph again made him feel more scared and depressed than relieved…

He really had nowhere else to go…

‘Even if I leave, Joseph will find me again because he loves me.’

‘Joseph..does love me..knowing him, he probably would track me down..’ He probably shouldn’t have found that part as comforting as he did…

‘No matter where I go, Joseph will always be with me- that means I’ll always be safe.’

Caesar smiled slightly at the thought, moving on to another spot of fallen sticks lower on the ground. ‘I guess..that’s true..with how obsessive he is, Jojo would follow me anywhere..and that means I’ll always have someone watching my back..’

‘I will always be Joseph’s- and he will always be mine.’

Caesar’s cheeks warmed a bit at the thought. ‘Huh..‘he is mine’..I never really thought about it that way before…but Joseph did call me his partner, so I guess that makes sense..’ He smiled a bit more, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest. ‘I thought at first that he wanted to keep me as some sort of sex-prisoner or love-slave or something, but he’s always treated me like something that’s precious to him. He doesn’t expect me to cook or clean for him, doesn’t demand I do anything with him that I don’t want to, and even waits for permission before touching me..he really does treat me like an equal..’ He reached further back to grab more of the sticks off of the ground. ‘That idea..is kind of nice..’

“Cae…!”

‘We can look after each other, always be together, even when we’re apart.’

‘Yeah…we could…I think I would like that…’

“Caesa…!”

‘I should just accept Joseph’s love…’

‘Maybe..Maybe I should-’

“Caesar! Watch out!”

Caesar suddenly recognized the voice calling to him over the music and snapped out of the light-trance he found himself in from the relaxing music. “Huh?” Caesar looked in front of him and there, mere inches from his outstretched hand, was a coiled up snake, upper body bent into a menacing S curve as it hissed and prepared to strike him, a rattling sound filling the air. “?!”

Caesar’s blood froze at the sight of the reptile. He may not have known a lot about snakes, but Caesar knew from common knowledge that any snake that made a rattling sound was likely venomous. Before Caesar had time to move away, the snake hissed and lunged at him.

He closed his eyes, preparing for the sting of a potentially fatal bite, but was instead shocked to feel something heavy slide into his side, grab his arm and pull it close to the rest of him, then roll over with him a few times before it settled on top of him. “CAESAR!”

Caesar’s eyes shot open and he looked up to see Joseph crouched over him protectively, looking down at him with worried eyes. “J-Jojo?!” Caesar looked around in confusion, realizing they had rolled a couple feet back from the spot he was in previously. While looking, he spotted the snake’s body wiggling around wildly behind one of Joseph’s legs. “Ah! Jojo! Your leg!”

Joseph looked back over his shoulder at what Caesar was indicating, but just calmly rolled off of Caesar so he was sitting next to him. “It’s fine..”

Caesar sat up to look too and was surprised to see the snake was currently stuck with its fangs buried in the bottom of Joseph’s boot. Caesar quickly pieced together what happened: Joseph dove at him, pulled his arm in, and used his foot to block the snake’s attack so he wouldn’t get bitten. “Mama mia..that was too close..” He exhaled, still feeling shaken.

Joseph looked down at the trapped snake and hopped up onto his free foot. “Yeah, no kidding..” He hopped over to a thick tree, raised his foot, and stomped firmly into the side of it, effectively smashing the snake’s skull and killing it with one blow. “There…” Joseph muttered as he pulled the snake’s dead body off of his shoe by the base of its neck so it couldn’t bite him and threw it out into the woods for something else to eat. After he made sure there were no fangs broken off in his boot, he walked back over to Caesar and offered him a hand up. “You okay? It didn’t getcha anywhere, did it?”

Caesar took Joseph’s hand and pulled himself up. “No, I’m fine. What about you?” He asked, looking down at Joseph’s foot with concern.

Joseph just gave him a smile and a thumbs up. “A-OK. Got lucky and it just got the bottom of my shoe- would’ve been trouble if it bit the side, though.” He gave Caesar’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m just glad YOU weren’t hurt. I was worried..”

Caesar found himself blushing a bit and looked down, unable to meet the sincerity and sweetness of Jojo’s gaze. “Well..thank you..for that..” As his eyes glanced about, they spotted something red on Joseph’s arm. He quickly grabbed it and turned it to look closer- Joseph had a dirty, bleeding gash on the side of his forearm, likely from scraping a stick or something during that slide earlier. “You liar! You’re not okay, you’re bleeding!” He glared up at Joseph. “Idiota! You should have said something instead of just being a sap!”

Joseph blinked in surprise, giving Caesar a dumb-founded look. “Uh..I’m sorry..?”

Caesar scowled and held the hand on his uninjured arm tightly as he dragged Joseph back to the house. “Come on- we have to treat that before it gets infected!”

Caesar ignored Joseph’s surprised exclamations of being okay and not having to worry about him in favor of leading him to the house so he could clean and bandage his arm. Joseph had gotten that injury saving him- tending to him was the least Caesar could do. Honestly, Jojo could be such an idiot sometimes, rushing in like that without thinking…

But, deep down, a part of him melted at the thought: Joseph had been injured because he rushed in to SAVE Caesar, not hesitating for even a moment to consider his own safety.

‘It’s…getting harder and harder to define how I feel about him…’

Caesar could think about that problem later. For now, Jojo came first…

_____________________________________________________________

Joseph leaned calmly against the counter of the sink, watching Caesar as the other man focused all of his concentration on treating Joseph’s arm. It had already been cleaned and disinfected, so now Caesar was using tweezers to get any remaining small debris out of the wound. Joseph didn’t really notice any pain in his arm, not during or after the injury occurred. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush when he saved Caesar, or maybe everything was being over-written by the warm feeling he got whenever Caesar touched him. The way he looked when he concentrated certainly didn’t help…

“Doesn’t it hurt at all?” Caesar asked as he worked, not looking away from his task.

“Nope!” Joseph replied with a smile. He wasn’t lying at all, but he still flinched when Caesar spared a disbelieving glare up at him. “I’m serious! I really don’t feel anything!” He looked down at Caesar’s hands as he set down the tweezers and touched around the edges to inspect it again. “Well..” Joseph smirked a bit, feeling the tiniest bit flirty. “I can at least feel those nice warm hands of yours- maybe I’ll feel it if you give me a kiss there, too, hm? You know, to make it all better? <3”

Caesar rolled his eyes at Joseph’s attempt at flirting and slapped a medicine-covered gauze pad on the wound, ignoring Joseph’s yelp at the cold, stinging sensation. “Yep, you’re definitely fine if you can spout your sappy nonsense.” He wrapped some gauze bandages around the pad to keep it in place. “Honestly, your ‘flirting’ is terrible- did you learn it from those awful comic books of yours?”

Joseph pouted at him. “No…..” He glanced away. “…Maybe….” He blushed at the deadpan look Caesar shot up at him when he finished his work with the bandages. “Hey! It’s not my fault! It’s not like I had anyone to practice on!”

Caesar’s expression changed a bit at the admission. He looked surprised, certainly, but also..happy? Flattered? Proud? Joseph couldn’t quite identify the other things he was seeing in Caesar’s expression at that moment. “Really? You never flirted with anyone in high school or college? Not even at bars?”

Joseph sighed and raised his arm, looking over the bandages crisscrossed over his skin. “No. I never really liked anyone I went to school with and..well..you know how I am about crowds- I never really go out to bars unless it’s to hang out with someone I already know. Besides, no one else ever really caught my eye..just..you…”

He glanced back at Caesar and saw the blond looking contemplatively at the first aid kit, one hand lingering on the lid like he was half-way through closing it. “Hm..you know..” He closed the lid, his eyes looking back to Joseph’s own. “I could teach you. If you wanted me to, that is.”

Joseph was caught off guard by the offer. On one hand, why would he need to learn? Caesar was the only one he loved, the only one he would flirt with, so why did it matter if his skills weren’t the best? On the other hand, though, this could be a good reference for later- a way to use Caesar’s own Casanova powers against him. Also, that look that Caesar was giving him seemed more interested than he was letting on- Joseph was pretty sure he was up to something and he was curious to see what it was. “Alright. Fine. Teach me how to flirt. But-” He held up a finger and smirked playfully at Caesar. “-I don’t want to learn how to flirt with just ANYONE. Show me how to flirt with someone who’s clever, passionate, and likes to play hard to get~<3” He finished his description with a wink, making it increasingly obvious whom he was referring to.

Caesar rolled his eyes again, but he seemed more amused this time. “I have no idea why you would want to learn something like that, but, very well. Pay close attention, though- I’ll test what you learned later.” Joseph hid how much that idea excited him and nodded, gesturing for Caesar to proceed. Caesar closed his eyes for a moment, took in a deep breath, then opened his eyes and gave Joseph a sultry look that made his heart stutter. “You know..you really should be more careful, my dear..” He touched Joseph’s arm lightly and slid his fingertips down to the bandages, tracing them along the edges so gently that it raised goosebumps along Joseph’s arm. “After all, if you hurt yourself like this-” His fingers trailed further down until they skirted along Joseph’s quickening pulse and slipped smoothly into his hand, raising it to Caesar’s lips where, without breaking eye contact with Joseph, he placed a warm kiss on his knuckles. “-how can I be expected to hold your hand, hm? <3” He shot Joseph a wink at the end of his question, his thumb caressing the backs of his fingers.

Joseph’s heart hammered in his chest, his face was warm and probably red right now, and his legs felt weak. Oh god, he had waited so long to have Caesar look at him that way- like he was trying to charm his way into Joseph’s heart as well as his pants (though that would take no persuasion at all, really), the same way he’d caught him looking at all those whores before. But now that look was all his and it was driving him crazy.

“C-Caesar..” He exhaled a shaky breath, wanting to say more, but Caesar reached up with his other hand and lightly pressed a finger to Joseph’s lips to shush him.

“Shh, caro mio..” Caesear moved his fingers until they were cupping Joseph’s cheek with his thumb lightly tracing along Joseph’s bottom lip. “I know you worry for me..but..you are just as precious to me..without you, I would be lost..alone..left in this world with no one who could ever understand me as you do..” He pressed another kiss to the back of Joseph’s hand, this time higher up, and it was quickly followed by another that led him to Joseph’s wrist. “So, please, my dearest..think of me, as well, when you act..” He slowly left a trail of kisses up Joseph’s arm, each point of contact sending a jolt through Joseph’s body that left him feeling weaker and weaker.

Joseph had to lean more heavily on the counter by the time Caesar was close to his shoulder. ‘Oh my god. Caesar’s really trying to seduce me. It feels incredible. No wonder no one could resist him- he really is a Casanova! I’m practically swooning already…’

Caesar used the hand on Joseph’s cheek to tilt his head to the side, giving Caesar plenty of room to kiss up Joseph’s neck towards his ear. “You put far too much pressure on yourself, darling..you do not need to face everything alone..” His lips captured Joseph’s earlobe briefly, just long enough to coax a soft moan out of Joseph, before he whispered directly into it, lips brushing the shell tantalizingly. “After all..the two of us..” His lips hovered over Joseph’s cheek before coming to whisper against the other’s full lips. “We make the perfect team..don’t you agree..? <3” And, with that, he kissed Joseph firmly on the lips, turning the larger man into complete putty in his hands.

Joseph moaned into the kiss. His legs turned to jelly under him and he would have fallen if not for Caesar’s hands suddenly winding around his waist to hold their bodies close together. He managed to wrap his own arms around Caesar’s shoulders and held on tightly. He felt Caesar’s tongue slide against his lips, asking for entry, and Joseph eagerly granted it. Soon their tongues were pressing and sliding against each other in a battle for dominance that Caesar quickly won, using the opportunity to thoroughly explore Joseph’s mouth. Damn it, he was already getting so hot from the kiss. Probably because they hadn’t actually kissed like this since their first time together. It felt so different to kiss Caesar now that he was awake, aware, and taking charge of the action…and Joseph LOVED every moment of it.

Eventually the need for air became a necessity and Caesar broke the kiss without moving away from Joseph, the two of them essentially breathing each other’s air. “THAT is how you should flirt. Capire?”

Joseph blinked slowly, his brain still trying to catch up through the heated fog that had engulfed it during Caesar’s seductive lesson. “H..Huh..?”

Caesar chuckled, a low sound that stayed trapped in his chest and vibrated against Joseph’s own. “You asked me to teach you how to flirt to win over a particular kind of person, remember? Well, you have your answer now: Use gentle physical contact to initiate it, combine honest concern with charming wit, slowly build up to more contact, add more honesty to the point of almost showing vulnerability, demonstrate a desire for equality, then, finally, finish with a passionately forceful declaration of your feelings spoken through actions rather than words. Think you can remember all of that, Jojo?” He asked the last part with a smirk- Joseph couldn’t see those wonderful lips, but he could see the smirk in Caesar’s eyes, hear it in his voice, and practically feel it on his lips.

Joseph knew a challenge when he saw it, so he smirked back at Caesar to show he was more than ready to accept this challenge. “Oh, if that’s all it takes, then it should be easy enough~<3”

Caesar quirked an eyebrow at him tauntingly. “Really? Fine then, show me what you can do.” Joseph could hardly believe it: Caesar was actually ASKING Joseph to flirt with him!

Joseph took a moment to compose himself. If that’s what Caesar wanted, then Joseph would gladly give it to him. He took in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and then opened them again. Joseph mentally ran through the check list Caesar had given him.

1.)    Initiate with gentle physical contact.

Joseph was already holding Caesar around the shoulders, so he’d have to get more creative. He decided turn his head slightly, ghosting his lips along Caesar’s cheek to his adorable birthmarks. He whispered softly into the sensitive skin. “Caesar..”

2.)    Combine honest concern with charming wit.

“You know..I worry about you..” Joseph breathed softly as he let his lips wander over to Caesar’s ear slowly. “That look in your eyes sometimes..it’s so distant..so lonely..you must feel so trapped..” As he talked, he moved his arms off of Caesar’s shoulders, trailed his hands down his chest and abbs, then wound them around Caesar’s waist, forcing Caesar to slide his own arms up so their earlier positions were now reversed. Joseph then slid one hand up Caesar’s back so his hand was gently pressed between the Italian’s strong shoulder blades. “If you want..I can free you from all of that..I can give you the key to your happiness-” He lightly tugged at the chains with his other hand. “-among other things..<3”

3.)    Build up to more physical contact.

Joseph lightly caressed the shell of Caesar’s ear with his lips as he spoke, his tongue occasionally slipping out to tease a barely stifled sigh or gasp from Caesar. “I can give you ANYTHING you ask for, my sweet little Caesar..”

4.)    Be more honest and practically vulnerable.

The hand that had been holding the chains loosened its grip so it could move to hold Caesar’s hand, gently stroking the back of his fingers with his thumb. “I would do anything for you, Caesar..anything except leave you. You are the center of my universe. My past, my present, my future, my EVERYTHING.” He moved his head back to gaze into Caesar’s wide eyes and could spot a slight flush along his ears and cheeks. “I love you, Caesar. I would do anything to have you love me back..to just let me show you..please..my beloved Caesar..”

5.)    Demonstrate a desire to be equals.

He pressed a kiss to the corner of Caesar’s lips. “Let me SHOW you how deep my love for you really is..let me shower you in the love and adoration you DESERVE..the kind you never got from others that didn’t respect you like I do- like a partner who can stand beside you forever..”

6.)    Use passionate action to show desires.

“Caesar..” His hand on Caesar’s back pulled them closer together as he wracked his brain for the correct Italian translations he’d studied for these situations. “Amore mio..” He knew he was on the right track when Caesar’s breath caught in his throat. “Tesoro mio..” He leaned forward as he brought his other hand back down to Caesar’s hip. “Tutto mio..” With that, he dove in, dipping Caesar back into a deep kiss.

Caesar responded instantly, bringing his hands up to wind them around Joseph’s shoulders and up into his hair. “Mhhh!” He clung fervently to Joseph’s body, even going so far as to hook a leg around Joseph’s waist to keep their bodies pressed flush together.

Joseph held Caesar tightly in his strong arms, twining his tongue with Caesar’s in another battle for dominance that neither seemed keen on backing down from. After the fierce battle raged for what felt like far too long when they both started to need oxygen, Joseph finally broke the kiss to look down at Caesar with a smirk on his face. “So..how..how was that..Mr.Casanova..?”

Caesar was still catching his breath too, but regained enough of it to throw a smirk right back at Joseph. “Hmh..not bad, I suppose..for such a novice. Your ‘charming wit’ is lacking quite a bit, but, still, it was…mildly effective.” He concluded with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. The effect of the shrug was greatly diminished, though, by the fact that his face was still a little red, he was panting, and Joseph felt something that was most assuredly NOT Caesar’s other leg pressing against his groin.

“Oh, really? Darn, I’ll have to try harder next time..and the time after that..and every time that comes after that for the rest of our lives~<3” He finished with a wink.

Caesar flushed a bit more as he looked up at Joseph. “That’s quite a commitment…”

Joseph chuckled and pressed his forehead gently to Caesar’s with a smile. “Yep. It is. And I intend to follow through on it, so you’d better prepare yourself~<3”

Caesar gave him a small smile, that look of reluctant happiness he’d shown quite a bit over the past month seeping through the look. “We’ll see…” He adjusted his leg around Joseph’s waist so he could grind his forming erection against Joseph’s, earning a gasp from the muscular man as he held tighter to Caesar. “For now, how about we do something about this little problem we both seem to have, hm? I recall something about you wishing to ‘shower me in love’ earlier…I may have some suggestions for how to do that, if you are interested..”

Joseph grinned wolfishly and slid his hands down to Caesar’s hips. “Anything for you, Caesar~<3”

________________________________________________________________

When Joseph didn’t move to join him on the tub’s seat and recover properly, Caesar looked over and noticed that Joseph was still awake, but seemed too blissed-out to move. Caesar chuckled softly and managed to pull Joseph over to him and out of his kneeling position, unfolding the brunette’s large legs out from under him so they could regain their circulation, and allowed Joseph’s head to rest in his lap as he tenderly ran his fingers through Joseph’s hair. Joseph’s only reply was a tired but content smile as he closed his eyes and let Caesar play with his hair.

Caesar smiled fondly at the look on Joseph’s face. ‘Heh…cute…’ He’d had that thought about Joseph before, months ago, but had dismissed it in hopes that it would go away. Now, though, he allowed himself to dwell on that thought. ‘Joseph really is cute…but still handsome…childish, too…yet still mature and charming, at times…’ When he had turned Joseph down before, he’d said that anyone would be lucky to have Joseph for a partner. He had meant it at the time, but, thinking about that now, it made him feel oddly jealous. ‘Would Joseph moan like that for just anyone, or only for me? Would he lay with them, take care of them if they passed out, or let them stroke his hair like this, or would he only let me do those things to him? Would Joseph give anyone else that same love-struck, adoring look, or does he only look at me that way?’ Caesar shook the thoughts from his head. ‘No. Joseph says that he hasn’t had any interest in anyone else but me. It’s foolish to dwell on that sort of thing……..Still…if I left…WOULD Joseph find someone else..or..would he just track me down and keep me here all over again…?’

Strangely, the thought of Joseph obsessively hunting him down and dragging him back to their home didn’t scare him like it used to. It simply meant that HE would continue being the only one to see, hear, and feel these things with Joseph.

That thought- the thought of the two of them doing this sort of thing- forever, it made Caesar feel warm and content instead of scared like it used to.

Maybe he really was starting to fall for Joseph….

_______________________________________________________________

Joseph smiled softly as he looked down at Caesar’s sleeping face, the two lying in bed clothed in nothing but Caesar’s shackles (the chain from earlier still securely wrapped around Joseph’s wrist) and their respective boxers. He felt like a very lucky man to get to go to sleep next to such a gorgeous person every night. He pulled Caesar closer to him and kissed the top of his head gently, smiling more when Caesar just mumbled something in his sleep and buried his face against Joseph’s chest.

After they’d gotten cleaned up from the sex earlier (which was AMAZING- Joseph had never had an orgasm that strong before!), Joseph decided that instead of chaining Caesar to the various hooks in the house while he was home, that they could just use the long chain so they could both move around the house much easier. Caesar responded to that with a grateful smile and, even though he was now granted more freedom to move around, he still stayed close to Joseph whenever possible. Even now, with his legs free of their chains for the first time in months while on the bed, Caesar just curled himself against Joseph and twined their legs together instead of trying to run away or get free somehow.

Today’s experiment had been a complete success from what Joseph could see. He felt a little bad for putting Caesar in danger like that, but he knew it was necessary. Also, to be fair, even if the snake had managed to bite him, it wouldn’t have been fatal- it was merely an imitation rattler, a snake that had no venom but mimicked ones that did for defense. Yes, it would certainly hurt to get bitten by the thing, and he never wanted his precious Caesar to be hurt, but it had all turned out just fine. The shock had been just enough to drive Caesar even further into his loving embrace and now they had taken another huge step in their relationship.

Eventually they wouldn’t even need the chains and shackles anymore, and they could go out on dates and do things like regular couples! Joseph was so excited about the idea going out to dinner and a movie with Caesar, or going for moonlit walks, or spending the day together at an amusement park, or- huh, actually, that was stuff they already did as friends. Oh well, that just meant that they were always perfect for each other! They were dating before either of them even knew it, how hilarious! Now everything that they already enjoyed doing before would feel a million times better because they would get to do romantic stuff like hold hands and slip their arms around each other and kiss. Joseph was practically giddy with excitement as he imagined their future together.

Part of him was still nervous, though. What if someone tried to steal his Caesar away from him? What if more whores tried to lure his beloved Caesar into their conniving clutches?!

No.

He would NOT let that happen.

No one was going to come between him and Caesar EVER AGAIN.

He would make sure of it, even if he had to get rid of them like all of the other whores that tried to steal his Caesar away…

Caesar grumbled and wound his arms tighter around Joseph’s torso, distracting him from his thoughts. Joseph looked down at his sleeping lover and smiled fondly at how clingy Caesar was being. He ran his fingers through Caesar’s hair and tilted his head down to coo directly into Caesar’s ear. “Shhh, my little Caesar, it’s alright. I’m right here. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere…and neither are you…I belong to you, just like you belong to me. We’re going to be together forever- nothing will ever change that. I love you, Caesar. I love you and I’ll never let anyone take you away from me..”

He kissed Caesar’s cheek gently, which seemed enough to relax Caesar and cause him to melt against Joseph’s chest with a sleepy sigh of contentment. “Jo..jo…”

Joseph smiled more and closed his eyes, letting himself be lulled to sleep by Caesar’s peaceful breathing. ‘Yes…Caesar is all mine…I won’t let anyone ruin our happiness…EVER…’

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

-From the Beginning-

[slytherhell]

Send these to your favorite Authors and let them blab! What is your total word count on AO3? How often do you write? Do you have a routine for writing? What’s your favorite kinks/tropes/pairing? Do you have a favorite fic of yours? Your fic with the most kudos? Anything you don’t like about your writing? Now something you do like! Send it to some of your favorite Authors to spread some love

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Total word count on AO3 : 60634 ( and this is with the 3/4 of my fics still not updated since being posted. i’m not sure how it’s this much already, the word count, that is. the most amount of words i’ve written - for a total fic - was about 5k words; then it went up to 16k+ after the food fair entry . just think of how big my total word count could be when i get my writing muse back! )

How often I write: I used to update regularly, back in about 2015. Every day, I would have a new chapter for my fics (on Wattpad, because that was my first main writing platform, but Wattpad’s dead now so we’re here.) 

In fact, I used to have a full writing plan; I had about ten hp fics on my account. I picked out the top ones I had the most muse for - which was three, two drarry and one wolfstar - and told myself I would update those fics whenever I felt inspired to. 

In the end, I ended up updating those fics three times every week for a good two months, and I had about 24ish chapters for the drarry fics, and close to 20ish chapters for the wolfstar ( I started that fic at a later time than the other two. )  

I kept this pattern up, and made sure that everyday after school, I would clear a writing space for myself on my bed so I could write. That helped me a lot and I had so many creative juices...it was insane how much I wrote.

Now, however, I write only whenever I feel inspired to and have enough time + energy ( aka, when I don’t pass out from exhausation and not working on too many things in school - I had and still have a lot of /art/ projects. )

I try my best to write all of my ideas down, but I usually don’t have much inspiration to turn them into longer fics, or anything beyond a simple idea, so most of those get chucked and forgotten.

The ones I do manage to keep around, I usually scribble down the idea on a piece of paper, and write a starter line and/or paragraph to see how it would look if I were to continue it as an actual fic, then determine what I do with it when I get home.

There’s no true definition as to how much I write. I would just say I write depending on my current mood and situation.

Writing Routine: 

It used to start in either a swivel chair in the corner of my room, or at the wooden dining room table with a hot mug of fruit-flavored tea. ( It now varies from sitting upright on my bed with music blasting out of my headphones, on the living room couch with the low murmur of the t.v. in the background, or laid sprawled out on the floor with a Kubz Scouts video in the background. )

I try to take a few minutes to write the beginning paragraph on paper, or at least attempt to outline the story ( this usually lasts for about five minutes because I CANNOT sit still, and I’ll fidget a lot if I’m required to sit still for a while. ) 

I’ll usually look up fics of the similarity to whatever I’m writing, and get further story inspiration from them ( I’ll usually keep those fics up in a seperate tab to read back over when I need help and/or a burst of writing  inspiration )

If it’s something I‘m not quite sure about, or something I’m not properly educated on, I ALWAYS do a good bit of research before even remotely writing about it. ( This is something I do NOT skip over, like at all. )

I’m almost always blasting music or video audio through my headphones whenever I write ( I search and listen to music when I write, depending on the theme and the feel of the story. If I’m writing fluff, you’ll probably catch me listening to beautiful piano music. If it’s a dark story - gods, I love dark stories - I’ll be listening to dark music, be it dark piano versions of songs, ambient horror music. And lastly, if I’m writing something emotional, I’ll usually stop by songs that made me cry and sad as child, or that cause me to zone out of reality in present day. )

I try to set a timer whenever I write. ( While it intimidates me, it also pushes me to write more because me eyes are constantly flicker over to the timer, and the closer I see it move down to zero, the faster I write and edit. I kick in about a good twenty words at the very start of the countdown. )

( And unless you wanna hear me rant about how much I get off task and procrasinate writing whenever I can’t figure out how to make a scene work or something of the sort, then this is pretty much it. Oh, and I do a few read-overs and editing when I’m done with the first rough draft. )

Kinks in Fics:

I really like a good ‘ol leather kink in a fic ( specifically when the second half of the pairing, *cough, cough* draco in a drarry fic* is pulling on and stretching on leather gloves, and I blame @mzuul for that because the minute I saw her Draco Malfoy Bad Boy series art, that kink was developed and I’ve loved it since. ) 

Another one, this is gonna sound really gross + suprising for those that know me, but watersport kink. ( This was first developed when I read my very first fanfictions, and I found a few good drarry fics with this in them so this kink is here to stay )

Hair pulling kink. ( It started out with reading fics fics where Draco would either accidentally or deliberately tug on Harry’s hair, and Harry ended up loving it - but now, I read fics were both Draco and Harry have this kink because it’s actually really good. )

Praise Kink ( Started out with only Harry, but I also like fics where Draco has this kink. I blame @goldentruth813 entirely )

Hung! Harry ( Hung! Like! A Horntail! - this, this fic, is all i’m going to say..) 

Parseltongue Kink ( When! Draco! has! this! and! Harry! somehow! still! keeps! his! ability! to! speak! Parseltongue! and uGH,, THIS IS SO GOOD. ) 

Tropes in Fics:

Legitimate! Enemies to Friends to Lovers

sLOW BURN

Sectumsempra angst

Bi Harry

Pansy is a lesbian

Draco finding out how the Durshleys treated Harry and becoming absolutely lIVID at the news

Dark! Drarry

BAMF! Harry

BAMF! Draco

When they cross paths after a few years and get to know each other + proper character developement + when they clash and they have their ups and downs, causing people to wonder how they’re even comptaible but in the end, they make it work and are able to settle down with each other and enjoy the rest of their lives.

wHEN! THEY ANIMOSITY! STAYS!

Long-haired! Draco

Bearded! Harry

aUROR PARTNERS

Raising a kid together ( tEDDY-! )

pINING

mUTUAL PINING

Sassy! (Canon) Harry

Flustered! Draco

When they’re equally sassy and equally ruthless + being able to get their shit done, and staying on top of their game

When their kids become friends and that forces them to become friends as well and hang out with each other more often

When their kids wants their dads (Draco and Harry) to end up together and make it happen

when it’s hella fluffy

when it’s hella aNGSTY ( haha, chaotic neutural )

Top! Harry!

Bottom! Draco ( I can see them both as either or both being versatile but I really love when Harry tops )

Realistic first times 

Their friends setting them up ( I love when Draco, Pansy and Blaise are best friends in fics like this !! )

The constant switch of calling each other by first and last names, depending on the(ir) mood

When they are eQUALS

When they still have bANTER AND STILL ARGUE BUT W/O THE PREVIOUS HATE

When their relationship is real and raw that you can pratically feel it

hURT AND COMFORT ( real heavy on the hurt, just a bit on the comfort bc not drarry all fics have to have happy endings )

Anything involving them both working on a case together

Auror! Harry x Unspeakable! ( or even Healer! ) Draco

Jealous! Draco x (Still) Oblivious! Harry

Oblivious! Draco x Jealous! Harry

Protective! Harry ( Protective! Draco as well )

Beauxbatons! Draco x Hogwarts/Gryffindor! Harry

fORCED PROXIMITY

Multilingual! Draco

French speaking! Draco

Wandless magic ( for both )

POC! Harry ( This is my number one things in fics...I just love POC! Harry

Proper mention and represenation of Harry and/or Draco’s PTSD; following the war

Power couple! Drarry

Pairings:

Drarry ( OTP )

Pansmione

Linny

Blaico 

+ a few hundred more ( for all of them, but the kinks in general ) , but you’re probably gonna have to ask off anon bc i don’t wanna lose to remainder of friends i still have left on this site, over this post. ( i keep forgetting that not all drarry accounts follow me - i have some rpers, general artists, people following me with their main acounts + multifandom blogs and i feel like every time i get started up about anything drarry, they just...regret their decision to have followed me xD but you can kinda get the gist of my kinks, right? )

Favorite Fic ( of mine ) : While I constantly dog on my own writing skills, I actually do have some of my fics that I love. But my most favorite?  I’d have to say ‘(Fuck A) Silver Lining’

It’s a Draco Malfoy redemption fic I began writing earlier this year ( and yes, it was inspired/influenced by the P!ATD song. )

I mean, I haven’t updated it since I posted it - I began writing it on old Wattpad before I left that hellsite, then I later posted it to my ao3.

It’s my favorite because I really got to explore and go more in depth with Draco’s character, unlike J.K. R*wling.

And I basically filled in all the pieces that led up to the part of Draco’s life  we witness ( well, y’all, bc I never read it, ha ) in C*rsed Ch*ld 

I basically combined in every post-war Draco headcanon I ever thought of into one whole fic and while it takes you into his mind and shows you just how much the war has changed him, it is actually wholesome. I mean, we’ve got angst, hurt/comfort, finding love, and I even had a few scenes that were so fluffy and pure that I was crying as I wrote - which is why I haven’t updated. Other than dealing with shit irl, this story gets me really emotional and I just love it so much..

Fic with most Kudos:

‘just the right addition’ with 65 kudos.

summary :

harry has a leather kink. but draco didn't know that when he showed up on the field in a leather jacket, and suede leather gloves.

What I don’t like about my writing: 

I really don’t like how I transition from scene to scene in my fics. I feel like they’re extremely sloppy and really ruin the story; especially if I had a really good idea/path for the story. ( I also don’t like how I constantly compare my writing, then try and force to change my writing style so it sounds half as good as the author’s writing style of the story that I’m reading )

What I DO like about my writing:

Um, I really like how I start most of my fics off with dialogue. I like how I have a lot on the page, but it still blends in well to get its point across. And also, if it’s a one shot, I like how I have a beginning, middle, and end for the story.

Beginning: Introducing the prompt, and what’s going on with it

Middle: What the characters actions lead to, kinda showing you where it’s going to be heading soon

End : the general idea of the ending/aftermath of it + something like an epilogue, wraps things up in a way.

/////

Thank you so much for sending me this, anon!!

Again, thank you so much, and I hope you’re well!

-Teia

[chocolatemillkk]

Meet Cute: Joe Sugg

Meet-Cute: a convention that sets up a situation where two potential lovers have a memorable first meeting. The situation's usually awkward, funny, ironic, &/or embarrassing. This first scene always puts the romance in motion

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

"No sorry what's better the coconut or the nutmeg..."

I sigh loudly as the man in front of me takes his time making his order. It had been a long day on my feet and I really wanted my drink so I could sit down and enjoy a good book for the evening. I glance around to the people behind me and the guy right behind me locks eyes with me. He shakes his head and I roll my eyes. We were all waiting far too long. Suddenly his face breaks out into a smile and my breath catches, he was attractive but with a smile he was heart-stopping. I blush and turn back to the front.

In my group of friends, I was known to be the worst with meeting new people and that went out especially to any fellow who was mildly good looking. I got tongue tied and my blush would overtake my cheeks like a wildfire. And the bloke behind me was 100% a wildfire starter. There was no way I would be turning around again.

I'm about ready to give up when the vacant till opens up and the barista waves me over. As I walk over, the man taking ages finishes up so the cutie behind me walks up with me. I glance at him once the barista rings me up and he's looking up at me too.

"Finally," he mouths. I grin back but my attention is snagged back when I'm asked for my name.

"Y/N," I give her my nickname-they always had a harder time with my full name. I move to the pick-up counter and take out my phone.

Since my order was only a latte it comes quick. I glance at the counter and pick up the cup closest to me. Finally, I sigh.

I grab a seat by the fireplace and settle in, noticing the cute guy sitting at the table nearby. He's taking out a laptop and wiping down his glasses. So dreamy.

He looks up and I quickly glance away, I had to be less obvious! So I take my book out and crack it open, taking the first sip of my latte.

But instead I drink a mouthful of hot chocolate.

I nearly gag at the sweet drink and slam the cup down beside my book. How did they screw that up? But when I look at the name it says Joe. Not Y/N. Shit. The cute one must be Joe since he ordered at the same time as me. Double shit!

I get up just as Joe, I assume, raises his drink to his lips. I peek my name on the cup and jump forward to warn him but he takes a sip and his face scrunchles in disgust.

"What the-" I hear him whisper to himself before noticing me standing a few metres away.

I hold up his cup, "Joe? I'm afraid I've taken a sip of your hot chocolate."

"You must be..." Joe glances at his cup. "Y/N?"

"Y/F/N actually. I can't believe I didn't check the order."

"I can't believe you drink this!" Joe exclaims.

"Hey don't go judging my taste! Who goes to a coffee shop and orders a hot chocolate?"

Joe laughs and it's an addictive sound. I find myself drawn to him further.

"Alright how about you join me and I'll repurchase our drinks?" Joe suggests.

"Oh," I momentarily forget how to speak as I realise what he's said. "You don't have to do that."

"I'd be happy to," Joe gets up and slips the drink out of my hands.

I glance at my cozy seating and suggest he join me.

"I can't refuse a warm fire," he smiles at me. "I'll just pop my things there then."

So he drops his things on the seat in front of me and orders us our proper drinks. We chat for a bit, getting to know the other, and I've forgotten I was supposed to be bad at meeting new people because Joe was so easy to get along with. Once we trail off on our conversation, I pick up my book and he works on his laptop. Every so often we look up at the same time and laugh. It was like our connection was a two-way magnet and we were unable to resist the attraction from the other.

We stay until the barista tells us it's closing time. Outside, we stand awkwardly at the door unsure of how to say goodbye.

"How about we exchange numbers?" I ask Joe. He takes my phone and types his info in.

"I know it's 11 but I want to hang out with you longer," Joe blushes.

"I don't object to that," I grin. I liked his honesty.

"Great I know a place that serves nice drink..." Joe grabs my hand and guides me down the street and I follow along as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. I had a gut feeling, however, this would become something ordinary.

If my life was a movie, the drink mix-up would be our meet cute and taking his hand to go for drinks would be the moment our lives would begin to be connected forever. And somewhere inside me, I really believed it.

[rockscanfly]

Heir’s Revolt Part 2: Illuminations

Fire! Betrayal! Fight scenes! Smoldering glances! UST! Even more fire! After two and a half years, the second chapter of Shades Ninde's and RocksCanFly's epic adventure is finally out!

Join us in a ridiculously convoluted and expansive four-part epic tale of harrowing moral choices, whirlwind romances, thrilling adventure, and a truly unnecessary amount of snark.

Title (part two): Illumination

Authors: RocksCanFly and Shade’s Ninde

Rating: M (violence, language and eventual sexual content)

Characters:  Kaldur'ahm, Roy, Artemis, Conner, M'gann, Klarion, team, etc.

Words: 51,000

Part Two Summary:  Separated from the rest of his party, Prince Kaldur'ahm of Raya pursues the Fiend of Mists into the Reginian forest. Roy Harper, disgraced ward of King Oliver, leads his prey into the woods of his homeland, intent on destroying the invading prince and his army. Meanwhile, Artemis and Conner are left to guide the rest of the troops around the mountain, meeting treachery and a mysterious new ally. Allegiances are set, then questioned, and soon the assumptions that our heroes has built their lives around will burn in the light of new information.

Read at AO3, FF.net, or under the cut.

Missed out on Part 1? Here’s the link! 

Roy Harper was not, technically, Prince of Reginia. For starters, he wasn’t the king’s real son, just his ward (and a disgraced ward, at that). More to the point, for Roy to have been a prince, Oliver would have had to be a proper king, which was...a stretch, to put it generously. Oliver spent about as much time overseeing the kingdom as he spent overseeing Roy’s schooling -- not much -- and was better known for gallivanting around the realm to meddle in his citizens’ daily lives than for any sort of royal presence or leadership.

Fortunately, Roy had long since shrugged off any formal association with the Crown. No longer did he find himself known as the Bastard Prince or the False Heir, titles that were muttered behind his back at court. Now, most of his titles were whispered in fear or shouted in anger to his face -- Reginia's Shadow, the Crimson Death, Death's Arrow, The Fiend of Mists, assassin, plague, coward…

These titles, grand and ignominious alike, had been earned in service to his people, and the world. In perfect honesty, Roy was quite proud of them.

When he was very young, Roy had learned well the costs of war. As he grew in the Reginian court, he had learned the causes. Wars were not fought for the sake of the people, Roy had found as he attended meetings at Oliver’s side, as he studied history and politics and was subjected to the rants and rambles of the bloated, powerful men and women who came to and from Oliver's court. Rather, he learned that wars were often fought for power, or pride, or to bring wealth to a few fortunately born people who would themselves never be forced to suffer the horrors of a battlefield without the safety of fine armor, good horses, and expensive protective magic.

To fight in a war, Roy had decided at the young age of sixteen, would be a useless and selfish thing to do.

To stop wars from occurring? That was a much more useful calling.

So Roy took it upon himself to become an assassin, akin to the famed archers and knifemen of the Shadowlands in fighting style if not in purpose and allegiance. Where those warriors often allied themselves to rulers for power and money, Roy allied himself to no one, not even his own king and guardian. Using the considerable resources and training afforded to him by his upbringing, Roy had set out on a lofty mission to end war.

Or, failing that--and Roy had seen by now that it was inevitable that he would fail, because no matter the number of greedy, power-hungry bastards he put in the ground this hydra would always sprout more heads--at least balance the scales a bit.

Frustratingly, he found he was failing even that secondary mission at the moment, as signaled by the continued presence of the spoiled twit chasing him into the forest.

Roy leapt lightly through the trees, cognizant of the enraged, gullible princeling who followed. Smiling to himself, he fired an arrow wildly behind him, more to keep the prince aware of his position than anything else.

He wouldn't want the idiot getting lost in the forest all alone, now would he?

No, Roy thought, leaping forward again, snatching up a refill of arrows for his quiver from one of the various stashes he'd left for himself on the way to his destination. We wouldn't want that at all.

He continued forward for another two miles, dodging lightly from tree to tree, swinging on ropes attached by quick-fired arrows where the gaps were too large. He made sure to stay just in front of the prince, moving in a pattern of twists and curves that would hopefully shake off any loyal soldiers following their commander. Roy was uninterested in killing them. They were fodder, pawns in a game they couldn’t hope to understand. He had no quarrel with them.

If the Shadowland assassin or the brutish young lieutenant followed, however, Roy wouldn’t hesitate to put an arrow through their throats alongside their leader.

Grabbing a last stash of arrows, Roy noted that he was closing in on his destination and surged forward. He entered the clearing just ahead of the prince--who, he noted begrudgingly, had kept up very well. Roy dodged into a large tree, disappearing behind the thick foliage and camouflaging cloth he had set up for just this moment.

Settling into his position, Roy fired a single arrow--scarlet fletched--into the middle of the field, and waited.

Seconds later, the Rayan prince came running into the clearing. Swords up in a guarded position, he scanned the trees, searching for Roy. Failing to spot the archer’s hiding place, the young, dark man stepped forward and plucked the arrow from the ground.

“Is your plan to allow me to chase you until I die of boredom?” he said loudly, snapping the arrow between two mailed fingers. “Or is it to shoot me down from the trees, like the coward you are? It would be a fine example of Reginia’s usual snivelling, cravenly tactics, I suppose,” he mocked, obviously trying to draw Roy out to meet him. The prince likely assumed that Roy was totally unskilled in close combat just because the archer didn’t run up to every enemy and bare his throat to their swords in that magnificent stupidity that Rayans oft mistook for bravery.

When Roy did not appear to rise to his bait, the prince seemed, oddly, to grow calmer rather than more agitated.  He shifted his weight back on one foot, better settling himself to dodge any arrows Roy sent his way.

“I suppose it must be expected,” he said coolly, with all the superior arrogance that Roy had come to expect from his kind, “That an assassin in service to craven King Oliver, nutless paper tiger of Reginia, would use such gutless tactics.”

Up in the trees, Roy managed to suppress a guffaw of laughter. Why the little prince thought Roy would rise to such common, uninventive insults to King Oliver was beyond him. The man acted as if any member of Oliver’s court hadn’t heard the same and worse every day for years. He supposed that he expected Roy to leap down in a fit of indignant anger to avenge the insults, as if Roy were one of the Rayan’s own stupid, honor-obsessed countrymen. Pah!

“Or perhaps you serve another power, hmm?” the prince continued as his eyes continued to scan the trees, mouth twisted in an angry line. “Oliver’s silver-tongued harlot, that common crow who thinks herself a noble raven?”

Oh, Roy thought, seething as he slung his bow on his back, drawing his short sword. I’m going to make you eat those words, you little worm. Ollie is an ass, but no one talks like that about Dinah of Lance and lives.

Kaldur was unused to feeling overcome by emotion of any variety. Fear, joy, sorrow, anger, it didn’t matter what – since he’d first been able to speak, he’d been able to hold his tongue, to school his words and his countenance to keep his true feelings advantageously hidden.  

The sensations that had gripped him as he’d chased the Reginian assassin through the woods, though, were like nothing he’d felt before. Not even when his father had first told him the tale of his mother’s treason had he felt such fresh rage and deep betrayal, and with them, a raw bloodlust he’d never experienced had come rushing into his veins, sending his mind over the brink of reason. On some level he could sense he had been led somewhere, that if his enemy had planned well enough to use Raquel against him, this was certainly some kind of trap as well. But that suspicion had been thoroughly obliterated beneath his desire to see the man’s body relieved of his head.

Breathing heavily, Kaldur glared up into the trees, the sound of his last insult fading into the forest as he mentally prepared a new one – anything to draw the bastard out. But before he could voice his next slur, a disturbance in the boughs of a particularly large tree drew his attention and as if out of nowhere, the red-cloaked man dropped out of its foliage to land lightly on the floor of the clearing. The sudden movement dislodged the man’s hood, and for the first time, Kaldur locked eyes with the enemy.

He was surprisingly young – for some reason, Kaldur had pictured the Fiend of the Mists as a grizzled old soldier, someone who’d seen many seasons of war, many years of death. But the figure before him – a tall, lean man with a hard jawline and eyes of startling blue – couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Kaldur himself.  His bow, an impressive weapon of reddish yew, was slung across his back, while he lifted a plain short sword before him and assumed a defensive stance.

Come and get me, his gaze seemed to invite. Kaldur was more than happy to oblige.

“Decided to act the man after all?” Kaldur challenged, advancing with both swords drawn. The blood was rushing fast in his ears, but he forced himself to breathe evenly, to think clearly enough to note the subtleties of his opponent’s movements - at Kaldur’s approach, the Fiend had circled to the right, his footwork clean and practiced - this was a man familiar with the sword as well as the bow. Kaldur adjusted his course in turn, and the two fell into step, slowly rotating around one another as each waited for an opportune moment to strike. 

Finally, sensing that neither was going to do anything so stupid as edge too close to the tree roots or take a full frontal swing, Kaldur slashed up with his left blade at a diagonal, following up quickly with the right when his opponent moved to deflect. Their blades met in a cascade of sparks, the Fiend twisting his sword to block the first blow and his body to dodge the second – a split second later Kaldur had retracted both his weapons and they were back to circling, neither worse for the wear.  

Irritated, Kaldur grit his teeth and tried a different tactic, feinting a downward strike to lure his opponent down and then sidestepping to swing at his shoulder, hoping to land a hard enough blow to disarm him. But the Fiend simply executed a quick backstep and watched both blows cleave the air before him, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face.

“Clearly you enjoy playing games,” Kaldur spat as he brought his blades back to his chest and fell back into step. “I wonder if you would find a real fight half so amusing.”

Grinning nastily, the Fiend ducked down, sweeping out a leg in an attempt to knock Kaldur off balance. But Kaldur, well-acquainted with that move (a favorite of Artemis’s), held his ground and drove his right sword straight down in response, hoping to skewer the offending limb. In that he failed, but the tip of the weapon sank a few inches into the ground and blocked the oncoming kick. Regaining his footing quickly, the Fiend attempted to capitalize on Kaldur’s temporary loss of the one sword by taking a stiff swipe up at the prince, but Kaldur’s left sword was already in place to defend against such an attack, and once more they returned to their defensive prowl, neither staying still for even a moment.

“Nothing to say, Reginian scum?” Kaldur mocked, trying to mask the rage still quickening his breath. He took a slashing jab forward that once again, his opponent deflected cleanly. “No excuses to make for failing to kill me three weeks ago?”

The Fiend ducked back as they neared one edge of the clearing, deftly stepping backwards over a gnarled root and placing himself just outside the open area, where the trees began to close in. Kaldur, sensing that his opponent was maneuvering for tactical advantage, lifted his swords and executed an aggressive triple swing, attempting to get close enough to the other man to redirect him back into the clearing. But the assassin was too clever by half and dodged sideways into the protective arms of an old oak tree – Kaldur’s assault clipped the leaves and sent foliage raining down around them, but never made contact. To add insult to injury, a moment later the red-cloaked man had spiraled around the tree and landed himself on the clearing side, forcing Kaldur to pivot to block his next swing, and to take a step further into the forest on the one after that.

“Fight me in the shadows, then,” Kaldur growled. His opponent attacked again, a light thrust that angered Kaldur more than it endangered him, and he retaliated with a series of fierce swings, each of which met the other man’s sword with a loud clang. “Hide behind your mountains and your mists – your cowardice disgusts me.”

The man just smiled again, a cold expression that never reached his blue eyes, and Kaldur felt fresh wrath erupt inside him.

“What did you offer her?” he demanded, throwing his full strength into the next thrust of his right blade, which grazed past assassin’s shoulder as the man deftly dodged away yet again. “What lies did you tell the healer to buy her loyalty?!”

The Fiend said nothing as the two continued to dance ever deeper into the wood, the clashes of their swords muffled by the thick growth of the Reginian forest.

As the fight had drawn on, Roy found himself becoming more and more begrudgingly impressed with the prince's skills. Against most opponents, Roy usually would have found an opening by now, but the other man held fast. As it quickly became apparent that Roy had dangerously underestimated his opponent, he had turned to the trees. He wasn't going to retreat and take the man out with a well-placed arrow, not yet. The man had insulted Dinah --he deserved the humiliation of dying by the blade of a "Reginian coward".

Now Roy was still being beat back. The Rayan prince was that dangerous breed of swordsman who was as agile as he was powerful, and utterly relentless. Roy felt himself tiring as he blocked yet another set of blows from those sharp, gleaming swords. His only saving grace was the prince's anger, driven by Roy's own silence, which seemed to be making the man's offense sloppy.

If only it had the same effect on his defense, Roy thought to himself as he swung down hard to the Rayan’s unprotected side, only to have the blow blocked with one curved blade as he was forced to duck a swipe from another. I could land a blow and finally be done with this pontificating prick.

Roy considered, despite his earlier bravado, that he may be forced to flee into the trees at this point. His rage at the insult to Dinah aside, he’d worked too long and too hard to kill this son of a bitch to let himself sacrifice it all in the name of pride.

And, despite the advantage the trees gave him--allowing him to duck and dodge through the foliage, leading the prince over tricky roots and praying for him to stumble so Roy could relieve him of his beautiful, arrogant head--he was uncomfortably close to being outmatched.

Parrying yet another strike, Roy twisted around a large tree in hopes of catching the prince from behind. As he turned, he paused, catching a whiff smell of smoke on the wind.

That’s no good, Roy thought.

When the prince twisted to face Roy, the man was met with a smoke bomb to the face rather than the blade he had been expecting to block.

Leaving his opponent coughing and cursing angrily, Roy quickly disengaged himself from the fight, shooting an arrow with line into a tall tree. He went over the possible explanations in his head as he shimmied up the rope to the safety of the highest branches.

Smoke in a forest was not, under normal circumstances, anything unusual or worrying. Many Reginians in these parts made their livings producing charcoal or by hunting--but no one should have been close enough the Roy would be able to smell their campfire or the smoke from their kilns. This particular forest was abandoned, left deserted a few weeks ago after Roy had convinced the denizens of the nearby village, through various means (including one memorable night spent covered in flour and stips of gauze), that the place had become haunted.

It was a necessary deception meant to keep them away from the fight he knew was coming. If, by chance, he and the prince had stumbled across a wandering peasant in their battle, Roy would not have put it past the prince to take a hostage.

Apparently someone isn’t afraid of ghosts,  Roy thought to himself wryly as he scaled the tallest branches. Up here, he’d be able to find the source of the smoke and steer the fight clear of-

Fuck all gods.

A column of thick, black smoke rose up in the distance, about two miles away. It was enormous, far too large to be anything as innocent as a simple campfire, and only seemed to be growing. An errant gust of wind blew soot towards Roy’s face, stinging his eyes red.

The village was burning.

Something like terror chilled down Roy’s spine. The Rayan armies weren’t have supposed to have made it this far into Reginian territory yet. His network of scouts throughout the borderlands hadn’t warned him of any approaching forces, he was supposed to have more time to evacuate the village, no one was supposed to be here -

But they are, Roy cut himself off. Someone’s here, someone’s burning the village. Someone’s killing the villagers.

Drawing an arrow from his quiver, Roy shot it to the farthest tree, about ten feet lower than he himself stood. Then he staked the end of the line into the branch above him, hooked a large, complicated metal hook with rolling wheels and a handle that was designed precisely for the purpose onto the rope, and launched himself into the descent. The world blurred around him as he sped off in the direction of the smoke.

“You have got to be--Get back here, you craven sack of cowardly shit!” The prince bellowed after him.

Roy ignored him.

He had bigger concerns.

Someone’s going to pay.

Watching the Fiend’s figure whistle by him and into the trees, Kaldur felt a fresh wave of rage surge through him, an exclamation of disbelief and anger ripping from his mouth unbidden. After all that chase and combat, the cur was fleeing back into his precious forest?

It didn’t even occur to him to let the matter drop. Swords still out, Kaldur tore into the forest after his foe, slashing at the foliage in his path as he kept his eyes on the taut rope above. He might not have been able to see the Fiend anymore, but he could deduce where the bastard would end up, and if he was quick enough, perhaps he could catch him before he could get much farther. There was no way he would let the sun set with the both of them still breathing – the northern scum was going to pay for playing games with his inner circle.

Only after several long minutes of running through the forest, fighting against the fatigue of bearing himself and his heavy armor quickly enough to keep a prayer of catching his enemy, did Kaldur himself notice the smoke on the wind.

So the coward is running for his allies, he thought grimly, pressing himself to move more quickly – the terrain made it difficult to keep a quick pace, as did the challenge of keeping the rope in sight through the thick evergreen boughs above. But he didn’t relish the thought of facing the assassin with whatever backup he was seeking to find. It would be more honorable (and much simpler) to finish the duel man to man.

Then as suddenly as he’d had the thought, Kaldur was bursting forth onto the crest of a low hill, the edge of the forest as abrupt as the Fiend’s flight. The faint scent of smoke had become an overwhelming stench, the air thick with the stuff, making him cough and turn away slightly. Before him stood a small village – some thirty humble houses and shops of wood and thatch. As he raised an arm to shield his face from the smoke, Kaldur spotted its source – the central square was on fire, flames already leaping from the roofs of two or three buildings toward the bellies of the rain-swollen clouds above. Even from a distance, he could hear the crackle and feel a tinge of the heat, but even more jarring were the frightened screams and shouts of the villagers as they fled their burning homes.

And suddenly Kaldur’s heart leapt, though whether in pleasure or dismay he was suddenly unsure. There were soldiers in the town below, soldiers with pikes and swords menacing frightened huddles of  townsfolk, soldiers bearing torches toward the next closest row of houses. Others stood over the still bodies of those who seemed to have resisted. All wore the tunics of Savage Land mercenaries, the forces Raya’s allies had reportedly sent to assist in the Reginian invasion some weeks ago.

Momentarily forgetting about the Fiend, whom Kaldur had lost in the chaos below, Kaldur rushed forward, reaching the bottom of the hill and proceeding into the outer ring of the village.

“Soldier,” he barked to the first armored man he encountered. The man, face hidden by his helmet, looked up at him, but neither bowed nor saluted as he halted with torch in hand by the entrance to what seemed to be the apothecary. “What are you doing so far from the capital? Where is your commander--stop this senselessness and take me to him immediately !”

He hadn’t been tracking his own movements with nearly enough care, but he had studied this region extensively, and had been kept informed of all Rayan and Savage Land military movements via hawk and scout. There were no soldiers in this area - it was a rural outpost, with no military value; its people were unlikely even to produce soldiers to send to the capital, much less to host a garrison of them.

The man looked him briefly up and down--pausing to note the crest emblazoned on his armor--then stepped toward the apothecary without response, extending the torch in his hand towards the thatched roof. Kaldur sheathed one sword and shot out a hand, catching the man’s wrist.

“Soldier,” he repeated, voice laden with threat this time. “By the authority of the King himself, I order you to stand down.”

Out of nowhere, an arrow sang toward them both--Kaldur dropped the man’s arm to dodge it, rolling to the side and back upright. As he’d expected, the Fiend of the Mists stood at the end of the lane, already notching another shaft to send their way. But closer to home, the soldier who’d disregarded Kaldur’s question had reached up and, without hesitation, lit the edge of the roof.

Realizing that the point of hesitation was past, Kaldur stepped forward and lashed out at the man with his right sword, dealing him a blow to the arm that send the torch flying out of his grip. Taking a split second to see it land a safe distance from the buildings, Kaldur proceeded to disarm the rogue soldier with a series of quick slashes and thrusts, even as he lifted a hand to the sky and focused his energy on the imminent rain there. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Fiend lifting his bow, a fresh arrow nocked, but the man seemed to hesitate, as though waiting to see what it was Kaldur was actually doing.

With a grunt of exertion, Kaldur capitalized on the flickering connection he felt to the water floating above him and brought down a short burst of rain. It didn’t seem to hurt the fire much, but the immediate dampness of the rest of the roof gave the nascent blaze nowhere to go, and a moment later it had vanished into smoke.

The man he’d disarmed, who now stood against the apothecary with Kaldur’s blade tickling his throat, gave a bitter laugh.

“You waste your time, Rayan,” he spoke, and though Kaldur still couldn’t see his face, it sounded as though he were smiling. “It will all burn, in time.”

“Who sent you here?” Kaldur demanded, still acutely aware of the Fiend watching him with arrow drawn. He would take care of him in a moment--first, he wanted answers.

“An authority greater than your own,” the man replied.

“I am Kaldur’ahm, Crown Prince of Raya and general to the northern division of this army,” Kaldur spat. “In these lands, there is no greater authority.”

“I take no orders from northern pond scum,” the man sneered back. In the background, new screams of terror pierced the air. Giving up on the brute before him, Kaldur drew back his sword, then plunged it forward - he didn’t have time for this. The villagers needed him. As the man’s lifeless body slumped to the ground before the apothecary, Kaldur turned himself in the direction of the screams, drew his other blade, and took off. The Fiend would have to wait.

Roy had expected the princeling to follow him to the village--an annoyance, sure but keeping him from following would have taken precious time that Roy just hadn't had , not with innocent lives in danger.

It had taken him only a moment to locate the center of the fire--in the town square, because where else do invading armies ever light fires?--and only a moment more to recognize the cause.

Savage Land mercenaries. Vicious, destructive brutes infamous for their cruelty and destruction. And far, far from where they should be, if Roy’s sources in the Rayan-Savage alliance were worth a damn.

Fantastic, he thought to himself as sighted a mercenary setting another roof ablaze. I needed a little target practice today, and the prince certainly wasn’t polite enough to oblige me.

But as he took aim he saw a large brute of a man pull a child from the arms of her screaming father. The thug kicked the man in the chest, then wrestled the girl until he was pressing a filthy knife to her throat. Seconds later an arrow sprouted from his own, killing him instantly and drenching the crying child in blood. Roy was already reloading-- strategic targets aside, he needed to put down the mercenaries who posed an immediate danger to the villagers first.

Three targets later and Roy was hiding out on top of one of the roofs, cursing as an arrow sailed over his head. The bastards had him pinned down from two sides, and he had no reinforcements, no cover. His best bet would be if one of the villagers--

“--Soldier! What are you doing so far from the capital?,” a voice--the prince--shouted. The man went on to berate one of the mercenaries, from the sound of it. Peeking over the roof, Roy observed the prince shouting, furious, at an unresponsive mercenary.

Now or never. Roy leapt down from the roof, running around to flank the unsuspecting prince and avoid the enemy’s archers.

Then, to Roy’s shock, the prince ordered the man to stand down, going to far as to disarm and kill the man when the mercenary set another roof ablaze.

Had that really just happened? Had the Rayan prince gone mad ? Maybe it was because the mercenary hadn’t seemed to respect his orders, whatever they had been. Yes, Roy thought to himself. He’s Rayan, so of course he’d value his pride over the life of one of his allies. That has to be the answer.

Thoughts still unsettled, Roy climbed to the next adjacent rooftop, staying low and following the prince into the town’s square. The rest of the village seemed to be abandoned but for a few villagers gathering animals and children in preparation to spirit them into the forest. The mercenaries had all gone to the square, abandoning the easy targets for something more important.

As he crested the last rooftop, ducking low into the shadow of an overhanging tree, Roy saw what that thing was.

A woman, wearing the traditional robes and iron chain of a village mayor, had been tied to a tree in the center of the square. Hasty kindling--broken crates and barrels, thatch from roofs--had been piled up around her. The Savage land mercenaries were gathered there, cowing a crowd of villagers into a huddle next to the tree.

They were going to make the villagers watch while they burned the mayor to death.

Seeking out the leader of the band, Roy cursed himself. He’d never taken the time to learn much about Savage Land mercenaries--he’d never thought he’d have to deal with them. His specialty was powerful, highly guarded targets. Not roving bands of murderers.

He had no way to tell which one of them was the leader, and he needed to solve that fast. The moment whoever was behind this gave the order, he had no doubt the mayor would go up in flames before he had time to do anything to save her.

After a few seconds he spotted the prince in a tangle of mercenaries. He was arguing loudly with one of them, making sweeping gestures with his swords. He seemed angry, as if he disapproved of what was happening. Apparently frustrated, he made a move towards the tree where the captive was held--four mercenaries came up to block him, swords drawn.

Just what the hell was going on?

The moment the Savage Landers’ blades had turned on him, Kaldur lost all hesitation. With a short, impatient jab of his sword, he sent the first man’s weapon spinning out of his hands and onto the sod below, leaving him with no way to parry the full-weighted swing of the prince’s second sword. He crumpled to the ground a moment later. By this time the others had deduced that Kaldur was not, in fact, going to hold back, and had launched attacks of their own, swinging for the vulnerabilities in his armor.

Realizing there was no way for him to block all three blows at once, Kaldur dodged backwards, mindful not to trip over the flammables piled around the area. He could take on three ordinary men, certainly, but these were cutthroat soldiers, practiced agents of death - he would need to separate them or risk leaving himself open to attack.

Gritting his teeth, Kaldur parried a swipe from one of the men and sidestepped another from a second. A third blow glanced off his pauldron, sending shockwaves down his arm as he tried to maneuver himself so that he wasn’t in the center of all three.

Turning to defend himself, he was surprised to see and arrow tip burst from the other man’s throat.

“Duck, you crazy Rayan bastard!” a voice called. Kaldur managed to duck just in time, dodging a swipe from behind by yet another soldier and, incidentally, the arrow that flew from the sky to bury itself in the man’s unprotected eye.

The archer-- the Fiend , of all people-- continued to lay down suppressing fire on the mercenaries around him with nigh impossible speed and accuracy. The man seemed to have abandoned their animosity in favor of protecting the village.

Not one to complain about good fortune, however baffling, Kaldur took advantage of the archer’s help, tripping one mercenary and stabbing him through the thigh as he hit the ground – the man wasn’t dead, but he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. Kaldur kicked his enemy’s sword out of reach, ducked another arrow, and took the luxury of looking around for the Savage Landers’ squad leader. The man had been there but a moment before. What was he–-there, by the pyre from which the goons had been taking their torches. The man was dipping an oil-ragged length of wood in the blaze.

He was going to ignite the kindling, fight or no fight.

“Reginian!” he called out, distracted by the two newly arrived soldiers who’d just set upon him. “The torchman!”

He was too far away to reach the man in time to stop him from lighting the thing up, but perhaps the archer could delay him.

An arrow sailed through the air, only to bury itself uselessly in the ground. The squad leader seemed to be significantly better at dodging than his underlings. The Fiend nocked another arrow, took aim--

And was ruthlessly attacked from behind by a mercenary. The man must have snuck up behind the Fiend in the chaos. Cursing and dodging the man’s knife, the Fiend was unable to focus on bringing down the squad leader before he reached the pyre.

Kaldur sprinted forward, rolling under yet another blade. As he ran towards the pyre he saw the Fiend plunge a short sword into his assailant's neck. Freed from the threat, the archer snatched his bow from where it had dropped on the rooftop. He hastily nocked an arrow and swung it up to take aim-

But it was too late. The squad leader had made it to pyre. As he thrust the burning rag into the center of the kindling , he shouted to the still-huddled crowd of unarmed villagers. “Look on your leader and despair, people of Reginia,” he crowed, face lit up demonically by the rising flames. “Your precious democracy cannot save you, your heroes cannot save you, your nutless king cannot save you! King Vandal is coming, and all who do not bow to him will burn like this weak, screaming bit--”

The man was cut off when an arrow buried itself in his chest, punching straight through his rusted mail shirt. With a soft, choked sound, he fell backwards into the flames.

“Rayan, save the woman,” the Fiend shouted, leaping down from his perch. “I’ll work on rescuing the villagers!”

Kaldur’s first impulse was to bristle at the order – who did the rogue think he was, commanding him to do anything? But the feeling was quickly lost in the urgency of the moment. This was no time for pride. There were lives on the line.

Faced with a snap judgment – douse the nascent flames or pull the mayor from their path – Kaldur opted for the more direct rescue. The Savage Landers had piled up an extraordinary amount of flammable debris, making for a very awkward scramble; Kaldur found himself hacking at the wooden barriers with his swords even as he clambered over each piece, trying to reach the woman bound at the center of it all. All the while, he could feel the heat flickering before him, the threat ever closer as he neared his target.

As he finally crested the last of the piled crates and branches, Kaldur locked eyes with the mayor, who even now viewed him with a lifted chin, suspicion and fear in her expression.

“Be still,” he ordered.

He swung his left blade in a powerful arc, aiming for the rope just behind her right arm. It was a good blow, but even so, only the first few lengths of rope broke, so he took to sawing, swiftly sheathing his other sword to hold the length steady.  With every hack of his blade, the heat grew stronger, making sweat bead on his forehead. He hardly dared look up from his task – he knew that what had been little more than a campfire a few moments ago had already turned into a steady blaze.

“It seems inefficient to save me here only to kill me later,” the woman spoke, her voice strangely calm–calmer than Kaldur felt, at least.

“I never intended harm on you, northerner,” he replied, focused on the ropes – just a few more lengths, and they’d be…

At last, the last of the twine split and the woman sagged forward. Being bound had sapped her strength--or at least her circulation.

Without hesitation, Kaldur dipped down, flipping the woman over his shoulder as he turned just in time to see a knife flying his way. The Savage Landers didn’t quit, apparently. Striking the projectile down with his blade, Kaldur quickly assessed the path before him, took a bounding leap up onto a barrel that stood higher up in the kindling, and hurled himself and his burden away from the flames.

Almost immediately he was set upon by another mercenary, this one wielding a cruel, heavy mace. Smiling at him viciously, she advanced, raising a small round shield to block any preemptive strikes he might use to defend himself. Shifting, Kaldur considered dropping his burden so as to better defend them both.

But, in an almost predictable move, just as she reached him an arrow sprouted from her throat, sending her toppling to his feet.

“Get the mayor to safety and evacuate the village!” the Fiend yelled from across the courtyard, where he was still managing to hold off a pack of mercenaries that were trying to herd him into the corner between two cottages. “This place is done for now that the fire’s going!”

Flipping-- flipping , like some sort of court acrobat--the Fiend managed to escape the mercenaries closing in on him. Ignoring them, he drew his sword and ran forwards towards the three Savage-Landers holding the group of villagers prisoner.

“Get the hell out of here!” he shouted at the villagers as he engaged one of the guards, briefly locking short swords with him before pulling a dagger from his belt and slashing the man’s throat.

“There’s only two of them! You need to run or you’re going to burn here anyway!” he snarled at the group.

One villager--a younger woman with a grubby child gripping each of her hands--snapped out of her terror. Picking the smaller of the children up, she dodged behind one of the guards, barely escaping the man’s wild stroke at her head. Still gripping the older child, she sprinted out of the village, heading out towards the forest. The rest of the group shook their own stupor off as she made her escape, and the lot of them headed for the safety of the trees.

One guard, the one Roy wasn’t currently grappling with, managed to grab one young man by the waist. Holding a wicked dagger to the boy’s neck, he backed away towards one of the few building that wasn’t already burning.

Spotting something behind the man, Roy dropped his sword to his side. To the great concern of the mercenary and his captive alike, the redhead grinned.

“Wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said loudly as the man inched closer and closer to the building, clearly intending to round the corner.

“You so much as draw your bow and the kid’s dead, Reginian shit,” the mercenary growled.

“I wouldn’t worry about my bow if I were you, fucknuts. You’ve got bigger problems to worry about,” Roy said smugly, gesturing for the mercenary to look behind him.

“Like I’m gonna fall for that one. What do you think I am? Some kinda wet eared moro-”

In a pleasant reversal of events, it was not an arrow but two slashing swords that seemed to sprout for the mercenary’s throat, sending his head tumbling to the ground.

The kid, free of danger, stood frozen, eyes wide and fixed on Roy.

“It would be wise for you to find your family in the forest while we attend to the mercenaries and the fire,” a smooth voice counseled him. The Rayan prince emerged from the shadows he had been hiding in, stern faced and, frankly, intimidating in the firelight. The red flames that surrounded them reflected off his black armor, giving the man an otherworldly appearance.

“Drama maven,” Roy scoffed at him even as the boy, terrified, fled into the forest. “Are you actually incapable of showing up to a fight like a normal person? Or is dramatic flair one of the many frivolous things they teach in the Rayan courts?”

“You are one to talk,” Kaldur spat back incredulously, but once again, found himself swallowing his pride in the face of what lay before them. The fire had already leapt to the rooftops surrounding the square and was spreading rapidly outward. The clouds above, though heavy with rain, seemed no closer to delivering a saving downpour than they’d been. And, true to form, the mercenaries had begun to loot the village, pilfering what little of value remained from the burning buildings. Most of the villagers had run, but a few, including the mayor, lingered behind, watching the blaze spread from rooftop to rooftop.

“Why do they stay?” Kaldur asked, brow furrowing as he watched the scene. Any sane person would have run by now.

“Where would they go?” asked Roy, expression twisting. “It’s not like they’ll survive in the forest long--winter is on it's way. And even if they do, no town within a ten day’s march of here could possibly support them all. Most of them may as well be dead,” Roy continued bitterly, eyes fixed on the raging blaze. “I-- we-- were too late.”

Kaldur’s expression darkened. He eyed the underside of the clouds. They were so close – he could practically feel the hydrokinetic energy humming within them. But it was a much larger fire than the one in the mess tent had been (the one a certain infuriating archer had set, he was abruptly reminded, and shifted himself out of swords’ reach of the other man).  Could he possibly…?

But he had to try. If he didn’t, then their rescue of the townspeople had only deferred their demise, not prevented it. Sheathing his swords, he resolved himself to the task at hand, even as he realized that his plan would require he place his full defense in the hands of the man who, not a half an hour ago, had been attempting to kill him.

“I am going to draw down the rain,” he said firmly, turning to the archer. “I trust you will postpone your next assassination attempt until I am finished.”

“You’re going to what ?” the other man asked, tone incredulous. “Wait, you’re a sorcerer ? No one told me you were a fucking sorcerer. Wait,” the Fiends eyes narrowed, tone suspicious. “Isn’t sorcery illegal in--”

“Just cover me while I save your people’s village,” Kaldur snapped, suddenly uncomfortable. Sheathing his swords on his back, he stripped off his gloves. He didn’t like exposing his hands when he used his magic, but with the size of this fire he was going to need as little interference between him and the water in the air as possible. He wouldn’t risk stripping away his armor to uncover his arms, though - not with the assassin so close, and the mercenaries doubtless regrouping somewhere. His hands would have to be enough.

Raising his arms above his head, he imagined physically grasping the water in the clouds above him, visualising it condensing and pulling down in a stream towards the spreading fire.

“A motherfucking sorcerer,” Roy whispered to himself as he watched the prince. The other man’s face had smoothed out into a cool mask of calm as he reached up towards the sky, fingers appearing to grasp for the clouds above them. No wonder my plan for their mess hall didn’t work, he mused to himself. He must have put the flames out before they could reach the oil Raquel had told me of.

Shaking off his bemusement- and annoyance, because frankly Roy was a little pissed that none of his informants had bothered to mention that the prince could do magic --magic being a skill you should know about if you’re planning on assassinating someone--Roy sheathed his short sword and drew his bow. He scanned around the burning square, trying to guess which direction the mercenaries would eventually attack from. After a quick look over the rest of the quadrants, he turned back towards the prince to check behind them.

Despite his long years in the Reginian court, Roy had never seen any sorcerer do anything like what the prince was doing.

The man’s hands glowed with a pale blue light that emanated from glowing symbols- like the heads of snakes or eels- that appeared on his hands. That same light shone in the large column of water that twisted its way down from the sky towards them. Roy watched, entranced, as the prince directed the snaking stream over the furthest edges of the fire, corralling the blaze in like wayward sheep or cattle. His eyes, focused wholly on the blaze before him, shone bright green with the reflection of the light.

For the first time in all his long weeks of observing the prince, Roy looked on his sworn enemy and was struck not with rage or vengeance but with admiration.

“Die, Rayan dog!” a voice shouted, and Roy had only a second between hearing the familiar twang of a bowstring before he was spinning, spreading his hands outward automatically to block the incoming arrow.

Kaldur had never attempted to manipulate such a volume of water before, and the strain of it was making his arms shake as he extended them skyward, but at the sound of the shout, he turned his head slightly, trying to divert just a fraction of his attention from the water over which he was barely maintaining control. His eyes found the source just as the arrow found the Fiend’s hand, the head slicing across the man’s palm and spiraling away, diverted from its intended destination, which by the looks of things had been Kaldur’s own head.

Before the Savage Land archer could knock another arrow, Kaldur flicked one hand down, bringing a great cascade of water pouring down over her. It wouldn’t be enough to knock her unconscious or even slow her for long, but perhaps it would be enough to give the Reginian time to apprehend her, if he was still in a condition to do so.  Against his own better judgment, Kaldur felt a pang of concern for his momentary ally, but had to release it or risk losing control over the entire mass of water that still hung over their heads, slowly dampening out the fire that threatened to consume the village.

Roy cursed, clutching his hand as it began to drip blood into the dirt of the square. The cut felt deep, but thankfully not deep enough to have severed a tendon. Quickly digging a strip of cloth from his leggings pocket to staunch the blood, he ran forward towards the archer and her fellow mercenaries while the Rayan prince distracted them with the water. The archer was the greatest threat to the sorcerer, skilled swordsman that he was, and Roy’s best chance of eliminating her as a threat would to be at least get close enough that she was forced to defend herself.

He could only hope the prince finished with the fire in time to help him with the rest. He was a competent swordsman against a lone opponent, but he’d made it a point throughout his combat experience to never get stuck against a large number of enemies at once for a reason.

Roy reached the archer just as she managed to fight free of the water. She went down instantly, sodden leather-and-cloth armor smacking wetly against the dirt as she fell, clutching her slashed throat. Roy moved instantly into an offensive position as the Rayan redirected the water back to the fire, managing to take out one more mercenary as the lot gasped for air. The others recovered quickly, however, and soon it was all Roy could do to keep the rest of the mercenaries- four here, and hopefully the last of their force- at bay.

Kaldur gritted his teeth as he focused on the last of the blaze. Just the square, the center of it all, remained alight, but these flames were the most persistent, the hottest and the tallest in the whole fire. Worse still, the water from the nearby thunderclouds was nearly depleted, and he wasn’t nearly a skilled enough mage to reclaim the water from the ground or from the clouds beyond the boundaries of the village. Aware that time was of the essence - out of the corner of his eye he could spy the Fiend doing his best to ward off a group of several Savage Landers, but it was clear his hand was hindering him - Kaldur focused his energy on the dwindling cloud above him and spread his fingers wide and down, bringing the last of the water crashing down onto the blaze.

In an explosion of steam and smoke, the fire flashed, flickered and went out, hissing and sending clouds of hot, moist air billowing out all through the village.

Taking just enough time to ensure that the blaze was well and truly quenched, Kaldur drew his swords, pivoted towards the fight and took off at a run.

Back turned to the Rayan as he blocked the entrance to the square, Roy didn’t notice that the fire had been extinguished and that the prince had rejoined the fight until one of the two mercenaries attempting to hack him up with swords was suddenly engaged with the prince. Blades dancing, the prince managed to quickly disarm the man before slicing neatly across his throat with one curved sword.

Roy, who had in the few brief seconds of panic caused by the prince’s reappearance in the fight, just managed to notice the last two mercenaries, who had largely hung-back, begin to flee into the forest.

“Oh, no you don’t you little shits,” he muttered. Deciding that it would be quicker and far more satisfactory to shoot them then run them down, he drew his bow and quickly did exactly that. One arrow caught the shorter man in the chest, who crumpled immediately. The next two caught the last man in the legs, crippling him.

“Your aim seems to be off,” the prince commented from the side. He was busy wiping his blades clean with a cloth while he surveyed the ruined square. Prick hadn’t even turned to see the mercenaries escaping, seemingly trusting Roy to take care of it.

“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” Roy snapped back, advancing on the fallen man. “You of all people should know that Savage Land bands never attack just one village when they’re pillaging countrysides.”

Kaldur bit his tongue and didn’t reply to the other man’s quip. Yes, he knew of Savage Land bands by reputation – on the border with Centralia, a country far to the south, they were known to be barbarously pitiless, indiscriminately murdering citizens and razing entire villages to the ground as they tried to do with this one. Yet he’d never seen it happen until now, because the Savage Landers’ blades had been promised to his father, and had been acting under Rayan command. This group, intent on slaughter rather than conquest, had clearly had other orders.

Sheathing both his blades (but keeping a close eye on the Reginian), Kaldur watched the other man approach the fallen mercenary and stood off to the side a ways, close enough to hear what was said. He too wanted answers, though he was hesitant to ask the questions he had in front of an enemy spy. No need for the Fiend of the Mists to have intelligence on the state of the Rayan chain of command, which had apparently corroded.

Reaching the fallen man, Roy flipped him over and pressed a knife to his throat. Rather than ripping into him with threats and questions immediately, he allowed a few silent moments to pass. An old friend of Ollie’s had once taught him that stone faced silence and the gentle edge of a knife is an infinitely more efficient approach to interrogation than screaming. The advice had worked so far, and judging from man’s whimpering and unpleasant smell of piss emanating off of him, it was continuing to do so.

“Okay, asshole,” Roy said lowly, twisting the man’s arm behind his back in a hold. “Let's talk about which of my villages your friends are visiting.”

An uncomfortable silence hung between the two men as they made their way through the trees.

“The northern climate does seem to foster a sense of...creativity,” Kaldur finally commented as they hurried up the side of a steep hill, dodging foliage and using sturdier branches for handholds. The Fiend was a half a step in front of him as they made haste toward what the other man had promised was the next village under threat, and in a strange land with a new, common enemy, Kaldur had had no choice but to take his word. “Some of those threats had never even crossed my mind...not even with regards to you.”

Their temporary alliance aside, he wasn’t about to cozy up with the bastard.

"Just because you and your allies can't ask for directions without cutting someone's tongue out," Roy grunted as he ducked beneath some low hanging branches, "Doesn't mean the rest of us have to be so quick to bring out the knives and branding. We're a more civil sort."

The Rayan took in a deep breath behind him, obviously readying a rebuttal. Smirking, Roy let the branch he'd been holding out of their path go. It whistled back into place, smacking into the other man with a heavy wumph .

Kaldur muffled his own noise of surprise, eyes narrowing in annoyance as he pushed the offending branch aside.

"Your actions belie your words," he grunted when he’d recovered. “Were there not a horde of rogue soldiers for us to engage on the other side of this mountain, I would abandon my good manners a moment and let you taste my blade.”

Roy tripped over a root, surprised. When the Rayan did not continue the joke, he was forced to evaluate two possibilities. Either the the prince was flirting with him, an assassin bent upon his death, and doing a terrible job of it; or, perhaps even more ridiculously, the prince was so sheltered he didn’t see the blatant innuendo in his own words.

Steeling himself, Roy tested the two options. “I’m pretty sure I can handle your blade,” he scoffed. “Let's see how much you have to say with my shaft in your throat.”

“You can hardly hold a bow at the moment, much less fire it,” Kaldur shot back, using one of his swords to hack down a branch in his way. “I should hardly think us an even match, for which you might be grateful. I’d have had your head an hour ago if I thought the fight fair.”

He let out a curse, frustrated at the relentless wildness of the landscape, and switched topics:  “Are there no roads in your godsforsaken country?”

"In the parts that aren't here to make life difficult for invading armies? Yes,” Roy chuckled. “Will I ensure that you never live to set foot on one unless it's to offer a peace treaty to the council? Absolutely,” Roy continued after catching his breath. “You invade, you trample through mountains and thick forests. That's how it goes."

Kaldur muttered another curse below his breath, glancing up through the trees at the ever-darkening sky. The Fiend had told him the next village over was at least a five-hour journey through the wooded mountains, and while Kaldur was certainly up to the physical trek, even after their fight back in the valley, the prospect of spending another several hours in the company of this insufferable cur was making his head hurt.

But there was no point in cursing fate – right now, a duty lay before him, and before he could consider the day’s terrible luck he had to guarantee that no more Savage Land demons dirtied his country’s name. They had come to Reginia to unite the north under the Rayan flag, not to watch the mountains burn.

The Fiend, on the other hand...well, he could burn, when this was all over. It would be a pity to lose a warrior of such skill and versatility, but Kaldur was not one to indulge pity for long.

"Shit," the Fiend muttered, right before stopping abruptly at the edge of a clearing. "Storm's coming in. We need to hurry if we're going to make it down there in time."

"Afraid of a little rain?" Kaldur sniped.

"We have to climb down a cliff to get the the village, unless you want to take the half-day's journey down the east half of the mountain. I don’t fancy trying to scale down wet rocks, but if that’s a Rayan water-mage specialty then be my guest."

“I am not – “ Kaldur began, then shut his mouth. He didn’t need to defend what he was or wasn’t to the Fiend, of all people, but in his homeland it was true that magic was considered a low art, something used only by people of ill repute. For the most part, he’d kept his sorcerous proclivities a secret (with his father’s encouragement) but in any case, he wasn’t skilled enough to combine mystic arts and mountaineering. “Let us make haste, then.”

Skirting around the clearing out of mutual caution, the two hurried towards the village. Kaldur could still not discern just how the Fiend knew where he was going through the thick foliage. It was not as if the man could use the position of the sun, what with it being hidden behind clouds.

True to Roy's prediction, rain began to fall on them less than twenty minutes into their dash to the cliffs. The water fell gently at first, but it slicked roots and dead leaves, making running more difficult than it already had been. By the time they emerged on the cliff, overlooking a rushing creek and a steep drop, the drizzle had become a downpour.

"Fuck," Roy cursed, staring out over the trees. He couldn't spot any columns of smoke rising up in the distance. That wasn't saying much, considering how little visibility they had with the downpour. But it settled his racing heart, of only a little. “We’re going to have to hole up for the night.”

“Hole up?” Kaldur repeated incredulously. “Surely we don’t have time for such – “

“ –it’ll be faster,” Roy cut him off. “In this weather, it’ll take just as long to go around as it will to wait it out, and this way we can get some rest.”

“There is no guarantee the storm will pass by the morning,” Kaldur argued, glancing down the cliffs.  The rain had only just begun, perhaps it was still dry enough to...but suddenly he remembered the Fiend’s injured hand and bit his tongue. There was no way. It would be risky enough for them to climb down even at full strength, but exhausted and wounded, they were almost guaranteed to fall.

“It’ll pass,” Roy said confidently. “I know these storms. They come quickly, they leave quickly. Now come on--I know a place.”

Roy lead the way to a rise in the rock, receded a little into the forest. There was a cave entrance, situated on higher ground and protected by an overhanging boulder. Set a few feet back from the mouth of the cave was a crude wooden door.

"To keep animals out," Roy explained as he produced a key to the rusty lock. "No one really comes up here but me and the occasional crazed hermit, but finding a bear nestled in with one of my stashes is the last thing I want when I'm hiding out."

"You have multiple such places in these mountains?" Kaldur questioned, stopping in the doorway. Mostly, he was hoping to stall while he evaluated exactly what he was walking into - a trap? An ambush? The culminating step in an elaborate snare, laid by the archer before the day’s events had even begun?

"Shit," Roy muttered, groping along the wall for a torch. "Probably shouldn't have told you that."

Kaldur squinted into the darkness suspiciously.

“You will forgive me if I stand in the rain a moment longer,” he said at last, folding his arms over his chest but keeping them loose so he could draw his sword in a flash if the need arose.

"Okay, Princess, it's not that bad," Roy said, grunting in satisfaction as he found the torch. He dropped to the dirt floor, clenching it between his knees as he attempted to light it with a flint and steel. "Sure it smells ghastly and the hay in the mattress is probably moldy, but it's better than the rain and there's a vent up top so we can have a fire."

“It is not the smell that made me hesitate,” said Kaldur, peering into the space now that the torch made it possible to see inside.

It was definitely cozy-- probably no room to hide a slew of murderous Reginians further in, unless there was some kind of hidden door, but that seemed overinvolved. Deciding it was unlikely that the Fiend had thought this far ahead, Kaldur finally stepped inside, keeping one hand on his sword hilt just in case.

"If I planned on killing you I would have just let you try to scale the cliffs," Roy scoffed. Placing the torch in a hole dug for the purpose, he set about getting the fire started. His clothes were soaked through, and he didn't fancy fighting the Savage Land mercenaries with a wounded hand and a fever. "Make yourself useful and gather some kindling, will you? It's over in the corner there,” he suggested to the prince as he lugged a few small logs over to the fire pit. “You can set your stuff down over near the gear.”

Inwardly bristling at being given orders, but recognizing the sense in them, Kaldur decided to heed just the direct one, and headed to the corner to fetch the kindling.

He had to hand it to the Fiend – odd smells aside, the little hideaway was well-stocked, not just with firewood but with spare clothes, armor, fletching equipment, and what looked to be (hopefully imperishable) food. Whoever and whatever else the man was, he was intelligent and thorough...which, of course, only made him more dangerous.

Declining to strip off a single piece of his armor or weaponry, Kaldur hefted several large lengths of firewood and some smaller pieces for kindling over to the pit and set about arranging them for a proper fire. His inclination toward civility urged him to close the door while he was at it, but he wasn’t about to shut off his escape just yet, so he left it standing for the time being, silently focusing his attention on the nascent fire.

While the Rayan busied himself with trying to coax the slightly damp wood into a flame, Roy began stripping off his wet gear. At this point he was certain he could trust the other man not to murder him in his sleep--the foolishness that passed as honor in the prince's nation was a better shield against the man's swords than plate armor.

"The storm will be over in no more than five hours," Roy commented as he shucked off his various layers. The buckles for his leather bracers were tricky when slick, and having his hand stiffened by injury and bandages wasn't helping. "If we wait an hour after that the cliffs will be dry enough to scale safely, especially once we get the ropes rigged up. After that it's an hour or so to the village. We eat, set our gear out to dry, and try to catch some sleep," Roy continued, bending to unlace his boots. Once they were off he saw to his trousers. He elected to leave the short underclothes alone--he'd change them once the prince was asleep. "I'm guessing you'd want first watch?"

“Certainly,” said Kaldur, eyes flicking over to where the other man was undressing, it seemed, without hesitation or even caution. Kaldur swallowed, suddenly more aware of the way his cold, soaked clothing clung to his own skin.

Clearly, the Fiend was either very foolish, very confident, or very certain Kaldur wouldn’t try to kill him with his britches down. Which, to be fair, Kaldur didn’t plan to do. He turned back to the fire, feeling its heat reach his face at last (yes, it was definitely the fire).

“If you think that exposing yourself will prompt me to do the same, you will find you are mistaken,” he muttered. Sure, the prospect of sleeping in armor was hardly appealing, but neither was the prospect of sleeping at all, with the man who’d almost succeeded in killing him watching just a few meters off.

"I'm guessing the phrase 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' isn't a thing in your culture?" Roy teased. "Don't worry, little prince. If I wanted to kill you tonight you’d already know. But you can keep your clothes on if it makes you feel safe from the fearsome ‘Fiend of the Mist’.”

The prince glared at him, refusing to dignify his teasing with a response. Shrugging, Roy shucked off his undershirt, lining it up with the rest of the clothes near the fire to dry. Making his way over to one of the sacks, he withdrew a small bag of dried fish, some hard tack biscuits, and a few hard, withered apples.

"It's not what you're probably used to," Roy commented as he approached the other man crouched by the fire, "But it's better than going hungry. Dig in. I promise it's not poisoned."

“You will not mind if I ask you to eat it first, then,” said Kaldur, watching the Fiend out of the corner of his eye as he prodded the blaze and hoped the other man wouldn’t notice he was actually pretty wretched at firebuilding (he was a water mage, dammit, and Artemis had always taken over before he’d learned to improve).

Roy rolled his eyes as he sat down beside the prince and crunched off the end of one of the biscuits.

"If you can't get over the idea that I'm going to kill you--before we save the village, you fuck, don't glare--then this is going to be a very long night," Roy complained. "If you don't sleep you're going to be useless to me, so what do I need to do? Let you tie me up for the night?"

The prince’s eyes shifted down to Roy's hand, lingering on the bandage.

“Allow me to put a salve on your injury,” he said quietly, after a pause. “Without full use of your hand you're as useless to me as you claim I would be to you. Trust me to heal it, and I will consider extending the courtesy in return."

"I'm not letting you slather that gunk on my hand," Roy retorted, scooting back. "Raquel told me that a Savage Lander gave it to you. Sentiments toward you aside, I don't trust Savage Landers. No deal."

“You will not trust a Savage Land salve, which restored me the use of my shoulder, yet you would have me trust you, the one who destroyed my shoulder in the first place,” Kaldur summarized dryly, unimpressed.

“I need you alive for now. I don’t know what the Savage Land’s plans are for the Rayan Prince, but judging by those mercenaries they aren’t going to be pretty. Didn’t your mother ever warn you not to take healing salves from desert dwelling psychopaths?”

“No,” said Kaldur curtly. He hesitated a moment before opening the clasp on a pouch that hung from his belt, beside his sword. Reaching inside, he withdrew two small glass vials, each marked with Raquel’s neat script. At that thought, his stomach gave an angry turn–this was the man who had turned his friend against him–but he swallowed the feeling and turned back to the Reginian, who was still watching him intently in the firelight.

“Not of the Savage Lands,” Kaldur explained, uncorking both bottles to let the other man smell their contents and trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Raquel’s, Kodatan. She used them to treat my wound before the Savage Land envoy arrived with their own medicines. Though perhaps they were actually designed to slow my recovery, since I know now she was your agent all along. You may make up your own mind on that risk.”

Roy took in Kaldur's glare, the defensive hunch to his shoulders and the bitter downturn of his mouth. "So it's still about her, huh?" Roy asked.

When the prince did not reply, Roy shrugged.

"Believe me, I asked her to poison you--but it wasn't with that. All it would have taken was a couple pinches of powder in your camp’s stew every night for a week to take the lot of you down, and bam ,” Roy chuckled, sliding a finger across his neck in a quick gesture. Then he sighed, settling back to rest on his elbows as he faced into the fire.  “But she wouldn't do it,” he said softly.  His voice was gentle, even fond.

“She didn't want any part of it--the killing, the invading, the wasted lives. That's why she needed me to help her get out. Living under the thumb of the Rayans,” here Roy turned his head to return Kaldur’s accusing glare, blue eyes steely in the firelight. “Your father and his conquests --there's no way she and her kid were ever going to have peace."

“She has a child?” Kaldur asked, his voice quiet, controlled. “She never mentioned such a thing.”

Raquel had refused to poison him. She had tried to help him recover, even though she had–

Her words from just after the rockslide suddenly came back to Kaldur. He’d been running and fighting nearly without cease since she’d spoken, but now he remembered her stinging condemnation of his father’s kingdom, of the Rayan annexation of Kodata, which Kaldur had always understood to be peaceful and voluntary...

"Yeah, she does,” said Roy. “Cute kid, complete pain the ass to travel with though. He'd sing this one song she taught him, all the fucking time--but he was a good kid. Less of a pain to travel with than you are, that's for damn sure. Even if it was a two week trip from Raya to Atlantis, it was worth it."

“So that was the deal?”

“About the sum of it. I arrange for safe passage for both her son and herself to Atlantis, she hands me intel about your movements and your plans for a few weeks. That and a few extras from her medical kit. What I didn’t anticipate was her hand delivering you to me.”

Kaldur scowled at the reminder. Thinking of the events of that morning – already they seemed so distant in the past – made him wonder where Artemis and Conner were now, if they were safe. They could have traveled leagues by now, and in any direction. Even if he made it out of his current predicament, would he be able to find them?

“Give me your hand,” he finally said, finished with the topic. He didn’t want to dwell on Raquel’s betrayal. It only drove deeper the conflict he felt within. “Let me see if I can make it fit to turn against me tomorrow.”

"Was that sass, your highness?" Roy quipped as he handed over the offending appendage. The prince's hands were firm but cautious as they unwrapped the wound. Roy winced as the tacky fabric pulled away from the long cut.

"It does not appear to be infected," the Rayan commented, ignoring him, before reaching into a side pouch. He withdrew a simple copper vessel, about the size of a pillbox. Opening it, he revealed a light green powder. Carefully, took a pinch of the powder in one palm, mixing equal measures of liquid from the vials into it until he had created a smooth paste.

Corking the vials and shutting the vessel, Kaldur dipped one finger into the paste. He gathered up as small amount of the stuff before working it into the skin around Roy’s cut, careful not to disturb the scab and restart the bleeding. "This should speed the healing process and keep infections at bay," said the prince. "I found that it also relieves the tightness as the skin regrows. Raquel was-- is --a skilled healer. You should be fine in a few days."

"I thought you didn't intend to let me live past tomorrow," said Roy. A strange calm had sprung up between them in the crowded space. He wouldn't call it intimate--they were still enemies, stalemate or no. But there was something peaceful about the other man, his hands cradling Roy's wrists in the light of the fire. It was... pleasant.

Dangerous.

Kaldur released the other man’s hand as he finished rewrapping it and sat back.

“I will not kill you while you cannot defend yourself ably,” he said, taking one of the dried strips of fish from the bag between them. “I know you think me a barbarian and a fool for this. Fortunately for you, I do not particularly care what you think of me.”

He took a bite of the fish and settled back against the wall of the little cave, eyes lifting to the other man’s challengingly. Once again, Kaldur was struck by how young the Fiend was, though the scars that littered his chest and arms hinted that he’d lived plenty in his time.

“Do you have a name?” Kaldur finally asked, figuring that it was only fair – clearly the other man knew his.

"Roy Harper," Roy grunted as he examined his hand. The bandages were wrapped neatly. More neatly than he himself had ever managed, at least.

“Roy,” Kaldur scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “ The king. Well, I suppose your country is in need of one.”

“There’s that sass again--you’re far too puckish to be the son of David of Raya. Your mother--where was she from? Somewhere with a superior sense of humor to Raya, I’d wager.”

“My mother is dead,” Kaldur lied evenly. He had no idea if his mother lived or not, and it wasn’t like her heritage was a well-kept secret in the Rayan court, but if the other man--Roy--if Roy didn’t already know, he saw no need to inform him. It had stung enough to know that Raquel was running away to Atlantis, just as his mother once had.

When the Reginian didn’t respond, Kaldur let the silence continue, feeling deeply weary, perhaps wearier than when he’d first awoken after being laid low by Roy’s arrow. Part of him wondered if the day hadn’t all been some sort of fever dream, that the Savage Land salve had indeed addled his mind and he’d awaken to Artemis’s incredulous rage that he’d ever do something so stupid.

Finally, with the prospect of a long night ahead, Kaldur decided that his odds of being slain in his sleep were slightly outweighed by his odds of contracting hypothermia should he stay in his soaked gear. Reaching beneath his pauldron to feel for the first of the many buckles that held the heavy plate in place, Kaldur began the slow, methodical process of removing his armor. Roy watched on without comment, blue eyes reflecting the firelight, until Kaldur had stripped down to just his tunic, at which point the Rayan prince hesitated.

“Do you mind?” he asked pointedly.

“Not at all,” Roy replied. “For a brainwashed fool, you’re not horrible to look at.”

Kaldur felt heat rise to his cheeks. “I suppose that,” he spat, “Is another tidbit you learned from your informants?”

“I don’t need informants to tell me that,” Roy replied as he stretched out by the fire, tugging one arm across his chest to pull the weary muscle. The light of the fire highlighted the sharp planes of his biceps and lent a glow to his red hair. He smirked up at Kaldur, mouth twisted in a mocking grin. “I got that after the first five minutes of talking to you.”

“I am betrothed, you know,” Kaldur shot back tightly, turning his back when he realized the other man wasn’t actually going to look away. As soon as he’d laid the garment out to dry by the fire, he reached for his mail shirt and slid it back on, not just for modesty’s sake but because the present conversation had done little to put him at ease. Not that he cared what the Reginian thought of his inclinations, but he had no energy to put up with being mocked at the moment.

And yes, so his betrothal to Artemis was hardly official, more something their fathers seemed to think was inevitable than an official contract, but he owed his would-be assassin no such details. Resuming his seat by the fire, Kaldur cast one more glare toward the other man and reached for his water satchel.

“I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” Roy replied. He was honestly a bit bewildered by the prince’s reactions. Roy had made no secret that he thought the Rayan a fool for his whole-hearted belief in his father’s good intentions. Shrugging it off as a sign that prudish youth was simply unused to taking a compliment, Roy wandered over to the sleeping pallet. “Wake me in two hours,” he demanded. “If you give yourself the whole watch I might just let you fall down the cliffs when we scale them. You’d be about as useful.”

“I would not put it past you to push me,” muttered Kaldur, settling back against the wall of the cave and straightening his posture – always easier to stay awake sitting up properly. “Sweet dreams, northern scum.”

“Right back at ya, you prissy bastard,” Roy threw over his shoulder as he settled on the musty straw pallet. Tossing and turning, he found that the only comfortable way to sleep was on his side, facing the fire and the prince. Drawing the ratty blanket over his face to block his eyes, Roy settled in to sleep. The last thing he saw as his eyes drifted shut was the prince’s pensive face, golden in the flickering firelight.

Mid-morning saw the two men--neither any more dead than he had been the day before, much to their mutual surprise--traversing through yet another deep, gnarled wood. The cliffs were behind them, having posed only minor difficulty after Roy had procured a rope from his hideout and used it to aid in their descent, which had taken the better part of an hour.

Now, without the difficulty of scaling down a rock face not quite dried from the previous night’s rain, Kaldur found his thoughts wandering in unpleasant directions, pulled this way and that by the events of the last two days.

Yesterday morning, he had been a prince in command of an army, healed and moving toward what he felt had been certain victory on the Reginian front. Yesterday afternoon, he had been a man consumed by rage and betrayal, driven only by the desire to separate the Fiend’s head from his shoulders. Yesterday evening, he had been a traitor to his allies and an ally to his assassin. And today, he was...well, Kaldur had no idea what he was, today. The task before him was simple enough: ensure that no villagers fell to the Savage Landers’ blades. But the task after that…

For probably the eighteenth time in the last hour, a twisted root seemed to lift out of the forest floor and snare Kaldur’s foot, wresting his thoughts back into the present moment as he caught his balance and glared down at the damnable plant. It was as if even the very land wanted him dead.

"You're not very graceful, are you?" Roy quipped from ahead. The archer was stepping lightly through the forest, dodging hidden roots and vines with supernatural ease. "Did they not tell you there'd be plants before you charged forward to lead Daddy’s army to ‘glorious victory over the savage horde’? Maybe you would have reconsidered the war if they'd only told you there'd be vines?"

Kaldur remained silent, focusing his attention on keeping his footing. He'd not rise to the man's obvious baiting.

Rather than sink into blessed silence, the Fiend seemed to take his own quiet as encouragement. "Maybe I should write to the king," he said as he hopped over a large log. "Dear sire, I've made a discovery. Simply lay the path of the Rayans with a tangle of vines, and they shall become hopelessly enmeshed so that they cannot even swing a sword."

“You know these parts,” Kaldur said defensively as he hacked aside another branch. It wasn’t his fault that Raya was mostly flat, fertile farmland, and that his people had had the decency to lay down roads. “Are we close? I am eager to be done with the Savage Landers so I can turn my attention to silencing your insufferable chatter.”

Roy smirked in front, glancing up through the trees to orient himself with respect to the mountains.

“We’re close,” he confirmed. “Very close. The woods should start thinning soon. Maybe you’ll even be able to walk without embarrassing yourself.”

Kaldur bit back his retort, wondering more and more if it wouldn’t be worth it just to cut out the man’s tongue - he’d still be able to fire a bow, after all. But probably he’d be less amenable to a partnership against the Savage Landers. And besides, Kaldur wasn’t certain he had the stomach for that sort of thing, anyway.

True to the Reginian’s word, as they walked the sunlight began to filter through the foliage above just a bit more, and the trees began to slim, and finally Kaldur was pretty sure he could see the end of the forest ahead - a warm, shining pool of light at the trail’s end. The unnerving total hush of the wood began to lift. And then--

“Do you hear that?” Kaldur asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks to silence his own movements.

He could have sworn he’d heard the tell-tale sound of clanging metal from up ahead.

"Yeah," Roy whispered. "Looks like they didn't stop for the storm. We need to make this quick and sneaky if we want to beat them, so follow my lead."

With that he took off, eating up the ground between them and the village in a furious sprint. Kaldur followed as he was able, internally cursing his armor for its weight and its noisome clanking.

As they approached the village they began to hear more of the battle. Rather than the screams of villagers being slaughtered, the noise seemed more natural to an actual battle. There was the clanging of clashing swords and shields, the thud of arrowheads piercing through armor, the shrieks of dying and injured combatants.

The moment the first hut came into sight, Roy halted, ducking behind a large tree. Signalling to Kaldur to follow him, he clambered up into the tree's thick foliage to get a better view of the scene.

What he saw as he rose over the hut's roof wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting.

There were Savage Landers, that was for sure. But the people fighting them weren't men and women of the village, or one of the border patrols that frequented those parts. It was a group of three warriors, two of whom he recognized as the Rayan prince's own companions. The woman was laughing, perched up on a rooftop as she rained a hail of arrows down at her enemies. The man was laying into a group of mercenaries, roaring with rage as they tried to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

And there was another person, a cloaked figure who seemed to be herding the villagers away from the square as the other two held the mercenaries back. Occasionally they would throw up a hand and a stray arrow from the mercenaries would be deflected aside, right as the archer who fired it was either shot through by the woman or hacked to pieces by the man.

Kaldur’s eyes widened in astonishment as he finally hauled himself up high enough to see what the Reginian was seeing.

His first feeling was of deep, deep relief - Artemis and Conner were safe, they were well, they were if anything, acting more like themselves than they’d had a chance to since they’d departed on this ill-fated journey. Artemis in particular looked almost gleeful as she fired off arrow after arrow, her blonde hair spilling from her grey hood.

His next feeling was curiosity - who was the newcomer with his friends? He was sure he had never seen the person before, as their cloak - long, and midnight blue edged with brilliant red - was quite distinctive.

After that came a pragmatic sense of satisfaction as it dawned on him that this meant he no longer needed the Fiend’s assistance, and could proceed to dispose of him as originally intended. Unfortunately, this thought was immediately followed by an internal reprimand that damped his excitement down to embers - the man was still injured. It wouldn’t be fair to kill him right now.

“Shall we join them?” Kaldur suggested, though it seemed the two of them were handling the situation perfectly well. “Many hands make light work.”

"I don't see why not," Roy sighed, dropping back to the ground. “Just to be safe though, I'm going to stick to melee. I think if your assassin friend sees my arrows she's as likely to kill me as thank me for the help."

"I'd not permit her to steal that honor from me," Kaldur replied as he drew his swords. "But far be it for me to keep your cowardice from hampering you in battle."

With that, the prince darted toward the fray, quickly taking down one woman zeroing in on Artemis as he hurried to Conner's side.

"Little shit," Roy muttered, drawing his short sword.

If Kaldur heard the jab, he didn’t respond to it, instead lifting both his swords as he neared the melee surrounding Conner. His friend was surrounded on all sides by Savage Land mercenaries but was holding his own valiantly, broadsword cleaving through the pack as he unleashed his remarkable strength on his opponents. His face was contorted in a familiar expression of rage, as though the attack on the Reginian village was a personal affront to him. Biting back a smile--such an angry countenance oddly brought Kaldur great comfort--Kaldur threw himself upon the back and quickly fought his way to Conner’s side, leaving two brutes felled in his wake.

“Good morning, my friend,” he greeted as he drew up a blade to block a spear thrust from one of his adversaries. “I see you have not let the day go to waste!”

"When we finish here," Conner growled, decapitating one of his foes. The man didn't miss a beat, continuing to swing his broadsword with a lightness that spoke to his incredible strength. Temporarily disengaged, he stepped to aim a sharp, painful kick and Kaldur's calf. "I'm going to let Artemis torture you. Where have you been?"

Kaldur winced and staggered back a step as the blow connected. Conner was not one to hold back. He would certainly have an attractive bruise to nurse later.

“Your friend always this cheerful?” Roy commented when he appeared at Kaldur’s side. He’d chosen to sneak around the back of the huts to stab an archer whom he’d spotted aiming an arrow at the knight’s throat.

“You picked up a stray?” Conner questioned, eyeing Roy as he stabbed a man through.

“It seems you did as well,” Kaldur deflected, cross-stepping in front of Roy to block a mace blow that would would have forced the Reginian to counter with both his hands, a painful feat with his bandaged palm. “This is one is not so much a stray as a horrible beast. But let us discuss all of these matters when the battle is over, yes?”

The whistle of an arrow had him ducking behind a foe, but it was one of Artemis’s - finished with her own targets, she’d apparently moved on to aiding them with theirs. Only a few goons remained, and it seemed their fear of the combined strength of their opponents was beginning to outweigh their bloodlust.

“If that’s who I think it is,” Artemis shouted down to him, “I’m using one arrow to shoot you both through the throat.”

"If your archery is anything like your tracking, I don't think I have anything to worry about," Roy sniped, immediately cursing himself afterwards.

"Never mind," Artemis shouted down to Kaldur. "I don't care who he is- I'm killing him anyways."

"We will discuss it," Kaldur shot back. "Do you see any more combatants?"

Artemis did a quick scan above the rooftops. "No, I think we're good."

She hopped down, jogging over the other three.

"I should go check on M'gann," Conner grunted, yanking his sword from a woman's chest. "She was evacuating the villagers- a group may have snuck around to get to her--"

"M'gann can handle herself, lover boy," Artemis commented, reaching the group. She immediately drew Kaldur into a careful hug. "Which is more than I can say for you, you idiot. "

Kaldur couldn’t help the broad smile that crossed his face as he returned the embrace, dropping both his swords to pull Artemis firmly against his chest. Fake betrothal or no, she was the closest thing he had to a sister, and he would never have forgiven himself had anything happened to her during his errand of revenge.

“I was worried about you, too,” he murmured, too quietly for anyone to overhear (except perhaps Conner, who had exceptionally good ears).

After a long moment he finally let his friend go, turning to face Conner.

“M’gann,” he repeated curiously. “I presume that is the other traveler with you. Is she - “

But he was abruptly cut off by a loud sound from somewhere around the corner, a series of sudden screams that came immediately followed by a loud thud.

Conner had taken off before anyone could so much as open their mouth; Kaldur immediately bent to retrieve his swords and gave chase, Artemis on his heels.

The scene that greeted them when they rounded the last of the village huts was a confusing one, to say the least: fifty or sixty villagers huddled in the shade of a grove of oak trees, all staring in shock at a pair of figures before them. One, the stranger in the blue cloak, stood with a hand outstretched and a grim expression on her otherwise gentle face. The other (or what remained of him, a Savage Lander by the look of his equipment) lay beneath a rock twice the size of a human man that seemed to have dropped straight out of the sky.

"M'gann!" Conner shouted, running to the stranger. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" he questioned, stopping before her. He settled his hands on her shoulders, eyes scanning her as if inspecting for damage.

Kaldur shot Artemis a bewildered glance but received only a long-suffering look in return. Apparently this odd behavior was no surprise to her. Roy, ignoring all of them, headed over to a woman who appeared to be the village elder. He pulled her aside and struck up a quick conversation. From his gestures to the crushed mercenary and to the wider village, Kaldur surmised that he was attempting to discern where the Savage Landers had come from.

An easy laugh pulled Kaldur’s attention back to his friends: M’gann was smiling, pushing her hood back to reveal a pale, freckled face framed by red hair.

“I'm fine, Conner. He didn't hurt me," she assured him, her hands coming to clasp his own shoulders in a comforting gesture.

"And even if he did, I'm pretty sure she gave him more than his fair share back," Artemis commented, inspecting the crushed man. "Damn, M'gann. You didn't tell us you could fling boulders."

“Artemis,” said Kaldur, trying to keep his face even  - who was this stranger, and what did she mean, fling boulders? -  “Would you like to do me the honor of introducing your new friend?”

But before Artemis could say a thing, the stranger had given herself a gentle slap on the forehead and disentangled herself from Conner’s concerned grip and fairly flown to stand before Kaldur.

“Of course! You must be Prince Kaldur’ahm,” she said, reaching out to clasp his hand in both of hers and shake it warmly. “Artemis and Conner have told me so much about you. It’s an honor to finally – oh, but I haven’t introduced myself. My name is M’gann M’orzz.”

“M’orzz,” Kaldur repeated, eyes flicking down to where she was still shaking his hand. “That is not a family name I have heard, even in these strange parts.”

The young woman smiled sheepishly.

“I am of Mars,” she explained. “So I don’t imagine you’d know anyone else with it, no.”

Kaldur blinked. He had heard of the land, yes, but he had never heard of a Martian coming all the way to the mainland, much less met one in the flesh.

“I see,” he said, casting a glance at Artemis and Conner. Did they believe her story? Should he? “And might I ask how you came to be traveling with my colleagues?”

Conner, who had crossed his arms over his chest as if at a loss with what to do with them now that M'gann had left his embrace, began to explain. "She found us after we--" he started, but was interrupted when Artemis flung one palm over his mouth, cutting him off.

Ignoring the knight's indignant glare, Artemis settled her free hand on her cocked hip.

"Not so fast," she snapped. "M'gann's weird, but she's not a threat . We'll explain where she came from after you tell us why the Fiend of Mists ," here she pointed at Roy, who had finished with the village elder and had assumed a position of disinterest, arms crossed, at their rear, "is following you like some sort of puppy!"

"Puppy?" Roy snarled indignantly. "Listen, Blondie, the only reason you have your precious prince back in one piece is because your soldiers have been burning down my villages and he decided to help me stop them. Now that the threat's handled? Our truce is over, so watch your mouth unless you want an arrow through it."

Conner and Artemis both turned, hackles raised at the threat.

"There's three of us and one of you, and this time you don't any trees to hide away in," Conner growled, hand halfway to his sword. "I wouldn't make any threats."

“At ease, both of you,” Kaldur ordered, taking a step between his friends and the Fiend and holding up his hand. “There will be plenty of time to slit one another’s throats later, but present circumstances compel us to work together. Artemis, Conner - have either of you the faintest idea why Savage Land troops are roaming the Reginian highlands, laying waste to villages at will? I know I never gave such an order, nor did I hear of one from His Majesty my father or any other general of Raya.”

In concert, the two flinched, hackles dropping instantly into downturned shoulders.

"Yeah," Artemis said quietly. Her eyes had dropped from glaring at Roy to the dirt. Conner's hand laid limp on his sword and his eyes joined Artemis's in their careful study of the ground. "Kaldur, look. Conner and I--we made it back to the troops, okay?

"Then what are you doing here?" Roy interrupted. Kaldur glared at him, causing him to snap back: "What? It's a valid question. Don't tell me that the fact that your second and third in command are tromping around in the backwoods looking for you instead of leading your company doesn't seem like cause for concern for you."

"Tricklieon took over the men," Conner blurted out. "He's a sorcerer from The Savage Lands - his real name’s Klarion. He's got them under some sort of mind control. Artemis thinks it’s something he's been slipping into the food. When we got back to them on the other side of the mountains..."

“Well not real mind control,” M’gann butted in, looking like she’d tried very hard not to say anything but couldn’t quite stop herself. As everyone’s eyes turned to her, she blushed faintly. “Mainlanders have yet to figure out mind reading, much less mind control, but the soldiers were definitely...well, more mentally malleable than most.”

Kaldur’s gaze darkened further. How had he let such treachery take root right under his nose? Had he not sensed Klarion’s ill intent all along? Why had he not taken action sooner?

"In any case, it's a miracle we made it out at all," Artemis finished for Conner, finally meeting Kaldur's horrified gaze. "We came upon them at night, or I don't think we would have. We didn't barge into the camp because we didn't want anyone knowing that you were missing before we had the chance to do some damage control. We went to the command tent, and we heard Tricklieon talking to someone--" here Artemis paused. She seemed to struggle internally for a moment, glancing and Conner before she continued. "Someone who wasn't at the camp before we left," she went on, ignoring the looks Conner shot her way. "They were discussing battle plans, and I almost went in. But Conner, you know how good his ears are. And he heard, well--"

"Klarion was talking about taking our forces back to invade and capture Raya after they finish in Reginia," Conner finished. "That's when I noticed that the troops seemed... wrong. The guards at the tent were listless, like they didn't really see us. Artemis recognized it as a form of magic they use in the Savage Lands. It’s dark . Most people don’t use it, or don’t like it, even there.” Conner stopped for a moment, seemingly overtaken by disgust.

“Anyways,” Artemis continued. “I don’t know how, but somehow Klarion seemed to figure out that we were there outside of the tent. I felt...something, tugging at my brain, and then the guards were attacking Conner and me. We were able to get away without killing them, but getting out of the camp was tough. If the men had been moving normally, I don’t think we would have. When we made it out we headed back to the mountains- it’d be harder for them to pursue us that way, even on horses.”

“We made camp in a cave,” Conner continued. M’gann had moved to hold his shoulder, and he leaned into her touch. “We made the plan to come find you, see what you wanted to do. And that’s when we found M’gann.”

“Or rather, she found us,” Artemis amended. “But that’s probably more information than you need right now. The important thing is: where do we go from here?”

And suddenly, there was silence as all gazes turned to Kaldur - Artemis’s, worried and piercing; Conner’s, trusting and expectant; M’gann’s, curious and sympathetic; and Roy’s, skeptical and vindictive.

“You say they intend to return to Raya after they have carried out our plans to annex Reginia?” he asked after a moment of thought, provoking a nod from Artemis and a derisive laugh from Roy at the word ‘annex.’ “Then we must stop them before they so much as look south. We head to the frontlines - with five of us, we should be able to gather enough information to determine the source of Tricklieon’s - Klarion’s - coercion and attempt to reverse it. With the Rayan army returned to its senses, his men will be outnumbered four to one. We will send word to my father and inform him of this treachery, but put the matter to rest before the message even arrives.”

He set his jaw, the feeling of being in control (both of himself and the fate of his countrymen) settling over him warmly once more. As an afterthought, he turned to Roy, who was still standing at a safe distance behind the rest of them, and remarked:

“Then we will see about killing you.”

Roy opened his mouth, a cutting reply already on his tongue, when he was interrupted by a gentle hand over his mouth. Offended but too surprised to do anything, Roy glared at M’gann, who smiled shyly at him but declined to remove the offending appendage.

“Excuse me,” she piped up, “But I have to ask- why are you going to kill him? He helped us save the village.”

The prince opened his mouth for his own reply, but Roy overtook him.

“He’s invading my country,” Roy proffered bluntly after gently removing M’gann’s hand from his mouth. “He’s the prince of the kingdom of Raya. Which is at war with Reginia, just in case your two new travelling buddies forgot to fill you in on that little detail. I know that Mars is pretty isolated, but even you should have heard about Raya’s recent aggression towards their neighbors.”

“But why would he be willing to save the villagers and still want to kill you?”

“Because Mr. Innocent Victim here is an assassin who’s already tried to kill Kaldur at least twice,” Artemis butted in. “He’s infamous across the Rayan and Savage Lands armies. Rumor has it he isn’t all that well beloved at home, either.”

“You tried to kill him?” M’gann asked, turning to Roy as her eyes widened in surprise and disapproval.

“Twice ,” Artemis repeated, just in case anyone had forgotten.

“That particular matter is not behind us, but for the time being let us say that it is beside us,” Kaldur said, holding up a hand to silence the others (not that Roy could have gotten a word in edgewise if he’d wanted to). “At present, our goals align – neither Raya or Reginia would fare well under Savage Land rule. We all have a vested interest in putting a stop to Trickli–-Klarion’s schemes, and furthermore, I doubt we will find another as familiar with the terrain we must traverse to reach the enemy. He travels with us for the time being, unharmed.”

“How generous of you,” Roy finally managed to sneer after waiting a beat to see if anyone else had something to add, or whether he was going to get a hand to the face again.

“Considering you shot him and tried to burn my camp down?” Conner commented, glaring at the assassin. “You’re lucky we don’t just tie you up and carry you.”

“It’s not too late to consider that,” Artemis hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I think I do have some extra rope somewhere--”

“--tie me up and you’re never getting out of Reginia alive,” Roy threatened, backing away from the two grinning warriors.

“Enough,” said Kaldur, shaking his head. “M’gann – a friend of these two scoundrels is a friend of mine. I would love to know how you have come to this part of the world, but time is of the essence. If you intend to accompany us, perhaps we can get acquainted as we head north.”

“It would be my pleasure,” said M’gann, smiling at the prince’s formal manner. She cast a glance at Conner, who raised one eyebrow and smiled as if to say told you so, then turned back to look at the village. It was intact, for the most part – moreso than the one from which Roy and Kaldur had come – but there was still some damage and a few injuries amongst the villagers. “Will they be all right?”

Unsure of the answer – did most Reginian villages have healers, or access to them? – Kaldur looked to Roy.

“We’re not completely helpless out here,” Roy grumbled. “These people have been living on the borders since before there were borders. Since their village isn’t burned down and half of them haven’t been massacred? They’ll be fine.”

“Excuse us for caring,” Artemis replied. “Do you think we could buy some supplies off of them, though? I don’t know about you, but I didn’t exactly have time to pack for a journey across the mountains after the cave-in you caused.”

“Cave-in? What are you talking about?” Roy asked as he weighed the leather pouch where he kept his coin. He hadn’t brought a lot for the journey (there’s no easier way to make yourself a target for cutthroat or thieves than a jangling purse of coins) and he hadn't brought any supplies either, having opted to rely on his caches hidden throughout the mountains.

“The cave in that drove us, and Raquel, into your ambush,” Kaldur answered, checking his own purse.

“I wasn’t responsible for that,” Roy said. “I mean, I wish I had the power to crash tons of falling rocks onto invading armies, but it’s a little outside of my skillset.”

“Then it was probably that little shit Klarion,” Artemis muttered. “One more thing to riddle him full of arrows for when we catch up to him, I guess.”

“Speaking of catching up, to answer your question- I can ask the villagers if they have any extra supplies to sell us. Besides that, as long as we plan our route right there a couple of places I know of where we can get some food,” Roy said, tucking his purse away. He didn’t plan on showing this band of assholes all of his hideouts, but it’d be more trouble than it was worth to truck all of their supplies around without a pack animal. “I didn’t exactly plan on spending a lot of coin on this trip though, so we’re going to have to pool our resources together to buy the necessities.”

“Consider it done,” said Kaldur. He was a frugal man by nature, but his pride wasn’t about to allow him to let his enemy foot the cost of their mission north. “Let us buy what we can here. The rest we will seek out as we go.”

Supplies, as it turned out, were not as plentiful as they had hoped. Months of besiegement by Rayan troops had left many Reginian cargo lines unreliable and understocked. But the villagers had been able to spare enough for about two days’ travel for the group, and Roy promised that further up in the mountains they’d find enough game to supplement their rations.

The smell of roasting meat proved the assassin had made good on that word, at least – after a grueling day of travel up into the mountains, the group had stopped to rest beside a tiny, crystal clear mountain lake, and Artemis and Roy had succeeded in felling a few plump lake fowl. Kaldur had been hesitant to make a fire, at first, worried that their proximity to his enchanted army made such an endeavor a dangerous one, but nightfall had brought a thick fog over the area that would obscure any smoke. Besides, Roy had promised that the area had only one narrow passage in and and one out – easy enough to defend against any nosy scouts.

“So,” said Kaldur to M’gann at last, seated between Artemis and Roy in the hope of preventing violence from breaking out. “You say your visit to our lands is some sort of spiritual journey? Is such a thing often undertaken by Martians, or is it unique to your clan or trade?”

“Well, it’s an old tradition,” said M’gann, wrapping herself up in her cloak a little more snugly. “Young Martians go on a journey off-island to learn about the outside world and help where they can. But it’s mostly carried out ritualistically in this day and age – not a lot of people ever actually leave. They just study and visit other parts of Mars, then undergo a special ceremony. I...was a little more old-fashioned, I guess, in deciding to leave altogether.”

Her tone of voice was hesitant, though, hinting that the decision was a little more complicated than mere ideology.

“It’s a shame you had to come when there’s a war on,” Roy said flippantly. “When we’re not busy being invaded by imperialistic ass-hats, we’re actually a pretty nice place to visit. If we live through this, remind me to show you around the capital one day.”

“I, uh. Suppose I should have done my research before picking a destination, huh?” M’gann replied, reddening.

“Yeah. Befriending armed strangers currently invading the country you’re planning on visiting? Not exactly a great way to ‘help’ out the local populace,” Roy said. He didn’t really blame the woman, but he wanted it to be clear to her that her new friends weren’t exactly the good guys in this situation. He was already up against three potential enemies when this weird�� truce thing they seemed to have going finally dissolved. He didn’t need a sorceress who specialized in crushing people with rocks on their team as well.

Apparently the knight that the prince insisted on toting around didn’t appreciate Roy ragging on his new friend. The younger man growled at him, blue eyes flashing and hand tightening fast around the hilt of his sword. “Hey, step off. She helped save your village, didn’t she?”

“A village that wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place if it wasn’t for you people,” Roy shot back, hand going to his own sword reflexively.

“Enough, all of you,” said Kaldur, not harshly, but firmly enough to draw all eyes back to him. “We will have plenty of time to threaten and kill each other later, but for the time being the safety of both our nations depends on our cooperation.”

He looked from Roy to Conner and back; both men relented begrudgingly after a moment, dropping their hands from their blades.

“Damn,” said Artemis, reaching up to turn the spit on which the water fowl were nearly done roasting. “Would have been a fun one to watch.”

“Save your bloodlust for Klarion,” Kaldur advised. “How is supper progressing?”

“Almost ready to go. While we’re waiting though, let’s talk watch schedules. I doubt our resident assassin--”

“--are you referring to the guy who kills people threatening his kingdom or the one trained by the Shadow Clan?” Roy scowled at Artemis from across the fire.

“--would be willing to sleep anytime soon, what with three of us being perfectly happy to kill his mouthy ass in his sleep,” Artemis finished sweetly, ignoring Roy’s jab. “I’m guessing we’re going to need to work out some sort of deal. While I’d happily let the bastard suffer, we do need him to be awake enough to tell us where we’re going. Seeing as that’d probably be a tough task for him on a normal day, I don’t think letting him stay up all night is an option.”

“You could hand over all of your weapons and let me hide them until morning,” Roy offered sarcastically.

“As if,” snarled Connor, whom Roy concluded either really disliked him or was actually just immune to jokes.

Possibly both.

“I understand your hesitance to trust us,” said Kaldur. “Especially given the many reasons you have given us to want you dead. But for the time being, Artemis is right – we need you alive as much as you need us. I will not ask it of my companions, but if it would help you to sleep more easily, I will give you my blade for the night.”

Roy tried to suppress it, he really did. He knew that acting like an ass was a guaranteed way of not winning the witch over to his side, but he just. Could not help it. The other man was just so earnestly honorable.

He burst out laughing. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right?” Roy managed to wheeze between bouts of breathless chuckles. “I mean, seriously? Oh, yes, oh honorable prince. I’ll feel so safe cuddling your precious sword in the night while your trained assassin watches me in my sleep! Not to mention the raging half-giant you call a knight! Who could ask for better security?”

“This trained assassin can make it so you sleep for a lot longer than just a night if you don’t stop disrespecting her fiance,” Artemis sneered, tone like poisonous honey.

“Good luck finding your way out of the mountains,” Roy sneered back. “Like you said, blondie, you’re stuck here without me.”

“Actually, I have a map,” M’gann piped up helpfully.

At Artemis’s frankly dangerous grin, Kaldur felt the need to intercede again.

“While a map is certainly helpful, and yes, perhaps something it would have been useful to address before we set off with this fool in tow,” Kaldur began, tensing slightly to prepare himself to intercept Artemis should she choose this moment to attack, “I should still think it prudent to keep him alive for the time being.”

“Why?” Conner asked bluntly as he stood to remove the cooked birds from the fire.

“For one thing, we do not know if the map is up to date,” Kaldur put in. “With all due respect to your Martian brethren, M’gann, they are not seen in these parts with any sort of frequency, thus it seems unlikely the map reflects the current state of Reginia. For another matter, he is a valuable asset in combat, of which we may yet see plenty.”

“We could handle it,” Artemis scoffed.

“That may be so,” said Kaldur. “But I am not willing to risk our lives on such an unnecessary gamble. The Reginian poses no threat to us while we outnumber him four to one and his hand remains injured. And beyond that...he had the chance to take my life while I slept last night. I breathe still, and therefore I trust him, however reluctantly.”

He cast a glance at Roy, daring him to make some sort of asinine comment again.

Roy met Kaldur’s gaze somewhat reluctantly. While he was glad not to have to fend off an attack from Artemis, he didn’t quite know what to make of the prince’s defense of him. The map excuse smelled weak, and even the point about his use in combat smacked of hedging. It brought up a feeling in his stomach that was…not entirely negative. And certainly not something he wanted to address.

“Look,” he sighed after a tense moment of staring into those green eyes. “We made it through one night when it was just you and me. As long as either you or the Martain are awake whenever I’m off shift, everyone keeping ahold of their weapons shouldn’t be a problem. There may still be mercenaries creeping around, and I’d rather us all be armed if they decide we’re a soft enough target to try.”

“I believe that can be arranged,” said Kaldur, looking to M’gann. “If we divide the night up into three shifts with two sentries for each – I will take two shifts, or take mine alone – we should be safe enough. Conner, will you give me your word not to harm our guest if you share his watch?”

There was no way on earth he was putting Artemis and Roy on shift together. Even if it didn’t come to blows, their bickering would keep everyone else awake and negate the point of a watch.  But if Roy and Conner could share one watch and Artemis and M’gann could share a second, Kaldur could take the third himself.

“With the exception of his tongue suffering a sudden shortening if he talks badly of M’gann again,” Conner glared at Roy, “I can promise I’ll leave him be as long as he returns the favor.”

“Seeing as she’s the only one who hasn’t threatened my life today, I can assure that out of all of you M’gann is the most safe from my incredibly cutting wit,” Roy shot back.

“Artemis, is the food done?” M’gann asked before Conner could reply. Her smile was genuine but Roy could tell that from her tone that she was beginning to tire of the constant banter being flung about the fire. He couldn’t really blame her.

“Yeah,” Artemis replied, pulling the roasted bird from the fire. “I neglected to pack the good dishware, so I hope none of you object to using your fingers.”

“If his highness can manage, I’m sure we’ll all live,” Roy commented, pulling a wing off the bird.

Kaldur didn’t dignify the assassin’s jibe with a response, just accepted the leg Artemis passed him and dug in. A hard day’s travel and combat, not to mention the mental exhaustion of fighting his own and his friends’ impulse to dishonorably murder Roy, had left him famished and eager for sleep.

“It is settled, then,” he said when he had finished his first few bites (it was quite good – Artemis had often proven adept at preparing food in the field, having apparently spent most of her childhood learning to fend for herself in the forests of the Shadowlands). “First watch extends until the moon is overhead, second watch will take over when it halves its descent, and third watch will carry on ‘til sunrise.  No one is to harm or threaten anyone else. We have plenty of enemies to face before we become them to each other again. Understood?”

He looked around the circle, receiving an earnest nod from M’gann and begrudging ones from the rest.

“Good,” he said. “I will take the second watch. Conner, Artemis – determine for yourselves who is best suited to the others.”

“There’re signs of a large party moving through this area just half a mile ahead of us,” Roy reported to the resting trio when he and Artemis returned from their scouting expedition. The party had made it through and over the mountains more or less intact, and if he and the assassin were reading the signs right then they were on the Rayan army’s tail. “I’d have more to tell you, but it seems that your little expert here disagrees with my interpretation of our findings.”

“The tracks we found were wide and deep. The horses that the Savage Landers brought with them have lighter, thinner shoes than the kind that Rayans’ use,” Artemis sniped at the man angrily as she plopped down next to M’gann. The red-headed woman offered her a flask of water, which she drained gratefully before continuing. “I don’t appreciate the condescension considering, yeah, in this situation? I am the expert, dumbass.”

“It’s still not a good reason to assume Klarion split off from his main forces,” Roy argued back. “What possible reason could have for leaving a bunch of enchanted, drugged Rayan footsoldiers to wander around the border lands? Maybe Klarion’s horse just broke an ankle and he had it killed.”

“It would be like that shit to treat an animal that way,” Connor muttered from his place nearby M’gann. He was reclining in the sun, head propped up beneath his hands and eyes closed as he listened to the two archers debate. “But it’d also be like him to abandon a platoon of soldiers if they became an inconvenience .”

“We still know too little about his enchantment,” Kaldur frowned as he looked over the map M’gann had provided (Roy had vouched that it was serviceably up-to-date). “Whether he must remain close, or whether he can venture off and still trust that my troops will obey his whims...it would help make sense of what you have seen. But I am inclined to take Artemis’s interpretation – when he was traveling with us, he expressed no small amount of disdain for Rayan people and beasts alike. It is possible that this was an act, part of his persona as Tricklieon, but I do not see him trading in his lightfooted mount for one of our slower, studier mares so quickly. And the odds that they lost not only his horse but all those of his entourage seem slim.”

“But if you didn’t see any of their tracks with the Rayan soldiers’, then we’ve lost him, right?” M’gann asked. “Would it make sense to find the soldiers first and see if you can break the spell from there?”

“Our battle is not with the soldiers,” said Kaldur, shaking his head. “I fear that we would not release their minds quickly enough to avoid battle, and I have no wish to raise my blade against my own men and women.  Klarion is the one who knows how to lift his enchantment. We follow him. And if it seems he has already split from them, then we follow the Rayan soldiers’ tracks backwards until we find where he did so. Artemis – what do you think?”

“Our people aren’t going to get up to much trouble on their own,” she mused, fingering her bow. “If anything we can just hope that after we break the spell they’ll head back to Raya. Lieutenant Kafepat will lead them back without any problems.”

“I’m not sure if I trust your people in my territory,” Roy groused at her.

“First of all, we’re not in your territory anymore, we’re in the borderlands. Second of all, my soldiers aren’t Savage Land raiding parties. They’re good people,” Connor shot back.

“Good people conducting an invasion--”

“Which will only become more dire if we allow the Savage Landers to take over Raya,” Artemis interjected. “The smart plan is to follow Klarion and kick his ass.”

“I can at least agree with you on the ass-kicking part,” Roy conceded, defeated. “But if your soldiers do raid Reginia--”

“Our heads will adorn the pile of their corpses, yeah, yeah, we get it,” Artemis dismissed. “Lets focus on tracking down Klarion, okay? I didn’t see anywhere where the tracks split away, so we can assume he covered them--”

“Or that you missed them,” Roy snarked.

“Which means you missed them too, dumbass,” Artemis snarled back. “He covered them, though I’m not sure how.”

“I can check to see if there’s any magical signature to follow,” M’gann interjected.

“There may be an easier way,” said Kaldur, finally lifting his eyes from the map. “Artemis, would you please show me the route you believe the Rayan army to have taken?”

She complied without question, stepping over to trace her finger along a route on the map. Roy had moved to observe over Kaldur’s shoulder and didn’t correct her, which Kaldur took as confirmation as he pondered his next words.

“If that is so,” he began, clearly thinking as he went. “Then the opportunities to take a small company on horseback off-route are somewhat limited, given the steepness of the mountains and the width and swiftness of these rivers. I would wager that Klarion took his leave of our soldiers here,” – he indicated a spot on the map – “or here. Both would seem to indicate that he is headed northeast, away from the Reginian capital and towards the southern shore of Grell Lake.”

“That’s a lot of guesswork for an enemy you know nothing about,” Roy pointed out, frowning skeptically. “If you’re wrong, we could lose the trail entirely.”

“If we hesitate too long, I guarantee we will,” countered Kaldur, looking at the map one more time before he folded it up and passed it back to M’gann with a nod of thanks. “Artemis, Roy – do you require food, water or rest before we proceed? We will need to make haste if we are to catch Klarion before the Rayan army leaves the cover of the mountains.”

“I’m good to go if Red is,” Artemis boasted, standing up to stretch and throwing Roy a challenging smirk.

The man frowned at her, choosing instead to lie back in the grass. “Well unlike Blondie here, I’d rather be fit to fight when we finally catch up with this Klarion person,” he snarked. “The light’s fading and he’s going to be setting up camp soon. We aren’t burdened down with horses, so moving in the dark shouldn’t be a problem. My vote is we rest now and catch him by surprise- so I’ll pass on the pissing contest, thanks,” he threw in Artemis’s direction, smirking up at her.

The younger assassin blushed furiously, and threw M’gann’s empty flask at his head. It connected with his forehead with a heavy thunk . Roy cursed lowly, rubbing the spot.

“And I thought you were supposed to be the sneaky one,” Conner commented to her from his own spot stretched out on the grass.

“Shut the fuck up, muscles,” she groused. “Kaldur- your thoughts? Or are we letting Mr. Shoots-from-the-trees run this thing now?”

“I would feel better if we were assured of Klarion’s trail before we planned any sort of attack,” said Kaldur, stooping to retrieve M’gann’s flask and brush it free of grass. “The cover of night can indeed play to our advantage, but it will certainly not help us determine whether or not we have guessed his path correctly. It should only take us an hour or so to reach the place where his possible paths must converge - there we can rest, look for signs of his progress, and wait for the dead of night to make our move.”

“A little of both plans,” said M’gann, nodding approvingly as Kaldur passed her back her flask. “Makes sense to me.”

Kaldur looked to Roy and Artemis in turn, waiting for one or both to raise objections. He had thought traveling with the Fiend alone was vexing - traveling with him and Artemis seemed an efficient route to insanity.

“Right then,” Artemis said brightly, flashing Kaldur a tense smile. We’ll talk about this later, it said. She then walked over to Roy, kicking him in the boots. “You heard his highness,” she said. “Get your ass up, Red.”

The man peered up at her from under his lashes, frowning. Eventually his eyes found Kaldur’s only, and he raised a brow. Do you see this shit? it said, and Kaldur was forced to muffle his amusement at the archers’ antics.

“As his majesty wishes,” the redhead said lightly, getting to his feet. Conner rose as well, reaching down to help M’gann from her own spot on the grass.

“Lead the way, oh fearless leader,” Roy told Kaldur. There was, of course, an overtone of sarcasm to the demand, but beneath that…

Something like trust.

Trying to think nothing of it, Kaldur turned, following the map up the road and (hopefully) to Klarion.

The moon – a thick crescent, nearly half waxed – lit up the craggy faces of the mountainside with a surreal silver glow. Far below them, barely visible through the thick forest, Grell Lake shone an eerie blue-grey. Their gamble had paid off – they had picked up Klarion’s trail just as the sun had set, and followed it until the signs grew fresh enough to ensure they were less than an hour’s travel behind him.  Then, after a brief rest, Kaldur had decided that the moon was high enough. It was time to make their move.

“Four guards active,” Artemis reported in a murmur as they looked down from the cliffs (she had always had better night vision). “Two or three more asleep by the campfire. Lord Shithead’s probably in the tent.”

There was but one tent, and it was familiar, the very same that Klarion had brought with him when he’d joined their company back on the Reginian border.

“Good,” said Kaldur, keeping his voice similarly low. “We will eliminate the guards quietly, then announce our presence to Klarion. We need to know how to reverse the spell he has cast – we cannot kill him just yet.”

“Already on it,” a voice whispered to his left. Kaldur started, barely resisting the urge to yelp. Roy had snuck up to his side. The man had his bow drawn and ready. “If you’d be so obliged, Blondie?” the man asked quietly, mocking grin glinting in the moonlight. “The faster we take those four out the less likely they are to raise the alarm. I’d appreciate the help--” here the grin stretched dangerously, lighting the red head’s face up with an almost demonic delight. “--that is, if you think you can handle it?”

Artemis scoffed to Kaldur’s right, brushing up against him as she reached behind her for her bow. “First one to three buys drinks on the way back to Raya,” she replied, smiling nastily as she sighted down her own bow.  “If I haven’t killed you by then, that is.”

“You two are impossible,” M’gann murmured behind them. She and Conner were behind them, assembling the rope for scaling down the cliff. Well, Conner was assembling the rope. The Martian, who apparently (and appallingly, Kaldur thought privately) knew nothing of ropework, simply watched on. Kaldur guessed that she had no desire to see the guards killed. Despite her help in the village, he got the distinct impression that she was only comfortable with violence in cases of self defense.

There was a light twang next to his ear as Roy released his first arrow, apparently already having sighted his target. Kaldur watched as one guard crumpled to the ground, far off to left in her patrol. Her comrade immediately to the right fell next, seconds after Artemis released her own arrow. The guards continued to fall in quick succession.

“Now, as for the ones that sleep,” he said as the fourth guard fell to his knees, “If Artemis and I scale the cliff we can tie them--”

“--No time for that,” Roy interrupted, and with another twang an arrow appeared in the throat of one of the sleeping guards. The man thrashed feebly, gurgling, and Kaldur was certain that he would have woken his companions had not two arrows, one fletched in red and one in green, emerged from their own throats mere moments later.

“Nice shooting, Red,” Artemis, commented begrudgingly, hooking her bow back onto her back.

“Not too awful yourself, Blondie,” the man replied lightly, getting up to go check on Conner and the rope.

Kaldur ignored them, frowning as he watched last body stop writhing and lie still.

“Kaldur?” Artemis asked softly. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” replied Kaldur somewhat curtly, forcing his mind back onto the task at hand.

Delicacy was of little use in a time of war, or especially in the camp of a reprehensible traitor like Klarion. Yes, it would have been better, more honorable, to have faced the guards head-on, but with bands of Savage Land rogues laying waste to Reginian towns and threatening the future peace of Raya…

Straightening out and turning his attention to the cliff edge, he deliberately ignored the look Artemis was giving him and raised his voice just enough to be heard by Conner.

“Is the rope secured?”

The knight rose from his crouch, nodding silently. M’gann, who had averted her gaze while Roy and Artemis had taken out the guards, now looked back down at the encampment, expression apprehensive.

“Are you sure this is the best way to do this?” she asked. “You said he caused an entire cave to collapse before. Wouldn’t it be better to learn more about what he can do before we face him head-on?”

“There are five of us and one of him,” said Artemis, slinging her bow over her back and double-checking her quiver strap. “We’re not going to get better odds than that, and besides, apparently you can move mountains yourself. This will be over in minutes, trust me.”

Without waiting for a response, she lowered herself to the ground, took hold of the rope, and rotated her lower body over the edge of the cliff.

“That takes a lot of concentration, and I’m not very accurate,” M’gann mumbled uncomfortably.

Conner reached out to touch her arm in reassurance without a word, then followed Artemis’s suit.

“She’s cocky,” Roy commented quietly to Kaldur as he prepared to clamber down after them. “I’m surprised it hasn’t gotten you all killed yet.”

Kaldur scoffed. “You’re one to talk. Who is the one who decided that it was wise to take on a platoon of forty trained soldiers?”

Roy smirked back up at him. “I wasn’t after your soldiers, Your Highness. Just you .”

With that the assassin slid down the rope, leaving Kaldur frowning in consternation in his wake.

The group crept along the cliff’s base, choosing to circle around the ring of dying firelight rather than to cut through its glow to Klarion’s tent on the other side.

“Big Guy, Magic-- you two stay back here as support. The prince can guard the entrance while Blondie and I go put our skills to use,” Roy whispered as they crept along.

Conner tensed, and Kaldur feared that he would argue. Conner was not, in truth, capable of much below a low shout when roused, and the assassin attempting to give him orders was sure to provoke his ire.

M’gann saved the night, however, laying a gentle hand on Conner’s shoulder before he could respond. A look passed between them, unreadable to any outsider, and the knight’s hackles settled. He and M’gann remained behind, watchful, as the other three snuck up on the tent from the cover of the shadows.

They approached the tent’s entrance flap. Kaldur took a guard post off to the side, where his presence would not be seen when they snuck through the cloth opening. Roy slipped in quietly, keeping low to the ground to minimize his silhouette that would appear against the firelight in the brief moment that the tent flap was opened. Artemis followed suit.

Stilling, the two allowed their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Roy scanned the tent, searching for their target.

Spotting the low cot in the far left corner of the tent, Roy moved to creep along the tent wall. The cot’s head faced the back wall of the tent- a foolish way to set oneself up, leaving the entrance unwatched. Roy figured the idiot had merely desired to keep his back to the light, the better to sleep.

He and Artemis crept quietly to the cot. Artemis took a low position by the head, signalling with a nod that Roy should take the side.

The two positioned themselves so the little lordling--a dark shape wrapped in fine blankets at the center of the bed—would have nowhere to run if he was to wake.They paused a moment, the silence tense and still as they each drew a long, careful breath. Then, without exchanging so much as a look or a nod, both lunged forward, Artemis to seize the man’s protruding arms, Roy to hold down his legs through the blanket.

But as soon as the assassins’ hands had made contact, the shape beneath them let out a snarl, began to writhe and twist and, to their mutual horror, reshape itself.

“What the – “Artemis gasped, attempting to retain her grip on the thing even as it shrank away from her grasp.

“Get away,” Roy barked, letting go and taking a hurried step back. For once, Artemis didn’t argue, jumping backwards just as a large claw swiped into the space she’d just been occupying. For where there had once been a man in the bed, there was now a large, hissing beast, feline in shape but obviously demonic in nature.  Clawing its way out of the blankets, the creature let out a self-satisfied yowl and launched itself towards the tent flap.

“Kaldur!” Artemis called out in warning as the thing made for the exit.

The flap lifted, and the prince’s face appeared for a split second before, with a whoosh , every wall of the tent burst into full flames. Crying out in surprise and pain, Kaldur went stumbling backwards, swiping out for the fleeing beast with his right sword but missing wildly.

“Out!” Roy snapped as the flames pressed in on him and Artemis, survival outshouting alarm in his head. Without hesitation he seized Artemis’s arm and barreled forward, using his sword to push aside the burning flap. The two of them charged into the open air, flanking Kaldur and looking around the camp, which was now lit a brilliant orange from the fire.

“Where’d that thing – “Artemis hissed, fumbling to nock an arrow as she looked around for the cat creature, which seemed to have disappeared into the shadows. The words died on her lips as those very shadows, cast by the trees on the edge of the clearing, slithered across the ground and erupted from the ground to form the shape of a familiar man, albeit taller than he’d ever appeared to them. Now he loomed above the three warriors, a sickeningly wide grin splitting his face.

“Very good, Teekl,” he purred, his eyes little more than black slits as he regarded them. “A warm welcome for our guests.”

A shiver of pure fear made its way down Roy’s back, like ice being dragged down his spine. He’d never actually met Klarion, but this… thing wasn’t what he’d expected from the Rayans’ descriptions.

The two in front of him were obviously shocked--Kaldur stood stock-still in front of them, swords drawn and eyes fixed on the monster before them. Artemis had managed to point her bow at the beast, but her arms were tight with more than the tension of keeping her weapon drawn. Roy glanced out of the corner of his eyes to the corner of shadows where Conner and M’gann still hid. With luck, Klarion had failed to notice them.

“I see you survived my cave-in, little prince,” Klarion hissed out. His voice was insidious, dripping with menace and slinking like the shadows that seemed a part of his very form. His grin, impossibly, seemed to stretch even wider as he ran a black, forked tongue over his inhumanly sharp teeth. “Lucky me.”

“I may have had something to do with that,” Roy interrupted against his own better judgment, and those black slits flicked their focus to him.

“So you’re the Fiend?” Klarion giggled. “How… quaint. I’d been hoping for something a little more fun to be lurking out there in the Reginian forest, a real challenge—but you’re just another mortal. How disappointing.”

“Klarion!” Kaldur called out sharply, and those dark eyes flicked back to the prince. Roy tried not to feel too embarrassed by his relief.

The prince continued, stepping forward towards the demon. The man was truly courageous. Or perhaps, as Roy had once suspected, just truly stupid.

“What was the purpose of healing me only to kill me in the mountain pass?” Kaldur demanded. “What purpose have you for my troops, when you would abandon them to wander?”

“Oh, they’re not wandering,” Klarion replied, malicious grin unfaltering as his shadow-form began to circle the group slowly. Artemis kept her bow trained on him, Kaldur and Roy rotating to follow the enemy with their eyes. “But I suppose it’s hard to see the big picture when you’re all so puny and close to the ground.”

“He’s playing with us,” Artemis spat.

“Obviously,” Klarion leered, letting out a spine-tingling laugh. “Do you not like this game? Shame. Let’s try a new one. How about cat and mouse? ”

As he spoke the last few words, the demon creature from the tent erupted from the shadows once again, even larger than before, pouncing towards Roy with a hideous yowl. Roy dove instantly for the ground, somersaulting to the side as the cat-creature sank its claws into the ground on which he’d been standing a split second earlier. At the same time, Artemis released her arrow, sending it hissing towards Klarion, but his chest simply opened up to let the projectile through. It sailed uselessly into the night, leaving her gaping in surprise.

Recovering quickly, the creature - Teekl, Klarion had called it - snarled and turned for Kaldur, who pivoted to lift his swords defensively as the thing prowled towards him.

“Do we have a plan, here?” Roy barked out as Kaldur narrowly parried a swipe from Teekl’s dark, massive paw.

“Kill them both!” Artemis shouted, firing off another two arrows; this time, Klarion’s body twisted and slimmed, contorting its way out of their paths easily.

“A real plan?” Roy pressed, casting a glance at Kaldur, who in turn had cast a glance at the shadows where Conner and M’gann still lurked, in theory. Teekl charged once again, teeth gleaming in the moonlight; Kaldur sidestepped and took a swing at him, but his arm jerked mid-slash as though pulled by an invisible string, and the blow went wild.

“Picking on a little kitty,” Klarion said, sounding pouty, even offended as he lowered his hand. “You’d think a prince would have better manners.”

“And you’d think a witchboy would have the guts to fight his own battles,” Artemis snarled as tent tent blazed higher. “Get down here and fight!”

“I don’t think that’s--“ Roy began dubiously.

“--if you insist,” Klarion cooed, cutting him off.

And he rushed forward, shadowy arms elongating and arcing towards Artemis. The archer vaulted backwards and out of the way but landed dangerously close to Teekl, who immediately lashed out with one razor-clawed paw. Swiftly, Roy flicked a small knife from his bracer; the blade caught the creature on the shoulder and sent it reeling back with an annoyed yowl.

“You’re welcome,” Roy muttered as the beast turned its attention to him, tail swishing.

Kaldur, meanwhile, had rushed to engage Klarion and defend Artemis, but his mind was racing: this had not been the plan. They needed information from Klarion--how was he controlling the soldiers, and to what end?--but clearly they had lost the element of surprise and the bargaining position it was supposed to have brought them. As he brought one blade cleaving through the air towards Klarion, only to have it slice through his form like it was smoke, he wracked his brain for a way to return the advantage to them.

“Not so confident without an army at your back, are you, Prince of Raya?” Klarion teased. As he spoke, his hands twisted, opening up what seemed to be a hole in the very air, a little pocket of true darkness that grew into a pulsing sphere suspended at his fingertips. “Not sure what to do without Daddy giving you orders?”

Flicking his hand, he send the darkness streaking towards Kaldur like a ribbon. Unsure of the nature of the threat but too close to dodge effectively, Kaldur threw up his swords to attempt to parry and was knocked forcibly backwards, struggling to keep his balance.

“Kaldur!” Artemis shouted, letting fly another arrow. She knew she had no chance of hitting the sorcerer, but it served well enough to distract him from the prince. “Are you alright?”

Kaldur managed a nod, slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, and shifted to face their cackling opponent as he circled around them, cornering the three warriors up against the burning tent.

From the shadows near the cliff’s base, Conner gripped the pommel of his sword, eyes darting around the campsite as he tried to find the best angle of attack. The Fiend he couldn’t care less about, but the only two people he has ever been able to call friend were in peril, and he wasn’t the type to stand by and watch.

When seconds ticked past without an opening. Conner growled in frustration, preparing to charge in. Hopefully at the very least, the surprise would give him an advantage.

He had leapt half to his feet when a strange force, invisible to his eye, pulled him back down.

“We need a plan,” M’gann whispered, eyes flicking across the fray as she lowered her hand.

“Right,” Conner muttered, fingers tight around his pommel as he crouched beside her. “Arrows don’t hurt him, so my sword’s useless.”

He grit his teeth in frustration. It wasn’t often he felt helpless--he’d always been stronger and faster than most of his opponents. Facing a man--a creature--that was apparently impossible to actually hit was an unpleasant prospect.

“Every magic user has some sort of vulnerability,” M’gann reassured, worrying her lip as she watched her new found friends frantically dip and dive to avoid Klarion’s shadowy blows. “We just need to figure out what his is.”

“Well, figure it faster,” Conner snapped, before he seemed to recall whom he was speaking to, and softened his voice. “Please.”

Klarion was at an obvious advantage--whatever Conner thought of the petty, childish diplomat he pretended at (which wasn’t much), he was powerful and, worse, mysterious. The man was like the shadows that fought for him, twisting, formless, and dangerous.

Blinking in realization, Conner turned to M’gann, an idea sparking in his mind. “Do you know a spell to make light?”

“No,” said M’gann. “But we may not need one. Look --”

She lifted a hand and pointed. At the edge of the fray, Klarion’s tent was beginning to burn its last, the flames licking at the skeleton of the posts. Conner furrowed his brow as his eyes followed her gesture, then suddenly his eyes widened.

“I got it,” he said. “Stay here.”

Wresting a sealed flask from his belt -- oil, to keep his sword clean and well-tended -- he pulled the cork out with his teeth, then poured the whole of the flask over his blade, running a hand over it quickly and carefully to spread the stuff out. Then, casting a glance up to orient himself, he rose to his feet, let out a bellow of challenge, and went running into the fray.

Artemis glanced over at that familiar sound, firing off another arrow into Klarion’s dark shape -- one of her last, she noticed grimly. For a moment, her heart lifted; the moment Conner joined a fight was usually the moment the tide turned in their favor. But to her chagrin, the knight charged right past them, bypassing the fray altogether.

“Are you crazy?!” she shouted, jumping backwards just in time to avoid a swipe of Teekl’s thick, menacing tail.

“Yes!” Conner shouted back. “Just crazy enough!”

And before Kaldur could open his mouth to yell out caution or advice, as he usually would, suddenly Conner came charging back, his massive blade wreathed in flames -- he’d set the whole thing alight using the tent fire. Hefting the blade up, he swung it in a powerful arc towards Klarion’s shadowy form. As before, the sorcerer began to twist away, but a pained shriek announced that he hadn’t done it quite fast enough, and the tendrils of flame seemed to eat into his shape, making its edges momentarily ragged.

“Use light!” Conner shouted to his allies. “Fight him with the fire!”

Gritting his teeth, Kaldur spun on his heel to face the still burning tent behind him. Heat had never been a friend of his--standing even this close was enough to make him feel light headed and dizzy. Nonetheless, he stumbled towards the tent, hacking at a section of flaming canvas to free it. He had almost managed to cut the section free when a sudden, nauseating wave of white-hot pain swept through his left arm, sending him crashing to his knees.

As he fell, Kaldur heard a triumphant yowl from the direction of Klarion’s beast. Realizing that it had spotted his moment of weakness and was doubtlessly coming in for the kill, he struggled to lift his swords in defense. It was as though the heat of the flames had drained the strength from his muscles, reducing his limbs to useless deadweight.

Another yowl, and Kaldur could smell the reek of the beast, all rotten meat and sulfur, as it leapt towards him. Before it could rend his flesh, however, he felt himself being shoved bodily aside, tumbling a few vital feet away from the fire.

“Get up, idiot!” Artemis screamed, parrying Teekl away with the short dagger she kept at her side. “Dammit, Kaldur! Get up!”

Teekl snapped its jaws close to Artemis’s face, bathing her in the stench of fetid flesh and brimstone. Furious, she kicked at its belly, hard leather boot digging into its muscled side. The beast yowled, dancing away as Conner rushed to his friend’s aid, sparks flying off his flaming sword. Ducking nimbly under the blade, Teekl leapt for Artemis once more, spittle flying from its gaping mouth.

Artemis attempted to dodge aside, stumbling when one of Klarion’s shadows grasped her ankle. Bracing for the impact of teeth, she was surprised when instead the beast howled in fury, reeling back from her.

Scrambling away on her hands, feet kicking, Artemis looked up to see an arrow, red fletching highlighted by the firelight, protruding from Teekl’s chest. Black, hissing blood bubbled from the wound, soaking its tawny fur.

The beast yowled, shaking itself furiously, as if trying to dislodge the arrow. Across the fire Klarion screamed, face twisting as he collapsed to his knees.

“Damn you, archer!” he howled, and it took a moment for Artemis to realize he was not addressing her, but rather the Fiend, who stood with bow drawn just beyond the blazing tent, having used the glare of its light to mask his movement from Klarion and his familiar. “I'll have your life, you worm!”

Struggling to his feet and coughing, Kaldur retrieved his swords and took a step towards Artemis.

“Klarion,” he rasped as he helped his ally to her feet, each looking the other over to assess their respective damages. “You will tell us where you’ve sent my troops.”

Lifting his sword, Kaldur advanced on the sorcerer, who was still on his knees, his labored breaths wracking his frame.

A sharp snarl at his back made him glance back towards Teekl, who was shrinking away from Conner-- the knight had hefted his blade, preparing for a deadly blow.

“Stupid boy,” Klarion spat, glaring spitefully up at the advancing Rayan prince. “I’ve sent them home. They’ll reach your border within a week. ”

“The invasion,” whispered Artemis. Kaldur turned to look at her, and found that her face was dead white.

“You better start making sense,” Conner growled. “What do you mean, home?”

“We have to get back,” said Artemis, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Roy stepped forward, another arrow notched. He drew back, aiming directly for Teekl’s throat.

“He’s invading Raya,” he said to Kaldur, gaze fixed on the beast. “You’ve been betrayed even worse than you thought.”

Kaldur tensed, stepping closer to Klarion, swords raised.

“My father won’t allow the kingdom to fall.”

Klarion lurched forward, falling to his hands. Face tilted downward, he hunched over in the weakening light of the fire. His body began to shake, his arms trembling.

Kaldur edged slightly closer, wary but with a vague sense of victory -- a sense that dispelled, like smoke on the wind, when he realized that the sorcerer was not trembling from fear, or from pain. The monster was laughing.

“You fool,” Klarion chuckled, head snapping up so his crazed, eerily glowing eyes could stare directly into Kaldur’s own. “How will your daddy save your kingdom,” he said sweetly, voice dripping with saccharine pity, “When there’s no one there to save him ?”

And suddenly, the shadows around them rushed towards him, piling into an ever-darker pool around the sorcerer’s kneeling form. At the same time, Teekl let out one more savage snarl and lunged in the same direction. Conner shouted and took a swing, but only succeeded in clipping the beast’s tail.

“Get back,” Roy barked, just as Kaldur did the exact opposite, throwing his full weight behind a lunge toward the sorcerer. But before the blow could land, Teekl’s form collided with Klarion’s, the darkness turned absolute, and man and beast disappeared into it, leaving the prince swinging at nothing.

With a cry of frustration, Kaldur drove one blade into the ground, leaving it standing in the soil as he straightened out and looked to the others, his breath labored.

“Are you alright?” he asked, directing his question at Artemis, whose face was pale in the dying light of the fire.

Artemis nodded wordlessly, swallowing as she stared at the place where Klarion had disappeared. The spot was now a blackened patch of grass, glowing an eerie red at the edges.

“We need to leave, quickly,” said a new voice, accompanied by the sound of hoofsteps -- M’gann emerged from the shadows on the back of one horse, holding the reins of another two. Their tack signaled Savage Land allegiance; clearly she’d stolen them from further back in the camp. “Klarion may be gone, but his magic isn’t.”

“What do you mean?” asked Kaldur, retrieving his blade from the ground.

“Trust me, I can feel it,” said M’gann, her voice more urgent. “We don’t have time for specifics -- saddle up and let’s get out of here.”

“I trust her,” said Artemis, regaining her voice. Conner had already moved to obey, wiping his smoldering sword on the grass and climbing up behind M’gann. After a split second’s hesitation, Roy and Kaldur followed suit.

“Who’s it going to be, me or your fiancée?” Roy asked pointedly as Artemis saddled up, leaving only one horse riderless. “We can all agree it’s a bad idea for me and her to ride together.”

Kaldur moved towards Artemis’ steed without a word, only to have the archer reach out to grasp his arm.

“Be careful,” said Roy, his voice so low only Kaldur could hear it. “This is bigger than you think, and she knows something.”

“Now!” M’gann urged, spurring her horse into a trot.

Pulling away from Roy with a dismissive grunt, Kaldur hurried to mount up in front of Artemis, who was giving them a questioning look.

“What was that about?” Artemis asked as she urged their horse forward, after M’gann and Conner.

“We ride south!” Kaldur shouted to the group as he cracked the reins. He did not respond to Artemis’ question, nor could he fail to notice the odd tension  in her voice when she’d asked it. “To Raya!”

As they rode into the night, Kaldur didn’t look back to see if Roy was following, or to see if Artemis’ face was still as pale as it had been when Klarion had spoken of his plan.

If he had, he might have seen black flames slowly engulf Klarion’s camp as they fled, splintering the tents and the guards’ bodies into dark wisps on the midnight wind.

[juliushevu444-blog]

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