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iloveboysinred · 1 month

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Closer to you [firelord Zuko]

Mdni 18+ | Firelord Zuko x fem! Reader smut

synopsis; -could be read as a prequel to Under the Canopy , you and Zuko have finally wed months after his coronation, you take a vacation to a beach home, where the two of you finally consummate your marriage and take the time to learn each other’s bodies

Cw- Oral, (f and m recieving), mentions of heirs, you and zuko don’t have sex until marriage, reader masturbates while Zuko is asleep, rough sex at the end, pain with virginity loss, virginity loss for both, outdoor sex, sappy fluff, reader and Zuko are both in their 20’s minimal editing bc i’m sure a small amount of ppl will read this i tried to include banners for the time skips but they weren’t cooperating soooo sorry for the spaces😭

5.5k words

Masterlist

“Esteemed guests and loyal citizens of the fire nation, we gather here today to witness the momentous occasion of Firelord Zuko and lady Y/n’s union.”

You let out a nervous breath, gripping the bouquet of red lilies to ease your nerves. This was it, your wedding day. You felt lightweight, your heart fluttering in your chest as the Head Fire sage continued his greeting. You glanced over at Zuko, who looked regal as ever, his hair neatly pulled back in a top knot with not a single hair out of place. He was wearing elegant robes to match yours, and his crown sat neatly against his bun, soon to be identical to your very own, sitting on a cushion right behind the Fire Sage.

Zuko caught your glance, his lips curling into a sweet smile and making your heart soar.

“We honor the union between Firelord and Firelady as they say their vows and become one in leadership.” Your full attention was now fully on the sage, ready to say your vows and complete the ceremony to take your place as Firelady, as well as your place as Zuko’s wife.

“Do you, Lady Y/n, promise your heart and loyalty to both the fire nation and firelord as Firelady and sovereign ruler of this nation?” Your mouth suddenly felt dry, your stomach turning as you realized that what you would say next would change the trajectory of your life. You would now devote your life to being a partner, a ruler, a wife. There was no backing out, no running away from the pressures of your new life and the responsibilities that came with it.

Knowing the weight of your next words, you spoke them with confidence, all doubts dissolving in your mind.

“I do.”

******

The celebration was grandiose. The large ballroom of the palace is alive with music and chatter between the guests. Banners of deep reds and gold decorate the space. Large tapestries of the fire nation insignia drape down from the walls, basking the room in warm colors, the extravagant chandeliers hanging from the ceiling tying it all together.

You sat next to Zuko on your thrones, the slew of gifts and offerings from your guests neatly set out in front of the both of you on a table for all to see and bring more as they please.

“I don’t think I've had the chance to tell you today,” Zuko’s voice cuts through the fray, drawing your attention back to him. Not that it wandered very far in the first place. You raised your eyebrows, prompting him to continue. “But you look so beautiful, esteemed Firelady of the Fire nation.” there was a hint of teasing to his tone, the honorifics sounding so unnatural coming from his lips. “Why thank you, Mr.Firelord” you playfully quipped, he snorted leaning forward to rest his forehead on yours. “I also don't think I've told you that I love you today” he murmured, ghosting his lips over yours. & you felt as if you'd swallowed a spoonful of honey, your unspoken words of affection settling a warm pool in your chest. “So tell me, your highness” you whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips basking in the radiant smile that graced his face. “I love you.” and his words were all you could hear. In the midst of the grandeur it suddenly was just you and him. Heart to heart.

Just as you were going to respond, Kitara and Aang came up to you, bright smiles on their faces as they voiced their congratulations and well wishes. You couldn't help but eye the betrothal necklace around her neck, so similar to the one passed down to her by her mother, but uniquely crafted to represent her and Aang’s love. You ghosted your fingers over your wedding ring; a beautiful red jewel held in silver, the center piece in the shape of a lotus flower. You smiled, things had really changed since you’d last seen them.

“Really? That's amazing, congratulations you two” your train of thought was interrupted and you quickly tried to pick back up on the conversation. “Thank you, Zuko. We’ll hope to see you two at the presenting ceremony” Aang smiled, placing his hand over Kitara’s stomach. And you beamed, looking at Zuko with an excited look on your face. “Kitara? You’re expecting? What wonderful news! We wouldn’t miss it for the world, don’t worry!” You gasped, reaching out to tenderly place your hand over her still flat stomach. You felt a wave of emotion wash over you, this was someone you’d basically grown with. You had seen it all together and now— oh. The sudden thought struck you and you glanced over at Zuko, who had turned a few shades too red when he caught your eye, seemingly knowing what you were thinking.

As Firelady it was your duty to both serve your nation and your husband as a dutiful wife and leader. Part of that duty was to provide an Heir. An heir. the thought sat heavy and unspoken between the two of you. Sitting back up to keep yourself composed, you exchanged a few more words of congratulations with Aang and Kitara before they headed back to mingle with the rest of the party.

“And now, the first dance for the newlyweds. Please clear the ballroom!”

Zuko stood from his seat, your train of thought having little time to continue running rampant in your mind before he turned to you and extended his hand out for you to take. “May I have this dance, lady y/n?” He mused and you rolled your eyes at him, a soft smile adorning your face. “Don’t be cheesy, baby” you giggled, your cheeks burning as he led you to the center of the ballroom.

The crowd dispersed to give you your space, the spotlight now on you and your husband. The lights were dimmed and the band began to play slow, sentimental music as you and Zuko swayed together wrapped in each other’s arms. His eyes glistened with emotion as he stared into your gaze his irises warm pools of melted honey, filled to the brim with affection and love for you. Despite the people in the room, the gazes you and Zuko exchanged were private. Unspoken words and emotions translated into touch—his hand snug on your waist and your arms tight around his shoulders. He held you closer, your body flush against his. The warmth of his body seeped into you through your dress, the natural scent of cinnamon and citrus you had come to know as his comforted you as it took over your senses. Tenderly, you leaned your cheek on his chest, closing your eyes and losing yourself in him

It was only when the music stopped that you came back to reality. Parting from Zuko’s embrace to envelop his lips in yours, the crowd cheered and swooned at your unabashed display of love. He held onto you proudly in front of the crowd, adjusting the newly acquired crown on your head as you pulled away from him. There was no question that you were his and that he was yours, and the entirety of the world knew it.

As the night went on, you and Zuko prepared for your short voyage to the beach house he had specifically built for you as a token of his affections. It was meant to be a two week stay in which you and Zuko would be mostly alone, enjoying the last few moments of freedom together before you’d be just as wrapped up in political meetings and paperwork as he was. While you packed, you couldn't help but let your mind drift back to thoughts of the future. How many children would you have? When would you have them? Were you even ready? You tried to shake them off but they plagued your mind, a blush warming your cheeks when you’d thought about how exactly you’d reach that goal. You shivered, imagining exactly how it would feel to be at your husband’s mercy. Vulnerable and open for his taking. It sent a strong surge of heat through your body, and you squeezed your knees together to force it away. You briefly wondered if Zuko was thinking the same way you were.

The trip went by quickly, and you soon found yourself in the grand hall of the very sizable beach home Zuko had designed. It was open; large floor to ceiling windows allowed vast amounts of sunlight to bathe the space, a stark contrast to the comforting darkness of the palace. The walls were painted beige and the home had sandy brown hardwood flooring. Multiple portraits for your families adorned the halls, the newly completed tapestry of you and Zuko was the center-piece, taking up an entire wall all on its own. You sat at one of the windows, soaking in the view of the beach in front of you. It was serene, the ocean stretched on forever, beautiful blue shining with the sun tucked over the horizon. The warm breeze gently blowing through your hair brought with it the calming scents of the ocean and you sighed, relaxing into the beach chair you had brought with you.

Zuko was in the kitchen trying his best to replicate the simple recipes Iroh had attempted to instill in him when he was just a boy. He cut the vegetables and trusted his hand when adding the spices. The stew he had begun to simmer on the stove emitted a pleasant aroma, and he considered it a success. He covered the pot, putting the fire out and instead replacing it with a weaker flame he had cast with his finger. Leaving the stew on low heat, he decided he would seek you out. Walking out he found you blissed out and relaxed by the opening of the hall. He smiled to himself, padding up to sit beside you in the unoccupied chair. He reached over and grabbed your smaller hand in his, squeezing it to wake you out of your sleep.

*****

“Woah, this is really good, honey!” You hummed in delight as you took another spoonful of the stew Zuko had prepared. You both sat at the table, set right by a large window where you could see a single palm tree overlooking the sandy floor of the beach. The tree swayed in the wind, heavy with coconuts and shading a significant amount of space. A perfect lounge spot for after your meal, you thought. “Yeah, it's pretty alright. Uncle taught me this recipe when we were in Ba Sing Se” a smile quirked at his lips, fondness in his eyes as he remembered his uncle. “He only made it for me once, but he made sure to write down all his recipes…I guess it came in handy.” You nodded, reaching over to briefly squeeze his hand in comfort before hungrily returning to your bowl. Zuko chuckled as you scarfed the stew down, shaking his head as he brought another spoonful to his lips.

*****

Night had fallen by the time you and Zuko had finished unpacking and settling in. You sat outside on the beach floor, on a large towel protecting you from the grainy sand beneath you. The moon reflected beautifully in the dark water, the gentle sound of waves crashing onto shore making you feel a sense of calm. Zuko sat next to you, wearing nothing but a beach towel around his waist and a pair of shorts. He distractedly stared up at the night, hundreds of stars gleaming against the sky. You leaned closer to him as the chilly breeze blew over your bare shoulders, the bikini top you wore doing absolutely nothing to shield you from the cold. Zuko pressed a warm kiss to the crown of your head, wrapping his arm around you. “Cold?” He murmured, nosing into your hair. “A little- but I think I'll be okay.” He hummed, reaching down to undo the knot holding his beach towel together. Your eyes widened slightly and you blushed, holding your breath as he pulled it away, his bare thighs now in full view. You shyly looked away as he wrapped the towel over your shoulders, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek.

Zuko was always affectionate with you, so you almost paid it no mind when his hand rubbed up and down your hip, or when his warm lips grazed the skin of your throat, his hair tickling your neck as he pressed wet kisses down your skin. His touch was careful, almost hesitant as his kisses crept lower and lower down your chest. You jerked as his hand came up to trace over the fabric of your bikini top, the pad of his thumb briefly brushing against your clothed nipple. He halted at your reaction, pulling away with an apologetic look on his face. “Was that too much? I’m sorry-“ you shook your head, your hand coming up to cradle his face.

Your stomach fluttered when his eyes met yours, the blush on his face a dead giveaway of his anxiety. “I actually..liked it” you offered a reassuring smile, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to his lips. Zuko pressed back into you, his hand coming up to tangle with yours, still cradling his cheek. His other arm found its home on your waist, pulling you closer and leaving you breathless as he deepened the kiss your exposed skin meeting his bare chest sending a shiver up your spine. He slowly lowered you on the towel, his hands leaving you to lift your thighs over his. He pulled away from you panting, his heart lurching in his chest as he looked at you beneath him, your face flushed and your lips kiss-swollen.

His eyes flitted down your body, stopping at the loosely tied knots of your bikini. He gazed back up at you, his eyes glinting with something unfamiliar. Slowly, he dragged his hands down your sides, your breath baited as his hands trailed down your waist, his eyes locked on yours. You felt pinned down by his gaze, too drawn in to even think about moving. Finally, he stopped at the knots tying your bikini together, teasing them with the tips of his fingers, slipping them in and out from under the straps.

It felt like the desire in his eyes would consume you, and you spread your thighs wider to welcome him in.

“I wanna taste you, baby.” He breathed, quiet words for only you to hear. You slowly nodded your head, the desire burning in your core rendering you defenseless against the temptation of having your husband between your thighs— hungry for your intimacy.

He was swift, pulling the strings and undoing the knots. He held his breath, pulling the cloth off with nimbility. The cool air blew over your dampening folds, making your legs quiver with the urge to close. He sighed in relief, as if your pussy was the solution to all his problems, and maybe it was; because Zuko pressed his lips to your pussy, breathing you in and moaning at the taste. You gasped, covering your face in abashment as he experimentally flattened his tongue against you, trying to catch every little drop of your essence on his tongue. For the first few minutes it was just that– Zuko experimenting, finding his rhythm and poking and prodding with his tongue, your pretty sounds of pleasure guiding him.

It was only when his tongue passed your clit over in a swipe that you arched into his mouth, gasping as your hands came down to tangle in his hair, pushing him further in between your legs that he got the idea on how to pleasure you further.

And he wasted no time abusing this newfound discovery.

He closed his eyes, wrapping his glistening lips around the delicate bud and sucking on it, his tongue a tight squeeze around the suction as the tip flicked and swiped over the surface. You felt like you were floating, waves of pleasure coursing through your body in alternating intensity. You laid there, your mouth open in a soundless moan as his fingers found your entrance, teasing over the delicate opening before sliding in with ease, the mix of spit and your arousal making it easy. It didn’t take too long for you to come undone at his hands, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to build you up. The high was exhilarating, your toes curling as his fingers continued to move against your plush walls, your pussy twitching and spasming around his fingers and tongue. You pulled him off with shaking hands, his lips and chin glistening with the creamy residue of your orgasm. He was panting when his lips found yours again, pressing you hard into the towel as his weight overtook you. You kissed him back, clinging onto his shoulders as the breath was pulled from your lungs.

Carefully, he pulled away from you looking at you in complete adoration. His dark hair was disheveled and frizzy, but he could care less as he brought you to his chest, his arms secured around your waist. “That was…” “amazing.” you finished his sentence, looking up at him in earnest. He smiled, nodding his head in agreement. “Yes. amazing,” he ran his fingers through your hair lovingly, “better than i’ve ever imagined.”

******

The next few days went by in a blur. You and Zuko had opted to start exploring the island, going to local markets and indulging in the culture the small village had cultivated. They welcomed you both kindly, offering all kinds of commodities and gifts to the newlywed leaders of the fire nation. In a way, you felt at home. The beach home had become a safe haven, the two of you retreating to its safety whenever the day had been fulfilling. You sat in the kitchen as he cooked, staring a little too hard at the rippling muscles on his back. You shifted in your seat, briefly remembering the way he had so carelessly taken his fill of you on the beach just nights prior. A wave of heat overcame you and you felt your clit pulse in exhilaration. He turned towards you, setting your plate on the counter and sitting himself next to you. Humming, you brought a spoonful of the rice and pork he had prepared, moaning in delight as the flavor bathed your taste buds.”If I knew you could cook like this, I'd give the palace cooks a lot more days off.” you joked, bringing another spoonful of the food to your mouth, chewing happily. “You never asked,” he smiled as he watched you eat, taking a sip of his water. “I'd cook you anything you want.” you nodded in appreciation “i’ll keep that in mind.”

Finished with the meal the two of you washed the dishes together, chatting and joking around. Your arms were covered to the elbow in suds, and you playfully flung some him his way, giggling at the stricken look on his face. “Oh you think you’re funny,” he grabbed a large mass of the suds, smearing it over your hair. “Hey!” quickly a fight ensued, suds and water flying back and forth throughout the kitchen. Moments later, you laid on the floor with your wet shirt stuck to your chest. Zuko sat next to you in a criss-cross, wiping the soap water off his forearms. He gently began to pat the remaining suds off your hair. Sighing, you closed your eyes as he began to thread his fingers through your damp locks, pressing warm kisses to your face every now and again. It was dark outside, and the beach house was dimly lit with the flames of the wall lamps, creating a calming atmosphere. You almost wanted to doze off right there. “Had enough?” he playfully poked your side, earning a gentle swat at his hands. “Mmh, more than enough. M’tired.” he chuckled, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. “Tired, huh? That's new.” his face crept to yours leaving a sweet kiss lingering on your wet cheek. “Let’s head to the shower and then we can sleep all you want.”

But sleep didn’t come easy. Your mind kept replaying the events from a few nights ago over and over in your head while Zuko slept peacefully next to you, pressed against your side. Staring up at the ceiling, you tried to ignore the aching in your pussy, your body and mind betraying you, the dampening of your panties impossible to ignore. Your heart sped up as your mind replayed the obscene memories of your husband between your legs, lapping up your arousal and deliciously bringing you to your climax. Sighing, your hand crept down to your panties, hesitantly teasing at the silky band. Glancing over at Zuko, you faltered. Your husband was a fairly deep sleeper, one quick little swipe wouldn’t wake him up, right? You pushed the hesitation away, slipping your hand past the band and parting your pussy lips with the tip of your fingers. You sighed as your clit brushed against the pad of your finger, sensitive and pulsing.

You tested the waters, rubbing your nub from side to side, biting your finger to muffle the small gasps of delight leaving your lips. The rhythm you had started soon became dull and you pressed harder, now rolling circles into your clit trying to mimic the sensation Zuko’s tongue had provided. Soon you had built a pattern of alternating between small, tight circles over your clit to quick, heavy swipes over the surface. It was intoxicating, the waves of pleasure rolling over you, and subsequently it became harder to keep your whines at bay. Zuko shifted beside you and you flinched, looking to see if he was still asleep. His breathing stayed even, and he didn’t move again so you resumed, sneaking your hand a little lower to tentatively sink a finger in, slightly leaning forward to sink it in further up to your first knuckle, gasping as you felt the warm, wet suction of your walls. Lost in the haze, you almost jumped out of bed when you felt your husband’s warm hand cup over your pussy, his face coming up to lay over your collarbone. “Hmm, I thought you were tired.” he rasped, his sleep laden voice making your pussy clench around your fingers in response, warmth pooling in your core. “I-i’m sorr-” he cut you off, pressing his lips against your own, swallowing your apology. “Don’t be.” he murmured, his hand easing yours away from your pussy and replacing your fingers with his own. “You could’ve just asked..” you leaned back, spreading your legs wider to give him more room. “Didn’t wanna..wake you.” you sighed in pleasure, Zuko’s fingers filling you up nicely, his pace moderate as he pumped them in and out of you, muffled squelching from your arousal sounding from under the covers. “If this is what I'm waking up to, I wouldn't mind.” he slowly lifted the covers up from your bodies, discarding them behind him on the bed. You moaned, feeling his lips trail hot kisses down your body.

He stopped his trail right at your navel, shifting so that he could situate himself in between your legs. “What a mess..” he sighed, eagerly pressing his mouth to your soping wet pussy, lapping up anything he could. “Pussy so sweet, I don't think I'll ever be satisfied.” your face burned as he buried himself into you, his nose bumping up against your clit as he shoved his tongue inside of you, pushing it in as far as he could go. “Don’t say stuff like that..” you whined, your legs quivering as he pulled away to suckle on your clit. He said nothing, too preoccupied with slipping his fingers into you, groaning into your cunt as your taste bathed his tongue. His eyes were closed in half-awake bliss, and you briefly felt bad for waking him up so late. Looking down at him, you noticed his hips jolting into the bed, his muffled groans only increasing in volume the faster he went. It was clear that he needed relief too.

You tapped his shoulder, waking him from his entrancement and pulling him up towards you. He sat up, confusion in his sleepy gaze. “I..i want you to feel good too, Zuko” you pointed at his crotch, the hard outline of his dick bold in the fabric of his boxers. “You don’t have to baby, I'm fine with just taking care of you,” you shook your head, running your fingers over the bulge, smiling when you felt him shiver under your touch. “I want to.” he nodded, helping you ease off his boxers, your mind reeling as his dick hung heavy between his legs, thick and glistening with pre. “How am I going to do this?” you thought, reaching forward to wrap your hand around his girth, sliding it up and down his length, feeling slightly confident as his breathless moans filled your ears. “Faster baby, please” he gasped, your speed increasing as you stroked him, thumbing over his tip and smearing his precum over it. His hips lightly bucked into your hand, his eyes closing in bliss. Feeling bold, you laid down on your stomach, grazing your lips over the head of his dick. He jolted, his hands coming to rest over your cheeks. “Baby..” you shushed him, looking up into his eyes through your lashes. “Just let me do this. Let me try” and slowly, he dropped his hands from your face, instead resting them on your shoulders as you slipped the tip into your mouth.

Zuko winced, watching as you tried to take him in fully, tears pricking your eyes as his cockhead brushed against the back of your throat. “Just breathe baby..take it easy” you nodded as best you could, breathing through your nose as you tried to swallow him further. It was too much, the thick girth of his dick making you gag and sputter around him. You pulled away heaving for air, a thin line of spit connecting you to his tip. He comfortingly caressed your cheek, brushing your hair away from your face. “You okay?” He rasped, wiping the spit from your bottom lip. You nodded, taking a deep breath before you were on him again, this time holding your breath as your took him whole, forcing his length down your throat for a few heartbeats before pulling upwards, bobbing your head in steady rhythm.

Zuko moaned, your warm mouth sending hot waves of pleasure up his spine and throughout his body. His hands came down to squeeze and knead his balls as you continued sucking him off. You made a mental note to do that for next time, seeing as with every gentle squeeze his dick twitched in your mouth, his legs quivering with every bob of your head. It didn’t take much more for him to pull you off of him, thick spurts of cum oozing out from his aching tip. He panted, eyes laden with sleep and lust as he pulled you towards him, locking lips with yours in a heated kiss. Zuko eased you back into the pillows, his lips hungrily pressed against yours, his tongue tracing over your bottom lip and sucking your tongue into his mouth. His hands wandered over your body, committing every curve and dip to memory, feeling the heat of your arousal against his body. Easing himself between your legs, you tensed feeling the weight of his dick slap over your fluttering pussy. He pulled away, sensing your apprehension. “You okay?” He grabbed your chin, meeting your eyes to his. “We can stop-“ you shook your head “no..i don't want to stop. Just, be gentle, okay?” He leaned down and kissed you again. “Of course I will. We can take all the time you need.”

Pain. Hot, searing pain is all you could feel. Despite ample prep from Zuko’s fingers and tongue, it did little to fully dull the ache that came with the stretch of his length. He was a little more than half way in now, your knuckles white as you gripped his arm for comfort. He pressed warm kisses to your face, your legs hoisted up to his shoulders. It was hard for you to breathe, the air feeling like its completely left your lungs. Was it supposed to hurt this bad? You didnt know, your eyes glossy with tears as your slowly tried to relax your body. “Baby, breathe” Zuko whispered, his lips warm against the skin of your neck. You nodded, trying to take deep breaths and try to focus on something other than his dick splitting you in half. “Just relax okay? You’re doing so good f’me.” His hand came down to rub over your hip, creeping down to lightly trace over your puffy clit, rubbing slow circles into the bud. You squeezed your eyes shut, wrapping your arms iver his shoulders. “Okay, i’m ready..” You whispered, readying yourself. He pressed one last reassuring kiss to your throat before he slowly pushed the rest of himself inside of you, interlacing one of his hands with yours as you winced in pain. The other one still rubbing light circles over your clit.

Seconds dragged on what felt like hours, your hips shifting as the ache slowly began to subside, you suddenly became aware of just how full you were. His dick molded into the plush walls of your tight pussy, your walls fluttering and clenching around him. It was almost overwhelming, having him stretch you out to accommodate everything he had to offer. Zuko slowly moved his hips back and forward, keeping his pace light. His eyes squeezed shut, curses falling from his lips as he relished in the pleasurable grip your pussy had on him.

You closed your eyes, feeling the ache fade away into pleasure. Your nails dug into his back, your back arching into his body. “Fuck” he huffed, his eyes half lidded as he rocked into you, the headboard creaking with every thrust of his hips. The sound of your skin slapping filled the room, the obscene squelching of your wet pussy making you bashful, closing your eyes tight as your face came alight with a rosy blush. Zuko’s eyes drank in the view of your body sprawled out for him, your neck littered in red marks and your lips kiss swollen and puffy. There wasn't a move you could make that escaped his fixation with you, his hands wandering all over your body, kneading the flesh of your ass and thighs roughly. “This pussy was made for me, baby” he grunted, his hand coming down to rub rough circles over your clit. “Z-zuko!” You gasped your toes curling from the flashes of white, hot pleasure shooting up and down your spine. “Spirits- you’re squeezing me so tight baby, fuck” he hissed burrying himself in all the way to the hilt. Your eyes rolled back, the stimulation on your clit and Zuko’s dick beating your insides was all too much. You came hard, harder than you ever could with just your fingers. Your walls clamped down, squeezing him tight as your ecstasy washed over you in violent torrents of mind numbing pleasure…

*******

The remaining days of your vacation you spent in bed. Zuko became insatiable, taking you anywhere and everywhere. And, fortunately for you— it didn’t stop at the beach house.

Back at the palace, when you weren’t wrapped up in meetings you were underneath him, taking his dick anyway he wanted to give it to you. He had learned your body inside out, absuing those spots he knew would drive you insane and eating you out like you were his last meal.

He found that his favorite way to start his day was between your thighs, eating your pussy until you were a shaking mess above him. When you expressed how you wished the mornings with him would last forever, he had a canopy with thick, maroon curtains installed in your bedroom to block out the light and disturbances of the morning. Of course, weeks into marital bliss the subject of Heirs was brought on by his royal advisors. “Not a problem” Zuko stated, squeezing your hand on the armrest of the throne. “We’ll provide an heir in due time.”

*******

“Z-zuko! Slow down!” You moaned, folded almost in half, Zuko thrusting into you, making sure to give you his all. He snickered, leaning down to press a wet kiss to your lips. “We have a duty to uphold” he grunted, sloppily slotting his hot tongue over the seam of your lips, fucking into you with vigor you’ve never felt before. The pleasure was blinding, his cockhead hitting every crevice inside of you, absuing your g-spot with sweet percison. “They want heirs? We’ll give them a fucking million of them.” And by the look in his blown pupils, you could tell he was serious. “Zuko ah! Ah!” You gasped, feeling as though the air was being punched out of your lungs with every smack of his pelvis against your ass. His hand crept down to rub rough circles over your clit, and your head fell back in a silent scream.

“Shh baby, let me take care of you, okay? It’s just us”

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the-whispers-of-death · 6 months

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While it is gender-neutral, Reader has shoulder-length hair to symbolize that their kingdom is in a time of peace. Reader also is described as wearing clothes that flow beneath them as they dance, could be a dress or ceremonial robes up to you. Just wanted to write Knight!Price watching you dance and gushing internally over how breathtaking you look. Added some more lore to this AU. Part One, Part Two

It was a holy day for all of Orithia, it being the day your people celebrated your God of Life, Wixia, creating the kingdom. It was why the capital city was named Wixia, after the god, because he created the city first before creating the rest of the kingdom. Thus, your ancestors celebrated the day with a festival, The Festival of Creation, with Wixia being the city with the best festival in all of Orithia.

John was watching you dance with your subjects in the city square, all in a circle as hired musicians played various instruments and sang, songs of old hymns to the god Wixia filling the air. Everyone was having immense fun, but he could only look at you.

Your clothes were flowing beneath you as you danced and twirled, bright purple colors in your clothes, which represented that you were the Sovereign, were accentuated as the ends swirled as they flowed. Your smile was bright and your shoulder-length hair was braided in a style native to the Orithian culture. Even though your dance was energetic and lacking any true beat, you looked...ethereal.

He knew it made you uncomfortable when your other subjects tried to say you were like a deity that became mortal to grace the people of Orithia with your divine presence, but he couldn't help thinking of you as a deity. Every second he was near you felt like a blessing. He felt like he should be kissing your feet and erecting altars all over the kingdom so everyone could worship you.

John laughed heartily as he heard you whoop in exhilaration and he clapped on beat with the music, joining everyone who wasn't dancing in adding a layer of sound to the music by clapping along to the songs.

The atmosphere surrounding the festival felt electric as you and several others danced together, barefoot against the cobblestones of the city square to dance the best. The stars and moon in the night sky were your audience as you all twirled around, often linking arms together to spin each other around. No one paid attention to how hot it was, especially with the only light being from the huge fire in the middle of the city square.

"Sir John, come join us," you called out to him, smiling up at him as you continued to dance. You beckoned him to come into the circle where everyone was dancing.

He felt like he couldn't say no to you and he didn't really want to. Your joy was infectious and he wanted to be one of those whom you linked arms with as you danced.

John joined the circle of dancing, getting closer to you. His ceremonial cape that was held in place by his armor flowed behind him as he danced and twirled.

With you starting to sing along to the song currently being played, everyone else followed suit, their voices only adding to the atmosphere. The lyrics were praising Wixia, thanking Him for blessing the people of Orithia with his benevolence.

But John found himself silently praising you when your arm linked with his and you spun the both you around in a circle. The skin-to-skin contact made his heart skip a beat, his eyes dropping down to yours to hold eye-contact.

In that moment, time seemed to slow. All he could focus on was that he was dancing with you, the twirling around bring you two closer.

He was entranced by your striking eyes, enamored with your bright smile, only able to hear your beautiful voice singing along with the musicians. You two were so close he could smell the perfume/cologne you had put on and it was losing its scent since you were sweating due to dancing, but he could still smell it and he could feel your flowing clothes brush against his flowing cape.

When you eventually unlinked your arm from his and twirled away, it was like you took the bright light that had made the world bright with you, even though everything was technically the same. But as you danced with others, it took everything in him to keep dancing and not to be standing in place among the others, frozen at the absence of your presence beside him.

Since John was the head of the Royal Guard and unmarried, several people wanted to try and woo him as he danced alone. He linked arms with them and twirled around with them, but his eyes were still on you. It was easy for the unassuming eye to just chalk it up to him making sure you were safe, but if anyone looked closer they would see the love-stricken look in his eyes.

No one could turn him away from you, not even the nobles in your court. His eyes—and his heart—were on you.

But it didn't stop the over consuming guilt that came with loving you, like he was doing a grave betrayal to you by being in love with you when he should be focused on protecting you. You trusted him with your life and here he was, wanting to be more than a knight to you.

How selfish of him.

With those thoughts, John finally tore his eyes away from you. He focused on dancing, enjoying the joy around him.

He didn't look at you unless it was to ensure you were still safe every so often, missing your glances at him as you made your way back to where he was dancing so you could dance with him again.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

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puffcap-factory · 5 months

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Raindrop (Neuvillette x reader)

Neuvillette x gn!reader; Angst, pure angst in a somewhat established relationship, reader’s implied death.

The story is set when the reader’s time is running out (of whatever cause you can imagine), and Neuvillette is sad. The reader is implied to be Fontainian.

Words: 1k

Notes: Finally, a genshin fic other than Wriothesley! I literally wrote this when I was listening to Pluie sur la ville (definitely recommended on listening the ost while reading this one!!!!! I recommend this music box version for this fic tho, it fits so well) and imagined Neuvillette brooding over something. That’s why this fic is short, cos I basically just wanted a story of Neuvillette basically feeling angsty heheheh

Anyways, I hope you enjoy! :D

•~•~•~•

Swish. Swish.

With each pull of the oar, the water responded in kind flow, sending out delicate ripples that painted the pond's surface. Pink flower petals twirled to the movement of the waves, a graceful accompaniment to the wooden paddle's gentle strokes.

The boat drifted leisurely through the clear water, its movement smooth and serene, like a dream on liquid glass. The rustling of the wind added its voice to the nature, tousling your hair as you reached to fix it.

The man seated across from you returned your gaze with a warm, genuine smile. His eyes seemed to hold a depth that mirrored the tranquil pond, and his smile filled the space between you. In this secluded forest of Erinnyes, it felt as though the entire world had faded away, leaving just the two of you to share the moment.

As the boat reached the center of the pond, he gently set down the oar. You took the moment to reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

But your eyes wandered to the water rippling near the pond's edge, fed by a nearby creek. The question escaped your lips as you voiced your curiosity, as you held his hands in yours.

"Do you think that… water possesses the will to flow freely?"

Neuvillette met your gaze, his expression thoughtful as he pondered your unexpected question. After a moment, he spoke, his voice carrying a hint of contemplation.

“I would like to believe that they do, why?”

His answer brought a bittersweet smile to your lips as you kept your gaze to the creek. You brought his hand to your cheek, savoring the warmth of his touch. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to close your eyes, as if to capture this fleeting moment, knowing it might be the last time you two would have such a peaceful interlude together.

“I just want to know…,” you paused, the words catching in your throat before you continued, “so when the time comes, I can… find you.”

As you opened your eyes, you found Neuvillette still, his expression hiding a mix of fear and sadness beneath his composed facade. You already knew him well enough to see the emotions hidden behind his eyes.

Neuvillette sighed heavily, lowering his head and letting his hand fall to his side. His gaze shifted to the side, facing the waters of the pond. He knew full well what the future held, as much as he dreaded it, it was inevitable.

“One day, Neuvillette, once I become the water itself, I’d be happy to visit you anytime,” you said softly.

The cloudy skies overhead seemed to mirror the heaviness in your heart. As much as you dreaded broaching this topic, especially at this tranquil moment, you felt the pressing weight of your impending fate. The time left for the both of you to enjoy each other’s company had grown short, each passing moment a reminder like of the ticking clock.

“Promise me, love, that you would move on. Just as water finds its way, no matter how many obstacles it faces, no matter how lost it may seem,” you whispered, your voice sweet and tender, as if to ease his pain, just as your own.

Neuvillette’s heart clenched at your words, the reality of your mortality weighing heavily on his shoulders. As the hydro dragon sovereign, he knew all too well that your time with him was fleeting, a mere fraction of his own eternity.

“I haven’t got to say this before, but,” you paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I really do cherish the time with you. The years we've spent together have been everything to me,” you mustered the strength to speak, pouring your heart out, as your voice began to tremble.

Pitter. Patter.

The sound of raindrops began to fill the air, as light rain fell upon the surface of the pond. Neuvillette remained still, his head turned away, keeping the emotions stirring within him as his brows furrowed.

But you already knew him well enough to understand what he was feeling, what the rain meant. You immediately leaned forward, cupping his face in your hands as you gently caressed his cheeks. “Oh, my Hydro Dragon, please don’t weep…”

Neuvillette met your gaze, pain evident in his eyes. He understood your attempt to comfort him, to ease his sorrow, as the warmth of your hand seeped into him.

But why could he see tears rolling down your cheeks?

•~•~•~•

Swish. Swish.

Neuvillette stood at the water's edge, his gaze fixed on the waves, ebbing and flowing gently. The rhythm of their motion seemed to echo the gentle beating of his own heart. The sky above was serene, a canvas of quietude painted by the sound of the crashing waves.

Despite his busy days, there were moments like these when Neuvillette couldn't help but feel swept away by a wave of nostalgia. It was as if the water itself was reaching out to him, whispering memories of days gone by.

As if you had come to visit him every now and then.

He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to fully embrace the tranquility of the scene before him. The rhythmic swish of the waves, the soft caress of the sea breeze on his skin – it all felt like a familiar embrace. Exhaling slowly, Neuvillette savored this fleeting sense of peace, letting go of the weight of his responsibilities for just a moment longer…

However, the role of Iudex remained. With a reluctant sigh, he opened his eyes and gazed out to the horizon. It was time to step back from the shore, to leave behind this moment of solace and return to the duties that awaited him.

A man of few words – Neuvillette carried the memory of you deep within his heart, a cherished treasure that he held onto tightly. As he made his way back, the gentle lull of the waves behind him seemed to bid him farewell. No matter how busy his days became, your presence would always linger in the depths of his soul.

#neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfic #genshin angst #neuvillette angst #neuvillette x reader angst

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thrashkink-coven · 3 months

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HAPPY FATHER’s DAY TO RA!!!

RRRAAAA!!! BEST DAD EVER AWARD!!! 🏆

No but seriously, Ra has been such an incredible presence in my life and I am so lucky to have found him. Never have I met a God who was so warm and nurturing or smiles so wide and laughs so loud. Never cruel, always kind and understanding. The God who accepts every offering with grace and love. The God who loves drink, music and dance. The best storyteller and listener. Thank you Sun God Ra, for smiling on me every day. I pray you have the most lavish father’s day ever! ☀️

Here is prayer to Ra from the tomb of Shep-en-Mut (25th dynasty):

Oh RA

You God of Life, you Lord of Love,

All men live when you shine.

You are the crowned King of the Gods.

The Goddess Aset embraces you,

and enfolds you in all seasons.

Those who follow you sing to you with joy,

and they bow down their foreheads to the earth

In gratitude for your radiant blessings.

Oh RA, You the King of Truth, the Lord of Eternity,

The Prince of Everlastingness,

You Sovereign of all Gods,

You God of Life, you Creator of Eternity,

You Maker of Heaven.

All the Gods rejoice at your rising.

Oh RA, You giver of all life,

The Earth rejoices when it sees your golden rays

People who have been long dead

come forward with cries of joy

to behold your beauties every day.

You go forth each day over Heaven and Earth.

Oh RA God of Life, you Lord of Love,

All men live when you shine!

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wordsvomit101 · 6 months

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Obsidian Reverie

(??? years, ??? months, ??? days after His Majesty Leviathan received his name )

Amidst the enchanting ambiance of the Midnight Masquerade, an exquisite event held under the gentle light of the pure white twin moons, reminiscent of the legendary quiet goddess, Astrea, attendees are whisked away into a realm of unparalleled opulence and mystique.

Captivated by the allure of the evening, Glasyalabolas finds himself entranced by the ethereal atmosphere. The grand ballroom, adorned with towering marble pillars intricately carved with astrological motifs, emanates an aura of timeless elegance.

Bathed in the soft, moonlit glow that spills through stained glass windows and cascades from the sky above, the palace roof has been removed for this extraordinary occasion, allowing the eerie radiance to suffuse every corner of the room.

Scenes of ancient myths and legends are depicted in the intricate carvings adorning the pillars, their stories coming to life in the flickering torchlight. It is as if the very walls of the ballroom resonate with the echoes of a bygone era, transporting guests to a realm where fantasy and reality intertwine.

Guests, draped in luxurious fabrics of silk and velvet, don ornate masks that conceal their identities, transforming them into ethereal beings of mystery and allure. Each mask is a work of art, crafted with meticulous detail and embellished with feathers, jewels, and intricate filigree, adding to the air of intrigue that permeates the evening.

The flickering glow of glowing mantas and jellyfish swimming languidly as they cast dancing waves of shadows upon the polished marble floor, creating an enchanting backdrop for the swirling movements of the dancers. Soft strains of music fill the air, a haunting melody that seems to echo from another realm, beckoning guests to lose themselves in the intoxicating rhythm of the dance.

As the night unfolds, the Midnight Masquerade becomes a tapestry of secrets and desires, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur, and the true nature of its inhabitants is revealed. In this realm of darkness and enchantment, anything is possible, and the masks they wear are but a reflection of the mysteries that lie within.

Dressed in opulent attire and adorned with a mask that concealed his true visage, Glasyalabolas moved with grace and poise, his dark gazes and commanding presence drawing the attention of all who beheld him. Yet, amidst the swirling crowd of guests, his eyes were fixed upon one figure alone—The devil of Envy and sovereign of Hades.

As Glasyalabolas, the towering figure of ambition and madness, approached Leviathan with a graceful stride, his demeanor regal yet infused with a hint of a wild charm. Bowing respectfully, he addressed the beautiful being standing alone as onlookers couldn't help to let their gazes wander to him and the wave of shock could be felt as they saw the figure of the tall devil, having the courage to dare to ask for what they wish for from their king. With the utmost deference, he extended his hand with a regal flourish, and a hush fell over the assembled throng.

"Your Majesty," Glasyalabolas began, his voice carrying a tone of veneration, "might I have the honor of sharing a dance with you this evening?"

His gaze, sharp as the edge of a blade, swept across the room, a silent challenge to all who dared to meet his eye. Yet, beneath his mask of confidence, there lurked a primal fear, a knowing sense of walking straight into the gaping mouth of a monster.

Leviathan regarded him with a cold and measured gaze, his expression unreadable beneath the veil of shadows. There was a silent pause, tension hanging in the air like a taut thread.

Glasyalabolas continued, his tone soft yet insistent, "It would be a pleasure to glide across the floor with you, Your Majesty, to the haunting melody of the tango. Shall we indulge in this moment of respite amidst the chaos of our realms?"

With a distant gaze, the beautiful devil's expression was still a perfect embodiment of indifference, "Very well," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand as if granting a trivial request to a begging peasant.

Clad in robes of darkest obsidian with hints of royal violet, Leviathan moved with predatory grace, his every step a silent promise of retribution. Around him, the air seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly aura, a palpable reminder of his status.

Undeterred by Leviathan's aloof demeanor, Glasyalabolas pressed on, seeking to provoke a reaction from his king, "I must say, Your Majesty," he continued, his voice laced with a subtle challenge, "I have always been curious about the secrets that lie hidden within the depths of your kingdom. Tell me, what is it that drives you, that fuels your ambition?", before placing a small but worshiped kiss upon the strong gloved hand of the divine devil opposite of him.

As they came together upon the polished marble floor, the haunting melody of the waltz filled the air, a mournful lament that echoed the pain of ages past. The music, a symphony of longing and despair, wrapped around them like a shroud, enveloping them in its melancholy embrace.

Leviathan's response was brief and detached, his attention only half-hearted as he allowed Glasyalabolas to take the lead in the waltz.

"Ambition is a fool's errand," he remarked coldly as if directing at the devil he allowed to lead him, his silky smooth voice tinted with arrogance before gracefully answering the question beckoned by the noble, "Stability", he continued after finishing an elegant twirl, "is the foundation upon which Hades stands. The foundation that needs to be maintained, regardless of the challenges that may arise"

Their dance began with a delicate grace, each movement a testament to their otherworldly power and elegance. Glasyalabolas's lips curled into a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with hidden intent. "And what of those who would dare to challenge your authority?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do you not fear the repercussions of their defiance?"

Their movements are like a symphony of grace and aggression, Glasyalabolas' hand on Leviathan's waist and his other guiding his king to his tempo. Leviathan's long coat floats behind him and with the light from the twin moon shining upon them, makes him shimmer like a thousand stars, glides across the ethereal void with the agility of a practiced ease. His dance is a mesmerizing spectacle, each step a ripple in the fabric of reality. His long limbs extend and retract in fluid undulations, creating hypnotic patterns that draw the eye inward into a vortex of wonder.

Leviathan continued to look upon him impassively, not bothering to waste his breath, looking down at Glasyalabolas despite their height differences.

Glasyalabolas, with his silver tongue and piercing gaze, sought to ensnare Leviathan in a web of intrigue and ambition, weaving a tapestry of manipulation and desire with each graceful step. Yet, beneath his facade of confidence, there is still lingered a primal excitement, a recognition of fear before the formidable force that stood before him.

But as the tempo quickened and the music soared to dizzying heights, a shift occurred, a subtle yet undeniable change in the fabric of their dance when Glasyalabolas dared to come closer.

Glasyalabolas's inquiry sliced through the air with calculated precision, his words carrying a subtle edge of curiosity. "Your Majesty," he began, his tone deceptively mild, "forgive my impertinence, but I cannot help but wonder of what happened that day, a spectacle upon the rift of the North of Hades"

Leviathan's gaze darkened at the mention of his past, a flicker of something indefinable crossing his features before he regained his composure, ready to continue to dismiss Glasyalabolas before another audacious question was asked, a glare marred on his gorgeous visage.

"What drove you to such depths? What horrors did you endure before claiming your throne?"

Leviathan's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, a warning simmering beneath his icy face, before an exquisitely cruel smile graced his lips, an elegant arch to his brow, with a soft inquire for a lowly devil before him, "So you seek to understand this King?"

Glasyalabolas felt a chill run down his spine as Leviathan's gaze bore into him with a steely intensity. It was as if he had crossed a line, delving into forbidden territory that should never have been breached. However, his curiosity only mounted higher, the allure of being able to know a side of Leviathan, it is both a threat and an offer that would kill him if he treks further.

But, in the pursuit of knowledge, only fools who are brave dare to venture into the darkness, for they know that it is in the depths of uncertainty that true understanding is found.

With an excited gulp, Glasyalabolas summoned his courage and approached the enchanting Leviathan, his facade of calmness strained but resolute.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice quivering with anticipation, "forgive my audacity, but I must know... What is the answer to my question?"

Leviathan regarded him with a cool detachment, his gaze piercing through Glasyalabolas's facade with unnerving precision.

"The answer?" he echoed, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes, "Hmm, how about I let you have a taste then?"

Leviathan tightened his grip and seized the waist of the taller devil. With a steely gaze and a subtle shift in his movements, he seized control of the dance, his silent command rippling through the air like a ripple on a still pond. At that moment, Glasyalabolas realized the true extent of his folly, as the balance of power shifted inexorably in Leviathan's favor.

As Leviathan took control of the dance, Glasyalabolas couldn't shake the unsettling sensation of being ensnared in the coils of a giant serpent, his movements calculated and precise, each step a predatory strike. In his mind's eye, he was no longer the noble demon, but a mere raccoon, small and insignificant in the presence of such overwhelming power.

Leviathan's steps upon the marble floor became a haunting echo of a predator stalking its prey, a symphony of sinewy grace and raw power that left Glasyalabolas trembling in his wake. With each graceful twist and turn, he felt the weight of Leviathan's gaze bearing down upon him like the unblinking stare of a serpent tearing him down to his bone and squeezing every air he had in his organ.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the tumult, there lingered a strange kind of beauty, a twisted ballet of desire and despair that spoke to the depths of a shared agony. The echoes of their voices mingled with the haunting melody of the waltz, a cacophony of whispers and sighs that reverberated through the halls of eternity even fearing away the swimming mantas and jellyfish.

Glasyalabolas found himself swept up in the maelstrom of their dance, his senses overwhelmed by the heady rush of adrenaline and fear. It was as if he stood on the precipice of oblivion, teetering on the edge of some vast abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

However, the final notes of the waltz echoed through the ballroom, bringing his consciousness back to reality.

As they stood locked in a silent tableau, the music singing of the two figures bound together by fate and forged in the fires of eternity. However, instead of reveling in the romance of the moment, Leviathan carelessly dipped an exhausted and scared Glasyalabolas, a stark contrast to the beginning where Glasyalabolas had led the dance.

With a benevolent grace, yet a coldness that cut through the air like a blade, Leviathan smiled down at him, his eyes betraying none of the warmth that Glasyalabolas had hoped to find.

"Know your place," he intoned softly, his voice carrying the weight of authority and power.

And yet, amidst the chaos and the terror stirring in his mind, there was a perverse thrill, a perverse ecstasy that coursed through his veins like wildfire. For in the embrace of Leviathan's dark and commanding allure, Glasyalabolas found himself trembling not just with fear, but with a hunger and admiration that burned hotter than the flames of Hell itself for the devil above him.

#what in hell is bad #whb #whb leviathan #whb glasyalabolas #toxic yaoi 101/jk #ngl i been wanting to write this after the orias event #at first #i was thinking about making it foras and levi but glasyalabolas took the cake #the amount of envy glasyalabolas created that day is enough to fuel hades for the next several years tbh #he did sleep with one eye open so that's that

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 1 year

Video

youtube

Bless the Lord, O My Soul (Psalm 103) Sovereign Grace Music | Runtime: 3mins 39secs

#Sovereign Grace Music #Bless the Lord O My Soul (Psalm 103)#Youtube #video

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tiand · 8 months

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"It Is Well With My Soul" by Sovereign Grace Music

youtube

View On WordPress

#Sovereign Grace Music #Youtube

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sjsmith56 · 2 months

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The Flame Burns From Within, Part 1 - Negotiations

Summary: The arrival of three strangers at the castle of Ser Anthony of House Stark, signals the start of negotiations for the hand of his niece, Lady Arden Worth.

Length: 5.2 K

Characters: Lady Arden (OFC, described), Lord James Barnes, Ser Anthony Stark, Lady Stark, His Highness, the Duke of Long Isle, Steven Rogers, Ser Samuel Wilson.

Warnings: Age gap (OFC is 21 while Lord Barnes is 32. She would be considered old for her first marriage during this time period). Description of the status of women in the 15th century as property, description of the death of Lady Arden’s parents, arranged marriage.

Author notes: Set in the 15th century AU where America is a sovereign kingdom. Spain has only recently returned to Catholic control after some time of being a part of the Moors empire (they were Islamic). It would take some time for the remaining Muslims to leave or convert to Catholicism. AI image in banner created by author using MS Copilot app in Designer mode. Borders found at vecteezy.com.

Part 1 - Negotiations

Lady Arden

The gates to the courtyard opened and the delegation from the Citadel were welcomed into the keep of my uncle's castle. I watched their arrival from the window of my chambers, as my presence wouldn't be needed until later, after the three men who rode in were formally welcomed by my uncle and legal guardian, Ser Anthony of House Stark. Ever since my parents died of the wasting disease when I was still a child, he had overseen my preparation for life as the lady of a great lord. Unlike some of the fathers and guardians of other young women of my ilk, he had been rather progressive towards my education. Where others had been taught to walk and speak with grace, while learning the arts of needlework, music and art, my uncle had made sure I could do all of those, plus ride a horse, handle a sword, learn foreign languages, read and write more than just my name, and above all else, to carry myself as one who was as capable as any man. It was certainly not the usual life of a young woman.

My uncle had his reasons for my unusual upbringing; some of which he shared with me. Where other young women of my stature were being married off to whomever was politically in favour, in addition to receiving a generous dowry, my uncle was more interested in a particular man to become my husband. Lord James Barnes of the Citadel was his goal; a consummate warrior, well educated, able to speak several languages due to his travels, and the most powerful lord of our region. He had already been sought as husband for any number of simpering brides that didn't interest him. Rumours circulated by the unsuccessful families seeking to install their daughters as his lady said that he was a lover of men, or was damaged in body and spirit by his travels in dangerous lands, but my uncle had heard through unofficial sources that he preferred an accomplished woman to become his consort, as he saw value in intelligence above all else. By promoting my unconventional education, my uncle was certain that word of me would eventually reach the ears of those at the Citadel whose task it was to find a suitable mate for the great lord. That day had finally come.

That's not to say there weren't bumps in the road to this occasion. There are always men who want what they see as different or even exotic. Before I turned 14 my uncle was being offered great wealth for the promise of an engagement with any number of eligible sons. Several great houses in our land, Walker, Rumlow, Pierce, even Dreykov in the Russian region far to the east across the sea, had amped up the pressure for my uncle to accept one of their own as my future husband, but he wouldn't even entertain the offers that came over the years. It was some time before he shared that his goal was to align his house with the Citadel, and nothing less would interest him.

As I approached my 21st birthday, an age considered old for marriage, rumours began of my own shortcomings as a prospective bride. It was said I was vain, unattractive, too heavy, too thin, too unhealthy, defective in mind and spirit, even that I was barren due to the wasting disease that had killed my parents but had spared me. Knowing I was none of those, I always held my head high. At public occasions I was visible, open, and friendly with those around me. I acted as I had been taught; that I had a place in society, and it would be one of influence no matter if I were the wife of a great lord or not.

Thus, the arrival of the three men from the Citadel on that cool autumn afternoon was proof that my uncle had properly read the situation. It was clear that I was of interest to the most powerful lord, seen as an important counsellor for the next king himself. As the three men dismounted, they stood in their travelling cloaks, heads still covered, removing their gloves and, in the way of men of action, taking note of their surroundings. I could see that they assessed the guard complement in the keep, while searching the walls of the castle itself to see if their arrival had been noted. That is when one of them pulled his hood back, revealing a bearded man of dark-hair and eyes of blue like the ocean. He made eye contact with me from his place in the courtyard. A hint of a smile crossed his face then I stepped away from the window when he turned to his companions. His looks matched the description of Lord Barnes, but it was unusual for the head of a great house to personally attend the negotiations for a marriage. Until I was summoned for dinner, I wouldn't find out who he actually was.

My aunt, a strong and confident woman in her own right, sought entry to my chambers shortly after the arrival of the three men. She entered with a complement of maidservants, intent on preparing and dressing me in a way that emphasized my best features. With my tall build and red hair, that I was born with, the colour of which had only deepened over the years of my existence, there wasn't much else to be done to make me more visible. I had drawn attention from many sources my whole life. Even my name, Arden, was different as it meant "little and fiery." Although I was no longer little, I was often referred to as the Flame of the Forest, for I usually took my daily ride there with my hair unencumbered by coverings.

After much fussing over the various dresses, they chose a blue one, trimmed with lace and a brocade border. Its full sleeves ended at a wide brocade cuff. My hair, left long, was brushed until it gleamed, then a portion was twisted and fastened at the back of my head. My colouring was usually high, so no additional applications of powder, charcoal or berries were needed to accentuate my features. By all the accounts of my uncle's inquiries, Lord Barnes was known to prefer a natural appearance. Regardless, as my aunt regarded my appearance she smiled in approval.

"If they don't acknowledge your physical appearance, they are blind," she said, with authority. "You are a vision, Arden."

"Did you see their arrival?" I asked. "There were three and one fit Lord Barnes' description."

"Yes, but I was not presented to them when they entered so I cannot confirm that gentleman was him," she answered. "I will be presented to them in the great hall then you will be sent for."

"May I wait in the library?"

It was my favourite place in the castle. When my uncle first discovered me in there after taking me into his care, he could have sent me away but apparently, I offered him a book and asked that he read it to me. Seeing the title, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, my uncle took it as a sign of my innate intelligence and determined then that I would be educated in the same manner as any young man of high standing. In that sanctuary, I spent many hours reading of far-off lands, great heroes, and tragic loves.

With my aunt's approval, I relocated to the library and pulled out the copy of The Canterbury Tales, one of less than a hundred in existence according to the Bishop, as they were hand lettered and illuminated by monks who spent weeks or even months creating them. The time and effort it took to create a book meant the possession of more than a handful was a sign of great wealth. Our library had hundreds. This book was a favourite of mine and I sat down at a table in the late afternoon sun. I had only been there a brief time when I heard the door open. Assuming it was my aunt, I closed the book and stood up to return it to its proper place. Instead, it was the dark-haired man who entered, dressed in richly brocaded clothing. At his discovery of my presence, he bowed his head briefly.

"I beg your pardon, my Lady." He spoke in a voice that was deep and rich. "Ser Anthony did not say anyone would be in here."

I curtsied to acknowledge him. "He was unaware of my presence here," I answered. "I sought some comfort from Chaucer."

He approached and extended his hand to receive the book, looking fondly at the title.

"Which one is your favourite?" he asked.

"The Wife of Bath's Tale, of course," I smiled then spoke freely. "I have been raised to believe that I am equal to any man but not all men believe the same. It is my hope to be blessed with a husband who freely gives me my sovereignty."

He smiled warmly. "It is one that I enjoy reading as well, although I am not meek, or submissive. I take it that you are the Lady Arden. I am James Barnes, Lord of the Citadel. I am at your service, my Lady. It was you in the window overlooking the courtyard, was it not?"

"It was, sir," I replied. "I was curious about you accompanying your courtiers for the negotiations. That is why you are here, is it not?"

He seemed amused. "You are correct that my travelling companions will undertake the negotiations on my behalf. I accompanied them to meet the Flame of the Forest herself. Word of your beauty has travelled far and contrary to the rumours which swirl around us both, I am pleased to find that the positive reports are quite true." He opened the book and glanced inside. "Your education appears to be superior to other women of your status if you find comfort in a library. Your skills on a horse and with a sword are also based on truth, according to my sources."

I could have been elevated by his declarations, but I wasn't, not completely. Even though it was proof of my uncle's contention that I would be of interest to this handsome and powerful man, there was still a part of me that remained wary. At that moment, the door opened, and a servant announced to Lord Barnes that Ser Anthony wished to present his wife and niece. He then announced that I was to present myself in the Great Hall. Looking at the shelf, Barnes immediately spotted the place where the book belonged and returned it to its spot. Then he bowed graciously to me and left. With a breath to calm myself I exited the space and stood at the top of the stairs for a moment before descending.

Lord Barnes was already at the bottom of the large staircase, with his travelling companions, a man with dark blond hair and a darker beard, and a man of Moorish descent, both dressed as he was, in fine clothing as befit their stations. Although I didn't know who the blond man was, the other was well known as one befriended by Barnes on his journeys in the Spanish peninsula. Taking the Christian name of Samuel Wilson, he had become famous throughout our kingdom for his chivalry. All three men watched me closely as I descended alone down the great stone staircase, no doubt to assess the grace of my movements. As the wife of a powerful lord, I would constantly be looked upon as a symbol of his house. My comportment would be seen as either a benefit to his stature or a hindrance to it. When I reached the bottom, my uncle smiled and extended his hand to me.

"May I present my niece, Lady Arden Worth," he said simply. "Lady Arden, may I introduce you to Lord James Barnes, of the Citadel, his Highness, Steven Rogers, the Duke of Long Isle, and their trusted friend, Ser Samuel Wilson."

The blond man was Steven Rogers, the Duke, grandson of the king and third in line for the throne. No wonder Barnes seemed amused when I described him as a courtier. That alone required a deeper curtsy than what I gave Lord Barnes in the library.

"My Lady," said Barnes, taking my hand to raise me from my lowered position. "The Duke is here as my closest friend and has agreed to act as a negotiator for the marriage arrangement. May I escort you to the dining hall?"

To refuse would have been considered rude so I placed my hand on his forearm and allowed him to lead me to the dining hall. The Duke escorted my aunt, which was puzzling, since he should have led us all, considering he was of the higher echelon of nobility. My uncle and Ser Samuel brought up the rear of the party. Footmen pulled our chairs out, then assisted in pushing them closer to the table as we settled. I noticed the arrangement of cutlery in our places, a knife and fork, specifically. Although I had been exposed to using them it was still surprising as most of the nobility thought that forks were an affectation of the Italians; a sign of hubris that they were too proud to dirty their fingers as they ate. In our nation most of the nobility dispensed with any utensils, other than using a knife to spear a portion of fowl, or roast, then bite into it with their teeth and allow the juices to run over their faces and onto their clothing. It was obvious by how our guests used their utensils to cut the meat into smaller bites, that they were well used to eating in the new fashion.

"You were successful in finding my library, Lord Barnes?" asked my uncle.

"I was Ser Anthony," he replied. "A fine library at that. You must spend many pleasant hours there."

"When I have the time. Lady Arden is there often. She has likely read everything in there at least once, even the texts in French or Latin."

"Is that true?" he asked me in French. "You are fluent in those two languages?"

I answered him in French. "Yes, in Spanish and Italian, also. My uncle invested a lot of money in language tutors."

He said nothing about our meeting in the library, but he looked at my uncle with a degree of surprise and approval. Apparently, four additional languages were more than he was expecting. The look exchanged between Lord Barnes, the Duke, and Ser Samuel was subtle but telling. I had the feeling that even with the reports they had commissioned about my attributes I was still something of a mystery.

After dinner, my uncle disappeared into the library with the Duke and Ser Samuel with the intent of beginning the negotiations. My aunt went up to help settle my cousins for bed. That left me and Lord Barnes alone.

"Is there a garden where we can walk before it gets dark?"

"There is."

I led him out to the formal gardens, walking along the gravelled path between the displays of hyacinths and mums which were still blooming. The trees, which were casting off their green colour, were displaying some yellow, red, and orange hues. As the sun approached the horizon, the golden light it projected lent a soft glow to everything. We stopped at a pond briefly, then the wind came up and I shivered. Although it had warmed slightly since Lord Barnes arrival, I wore only a shawl over my dress, not enough to stay warm as it darkened.

"We should return to the castle," he said. "I wouldn't want you to catch a chill on my account."

"As you wish, my Lord," I answered, mindful of his superior status. "There is a small conservatory in the castle, with a fireplace where we can keep warm and still enjoy the plants around us."

He agreed to go there and by the time we arrived a fire had been lit, and a tray with a decanter of wine and two metal goblets were on a table. As I sat, he poured out some for each of us, then joined me on a padded bench built into the wall near the fireplace.

"To your good health," he said, before sipping his drink

"And to yours," I replied, sipping my own. "You know this is unusual. Allowing us to be alone."

"I requested it. Too many of my peers have arranged their marriages through intermediaries without meeting until the wedding day. Both parties experienced disappointment more often than not. I vowed never to make that mistake." He gazed steadily at me. "If there is anything you wish to ask me, I am open to your inquiries."

"Where have you travelled?" It was something I was genuinely interested in, having never left the country myself.

"I have been as far east as Greece, to the northern shore of Africa, Italy, Spain, France and Brittania. There have been journeys north of our kingdom, but it is still mostly wilderness and those who have lived there for eons are not the friendliest, with reason considering how our ancestors first treated them. The Northmen still have settlements there and have a truce with the original inhabitants. We do have trading relationships with the Northmen, as you know. Most of my travels was accompanying the Duke as his Majesty desired to know those who have the closest relationships with our country. We met Ser Samuel in the portion of Spain that had recently thrown off Moorish control. He agreed to stay with us as we found each other's company engaging. Since his Arabic name of Saqr Sama Allayl or Falcon of the Night Sky, was often mispronounced by those who were unfamiliar saying it, he asked for a Christian name to go by while he travelled our lands. The name Samuel in Arabic means prophet and seer. Wilson was suggested as a common last name. It has made his travels here easier. When he returns ... if he returns, he will revert to his given name."

There was a lot of information in his answer, but he obviously found value in knowing about the people in other realms. Placing his goblet down, he picked up the poker and adjusted the wood in the fireplace, as if he were used to taking care of such things himself. He sat next to me again.

"Have you travelled?"

"Alas, no, although I have read many accounts of different journeys, such as those of Marco Polo, The Travels of John Mandeville, and others. I have great admiration for the women who journeyed with Eleanor of Aquitaine to the Holy Lands. I wish someone had thought to document their journey."

"As my wife I would request that you accompany me on my travels," he mentioned. "It would be your choice but the alternative would be spending a significant amount of time apart, which is not conducive to marital harmony."

"What about children? Travelling with an infant would be an issue, wouldn't it?"

"Depends on the destination."

We were quiet again, with only the crackle of the fire to listen to. When the moon's glow appeared through the window, Lord Barnes stood up and turned to me.

"I believe I will retire now. May I request the honour of riding with you tomorrow?"

I stood up. "Of course. I usually ride in the morning an hour after breakfast. If that is acceptable to you."

"It is."

He bowed to me and left, leaving me puzzled to his sudden and arbitrary departure. My aunt arrived shortly after, and we returned to my chambers where she questioned me on what Lord Barnes and I spoke about.

Lord Barnes

As I walked to my chambers, I reflected on the time spent with Lady Arden. Her beauty was unmatched by any other woman I had ever seen. How Ser Anthony had managed to keep her isolated enough to avoid a kidnapping and forced marriage I will never know but it was imperative that we formalize our marriage as soon as possible. Since I first glimpsed her in the window, then spoke with her in the library, I had been unable to think rationally of anything or anyone else. Steven and Samuel were already in my chambers on my arrival, having ceased the negotiations at moonrise, which prompted my departure from the conservatory. They both turned to me as I entered and bolted the door, then checked the hidden passageway for listening servants. Steven handed me a goblet of wine.

"Well?" I looked at both expectantly. Steven answered.

"She is the only survivor of the House of Forrest. Ser Anthony confirmed it. She was brought to him by the housekeeper of the House Forrest, after they were attacked by the forces of House Pierce. Of course, they were not wearing the insignia, but she recognized several faces as Pierce's men. Lady Forrest pressed her daughter into the care of that woman, and they escaped via a secret passage that let them out a mile away. Even in the passageway she could hear as Pierce's men slaughtered the entire family. You know he would have taken her to keep for one of his sons, or his nephews and cement his acquisition of their lands."

"It was he who said he made a social call the following day and found the family dead of the wasting disease. Then he burned their castle to purify it and took their lands for himself, although he calls it a stewardship until the missing heir is found." I was angry at such villainy. "She doesn't know the truth, does she?"

"No, upon the housekeeper's arrival, Stark swore her to secrecy and claimed the child was his orphaned niece. She believes she is the daughter of his sister, Lady Worth and Ser Louis of House Worth from a sudden bout of the wasting disease. His position as godfather to Lady Arden guided him in her upbringing. It was her father's wish she be given every opportunity to be as educated as well as possible. He is aware of the betrothal document which is why he indicated his preference for your favour. That was late in being made known as he was under the impression for some time that you were aligned with House Pierce."

I looked at Samuel for his opinion. "That is understandable. You feel his vow of fealty to House Barnes is now honestly offered?"

"I do. Ser Anthony is a rare individual. He is a man of truth and honour, and both he and Lady Stark love the young woman as much as one of their own. His dowry request is for her benefit, not his, so that she is independently wealthy in the event of your death. Otherwise, he only requests an alliance with the Citadel. It may be that he fears reprisals if Pierce realizes the true identity of Lady Arden so would require the strength of your garrison to protect him and his family."

"Accept his terms. We'll read the banns as soon as possible, then I will apply for a marriage license so that the normal time period can be waived. As soon as it is approved, I will send for her to come to the Citadel for the marriage ceremony. With luck, we can be married after a fortnight. If there are any objections, then I can produce the original betrothal contract between our parents."

Steven placed a hand on my arm. "It will come to pass, Buck. I have faith."

"I hope you're right," I replied, draining my goblet. "Now that I have seen her, I cannot think of ever marrying another woman. By the way, we're going riding tomorrow, so we'll have to stay another night since you'll be engaged in negotiations during the day."

"Alone?" Steven and Samuel smirked at each other. "Is that wise?"

"We were alone this evening when we walked in the garden and when we sat in the conservatory, drinking wine. I'm a changed man. No more brothels or courtesans for me. A woman of her quality deserves a husband who will remain steadfast and faithful. It is my intention to be that type of husband for her."

"If you say so," remarked Steven, draining his wine. "Come Samuel, let's leave Lord Barnes to have sweet dreams of the Lady Arden."

I gave him a rude gesture then locked the door behind them. As I disrobed, I felt encouraged by their report. When our spy in Pierce's castle brought us proof of his part in the death of Lady Arden's parents, I knew the day was coming for the man's part in many similar incidents. He amassed his wealth and power by undermining the rule of law we were all supposed to live under. Even if it wasn't his men who performed all his suspected crimes, his alliances with the Walker and Rumlow houses meant he had them as his accomplices and co-conspirators. With his end game believed to be an attempt on the throne, we needed to be careful not to tip our hand too soon.

The following morning, we took breakfast with the Stark family, and I met the younger children, three daughters. The oldest was dark, like her father, while the other two resembled their mother with their fairer features. They were very well behaved, and I observed Lady Arden's interaction with them, curious about her suitability as a mother. They seemed fond of each other, and it was obvious that they were also being raised in the same manner as Lady Arden had been, for they spoke extensively of stories they wrote for each other's pleasure. They spoke French and Italian easily, making each other laugh. Their commentary was enjoyable, even bringing grins to Steven and Samuel's faces. The oldest child, Morgan, dared to ask Samuel about his childhood in Spain, then listened with rapt attention as he told her about his first time hunting with a falcon under his control.

When the meal was finished, Ser Anthony and my two friends repaired to the library to continue the marriage negotiations. Lady Arden excused herself to prepare for her daily horseback ride, agreeing to meet me in the courtyard of the keep. With the order given to prepare both of our horses I returned to my chambers to change into something more suitable for riding. I went out to check my horse, and found the care given to Soldier since our arrival the day before was exemplary. His coat gleamed in the warm sunlight. As always, he greeted me with affection, brushing his head against mine, then searching for the apple I usually gave him. The stable master offered me one and I broke it in two, feeding the pieces to him separately.

"He is a fine stallion," said Lady Arden's voice, behind me. "It is rare to find a fully black horse without a white patch somewhere on his body. Have you bred him yet?"

"Aye, he has sired a dozen foals in the past two years," I answered, before turning to look at her. For a moment, no words came out of my mouth as I took in what she was wearing. "This is your usual riding attire?"

She grinned and looked down at the short knee length skirt, and knee-high leather boots she wore. On her upper body she wore a tunic under a jacket that was styled in the same manner as a man's. It was scandalous but it also allowed her to have greater control over her horse. Her hair was loose and flowing down her back, brilliant in its colour that reminded me of a sunset or a smouldering flame.

"Do you disapprove?" she asked, almost daring me to forbid her from leaving the keep.

"No, it suits you," I answered, truthfully. I gestured to her horse, a beautiful grey mare. "Do you require assistance to get on?"

"A hand up, please," she answered.

Lacing my hands together, I boosted her up after she put her boot into them. She easily mounted the rest of the way, and I realized the many folds of her skirt hid the fact they were cut like trousers. It gave her as much control over her horse as a man would have. I mounted my horse and signalled to her to lead the way. With a nod to the stable master, we left the keep and began with an easy canter towards a wooded area. She slowed up once we were well out of eyesight. Looking back at me, she waited for me to ride beside her.

"You go out on your own?" I asked. "Are you not afraid of being accosted?"

"I can defend myself," she answered, then reached into her boot and pulled out a long knife, flipping it over in her hand before reinserting it. "Minerva is fast and can outrun almost any horse in the area."

I wondered if she would be so unconcerned with her personal safety if she knew who she really was, but it wouldn't be my place to tell her until we were married, so I kept my observation to myself. As we rode, I took time to scan our surroundings. It was evident why she chose this area. There were many trees already covered in the finery of autumn. The reds, golds, and oranges were everywhere. Whenever a breeze came up, we were showered with the leaves pulled from the branches. It was peaceful and, in her company, I found myself relaxing just enough to forget the affairs of state.

At one point, she glanced at me then nudged her horse into a gallop. I watched with admiration as her hair flew behind her, proving the moniker Flame of the Forest. She was beautiful and magnificent, and if I had my way, she would be my wife in just over a fortnight. Perhaps, just perhaps, she would be safe from those who wanted her for their own purposes.

Note about The Wife of Bath’s Tale. It recounts the story of a knight who is accused of rape. He is given a year to find out what it is women most desire, in order to spare his life. An old crone says she will tell him if he agrees to her request. He agrees and she tells him that women desire sovereignty over their own lives more than anything. When he offers the answer to the courts he is spared and he returns to the old crone to fulfill her request. She demands that he marries her. Since he is a knight and is bound by his oath he agrees. In bed on their wedding night she asks if he would like an old ugly wife who is faithful or a beautiful one who is faithless. He leaves the decision to her, declaring himself bound to it. For his honesty and concession to her she becomes beautiful and faithful, and they live happily as husband and wife.

Saqr Sama Allayl or Falcon of the Night Sky - From Google Translate

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morfinwen · 2 years

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youtube

How low was our Redeemer brought, the King who held the stars Lay helpless in a maiden's arms and pressed against her heart While sheep and cattle raised their voice the babe could speak no words The ever flowing Spring of Joy had come to share our thirst

How low was our Redeemer brought, the Lord the worlds obeyed Would stumble as He learned to walk upon the ground He'd made The One the angels bowed before would kneel to wash our feet And be at home among the poor though He owned everything

Gloria, gloria in the highest Gloria, gloria in the highest

How low was our Redeemer brought to raise us from our shame And now the highest praise of all belongs to Jesus' name The Healer wounded on a tree to bear our grief and sin The King gave up His crown so we could ever reign with Him

Gloria, gloria in the highest Gloria, gloria in the highest Gloria, gloria in the highest Gloria, gloria in the highest Gloria, gloria in the highest Gloria, gloria in the highest Gloria, gloria in the highest Gloria, gloria in the highest

How low was our Redeemer brought to raise us from our shame And now the highest praise of all belongs to Jesus' name

#how low was our redeemer brought #sovereign grace #merry christmas #music #pretty #hark the herald angels queue

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straynoahide · 4 days

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ainulindale meta (IV)

Index post here

Theme of the Children: Theodicy, Providence and Hope.

The Third Theme (T3), which I would call the "Theme of the Children", has a lot of parallels with T2.

Eru now shows a low-intensity but negative emotion for the first time, he's displeased or upset ("stern" semblance).

T3 gathers power like T2 but not in new beauty, rather in profundity.

We are told how the music is (deep, wide, slow) and how it is blended with "immeasurable sorrow" (a negative emotion, to match Eru's) - but told that this sorrow is also the source from which "its beauty chiefly comes". that's a lot to unpack, so let's go bit by bit.

The Discord now, explicitly violent (warfare - atrocity, pillaging, mass murder, conflict-related sexual violence if you squint once), tries to "drown" T3

we're also told how the Discord is, in contrast, in pejorative terms (loud, vain and endlessly repeated v deep, wide, slow) - and we're told something very meaningful about it, that reveals Melkor's hypocrisy and undoing:

the Discord has "little harmony but unity of its own" (a 'clamorous unison').

so not only does Melkor try to drown out T3, he unravels himself in his sub-creative actions (a Tolkienian concept meaning that he can alter and shape, but not create ex nihilo).

there where he has mastery or influence, he negates the very free will that spurred his initial quest for creation, and his rebellion during T1 and T2.

these are the actions of someone who does not value creation. Morgoth and Melkor are the same individual, but Morgoth the tyrant, the Black Foe of the Noldor, is not driven by his Melkorian nature.

I think this is what it means to be corrupt, to be fallen from grace. Judaism and Islam have a curious wording for penitence or repenteance that essentially means "Return"; who repents 'returns' to his nature. If you're corrupt from the get-go, you have nothing to return to, you're definitionally unredeemable.

However, as Elrond says, "nothing is Evil in the beginning" - Evil is a stop in a road that has to be walked and reached, it seems, for Tolkien. Does this imply the road can be walked back? Not necessarily, but it seems a logical possibility at this point.

at any rate - loud, clamor, drown, repetition, "the Halls and beyond shake with tremor" - all speak of this deep-rooted desire to assert himself at any cost, by force, desperately.

But aggrandizing himself comes from belittling those who serve him, and Morgoth truly sees none as equal in dignity, but as inferior. This is what his identity as tyrant, what he settled after failing as creator, is predicated on. Think of the titles, the gigantic size, the cruelty.

no matter what Melkor does, he can't create harmony even through enforced unity -unification within the Discord-, because true unity, true harmony necessitates uniqueness and diversity first, and only then the correct balance and voluntary cooperation can happen between those diverse elements. neither could God force Melkor to choose to fulfill his role; God values creation, values Melkor. Melkor was free to be wrong, to fail God - and to fail himself.

Morgoth's own armies are made of slaves and traitors, like the Orcs and some swarthy men. Some of Morgoth's greatest successes are the result of elven and human free will, not of his power, like Feanor's self-dooming or Túrin's self-made tragedies that Morgoth calls 'Fate', as if he could control Fate (he cannot, nor can Feanor transcend it). Morgoth is false, and Morgoth is "un-Melkorian" because God is sovereign. Not in spite of it, because of it.

I think it was never God's Will to negate the individuality of Melkor. Instead, Melkor's frustration leads him to choose to negate that of others. that of those that he does have power over, those the most vulnerable to him. the more helpless, the more cruel, the better.

Melkor thus negates his own 'cause', destroys the meaning of his own rebellion; in his divine-given freedom, evil, though terrible, proves a self-defeating principle, if not yet force.

we are told this theme is "unlike other themes" because only God was privy to the full repertoire and counted on the capacity of Melkor to do both good and bad - Melkor who comes from his own mind, and could have played his role or not sought to aggrandize himself at the expense of others.

what Melkor takes for "triumphant" notes (ie, the moments where the forces of evil overpower the forces of good, where the world is not balanced, where good is corrupted, where hope seems lost), are incorporated ('woven') into the "solemn pattern".

T3, thus, is unlike T2, because it includes something truly distinct; its Melody is both the Harmony and the Discord woven into the overarching Pattern, blended into something also beautiful, and it is the Discord especially ("chiefly") that plays into this pattern.

this is something that God does not rejoice in (no "smile", but rather he is "stern"), and the pattern is "solemn". it is serious, somber, no joke. it is a painful fact of the world we have to incorporate into our worldviews and beliefs, no matter how unpleasant: warfare, sickness, disasters, death; natural destruction and evil.

the other Ainur are also not privy to the entire Symphony or 'Pattern' as it unfolds, but trust Providence. this is what Men call Hope (Estel), ultimately - Christian faith - trusting in ultimate goodness without knowing, and while being able to doubt it and act on dark thoughts born of that doubt.

staring at the very face of evil, because we are ignorant, and choosing good, while we are created capable of defying God.

Melkor's freedom is a divine gift at first, but the freedom and suffering of the Children -some of their own making, to themselves, to others; some beyond their ability to escape- is a somber reality. all is in the same Pattern of T3.

this quote from Tolkien encapsulates the conviction underlying Estel/Hope well I think:

Evil labours with vast power and perpetual success – in vain: preparing always only the soil for unexpected good to sprout in.

the melody is profound, it is 'deep' ('profundity') - because it has these time-woven, dialectic, causal layers between evil and good.

the melody is 'wide' because it includes the noble and the lowborn, the spirits and the firstborn and Men, all across the broad world. it is 'deep' because free choices, noble and corrupt, have repercussions that limit others' freedoms down the time-stream and across the board.

what seems little can change the course of history down the ages. the melody is 'slow', because History and God's Will are One. it takes the entirety of Arda's time to fully unfold - the only thing he demanded of the Ainur to be incarnate, to live all of it. only Melkor was thrown out of Arda by the Valar after the First Age

it is slow for fearful Men who die before seeing Fate unfold in their favor and it is slow for tired Elves who grow world-weary and count mounting losses remembering old glory. but it is God's tempo.

true Hope in this sense can only come from not overlooking the lack of goodness in the world and the pain that comes from it - it is truly a moral choice not to fall to despair, because despair is possible, likely or even seemingly impossible to avoid.

being cruel can be easy, and being kind can be hard. in fact, kindness is the most costly choice in world with cruelty, not just harder - Arda like our own. but without kindness, there is no goodness.

God's semblance isn't happy. Perhaps, God suffered first. Perhaps, God suffered most. Does God have choices?

Indeed, in Christianity, the suffering and compassion of God is centric. Arda, life, is not Paradise - not even Valinor, that Melkor darkened when becoming Morgoth. and do we not have this very notion in Nienna, in-world? she suffers even for the Black Foe, for whom she has canonical compassion.

"Love me when I least deserve it - for that is when I need it most"

what the world does have of good, was worth creating, for Him - and thus, it is worth living, for us the Children; it outweights everything else, no matter how desolate it may feel.

Nienna's pity is not pointless and sterile; it is constructive and fruitful. God wants the Children to choose kindness, not cruelty. That's the role. That's the assignment.

we are warned of this, explicitly: beauty comes chiefly from sorrow, not from 'unspoiled' goodness. good in the world, in Arda Marred, has to be built on top of the ruins where evil wrecked, erased former goodness, and "salted the earth".

Houses are rebuilt in a war-torn nation. Orphans are raised by families bereft of their infants, or push their way into apathetic society with little help, because life finds a way. Dignity is restituted to survivors of the most stigmatized and darkest depravity and atrocity; sexual violence, slavery, trafficking. Some communities are re-built under extreme climatic conditions in defiance of nature, where disasters resulted in massive loss of life before.

the sorrow is immesurable. even if we are overwhelmed by some of the sorrow - it cannot even be fathomed by us. but it can be fathomed by He who is the One who created the world: and he declares evil's victories "vain", pointless, doomed. Morgoth is not only to be defeated on principle, but even by force, he will not succeed.

this is the ultimate moral narrative of Christianity and western civ: the Crucifixion, in which God defeats Death, by resurrecting after a series of events representative of ultimate suffering and selfless sacrifice. Tolkien called the Crucifixion the "Eucatastrophe of Human History", Eucatastrophe itself a word he coined that means a sudden event that changes an outcome (eu- added to mean 'for good').

Death(Crucifixion narrative) is not just the end of life, but symbolic of the inexorable limitations of humanity and our desire to escape pain, fate and our desire to rid our loved ones from tragedy and cruelty.

Okay, back from the tangent.

I think T3 describes the entirety of the Years of the Trees and the Ages (First Age, Second Age, Third Age, Fourth Age, etc...).

We see it all in the legendarium. The Valar, wisest of all and closest to the mind of God, still struggle to understand Providence, but are all faithful except Melkor, who is not even regarded as a Vala anymore.

the unlikeness of T3 to T1/T2 means even Manwë is at a loss or impotent sometimes; he is fooled by Melkor in believing he is repentant where he is not (but again, arguably, could have been), validating Manwë's God-mandated role as justice-giver and legitimizing him to his Kingship. once, Manwë has to relinquish his power, recognizing a limitation in his treatment of humanity, so he summons God himself to cast divine judgment- during the Akallabêth, the Fall of Númenor, in a narrative that parallels the hubristic fall of Atlantis. we can defy God - but face consequences.

The Children of Ilúvatar, least in creation, both Elves and human, challenge Morgoth. Fëanor, Tuor, Beren. Some fall from grace because they also place themselves besides God (like Fëanor with his Oath), despite opposing Morgoth. Meanwhile, great spirits (lesser than the Valar, however) become seduced/corrupted, out of different psychological circumstances. characters like Saruman, or Mairon/Sauron, who rejects the Smith Aulë and his limitations and later becomes himself a tyrant, obsessed with Order, come to hate the free will of the peoples.

Morgoth's evil (Discord) is significant, but so is challenging Morgoth's evil (the Discord woven into the Pattern).

Eru's overarching will is Fate, the ultimate power in Eä, the universe - Melech HaOlam; King of the Universe, is a known epithet of the Judeo-Christian God. It is the whole Pattern of the Theme itself - leaving no room for non-Melkorian evil (as a category, not as in that all is prepetrated by Melkor). This is a trait of monotheistic worldviews, but wouldn't necessarily be the case in other worldviews and views of divinity.

we see the Children on both sides of the dialectic, as Harmony and as Discord and Discord is returned to the Pattern. The Darkening of Valinor, Fëanor's Oath, so terrible it invoked the Everlasting Darkness itself, defying God to a Melkorian degree; the War of the Jewels in the First Age, the War of Wrath that destroyed Beleriand at its end. In the rest of the ages - the Wars against fallen Sauron, the War of the Ring, and whatever will happen in the remaining ages of the Arda. The atrocities, sins all of us are yet to commit - and redeem.

#trop #rop #rings of power #the rings of power #lord of the rings #the lord of the rings #silmarillion #lotr #tolkien #ainulindale

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jumbled-messy-confused · 1 month

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A Battle of a Different Kind (2)

Summary:

In the opulent halls of the Tsar’s palace, General Kirigan’s strength is still being tested to its limits. Amidst the grandeur and forced gaiety, Alina Starkov makes a bold move to rescue him from the clutches of exhaustion and the Tsar’s insensitivity. A delicate dance unfolds, revealing resilience, sacrifice, and unexpected grace.

Notes:

While this story can stand on its own, I highly recommend reading “A Battle of a Different Kind (1)” first for a deeper understanding and richer context. And, yeah, well. Just be warned. *shrugs*

The grand dance hall was a spectacle of overwhelming opulence. Gilded walls, sparkling chandeliers, and lavish draperies adorned every surface, creating an atmosphere of excessive luxury. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfumes and the sound of forced laughter, a grotesque exhibition of the Tsar’s wealth and vanity. Amidst this ostentatious display, the music alone stood out like a beacon of genuine beauty. The orchestra played old pieces from Ravka, their melodies touching the hearts of those who listened, a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony of the opera.

But even the beauty of the music couldn’t help Kirigan much. Genya’s gaze once more lingered on him, her worry for his well-being still a constant hum in her thoughts. His weariness was palpable once again, and it was clear that the brief rest had already ceased to be effective, leaving him drained of strength once more. She glanced around at her fellow Grisha, who were also keeping a watchful eye on the General, their concern mirroring her own. For what felt like an eternity, they had to watch as the Tsar engaged Kirigan in tedious conversation. The sovereign’s voice was a constant drone, filled with self-importance and oblivious to the General’s condition. Kirigan, bound by etiquette and too proud to show any weakness, listened with a polite mask, though his fatigue and disinterest were evident in the stiffness of his posture and the way his lids occasionally closed longer than a blink. Genya’s heart ached at the sight; her respect for Kirigan’s endurance mingled with her disdain for the Tsar’s insensitivity. “He looks ready to collapse,” Fedyor, standing close to her, murmured, eyeing Kirigan’s pallid complexion and the way his eyes seemed to focus on nothing and everything at once. Genya nodded, her concern growing with each passing moment. “We need to find a way to get him out of there,” she replied softly.

The Grisha began brainstorming, their minds racing to find a solution. They whispered among themselves, each suggestion more desperate than the last. Minutes passed without a viable idea, and Genya grew increasingly frustrated that none of them could come up with a way out.

It was then that Alina voiced a sudden inspiration. “I shall ask him to dance,” she declared, her face set with determination and resolve. Ivan, with dry humor that didn’t quite mask his concern, replied, “I’m not sure if that will save him or doom him further.” “Dancing with me is a thousand times better than enduring another minute with the Tsar,” Alina retorted with conviction, and without another word, she began to weave her way through the crowd. Ivan, watching her go, shook his head morosely and grumbled, “Only if you know the steps!” His husband stared at him in disbelief. “You seriously think he doesn’t?” Ivan shrugged. “Have you ever seen him dance in all these years?” The way Fedyor’s expression turned slightly worried clearly indicated that he hadn’t. Ivan raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that said, “See? I have my reasons.” Genya, observing the exchange, couldn’t help but be amused by the dynamic between the two. And, in contrast to Ivan, she was quite confident in Kirigan’s abilities. Though she had never seen him dance either, no one was as versed in courtly etiquette as he was; he had been navigating these social intricacies long before any of them knew him. Surely, he could manage this as well.

Meanwhile, the nobles parted for Alina, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity. Murmurs followed her path as she moved with purpose, her eyes fixed on the throne. Genya watched, her heart caught between admiration for Alina’s boldness and a bit of amusement at how Kirigan would react to this rather unusual idea.

As Alina approached the throne, the Tsar and Kirigan turned to look at her, their conversation halting as she stood before them with an air of confidence. Genya, however, noticed the slight tremor in Alina’s hands, a sign of her underlying nervousness that only someone close to her would recognize. In that moment, Genya felt a surge of gratitude for Alina’s bravery, appreciating how far she was willing to go to help the exhausted man.

“Your Majesty,” she began, her voice admirably clear and assured, “May I have the honour of stealing General Kirigan for a dance?”

The room fell silent. Such a request was unheard of, a breach of protocol that sent whispers fluttering like startled birds. Genya watched as the Tsar stared at Alina in utter astonishment, his jaw practically dropping. Kirigan, on the other hand, only showed a flicker of disbelief, a brief moment where something akin to surprise flitted across his face before his expression became unreadable.

To Genya’s amazement, the Tsar’s astonishment quickly turned into a sneer, his features twisting with a mix of curiosity and amusement. He seemed genuinely intrigued by the audacity of the young woman before him. “Very well, girl. Take him away,” he smirked condescendingly and granted Alinas request with a contemptuous flick of his wrist. Genya had the distinct impression that he was at least as curious as everyone else to see if Kirigan, the epitome of confidence and elegance, would make a fool of himself. And with growing dread, she realized that this might actually happen. Said General’s face had, namely, by now turned to stone.

“Oh oh,” Fedyor muttered, his eyes wide with apprehension; Genya herself felt a lump form in her throat at Kirigan’s icy expression. Alina, meanwhile, was clearly under the most stress. A flicker of panic crossed her face, but she was committed now and had to see it through. Yet, it was obvious that her hand was trembling slightly as she placed it in Kirigan’s, and together they moved towards the dance floor. To top it all, the crowd parted for them, leaving the pair completely exposed, all eyes on them. By now, Genya felt a surge of anxiety that mirrored Alina’s, her heart pounding as she fervently hoped this would go well.

The music started, a beautiful Ravkan piece that Genya recognized instantly. Kirigan stood for a brief moment, listening to the opening notes. The room seemed to hold its breath, unsure of what to expect. Then, the General began to move. And he was a revelation. Kirigan danced with an elegance that took everyone’s breath away, his movements fluid and commanding, perfectly in time with the music. He guided Alina effortlessly across the dance floor, her steps mirroring his with a mesmerizing finesse.

Genya released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and mentally chided herself for doubting him. Of course, Kirigan could dance—he was the most graceful man she knew. It should have been no surprise that he moved with such poise and precision. She marvelled at how effortlessly he seemed to glide across the floor, his movements a stark contrast to the weariness she had seen moments before. Genya had to consciously tear her gaze away from the duo to glance at her fellow Grisha. Ivan stood with his arms crossed, clearly impressed. “I must admit, his talents extend far beyond the battlefield,” he remarked with a wry smile, a grudging acknowledgement in his voice. Fedyor’s eyes shone with pure joy, his usual cheerfulness amplified by the delight of watching Alina and Kirigan dance so wonderfully. Even David, typically lost in his own world, seemed momentarily fascinated, his usually distant gaze focused intently on the dancing pair.

The guests were equally captivated. Whispers of admiration and surprise rippled through the crowd, eyes following every graceful step of the summoner pair. Some guests exchanged glances, clearly impressed by Kirigan’s unexpected talent, while others simply watched in awe, unable to tear their gaze away from the enchanting display. Kirigan, for the first time that evening, seemed to truly enjoy himself. His stern facade had softened, and a genuine smile graced his lips—a smile meant only for Alina. His eyes, usually so guarded, now shone with a rare lightness, reflecting the joy of the moment. Alina beamed, her face alight with happiness as she looked at Kirigan. They whispered to each other, their faces radiating contentment with each exchanged word, creating a lovely picture. Despite his pallor and exhaustion, Kirigan clearly relished this brief moment, and it was wonderful to see. Gradually, more and more people joined the dance floor and filled it up, the scene becoming a beautiful tableau of swirling colors and elegant movements. And soon, Alina and Kirigan were almost lost among the other dancers. After a few minutes, Genya watched how Kirigan skilfully and gracefully guided Alina towards the back of the hall, where the door was located. She briefly wondered why, then she recognized that the music was nearing its end and Kirigan had obviously decided he had endured this farce long enough and was ready to leave and rest.

Ivan observed it as well. He and Genya exchanged glances, nudged their colleagues, and discreetly made their way towards the exit. With a final, elegant twirl, Kirigan and Alina slipped away from the dance floor and the prying eyes of the court. Behind a screen of guests, the Grisha made their escape.

Outside in the corridor, shielded from curious onlookers, Kirigan’s pace began to slow. He pressed a hand to his side, his face tightening in discomfort as he took a careful, deep breath. The group instinctively halted, understanding he needed a moment. Genya observed how Kirigan leaned heavily against the wall, rubbing his face with both hands, the dance having clearly taken the last bit of his strength. When he finally looked up, he managed a faint smile at Alina. “You are full of surprises, Miss Starkov.” His voice was tinged with both amusement and gratitude, yet his fatigue was so evident in his eyes that Alina couldn’t help but hug him gently.

Hiding her face, she murmured softly against his chest, “For a moment, I feared that ‘surprise’ was the worst idea I’ve ever had.” Kirigan’s expression turned concerned, and he lightly pushed her back a bit, lifting her chin with a gentle touch. “That wasn’t directed at you. It was entirely because of that insufferable, arrogant fool of a Tsar. The way he dismissed you like some bothersome insect… I was livid.”

Alina leaned back into him, admitting, “That was quite obvious.”

He allowed her to rest her head against his shoulder again, closing his eyes as he returned the embrace. This time, it was Alina who eventually pulled back. Her eyes filled with loving concern as she looked at his tired face and then she wrapped his arm around her shoulder and encircled his waist, taking on some of his weight. “You look ready to drop down any second,” she murmured gently, before her face brightened and she quipped with a playful smile and a wink, “May I accompany you to your room, General?” Genya smiled at her friend’s boldness, mirroring her earlier demand, but that smile quickly faded as Kirigan simply accepted defeat and leaned heavily on Alina. It spoke volumes about his condition. Nevertheless, he was feeling well enough for a light-hearted reply. “Only if you promise not to plan any more surprises tonight.” Alina made a mischievous face. “No guarantees.”

As the two began to move, Fedyor waved the others over with exaggerated urgency and cheerfully added, “Better not let them out of our sight. Who knows what Alina might come up with next!"

Everyone laughed, the tension of the evening finally breaking. Together, they formed a quiet procession that led Kirigan away from the grand palace and towards the sanctuary of his quarters.

Genya felt a wave of relief wash over her, grateful that he could finally rest. She knew that they would all ensure he had the support and care he needed. Together, they would help him find the strength to recover and face whatever challenges lay ahead.

#jumbled-messy-confused #be kind #fantasy #Shadow and Bone AU #aleksander morozova #shadow and bone #the darkling #grishaverse #hurt/comfort #h/c #fanfiction #genya safin #alina starkov #darklina #Ivan #Fedyor Kaminsky #exhaustion #AU #whump

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