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houseofhurricane · 3 years

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ACOTAR Fic: Bloom & Bone (21/28) | Elain x Tamlin, Lucien x Vassa

Summary: Elain lies about a vision and winds up as the Night Court’s emissary to the Spring Court, trying to prevent the Dread Trove from falling into the wrong hands and wrestling with the gifts the Cauldron imparted when she was Made. Lucien, asked to join her, must contend with secrets about his mating bond. Meanwhile, Tamlin struggles to lead the Spring Court in the aftermath of the war with Hybern. And Vassa, the human queen in their midst, wrestles with the enchantment that turns her into a firebird by day, robbing her of the power of speech and human thought. Looming over all of them is uniquet peace in Prythian and the threat of Koschei, the death-god with unimaginable power. With powers both magical and monstrous, the quartet at the Spring Court will have to wrestle with their own natures and the evil that surrounds them. Will the struggle save their world, or doom it?

A/N: With Tamlin and Vassa on the brink of death, is there anything Elain can do to save them? You can find all previous chapters here, or read Bloom & Bone on AO3. Thank you for reading! ❤️ If you'd like to get an early preview on the next chapter, follow me on Instagram at @house.of.hurricane.

Elain has been pacing the Spring Court estate since Tamlin left, hours before dawn. Her fingers trembled so badly that Mor, come from the Night Court, was forced to button her dress, then forced Elain to sit while Mor held a cup of tea to her lips. Elain could taste the whisky in the mixture but accepted the burn in her throat without complaint, nodded when Mor told her it would be all right. She’d watched Tamlin in battle dozens of times, she said, and the Mother always protected him, you’d think a male so big would be an easy target, but Tamlin always knew exactly where to be, when to wield his magic or his sword or the shape of the beast. Mor’s babbling, Elain knows, and yet her musical voice is so soothing that it’s all she can do to keep herself from begging Mor to stay with her. But she’s here to guard Vassa, to winnow her if Koschei attacks.

She’s let Vassa down enough, Elain knows. She cannot allow her friend to be captured by Koschei, not after seeing what this second captivity has wrought, the way Vassa is crumbling.

So when the queen and the Morrigan go to the lake to await the sun, Elain stays in the estate with Lucien, alert to every sound. Finally, he retreats to the library after placing a spell on her that will alert him to the presence of another living being, and Elain takes to the halls again, her heels clicking on the marble and the old stone. Normally she would linger at the windows, comfort herself with the view of the flowers and her endless hypotheses about how to improve the garden, but now the blooms are a smear of color in her vision, refusing to become distinct and consoling.

She spends an hour in the kitchen, letting Cook boss her through the baking of the day’s bread, but eventually he shoos her away for over-kneading the dough.

If she had not promised Tamlin otherwise, she would go to the Autumn Court, no matter that the only places she knows are likely already in the thick of battle. If only she could see him for a few more moments, she thinks, striding through the estate one more time.

Mid-stride, the pain hits her. The agony begins on the left side of her torso, the place where her waist curves, and then it consumes Elain whole, a blaze of agony.

The pain makes her silent, drives her hands into fists so tight that blood seeps from between her fingers, from where her nails have punctured her palm.

“Lucien,” she breathes through the pain, though perhaps it is a scream, “someone has cast a spell on me.”

Though she can see no magic around her, detect nothing with her own powers. The attack from Koschei has begun, she realizes, and when she disappears out of the world, even though the pain remains, flaring and ebbing, she waits to hear his voice, feel the spark and crackle of his powers.

Instead she appears outside her room in Feyre and Rhys’s river house, and Rhys is muttering, “if you die like this, it’s going to look as if I killed you, and we both know this isn’t how I would kill you,” and then, despite the fire that clamps its jaws tighter on her, Elain runs until she reaches Tamlin, nearly falling out of Rhys’ arms. She knows exactly how far they’ve walked by the thick trail of blood, a shocking red against the gleaming floor.

“Get Madja,” she orders Rhys, reaching for Tamlin, a challenge in her eyes. She won’t ask what happened. There is no chance that Rhys would have left a losing battle with Tamlin instead of Cassian or Azriel. Which means that Tamlin had some plan he didn’t divulge to her. But she will be angry with him later.

Now, she only tells Rhys that she can bear Tamlin’s weight and braces herself for him, his head coming to rest on her shoulder, the blood of his injury warm on her hip. She presses her hand over the gash, walking him step by agonizing step to her bedroom, murmuring, you’re all right and hold on and please, Tamlin, please until none of those words have any meaning and her voice sounds like a shrill whine in her ears.

Finally, they reach the bedroom and she eases him as gently as she can onto her bed, pressing with all her might on his side, the magic in the wound sparking against her own. Koschei was behind this attack somehow, of this Elain is certain.

But as she presses on the wound, calling her magic up inside herself, willing it through her fingers in a golden glow, the pain in Elain’s side recedes.

She can still feel Tamlin’s blood, hot and throbbing against her palm, but Koschei’s magic is gone. All she can detect is Tamlin’s own magic, and Rhys’, where he tried his best to throw a patch on the damage.

There is still so much blood, though. Enough that a man would be dead. Elain has never much liked the sight or smell of blood, but she pushes through the bile that rises in her throat, presses her hands hard against Tamlin’s side, willing his blood to stay inside his body, for his own rapid healing to begin. Hoping it will be quick enough.

“You need to live,” she tells him, “because I want to scream at you for whatever made you decide to sacrifice yourself. And then I want to apologize for all the times I told you to do something, to lead your court. Because I didn’t realize it would hurt me so much to see you like this.”

She can still feel the warmth of the blood trying to escape his body, and Tamlin’s eyelids don’t so much as flutter. Despite his tan from so many hours spent outside, his skin is pale, going blue and gray, as if shadows have begun to claim him.

“I could’ve lived with the pain in my side,” she goes on, as if he had been listening to her, “but the pain in my heart at losing you is too much. I can follow you to the realm where the dead go, and if you die today you will find me in that world. But I want to know what it would be like to be with you in this world and unafraid. So you need to hold tight to whatever binds you here and live.”

She sets free a pulse of magic through him, not sure if it will do any good, but there is no answering gush of blood, and she hears a steadier breath leave Tamlin’s lungs. The seconds drag on and Elain holds her hands to the wound, alert to Koschei’s magic.

When the hand presses to the back of her neck, cool and dry, Elain screams.

Then she registers Madja’s scent, the calming herbs that seemed to have seeped into the healer’s skin.

With a practiced gesture, Madja slips her hands around Elain’s, then replaces them, pressing on the wound. Her magic, a white glow, surrounds Tamlin's side, spreads itself across his body.

“It is only his flesh that is harmed,” Madja says, and her voice is equal parts calming and annoyed. “I had thought from the state the High Lord was in, that there was a magical catastrophe of some kind.”

“Koschei’s magic was in the wound. It felt spiky and strange, like lightning in the air but more… evil, somehow.”

“There is nothing like that in this wound. Not even a trace of that kind of magic. I sense yours, and his, and the High Lord’s awful attempt at healing. It is as if that magic has not existed in this world, Lady.”

“You can call me Elain, Madja,” she responds, which is what she always tells the healer despite no evidence that Madja will listen, but behind her words, Elain’s mind is whirling. That she could remove Koschei’s magic from this world. There are a thousand things that she could do with that power, beginning with freeing Vassa from her curse.

She’s dimly aware of Madja’s magic as she wields it on Tamlin, knitting his flesh together, which Elain feels now in her own body, an easing inside her, the banishment of pain. She finds herself clutching at Tamlin’s hand, feeling the pulse at his wrist protesting her tight grip.

Yet inside, her mind works through the implications of this new facet of her power. This magic of Koschei’s was weaker than what she’d previously encountered, and untethered to Tamlin. It reminds her most of Beron’s magic when he interrupted the meeting of the other High Lords, and of course Koschei would have had to offer something to cement a continued alliance with the Autumn Court. Helion and Lucien could help her finesse her powers, will spend happy hours bickering over the best way to navigate the curse on Vassa.

This time, when she squeezes Tamlin’s hand, it’s because she is eager for all that awaits her, the unfolding of her plan. And this time, his fingers reach out and squeeze hers, and Elain can’t contain the little shout of joy that rises in her throat.

“Will he be all right?” she asks Madja.

“He will be weak for a few days while his body heals,” the healer says, applying a fragrant bandage to the wound, “but then it will be as if he were never harmed.”

Later, Elain will hear about the victory at the Autumn Court, how Eris claimed his throne and how Helion and the Lady of Autumn absconded to the Day Court, and joy will rise inside her, mixed with relief. But now, as Madja tightens the bandages and checks her handiwork, as color returns to Tamlin’s face, premature as it may be, this is when Elain rejoices.

Exhaustion robs Vassa of most of her capacity for celebration. When Elain and Tamlin are returned to the Spring Court after the battle by Rhys, who recounts everything that has happened to Lucien and Vassa and the Morrigan, who has remained faithful to her duties as a guard, the most Vassa can manage is a smile that reveals her teeth. She wants to lean in to Lucien, pillow her head with his shoulder, but even the idea of the pain of that gesture will involve robs the desire from her, sends her to the opposite corner of the couch, tucked into herself so that there is less of her to touch.

She wants to rejoice for Eris but she worries about the curse on him, which Lucien says resembles the architecture of her own. Koschei feels only a whisper away, the grip of his magic so strong that it seems as if his own hands brush against her, polluting her. But she does not have the resolve to point this out to the grinning members of the Night Court, not after Morrigan’s bright chatter kept her distracted all day, and Vassa does not have the capacity to tear at the fragile hope in Rhys’s eyes. She should have the strength to hold Lucien close and allow him to mourn or celebrate the deaths of his other brothers however he wants, but it’s as if a thousand sleepless nights now press in on her, painful and muffling, so that she can only think of what she requires in each moment. And the idea of holding Lucien close, letting his touch cause her pain, is beyond what Vassa can currently bear.

Instead, after Rhys and the Morrigan leave, she hovers at the threshold of Tamlin’s room, where Elain has carefully arranged him on the bed. Lucien has quickly established himself on a deep armchair, his feet propped up on a low table as he works on a worn parchment which Vassa knows quite well. It contains a detailed analysis of her curse.

“You don’t know if the bond played a role,” Lucien is saying to Elain, who looks up from the fragrant compress she’s laid on Tamlin’s forehead just long enough to wrinkle her nose in annoyance.

“Even if it did, I don’t see how this isn’t worth a try.”

“You’re very sure of yourself for someone who learned this power moments ago.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“You know that Lucien is generally right,” Tamlin croaks, and the way Elain’s fingers reach for his jaw, trace the line the bones make under his skin, makes something clench, tender and jealous, inside Vassa.

She steps inside the room and they all turn towards her, her heavy human tread.

“Didn’t you always tell me that everyone underestimates Elain?” Vassa says, summoning levity to her voice, a wink towards Elain. She can tell from Lucien’s expression that he hears the strain anyway.

“I think that it is possible that I can break Koschei’s curse on you,” Elain says, in a voice that is sweet and adorably unsure, though Vassa is predisposed to give those words in any tone a rosy judgement.

“How?”

“Earlier, with my magic, I sent a spell of Koschei’s out of this world and into another. I think that I could do the same with your curse.”

“That was magic Koschei gave to my brother,” Lucien says. “My brothers were--”

“Your brothers were all powerful sons of two powerful High Fae, just like you.” Elain’s words shift between comfort and accusation, a tone Vassa recognizes. One she taught Elain herself.

“Try it now,” Vassa says, walking towards the bed and extending her hand toward Elain. She tilts her palm to the ceiling, the way a queen bestows her favor.

Then Elain steps off the bed and takes Vassa’s hand, and the pain cleaves her completely. It is as if her blood is boiling fire, as if there is an animal inside her, slashing at her with its teeth and claws, as if the world has turned to pandemonium and ragged screaming.

When Vassa finds herself on the floor, Elain and Lucien and Tamlin all staring at her, wide-eyed, she realizes that her throat is raw. That the screams were her own.

“I’m so sorry,” Elain says, and Vassa has to hold herself back from reaching for her.

Because as horrible as that pain was, when Elain reached out to her, there was an end to it. And the pain that Vassa endures every day feels endless, a life sentence.

She does not want to think about what it implies, that she wants Elain to grab her and hold on until the pain stops.

Instead, Vassa summons the depths of her will, assures her fae companions that she is all right, that she would like a few moments alone to collect herself, and manages to keep from collapsing until she reaches her own bed.

“You were going to rip her apart,” Lucien growls, as soon as Vassa is out of earshot, and for a moment Elain is actually afraid of him. She’s never heard him so full of wrath.

Still, she cannot help asking: “What did you see?”

“Did your magic keep you from hearing her screams?” There’s an edge in his voice that threatens tears, wrathful sobs. Still. She had felt the magic rise in her, the will. A possibility that seemed apart from Vassa’s torment. Even in spite of her friend’s suffering, the maelstrom of pain, Elain had almost kept her fingers wrapped in Vassa’s tight grip. Of course, she will not tell Lucien how her friend clung. Perhaps she will never reveal the extent of the queen’s desperation.

“You saw something else,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. She feels Tamlin’s hand on hers, warmer than it was even moments ago, and the luck of it, the fact that he is here in his court and healing, makes her plunge onward. Because she has been trying to pretend that there is plenty of time to break Vassa’s curse, but that is clearly now a lie. “Tell me what you saw, Lucien, and we can try to fix it. We can go to Helion, or--”

Lucien interrupts her with a wave of his hand, lightning between his fingers. So powerful and yet completely unlike Koschei’s magic.

“That curse is interwoven with an essential part of Vassa. When you try to send it into another world, you are ripping that out of her.”

“Can you determine what part it was?”

Lucien’s face has gone pale, his lips yellow-white.

“It was her life, Elain. Her human life.”

“But that’s easy,” she says, not understanding his misery. “We’ll just summon the High Lords. Feyre was a human once.”

“Feyre saved our world and half the High Lords would still kill her to get that bit of their power back, if they didn’t believe she herself would destroy them in the process,” Tamlin says, the words between a groan and a sigh. “Now that they know the cost of such a miracle, you’ll never summon all of them. Not for a human queen who can offer them nothing.”

Elain is preparing a blistering retort when he reaches for her, squeezes her hand.

“If it were my decision alone, Vassa would already be High Fae.”

She dips her head and kisses him, a gentle press of lips that belies the furious workings of her mind. Because the moment Tamlin said her sister’s name, Elain’s own words to Feyre echoed in her mind. Your magic is something new entirely , she’d told Feyre. And isn’t it true of herself, too? Of Nesta?

“As soon as we can get a guard on this house,” she tells Lucien, “we go to the Night Court and then Helion. I have an idea.”

“I won’t let you kill Vassa,” he says, already halfway out the door, feet pointed in the direction of her room.

Elain only nods, doesn’t say that Vassa will surely die without her intervention. It would not be a kindness.

Instead, she turns back to the bed and smooths Tamlin’s hair away from his face, checking for signs of fever and too relieved when she finds none. She forgets, over and over, the fact that they aren’t human, that their lives are no longer so fragile, even in the thick of battle.

“You’re going to have to tell me why you weren’t shielding your forces,” she says, letting frustration suffuse her words.

“Helion and I went to rescue Cybele.” His eyes on hers are steady, no apology in them. “The Summer Court was better equipped to hold a shield against the Autumn Court’s fire.”

“So you had to be a hero?”

“You were angry when I hid in the forest,” he says, a sharp tone in his voice. “This is what it means, to be High Lord. To gain the peace you seek.”

His skin stands out against his white sheets now, and, had she not known the sight of him so well, Elain would think Tamlin unharmed. Still, she can see the exhaustion in his features, the pale cast to his skin.

“I didn’t know it would hurt so much,” she says, her voice breaking as soon as she meets his gaze. “I thought that you were going to die of that wound. That magic.”

“Now you know how it felt for me when Beron took you.” He reaches for her, his thumbs swiping away the tears that have fallen down her cheeks.

“Is it just the mating bond?”

“I--I sometimes think about what it would be, if you left this house. If you left me. The emptiness. And still I think I could… I think you’ve shown me how I could bear it, being alone. Anyway I probably deserve it.”

She lays herself carefully against him, avoiding his injured side, nestling close against his warmth.

“You are much better than I used to think,” she says.

“Better than I was. It isn’t much.” She hates that he won’t take the compliment. Accepting his flaws and failures is one thing, but this sorrow, in the face of his survival, still worries her.

“You were ready to sacrifice yourself for the Lady of Autumn. So that Helion could get away safe, and Rhys would be all right.”

“Who told you all that?” A confirmation in his eyes, the green gone bright as new leaves.

“Vassa was right when she said everyone underestimates me,” she says, taking his hand and sliding his fingers under the bodice of her gown. She does not want to talk about strategy or battle now. What she wants is far more than she can express in words. Not the desire for a man to protect her. More than the fervent kisses they exchange in other worlds. So many things in the world are awful, and Elain is tired and relieved and alive, and what she wants is Tamlin against her, inside of her, somehow still alive with her at the end of this day.

She stretches, allowing his hand to fall, cup her breast, and feels the heat rise in her at his harsh breath.

“I thought we were going to argue,” he says, his thumb pressed against her nipple. She can feel every movement, every hesitation.

“You’re alive,” she says, casting out with her magic to pull the door shut, leaning towards him so that her breasts swell against the neckline of her gown and his fingers are trapped against her soft flesh. “And I will have to go to the Night and Day Courts in the morning.”

In seconds, with his assistance, her dress is undone, landing on the floor with a muffled thump, her undergarments flung alongside, and then Elain reaches for Tamlin, pushing up the soft fabric of his shirt and running her fingers over his skin, the golden hair that’s light on his chest and thicker on his forearms, the muscles of his chest and abdomen, the cock that strains through his pants at the gentle exploration of her fingers.

She’s never touched him there before. She’s never dared.

His lips are on her neck, his teeth against the skin as his thumbs, featherlight, skim her breasts, teasing her soft skin, and she can’t help the moan she looses, the urgency of her own fingers, scrabbling between his back and the wall of pillows she’s constructed.

“Are you all right?” she asks, knowing that in a moment all semblance of consideration will desert her.

He pulls her against him and nods, but she feels his fingers going cold. She pulls her hands from behind him and cups her palms around his fingers, holding them above her heart.

“I’m alive,” he says, a growl edging the words, as if to distract her from the exhaustion in his words. “I’m alive thanks to your magic.”

“I’m never going to let you forget that.” She curls herself beside him, hoping he hears the promise in the words. The declaration in them.

With a groan, he reaches over and tucks the blankets around her, up to her chin, strokes his thumb across her lips.

“You saved me,” he says, and though the weight of the day bears down on her, a thick exhaustion, Elain can’t stop smiling.

Over the next week, the firebird flies less and less, and Vassa spends more of each night in her room, curled up on the bed. Though he tries to hide it, Lucien has taken to sleeping on the floor, rousing himself at the slightest motion before spending his days far away. They’re getting closer to figuring out how to break her curse, he tells her, but Vassa has to work to feign interest, let alone believe him.

In both her human and firebird forms, her body feels as if its wrapped tight with cotton and pain, everything muffled, everything a strain. Elain’s laughter is harsh against her ears, Lucien’s worried looks are cloying and overfilled with pity. She hates that she cannot bear them.

She finds herself, one night, in the doorway of the High Lord’s bedroom, where Tamlin has been forced to wait for his innards to knit themselves together again. Already he looks fully healed to Vassa, but Elain has compelled him to remain in bed and Tamlin is clearly too besotted to put up much resistance.

“I see Lucien and Elain are still away,” he says when she greets him, the words not quite as jovial as he intends. A creature like that, forced into confinement, never rests easy. “Elain barely sleeps. She thinks only of breaking your curse.”

“Do you think that there is hope?” Vassa does not ask about Lucien, who no longer speaks to her about the breaking of the curse, but who is away with Elain, and who stays awake puzzling at all hours over reams of parchment and obscure spellbooks that smell like centuries of dust. Vassa falls asleep and he is leaning over his desk, making annotations, and when she wakes before dawn, she keeps finding Lucien in the same position.

“I believe in Elain,” Tamlin says, his gaze landing on her so powerfully that Vassa is reminded of what it means to be a High Lord, “I think she is only beginning to realize her capabilities. If she says it can be done, I believe her.”

“I am not so sure. I think Lucien has lost hope.” She has not made this confession to Elain or to Lucien himself because she can imagine the vast sadness in their eyes, the onset of grief. That she would be lost to them.

Still, even the sadness in Tamlin’s face is enough to steal her breath. She, who was bred and raised to withstand armies.

“I think Lucien would sacrifice the world if it meant keeping you safe.”

“In the stories,” she says, leaning on the threshold, “you were not nearly so perceptive.”

“If the stories are true, they describe me rightly as a monster.”

“You sacrificed yourself at the Autumn Court. No monster of my acquaintance has ever been so noble.”

“I knew this court would go on without me. The stories say you were beloved in Scythia.”

“All I ever wanted was to rule,” she says, because a queen accepts a compliment gracefully, but it’s been so long since she was last among her people that she’s beginning to wonder if it is true. If the things she’s always thought she wanted are the things she truly wants, now.

“Before you return--” Tamlin begins, but he’s interrupted by a flurry of footsteps, the intake of breath that precedes Elain’s voice.

“We figured out how to break the curse!” she announces, a riot of joy as she sweeps into the room, careful not to make contact with Vassa.

Behind her, Lucien and her sisters take a more sedate walk, and before Vassa steels herself to meet Lucien’s eyes, she takes in the careful void of emotion on Feyre Cursebreaker’s face, as she walks into Tamlin’s bedroom. Vassa knows enough of Prythian gossip to know what a moment this is, even if the tableau is innocent, the High Lord convalescing and his gaze intent on Elain, all pride and delight.

“Is it true?” Vassa makes herself ask, wrenching her eyes on Lucien. The deep violet under his eyes.

She does not miss the look that passes between him and Elain, the weight of it.

Still, he nods.

“When I touch you,” Elain says, her voice gone serious, “the pain is unique because my magic is attempting to pull the curse out of this world and into another, where it cannot harm you. But as part of his adjustments to the spell, Koschei ensured that if I removed the spell, I would shatter your humanity. That’s why I couldn’t take you from this world. I would kill you.”

“I was Made High Fae under similar circumstances,” Feyre says, every inch the High Lady even in her sweater and leggings and boots scuffed with wear. “But after realizing that assembling the High Lords was unlikely, Elain thought that Nesta, who can Make and Unmake, and I, with power of the High Lords, might be able to approximate their capacities. We’ve been determining a theory and practicing the spell and its timing for the past week.”

“ Someone is too slow with her magic,” Nesta interjects, rolling her eyes towards Feyre even as she smiles at Vassa with the confidence of an alpha predator.

If Vassa hadn’t been listening so closely, that would have been the moment she thought that everything would be resolved.

But: “I would be High Fae?”

“The combination of your curse and our magic means that you would have to become something new,” Feyre says, in a voice she no doubt uses on her child when he is so tired that all he can do is sob. The way that Vassa feels now.

All her life, she was raised to be the human queen of Scythia. She had always envisioned herself returning to rule there for the rest of the years that remained to her. Because she grew up learning the history of the faeries of this world. Such a queen would never be recognized, would never be accepted.

She would no longer be Queen Vassa of Scythia. She would no longer be a firebird, or a cursed queen, or a human woman.

She would no longer live with this curse eating its way through her, the fire raging in her veins as it prepares to swallow her whole.

She turns to Lucien, meets his eyes for the first time since he walked in the room. Sees the despair in them, the fear, and the hope. And another emotion, which at this moment Vassa can hardly bear. Still, she does not look away from him, tries to etch his expression into her mind, so that she’ll never forget his russet and gold gaze, which sees everything that makes up this world, the lips she’s kissed a thousand times, the bronze skin and red-orange-gold of his hair. The jagged scar which only highlights the handsome angles of his face and makes him more dear to her, for everything that he’s survived. Her Lucien, with his clever remarks and the wit that makes her cackle with laughter, whispering secrets and endearments to her every night, who has always made her feel as if maybe it were possible to live under this curse, so long as her life was illuminated by his light.

“This magic could kill you,” he says, “or destroy you past the point of recovery.”

She thinks of what it felt like, when Elain touched her this last time. What she might become even if the Archeron sisters are successful.

“How much longer do I have if we do nothing?” She tries to stay calm, not to upset Lucien, but still the words feel jagged in her throat.

“It’s possible that Koschei could reverse the spell,” Elain says, “if we compel him.”

For the first time since she’s entered the room, Tamlin speaks.

“You will not offer yourself to the death-lord,” he growls.

Elain moves toward him, but Vassa reaches toward her first, her fingers grasping for Elain’s wrist. A bolt of pain that shocks through her. The kind of pain that carries its end within itself, which cannot last forever.

Vassa thinks, in a rush, of all those new years she might have with Lucien, should this plan succeed. All the nights where the pain of holding him has overwhelmed her. Who she might be, at the end of this. No more days trapped within the mind of the firebird, no more nights watching the life drip out of her. There will be pain, but maybe, after, there will be something new. A future she has never even allowed herself to imagine.

“Break the curse,” she says.

For the first time in a long while, she sounds like her rightful self.

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years

Text

Your Match Is Made

A Shay Cormac x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1,551 Warnings: None

Author’s Note: This’ll probably end up a mutli-chapter work. Also, based on the song “ Téir abhaile riú”, sung by the Celtic Woman! Enjoy! -Thorne

She inhaled deeply, a smile spreading across her face as she stepped across the fort’s courtyard. The flags of the ship blew with the wind and she hummed a simply tune, making her way down the steps to it. Sailors moved back and forth across the deck and she strode up to the walkway, tugging the bag on her shoulder as she called, “Ho there! Is there a captain aboard?” The men immediately stopped working at the sound of a woman’s voice, hurrying to the side of the ship to catch a glimpse at her; she giggled as they stared and she pressed a hand to her chest, just above where her dress covered her breasts. “I was wondering if I could fetch a ride to another port!” The men all started talking and she let out another laugh, shouting over them, “Men, men, one at a time! I’ve only two ears!” A man dressed in frontiersmen leathers stepped down the walkway, addressing her kindly.

“Good evening ma’am! I’m Gist, the first mate.” She huffed a laugh, waving a hand.

“Oh please, I’m no ma’am yet.” He laughed, then inquired,

“Why are you looking for a ride to another port?” Tipping her head side to side, she answered vaguely,

“A few of the women here aren’t too particularly fond of me.” Gist cocked an eyebrow and she added, “Singing in the taverns earns good money, but it keeps husbands out late. I’ve been…politely asked to leave the city.” He seemed to grasp the situation because he said,

“I’m sure the captain would be more than happy to offer you passage, but he’s not here right now.” A frown crossed her lips and she went silent for a moment, then asked,

“I can always find another ship to travel on…but…” She drew her eyes to the sailors who seemed to be captivated by her; a smirk crossed her face as an idea popped into her head and she called, “I’d be more than happy to sing a few songs in exchange for a few pounds!” The men cheered and she looked back at Gist, quipping, “What do you say, first mate? Will you let me sing a few songs before the night sky appears?” He seemed to struggle with agreeing, but with the sight of her hands clasped in front of her, a mock pout on her lips, he let out a sigh and gestured for her to climb aboard. With a smile and the many cheers of the crew, she did.

Some Time Later:

The two men stepped in sync, a quiet conversation passing between them. “I find it hard to believe that your father was the great Edward Kenway, Master Haytham.” The other man let out a hum, eyes cautiously scanning the road in front of them.

“Why is that Shay?” The Irishman snorted, tossing him a side glance.

“You seem too proper to be the son of one of the greatest pirates alive.”

“I do wonder quite often if you think of the words that come from your mouth.”

“I mean no offense of course…it’s just…the stories.” He raised his hands into the air. “Sailing the seas finding treasure and fighting mighty battles!” Shay looked at him. “You almost seem uncomfortable when you get on ships.” Haytham said nothing, stopping in his tracks, and for a moment, Shay feared he’d said the wrong thing. “Sir?” The grandmaster nodded to the pier, inquiring,

“Did your crew plan a festival while we were gone?” The hunter cocked an eyebrow, turning his gaze to the ship; his eyes widened as he caught sight of the crew singing merrily, dancing and drinking.

“Ah Christ…what now?” The two shared a look before striding to the ship and up the walkway, but they stopped when they learned what was causing such merriment. Gist twirled a young woman around and she held the side of her flowy, crimson dress as she sang,

“Stay a while and we’ll dance together now as the light is falling! We’ll reel away till the break of day and dance together till morning!” Shay felt as though he’d been shot straight in the chest, the sight of her beauty taking his breath away. Her voice rose as she spun, but she sounded like an angel, the joy on her face practically heaven as she moved to another sailor, grinning as the crew sang with her, “Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú Mhearai! Téir abhail gus fan s abhaile, mar tá do mhargadh déanta!” She twisted once more into another sailor’s arms and he danced with her. “Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú Mhearai! Téir abhail gus fan sa bhaile, mar tá do mhargadh déanta, do Mhargadh de-!” She pulled away from the sailor’s arms, twirling in the middle of the circle of them, arms outstretched as she finished powerfully, “Do mhargadh déanta!” She slammed the heel of her boot into the ground as she ended, and cheers rippled through the crew as she took a bow, a mile-long grin stretched across her face. As she stood, the cheers suddenly died, every sailor blanching as they stood straight, and with a confused expression, she turned, immediately met with the sight of the two templars on the deck; Gist stepped forward, hurriedly explaining,

“Uh, Captain Cormac, we can explain!” Shay waved a hand, crossing his arms over his chest as he inquired,

“And who might you be, lass?” She cleared her throat as she smoothed the front of her dress, then held out a hand as she introduced herself.

“(Y/N) (L/N)…you must be the captain then.” He glanced at her hand before shifting his arms, and to her surprise, he took her hand in his, gently pressing a kiss to her knuckles, murmuring,

“I am. Shay Cormac, at your service, lass.” (Y/N) let out a flustered laugh as she took her hand back, pressing it to her middle as he said, “What brings you aboard the Morrigan…besides turning my crew into a bunch of drunken, singing louts?” She let out a laugh, retorting,

“Well, part of that was my fault, drink and folk songs always make a crowd rowdy. I’m looking for passage to another port that’s not in New York.” (Y/N) gestured to Gist. “Mister Gist was kind enough to let me sing a few songs in exchange for a few pounds.” Shay cocked an eyebrow, leaning against the railing as he asked,

“Why aren’t you singing in a tavern?” The same expression she wore when she told Gist the reason returned and she quickly said,

“Making money in taverns is great, but many of the wives of the men who I sing for don’t particularly think so.” She cringed slightly, adding, “They complained about me to the ministers of the town…I was…strongly encouraged to leave New York.” Shay nodded with understanding.

“I see.” Something in his expression shifted, and (Y/N) was quick to reason,

“If you’ll give me passage to another port, I’ll pay.” He observed her for a moment, then countered,

“How ‘bout I make you a deal?” She nodded, partially curious, the other part suspicious, and he offered, “I’ll give you free passage to any port we stop at for the next month, and all you have to do is perform songs for us.” Her jaw went slack, and she spluttered,

“Y-you…you’re joking?” He shook his head. “You’ll give me free passage? And all I have to do is be entertainment?” He nodded, and for a moment, she didn’t speak, then she queried, “What’s the catch?” Shay chuckled, coffee eyes meeting hers as he retorted,

“No catch, just a few songs to keep us entertained.” He could see the doubt in her eyes, and he vowed, “If you’re worried about any of the men, there’s no need. Each and every man here is the honorable sort-no one will lay a hand on you without your say so.” He drew his eyes to the crew, adding, “And if they found themselves brave enough to do so, they’d deal with me.” (Y/N) observed him for a moment, then she held out her hand, and Shay watched as one of the sailors handed her her bag, and she quipped,

“I hope you’re not expecting me to sleep in the crew cabins, Captain Cormac. I might be an entertainer, but I do have standards.” Shay snorted, offering his arm to her, and she took it, letting him lead her to the grate that led below deck.

“Of course not Miss (Y/N). We’ll have an officer’s room set up for you to stay in.” She hummed and he added, “And please, call me Shay.” (Y/N) giggled as they disappeared below deck, and Gist walked over to Haytham, listening as he sighed,

“Fantastic…now he’s going to be captivated with her.” Gist snorted, eyeing the grandmaster.

“You say that sir…but you were just as captivated as Shay was.” Haytham cocked an eyebrow, an underlying threat in his words.

“I beg your pardon?” The first mate chuckled, walking off.

“Nothing sir, absolutely nothing at all.” Gist waved a hand, addressing, “Alright, the lot of you get back to work! Just because we’ve got a woman aboard doesn’t mean you’re being cut any slack!” The men groaned as they headed to work.

#shay cormac imagines #shay cormac imagine #shay cormac x reader #shay cormac x reader imagine #shay cormac x reader imagines #shay cormac #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed imagines #assassins creed rogue #ac rogue #christopher gist #haytham kenway

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silvertonedwords · 4 years

Text

Yes, Then

Or, Newt In New York, 3.0

*Please someone suggest a better title after you read this. Also, this was by far the hardest of these that I’ve done. I don’t know what it is about this situation. Anyway, I hope you still enjoy.*

“Evening, Queenie.”

“Teenie. You’re still up?”

Tina slips a finger between the pages of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them to mark her place. She doesn’t require legilimency or her auror training to see that the sister she half-raised had meant to sneak into their apartment unnoticed. She raises an eyebrow, not bothering to verbalize the question Queenie’s already heard, the continuation of a fight that’s been building for weeks.

“So what if I was at the bakery? He remembers me, Teen. We’re in love.”

“Queenie.”

“Don’t look at me like that.’

“Like what?”

“Like you’re the—the wise one who has everythin’ figured out.”

“I never said that. But the law is—“

“And what about it? What if there was a law that said aurors couldn’t—couldn’t marry anyone who’d ever been arrested! What would you do then?”

Tina’s fingers clench around the book, her stomach flipping with an unsettling combination of excitement and hurt. For a moment, she’s stepping into MACUSA with her hand around Newt’s arm, and then his hand is on her cheek, featherlight and delicate and burning, and then she’s staring at that damned photograph in the magazine and bundling up the well-worn pages of his letters and tucking them far away in the back of her wardrobe, out of sight but hardly out of mind. She softens just a little, and realizes that Queenie has been studying her intently. “That isn’t the point.”

“Teenie—“

“It’s fine. I told you. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I wanna be with Jacob.”

“You can’t.”

“I am.”

“Queenie,” she snaps.

“Why can’t you just be happy for us?”

“I promised Momma and Poppa I’d protect you.”

“Well, I’m all grown up now. I think you can stop.”

A stab of panic shoots through Tina’s throat. “What if you—“ she lets Queenie into the fog of worries, arrest, a baby with Queenie’s blond hair taken from its mother’s arms, Jacob’s memory wiped of the family he once knew. Their parents, sick and dying, and the sisters crying into each others’ shoulders.

“That won’t happen to us,” Queenie finally says, her voice softer.

“You don’t know that.”

“You have to take risks sometimes.” Tina’s mind flashes to her work, and Queenie shakes her head impatiently. “Not like that. You’ve never had a problem with that. With your heart.”

Tina blinks. She’d though she had. Just this once, just a little. And then he’d gone and—She cuts herself off from that line of thought, frustrated with herself for being distracted. It’s so infuriating sometimes, arguing with a legilimens.

“It’s okay to be hurtin’.”

“I’m not.”

“Tina.”

“I’m not.”

Queenie stiffens at her sister’s tone, and in a breath she looks angry again, taller and stiffer and ready to fight. “Well, I think you are. I think you’re jealous.”

Tina’s stomach lurches. “That isn’t fair,” she protests, knowing her unsteady voice has betrayed her, and knowing that with Queenie, it doesn’t matter anyway. It isn’t related. Her and Newt. It’s not.

Queenie scoffs.

This thing with Jacob is dangerous she thinks to her sister, throwing force behind the words. You’ll just get hurt.

“Or maybe we’ll just be happy. That’s what happens when people are right for each other. They say so.”

How would you feel if I brought you your copy in person? Tina shoves Newt’s voice away. “I don’t want you to get hurt. Either of you.”

“And you’re hurtin’ us in the process. Can’t you see that?” Queenie tugs her shoes back onto her feet, wrapping a scarf around her neck. “You know I love you, but you’re wrong about this.”

Tina stares. “Don’t—“

“Don’t what?”

“You’re being reckless. Just like when we were little girls. You aren’t thinkin’ straight.”

“You gonna turn us in, Auror Goldstein?”

“No, never! Queenie—“ she pleads. Tears fill her eyes as she watches Queenie’s spill over. “I love you, too. I want you to be safe.”

“It ain’t fair, y’know? You and Newt coulda been happy. You coulda written him a letter, explained how you feel. But me ’n Jacob—“

Tina flinches. “That’s not—you can’t—“

“I can. And I will. I’m goin’ back. At least one of us should do this, not eatin�� pastries and memorizin’ books instead.“ She nods to the copy of Fantastic Beasts still clutched in her sister’s hands, and a fresh rush of hurt and doubt and frustration floods Tina’s stomach.

Queenie’s rushing to the door, Tina following after. “Wait, wait—” She wipes her tears hurriedly, and more replace them. She reaches for Queenie’s arm just as her sister’s hand closes around the doorknob.

“I’ll see ya later.”

“No—“

Queenie shoots an angry look at her sister and throws open the door, rushing into the hallway.

Tina takes a breath and hurries after, halfway to the stairs when she hears a muffled oof, the clatter of Queenie’s shoes and something else hitting the wood floors. “Oh, well isn’t this just perfect,” she hears Queenie say sharply. She hurries around the corner to see Queenie’s heels disappear at the bottom of the stairs.

“Queenie, Queenie,” she tries again, sharp but quiet to avoid waking everyone on the floor, but the steps grow distant, and a moment later she hears the whoosh as her sister disapparates.

“Tina.”

Someone else reaches the first landing. Newt. Queenie must’ve stumbled into him.

For a breath, all she can think is how very beautiful he is. That always seems to be the right word for Newt. Beautiful, from his scarred hands fumbling with the handle of his case to his curled shoulders. The confusion pulling at his lips, and the messy flop of hair across his forehead and his eyes. Morrigan, his beautiful eyes searching all over her face. Why is it that whenever she looks into Newt’s eyes, her hands ache to touch him? “Tina,” he says in a low rumble, and his voice is beautiful, too, “are you all right?”

She realizes suddenly that there are tears on her cheeks, and that her hand is stiff and cramping from holding onto a book. His book. She dashes the tears away, allowing the book to fall completely shut and wrapping her other hand around the beautifully embossed leather.

Newt’s eyes follow her movements. “Is that—?”

A shrill voice suddenly fills the hallway.“Miss Goldstein, is that you?”

Tina blinks as their gazes tear away from each other to the stairs. She hesitates a moment. “Yes, Mrs. Esposito.”

“Was it one of you girls rushing down the stairs a few minutes ago and making all that racket?”

“Of course not, Mrs. Esposito.”

“And you’re quite alone?”

Tina glances back at Newt, who is already looking at her, eyes wide open and kind. The thrill of his gaze and the hurt follow in quick succession. “Always,” she calls back, hating the way her voice breaks around the word. Her heart pounds, and she waits a few breaths before looking into Newt’s eyes again. “Well, come in then, Mr. Scamander,” she says softly. She tries to school her voice and expression into something more neutral and friendly. From the confusion filling Newt’s face as he follows her into the apartment and she presses the door closed, she’s not sure she succeeded. She sets the book on a nearby table, the spine facing away.

“What’s happened with Queenie? Is everything all right?”

“She’n Jacob...”

“Jacob?” he repeats in surprise. “But he was obliviated.”

She laughs humorlessly. “Didn’t work. He and Queenie were seein’ each other in secret for weeks before I found out. We argued. We have been a lot, Newt. And then tonight, she saw him again and came back and I—“ she swallows hard.

“You said in your last letter that she’d been disappearing in the evenings.”

“Yes. I didn’t know—Newt she’ll be arrested. You saw what MACUSA’s like when they think the Statute of Secrecy is violated. They’ll wipe his memories. But I never meant for her to just…leave.” She wraps her arms around her stomach, looking down.

“Queenie will be back. She loves you. And, she knows how much you love her.”

Tina bites her lip. “I hurt her.”

“Tina—“

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

And before she’s noticed that he has moved, Newt’s hand has landed on hers, warm and rough and grounding. She gasps and looks up to find his eyes trained on their joined hands. His thumb sweeps over the back of her hand like a whisper of a breeze, and she tries not to want, but he’s here and touching her and lifting his head to look at her and Mercy Lewis she does.

His breath is close enough for her to feel as he stands before her. “You hurt each other. Creatures who care about each other do it all the time, especially the ones who are close. And they always come back. You should see the baby nifflers when they play.”

Her resolve momentarily spent, she allows him to tangle his hands with hers. “You have baby nifflers?” she whispers.

He grins. “Many of them. They get into all sorts of mischief.”

“I’d love to meet them, I—“ Reality sinks back in.

“Tina?” he prompts gently.

She wonders, briefly, if her sister had been right about her. “Queenie won’t listen to me. She thinks I’m—“

“What?”

Jealous. Afraid. She’s holding his hand, she realizes, and he’s engaged to someone else—else, she thinks, shoving angrily at her own words. He’s kind to everyone. It doesn’t mean that—but she’d thought it had on the docks all those months ago, and in his letters, with his stories about his brother and parents and creatures and his gentle questions. But he hadn’t told her about Leta, had he? Just that paragraph about aurors, and then a week of silence, followed by the publication of international bestseller Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. And she hadn’t received even a brief note to excuse his absence. Queenie had always thought there was more to it, but how can there be when—“Nothin’, Mr. Scamander.” She drops his hand and backs away, brushing at her eyes until they’re clear. “Sorry, what a welcome to New York, huh?”

“Please don’t be sorry.”

Their gazes catch again, and she wishes her chest wouldn’t lurch each time. Except that she doesn’t, because as much as it hurts, it is a living, breathing, wonderful thing.

“I forgot to congratulate you.” Her chin tries to move as she fights to be still. Friendship, she reminds herself. He must not have thought of her like—like she did. But then why had he kept writing like…

“On the—on the book?”

“No, on...” She trails off as he lifts a small parcel from his coat.

“I did bring—if you’d still like—it seems that perhaps you don’t need it anymore, if you bought it.”

Tina glances to the copy on the table. “ ‘Course we did, Mr. Scamander.”

His eyes fill with confusion and hurt and just a tinge of regret that she cannot fathom. If he’d wanted to bring her his book, why hadn’t he before? “I did try to—but the ministry…” he looks at his shoes, scuffing a mark on the floor.

She aches for his confusion. “It was wonderful.”

“Really?” He brightens, and her heart soars.

When he looks at her like that, she cannot bear to— “I read it.” She clears her throat. “I loved it.”

“I’d still like you to have this. If you want it.“ He holds out the parcel wrapped with simple brown paper and twine.

She closes a hand around it gently, almost reverently, and pulls at the knot, easing the brown paper off of the cover. The American edition must be different, though, because while her copy is the standard dark blue of many wizarding books, this one is a vibrant blue-green. She smoothes her fingers over the glittering words of the title. And then, moved by some impulse she does not understand, she lifts the cover to peer at the frontispiece. For Tina, it says. Thank you.

“It was your copy. I set it aside for you. My publisher decided we should use the standard blue leather, but the first few were like this.”

Tina thumbs the smooth, glossy leather. “This is one of the first copies?”

“The very first.”

“Oh, Newt, I couldn’t—“

“—I want you to.”

Tina blinks and searches his eyes. His gaze flits from her to her shoulder, the ground. “For what?” she asks.

“Mm?”

“Thank you for what?”

“Oh, for—“ he glances down, then boldly back into her eyes, “—for everything, Tina.”

As if she could ever walk away from the way he sees the world. Her heart pounds, and she wonders if he knows how much that sounds like both a benediction an a goodbye. “I didn’t do anythin’.”

“That’s not true.”

“Nothin’ you have to thank me for, Mr. Scamander.” The words are sharper than she’d meant them. “Besides, aren’t all aurors careerist hypocrites?”

“I didn’t—“ he takes a rushed step forward and then gasps, his case clattering to the floor.

“Newt!” She’s cupping a hand around his elbow before she’s thought to move, dropping the book and reaching down to fix the clasp that had fallen loose with his stumble. She rights the case. There is no mistaking the wincing pull of his face. He’s in pain. Why hadn’t he told her? Because you didn’t give him a chance, she tells herself. Because you were too busy with yours.

“It’s nothing.” He sounds a little breathless, but his face has relaxed as though the worst of it is over. “My shoulder. I was just finishing with the nundus when I got the owl from the Ministry. I didn’t have a chance to handle this before I left.”

“You took an international portkey with an open wound?” Of course he did.

“I thought they might change their minds.”

“Why would they?” Newt stares at her with a depth that makes her stomach flip.

“I’ve been denied for months.”

For months. But then, why had he been trying to come, even if—Tina shakes her head.

“I’ll see to it in a bit.”

That gets her attention. “Newt.” She gestures toward the kitchen in a way that she hopes leaves no space for argument.

He sits in the chair that she pulls up next to the table. “It’s quite all right, Tina.”

She gathers up a porcelain bowl and clean towels, pointing her wand to fill the bowl with steaming water while she retrieves essence of dittany from the potions cabinet. “You’re in pain.”

“I’ve had much worse.”

Tina glimpses him as he hunches forward in the chair, avoiding contact with the left side of it. This throb of want is worse than before, because it is not his hand on hers or his voice close to her ear that she misses. She wants to smoothe his furrowed brow. She wants to gently touch the straining muscles in his neck and throat. She wants to take his hand between hers, and ease his careworn face into her neck, to be the one who comes down into the case when he’s hurt to bat his fumbling hands away and heal the wound. He’s the kindest person she’s ever met. Someone should take care of him for a change, and she had so very much wanted—wants—Tina shakes her head. “Now, where was it?”

Newt looks up at her, momentarily lost. “Oh. My shoulder. The left one.”

She nods, dipping one of the cloths in the water. He flinches trying to lift his coat and jacket out of the way, and so she takes over, calm in the minimal healer training that aurors receive, right up until the point that she realizes her hands are tugging at Newt Scamander’s shirt. Thank Paracelsus that the wound, though deep, is only just beneath his clothes to the side of his neck, and with his heavy overcoat drawn from his arms and his already-open bowtie tugged free with Newt’s good arm, she can move his jacket and waistcoat and shirt far enough out of the way without removing them. And bent as he is, he cannot see her cheeks flush at the glimpse of scars and muscles running down toward his chest. He had placed a small patch of cloth over the wound before, which she removes, replacing it with one dipped in steaming water and working out the dirt so that it will heal properly. “Sorry,” she breathes when he flinches.

His eyes slide shut as the muscles of his jaw and neck work against the pain. “ ’s all right.”

She dips the cloth back into the bowl, wringing out the warm water.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to New York sooner.”

She stills with the cloth hovering over his shoulder, then continues with her task. “You were busy,” she says, her voice a mix of hurt and hope.

“Not—not really.” He shifts under the touch, her hand brushing the side of his neck. “This was my fourth attempt at a travel permit.”

“Fourth?”

“The Ministry weren’t keen on my travel, you see. ‘Personal reasons’ was a little vague for them after last time.”

Tina bites her lip, trying to calm the treacherous, hopeful pounding of her heart. She rinses out the cloth once more. “Did you need something for the wedding, then?”

“The what?”

“The wedding.”

“Why would I come to New York for that?”

“I just thought—why come to New York, then?”

He sounds even more confused, now. Hurt, almost. “I came to see you.”

“But—I—“ The right words will not come. With a wave of her wand, Spellbound magazine sails into the room, falling open on Newt’s lap.

“Beast Tamer Newt to Wed,” he reads. “What? But, Tina, I’m not—” His eyes skim further down the page. “To Leta? But she’s marrying Theseus, not me. You thought I was engaged?”

“You’re not?” She almost does not recognize her high, soft, broken, hopeful voice.

“No.” His voice is warm and dark and makes her shiver. “I had the book like I’d promised, and the Ministry wouldn’t let me come, and then you stopped writing and I thought...“

“Newt,” she whispers.

He fumbles to his feet. “I just wanted to see you.”

“You—“

He raises a hand to her face, the backs of his fingers skimming across her cheekbone, his eyes watching the movement with utmost care. She gasps a hopeful, stumbling gasp as he thumbs away a tear.

“But you and Leta—“

“We’ve changed, Tina,” and now she suspects he’s saying her name merely for the pleasure of its repetition, and she couldn’t argue. “For the better, I think. I hope. And we were never—she wasn’t—“

Tina cups his jaw. He leans into the touch.

And then gasps and turns the other way.

“Oh, Newt, your shoulder. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

She reaches for the dittany. A few drops stitch the wound tighter, another murmured spell clearing the stains from his shirt.

“Thank you,” he says softly, his eyes finding hers. He must’ve been in some pain before, no matter what he’d said, because they are suddenly clearer than they had been. She could fall into them for hours. “You read my letters.”

She laughs. “Queenie teased me that I’d read them so much I’d have them memorized. I’m sorry I stopped writing.”

Newt reaches for and squeezes her hand, his other thumb sweeping across her cheekbone. “I thought perhaps what I’d said about aurors—“

“That wasn’t why I--Newt, I stopped because you’re wonderful. And I thought that you were—that I couldn’t—“ They stare at each other, only a breath apart, and then Newt bends to drop his forehead to hers. “—do this,” she concludes. Her eyes flutter shut, and on the other side of that pounding heart and those empty hands is a hushed and pleasant calm.

Their hands wander slowly, his from her cheek, to her neck, tracing the shape of her ear and burrowing into her hair, and hers against his pulse and down to his shoulder just at the edge of his shirt to soothe his new scar. Their joined hands tangle as well, fingers tracing and bumping as though to learn each other.

“I came to New York because I’m falling for you,” he whispers between them.

She smiles and wets her lips, feeling not so much like she’s soaring, but rather like she had when he first pulled her into the shining sun of his case. “That’s good.”

“It is?” Her thumb sweeps across his neck, feeling him swallow.

“Mm.” She takes a breath, wishing she could tell Queenie that she’d been right, at least a little. “Because I’m falling for you, too.”

“That’s—that’s very, very good.”

She laughs lightly, and then he does, and their breath and the sound mixes between them.

“We’ll find Queenie tomorrow, hm? And you can talk to her.”

“Yeah.”

“Would you like to meet the nifflers? Although I warn you, they can be quite the little rascals.” He fingers the chain of her locket. “And you might leave this up here.”

Tina moves her forehead against his. It feels at once thrilling to be closer than they ever have been before, and as easy as though they have stood like this a hundred times. “In a little while.”

“Yes,” he agrees, fingers brushing the side of her mouth until it becomes a delicate smile, “then.”

#newtina #newtina fanfiction #newt in new york series #my writing #yes then #sigh #this whole situation is just #hard to write #ok letting it go #letting the monster go #3600 words or something #anyway let me know what you think?

104 notes · View notes

ladyofmaidensandwine · 4 years

Text

Seven Devils

Part Five of the All’s Not Fair in Love and War Series

Characters: Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Sam Winchester, Charlie, John Winchester, Fem! Reader, Rowena, Crowley

Wordcount: 2,317

A/N- You’ve waited long enough. enjoy, luvs!

Summary: Y/N finally reveals herself, her mission, but everything could be put in jeopardy when the unexpected forces her to make a choice.

Warnings- Implied sexual assault, very briefly mentioned. Death by gallows.

“Y/N. Y/N MacLeod.” The silence that followed the words was deafening, Crowley staring agape. “You’re bloody jesting.” He denied instantly. You smirked, shaking your head. “No. You came to my home, to Innisfree, and you slaughtered almost the entire royal family. All except one, the youngest princess, who disguised herself as a peasant and spent many years serving the man that destroyed her life. She was beautiful, and caught your eye. You stole her away to your chambers, and then forgot about her. Then I was born. My mother died in childbirth, but I carry her legacy, and her title.” You said darkly. “Impossible!” Crowley snapped. “Oh, but it is the truth, Fergus, and now, I will be the one to burn your kingdom to ash.” You smiled, a hunger for revenge alight in your eyes. “I should kill you here and now, and be done with it,” you mused, stepping closer with an assessing gaze, “but that would be merciful. No, you’ll live, and when I reclaim my throne and wash my hands in the blood of your subjects and soldiers, you will watch, watch as your own daughter dismantles all that you hold dear.” Crowley paled considerably, scowling and struggling in his bonds. “So, for now, I leave you to your cell. I am truly so glad we were able to talk, father.” You spat. You turned on your heel, ignoring Crowley’s enraged threats and the insults he hurled at you.

You were ready, already stealing away to a hidden exit in the building, prepared to make your escape, when a loud commotion made you pause. The king’s guard were all rushing in one direction, and echoing through the halls was the sound of metal clashing on metal, the air suddenly charged with tension. Crowley’s people had come to free him, and they would cut through every living soul for fun. “Sam, you must go, and take Jessica!” An all-too familiar voice shouted, your heart racing. Dean. Of course, he had to be the hero every time. You had a mission, a vital task that your entire kingdom depended on you for. If you turned around, you knew well that you would never be able to leave. But if you left, knowing the odds were so stacked against Dean, you didn’t think you could forgive yourself. The shouts and sound of battle grew louder and louder, and for a moment, everything became clear, and you knew what you had to do.

“Stop! Touch him and I swear I shall kill you!” You snarled viciously, a sword you’d stolen from the body of a dead soldier in your hand. The man that had been holding a knife to Dean’s throat hesitated as he saw the death promise blazing in your eyes, the unrestrained fury and hatred burning there. “Why should I take such an order from you?” The man spat. “For one, because I will not hesitate to slay you where you stand, and you would be dead before your wretched companions could so much as move,” you started, eyes narrowed, “and for another, because I have command of you and your legions by birthright.” No one moved, Dean’s shocked green eyes snapping to you. “What?” “By your law and custom, you are bound to the ruling of the MacLeod bloodline, and thus, to me. I am Y/N MacLeod, Queen of Innisfree, The Morrigan, The Assassin, and Queen of you, especially since Crowley is otherwise indisposed.” You said. You had played the only card you had left, but the cost weighed heavily, and you met Dean’s eyes finding nothing but betrayal in them. The demon slowly removed the knife, the others exchanging glances, but following the example, especially as your sword remained poised to strike. They knelt, and your expression remained hard, swallowing the guilt down. “Return to your own stronghold, and if a single one of you is found within five kilometres of this land, I shall make an exceptionally gruesome example of you of what happens when I am disobeyed.” You ordered. When no one moved, you stepped closer, sword pressed against the first demon’s chest. “I don’t believe I hesitated.” You growled. They scrambled to leave, not daring to challenge you, knowing well your reputation.

“Y/N, please tell me you lied.” Dean begged, your eyes closing. “I am so sorry, Dean. I never- I never wanted for this to happen, I-” He shook his head, backing away from you. “This entire time, everything was a lie, all of it part of your plan. I trusted you!” Dean shouted accusingly. “I hope you can understand in time that I did what I had to. I have a kingdom to protect, Dean. This burden was mine, and I had to carry it. Forgive me. I have to go.” You said, voice wobbling with tears building in your eyes. “I understand. But I must protect my kingdom, too, Y/N.” Dean said, your brows furrowing in confusion. “I wish it did not have to be this way.” He sighed heavily. “Dean, I do not understand-” and then you felt it. The presence of someone behind you. John Winchester and his personal guard. You didn’t have the time to run before you were knocked unconscious.

You woke in a place that was familiar, immediate terror stealing away the air from your lungs. Stone walls, darkness, and absolute silence. The tomb-like prison you had been incarcerated in before. “No, no, no, no...” You gasped, scrambling to your feet. Through the bars, you saw Dean staring at you. “Dean, please, don’t do this.” You pleaded, thoughts spiraling further into despair. “You betrayed me. You betrayed my people.” “I saved your life!” “And how long would it be before your army came here to lay siege to my palace, Y/N?!” Dean shot back, marching up to the cell. “I would never have hurt you, Dean.” You said, shocked. “How can I believe you? How can I believe a single word you say, when everything, everything you have ever said to me, has been a lie!” He roared, slamming a fist against the wall and immediately regretting it. You flinched at the anger and anguish in his voice. “I told you I was here for my people, Dean! I have been more honest with you than I have been with anyone else in my entire life!” You argued desperately. “I would have helped you, if you had told me. I could have been there for you. Instead you kept it a secret, and I don’t know how many other secrets you have.” Dean swallowed. “The worst part of it is you made me believe you cared for me. Well, if that was your intention, congratulations, Y/N, you made me care for you, too.” He said bitterly, your eyes going wide. “I do care for you. No matter how I cherish you, I cannot let myself stray from my mission. I wanted to, so many times.” You admitted in a whisper. “Please, don’t leave me here. If you truly care for me, don’t leave me here-” “Don’t! Do not attempt to manipulate me, not any longer.” Dean said lowly. “You are to be tried, and sentenced come dawn.” “And if I am sentenced to death?” You asked boldly. “Then I will not be mourning.” He replied. You moved fast, snatching his sword from his side, and held it, but the blade was against your own throat. “Then go ahead, Dean. I would rather die than be trapped here, so if you truly would not mourn, kill me now.” You said, staring into his eyes defiantly, his hand on the hilt of the sword. He shook his head, sheathing the weapon and backing away. “You will be tried for your crimes as is just.” He said. “Crowley is my enemy as well as yours! I can stop him, I can trap he and his men forever! Why will you not help me?” You demanded. “I am to be King one day, Y/N, and my father has told me there are many difficult choices to make. I am commanding my troops and we will take Innisfree under Lebanon’s name, as it is clearly a hostile kingdom and dangerous.” Dean said, not meeting your eyes. You couldn’t breathe. “No, you can’t! My people are innocent, Dean, please! Don’t do this!” You begged, now near sobbing. “I have to. You forced my hand, and with Crowley freed, there is no other way.” He said, turning away with his back to you. “I am not the one who is the traitor, Dean. I was wrong about you. You are exactly like your father.” You choked out, sinking to your knees. He swallowed hard, glad you couldn’t see the agony on his face. He walked out, and you collapsed into your grief.

The King and his council, as well as both princes, sat in a line at the raised podium as you were led to the middle of the floor, manacled and clad in irons and chains with multiple armed guards flanking you. The people loudly shouted insults and threats at you, but you remained stoic, the grey light of dawn matching your somber mood. Dean looked everywhere but at you, and as John stood to begin the proceedings of the trial, you kept your gaze steady on him.

“The jury has come to a unanimous decision. The accused, Y/N MacLeod, is found guilty of treason, murder, espionage, theft, and being part of a dangerous rebellion. The accused is sentenced to...” John paused for dramatic effect, the audience hushed. “Death by the gallows.” John declared. You lifted your chin, as regal as any Queen, the audience cheering. Dean finally met your eyes, looking conflicted. You were led immediately to the gallows, a hooded man already waiting to pull the lever that would seal your fate.

“As is tradition, you are permitted last words.” John said. “My death will not be in vain! No matter what you accuse me of, I die knowing I fought with honour against tyrants like you for the freedom of my people!” You said proudly. You met Dean’s eyes, and couldn’t find it in you to hate him. “And no matter the outcome, I would make the same choices all over again.” You said, hoping Dean understood what you meant. The pain in the end was worth the beauty of falling in love for a moment. You turned to John with a satisfied smirk. “I shall see you in Hell.” You promised. He turned red in fury, and you closed your eyes as he turned to the executioner. “Do it-” “Wait!”

Your eyes snapped open, staring at Dean in confusion. He’d stood from his seat, John and Sam gaping at him while the public watched on. The obedient son, heir to the throne, opposing his father’s orders. And for the thief and assassin condemned to hanging. Dean took several quick and long strides to the gallows, meeting your eyes ashamedly.

“Wait.” Dean repeated, fists clenched and jaw tight. “She is not the enemy, father, at least not as of now.” “Son, I would advise you to return to your seat-” John gritted his teeth but Dean wasn’t finished pleading his case. “No, father, listen to me. She is the enemy of Crowley, and thus our ally. Her alliance with Crowley’s forces is purely to overthrow the occupants of Innisfree. She is a powerful person to have on our side in this war, father.” Dean said, tone steady but hard and uncompromising. “You can’t mean to say you would side with her.” John said incredulously. “That is precisely what I mean.” Dean didn’t wait for his father’s permission, drawing his sword and cutting through the rope around your neck, making you cough at the sudden intake of air. He met his father’s eyes challengingly as he offered you his hand, John’s gaze flickering between you both in shock. “My son,” John began loudly, “has decided to take full responsibility for the crimes and charges against this murderer. He has sworn that she will be our ally, until the war against Fergus MacLeod ends, or she is met with an untimely death.” John said, cutting a glare your way. “Furthermore, should either of them break the terms, both shall be permanently exiled from these lands on pain of death.” John decreed. Dean’s grip tightened, but he showed no other outward signs of the shock he must’ve felt, while Sam was standing, ready to argue for his brother’s sake. “Is that understood?” John asked. “Perfectly, father. If you would excuse us. The guards are not necessary.” Dean said, bowing mockingly, and leading you away.

“What are you thinking?!” You demanded as Dean entered his room. “A thank you would suffice, Y/N.” He responded. “For what?! Risking both of our lives?! Do you realize your title is now at risk of being forfeit?” “I won’t have a title if Crowley takes over my kingdom. I was selfish, and I acted on impulse out of hurt, and for that, I truly apologize. I should never have let you be locked away. I am still hurt, and I don’t know if I can trust you,” he frowned, meeting your eyes, “but I cannot pretend what I feel for you has vanished.” “Dean, think about this. I still have a mission I must fulfill.” You said quietly. “I know. None of it matters, not right now. All I need to know is that you and I are on the same side. The rest of it can come later.” He said, eyes warm as he regarded you. “Are we? On the same side?” Dean asked. “Of course we are.” You said, smiling slightly. “Good. Now, we rest, and then we devise a plan.” “You truly think this can work?” “I don’t know. But I would like to hope so.” He said with a smile. You considered him for a long moment, nodding slowly. You believed him.

TAGS-

Forever Tags-

@justagirlinafandomworld

Dean Babes-

@herfalsegod

All’s Not Fair in Love and War Series Tags-

@perpetualabsurdity

Other-

@spnfanficpond

#all's not fair in love and war #dean x reader #dean winchester #supernatural #x reader #fanfiction #guppy #pond #spnfanficpond

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creampuffqueen · 4 years

Text

Safe

Word Count: 1814

This took a very different turn than I thought it would, lol. A request from @throne--of-sass, where Kier calls in his bargain and comes to Velaris, and how Mor reacts. I hope you enjoy!

~~~~

I am coming to Velaris. The words kept echoing in Mor’s head, even as she walked along the streets of the city she loved.

A bargain is a bargain, Rhysand. Mor picked up her pace, nearly running. Around her, she heard peoples’ whispers, of pity, of worry. The night was beginning to fall, and yet Mor kept running.

Kier was coming. Would arrive the next morning. And yet Mor thought that if she could just somehow, some way, do something, she could keep him away for another thirty years.

She wasn’t ready to see him. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready to see him.

Rhys had given her an out. He always did, when her father was involved. And Mor was half-tempted to take it.

But staying away would cause more trouble than it was worth. So Mor would do as she always did; put on her favorite red dress, make her hair elaborate and gorgeous, and put on a mask of complete indifference.

It had always worked before. It should work this time. She told this to herself over and over. But it still didn’t stop the tears that spilled over cheeks.

Mor knew Rhys’s plan, the one to keep Kier from ever coming back. He’d make the city drab and plain and terribly boring, and hope that Kier, who was expecting his usual grandeur, would be utterly disappointed.

That was the plan. Mor could stick to the plan. She wiped at her face, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

I’d rather go before you are… too busy. Kier had sneered, pointedly glancing at Feyre’s rounded belly. A look that sent Mor’s blood boiling.

Starlight shone down onto her tear-stained face, and Mor breathed deeper, the scent of the nearby ocean washing over her.

You’re free. She reminded herself. An echo of the words she’d once said long ago, to a young girl she’d rescued from the depths of the Spring Court.

She was not a part of the Court of Nightmares anymore. She was not beneath that mountain, slave to her parents. She was The Morrigan, legendary warrior.

She would not let Kier get the best of her.

So Mor walked through Velaris, overseeing the changes being made. The glamours being woven over the Rainbow, and the markets, and parents talking with their children about how they couldn’t go outside tomorrow.

The once bright city was dark now, vibrant colors replaced with shades of brown and gray. There was no music playing, no scents of glorious cooking food.

The only thing that remained was the sky. The sky full of stars, twinkling overhead. Even Kier couldn’t take away the stars.

Returning to the House of Wind, Mor found that she still couldn’t sleep. Instead, she sat on the balcony, watching the night sky until the sun began to rise in the morning.

~~~~

“Mor.” The voice startled her awake, and Mor winced as she discovered a terrible cramp in her neck.

It was Cassian, the male unusually stoic. He had on his fighting leathers, and his dark hair was loose. He looked every bit the Lord of Bloodshed that Kier believed him to be.

“Is he here?” She asked quietly.

“No. Rhys is going to get him. You have maybe half an hour to get ready, if you want to come. But you know you don’t have to, right?”

“I know.” Mor said softly. “But I still will. I won’t let Kier have any power over me.”

Cassian nodded gently, taking a moment to rest his hand on her shoulder. His red siphon glowed brightly, reminding Mor of the dress waiting for her in her room.

She met his gaze for only a moment before he was gone, winnowing away to where the others would be waiting to meet him. Everyone would be there, even Feyre, despite the fact she was six months pregnant.

Mor bathed quickly and twisted her hair on top of her head, donning the dress. It was form-fitting with a slit on the leg and an open back. Everything her father was sure to disapprove of.

She took a long moment to stare in the mirror, at her face. Even beneath the fancy hair and the cosmetics, she could still see a remnant of that girl she had been, all those years ago.

Taking a deep breath, Mor steeled herself. Kier would be arriving any moment now, invading her city with his vileness. And she couldn’t just sit idly by while he did that.

Winnowing away was fast and effortless, and Mor inserted herself into the waiting group with ease. Feyre took her hand, squeezing it and giving her a tight lipped smile.

We’re here for you. She seemed to say. Mor wished she could offer something in return, but she had nothing. Already the mask was in place, keeping her emotions far, far away.

Even Amren seemed somewhat sympathetic, a strange new emotion, she was sure. Cassian and Azriel stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the spot Kier and Rhys were set to arrive.

They didn’t appear in a flash of darkness and sound. No, Rhys had toned down his dramatic entrance; one moment they were gone, and the next they stood before the Inner Circle like they’d been there for hours.

“Hello, Kier.” Feyre was the first to speak up, taking the attention away from where he’d been staring as soon as he arrived. Mor. He was staring at Mor.

“Welcome to Velaris.” Feyre continued, one hand gesturing to the city and the other resting on her swollen stomach.

Kier didn’t speak, instead observing the city with a critical eye. “I thought this place would be more attractive.” He sneered.

Mor’s temper spiked, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

“While it’s far less grandiose than the things you’re used to, I can assure you that my city has its own charm.” Rhys purred. “Would you like a tour? After all, if you’re to stay here for three days, I’m sure you would like to know how to get around.”

All the breath left Mor at once. She was going to vomit. Rhys was going to let him stay? For three days? She struggled to be near Kier for just an afternoon- this wasn’t part of the plan. If their idea failed-

Kier just snorted, but Feyre must have taken that as a yes, because the High Lady began to lead him into the city.

With his back turned away, Rhys glanced back to give the rest of the Inner Circle a quick nod. Then he followed his mate, the devious smirk of the High Lord of the Night Court firmly in place.

Quickly, Mor took off, Azriel on her heels. Cassian and Amren went the opposite direction, and they all forged their way deep into the city.

Azriel was silent, though that wasn’t unusual. The male kept pace beside her, his shadows racing away, searching for information.

When they approached the first business, the owner was already waiting for them. A pale lavender faerie, giant antlers protruding from his head.

“He’ll be here in about five minutes.” Azriel said. “Thank you so much for agreeing to do this.”

“It’s no problem,” The faerie, Ghorgi, said. “Nobody wants that bastard here.” He turned back into his shop, calling for his husband, Eio.

Mor and Azriel stepped inside the shop, not having any time to look around at the wares. Ghorgi and Eio sold books and stationary, and Mor would often go to them to buy envelopes.

They stood at the back of the shop, observing the two faeries quietly. Azriel cloaked them in shadows, obscuring them from view from the windows.

She could hear as Rhys and Feyre approached, talking to Kier outside.

“What are we doing here? This a hovel.” Mor was glad when she heard the venom in Feyre’s voice as she responded.

“Just because we’re allowing you here doesn’t mean we have to like it.” She snapped. “We’ve been more than kind, showing you all around our city. And yet you continue to insult it.”

“Anyway,” Rhys interjected. “This is Ghorgi, and his husband, Eio. They run this lovely shop right here.”

“His husband?” Kier snapped. “I knew you slummed with mortals and whores, Rhysand, but this-”

Whatever he was going to say was suddenly cut off. And replaced with a choking sound. Curiosity got the best of Mor and Azriel, and the two of them crept silently over to the windows, observing what was going on.

Rhys and Feyre stood side by side, both of Feyre’s hands now on her belly. Rhysand’s hands were in his pockets, the two of them looking so casual it was hard to believe what was going on beside them.

Kier was held nearly a foot off the ground by a whip of darkness, stealing all the air from him.

And Mor wasn’t sure how to feel.

Kier was an awful person. One of the reasons Mor, at nearly five hundred years old, still woke up gasping from nightmares.

But… did he deserve this? Rhysand wouldn’t kill him. She knew that; he never did. He would come close, and keep him alive at the last second. But this-

“He deserves every wretched second.” Azriel murmured, shocking Mor from her thoughts. “Forgiving that monster will never be justified, Mor. You never have to.”

Rhys finally let him go, and Kier toppled to the ground, gasping for air. “I… want- want to go home.” He choked.

“The bargain has been fulfilled.” Rhys purred. “And I would be more than happy to see you off.” Kier tried to struggle away, but Rhys grabbed his arm and winnowed, leaving only the echo of his scream in their wake.

“It worked.” Mor’s voice was incredulous as she stepped outside. “It- it actually worked.”

Feyre pulled her into an embrace, squeezing her tightly even against her large stomach. “Of course it worked.” When she let her go, Feyre smiled as she broke the glamour over the city.

The colors returned to Velaris, bright and happy, as if they had never been gone in the first place. The Rainbow was visible across the city, music began playing again.

“I was so worried.” Mor confessed. “I know Kier is volatile, but that- was something else.”

“He’s not coming back.” Feyre said, confidence oozing from her voice. “Not as long as I’m alive.”

Mor hadn’t realized she was crying until something wet dripped from her chin. She sniffed, wiping at the sudden tears. “Thank you, Feyre. And Rhys, when he gets back.”

Her city was safe. It would be safe long into the future. And while Mor knew she couldn’t face her father today, or the next day, or maybe even weeks from now, she did know that one day she’d be able to.

And just between herself, it was a bargain.

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #sarah j maas #feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #mor #morrigan #kier #azriel #cassian #amren

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jchb32273 · 5 years

Text

Fictober 2019 - Day 4

Fanfiction - Dragon Age AO3 Link

Slight trigger warning for language

I know it’s a bit late... this one turned out a bit longer than the previous days!

Hope you enjoy!

I know you didn’t ask for this

~~~~~

It was 3 pm on Friday and I was glad the weekend was here. I was walking back towards my dorm with Leliana when I heard my name being called.

“Kylara!”

I turned to see Alistair running up to me, looking a bit flustered.

“Hello, Alistair. What’s going on?”

He paused for a moment to catch his breath, then said, “Maric is hosting one of his ‘oh so important dinners’ at his house tonight… and I had almost forgotten about it!”

I blinked a few times. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“Ah… well, it is sort of required for me to… bring someone.” He rubbed the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. “I know it’s last minute… and I totally understand if you have other plans…”

“Of course she’d love to go,” Leliana piped up as she elbowed me in the ribs. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, um… I guess?” My cheeks were pink. “I mean… I don’t… have any other… plans.”

“Great!” He leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek. “You are a lifesaver, Kylara! I’ll pick you up at seven, okay?” He then ran off.

I groaned. “Leliana! What have you done?! I don’t have the first clue how to act at one of those type of dinners! I don’t even have anything fancy to wear!”

“Well, it is a good thing I just got my paycheck! Let’s go shopping!”

Two hours later, we were back in our dorm room with several bags worth of items. Leli had dragged me from store to store to look at dresses, shoes, undergarments (to my utter embarrassment), and makeup. After making all the purchases, I blanched at what she’d just spent on me.

“How am I going to pay you back for all this, Leliana! This is so much stuff!”

“Don’t worry about that now! You have a date we must get you ready for!! Oh, this is SO exciting!” She unwrapped the burgundy satin dress from the thin, clear plastic bag the salesclerk had wrapped it in. “You and Alistair have become quite close, no?” She giggled. “And to think you didn’t want to go to that party two months ago! Now, look at you!”

“I have only seen him a handful of times since the party. We are… friends. Sort of… Nothing more!”

“Friends, hmm?” She gave me a sly smile. “Well, I happened to hear from Morrigan, who got it from Fenris, who was told directly from Bull, that you were alone at his place about two weeks ago? Hmm? You also came back into our room quite late that same night, if I remember correctly.”

“I was there to study for my biochemistry test… and then he took me out to dinner afterwards.”

“Ooh! Dinner?! I bet it was really romantic! Alistair just strikes me as that type of man…”

I thought back to that night. What had started as a simple study session, then ended with a stupid fight (that I had started) over grilled cheese sandwiches… After helping Alistair put out a fire in his condo, he had taken me to a very romantic restaurant. It was completely innocent though, my inner-voice justified. Just cheese fondue… and wine… My cheeks felt hot. “I think I should just get ready,” I mumbled.

“Yes, yes,” Leliana gushed. “We have much to do to get you beautiful!”

After a half-hour practicing walking in the high heeled shoes Leli has insisted on, I was not falling down anymore… but I was still wobbling quite a bit.

“Do I have to wear these ridiculous shoes? I am going to make a fool of myself, I just know it!”

“But all you have are sneakers, Kylara! You can’t wear sneakers with a gown!” she admonished.

“Don’t you have any flats I can wear?”

“I wear a size smaller than you, Kylara, so I don’t think that would work.” She sighed. “Look, once you are in the house, you will probably be sitting down to eat. You’ll be fine!” She glanced at her watch. “Look, it’s almost seven. Let’s get out to the lobby of the dorm.

Heads turned as I walked (wobbled) out into the dorm common room. I heard people talking behind my back. Most of the whispers had people wondering what I was so dressed up for, and there were several cruel comments about my pale skin and chubby body.

“Ignore them,” Leliana said as she saw me taking a slight step backwards. “I think you look lovely.”

Just then, the front door opened and Alistair walked in dressed in a full, form-fitting tuxedo.

Maker’s Breath but he is stunning!

My knees were shaking and I was sure my face was bright red. Alistair saw Leli and me and walked over to us, a huge smile on his face.

“Kylara, you look… beautiful.”

Now the comments behind me took on an angrier tone.

What is she doing with him?

How did that fat geek get a date with the single most handsome man in Denerim?!

What the fuck does he see in her?

She’s gotta be sleeping with him, otherwise, why would he bother?

Alistair must have heard a few of these comments because he glared around the room and all grew quiet. Smiling at me again, he took my arm into his and said, “I’ll take it from here, Leliana. Thank you.”

“Have fun, you two!” Leli grinned and blew kisses at us both.

We walked outside the dorm and a blast of cold winter air hit me. “Oh, it’s freezing out here! I don’t have a coat!”

“Don’t worry,” Alistair said. “The car is right here and the heater is already on.”

I glanced up to see a stretch limo parked on the street and my mouth gaped open. As soon as he saw us, the driver quickly got out and opened the door for us.

“Thanks, Blackwall.” Alistair assisted me in the car, then slid in beside me. Blackwall shut the door, then got behind the wheel.

“Y-you hired a limousine for tonight?” I squeaked out.

Alistair smirked. “No, it’s Maric’s car. I would have driven my own, but he’s all about impressing people at these dinners… so he insisted I use the limo to come and pick you up.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage to say. “Ah, what does he know about me?”

“I haven’t had the time to tell him much. He knows that you are a year behind me and that you go to the same school. I also told him you are very smart and pretty.”

I looked down at the floor of the car. “Alistair, I am not pretty.”

He turned in the butter-soft leather seat to face me, then used his fingers to gently tilt my head back up. “Yes, you are. You should stop doubting yourself.” He smiled at me. “Is that a new dress?”

“Um… yes. Leli took me shopping after you… invited me.”

“The color is striking on you. I noticed right away when I picked you up tonight. However, we might want to…” He reached up and gave a tug on something on the shoulder strap. I heard a muffled snap and then he held out the price tag of the dress to me.

Mortified, I took the tag and quickly stuffed it into the handbag that Leli had loaned me for tonight.

Alistair put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Don’t fret over it, Kylara. Stuff like that happens more often than you think, even amongst the wealthy.”

Perhaps, I thought bitterly. But I am sure they pay a lot more than 75 sovereigns for a dress.

Just then the limo pulled up to a massive mansion. Nauseous butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Ohh… what have I gotten myself into?! Blackwall opened the door and Alistair exited first, then held out his hand to me… an encouraging smile on his face.

I carefully stepped out of the limo, but my ankle wobbled in the heels again and I stumbled a bit. Alistair quickly scooped his arm around my waist and steadied me. I saw what I assumed to be disapproving frowns on other dinner guests who were slowly making their way to the front doors of the mansion, and my face flamed red again.

“Come on now,” Alistair linked his arm with mine. “Let’s head on in.”

At the front doors, there was a huge qunari standing there, nodding and greeting guests as they arrived. He didn’t have horns on his head like Bull, but he still looked very stern and serious.

“Evening Sten,” Alistair greeted him.

Sten nodded once and then said, “Your father is waiting for you in his study. I was told to tell you to report to him as soon as you arrived.”

“Very well, thank you.”

Sten nodded once again and then turned to face the next arriving guests.

Alistair took a deep breath, then said, “Well, let’s get this over with.”

At the study doors, Alistair knocked once, then twice. The doors were opened by a very handsome, tall, blond-haired man. His blue eyes twinkled. He quickly grabbed Alistair’s hand, pulled him into a quick bear-hug, and gave him a thump on the back.

“Al, you little devil. How are you this evening!”

Alistair gave a half-smile. “Cailan.” He then took my hand and led me up to his half-brother. “May I present my half-brother, Cailan. Cailan may I introduce my companion for the evening, Kylara Amell.”

“Pleasure to meet you, young lady,” Cailan said with a wide grin as he shook my hand. “Though I’ll admit, Al hasn’t said much about you. How long have you been together?”

“Oh… um… We aren’t. Together, I mean. We’re just friends… from school.”

“Just friends?” Cailan eyed Alistair with curiosity. “I was sure that after the incident with Ellie Cousland that you’d get right back into- ”

Alistair shook his head. “Now isn’t the time to discuss that, Cailan. Please, just drop it.”

Another set of doors in the office then opened and another tall, blond-haired man strode out – though his hair was greying at the temples. The air of authority he had around him made me take a few steps behind Alistair for protection.

“Then when will be the time, son?”

“Maric.”

Maric immediately frowned and I saw Alistair wince. “I’ve told you repeatedly not to call me by my given name.”

“Fine…” Alistair gritted out. “Father.”

“That’s better.” Maric then looked behind Alistair, where I was trying not to cower, but failing. “And who is this young lady here? Is she the one you told me about this afternoon?”

“Yes… father. This is my companion for this evening, Kylara Amell.” He gently tugged my hand to bring me closer. “Kylara, may I present my father, Maric Theirin.”

Maric took my hand and gave it a squeeze. His eyes raked coolly over me and in that moment I knew I had been judged… and deemed unworthy. He let go of my hand and then said without looking at me a second time said, “Nice to meet you.” He then gave what I figured to be a curious glance at Alistair before quickly changing the subject. “There are a lot of influential people here tonight, Alistair. I hope you make the most of it and greet them all.”

I saw Alistair give a faint nod. “Yes, sir.”

“All right, let’s all head down for cocktails. Dinner will be at 8:30 sharp.”

Maric quickly strode off. Cailan followed but briefly turned around to me. “Nice to have met you, Miss Kylara. Do enjoy yourself this evening.” He then turned back and jogged a few steps to catch up to his father.

Alistair sagged slightly against the nearby wall.

“Are you okay?” I asked quietly.

He took a quick breath, stood back up straight and muttered, “Fine. Just dandy.” He caught my concerned look and then gave a weak smile. “Come,” he said and took my arm. “I think I could use a good stiff drink right about now.”

Back downstairs, the bartender asked what I’d like.

“Sex on the Beach,” I said quickly.

“I beg your pardon!” he exclaimed.

Alistair chuckled. “Ah, how about a Sidecar for the lady, and I’ll take a Whiskey Sour.”

“Yes, sir. Very good, sir.”

Our drinks were quickly made and handed to us. Alistair then gently led me away from the bar. I took a sip of what he ordered for me. It wasn’t too bad. Then I glanced up at him. “Did I do something wrong back there?”

He smiled and said, “This isn’t like a club or a college bar, so a lot of drinks you may be used to aren’t going to be available. Mar- ” he paused for a brief second. “My… father… only carries the high-end spirits and liquors.” He leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “I don’t think Maric would know what Peach Schnapps was if it came and bit him in the ass.”

I giggled at his comment but quickly stopped when I saw disapproving stares from some of the other guests.

Alistair lead me around the room as people mingled and chatted quietly. He gently pointed out several high profile people.

“That man over there,” he indicated a dwarf with a very hairy chest and wearing gold chains on his neck, “is Varric Tethras. He is an accomplished author renowned throughout Thedas. Most of his stories concern themselves with outcasts and tragic mistakes. Have you read any of his books?”

I shook my head, but said, “I know Leliana has both ‘Hard in Hightown’ and ‘Swords and Shields’. Maybe I’ll borrow them from her now.”

“Over there,” he carefully pointed at a stern woman with cropped black hair and a scar on her left cheek, “is Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast.”

“So many names?” I commented quietly.

“She is, or was Nevarran royalty. Now she is Right Hand of the Divine and Seeker for the Chantry.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t really sure what all of that meant, so I just nodded slightly.

Alistair also pointed out both Empress Celene and Duke Gaspard, both from Orlais, and the Prime Minister herself, Anora.

So many powerful people in the room, my head began to spin. So many things I could possibly say or do that could easily offend any one of these people. My legs began to tremble. I really don’t belong here…

Alistair noticed my discomfort. “Are you all right, Kylara? You look a bit pale.”

“I… I think I just need to sit down… for a bit.”

He nodded and began escorting me to some chairs in the corner of the room. Just then, a thin, tanned elf with blond hair tied back in a queue came up to us.

“Zevran,” Alistair said with mild surprise. “I thought your business with Maric had been completed already.”

Zevran gave an oily smile. “What can I say? My services are apparently in high demand.” His eyes then drifted over me. “Ah, and who is your charming companion this evening?”

Keeping one arm around my waist to hold me steady, he quietly said, “This is Kylara. Kylara, Zevran is a… business associate… of my father’s.”

Zevran picked up my hand and kissed it, though his eyes didn’t leave my face. “Zevran Arainai, at your service, dulce doncella.”

His accent had me curious. “Where are you from, Mr. Arainai?”

He flashed a bright grin at me. “Oh, no Mr. Arainai. That is far too formal for me, yes? Just call me… Zev.”

“Zev?”

Alistair quickly spoke up. “Zevran will be just fine.”

Zevran gave a short laugh. “As you wish. As for your earlier question, I hail from Antiva. Antiva City, to be precise.”

My mouth formed a small ‘o’, then I asked, “Isn’t that the country that has that secretive organization, The Crows?”

Zevran’s eyes glinted, “Oh? And what exactly do you know of such things?”

Alistair stepped in. “Probably nothing more than what local tabloids and gossip magazines have spread, right, Kylara?” He gave my waist a slight squeeze, but I saw Zevran’s eyes dart down and then back up to us.

“Uh… y-yes. Just gossip magazines,” I mumbled.

“I see.” Zevran’s lips were thin, but one corner curled mischievously. “It was nice to have met you, Kylara. Alistair? Give your father my regards.” He bowed once, then left us.

Alistair let out a soft breath. Making sure that Zevran was out of earshot, he then muttered, “I really don’t trust him.”

As we continued our way to the chairs, I trembled again. “I made another mistake, didn’t I?”

We sat down together on a small setteé. “There are rumors,” he began, speaking very softly, “that Zevran is a high ranking person in The Crows.”

Aghast, I whispered, “They don’t really assassinate people anymore… do they?”

“I don’t know. But I would definitely not mention it any more this night.”

Fearfully, I nodded.

“I am going to get us another drink. Will you be all right here by yourself?”

“I… should be.” Alistair got up, but I caught his wrist. “Please, hurry back, okay?”

He smiled and nodded, then left.

Suddenly, Zevran reappeared and swiftly sat down next to me. I tried to remember to breathe.

“You would do well to heed this advice, Kylara.” The way he said my name gave me chills. “You are out of your league here. You should go back to your dorm and put any more thoughts about Alistair Theirin out of your pretty little head. He is not for you.”

Trembling, I managed to stutter out, “W-we’re just fr-friends. That’s all.”

Zevran put his arm around my shoulders and leaned in closer. “Ah, but you see, that is just the thing. Friends can become much more. So were I you, I’d find some reason to tell him you are no longer interested in being ‘friends’… or better yet, perhaps you should consider changing schools, yes?” He got up, graceful and fluid, then before my eyes, vanished into the shadows.

I glanced all around the room. No one else had apparently seen this. Had I just imagined that whole scenario? I then noticed I was clenching something in my hand. I carefully opened it… to reveal a tiny origami crow.

Alistair returned shortly and handed me a large glass of red wine. After the scenario with Zevran and finding the tiny paper crow, I had stuffed it into the crevice of the setteé. I took a few deep calming breaths to try and settle my jangling nerves. Can’t let him know that anything is amiss. Just need to get through the rest of this evening… then I can work out what I will do.

“You are doing better?” he asked.

I took a sip of the wine and replied, “I’m fine.”

“Well, that is good.” He held out his hand and helped me to stand. “Come now, it is time for dinner.”

Dinner was an utter disaster. For one thing, I wasn’t seated next to Alistair, but all the way at the opposite end of the table. I could barely see him at the far end, seated near Maric and Cailan. Secondly, I looked at the place settings and wondered why there were so many utensils on the table.

I grabbed a piece of bread out of a basket and began nibbling on it, trying to calm myself again, only to get frowns of disapproval from the high-end guests seated near me. It was then that I noticed that no one was eating anything yet. They were patiently waiting for Maric to begin.

I tried to slowly set the roll back on my plate but accidentally dropped it. It bounced off my lap and onto the floor somewhere under my chair.

A few moments later, the first dish was now being served. A covered plate was placed in front of me and then opened to reveal some type of shellfish, still in its shell, with a green sauce covering it. I grabbed the nearest fork to me and stabbed it into the shell, not realizing that they were all sitting on a bed of coarse salt. Salt granules scattered off of my plate and went all over the table.

“What do you think you are doing?” It was the woman Alistair had introduced as Cassandra. Her Nevarran accent thick, she scowled. “Have you no manners?!”

Mortified, I put the big fork down, then realized that all the guests were using the smallest fork that had been at the end of the lineup of utensils. I murmured quietly, “I-I’ve just never been to a dinner… such as this.”

Her voice dripped with disdain. “That much is obvious.”

I wanted to vanish, but instead decided I’d be better off just trying to get this meal over with as soon as possible. I picked up the delicate fork and this time carefully pierced the meat. I had never eaten anything like it before, but since everyone else seemed to be enjoying it, I figured I should at least try it. It tasted salty and rich. I chewed carefully then swallowed. Deciding I didn’t care for it, I set the tiny fork down and decided to wait for the next course.

Several minutes later the shellfish plates were cleared and the next covered dish was set in front of me. The lid was lifted and what I saw made me blanch. It was clearly raw meat, and on top of that was a tiny uncooked egg yolk.

“Um…” I tugged on the sleeve of one of the men serving. “I think my dish wasn’t cooked?”

“Mademoiselle, that is steak tartare. It is supposed to be raw.”

Raw fish I could handle, as I loved sushi… but raw beef? My stomach churned. As the other guests were eating the meal and I saw the egg yolk running down the plate, I knew it was too much. I quickly got up, but in my haste, I knocked over my wine glass.

“My dress!” Cassandra cried. “You clumsy girl!”

I could take no more. I stumbled away from the table. My high heel pierced the dinner roll that had been under my chair, causing me to trip. But I managed to get away and to the bathroom before I vomited on the floor.

From the other end of the table, Alistair saw what had happened and tried to get up.

“Sit… down,” Maric commanded.

“But… I need to see if she is all right.”

“You don’t need to do anything but stay right here.”

Alistair glared at his father. He put his napkin down, pushed his chair back and stood up. “Please accept my apologies, everyone,” he said crisply to the guests. Then he got up and walked off.

I heard a knock on the bathroom door. From outside Alistair spoke, “Kylara? Are you all right?” There was a pause and then, “May I come in?”

Weakly, I replied, “Yes.”

The door opened slowly and Alistair walked in. He saw me sitting on the floor of the bathroom. Red splotches covered my skin.

Alistair knelt down next to me. “Oh! W-what happened!”

“I… I think I am allergic to whatever that shellfish was.”

“Oysters. They were oysters.” He held my hand. “Will you be okay?” “I think so… I only ate one.” I didn’t mention that I had thrown it up. “I have antihistamines back at the dorm.”

He stood up and then helped me up. “Let’s get you back home then.”

We rode back to the college in the limo in silence, then I finally said, “I’m sorry I ruined your fancy dinner.”

“You didn’t ruin it. After we left, I am sure that they continued on as if nothing had even happened.”

“But… I ruined Cassandra’s dress. She will probably insist I buy her a new one!”

“No. She won’t. I’m sure Maric will have already taken care of it.”

I held back a sob. “Your father doesn’t like me, does he?”

Alistair scoffed. “Maric doesn’t like anyone much. Don’t worry about what he thinks. I still like you, Kylara. Very much.”

I turned to look at the scenery blurring by the limo windows. I wiped a tear off of my cheek. “Why?” I asked quietly, “What is so special about me?”

“You are not like any other girl I have ever known. You are quiet, sweet, smart. You are also fiery, passionate about what you believe in…”

I smiled a little, even as another tear fell. “Even when I argue about the perfect grilled cheese?”

He chuckled. “Especially then.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “I want to continue being your friend.”

I thought back to what had happened with Zevran and the threat he had delivered. I shivered. “I… I don’t think it is a good idea, Alistair.”

“What? Why?” He sounded surprised… and a little hurt.

“I know you didn’t ask for this, but you were born into privilege… and with that comes specific obligations.” I let out a sigh. “I am not like the people who were there at the party tonight. I made a fool of myself in front of them all. We are two very different individuals, Alistair… and I don’t belong.” My chest felt heavy. “Not with them… and not with you.”

The limo pulled to a stop outside of my dorm. Without waiting for Blackwall to open it, I got out and began slowly walking to the side entrance to the dorm. I didn’t want to face anyone who might still be in the lobby. Suddenly my ankle wobbled and I fell to my knees. “Curse these fucking shoes!” I took them off and threw them into a nearby bush. Then I began to cry.

A moment later, I felt Alistair place his tux jacket on my shoulders. “Come on now, Kylara. Let me help you up.” Weakly, I accepted his hands as he pulled me to my feet. He walked me to the door, then finally asked, “Kylara, please. I know you think we have nothing in common, but I don’t want to lose you as a friend. I will give you some space for the moment, but I hope that you will reconsider.” He leaned down and gave me a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Give me a call or text whenever you feel ready, all right?”

I could only nod in silence. I then scanned my student id on the door panel and walked into the building. The lights were off in the hallway and when the glass door closed, I could see Alistair standing there with his hand on the door. Then he turned and slowly walked away with his shoulders slumped.

Fortunately, Leli was not in our room to cross-examine me about tonight. I sat down on the edge of my bed and it was then that I realized I still had Alistair’s tux jacket on my shoulders. I carefully took it off and then cradled it in my arms. When I held it up, I could smell his scent on it. I held it close to my nose and inhaled, then hugged it to my chest as fresh tears began to fall.

#fictober19 #dragon age #alternate universe #modern thedas #fancy dress party #socially awkward #angsty feels #minor language

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the-beastslayers-queen · 5 years

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Magic and Moonlight: Chapter 12

Chapter 12 is here. Tagging: @queenofthearchitect @wwepoppunkprincess @balorrollinsambrose @bethany99stuff-blog @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @sassyspacedust and @afauss2009 (I had to hyperlink your blog since the tag won’t work.) If you want to be tagged, hit my inbox. Enjoy!

“Roman,” I looked up at my tall Samoan confidant, “Do I tell him or do I keep it from him? I still love the damn moron and I know it’s his kid growing in me, but does he deserve to know right now? I’m so damn conflicted right now.”

“You have to tell him, Thea,” Roman pulled me up to my feet and hugged me warmly, “I know he might be a damn dick head right now, but like you said, you still love his stupid ass.

“I won’t tell him now,” I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, “Maybe once I find my mom, she could convince me more. But I promise I will tell him, just not yet.”

“You better tell him as soon as possible,” Roman warned, “Because if he finds out on his own, he might do something really stupid that could hurt not just you, but your baby.”

“I know, Rome,” I sighed again, “But we need to start looking for my mom. She might know how we can save Colby from himself and bring him back to me.”

Way back, when I was in the indies, fighting to make a name for myself to get into the WWE, I was also trying to track down my mom. You see, the moment my mom found out I was bound to a werewolf, which was right around when I turned eight, she and my dad got into a huge fight. The kind of fight that had magic involved. So once it died down, my mom packed up and ran. She covered her tracks fairly well so my dad couldn’t find her, but I was able to get an idea as to where she ended up.

Which was why, while Roman had a few days off, he came with me to New Orleans. This was the last place I had felt my mother’s magic. She had to still be here. I need her now more than ever. I rubbed my stomach, trying to hold back my nausea, as we went up Bourbon Street, trying to find my mother’s trail.

“I smell something,” Roman put his hand out to stop me, “I smell magic in the air. It’s coming from that psychic’s shop. Let’s try there.”

“Okay, I’ll go in first,” I told him.

I went in first, Roman following close behind me. As we got further into the shop, I heard the rustling of a bead curtain that led further into the tiny shop. The woman I saw made me stop dead in my tracks. Sure it had been well over a decade since I had seen her, but I knew this woman that stood before me. I could feel my magic reaching out to resonate with hers, like even my magic knew who this woman was.

She was my mother. Her once dark raven curled locks now had streaks of grey in them and she had a few wrinkles on her face, but her bright grey eyes still shined like how I remembered. I was in pure awe at seeing her again. I had thought I would never see her again because of my father. But here I was, in New Orleans, in what must be my mother’s psychic shop.

“Mama,” I spoke, just above a whisper, so afraid that this might had been a trick.

“Thea,” the woman replied, “My little Thea. Is that really you sweetheart?”

“Yeah Mama,” I was crying at seeing her and having her recognize me, “It’s me, little Thea. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh baby,” my mom closed the distance between us and took me into her arms and held me close to her, “I’m so sorry I left you with your father. I should have taken you with me. I am so, so sorry. But why are you here now, after all this time?”

“I need your help,” I told her as I wiped my tears away, “I found my werewolf, but he’s been ripped away from me. And Morrigan is not inside me anymore. She’s fully resurrected. And she’s the one that took my werewolf away.”

“Alright you’ll have to bring me up to speed on everything,” she cupped my face in her hands before she shot a glance at Roman, “And who is this young man?”

“I’m Roman,” he replied, “I’m the alpha of my wolf pack that her werewolf belongs to. Unfortunately, he’s gone rogue because of Morrigan’s magic. A lot has happened in the last few months, but we’ll catch you up.”

“Now Thea,” My mom looked at me, “I’m sure there is more going on besides the drama of your werewolf being taken from you. I can tell you’re glowing. Spill it.”

“I’m pregnant, Mama,” I confessed, “And it’s Colby’s baby. Colby is my wolf’s name. And he doesn’t know yet. But I don’t know for sure when I should tell him. The way he’s been lately, against his will mind you, makes me afraid to tell him right now.”

“Sweetheart,” my mom took hold of my hand, “You have to tell. He has every right to know. But I’d make sure his pack brothers are with you, just in case he lashes out.”

“But I do have a favor to ask of you, Mama,” I took a deep breath, “Can you help us get Colby back? I need another witch at my side, one that might know how to break the spell Morrigan put on Colby so he can come home to me again.”

“Of course I’ll stand with you,” she replied, “And I will stay with you to help with your baby. Besides, I’ve missed fifteen years of your life so I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Roman and I were back on the road for Raw. I had to meet with Hunter today to inform him from the business side of things that I was expecting and I was no longer able to compete. My mom was with us now, being a very doting mother, helping me with my morning sickness by channeling soothing healing magic to curb the nausea.

“Come on,” I heard Hunter call as I knocked on the door, and as I entered I saw Colby standing there over Hunter’s shoulders. I immediately tensed at seeing him.

“Hunter,” I finally spoke, trying to avoid making eye contact with Colby as he glared at me, “Is it alright if I speak with you alone?”

“Sure,” Hunter replied, “Wait outside, Seth. I’ll deal with her.”

Colby left the room with no protest. He lightly ran into my shoulder, just enough make me shift my weight to avoid falling over. Once he was gone and the door was shut, I took a seat across from Hunter.

“I have something important to tell you,” I started, “This has nothing to do with the war going on between Colby’s old pack and the Authority. I’m pregnant and I can’t compete for some time.”

“Is it Colby’s,” he asked.

“Yes,” I simply replied.

“Alright,” Hunter rubbed his face, “I won’t say a word to him and I will offer a truce to you. I myself am a father to three girls, so I will not put your baby in danger. The moment you return, all bets are off. But I do suggest telling him. Even if we took him from you, we have no intention of keeping him away from his kid.”

“I’ll tell once I’m out of your office,” I stood up from my seat, “I really respected you Hunter. But you lost it the moment you took away my mate. When I return, I will raise hell.”

I left Hunter’s office and I was met by Colby waiting for me. I gulped and removed my eyes from his. This was it, I was going to tell him today.

“Colby,” I looked into his eyes again, “Can you come with me to Roman and Dean’s locker room? I need to speak with you, but I want to do it with Dean and Roman around. I don’t trust myself being alone with you.”

“Fine,” he replied shortly, “Lead the way.”

I walked down the hall, Colby hot on my heels, towards the Shield locker room. Once we arrived I got inside and waited for Colby to enter before shutting the door. Roman and Dean, who were seated when I had entered, shot to their feet when Colby followed me inside.

“Alright everyone relax,” I looked between the three former pack brothers, “I am going to say my piece and then Colby is allowed to speak his. Understand?”

All three men and my mom nodded. I took a deep breath before I continued.

“I know you don’t give a damn about me, Colby,” I began, “But I feel that you should know that I’m pregnant. And this baby, growing inside me, is yours. I don’t expect you to care about us. I don’t even expect you to support me and the baby. But I felt you had the right to know that you’re going to be a father. So when the day comes that we find each other again, you’ll know that you have a family waiting for you to come home.”

“I bet it’s not mine,” Colby boldly declared, “I know for a fact that when Morrigan was in control, she fucked Roman. I think the kid is his. Not mine. This is just a pathetic attempt to get me to give a damn about poor, weak, little Thea. You’re wasting my damn time.”

Before anyone could react, Roman ran across the room and landed a stiff bitch slap across Colby’s face. I ran over to be by my mom as Colby began to throw punches at Roman. Dean jumped in and began to land haymakers on Colby. After enough punches were thrown between the three, I lashed out with my magic. I casted vines out at all three of them, pulling them away from each other. I tied each one to a different wall. I stormed over to Colby and I slapped him hard across the face.

“For the record, I’m just over two months along, jackass,” I screamed at him, “You were the last one I slept with, just before you became this giant dick head of a man. Roman and Morrigan slept together nearly six months ago. She casted a spell on herself that acted like a ‘Morning-after’ pill to avoid conceiving. So don’t give me shit about this kid not being yours. So you can grow the fuck up and be a damn man. I’m leaving and I won’t come back until after I have this baby. After that, I’m going to make you see you still love me and I’m going to fight every damn day to get you free of everything the Authority and Morrigan did to you.”

Once everything was said and done, I left for my maternity leave. I packed what few things I had in that stupid house Morrigan bought, and moved down to live with my mom in New Orleans. I managed to sell the house fairly quickly so I put the money away towards my child’s future.

Right now I was just starting to show and at my last doctor’s visit I got to hear my baby’s heartbeat. I loved this new feeling in me, the pure love I had for my baby. Sure it sucked Colby could give two shits about us, but I knew this would be temporary. But I hadn’t realized how temporary it would be.

Right now I was up in my mom’s lower balcony, just above her shop’s front entrance, looking out on the people strolling down Bourbon Street. I was absent-mindedly stroking my baby bump, humming some random tune as I thought of what my future would look like. Would I be alone raising my child or would Colby be in the picture? I had no idea, but things were about to get interesting today.

As I was watching the people on the street below, I saw someone approaching the shop. And as I saw the shock of blond, I knew exactly who it was. I got up from my seat and made my way back inside to go downstairs.

“I demand to see her,” I heard Colby shout at my mom as I came down the stairs.

“I don’t think deserve the right to see her,” my mom shouted at him, “Not after how you talked to her when she left.”

“She is the mother of my child,” he barked, “I have every right to talk to her, damn it.”

“Enough,” I made my presence known, “Colby, come upstairs. I’ll hear what you have to say. If you get uncivil, I’ll launch you over the balcony.”

I walked back upstairs, Colby right on my heels. I knew this was a stupid idea, letting him back in even when he’s going to hurt me every time. But I love his stupid ass and I won’t abandon him.

“Alright,” I sat down in the wicker rocker on the balcony, “You have my attention. Say your piece.”

“If this kid is really mine,” he leaned against the railing of the balcony, folding his arms across his chest, “I want to help you support the baby. I never knew my birth father, and I don’t want that for my kid. I’ll visit the baby every chance I have and I’ll provide you with everything you need to raise him or her. I might be an ass to you, but I will not be that way with my child.”

“Alright,” I sighed, “We have a deal, but on one condition.”

“What’s that,” he asked.

“You don’t say a word to Hunter or my father we’re going to be civil for the sake of the baby,” I told him, “And you don’t say word about where I’m living. My dad can’t know where my mom is.”

“Deal,” he agreed.

#seth rollins x oc #seth rollins fic #seth rollins fanfic #seth rollins fanfiction #werewolf!seth rollins #witch!oc #supernatural/occult!au #angst #magic and moonlight #wwe fic #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction

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tightropenuzlocke · 5 years

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Tightrope: a Y Storylocke

Chapter One: Life Is Just A Play With No Rehearsal

They could hardly wait until they got back to the privacy of Serena’s room to snoop. Their own kits lay discarded on the bed to be opened later, because the identity of the final member of their program was far more interesting. The lab assistant who delivered their gear hadn’t known anything, but the packages they had to distribute were of course addressed to their recipients, and that was something to go on.

Xoana was surprised to find an address just down the lane from hers in Bourg Croquis, no doubt belonging to the new neighbors her mother had mentioned, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t volunteered to go with Serena to the pick-up two towns away. Teasingly, the name on the package kindled a faint flicker of recognition in the back of Xoana’s mind, and she rolled the Q around in her head to try and stoke it to life. It wasn’t a common name, at least not in this region, yet she’d heard it before. An old classmate? An acquaintance?

“A Rhyhorn rider!” Serena declared, beaming at her phone and her own cleverness. She read off her screen. “Grace Emer Quinn, born in Éire but a naturalized citizen of Kalos, holds the current world record for both time and obstacles cleared in a Rhyhorn race. Mme Quinn and her partner Rhyhorn, Morrigan, set the record at the twentieth bi-annual world championships. We watched that as kids, remember?”

It was always easy to find her on the track, emblazoned in bright red and charging recklessly ahead of the pack. Maybe that was why everyone was so taken with her. Xoana and Serena were far from the only ones who had cheered for her against their home region. In fact, she seemed to recall the whole viewing party, aside from her stubbornly loyal stepfather, had worn something red the day of the championship race. Serena had helped tie crimson ribbons in Xoana’s hair and pilfered a scarlet scarf from her mother’s closet for herself. Xoana’s mother had let them drag a blanket onto the floor so that the adults could occupy the surrounding couches and chairs. Xoana had watched the screen on her stomach, pillow squeezed tight in her arms and legs waving behind her.

Or perhaps it had been that force of personality which took the racing world by storm. She had always given interviews in the language of the region hosting despite all the extra effort because she hadn’t wanted anyone to speak for her. Xoana remembered the surety behind her words despite the reaching, the expressiveness despite her limitations, the hearty laugh over her own stumbling that was her trademark. And who could forget that shock of glowing red curls? Xoana had never seen hair like hers on TV before. Then there was that dense smattering of freckles and big, brilliant smile. Maybe Xoana had kept a picture. It was so long ago that she couldn’t quite recall.

But Xoana did remember how her heart had drummed every time she watched her. Kalos had never been so invested in Rhyhorn racing before or since. For a moment it had been almost as big as battling.

“So you think it’s her daughter?”

“Says here she has a daughter our age. And it would explain that Rhyhorn you mentioned.”

That was a good explanation. Rhyhorn weren’t really pets after all.

“Maybe it is her.”

…

“Look alive, Rough Rider!” Cináed tweeted at the top of his damn voice. Aisling groaned and pulled the sheets over her head before he could blast her with the full force of dawn.

There was a soft thump as he dropped from the string of the shade to the windowsill, then a series of softer ones as he hopped his way from her knees to her shoulder. The tapestry above her bed flapped in the sudden gust as he tried to wrest the covers from her iron grip.

“Come on, Aisling!” he whined.

She pretended to be dead.

He fluttered over to her pillow and tunneled into her hair. “Nice nest you have here.” He shuffled his feathers—settling in. “Think I’ll take it.”

“Be my guest.”

“Sure is warm in here,” he chirped pleasantly, snuggling closer to her scalp. It was gonna take a lot more than his scorching chest to get her up. “Do you smell something burning?”

Aisling leapt out of bed right onto her feet. “I’m up!”

A smug twittering drifted from her hair and she stumbled, grumbling, into her bathroom. Cináed poked his bright red head out over her brow and she grudgingly offered him the middle finger, which the Fletchling used to pull himself free.

She turned on the tap and splashed water over her face. Cináed beat a hasty retreat to the towel rack.

“You told me to get you up this morning!” he complained.

She scowled at his reflection. “It’s 6AM!”

He waved his wings in his best approximation of air quotes. “Don’t let me sleep in, Cináed! I need the extra time to get ready!”

“Fuck, that’s today!”

Aisling tripped out of her pajamas and Cináed slipped out the door to avoid the steam. The Fletching stayed close, though, and whistled an old gaelic ballad through the crack as she washed and rinsed and toweled off. As always, he came back in for the hairdryer and she shot him up to the ceiling a few times.

He perched on her bedpost while she threw half her wardrobe across the mattress, trying to get her outfit right. Yes, the jacket is absolutely a power move. Eh, I think we can do better than that skirt. Absolutely wear the boots!

Once she had the clothes, makeup was simple: gold eyeliner, some glitter on her cheekbones, and lip color to match her belt. She bound her hair back with the strongest tie that money could buy, smoothed the front and teased the back.

“How do I look?”

“Ready to cut ’em up!” Cináed chirped, flashing his white wingtips for emphasis.

Aisling grinned but something anchored her feet to the floor. She felt the weight of keen, black eyes watching her.

“Maybe I should come along,” Cináed offered. “I can scope out this starter pokemon for you.”

“Naw.” She waved him off, going for her clutch.

“Then at least take a few feathers!”

He swooped over to her vanity and snatched some of his shed feathers out of the tiny vase she kept them in. She held still as he landed on her head and poked them through her hair tie one by one, five in all. She watched his tail bob in the mirror and he caught sight of her face when he turned.

“They’re good luck!” he chirped before jumping ship.

“I make my own luck,” she reminded him, but her first smile of the day crept across her face as she checked his handiwork. Satisfied, she sprung out the door. “See you later Cináed!”

A scone from mam and a sleepy chuff from Raleigh, still resting in his sand bed, sent her off.

…

The morning was ever so slightly chill and Xoana hugged her warm cup of tea to her chest while she waited for the sun to warm the café patio where the group had gathered. Serena and Tracie nursed their coffees while Tierney finished off her pastry. They had pushed two of the little round tables together and left one seat open for the final member, who had yet to arrive. Xoana’s mother had confirmed via text that the new neighbors were indeed Grace Quinn and her daughter. Everything was squared away and Xoana let things fall quiet.

Tracie’s Pikachu grew bored and tapped her on the arm. Tracie pulled an old, handheld console out of her backpack and set up the kickstand case so Spark could play next to her on the table.

Tierney’s Hawlucha shuffled her wings before spreading them back out to sun some more. Tierney rolled the case of pokeballs idly back and forth on the table in a rhythmic drone.

The sound of bootheels on the cobblestones pulled Xoana out of her stupor. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but the young woman that approached them still caught her off guard. For one, Xoana had probably expected someone pale and firey like Grace. Instead she was dark with kinky hair bound tightly back and adorned with Fletching feathers. A little closer, she was almost more freckle than person and the clicking heels belonged to a pair of embroidered riding boots, which fit the picture of famous-Rhyhorn-jockey’s-daughter a little better. The leather jacket she had on emphasized her already broad shoulders and the well-fitted, indigo jeans drew attention to other assets Xoana probably shouldn’t be taking note of.

“Best behavior,” said Serena, which felt very pointed even though it wasn’t.

“Bonjour!” she called out to them.

“Bonjour!” they all answered, standing to greet her.

“You must be Aisling,” Serena continued, offering her hand. “I’m Serena Pascal. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Aisling purred, taking her hand.

The greeting lingered a little before she turned to Xoana, smiling even more broadly if possible. Her mouth was a bit large for her face, but in a nice way, and Xoana made a mental note to ask where she got that shade of purple lip color.

“Xoana Bellamy,” she said before Serena could do it for her. “Great to meet you.”

“Likewise.” It was nice to have someone sound like they meant it.

“We’re actually neighbors. I live in Bourg Croquis too.”

“Really? Maybe you could show me around sometime?”

“Of course!”

Aisling didn’t shift her gaze but thankfully Tierney stepped in to rescue Xoana’s heartbeat from its precipitous climb.

“Tierney Fitzroy.”

Aisling matched her hearty shake with ease. “You got folks in Éire too?”

“Yeah, my father’s family. Éire and Galar.”

Aisling dropped from her light, south Kalos accent into a heavy Éirinn brogue. “The traitors!”

That made Tierney laugh and Aisling moved on to the final member of their group.

“Tracie Chastain,” she said stiffly. Predictably she couldn’t meet Aisling’s eyes, but she did manage a greeting and brief handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Tracie.” If Aisling was off-put or offended by Tracie’s curtness, she didn’t show it. “What’s your Pikachu playing?”

“Dirby and the Crystal Shards.”

“Classic.”

Tierney’s Hawlucha shuffled over and Aisling greeted her as well.

“That’s Valériane,” Tierney explained. “She’s my starter.” Aisling offered her hand, which the Hawlucha patted awkwardly with her claws before waddling over to Tierney’s side. “And Spark is Tracie’s starter.” Tierney tapped the cylindrical case on the table in front of her. “You three get to pick one from Professor Sycamore.”

“But before we do,” said Serena, polite but officious as usual, “there are a few things we should go over. Do you have your trainer license?”

“Just got it yesterday!” Aisling whipped it out of her pocket to show before setting into the chair set aside for her between Xoana and Serena.

“Good. Tracie?”

Tracie already had her backpack in her lap and was pulling things out of it. She slid Aisling’s pokedex, holocaster, and provisional pokemon science licence across the table. Aisling took them wordlessly, practically radiating excitement as Tracie caught her up to speed. She registered, transferred her data and added them all to her contacts.

“Excellent,” said Serena. “Now that that’s sorted, we had a bit of a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” Aisling asked, perking back up.

Xoana spoke first this time. She could feel Serena about to be blunt instead of easing into it as Xoana had suggested. “Well, we thought—since we’re all in the same program—it might be fun to travel all together, as a group.”

“Oh,” said Aisling carefully, “did you all have a chance to meet up earlier?”

“We knew each other before we got into the program,” Serena jumped in.

Xoana could smack her.

“We all went to school together right here in Quarellis!” Tierney added cheerfully.

“Oh.” For the first time Aisling’s face closed and her posture stiffened.

This was exactly what Xoana had wanted to avoid. She swooped back in, leaning a bit over the table to get Aisling’s attention and smiling as bright and friendly as she could while also wanting to strangle her friends just a little.

“So we all get along and thought ‘the more the merrier’ you know?”

“We won’t all be working on the same projects of course,” said Serena, “but we all need to travel around to earn badges and so forth. It might be safer and more expedient to do so in a group.”

“No pressure to accept, obviously,” Xoana added, “but we would really love to have you.”

There was a pause while they all waited for an answer. Xoana could feel her face straining.

“That… sounds great!” Aisling declared, smiling again. “You seem like a good bunch. I’m so happy to have friends up north.”

Xoana stifled a sigh of relief. “That’s great! I’m so excited! This is going to be so much fun!”

“We were really hoping you’d be down for it,” said Tierney.

“Fun fact about me,” said Aisling with another big grin, “I’m down for most things.”

“Good to know!”

“Maybe we should do some icebreakers!” Xoana said. She was back in her element now. “How about we name our goals for the program and a hobby?” She paused, but she couldn’t exactly take that back. “I want to be a pokemon professional of some kind, but I’m not sure about my field. I volunteered at the Center in town and now I’m gonna use this year to look at training and research. Oh, and I like to make accessories and stuff in my spare time.”

“Did you make that bracelet you’re wearing?”

“Yeah!” She fiddled with it. “And the hair ties.”

Aisling surveyed them. “You’re good. They’re cute as anything.”

“Thanks!” She had to elbow Tierney so Aisling would stop looking at her.

Tierney talked about her dance moves project, which Aisling thought was a cool way to combine her passions. Tracie had to be prompted again, but Aisling saw to it this time. She even got Tracie rattling on about fossils until she abruptly clammed up, which meant she had gone back to counting her words. Aisling gave no signal of discomfort and that was as good a sign as any that this might turn out well.

“My goal is to be a professional trainer like my mother,” said Serena. “I hope to do well enough to be considered for Prof. Sycamore’s mega evolution project.” It was amazing how she just did that. Xoana would never be over it.

“And I like running,” she tacked on awkwardly. At least Xoana had something she lacked.

“I hear that helps clear your mind. A bit like riding that way.” It was impressive how she managed to make a connection with all of them right away, whether it was simple appreciation or common ground. “Anyway, my mom’s a big Rhyhorn rider and I’m going to get even more famous for battling. So I’m aiming to slide over into the mega evo project too. As for hobbies, I’ve done all sorts of things and I’m always in the market for a new pastime.”

Serena was measuring Aisling with her eyes, which was not a good sign.

“Since we’re all friends now,” Xoana began pointedly, “why don’t we come up with some nicknames for each other?”

“I like it!” Aisling nodded in approval.

“How about Ash?” Tierney suggested.

“Not bad, but I think I’d prefer to be addressed as My Queen.”

“My Queen?” Serena demanded, incredulous.

“Exactly,” Aisling confirmed, as if Serena had trouble understanding rather than believing. “Or perhaps Your Majesty, if you prefer.” Then she smirked.

Xoana couldn’t remember the last time someone doubled down after Serena challenged them like that. And neither could Serena if the way she pulled back and blinked was anything to go by. Serena’s tongue moved in her mouth, trying to work out a response, and Xoana scrambled to think of something to head her off.

“If you’re Queen, can I be Baronne?” They all looked at Tracie, surprised that she was following the conversation.

“But of course!” said Aisling magnanimously. “All of you are welcome to be nobles in my court.”

“Nice!” said Tierney, once again before Serena had time to process. “I’m feeling Vicomtesse for me. Has a nice ring to it.”

“An excellent choice,” Aisling declared.

“Hmm, I’m thinking Marquise,” Xoana threw in to keep the momentum.

“Perfect.”

“Are we really doing this?” Serena demanded, set back in her chair with her arms crossed.

Xoana smiled. She couldn’t help it. Even with Serena glaring at the both of them, she couldn’t keep it in.

“Aw, come on!” chimed Tierney good-naturedly. “It’ll be fun!”

“Yeah, Ser,” Xoana piled on.

Serena looked to Tracie, but she was researching something on her pokedex and predictably failed to notice the call for backup. Alone, tacit refusal was Serena’s only polite recourse. “I can’t think of one.” Can’t think of a rank higher than queen, more like.

Aisling tapped her lip a few times, looking Serena in the eyes, then pointed at her with a flick of her wrist.

“You seem like a Comtesse to me.” She didn’t wait for a response. “Alright, nicknames assigned! Let’s see these starter pokemon!”

Tierney leaned over and placed the case in the middle of the table before opening it, revealing three pokeballs.

“Before I let them out, who’s picking first?”

Xoana watched Serena squirm for a moment. She so obviously wanted first pick but she couldn’t be the one to suggest it. But they had both agreed to let Aisling pick first before she arrived, so Xoana elected to ignore this new development.

“Well if you’re Queen, maybe you should pick first, Aisling.”

“Makes sense,” Tracie agreed, failing to look up from her pokedex.

A muscle in Serena’s forehead twitched.

“Alright then. Let’s do it!”

Three small pokemon emerged in a flash of red light. The first was a Fennekin, who looked around at the assembled and scratched one of her enormous ears. The second was a Chespin who peeked at them before staring down at the table and nervously clasping her forepaws. The last was a Froakie, who glanced placidly around and smiled before using his tongue to clear one of his eyes. They were all so fucking cute. Xoana couldn’t decide which she wanted more.

Serena had decided though. Her eyes were fixed on the fire-type as if the other two didn’t exist. Aisling’s gaze was drawn to the Fennekin as well. Xoana began to brace herself, but then Aisling glanced to either side, catching Xoana’s eyes for a moment before delivering her choice.

“I think I’ll take… the Chespin! Chesnaught are the shit.”

The Chespin looked up, ears at attention, then glanced away and looked back again. Aisling held her gaze, grinning. The Chespin touched a paw to her chest in question.

“Yes, you!” Aisling answered with a snort of amusement. “Get over here.” The Chespin took a few paces forward and sat down in front of her, little nose twitching. “You got nice guns there, short stack.” She flexed one of her own, patting it for emphasis. As if to mirror the motion, the Chespin scratched at her thick arm and smiled tentatively. “You look like a Bree to me. How’s that sound?”

She looked down at a paw, taking a moment to carefully manipulate her digits, then gave Aisling the thumbs up. Beyond her, Serena was slightly irate that the Chespin apparently got more say in her nickname than she had been given.

“Welcome to Team Aisling! Can I get a fist bump?”

Bree closed her paw and tapped it against Aisling’s offered fist. Aisling drew hers away, splaying her fingers and making a sound effect out the side of her mouth. Bree wiggled her claws back experimentally.

“Yeah! You got it.” The Chespin smiled again at the encouragement. It was then that Xoana noticed Serena staring across the table at her.

“Go ahead, Ser—Comtesse. I can’t decide anyway.”

“I’ll take the Fennekin then.” Serena beckoned and the pokemon approached her. “I’ll call you Félicité, alright?”

The Fennekin nodded primly and sat down in front of her, curling her bushy tail over her paws. Serena stroked her fur, almost vibrating with happiness.

Xoana forgave her minor sins.

Aisling smiled too and there was a hint of satisfaction in it. So she had guessed which pokemon Serena wanted and let her have it. That was interesting.

The Froakie shuffled around to face Xoana. He blinked one eye and then the other at her. She melted onto her hands.

“Hi Froakie!” He blew a bubble from both nostrils and sucked them back in. “You are so cute! I love your bubbles! Can I touch them?” She reached out, but waited for him to nod before putting her hand on the ruff of pale, semi-translucent globes around his neck. They were moist and gave a little but didn’t burst.

“That’s so cool!” The Froakie smiled his big froggy smile at her. “Can I call you Froabble?”

The Froakie answered with a ribbit that expanded his throat sack a little. A noise of utter glee escaped Xoana.

The others all grinned at her, even Tracie, albeit with half her mouth. Aisling was leaning on her elbow to get a better view. Xoana could feel her face heating up. Tierney—bless her—rescued her by handing out the pokeballs.

“So, if we’re all going together, what’s the game plan?” Aisling asked, spinning her pokeball on the table like a top.

“We thought it would be best to work out of Neuvartault until it’s time to check in with Prof. Sycamore in Illumis,” said Serena. “There are three adjacent routes to train on and that way we could all earn our first badge before the meeting.”

“Sounds good to me,” Aisling replied.

“We can walk there together tomorrow if you want,” Xoana offered.

“I would like that.” That mouth of hers was deadly and shouldn’t be allowed. “Where are we staying?”

“Xoana and Tierney are staying with Tracie and me since we live close by,” said Serena. “But there’s a nice bed and breakfast in town.”

“Excellent. Send me the name and I’ll put in my housing request.”

Serena was a bit taken aback but couldn’t gracefully decline so reasonable a request, so she picked up her holocaster and texted the info.

“Thanks! All in order now?”

“That’s everything on the checklist,” said Tracie.

“Bree and I should probably get going then. Of course I’d love to stay and get to know you better, but alas, I have other appointments.”

She stood and gathered her things, motioning to her new Chespin to follow. Bree hopped from the chair to the ground and waited right by her ankle, which seemed to please her. She looked back up at them.

“It’s been the utmost pleasure meeting you Baronne, Vicomtesse, Comtesse, Marquise.”

The way her lips curved upward as she lingered on that final word—like she enjoyed the feel of it in her mouth—made something in Xoana’s chest flutter.

As she turned, she revealed to them what resembled a biker gang’s emblem splashed across the back of her jacket. It was a pokemon Xoana didn’t recognize—white and soft yellow with a third eye taking up most of its torso and blue tags hanging from each of the three points on its head. A furling banner below the pokemon’s delicate streamers bore the message: Try My Luck.

“Au revoir!” Aisling called without turning back.

And with that she was gone, pokeball at her belt, Chespin at her side, and even more bravado in the clicking of her boot heels against the cobblestones. Xoana didn’t want to stop staring after her, but that seemed imprudent, so she yanked her eyes back to the café table. Her new Froakie smiled tentatively up at her and she smiled back.

Aisling had been a surprise start to finish, but not an unpleasant one. The meeting certainly hadn’t gone quite as planned either, but perhaps that was to be expected. Serena was slumped in her chair with her chin tucked and no one else took it upon themselves to restart the conversation, so Xoana filled the gap.

“Well, she seemed nice.”

“Nice?” Serena countered, head cocked to the side and one immaculate eyebrow raised. “You call waltzing in like she owned the place and completely taking control ‘nice’?”

Xoana brushed this aside. “She was probably just nervous.”

“Nervous?” Serena was incredulous now. “What part of that display said insecurity to you?”

The Fennekin glanced back at her trainer and then expectantly at Xoana.

“This is a region-wide program. She had no reason to expect that we would all already know each other. It’s intimidating.”

“But—”

“Cut her some slack,” Tierney finally contributed. “You’re the one who was lecturing us to be friendly.”

“So did Xoana!”

“She’s nicer about it,” Tracie muttered, engrossed in her pokedex. Spark played with her handheld, feigning disinterest, but her ears gave her away.

“She told us to call her ‘My Queen’.”

Valériane hopped up and down, beating her wings each time in an attempt to see over the table.

“The nickname thing was my idea!”

Serena rolled her eyes and Xoana’s narrowed. Serena leaned back in her chair and spread her arms.

“So now we’re all lackeys in her court.”

“You’re so dramatic!”

“I’m dramatic?” Serena demanded, hand splayed on her chest like she was performing for a crowded theater.

The total lack of irony was more than Xoana could take.

“Stop repeating everything I say!”

Serena opened her mouth to argue the point, but from the look on her face, realized she was about to shoot Xoana’s words back again and thought better of it.

Xoana considered leaving it there, but she couldn’t.

“I liked her.”

“Of course you did."

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Xoana demanded—as if she didn’t know exactly what it meant—as if they all didn’t know. Xoana’s cheeks flushed. Just once she wanted to hear her say it, but of course she wouldn’t. She never had. “You just don’t like her because you’re used to being the alpha friend.”

“Wha— That’s not true!”

Serena looked to Tracie and Tierney but neither met her eyes. Then she had the nerve to pout. Fuck her and her adorable face.

Serena’s Fennekin hopped off the table into her lap and she stroked her absently.

Valériane made an inelegant attempt to haul herself up onto Aisling’s now empty chair. Xoana leaned over to offer the Hawlucha a hand and chewed the inside of her cheek as Valériane pulled herself up and settled into the seat.

“Listen,” she said at length, “you’re being a Skiddo about this.”

Serena grunted—as if to illustrate Xoana’s point.

“It would make everything easier and a lot more fun if we could all be friends.”

“That is almost exactly what you said an hour ago, Ser.” Tierney reminded her. Tracie nodded in agreement.

That only made Serena’s brow set even further. Time to change tack.

“We’ve got a whole dynamic going and it’s weird to shake it up, but maybe it’ll be good.”

Serena grunted again.

“If you don’t want to see sense, could you at least give her another chance as a favor to me? If you’re feeling generous, that is.”

Serena tried not to smile at the dig, but couldn’t help it. “Fine.” She scratched Félicité between the ears and the tension flowed off her. “First impressions aren’t everything.”

…

“Raleigh, I’m home!”

“So I see,” he said dryly, but he was waiting for her at the gate.

“Meet, Bree, my starter!” The Chespin ducked behind Aislings legs. “Bree, this is Raleigh. He’s a racer.”

Bree gave Raleigh a tentative wave.

“A plant-type, huh? Don’t ask me to spar with her.”

“Cináed’ll keep her in line, ya big calf.”

Bree made herself small so Aisling shoved the Rhyhorn aside to show her he was all bulk and no bite.

Grace came out of the house with Cináed and Aisling snatched up her starter.

“Look mam! I got a Chespin! Brawny and tenacious! Her name’s Bree.”

“Nice ta meecha there, Bree!” said Cináed.

“Welcome to the family!” said Grace and shook the Chespin’s paw. “How’d the meeting go?”

“Great!” Aisling bounced up on her toes and then hastily put her starter down so that she could emote more safely. “They were all girls! And two of ‘em were black! I miss the ranch already, but it’s so nice to be closer to the city.”

“I know what ya mean. I’m so happy for ya, alanna!”

“And they were all so nice! Serena might be a bit stuck-up, but she’s cute and kinda fun to mess with. Tracie’s shy but she was trying really hard and ya can just tell she’s smart. Tierney—”

“Tierney now?” Grace interrupted with a grin.

“Oh-aye!” Aisling confirmed in kind. “She had a fun vibe to her. Really interesting project too. And then Xoana—gods is she ever winsome—was so sweet and friendly. Made sure I was comfortable and all that. And you should’ve seen her when she got her Froakie.” She was gushing now but couldn’t help it. “They’re a bit odd, yanno? But she just thought he was the most precious thing in the world, moist skin and all.”

“Even the gooey mons deserve a fan I suppose.”

“But that’s not even the best part! We’re all going to travel together!”

“What a relief!” Grace made a big show of wiping her brow.

“I woulda been fine on me own!” She pouted for a moment but her mother only laughed. “This’ll be more fun anyway. They really are a nice bunch.” Aisling was bouncing in place now. “I can’t wait to start!”

“I’m so happy and so proud of you,” said her mother, voice as warm as the bread she could smell baking.

“Aw mam, you’re always proud of me.”

“Too right! And I always will be no matter what happens.” She brushed Aisling’s cheek with her hand. “But I also know you’ll do well. Us Quinns are women of action—adventurers through and through! There ain’t nothing we can’t do if we set our minds to it!” Raleigh snorted with approval and Cináed nodded vigorously from his perch on Grace’s shoulder.

“Yeah, alright,” said Aisling with a roll of her eyes.

Bree looked heartened and excited by all the enthusiasm, even though she probably didn’t catch much of what was said. Pokemon had a knack for getting the gist of things even without the understanding.

“Though I would like to tack on an addendum, which is that there are certain things we perhaps shouldn’t do… Like our coworkers, for instance.”

“Mam!” Aisling flushed and Grace tried not to laugh. “I’m not an idiot!”

“Nor am I, but you only have to be a fool once.”

“I know,” Aisling sighed.

“O’course, sometimes it can be the best thing that ever happened to ya.” A grudging smile wormed its way onto Aisling face. “Are ya leaving soon or hanging around for a few more days?”

“Heading out in the morning. We’re all going to stay in Neuvartault until it’s time for our first evaluation.”

“Sensible,” Grace sighed. “You’ll call me though, won’t you?”

“O’course I will. If you get a holocaster, you can see my beautiful face in glorious 3D.” She waved her new device at her mother.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“But you’re coming with me, right Cináed?”

He bobbed. “I promised, didn’t I?”

“Yes!” She pumped her fist.

“But just until you beat the first gym,” he reminded her. “I’m a songbird, not a battler.”

“Yeah yeah, ya coward. We’ve got a deal.”

Team Aisling:

Team Xoana:

Team Serena:

Team Tierney:

Team Tracie:

#nuzlocke #storylocke #pokemon y #Kalos #starter pokemon #Tightrope #chapter

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bookaholic1012 · 6 years

Text

Prythian Magazine Part 17

A/N: There really is no plot in this. It’s literally a chapter of fluff.

PM Masterlist My Writing

“I’m so glad you three could make it!” Tarquin called, Varian following closely behind.

“Thank you for inviting us, Tarquin. Your new line is beautiful!” Feyre said.

She had briefly met Tarquin and Varian before the show, and immediately liked them, Tarquin especially. He was a very sweet, kind man. Tarquin had an aura of comfort and ease surrounding him that attracted Feyre to him. Not romantically, though, because she couldn’t move on so soon after leaving Tamlin, even if he was an abusive bastard. It was why she refused to acknowledge Rhys and what she felt towards him.

“Yes, it was very generous of you.” Rhys agreed.

Feyre felt awkward being around Rhys because she kept thinking back to when he asked her to come in person. One look at how tired and wrecked he was made her want to hug him tightly, and comfort him until all his worries went away. Instead, she was cold to him, refusing to say anything other than her agreement to go to Adriata.

Tarquin waved away their thanks. “Don’t mention it. I’ve been wanting to meet you, Rhysand, for a while now to discuss ways to improve relations between our two courts. And you, Feyre, have been making headlines. I do sincerely hope you will be able to lock away Tamlin for a long while.”

“You believe me?” Feyre was shocked. More people believed Tamlin because of how long he has been in the spotlight. To them, Feyre was no one.

“Of course. I had unfortunate luck of meeting Mr. Springsteen once. It was absolutely dreadful. I have also met Lucien, the poor man. I have no doubt the two of you are telling the truth.” Tarquin explained. “But I didn’t invite you here to talk about that. During your stay, I wish for you to be comfortable.”

“Thank you, Tarquin.” Feyre managed to say, struck by Tarquin’s position in all this.

“Your welcome. All of you will of course be staying with me, of course. No guest of mine will be staying in some hotel. Now come! Unless of course any of you would prefer to stay for the after party. I for one am in no mood, but I can make sure someone will stay with you until you wish to leave.” Tarquin glanced at Varian and Amren, who were talking in hushed tones to each other. “And I’m sure my dear cousin would like to be alone with Amren.” His tone had a suggestive note to it, earning him a glare from Varian.

Feyre immediately agreed. As did Rhys and Amren. She was struck by the beauty of Tarquin’s mansion - really, it was the only fitting term. It was situated near the coast, which She was sure resulted in gorgeous views from the balcony. His home was old-fashioned looking, a nice contrast from all the neighboring modern houses. Fountains lead up to the intricate iron door.

The inside was even more grand. Paintings and pictures hung everywhere, but not in a way that made everything seem crowded. Every piece of furnishing was placed with care. The dark sapphire blue walls was a color Feyre was determined to remember for if - no, when - she would paint again.

“You should take design tips from Tarquin.” She murmured to Rhys, the first words Feyre voluntarily said to him since his confession.

He let out a chuckle. “Do you not like how my townhouse looks?”

She did. The first time she saw it was when Az had told everyone the plan to bring here back to Tamlin. Feyre instantly fell in love with the decor purely because everything about it screamed Rhysand.

“It could use some improvement.” She teased.

“Ah, well, seeing as I’m the only one currently living there, I’ll decline. However, if someone were to move in who shared the same sentiments as you, Darling… I may be persuaded reconsider.”

“Prick.” Feyre muttered, her cheeks heating; there was no doubt in her mind that the “someone” Rhys was referring to was none other than herself.

“Up the stairs to your left will be your room, Feyre. Rhysand, yours is the one next to hers. And Amren… I’m going to assume you’ll be with Varian?” Tarquin said, a raised eyebrow thrown in her direction.

“You assume correctly.” Amren replied, her smile nothing short of wicked, before dragging Varian up the stairs.

“I have to attend to some work, but I’ll have someone bring up your bags. Good night, Feyre. Rhysand.”

Rhys smiled at Tarquin. “Please, Tarquin, call me Rhys.”

“Very well. Good night, Rhys.” Tarquin said before walking away.

Rhys and Feyre walked up the stairs in silence, and for the first time in weeks, it was a comfortable silence. When they got to Feyre’s door, Rhys turned to her.

“Good night, Darling. Sleep well.” Feyre snorted to herself. As if she would be able to sleep through the night. Rhys leaned in a little, but stopped short. Feyre knew what Rhys was going to do. She also knew that he wouldn’t kiss her forehead because of how she acted around him.

Instead, Feyre leaned up to kiss Rhys’s cheek. Rhys stilled, his eyes closing to savor the feel of her lips against his skin. “Good night, Rhys.” She whispered, pulling back.

“Feyre darling…” Rhys started to say, but she shook her head. Not now.

Feyre stepped into her room, leaving Rhys in the hallway, wondering what spurred her action. To be honest, Feyre didn’t know why she kissed his cheek either.

Feyre fell asleep that night with her lips tingling from the touch of Rhys’s warm, golden skin.

Mor was curious as to what Andromache had planned. The entire Saturday she kept asking Andi what she was talking about on the phone, but all Mor got in return were vague answers.

It was Andromache’s evasiveness that prompted Mor to wear a sinfully tight red dress for their date. The spaghetti strap dress was full length, outlining every curve. The neckline plunged to show a borderline scandalous amount of cleavage, and the back… well, it simply wasn’t there. A slit in the dress ran up to her thigh. Mor finished the look with black heels, lots of golden bangles, carefully styled hair, and smokey eyes with wine red lips. Underneath was a little something Mor picked up from Victoria’s Secret. Judging by the way Andi kept looking at Mor, her plan was working.

Andromache looked equally stunning. She wore a white dress that went down to her knees. It had lace sleeve and was a loose fit. Her beautiful brown hair was put in a messy bun that enhanced the look. She wore dangly silver earrings and a simple charm bracelet gifted to her by Mor when they celebrated her birthday together for the first time to accompany the outfit. She didn’t wear any makeup, but Andromache didn’t need it; she was a natural beauty. Andi also had a white clutch she kept fiddling with.

The whole evening was spent with the two talking about anything and everything and laughter. After splitting the bill, Andi and a Mor went for a walk. Andromache led Mor through an empty park, the moonlight shining down on them.

“Mor,” Andi said, pausing on a bridge going over a small river. “I have something to ask you.”

“Is this what you’re going to ask me what you were talking about over the phone?” Mor asked, excited to finally know what Andi was hiding.

“It is.”

“Well? What is it?”

Andromache took a deep breath and opened her clutch. She pulled out a small black box. A jewelry box. One that could easily fit a ring.

Andromache got down on one knee.

“Andi…” Mor breathed.

“Shhh. Just...let me speak. Please.” All Mor could manage was a nod.

“Morrigan Zohar. Since the day I saw you, five years ago, I felt drawn to you. As if we were meant to find one another. I remember thinking how beautiful, smart, kind, and charming you were that day. I still think of you as that and more. When I asked you out… Cauldron I was nervous.” Andromache chuckled. “I never thought you would go out with me, but you did. I have loved you since our first date and everyday since. I know you are the only person I ever want to spend my life with. Will you marry me, Morrigan?”

Mor was speechless. She always knew that she favored women over men, but never imagined being lucky enough find a female she wanted to spend her life with. That is, until she met Andromache.

“Yes, Andi! Yes, I’ll marry you!” Morrigan cried. Andromache slipped the simple diamond ring on her finger and stood up to embrace her fiancée.

Under the moonlight, Morrigan and Andromache hugged and kissed and whispered sweet nothings to each other.

“I love you.” Cassian whispered into Lucien’s ear.

“Cassian, this is the fifth time you told me that in the past minute.” Lucien said warmly. “...I love you too.”

“I know. I just like saying it to you.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Cassian gasped. “Rude!”

Lucien laughed - he was doing more of that lately.

“Tell me more. What did you and Andras like to do together?” Cassian asked.

Cassian insisted on Lucien telling him everything about his and Andras’s relationship. He said it might help him, and it did. Lucien didn’t feel as weighed down by his previous boyfriend’s death as he had before. Of course he still missed him, but the nightmares and pain wasn’t as bad.

“He would always take me on picnics.” Lucien smiled fondly, recalling memories from another time. “It was something he did with his family growing up, so he insisted we do it too. At first I wasn’t sure, but I enjoyed myself. Whenever we had free time, that’s what we would do.”

“Is that something you want to do as well?” Cassian inquired, rubbing soothing circles into the back of Lucien’s hands.

“I’m not sure if I could do it now. Maybe one day.”

The two fell into a companionable silence.

“When Feyre started hanging out with us, she dragged us to various art museums.” Lucien huffed a chuckle. “She would always leave us to browse the displays.”

“That sounds like Feyre!” Cassian remarked.

“Once, Andras and I were in this garden. It had statues everywhere. I turned around and came face-to-face with a scary gargoyle one. I screamed and jumped back, but ended up tripping and falling into a fountain behind me.” Lucien’s cheeks burned when Cassian roared in laughter. “I may have a picture Andras sent me somewhere.”

“Now that I have to see!” Cassian managed to say.

“Only if you’re a good boy.” Lucien purred.

“Mmmm.” Cassian hummed. “Good thing I’m always good.” At that, Lucien snorted.

“I am!” He exclaimed.

“Sure you are, Cass.”

“You are so mean to me!” Cassian said jokingly.

Lucien rolled over on his bed to face Cassian. He placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Am I forgiven?”

“Y’know, I think I need more apologies.”

Lucien leaned back over to kiss him. Slowly, the kiss turned deeper. His tongue swept into Cassian’s mouth, exploring every inch - not that he needed much exploring.

Cassian flipped them over so he was on top. Lucien arched his back as Cassian ripped his mouth away to place small, wet kisses along his neck. A moan escaped Lucien’s mouth when Cassian sucked on the spot where his neck met his shoulder.

“Cass…” Lucien breathed. Cassian growled in approval.

Lucien flipped them over so he was now in control. He licked up the column of Cassian’s throat to meet his lips in a sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue.

The ping of an incoming text broke them apart.

“You should probably get that.” Cassian said in between kisses when Lucien ignored the onslaught of notifications he was getting in favor of feeling his boyfriend’s skin up beneath his lips.

“Fine.” Lucien said with irritation at being interrupted.

Feyre: I need your help!

Feyre: I kissed Rhys on the cheek, but now I don’t know what to do!

Feyre: It wasn’t a friendly kiss, but it wasn’t one shared between a couple either.

Feyre: What do I do now??

Feyre: How should I act around Rhys???

Feyre: Are you busy?

Feyre: Are you making out with Cass?

And there were more texts along the same lines.

Lucien: why would you think that?

Feyre: The last time I called you, that’s what you were doing. Were you?

Lucien: Yes.

Feyre: How was it!

Lucien: Fey! Really!

Feyre: Sorry. Can you help me? What do I do?

Lucien: You guys need to talk about this. Clearly you have feelings for Rhys. Just tell him!

Feyre: I don’t love Rhys!

Lucien: I never said you loved him. I said you had feelings for him. That’s different. And because you said love means you do.

Feyre: …shit….you’re right

Lucien: Obviously!

Feyre: What do I do?

Lucien: Tell him!!

Lucien: Now stop bugging me.

Feyre: Fine. I’m going to call you later!

“Well, I’m glad Feyre’s finally going to tell him.” Cassian said.

Lucien helped in surprise. “Cassian! Don’t read my messages over my shoulder!”

“Why not?”

“What if they were private?”

“I would’ve stopped reading them when I realized they were private!” Cassian was quiet for a moment. “Are you alright?”

Lucien cocked his head in question. “Of course. Why?”

“We never went that far with our kissing. I just wanted to make sure it was alright with you. I’m sorry if I took it too far.”

Lucien’s heart swelled with love for how considerate Cassian was being. “Yeah, I’m fine.” And he was.

“Good.” Cassian smiled and held Lucien closer to him.

“We should probably do something productive. It’s only the morning.” Lucien said.

“Like what?”

“Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure. You can pick.” Cassian said.

“The original Jumanji movie.”

“I’ll get it set up.” Cassian said, leaving Lucien with a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Make popcorn!” Lucien called after him.

“Got it!”

*Zohar means “light, brilliance” in Hebrew*

Andromache and Mor are engaged! Please let me know you’re thoughts on the chapter! Updates weekly on Saturdays!

Tagging: @ourbooksuniverse @sugarcoated44 @unicornbooks @ame233 @adgedarling @tyblckthrn

If you want to be added or removed from the list let me know! Please tell me if I forgot you!

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katharaya · 7 years

Text

DA Fic: A Novena to Any Gods Listening

A/N: Listen. Listen I will F I G H T for this ship. Bioware did them dirty and they didn’t deserve that. You know. That. Which is why I’m so glad I got to write them for @for-the-love-of-solas’s Black Emporium gift this year! Thank you for the wonderful prompt!

Pairing: Tamlen/Female Mahariel Word count: 3,678 Summary: Tamlen has never been particularly prayerful, but as the current state of things can attest, stranger things have happened.

---

I. Sylaise, Hearthkeeper, though we wander far from home, we keep your fire alive in our most secret of hearts. Keep us warm.

It feels like a funeral.

(It may as well be.)

Guilt overwhelms Tamlen as he and Mahariel walk away from the clan for the last time. It clings to the soles of his boots, weighing him down.

(He wanted to explore the cave, he went to touch the mirror, he had to drag an unconscious, feverish Mahariel out of the cave and into the waiting arms of the shem Grey Warden with suspiciously impeccable timing—)

He feels everyone’s stares bore into his back as they part to make way. The clan is somber, silent but for Merrill’s soft sniffling.

Tamlen hesitates at the edge of camp, wrestling with the urge to look back. Only Mahariel’s touch gives him pause, her hand slipping into his, and when he glances over her eyes are trained ever forward, staring almost defiantly at the gloom of the dark forest beyond.

Her grip is fever-warm; sweat beads on her forehead as her breath hitches unevenly—signs, Duncan had told them, of the spreading Taint. It's in Tamlen, too—like a constant buzzing at the back of his head, reminding him of how he'd tipped the hourglass, and now time is running out for both of them.

And yet, the set of her shoulders is resolute, the gleam in her eyes the same dauntless fire he’s loved for years upon years. He'd follow her anywhere, if only to keep that fire burning.

So he stands at her side, looking forward with her at last, and her touch is his only comfort now.

(Honestly? It’s the only comfort he needs.)

---

II. June, Craft-master, we honor you with every blade that strikes true and every arrow that finds its mark. May we never be without their aid.

When every day you see horror upon horror, it all starts to blur together after a while.

Tamlen keeps thinking it couldn’t possibly get worse, but somehow he’s never really surprised when it does. From Ostagar to Lothering to the Brecilian Forest, from feral darkspawn out for tainted blood, to shem who hate them for their ears as much as their blue and silver armor, to werewolves hunting Dalish of any clan, it comes to a point where Tamlen stops wondering at the strangeness of it all—choosing instead to focus his limited energy on the fight, on making every blow count, on protecting the one thing that still matters in this upside-down world.

He focuses on the things he understands—he knows that blades need to be kept sharp, that fletching needs to be renewed, that camp needs to be made in a defensible location.

Mahariel needs to keep her eyes on the horizon, on the next mission, on the big picture, so Tamlen helps by keeping his eyes peeled in the now: Lethallan, he tells her, we can camp here; or, Give me your blade, I’ll sharpen it for you; or, in the heat of battle, Mahariel, duck! as he steps in with his shield raised between her and an arrow aimed for her heart.

It helps, too, that he knows the rhythm she dances to, knows how each strike and parry and feint are timed to the beat of her heart. Alistair is a formidable warrior in his own right, and Morrigan knows magic that would astound even the Keeper, but Tamlen knows Mahariel in a way that means he is always precisely where she needs him to be—whether it's at her back in battle, fending off a hurlock, or beside her in the cold Fereldan nights, sharing body heat, just listening to each other breathe and thanking the gods they're alive.

(Whether in battle or in love, Tamlen knows her heartbeat as well as his own.)

And he knows, too, how she looks by the firelight, sleepy and warm; he knows how her vallaslin stretch and curl when she laughs, and he knows how much and how messily she can eat after a long day of travel and fighting.

He knows how the nightmares that plague her are worse than even his and Alistair’s, and he knows how she kicks in her sleep when they begin. He rolls expertly out of the way, waiting for her to settle down before he gathers her into his arms, wrapping the thin blanket around them both as she seeks out his warmth even in her sleep.

And the next day he gets up, he takes down their tent as she looks over their route for the day, he sharpens her weapons, he makes sure she has enough potions.

Mahariel keeps him sane; it’s only fair he keep her safe.

(As if he could allow himself to do anything else. As if it’s even an option.)

---

III. Fen’Harel, Dread Wolf, my foe is wily and shrewd. Lend me your tricks.

“So,” Zevran says, sidling up to Tamlen as he’s sharpening his sword—and though Tamlen has doubts about letting an assassin tag along, he's not going to bring it up with Mahariel, because the last time he'd insisted on doing things his way, they ended up chugging darkspawn blood in Ostagar.

"So?"

“I have noticed that you and the Warden share a tent," Zevran says, flashing his teeth when he smiles. "Does this mean that you two are also lovers?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. Back with the clan, it seemed almost a certainty—to the point that everyone assumed they would end up in that direction anyway without further prompting. As such, neither of them had seen any point to rushing things, content to just be Mahariel and Tamlen, Tamlen and Mahariel—their future bright and secure and always just waiting patiently for them to arrive.

And of course, Tamlen loved her—loves her, still—but now, with the Taint thrumming through their blood and a Blight at their heels, suddenly that future doesn’t seem quite as certain as he thought.

Not that he can disclose all these things to Zevran, so instead Tamlen asks, “What’s it matter to you?” as he swipes the whetstone along the blade with vicious force.

“Oh, it is simply that I have noticed the Warden—” She has a name, Tamlen thinks venomously, but he keeps it to himself as Zevran prattles on, “—has seemed rather more tense as of late, so I figured I could offer my services, if you were not already doing so.”

A pause.

“What services?” Tamlen asks, eyes narrowed.

“As a bedmate,” Zevran replies nonchalantly, and Tamlen chokes.

“Wha—!?” Tamlen sputters. “You—how dare—why would you even—!?”

“As you must be aware, the Warden is not unattractive,” Zevran says easily, “although exhaustion is not a good look on anyone, if I’m being honest. And seeing as we need her in, pardon the pun, fighting form, I was merely suggesting that I could help alleviate some stress by warming her bed.”

(Oh, Tamlen could kill him, just for that.)

“I can warm her bed just fine!”

“Oh,” Zevran says, seemingly unfazed but for the feline grin that stretches across his face. “Well, that is excellent news. I leave her then in your capable hands.”

And then he has the gall to just walk away, as if Tamlen has not just been subjected to the most embarrassing conversation in his life.

Dread Wolf take him, Tamlen thinks. He’s not getting any sleep tonight.

(And not in the fun way.)

---

IV. Falon'Din, Friend of the Dead, we fear not death with your hand to guide us. Keep us brave.

The rest of the party meanders back to their own haunts, the excitement of the sudden attack dying down, replaced with a wary calm.

But Tamlen and Mahariel linger at the edge of camp, where they’ve piled the bodies of the shrieks for burning, watching the flames lick the tainted corpses. The acrid smoke makes their eyes water, but not so much that Tamlen fails to note the pointed ears—a marked difference from hurlocks—and the long, lean frame—the opposite of the short, stout genlocks. He’s certain Mahariel’s noticed, too.

Her whispered words confirm it—a prayer he’s heard a handful of times in what seems like a different life altogether: “Falon’Din enasal enaste.”

As if in response, the fire crackles brighter. Tamlen hopes the gods have heard them.

“If Duncan hadn’t found us,” he begins haltingly, “do you think we—?”

The light from the fire flickers in Mahariel’s eyes, making them glow in the darkness, feline and eerie.

“Best not to think about it,” she says, in that tone that Tamlen knows means she can’t think about anything else.

(Prayers for the dead have never tasted so bitter in his mouth.)

“Do you hate it?” he asks her quietly. “This life?”

She blinks.

“What brought this on?” she says, glancing over at him with a curious look.

He thinks of the way things are—bleak and danger-fraught; he thinks of the way things could have been—the both of them mindless ghouls as the Taint consumed them faster than it currently was, or dead.

“I wish we’d never found that cave," he sighs quietly. “I never should have touched that mirror.”

“What,” Mahariel says, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, “you’re only realizing this now?”

He looks away, shame leaking out of every pore, until he hears a quiet “Oh, Tamlen.”

And then Mahariel is there in front of him, holding his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“The only life I would hate,” she whispers, eyes at once fierce and tender in the dim firelight, “is one without you in it.”

He feels his expression crumble; his eyes soften as he presses his forehead to hers. “Ar lath ma,” he says. It seems like the only appropriate response.

“I know,” she says, rubbing the tip of her nose against his. “Ma vhenan.”

(For one moment, that word drowns out everything else; he can’t hear the crackling of the fire or the lonely wind in the trees or the ever-present hum of the Taint in his blood—only the echoes of that beloved word falling from her lips: vhenan.)

---

V. Mythal, All-Mother, though we bind out hearts in the secret night, our love is true and bright as day. Bless our marriage.

The night before they begin the long trek to Orzammar, Tamlen is kept awake by thoughts of uncertain futures and not enough time. He’s still awake when Mahariel crawls into their tent after her watch, and though she’s surprised when he turns and hooks an arm around her waist, she relents easily, pressing back against him for warmth.

“You should be asleep,” she chides him, and it’s such a familiar and ordinary thing to say that he snorts, though a bit ruefully. He nuzzles into her neck, matching his breathing to hers and taking comfort in the familiarity of her earthy scent.

“I was thinking,” he admits after a time, tracing patterns up the bare skin of her arm.

“Oh no,” she says, and he can hear the teasing smile in her voice. “Sounds like trouble to me.”

Tamlen pouts, nipping at her shoulder and pinching playfully at her waist, eliciting a squeal that he answers with a laugh. He maneuvers them both, evading her flailing legs until he’s crouched over her, taking in the sight of her hair spilling across the bedroll and the soft smile she’s only ever reserved for him.

It comes out in a rush, then: “Bond with me.”

She blinks. “What, now?”

He blushes, but he loves her, and he knows what he wants, and there’s not enough time. “When else?”

She laughs. “I hope you didn’t plan on doing this in the tent, at least.”

He grins, then leads her out, light-footed and light-hearted, sneaking out of camp and into the woods. They always make camp near water, and this late at night the nearby lake is quiet—a still, calm mirror shaded by gently swaying trees. Perfect.

(As is she, and thus she deserves no less.)

Tamlen leads her into the shallows, letting the waves lap softly around their legs, and there, with Mythal’s moon as witness, he binds his heart to hers with the ancient words he’s long since dreamed of saying.

(When she says them back, it’s a boyhood dream come true at last—a pinpoint of light in this otherwise living nightmare.)

He kisses her, and with each press of his lips he pledges himself to her again, and again, and again, in a handfasting lit only by the flicker of fireflies and the reflection of the moon on the water.

---

VI. Elgar’nan, All-Father, a slight has been committed against me, and I seek recompense. Grant me your strength.

He’s heard of alienages, has met flat-ears like Pol and heard his stories of its cramped structures, of how shadows cling to its edges even in daylight, of the stench and suffering that pervade its alleys.

He’s never expected this.

Elves—hollow-eyed, hollow-souled, backs bent under the weight of shame and shemlen derision. The tree at the center of the alienage droops just as much as the elves that tend to it, its leaves a sickly kind of green that Tamlen knows—down to the very marrow of his forest-raised bones—is wrong.

Everything here is wrong, and it puts him on edge, so much so that when the Tevinter healers grab hold of Mahariel, he barely reigns in the savagery they assume all Dalish possess, lunging for them with such ferocity that it takes both Zevran and Wynne to hold him back. He barely registers the smirk Mahariel throws at him just before the door to the hospice closes behind her with an ominous thud.

(His heart is well on its way to thudding out of his chest—just as in the hospice, his heart is probably sinking her blade into whatever fools dared underestimate her.)

And Tamlen is afraid—so, so afraid—but he trusts Mahariel, and so he waits, uneasiness welling in the pit of his stomach, until the door opens once more with a soft creak.

The guards turn, suspicious, but before they can draw their swords Tamlen’s already struck them down. Mahariel exits the hospice with several bruised elves in tow, blood-splattered but looking none the worse for wear. Reunions immediately erupt all around them—tearful embraces between families who thought they’d never see their loved ones again. Tamlen, too, joins in, pulling Mahariel into a crushing hug and burying his nose in her hair.

“Never do that again,” he whispers fiercely, and she laughs and throws her arms around him to squeeze tight, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against his chest to remind him she’s alive.

But for every tearful reunion, there’s a dozen elves still searching, still waiting for a relative or a friend or a lover to come home. This victory is only a spark—the beginning of a wildfire that will stir the elves into action. Tamlen and Mahariel pull apart when a trembling voice reaches their ears.

“So . . .” Shianni begins, and already Tamlen can see that the tangled ball of bitterness and hate she clings to so tightly has started to unravel. Hope is seeping in through the cracks in her skin, flickering to life in her eyes. “What do we do now?”

He and Mahariel share a look, and he knows she’s seen what he sees.

In a proud voice, Mahariel begins, stoking the fire that’s starting to burn in the heart of every alienage elf here: “We are all of us elvhen.”

“And we never submit,” Tamlen finishes, and watches the embers of hopeful rebellion surge into a blazing roar.

---

VII. Dirthamen, Secret-keeper, you know well how Fear and Deceit conspire to keep two people apart. Teach us to keep faith in each other.

“We don’t—” Mahariel gasps out between breathless kisses, “—have time.”

“Mm.”

“Tamlen.”

He pulls back to look at her—breathless and disheveled, a bright flush creeping down from her cheeks to her chest, heaving under her half-open tunic. He remembers the night he’d kissed her at the lake, binding himself to the only girl he’s ever loved, and he remembers, too, one late afternoon a lifetime ago, when he’d peeled away armor from supple skin for the very first time and knew—with every lungful of air and every beat of his heart—that she’d be the only one he’d ever wish to look upon like this.

He’s never wanted anyone else.

He’s never going to want anyone else, and yet here he is, and here she is, asking him to—

“Tamlen,” she says, interrupting his thoughts. She’s always read them on his face far too easily. “It’ll be alright.”

He sighs. “You really want me to do—that—with Morrigan?”

She laughs, but it’s a desperate, unhappy sound. “What I want is for us to have a chance at . . . something after all of this. And I don’t want anyone to have to die for that to happen.”

A chance at something. That’s all this is. No promises that it’ll work, and no promises of happy endings afterwards.

Just an uncertain chance for an uncertain something.

(But if it’s something that includes her, he’ll take any chance he can get.)

“Ar lath ma,” he says simply, pressing his forehead to hers.

She smiles. “Ma vhenan,” is all she says in reply, before drawing him down closer still into a kiss.

The world is set to burn, and they don’t have time, but when he kisses her he can almost believe that tomorrow will never come.

---

VIII. Andruil, Lady of the Hunt, our prey is in our sights, and we cannot falter. May our strike be swift and true.

His sweat tastes like ash and fear.

He wipes it from his brow as he follows ever on Mahariel’s heels—a habit neither of them have bothered to break since simpler days in sunlit forests.

(Mahariel and Tamlen, Tamlen and Mahariel, never one without the other, even now.)

Especially now, on the precipice of the end, as they sprint past charred buildings instead of mossy trees, blue and silver wrapped around them instead of Master Ilen’s craft, a human Warden and a Circle mage at their backs instead of Fenarel and Merrill.

Tamlen of a year ago would have been bitter. He’d have despised these shem and their walled cities and the way they thrust the burden of salvation onto his shoulders.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

This matters: pushing through the market and the alienage, cheers of support at their backs as they repel waves of darkspawn and chase the fiends further into the city.

This matters: Mahariel teetering on her feet, blood staining her armor, and Tamlen all but shoving a bottle against her mouth and forcing her to swallow a potion, only stopping when her hand forces his away with renewed strength.

This matters: the archdemon is strong, but they are Dalish and they are not bred to submit; dragons fall just as quick as any wild bird if you know where to strike, and they fall twice as hard if you know how to strike well.

This matters: Mahariel rushing past him as he hacks down darkspawn after darkspawn, a stranger’s sword in her hand as she leaps—

This matters: locking eyes with her just before she strikes and seeing the fear there, the uncertainty, all the questions and what-ifs that she shoves aside as her mouth forms the words, Ar lath ma—

Bright, blinding light. A sound like thunder, stone crashing upon stone, and then silence—

And in the stillness, her voice reaches him at last, ushering him into unconsciousness as he finishes her sentence in his mind:

—vhenan.

---

IX. Ghilan’nain, Halla-mother, guide these wayward souls. Bring us home.

"Lethallin!”

A blur of black and green barrels into Tamlen’s chest, just as Mahariel is yanked into another woman’s tearful embrace.

“Da’len,” Ashalle sobs, arms tightening around Mahariel. “Da’len, thank the Creators you’re safe.”

A squeeze around his waist elicits a chuckle from Tamlen, drawing his gaze down from the smile he’d been sharing with Mahariel over Ashalle’s shoulder.

“Aneth ara, lethallan,” he greets her.

Merrill grins toothily at him, and a little ways behind her stand Fenarel and Junar, a little more reserved but looking no less pleased. Tamlen only now realizes how much he’s missed this—clanmates, and familial affection, and the familiar warmth of home.

“Will you be coming back to the clan now that the Blight’s over?” Merrill asks, green eyes wide and hopeful.

He looks at Mahariel only to find her already looking back. She bites her lip—chapped from the elements, a bruise at the corner where a dimple should be.

Still beautiful, he thinks. Still kissable.

Mahariel looks away, toward the throne, then down at her boots, then back at Tamlen. There’s already been talks of hunting down the remaining darkspawn, and rebuilding the Wardens, and something or other about Amaranthine. She shakes her head.

Tamlen nods, understanding.

Blue and silver armor doesn’t feel quite so strange, now, or so heavy.

(But then, it has never been as heavy as the duty it entails.)

“No,” he tells Merrill, feeling a pang of guilt at the way her face falls. “I don’t think we will.”

“Oooh,” Merrill whines, “but—”

“But you’ll stay together,” Ashalle interrupts, “won’t you? You’ll look after each other?”

“Yes,” Mahariel answers this time, nothing but certainty in her voice as she comes to stand beside him. “Of course.”

“Always,” Tamlen adds, twining his fingers with hers. He presses a kiss to her temple to prove his point, grinning when Merrill squeals and Ashalle gives a motherly chuckle.

Mahariel only smiles sideways at him, squeezing his hand, but it says enough. Wherever this life might take them—to Amaranthine or the Deep Roads or even the farthest reaches of the Fade—as long as he can reach out and take her hand, then he knows: he’s home.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #tamlen #female mahariel #tamlen x mahariel #dalish origin #dragon age fic #warden tamlen au #tamlen lives au #no one dies au #the au tamlen and mahariel deserve #still not over tamlen 2k17 #katharayawrites

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aelin-and-feyre · 7 years

Text

Preferences: First Meeting/Mate Bond

I got part of this idea from @stherix for when the mating bond snaps, thank you darling. First meeting is for the non-Fae in this preference, which was requested by @fiery-feyre @embracethenight138 and some nonnies

THANK YOU @highladyyfeyre @my-boyo-fenrys and @autumn03 for being my beta team on this, you guys helped so much because I honestly didn’t think this was any good so thank you!

Preference Tag List: @runesandfaes @autumn03 @fiery-feyre @januarystears @caitlyn-blackwell @starzablaze @writergash @illyriangoddess @wyrdtoyourmother (let me know if you want to be added to this tag list!)

Rowan:

It snaps right away for him. He smells your intoxicating scent and he meets your eyes and just. Boom. Somehow, in a split second, he is across the room in front of you, his pine green eyes boring into your own with fierce intensity and he purrs, ‘Hello, mate,’ with just the stupidest half smile on his face that you fall in love with immediately. He offers you his hand and bends down low, without taking his eyes off you, to place a kiss on your knuckle. It is a reverent and completely loving touch that sends shivers down your spine and then it clicks for you as well. Rowan’s smile widens because he sees realization dawn in your eyes as he straightens. You take in his tall, strong frame, corded muscles, long white hair, and you murmur, ‘well hello to you too’.

Rhysand:

It seems like all the air is taken from his lungs when it first snaps. His heart is pounding rapidly in his chest and Rhys feels as if it might explode. His usual smug expression disappears until unrelenting determination and love shine through. He doesn’t even believe - can’t believe - that the Cauldron would grace him with such an exquisite creature as a mate. ‘Mine’ he whispers, more to himself than anyone else. You’re across the room so you don’t hear him and Rhys is pretty sure that you don’t know yet, so he decides to not tell you for a little while. However, that doesn’t stop him from murmuring quietly practically every time he sees you - a smile playing on his face - ‘mine.’

Aelin:

She is completely and utterly shocked when the mate bond snaps. Being half-Fae, she was never completely sure that she would get a mate, much less you, her best friend since she was a child. She frets for days about how to tell you, and ends up showing up at your bedroom door one night, in nothing but an extremely scandalous nightgown. You sputter a few times at the sight, trying not to stare at her though you desperately want to. Aelin mutters, ‘Huh, I thought my mate would be happy to see me with so few clothes’. Your eyes widen because you can’t believe that you might have just actually heard her say that. She has a sly smirk on her face as you take a second to process. Finally, you drag your eyes back to her frame and take your time raking them up and down her scantily clad body. ‘Well if by mate, you mean me, then you would be correct’, Aelin’s smile grows and she pushes her way passed you and onto the bed. Slightly opened mouth but not reluctant in the least, you follow her right away.

Dorian:

You first catch Dorian’s eye from across the ballroom. He is so infatuated with your lithe figure as you dance, your bright smile that stretches across your face, and the clever eyes that gleam in the light of the chandeliers, he completely disregards the woman he is talking to and marches straight over to you. Always the charming prince, he bows to your partner and then takes his place, his hand fitting comfortably on your hip. You are shocked that the prince has decided to dance with you, and blush when you notice how intently he searches your face. Dorian finds that he absolutely loves your blush. He dances with you for the entire night, thoroughly confounding your senses. The two of you talk and laugh well past midnight, and Dorian discovers that from that moment on, he really has no desire to dance with anyone else.

Cassian:

He just. Stares. The bond snaps and suddenly there is no where else that Cassian is able to look. He is frozen to his spot and his gaze is glued to you, trying to memorize every part of you down to your soul. You feel his stare on the side of your face and when you meet his eyes, you can’t help but blush. ‘So, I’m guessing you know?’ You ask, walking up to him nervously. He nods, silent. ‘You’re not... mad, are you?’ That shakes him from his daze. He grabs you to him and wraps his wings securely around you, his lips descending to your own instantly. Loving pecks spread across your face and between each one, he speaks. ‘I’ kiss ‘have never’ kiss ‘ever’ kiss ‘been happier’ kiss ‘in my’ kiss ‘entire’ kiss ‘life’. You giggle and relax against him after weeks of worrying over his reaction. Cassian rests his chin on top of your head and closes his eyes. He breathes in your scent and sighs happily. ‘My mate.’

Chaol:

When he first sees you, he is skeptical. He never does really trust beautiful women, especially ones that flit around the castle in big dresses. You’re new, he notices quickly, and briefly wonders why he didn’t know you were coming. But the second time he sees you, and the first time he actually talks to you, its on the running track at 6am. No longer in your finery, he is unable to take his eyes off of your form as you somehow are able to pass him. He catches up with a little more effort and as soon as you smile at him, Chaol is a goner. The two of you go on morning runs together for weeks, and the Captain soon finds himself entering court gatherings even when he’s not needed just to talk to you more when neither of you are sweating and out of breath. So sure, you’re a beautiful woman of the court, but he quickly learns that you are much, much more.

Azriel:

The two of you feel it snap at the exact same time. You’ve known each other forever and have been tiptoeing around the other for years, but now that he knows, Azriel is quick to take action. His arms encircle your waist in a second, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in and pulling you tighter and tighter to him with each passing second. You respond immediately, though you are still shocked, your hands scraping through his hair as you pull him closer as well. ‘I-I always hoped that maybe -’ he murmurs against your skin, his voice hoarse. ‘I know, me too, but I never even thought to dream that -’ you cut off, unable to express your emotion accurately. His hands squeezing your waist slightly is his wordless response, letting you know he understands. The two of you sink to the floor slowly, holding, caressing, admiring each other, murmuring words of adoration and disbelief. Azriel simply cannot stop smiling.

Manon:

Meeting Manon for the first time is always the most important interaction with the witch. First impressions are very important to her. Luckily, she doesn’t find you annoying, weird, or insufferable so you’re already on the right track. Once, you even manage to get her to smile! Abraxos also takes a quick liking to you, which helps a lot where the witch is concerned. She can tell you’re nervous and likes that she has that affect on you. When she’s about to leave, you quickly call her back because you just can’t help yourself, ‘do you think I’ll ever see you again?’ She smirks and you feel a thrill go through you at the gesture. ‘I definitely would not mind crossing your path again, human.’

Lorcan:

He tries really hard not to react when he feels that string pull taught between the two of you. He really does try. It doesn’t work very well though. First of all, he’s surprised because he didn’t think you were possible, and then he’s mad because you are so perfect and would never accept such a monster as him. He almost walks away right there, telling himself that he will leave you to your life without being tied to a murderer. But you call him back and Lorcan cannot believe his ears. Hope blooms across his face and from then on, he is putty in your palms. The sound of your name on his lips make the decision for him; he will work for the rest of his life to be worthy of being your mate.

Lucien:

‘Cauldron’ he murmurs. It happens while the two of you are in bed together. Lucien has absolutely no filter and suddenly he is just telling you. ‘You’re my mate.’ You have just come down from a huge climax and you’re kind of smug as you say, ‘oh that’s why that felt so good’. Lucien roars with laughter, burying his face in your hair and breathing you in. Your hands rake down his hair lovingly. ‘I love you.’ he says, and you can’t help but smile. ‘Two declarations in one night.’ and then, ‘I love you too’.

Aedion:

You meet Aedion for the first time because of mutual friends. Ever the smooth bastard, he is charming and funny and charismatic. It doesn’t take long until you are head over heels, and Aedion soon follows. Many drinks and lots of flirting later, you’re truly not sure how you are going to go home tonight without him. Turns out you can’t. ‘Invite me in?’ He asks after he drops you off that night. You smile and pull him through the door. The two of you don’t end up tumbling in the sheets that night though. Instead, you stay up all night talking about anything and everything. Years later, Aedion likes to joke that he went home with you the night he met you, and he’ll look at you fondly as he says it and wink, because it makes a good story, but you both know the truth.

Mor:

She’s already hopelessly in love with you when the bond finally clicks. In fact, the two of you are getting married when you both feel it. She’s about to finish her vows when her eyes widen and you see the wheels turning in her mind. Mor completely disregards the planned words and starts to speak. ‘I am the Morrigan and my gift is Truth. Thus, when I say I will love you forever, you must believe me. Forever and always, my mate.’ Tears come to your eyes because she felt it too and neither of you hear the gasps through the crowd as she brings you in for the first kiss of the rest of your lives.

Helion:

He realizes it the first time he sees you, and tries his usual flirting techniques, attempting to get you to notice him. Of course, you’re stubborn and refuse to be swayed by a classic womanizer like him, so Helion begins to devote every waking second to getting you to like him. He brings you flowers, bakes your favorite desserts (he is an excellent baker), flatters you constantly, is always trying to ask you to dinner - dinner, not bed - and somehow finds a way to make you blush at all times. Finally, after weeks of him struggling, you agree and Helion rejoices quite publicly. At the end of an extravagant night, you allow him to kiss you and he thinks that he might just die from happiness. It takes many more dates before you allow him to take you to bed though.

Gavriel:

Time slows down when he finally feels the bond. You’re walking away from him, and he is being pulled in the opposite direction, and then suddenly he rips his arm out of his captor’s hold and rushes to you. Gavriel grabs your hand and you meet his eyes. Understanding floods through you as he pulls you far away from those that wish to separate you. He refuses to let you go once you are in private. He memorizes everything about you down to the minute detail. ‘I promise,’ he says, ‘I promise that no matter what happens, I will never leave you’. Because he’s made that mistake once, and he will not do it to his mate. Never.

Kallias:

You’ve served in his court for years, always knowing him as the icy, stoic High Lord of Winter. However, when you unthinkingly serve him some food one day, the bond snaps and Kallias turns into the fluffiest male ever. It takes a little while for both of you to get used to each other and the bond but soon the becomes loving and affectionate. There are smiles that are reserved just for you and little crinkles in the corners of his eyes when he is super happy. He loves to wrap you both up in a blanket and proceed to kiss you senseless. Any prior iciness completely melts when you are around, and you love that you have that affect on him.

Fenrys:

The two of you have been friends for years, and when he realizes that you are his mate, he just blurts it out. ‘You’re my mate.’ Fenrys notices that you don’t look very surprised, and quickly figures out that you already knew. ‘Gods, why didn’t you tell me?’ he asks, scooping you up in his arms and twirling you around. His forehead rests on your own, his large hands cupping your cheeks as he stares into your eyes. ‘You’re my mate’ he murmurs again, like he can’t even believe it. ‘You’re my mate’ Fenrys repeats, loving the smile that lights up your face when he says it. A small peck quickly leads to a passionate kiss which progresses into him picking you up and carrying you to bed. ‘You’re my mate’ shortens to him whispering ‘mate’ all across your body over and over again as he worships you throughout the night.

Tarquin:

About a week after meeting you, it all clicks, and Tarquin’s efforts to woo you double in intensity. Innocent friendly touches become much more meaningful and much less innocent now that he knows. His smiles never fail to knock the air out of your lungs, even though you don’t know why. He takes extra care at pushing a strand behind your hair and before you know it, he’s kissing you, because Tarquin literally cannot help himself. Needless to say, you’re surprised, but not against the feeling of his lips on yours. When he finally pulls away, his eyes still closed, he whispers, ‘that was better than I ever imagined it would be’. And the smile that grows on your face is so big that it hurts. ‘You’ve imagined that?’ Tarquin just nods, still drunk on happiness. ‘Ever since I found out you were my mate.’ You sputter a few times and the High Lord seems to realize what he said. Always the cool guy, he just shrugs and silences your questions with another sweet kiss.

Tamlin:

He never finds his mate because no one deserves that kind of fate.

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a-gay-bloodmage · 7 years

Text

---Redren, I may have made a mistake.---

For @zevranology‘s #Zevwarden week

Pairing: Zevran x Male Amell Warden ((Side of Morrigan x Leliana))

Pairing Type: M/M

Words: 14,548

Warnings: Sex jokes, mention of sex work in a neutral light, pretty slow burn, some great lesbians, use of OC’s name, they’re all just nerds

Redren, I may have made a mistake. Texts like this were never good. Coming from Leliana, they either meant that she burnt a cake or that she broke a leg. One could never tell.

What have you done? Redren write back, setting aside his current project.

“Who is it?” He heard Morrigan ask from the back of the room. They were currently in his basement along with Alistair, one of their mutual friends.

“Leliana,” he sighed. “She’s been typing for a while so I’m going to assume it’s nothing good!”

His phone vibrated in his hands, five messages coming though at once.

OKAY SO I MAY HAVE MET THIS REALLY NICE GUY THE OTHER DAY, OKAY? ANYWAY HE WAS CHATTING ME UP, SAID MY BUTT LOOKED GOOD, ALL THAT STUFF. ANYWAY, HE WAS REALLY NICE SO I INVITED HIM TO STARBUCKS. WE WERE OUT GETTING COFFEE TODAY AND HE ASKED ME WHAT MY HOBBIES WERE AND

OH SWEET BABY JESUS I SAID THAT I WAS GOING TO LARP THIS WEEKEND WITH MY FRIENDS (AND MY GIRLFRIEND, SOMETHING HE SEEMED COOL WITH, EVEN IF HE SEEMED A BIT CONFUSED AS TO WHY I ACCEPTED A WEIRD SORT OF DATE THING) WITH SOME OF MY FRIENDS AND OF COURSE HE HAD NO IDEA WHAT THAT WAS BECAUSE HE’S HOT,

NO OFFENSE, DUDE. ANYWAY THIS MADE ME END OF HAVING TO EXPLAIN WHAT IN THE LORD’S NAME LIVE-ACTION ROLE PLAYING IS TO A REALLY HOT SPANISH GUY OVER STARBUCKS COFFEE AND IT WAS REALLY AWKWARD BUT

HE SEEMED TO BE INTO IT???? I DON’T KNOW BUT ANYWAY HE LOOKED GENUINELY INTERESTED AND I COULDN’T SHUT UP SO AAAAHHHH

LONG STORY SHORT I INVITED HIM OVER I’M SO SORRY

are you kidding me

No.

Redren sighed and put down his phone, falling back onto the sawdust covered carpet.

“God,” Alistair muttered, looking over at Redren sighing on the floor. “What did she say?”

“She sort of accidentally invited someone to go to Moondust with us,” he said, rushed.

“What a fool!” Morrigan cried, raising her staff above her head in mock agony. “Oh, ‘tis truly a horror! We are exposed!” She snorted and set down her staff.

“It may be funny to you, but she mentioned he was attractive and now I’m nervous!”

“Hey!” He heard Alistair whine. “Am I not attractive to you?”

“You’re my friend, Alistair, our token heterosexual! I don’t know this guy! And she mentioned he was Spanish!” He lamented his head tilted back to look at his friends. Morrigan had gone back to applying another layer of paint to her homemade staff, shaking her head in amusement.

“What if you ask her to ask him if he’s available to come over tomorrow?” Redren sat up and stared at Alistair. Alistair blushed a bit in awkwardness before he explained. “I mean, he needs a character, and maybe we could whip one up tomorrow before the weekend?”

“Lord,” Redren exhaled, “I’ll text her. I thank God every day for your ideas, my friend.”

“Should I be offended, or…?”

Leliana.

Do you have his number?

Yeah, why?

I need you to text him.

Tell me what you want to say and I’ll send him a screenshot so I don’t have to worry about messing up and any typos are on you~

Fine, fine

Okay, attractive mystery man, as you may know, you have been invited to one of the most embarrassing social gatherings on the planet. I am wondering if you are available to come over tomorrow, any time between noon and one am to

work on preparing you for one of the strangest things you’ve ever been invited to.

Sending it!

It took only about two minutes for him to respond.

Greetings Leliana’s friend! My name is Zevran Arainai, and I can say with certainty that anything you invite me too will not be too strange for my tastes~!

If Miss Leliana here is available at noon, I can be as well, although I cannot stay after nine pm. I work, shall we say, night shifts? Haha, well I am excited! What your friend described sounds VERY interesting!

~Z ♡

Lord, he sounds… interesting.

Oh he is.

“He’s coming over at noon.”

“Nice! I’ll be over after work, so, like, four? Duncan said he’s closing up early. Doctor’s appointment,” Alistair replied, setting his pain-stakingly well made latex sword. He worked at a local hardware shop under Duncan, who was incredibly nice when it came to a bunch of twenty-somethings asking to use his machines when the shop was closed. He was sort of like Alistair’s pseudo-dad, and was happy to let them use the machines as long as he was supervising. He had no idea what they were doing, but he was happy to watch from the sidelines. A confused smile and a thumbs up were his go-to resources.

“Morrigan dear,” be heard his grandmother, Wynne, call out from the top of the basement stairs. “Your mother just called the house phone, and she said you need to come home!”

“I am twenty-five,” he heard her mutter as she put all of her art supplies back on the table she used as storage.

“And she said that if you mute her calls again, she’s coming over herself to collect you herself!” Morrigan’s mother was incredibly odd, for lack of a better word. She ran a tiny shop that specialized in herbal medicine she brewed herself and other miscellaneous items of witchcraft. Redren found the whole thing fascinating, but despite being a pagan witch herself, Morrigan couldn’t stand her mother. She still lived at home and helped with the shop which was housed on the first floor of their home.

“Remind me I need to splatter-paint that in case I forget!” She said, grabbing her backpack by the stairs. “I’ll sneak out at two, so I’ll be over at quarter after!”

“See ya!” Both Redren and Alistair called out after her. About half an hour passed until Alistair glanced up at the clock, noticing the time. 9:30 pm.

“I’ve got to be home by ten,” he sighed, “so we should probably start cleaning now, huh?”

It took about fifteen minutes to get everything put away, with Alistair departing after one of his bone-crushing hugs.

“Again, four o'clock!” He reminded, a dorky smile on his face. “Don’t want to leave you alone with Morrigan, Leliana and the new guy!”

“God bless you, Alistair!” Redren laughed, waving him goodbye as he grabbed his satchel from the basement railing.

As soon as he left, Redren put his music on the Bluetooth speaker and set to work, breaking out the vacuum for probably the first time in three months. Bits of sanded off wood were all but ingrained in the carpet, so it took quite some time to get even the smallest portion of the dust out. He wanted this place as clean as humanly possible, as having a guest over, a supposedly attractive guest at that, was a good motivation to actually clean. The added distraction of his boxer bolting down the stairs to howl at the vacuum just made the job that much harder. Redren could only pray that Zevran didn’t ask him what the overgrown puppy’s name was, or else he’d have to admit that at age twenty, he’d named a boxer Dog. Hopefully Zevran had a sense of humor. Eventually he moved to attempt to scrub at the cement floor where Morrigan had been quite relaxed with her painting. A red, smeared handprint is not a very good sight for making a first impression.

The only place he didn’t clean was their paused game of Dungeons and Dragons, a sacred place that nobody disturbed unless they wanted to lose their hand. Dog was circling his legs, excited at the prospect of going to Moondust for the weekend. There, he was a proud warhound who got to roll around in puppy-friendly red paint to his hearts content and chase any rabbit he wanted. Everyone loved him there, and over the two years he’d been going with Redren he’d become a bit of an icon. Redren had been personally LARP-ing for six years, ever since he was sixteen and Alistair, eighteen at the time, had noticed him sketching a self-insert sorcerer in his chemistry notebook. The dork had struck up a conversation with him, and ended up talking about how he and his older half-brother Cailin went up once a month to Live Action Role Play in a medieval village called Moondust. Redren and him had become friends quite quickly, which was pretty handy, as Alistair was on the Rugby team, so a lot less people were tempted to bully Redren like they usually did. He was an androgynous gay teenager with red hair to his mid-back. As soon as he went to Moondust he knew that was where he belonged. He ended up running a blog for it, posting all about his little adventures, truly excited to be a part of it. He ended up meeting Morrigan there. She was three years older than him, making him the baby of the group. Leliana, her girlfriend, was two years older than him, and an older sister if anything.

“Redren!” His grandma Wynne called from the top of the stairs. “Don’t forget you have work tomorrow!” Her tone meant that she didn’t mean it as a mere suggestion to hurry up. He put away his cleaning supplies and headed up the stairs, Dog on his heels. He collapsed into bed after giving Wynne a quick goodnight kiss on the cheek. Despite being a bit of an overbearing busybody sometimes, she was a good grandma, taking him in when his mother died when he was five. She owned a little restaurant called “The Circle,” that specialized in breakfast food. He was mainly just a waiter there, and the staff was fairly small. Irving, a man that technically retired five years ago did much of the finances for Wynne. Probably because he was bored and good with management. His childhood friend Jowan and his wife Lily also worked there with him. Really nice, average people of you didn’t count Jowan’s fascination with the medical world. He didn’t have the funds for med school, but that didn’t stop him from knowing every artery, vein, and capillary in the human body.

Redren nearly fell asleep in his jeans. Cleaning was much more exercise than he usually did. He began to think about Zevran, and how he still knew nothing about the stranger that Leliana had invited over. He worked nights, it seemed. Redren couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like. If he was Spainish, he must be tan, right? Redren looked at his own corpse-pale hands and laughed. Lord, was he British! Was Zevran’s accent strong? Oh, how tall was he? What would he roleplay as? An elf? A human warrior, or a mage? Or was he really tall, a Qunari, perhaps? The mixture of anxiety and excitement twisted his stomach in knots. He buried his face in his pillow, taking deep breaths. It was no use worrying, it’d happen either way. Eventually, he settled to sleep. Nervous. Very, very nervous.

His morning was like any other. He said hello to Jowan and Lily when he walked in at six am, and set to work taking orders from the steady stream of customers. The Circle was actually popular, but unfortunately, every morning, a loud group of the Rugby players from the local High School, the Templars, would waltz in like they owned the place. More than once he’d been called “sweetheart” or “tits” from the back, so it made the experience worth it. The looks on their faces! It’d almost become a hazing for the new kids on the team. As well as alcohol and running laps, there was the shaming of the androgynous homosexual test. Ah, the fragility of their masculinity! Alistair had once belonged to their order, but due to his sweet personality, such a sin was forgivable.

Rolling up an American pancake and eating it like a burrito, he watched the customers and thought about Zevran. What was he like? Leliana mentioned how he tried to pick her up by talking about her arse… Lord, what was this man?

Eventually, his shift ended, and as soon as the clock struck 11, he was out of there. He took a quick shower, actually scrubbing his hair for the first time in what, a week? His hair was always a mess, but this time, he took the time to blow dry it, carefully brushing it out. He even made sure to put it up in a neat ponytail, his bangs covering his honest to God unattractive eyebrows, and brushed out the two long locks of hair framing either side of his face. He threw on his working shirt, an old orange tank top, and his working pants, a tight pair of blue jeans. Both of them were stained with paint, making the combination the official “Working Outfit.”

He was just setting up in the basement when he heard the doorbell ring. He straightened out one of the chairs at the D&D table, and ran upstairs. He was too late. His grandma Wynne had already opened the door, and he felt his stomach drop as she introduced herself as “Grandma Wynne,” adding on “Oh! Are you one of his friends? I haven’t seen you before!”

“Grandma!” Redren whined, his face heating up. “Please leave them alone!”

“Am I embarassing you, sweetie?” Oh, she was so doing this on purpose! “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you alone!” She strolled off, a smug little smile on her face.

“Uh, why don’t you come in? I’m Red…ren…” He finally got a look at the man standing next to Leliana. Lord was he short! He must’ve been what, 5'2"? But, God, was he cute! Redren noticed the tattoo on his face, and couldn’t help but stare at the smooth lines on tanned skin.

“Already rendering you speechless?” Zevran’s voice was smooth and heavily accented. Beautiful!

“Come in,” he smiled shyly, moving out of the doorway. Zevran and Leliana slid their shoes off, following him down to the basement. “Sorry about my grandmother, she’s a bit much!”

“No, no,” Zevran laughed. “She seemed lovely! And she had a wonderful bosom!” Redren turned around, his eyes wide as he saw Leliana and Zevran muffling giggles.

“God, want did I get myself into?” He sighed as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Lord Almighty!” Leliana’s voice was a mix of a laugh and a gasp. “I’ve never seen this place so clean!”

“Why can’t I just try to make a good impression?” He sighed. If anything, he was hoping Zevran’d think he wasn’t as much of a mess as he really was.

“So this is your base of operations?” He asked, his eyes wandering around to look at the back wall covered in paint, replica latex swords, staffs, and armor. All hand made, too. “Impressive!” Redren smiled at that.

“Thanks,” he said, heading to the back. “So, Lels, given any thought to his character?”

“Damn, I haven’t!”

“That’s okay! I have!” He turned to look at Zevran. “You know, just based on appearance, you strike me as an elf!”

“Is that a compliment?” Zevran asked Leliana.

“Yeah!” She nodded. “Elves are noble and beautiful creatures!”

“Oh, I enjoy that beautiful part!” Zevran laughed, sending butterflies straight through Redren’s stomach.

“Oh, I can totally see it!” Redren’s mind was racing with possibilities. “I could braid your hair! Oh, that’d look good!” He heard Leliana and Zevran sit down on the carpet as he opened up a desk drawer full of assorted accessories. He pulled out a pair of elven ear extensions he thought would match Zevran’s skin tone. He turned back around and set the objects against Zevran’s skin. A perfect match!

“Oh! Should we explain this stuff more before we delve into character creation?” Leliana laughed. Redren blushed, embarrassed at his excitement.

“Probably, yeah.”

“I’ll start. So, I’ve already told you about the very basics of LARP-ing, like, how you go to a camp-type place and act as a character for a weekend.” Redren sat down next to them, so that they were sitting in a triangle of sorts. “I, personally, play as a former bardic assassin, turned Church sister, turned adventurer! I’ve been going to Moondust for eight years!” Her smile was quite proud, full of love for her character. “I’ve been developing her for a very long time!” She turned to Redren. “Why don’t you explain your character?”

“He’s a mage, and a really powerful one at that!” Redren grinned. “I’m a blood mage, which means I can manipulate a person’s blood to my will! I can also summon demons, but that’s not a very good idea, because there’s too high of a chance it could backfire!” He laughed. “Unfortunately, blood magic is banned, so I was nearly executed for it!” At Zevran’s concerned look, Redren explained further. “I went to a mage’s guild trial, and I nearly went to the stake, but fortunately, Morrigan stood up for me, protesting that blood magic could be a valuable asset in battle, so they decided to let me live!”

“This seems like quite some world!” Zevran marveled. The fact that he actually seemed interested was amazing, most of the time, people disregarded him as a complete freakshow when he mentioned Live Action Role Playing.

“Well, what we need to do today is design a character for you, which means background, armor and weapons,” Leliana explained. “So, why don’t we base him off of you? It’s always easier to play a character that’s a part of yourself!”

“What would you like to know?”

“Job, what your majoring in, those things!”

“Oh, you’re in college?” Redren asked, hoping this meant Zevran was his age. Then again, Leliana was in college, and she was twenty-four. She was in a music program, as she was wonderfully talented with the flute. She’d put off college for two years, so she was in her final year now.

“Yes, but I must admit it took me a while!” Zevran laughed. “I finally joined the University of the Arts last year! I’m getting my acting degree. Although it means I won’t be out of college until I’m twenty-eight!”

“You’re twenty-five?” Redren asked.

“Yes sir! And you’re, what, eighteen?” Redren’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

“He’s actually twenty-two,” Leliana whispered.

“Oh! You truly have a youthful face!” Zevran laughed. “But as for what I do as a job, I must admit the club I work in is, eighteen and over,” he smirked, seeming to enjoy as Redren’s face heated up further. “So innocent!”

“Oh, hush,” he mumbled.

“Anyway, as for a background, I came to this dreary country of yours last year from Madrid, Spain. Dios mío, do I miss it!” He laughed. “It’s too cold here!” Leliana laughed in agreement, as she would also often lament how Avignon in her native France was so much better than London. Zevran ended up talking about how he’d grown up in a brothel, eventually getting a job at a strip club when he turned eighteen, and had saved up enough to move to London last year. Redren hung onto every word, and felt like he could listen to his voice forever.

“So, any fancy ideas for my character?” He laughed, startling Redren out of his trance. “Or would you prefer to gaze at my lips a few moments more?” Said lips were curling into a smirk as Redren hastily looked away, his ears red.

“A few ideas, yeah,” he mumbled, standing up to grab a notebook and a pencil. “So, we need a name for Spain. Any ideas, Leliana?”

She hummed in thought as Redren sketched a blank human outline on the paper. He could feel Zevran looking over his shoulder as he added on fingerless gloves, a black leather skirt paired with a matching top. Shoulder pads and wrappings around the elbows were added as well.

“So, Zevran,” he asked as he sketched in some shoulder-length hair, “you don’t need to answer if it’s too personal, but what was the name of that club you mentioned?” Tiny braids and ears were added.

“An interesting question, dear Redren!” He laughed. “It was El Cuervo, which translates to The Raven. Why would you like to know?”

“The Raven’s too pretty,” he mused, “but… The Crow!” He smiled, jotting down The Crows next to the drawing. “How would you feel about being an assassin?”

“An assassin? Sounds fun!”

“What about Antiva?” Leliana piped up.

“Any meaning to it?”

“Nope, but it sounds pretty, doesn’t it?”

“Alright,” Redren nodded, writing down Antivan next to the character. “Since this world’s countries’ names are so boring, we come up with new ones; France is Orlais, Britain is just one called Ferelden, and now, Spain is Antiva!"

"When Leliana mentioned this, I have to admit I was interested, but as you explain further, I find myself more and more eager! And for someone like myself, this would certainly be good acting practice, no? Staying in character for a whole weekend is a challenge, isn’t it?” Redren was actually surprised at how excited the man looked. Personally, it had taken Redren a good couple of months, about four weekends in total, to feel comfortable with the LARP-ing community. Zevran, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any sort of anxiety regarding the idea. He was happily brushing his hair back with his fingers, allowing Leliana to place the medium-length ear extensions on him. He opened up his phone to look in the camera, marveling at how well they matched his skin tone. He snapped a quick selfie and set his phone back in his pocket.

“I have arrived!” They heard a voice call out from up the stairs. Morrigan had finally managed to come over, meaning it’d been just over two hours already. She shuffled down the stairs, backpack slung over one shoulder and a Styrofoam container of leftover pancakes in her hand. “Your grandmother insisted you were fed,” she tsked. She hung her backpack up on the peg by the stairs, and set the food down by the edge of the D&D table for later.

She took a long look at Zevran, raising a perfectly maintained eyebrow. “I presume you’re the one who said my girlfriend’s arse looked nice?”

Zevran laughed. “If I had known she already had a beautiful partner, I wouldn’t have said anything,” he said, sincere. “But truly, I’m glad I did! This world of your’s is fascinating!” Morrigan seemed to have taken notice of the elf ears, laughing lightly.

“Truly nice to see we’ll be gaining an elf in our party! So far, we’ve everything but,” she sighed. “Qunari, dwarf, mage, warrior, you name it, but elves? Nope.”

“Our party consists of mainly Morrigan, Leliana, a guy named Alistair, and I, but there’s quite a few more players that we hang out with,” Redren added. “I will warn you, that most people there are social rejects or incredibly bored nerds, so be prepared!”

“I go to a school of the arts, Redren,” he chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll be fine!”

“All right, don’t we have work to do?” Morrigan clapped her hands. She went to the back, grabbing her latex staff off the table, along with a can of white paint and a large tub of glitter. Redren set to work looking for already-made armor with Leliana that they could adjust for Zevran’s size. As he worked on getting Zevran armor, he watched Morrigan in amusement as she dumped the light blue glitter into the white paint, and began to splatter-paint her staff. She loved cold magic, and she’d decided to make a new, cooler, staff. She was nice enough outside of Moondust, but Lord, was her character bitchy! It was endearing in a strange way, her cold personality working incredibly well with her winter magic.

As they were starting the chestpiece, they noticed the clock had hit four o'clock. Alistair arrived shortly, and after intoductions, had started talking about what types of weapons Zevran’d be good with. They eventually settled on dual-wielding with a dagger and a short sword. Leliana mentioned that she had some spares, digging out two of her previous weapons. Redren was busy embroidering little patterns on a pair of leather gloves. He’d learned the skill from Grandma Wynne, and enjoyed putting little curves of black string around the edge of the brown gloves. He was modeling them after Zevran’s tattoos. He couldn’t resist adding a tiny pink heart to the top of the right glove. Cute!

“So, when in battle, you have a certain amount of health and armor points, but since your character is a rogue, you’ll have less armor points than me, since I’m a warrior and I can wear heavier armor,” Alistair explained, a bright smile on his face. He was such a dork, and always happy to explain things. He rambled on about armor, repairs, and healing spells, with Zevran paying a surprising amount of attention. Maybe his love for acting was what compelled him to actually stick around. Regardless, his enthusiasm was appreciated.

“I believe your dog wished to be a part of this gathering,” Morrigan nodded her head toward the closed basement door. Faint little whines came from behind it.

“You’re not allergic, are you?” He asked Zevran before he let Dog in.

“I don’t mind dogs,” he shrugged. “I’m more of cat person, but feel free to let the little thing in if it so wishes.”

Dog bounded down the stairs as soon as Redren so much as cracked the door open, nearly knocking him down. Thank God for the door knob. He heard a slightly amused yelp as the eighty-pound boxer ran to Zevran, slobbering and drooling all over him.

“Oi!” Redren yelled, running down to grab Dog by his collar. “You do not act like that!” Dog still looked very happy, despite being scolded. “You will behave if you wish to stay down here, young man!” Dog whined a bit, lying down in defeat. “You know I don’t like yelling at you,” Redren shook his head. “But you must learn, you can’t be so forceful, you’re too big.” He took a deep breath. “Do you want to help me age up this cloth?” Redren grabbed a large wad of fabric, tossing it to Dog, who happily began to chew it up. That was his job.

“Never have I seen a man speak to a dog like that!” Zevran laughed. “Are you sure you’re not really a wizard that’s trapped the spirit of your child in there?”

Redren laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, he’s a good boy most of the time, but he never knows when to calm down!” He patted Dog’s head affectionately.

“So, what’s his name?” Redren heard Morrigan, Leliana, and Alistair snort at the same time.

“You’re all bullies, you know that, all of you,” he muttered under his breath. “His name is Dog.” Zevran snorted, too.

“Dog?” Dog perked up, staring at Zevran with the fabric hanging out of his mouth. “It’s unique, I’ll give you that!”

Eventually, eight o'clock came, and everyone said their goodbyes. Zevran’s outfit was held in his hands, a bright smile on his face. He was the last one out the door, as he’d stayed back for a moment after everyone had left. He folded it, and set the leather in his satchel.

“I’d like to thank you,” he said, looking up at Redren. “I, I’m very excited for this weekend. It doesn’t feel like I just met you. And if I can have my way, I’d like to do this again. I’ve, I’ve never had many friends, and,” he took a deep breath before finishing. “I’ve very thankful that you let me experience what it’s like, even if only for a couple of hours.”

“It doesn’t have to be just a couple hours,” Redren said, his face pink. “I mean, yoire spending the weekend with us, and, uh, if you like it, I’m, well, I wouldn’t mind hanging out with you again.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“That sounds wonderful.” Zevran was beaming. His teeth were exposed when he smiled, and his tan cheeks were ever so slightly darker, a blush on them. “See you tomorrow. Seven am?”

“Don’t be late.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Zevran turned, walking down the driveway, looking back to wave one last time. Redren waved back. When he finally came back inside, he noticed his grandmother by the fireplace, shaking her head with a soft smile. Heading to his room, he couldn’t help but fall back onto his bed, his face on fire and a stupid grin on his face.

I talked to a boy! I talked to a really pretty boy! I basically just asked him on a date! I talked to a boy and he liked me!

“I talked to a boy!” He breathed out, his chest rising and falling quickly. His heart was racing. Hugging his pillow, he imagined what the weekend would be like. Redren the mage was straightforward, he had no anxiety when it came to talking to people if need be. Could he talk to Zevran? His mind was clouded over with the question of how soft Zevran’s lips were. He let out a shaky breath. Those questions would have to wait for now. Perhaps he’d find the answers in Moondust. He hoped he’d find the answers in Moondust.

…

Seven am came around the next day, with Redren waiting on the couch in his robes, leg bouncing with anxiety.

“Redren dear,” Wynne chuckled. “You haven’t been so nervous for these in a very long time. How come?” She paused, but didn’t give him enough time to answer. “Is it because of the young Spanish man?” The smile on her face was a tell that she knew she was right.

“Yeah, but I’m mainly just nervous because he’s never been to one of these and he’s really nice and, and, ugh!” His stomach was starting to hurt.

“Now, I know you’re old enough where I don’t need to tell you to be careful, but he’s a handsome young man, so if things go further, please remember to use-” the doorbell rang and Redren shot up like a bullet.

“Loveyougrandmahaveagoodweekendbye!” He grabbed his small bag of luggage, his staff and his hat, Dog running out behind him, barking happily.

When he took his usual place in the second row of Morrigan’s van after putting his things in the trunk, he noticed how Zevran had taken Alistair’s seat. Alistair was now sitting in the back with Dog, not looking at all dissapointed with the new arrangement. Leliana was in the passenger’s seat, and gave him a smug little smile.

“What did Wynne say that’s for you all red-faced?” Oh, how Redren loathed his pale complexion!

“Nothing, so can we please get going?”

“'Tis a three hour drive, poor fool,” Morrigan laughed, already getting into character. “And the Lady Leliana has her ways of persuasion!”

“And I have no tits to grab so I’m already immune to one form of torture you’re so fond of, Morrigan,” he laughed. She just tsked in response.

“Is this going to be another one of those drives?” Alistair groaned. “Zevran, are you straight?”

“Of course not, my dear,” he smirked, turning around to look at Alistair.

“You’re the only one I have, Dog,” he sighed, making the rest of them laugh.

“Zevran,” Redren said, “I haven’t mentioned yet how nice you look in that.” He could feel the tip of his ears heat up, and shifted his hair to cover them.

“Why thank you,” he smiled. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I couldn’t work out how exactly to put the ears on, so if you could…”

“Ah, of course!” He leaned over, and Zevran brushed his hair out of the way so that the extensions could slip on. “There you go.”

“Why thank you, and may I say your robe is quite nice as well.”

“This atmosphere of romance is going to suffocate me,” Morrigan sighed.

“Hey!” Leliana protested, giving her girlfriend a playful hit on the shoulder.

“Your mine so it’s different,” she drawled.

Redren didn’t protest Morrigan’s comment, not wanting to dig his own grave twenty minutes into the car ride.

Moondust LARP-ing community was about a three hour drive North of London, around Leicester. It was built on the farmgrounds of Alistair’s father’s old farm, which he had named Ferelden Farms. The land had been left to Cailan and his wife, Anora, who turned it into a tiny village of their own. Cailan was a couple of years older than Alistair, and has ended up inviting him brother to help him set up the little community. Over the nine years it’d been open, it had grown, so that there were about a hundred and fifty people every month, all camping on the grounds.

Cailan and Anora were the Crowned King and Queen of Ferelden, with Cailan being the one who kept up activities and campaigns while Anora did more of the behind-the-scenes work. As lovely as she was outside of LARP-ing, Anora played the stuck-up and cold Queen, balancing out Cailan’s outspoken personality. She was the one that suggested his execution, in fact. That’d been a fun weekend, in all honesty.

As the people in the car lulled into a comfortable silence, Leliana’s music filled the quiet and covered Alistair’s soft snores. It was pretty obvious he was the kind of baby that only stopped crying via car ride. Redren glanced at Zevran out of the corner of his eye, watching the other man gaze out the window, watching the countryside go by. The English countryside was always beautiful, much different from his native Spain. He had a soft smile on his face, the tattoos curving just as softly. The elf ears were just as cute, and look surprisingly natural on him.

When they arrived, unpacking their things from the trunk and shaking Alistair awake, they were greeted by Cailan. Well, King Cailan now. The King greeted his half-brother with a nod of the head and a handshake, formal.

“Greetings,” he smiled. “I am not often one for formalities as you know, but I see you have brought a new member. Is he of your order?” The King was referring to the 'Grey Wardens,’ an order Alistair had created, in which he and Redren were the only formal members, the rest of their little party were 'allies.’ He’d created lore himself, speaking of it as a once proud order wiped out by an invasion of fearsome monsters. He’d been happy to allow Redren to join, since he didn’t have any friends in Moondust.

“This is Zevran Arainai of the assassination organization, the Antivan Crows,” Alistair said, gesturing to Zevran, who took a deep bow.

“Ah yes, the Crows,” Cailan nodded, a hand to his chin in thought.

“He was hired by a rival faction to wipe out the Wardens, but we defeated him in combat. He is now forever in our debt for sparing his life.”

“I am honored to be in your presence, King of Ferelden,” Zevran smiled, putting a hand to his chest. “I swear to serve the Wardens, my Lord, and by extension, you, if they so wish it.”

“An honorable man,” Cailan nodded. “I am pleased to welcome you to Ferelden, Arainai.” He turned to the rest of the group. “Now, shall we get going?”

They followed him down the winding trail from the parking area to the town of Moondust. It was truly something to see the difference between the modern world and the faux old. Zevran’s look of surprise was quite amusing to watch, and Redren couldn’t help but comment.

“Ah, the world of Ferelden is much different than that of your native Antiva, no?”

“Very much so,” he nodded. “As lovely as it seems, it’s much too cold and stinks of wet dog!” Dog whined at his laugh. “Now, assassinations and political corruption, that’s home!” They walked to the old barn that had been changed into a community guild hall, complete with a convincingly realistic electric candle and iron chandelier. Over the years, people had added to the hall, the druids, elves, and forest witches hanging potted plants from the rafters and arranging pots of magical incense on the tables that lined the walls. Healing crystals painted in glow-in-the-dark paint were arranged around the entire compound as well. At night, the forest had a soft glow to it as the rocks emitted their light and the fireflies danced around them.

After the introduction of Zevran was finished, King Cailan formally inviting him to Moondust, they headed out into the former cow field that’d been turned into an outdoor festival space, and housed the battlefield further back. They still had two cows, however, lovingly named Ondai, Giver of Life, and Seotayss, Lord of the Green. Zevran had found that fact quite amusing. Since it was still fairly early in the morning and the community plans weren’t laid out until one in the afternoon, they had time to find some of their fellow LARP-ers.

“It had brought a painted elf?” Redren heard Shale say from behind him.

“I have, and may I say it’s nice to see you again, Shale. I missed you last month!”

“There were pigeons on the way here, so I spent the weekend doing a service to the world.” She said, deadpan. Shale, or, out of character, Shayle, was a stone butch, gender-indifferent, towering, muscled woman. Her character was a tank of a golem, her face painted grey, matching her stone-like armor. She had some of the witches add in crystals, which gave her special magical resistance. Shale only referred to people as their defining feature. Or, instead of 'you,’ she said 'it.’ Shale used to be a dwarven warrior, but had undergone a surgery of sorts to become a golem. She did not regret it, as it made her much better than her inferior, squishy comrades.

“I am honored to be in the presence of such a beautiful warrior,” Zevran flirted. His character was turning out to be even more of flirt than his usual self. Redren wasn’t complaining.

“If by beautiful, it means strong, then I agree.”

“Why not both?”

“A truly unique creature, the painted elf is.”

“Thank you!” Zevran said, patting the golem on the arm. Lord, did he look tiny next to her! Shale wandered off in the heavy-set fashion of hers to speak with her fellow warrior, Sten. Nobody knew his name outside of the LARP, but the Qunari warrior was an amazing roleplayer. He never broke character, never smiling and always talking formally. The only time he broke character was when someone had asked him why he didn’t have horns, he simply replied with 'angered housecat,’ and never elaborated. He was an incredibly muscled and tall African man, with silvery white cornrows, and always wore red contact lenses. He said that he came as a sort of messenger for the Qunari, and stayed in order to observe how the foreigners lived.

“So, Zevran,” Redren asked, turning to his elven companion. “How do you like Ferelden?”

“It’s certainly unique, and I say that in the best of ways. And as much as I love Antiva, these people, many of them are quite pleasurable to look at!” He winked at Redren, making the mage pull his wizard’s hat over his eyes to hide him blush. Zevran laughed, and bumped his shoulder into Redren’s. “Are all mages so bashful?”

“Being raised by the Circle Tower of Magi, I have very little experience with flirts such as yourself,” he muttered. “And the elder witch Wynne wasn’t very willing to let her apprentices fool around with each other!” He was laughing, still embarrassed.

“I am not a mage, nor one of your lovely Wynne’s apprentices,” he said, teasing.

“You’re about three seconds away from being turned into a frog, Crow.”

“No I’m not,” he chuckled. “Assassins are quite good at detecting lies, you know. And you, my lovely mage, are enjoying this attention, aren’t you?”

“I cast a spell of silence,” Redren laughed, pressing a finger to Zevran’s lips. “It may only be removed when I say so.” Zevran dropped his jaw in mock betrayal, pressing a hand to his throat, falling to his knees.

Curse you! He mouthed. Both of them laughed at his act, with Zevran putting a hand over his mouth to silence himself.

God, am I enjoying this! Attention and flirting from a very handsome man!

The Horn of Gathering sounded, summoning everyone to the barn. It was one of those plastic bugle horns, but Anora had painstakingly painted it gold, and had even sewn a banner bearing the royal crest to attach to it, so the thing looked really good.

Zevran took a seat between Redren and Alistair, Morrigan and Leliana settling in next to Redren.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and knights,” King Cailan started, standing up from his throne. A couple years back, a non-bianary roleplayer joined, Ser Gilamore. Cailan had made sure to update his saying. “I bring unfortunate news this day. A horde of the undead had been spotted several miles to the north, and are likely to arrive at nine pm tonight. At sundown, all forces are to gather in the middle of the battlefield.” He paced down the middle of the hall, the gold chains decorating his armor chinking together as he moved. “We know not what has caused this invasion, but we will stop it. I have faith in you all, for we will triumph!”

Redren whispered an 'undo curse’ into Zevran’s ear, allowing for him to whoop along with the rest of the hall. The King raised his hand for silence.

“Your Queen Anora has decided to organize an event in the hopes victory will be achieved. I grant her the floor.” He sat as the Queen stood. Her long, beautiful dress trailed along the floor as she walked the same path as her husband. She was a manager of a fabric store, granting her discounts to all the materials she needed to make the beautiful creations.

“In the hopes we are victorious in our coming battle, I have planned a ceremony for Sunday night. I understand that tomorrow is sacred to the witches, druids, and elves as the forest is said to breathe new life at the full moon. Therefore, I invite you all to partake in festivities of your cultures.” Her nose was upturned as she spoke. It was obvious Cailan’s character had twisted his wife’s elbow a bit to get her to say that last part. She was a very, traditional woman. King Cailan was a very open-minded man whereas his wife, not so much. The two rubbed off on another as the years went by, with Cailan becoming a better King, and Anora becoming a better person. The two had a great relationship both in and out of character.

“Now,” King Cailan said, standing next to his wife, “we prepare for battle! You have seven and a half hours to prepare, so I expect a sweeping victory!” A cheer rose up at the King’s words. “Dismissed!”

The hall emptied, with most of the folk wandering outside. Many of the wild elves headed back to the Dalish camp, where tents were set up and a campfire was being started.

“With me,” Morrigan called back, curling her hand in a gesture meant for Zevran and Redren to follow her. Alistair stayed behind to talk strategy with his half-brother. Leliana held the witch’s hand as they walked into the forest North of the Elves’ camp. They came to a tiny hut at the end of a winding dirt path. “I hope you fools appreciate the fact that the bard and I brought your things to the hut earlier.”

“Ah, yeah, thanks Morrigan!” Redren smiled shyly, remembering how he and Zevran had gotten so caught up in everything they hadn’t grabbed their bags from the van.

Dog barked in greeting, as he’d been staying by the hut for a while, likelt taking a nap and re-marking his territory in the woods. Redren greeted the boxer with a pat on the head.

“So,” Zevran started, “I’ve had your Ferelden battle rules explained to me, but I wonder about this plan your King has. In the Crows, it is simply a target and an occasional deadline. Is that how you do things here or…?”

“In Ferelden,” Leliana explained, “the King briefs everyone on the battle strategy, but truly they lack the ability to follow!” The bard giggled. “War in Orlais was much more orderly, no?”

“And war in Antiva was just nobles hiring Crows to kill other nobles! A fine middle ground, this is!” Zevran said, nodding in approval.

“Redren, I have some potions to brew, and I require another mage. Leliana, I believe 'tis wise for you to train with the elf. You improve your skills while Redren and I improve his.”

“Don’t you mean 'ours’?” Redren asked.

“No, I am already better than anyone here. I have no need to improve. You, on the other hand…”

“Oh hush, witch!” Redren sighed. He saw Zevran’s lips quirk up at their banter.

Morrigan’s hut was another world in itself. Fake animal pelts hung from the walls, and wind chimes were hanging from the ceiling like stalactites in a cave. The whole place was a circle, only about eight feet in diameter. Alistair had helped her build it one weekend while the LARP wasn’t going on, and she’d been decorating it for five years ever since. Food dyes acting as magical ingredients were lined up along the shelves, and actual items of witchcraft were scattered among them. Crystals and pebbles were everywhere, and the drying herbs gave the place a strong, but pleasant, smell. Redren could spend hours in the place. Morrigan pulled a heavy book off of one of the shelves, thumping it down on the table. It was a book of Harry Potter potions with the cover changed to make it look like more witch-y. She flipped open to a potion of strength, and began to prepare the ingredients. Sure, it was technically tea, but here, in this little world, it was so much better.

“Light the fire while I prepare,” she said. Redren rolled back his sleeves and cast a fire spell, tossing a match into the tiny wood-burning stove. Morrigan cerimoniously cut off the tops of about five water bottles, pouring them in while chanting. Redren kneeled, presenting her with the box of teabags. She took them, a solemn look on her face as she dumped about six of them into the pot. “Now we wait,” she said, grabbing a wooden spoon and giving the pot a quick stir, repeating the process every couple of minutes.

Redren always enjoyed hanging out with the witch, even if her LARP character was a bit of a pain in the ass. Dog was barking outside, and the sounds of laughter from Leliana and grunt of mild pain from Zevran probably meant nothing good. Redren stayed inside to spare himself from likely seeing Zevran on the ground, an eighty pound boxer on his stomach.

Morrigan and him finished up about an hour later, all the potions put into labeled flasks. Redren wandered outside, and couldn’t help but observe the elf and the bard silently. The way Zevran’s body moved to dodge the bolts from Leliana’s crossbow was mesmerizing. It’s obvious his time acting and his time at work had combined to make an amazingly flexible and agile man. Leliana was firing at him, a smile on her face as she kept him at bay, holding a dagger in her other hand. Her crossbow was a revamped nerf gun, painted and modified so it hardly looked like the original. Eventually, Zevran got in close, scoring four points before Leliana fell back, landing on the ground with an oomph.

“I’ve been bested once again!” She cried out, in a T-pose on the dirt. “Oh, hello.” She said, looking over at Redren.

“The lovely Leliana has been sparring with me, and I do believe she has underestimated my skills several times over,” Zevran laughed. “Let this be known: the Crows’ training is not one to underestimate!”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that by now,” she sighed. “It’s what, two thirty now? Zevran and I are a bit winded, not to mention I’m at about 1 hp right now, so we might want to take it easy for a bit.”

“Here,” Redren sighed, walking over to the woman 'bleeding’ on the biggest floor. “I cast a spell of full healing to Leliana,” he said, raising his staff. She sat up, breathing out heavily.

“Thank you, my good mage,” she smiled.

“Zevran?” Redren asked. “You’ve got any cuts?”

“Ah, yes I believe one of her bolts hit me about here,” he pointed to the side of his stomach. Redren pressed his fingers to Zevran’s side, muttering a small healing spell. “Is all magic so intimate?” He questioned, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Gross,” Morrigan spat as she walked out of the hut, two trays of flasks chinking together. “Leliana, be a dear and take one of these off my hands.” Leliana happily did as she was asked. These little tasks never failed to earn her favor in battle. Redren stayed back, watching the two walk off, Leliana bouncing as she stepped and Morrigan scolding her.

“Well,” Redren started, turning to Zevran. “Would you like to help me put war paint on him?” He pointed to Dog with his thumb, who stuck his tongue out and barked.

“Sure,” Zevran said. “What’s it do? Or is it simply to make him look cool?”

“The paint,” Redren called back as he grabbed it from inside the house, “improves his attack, as it’s enchanted to give him buffs in battle.” He brought out the red paint. “Just dip your fingers in and go ahead.” They spent the next couple of minutes swirling the war paint on the boxer’s brown fur, Dog’s tongue happily hanging out of his mouth.

“A fearsome war hound indeed,” Zevran nodded, admiring their work. He’d given Dog a similar set of curves on his chest, so that their tattoos matched.

“Indeed,” Redren echoed with a soft chuckle. “We’ve got quite some time before sunset, so-” He was cut off by the growl of Zevran’s stomach. “Food?” He laughed.

“That sounds like a good idea!” They started walking back to the main area, Dog on their heels. Several of the Druids, nymphs, and forest witches paused their flowercrown making to wave at the odd little trio, one of them tossing a stick to Dog, who happily took the gift. They always spent much of the day before battle partaking in nature rituals. Flowercrowns could be enchanted to prevent all sorts of magical damage or to improve nature magic. All sorts of things.

They walked into the tavern, Silver Lake, and sat down at the bar. The bartender, Rehael the Angel, handed them both goblets of water, which were always on the house. Silver Lake stood by a small pond, The Silver Lake, about two hundred feet from the barn.

“Nice 'ta see ya again, kiddo,” a man next to Redren said. Redren looked to his left, and then quite sharply down to see the man that spoke. Oghren looked up at him. The man was a fellow roleplayer who had hit the nail pretty hard on the head when he decided to roleplay as a dwarf. He was an actual dwarf, standing at 4'6". He’d joined the LARP about two years ago, looking for something to do when he wasn’t doing yardwork. His wife leaving him was what made him actually go look for something to do with his time, and help wean him off of alcohol. He’d been getting better with time. “Ah, an elf!” He growled, looking at Zevran.

“Is this where we re-ignite the age old dwarf/elf rivalry?” Zevran said, taking a sip of his water.

“At least you look pretty itsy, so I think I could take ya,” Oghren shrugged. “Just watch your back, you pointy-eared little weasel,” he wiggled an accusing armored finger.

“Will do, my fine dwarven friend!

"By the stones,” Oghren sighed, the two massive red braids of his beard swinging as he shook his head. He took a sip of his one-quarter-beer-seventy-five-percent-water. Many other patrons came and went from the place as Zevran and Redren ate a late lunch. Rehael struck up a conversation with Zevran, asking the elf all about his former home. Zevran was incredibly good at staying in character, and talked about Antiva and the Crows as if he was actually there. He was constantly animated, and didn’t hesitate to flirt with the bartender. Oghren scoffed at his display, staying true to his standoffish and constantly annoyed character. His giant latex waraxe strapped to his back wobbled as he swung his feet, since they didn’t reach the floor.

Redren was enjoying listening to the two talk while watching the patrons all around him. His character was certainly one who didn’t let anybody escape his sight, making sure to know everyone’s strengths and weaknesses. Just in case. A Cousland came in, his noble aura protruding from every pore in his body. He was pleasant enough once you got to know him, or so Redren was told. The nobleman didn’t exactly like the mages. Or the nymphs, druids, dwarves, or elves. Most nobles seemed to be like that. There weren’t many of them Moondust, as only Cailan and Anora’s good friends could rise to such a rank. They stayed in the Castle, which was a renovated farmhouse. The place certainly looked like a little castle, and was very nice to look at.

“Redren?” Zevran elbowed him gently in the side, making the mage nearly drop his staff. “You ready to head out?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry, was thinking about… stuff.”

“Oh, what kind of stuff?” Zevran smirked at Redren as they stepped out of Silver Lake. “Dirty stuff, I hope.”

“Please stop being so Antivan,” Redren sighed. “And for the record, I was thinking about everyone around here. About how to defeat them if I need to.”

“Ooh, such useful information for an assassin!” He pushed his shoulder against Redren’s arm, looking up at the mage. “Why don’t we find a good place to discuss such things?” His sly smile was not missed by Redren.

“For you, things mean more than any normal person would assume. Thankfully, I am no normal person, Zevran Arainai.”

“Ah, no fun, you are!” He cried out, laughing. “But I still do wish for you to inform me of these notes you take. As someone in your service, I should know all I need to to protect you, no? My Warden, surely you understand what an advantage that would be!”

“Fine, fine,” Redren sighed, giving in to the elf. “I shall teach you most of what I know.”

“Most?”

“Keeping secrets makes me feel more powerful,” He shrugged. “And do you ever plan on, well, leaving my side, or were you secretly hexed in the Tavern?” Redren was glaring down at Zevran, who was all but glued to his arm.

“An assassin thrives in shadow, my dear,” he said lowly. “And that wide-brimmed hat of yours provides much of such a thing.”

“Lord,” Redren muttered. “One would think an Antivan such as yourself would be accustomed to the sun.”

“Oh, I am,” he chuckled. “I just like being so close to you, Redren.”

“Oh.” Redren blanked, letting his character take over his short circuiting brain. “Remind me why I saved your life, again? Lord, elf, you’re far too much for me to handle!” Zevran gave him a smile full of false innocence. “Hush,” Redren laughed, putting a hand on Zevran’s head and ruffling his hair. Zevran let out a gasp and hastily fixed his hair, putting the little braids back into place. He must’ve done them before they picked Redren up. Did Leliana do it? She’s good with hair. They looked very cute.

It probably took a good couple of hours to talk about all the people Redren could remember off the top of his head. Of course, he’d gotten off track about a dozen times, and had even started recalling a time about a year ago when Cailan had given the elves full reign for a weekend due to them staging an uprising the month before. They’d been tired of not being able to practice their magic in public, and the final straw had been the arrests of an entire little camp of elves for growing oregano, which they called Elfroot, without permission from the King and Queen. They’d argued about how it was all contained in pots and such, but the Queen had not been lenient. He had a feeling the King was still trying to get on the non-humans’ good sides. He hardly noticed how long they’d been talking.

“Ferelden certainly has a fun history,” Zevran commented, giving Dog absent-minded pats on the head.

“Do you have any sorties of Antiva?” Redren was curious about what he’d come up with.

“Oh, my turn is it?” He leaned back on his arms. “What is it you wish to know of Antiva? The Crows? The women? The men?”

“What about the Crows? Surely you must have stories about such an infamous group.”

“Why of course!” He took a deep breath, a lazy smile on his face. “The Crows are known all throughout Antiva as the most reliable group of assassins, as well as the most expensive. They keep their, shall we say, workforce, well fed and entertained, even if it’s the guild masters making the real coin.” He sighed. “A gilded cage it is, lovely but confining. Sure, killings are fun, but freedom, that’s much better. But now that you have removed me from that life, I’m not sure what to do, what should I take advantage of it for?” It was obvious he was simply switching up some details from his life in Spain as a sex worker. He didn’t look upset by it, more indifferent if anything. Of course, he could be lying, keeping a blank face and staying in his fairly aloof character, but Redren couldn’t pick up on it.

“Well, you’re certainly welcome to stay by my side.” Redren said, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I have reason to believe you’d be quite useful.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he smiled, leaning forward. “And soon, you’ll be begging to be rid of me!”

“If it comes to that, I have quite a few spells for, shall we say, an effective disposal?”

“Sounds fun!” Zevran went on for a while more, casually building up his world and character, talking about how he’d always wanted to get to know the wild elves. He’d grown up in Antiva City, and had never gotten the opportunity to see the Dalish.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the chirping of birds and insects providing background noise.

“Zevran?” Redren asked after a couple minutes of quiet.

“Yes?”

“I have no idea what time it is.”

“Neither do I,” he laughed, looking up at the sky. He held a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “But it seems we’ve been here for quite a while.” The sun was nearly starting to set.

“Let’s see,” Redren thought, “we left the tavern at what, quarter to four? It must be nearly seven now!” Zevran and him laughed in shock. “God, why did you let me ramble on so long? Truly you can’t find Ferelden stories that interesting to let me go on like that.”

“Maybe.” Zevran shrugged, and leaned forward to press a finger to Redren’s chest. “But I find you very interesting.”

“Bloody flirt,” Redren scoffed, looking away to hide his embarrassment. “Truly, you tempt me to use a silencing spell again.”

“You like my voice too much,” Zevran said. “Or else you wouldn’t have have let me go on for so long.” Point taken.

“Shouldn’t we start heading back? If the King wants us at the battlefield starting at sundown, that means we’ve got about an hour and a half.”

“You’re quite dedicated to the rules, my dear mage.” Zevran remarked.

“Do you think I’m so dedicated because I wish to be? No, it’s more of a debt I owe to this place than anything.”

“A debt?”

“Why don’t we talk while we make our way back? We can take a longer route if you wish.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Zevran said, standing up. “And I think I really need to stretch my legs before battle, as it’s never good for an assassin to have his leg asleep in combat!”

“Seems wise to avoid that, yes,” Redren said with a soft laugh. “Come on, Dog,” he added, the boxer getting up happily. His stumpy little tail wagged as the three walked down the rock-lined paths.

“You mentioned something earlier,” Zevran said a couple minutes into their walk. “I’d like to hold you to your promise to explain.”

“I was hoping you’d forget,” he laughed shyly.

“A Crow remembers, my dear, best keep that in mind.”

Redren took a deep breath. “Back in The Circle, I was always treated differently. I wasn’t allowed to be what I was, blood magic isn’t exactly something people find endearing.” What a thinly veiled metaphor, dumbass, he chastised himself. “So I had to hush everything, keep my head down. Alistair was a Templar, a prominent guard type order that made my life a living hell,” he laughed without humor. “I thought he was going to be like the rest, but he offered me a chance to escape. He got me out of that place one weekend a month. Right under the Head Witch Wynne’s nose, too!” Zevran was staring at him, with unusual silence. “This place really saved me, you know,” he rested his staff on his shoulder. “It’s special like that. Gives all sorts of people chances to be what they are, whether it be a Blood Mage or an assassin. I really think I owe Alistair my life, so I’m honored to fight alongside him, no matter what.”

“I see,” Zevran said quietly. “I have no story like your’s but I do believe this has been, good for me. After all, I met you, no?”

“That you did,” Redren smiled. “I can certainly say that we have met.”

“And you’re back to being a pain in the ass,” he laughed. “It’s endearing!”

“It’s likely nearly eight and we’re yet to get back is what it is.”

“Oh, the rumors that will be spread! A several hour long rendezvous in the woods is worth talking about, isn’t it?”

“Hush it!” He gave Zevran a swift little hit with his staff.

“You wound me! May I have a healing spell, please?” He put a finger to his cheek, batting his eyelashes jokingly.

“You’ll regenerate that health in a minute, you baby,” he waved his hand dismissively.

“Aawwee! Am I your baby now?”

“In need of constant supervision, incredibly tiny, wounded so grievously by a minuscule hit? Yes, you are an infant.”

“You’re an angry little mage!” He was shaking his head, flipping a dagger absent-mindedly. “Honestly, releasing a bit of that pent-up tension could benefit us all.”

“Bloody Antivans,” Redren muttered.

They managed to get to the battlefield about thirty seconds before King Cailan did, standing in the back eating two ham sandwiches they picked up from Silver Lake. Cailan went into a a speech about the dangers of Necromancy and unsupervised magic, and that Maria, the only practicing necromancer, was to be executed tomorrow morning. This would be her eleventh execution in two years, since she had enchanted herself using necromancy. She let out a whoop as a gaurd carried her in the fireman position to the shame cage.

“We will try to deal with her,” he sighed. “As I was saying, those with ranged weapons are to stay behind the fence and funnel the undead through the gates. I require two mages to stay and guard the Guild Hall. Rogues are to attempt get behind the horde to backstab, and warriors are to attack head-on.” He raised his sword. “For Ferelden!” The crowd echoed his chants. There were about seventy people in the field, and sixty waiting in the forest. Twenty people were non-combatants, staying behind to guard their shops. Alrael of Silver Lake was a healer, and one of the most valuable in battle. His darker completion gave him higher stealth at night, making him able to sneak past enemy lines to revive the fallen. His glitter-covered black deadlocks were always a sign of God’s favor in combat. The troops were given a couple minutes to do any last minute preparations.

“Hey!” Alistair called out, waving to Redren and Zevran.

“Nice to see you, my friend,” Zevran smiled.

“Don’t do that with me, assassin,” he frowned. “I went to the witch earlier since I couldn’t find you two anywhere, and she said you two had been in the woods for hours! What on Earth were you doing?” Zevran grinned, and Alistair quickly retracted his statement. “You know what, nevermind. What mages and elves get up to in the forest by themselves is not something I need to know.”

“Alistair!” Redren whisper-yelled. “It wasn’t anything like that!”

“I can’t believe a fellow Grey Warden would doubt my skills of perceptiveness so much!” He faked hurt.

“Alistair, Zevran’s being Zevran.” He deadpanned. “Please don’t take anything he says like that with complete faith.”

“Wounded again!” Zevran sighed, leaning with his back against Redren.

“You two are way too much for me to handle,” Alistair said. “I’m glad you’re heading up and I’m staying back with the warriors!” He walked off with a laugh.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” Redren laughed, looking down at the elf slumped against his side.

“And if I did, I wouldn’t have picked the assassination job, and I wouldn’t be here with you right now.” Zevran looked up at Redren, who’s mouth was opening and closing, unable to form words to respond. Thankfully, he was spared the need to respond by the sounding of the war horn.

“Let’s go,” Redren said in a relieved exhale. Zevran seemed to forget the exchange in a heartbeat, excitedly running side by side with Redren to engage in combat. Every one of the “undead” had red glow necklaces around their necks, a sign of the magic reanimating them. They had ten health points each, making them a bit tougher than regular players. Redren took his place behind the fence, crouching down and waiting for the horde to get within range. He saw Zevran darting among the trees, ducking behind one and facing Redren. He flashed the mage a wide smile, Redren happily returning it. He heard footsteps behind him, and saw Leliana approach, crouching next to him.

“Bonjour,” she greeted, chugging one of Morrigan’s offensively strong potion-teas. It made her shudder and gain a small bonus to defense. She was already more resilient than Redren, as she wore actual armor, and he only had a robe to defend himself. Mages weren’t the best with armor, though Morrigan was making an active choice to basically flash her tits to the enemy. The stun effect did work, so he gave her credit for that.

Soon enough, the undead were within range, and since the sun had set, they were easy to spot. Oghren and a couple others were heard activating their Beserker abilities, war cries ringing out across the field and carrying into the forest. Redren felt himself falling into the familiar rhythm. An initial hit with the staff: 1 point. A spell of gore: 2 points and 1 point bonus every hit afterward. Dodging, nearly tripping. Another jab with the staff: 2 points. Halfway down. A spell of paralysis and another hit: 2 points. A spell of manipulation, causing the paralysis to wear off, and the target to harm themselves: 3 points. The fellow combatant fell to the ground in defeat. He gave a quick wave to his foe and ran off to heal anybody calling for assistance. The process was repeated many times. He saw Alistair and Oghren fighting near each other, with Shale and Sten not too far behind. Leliana was firing off bolts next to Morrigan, and Zevran was darting between the enemies, weakening them two points with a backstab so that the warriors could finish them off.

After the battle, everyone but Maria was called to the Guild Hall for an after-battle speech. Redren zoned out for most of it, his eyes slowly looking around for Zevran. The elf was nowhere in sight, so he assumed he was stuck behind someone of an average height. Eventually, Cailan stopped talking, and Anora dismissed the players.

“Finally,” he heard Zevran say from behind him. “I was stuck behind some human, and I do not appreciate being hid behind a wall of flesh,” he paused, adding, “clothed flesh, that is.”

“So,” Redren asked, pulling out a chair next to him for the elf, “how was your first battle in Ferelden? Different then Antivan assassinations, I take it.”

“Oh, it was great!” Zevran was beaming, leaning forward on his chair, his hands pressed into the seat between his legs. “The opportunities to backstab were everywhere, and the chaos! Oh, it reminds me of the time The Crows were hired to take out half of a royal family! Now that was a bloodbath,” he sighed in fond memory. “Nothing like a good bloodbath, eh?”

“I completely agree,” Redren smiled. “I always enjoy battle, it really gets the blood pumping, doesn’t it?”

“It does!” Zevran said, exhaling. “So, I presume we’re sleeping at Morrigan’s hut in the woods, yes?”

“It may be cramped, but yes,” Redren said, a bit of a grimace on his face. “We,” he sighed. “We may need to share a bedroll.”

“How every great story starts, no?”

“I am begging you not to get any ideas.”

“Too late, my Warden, too late.”

“I assumed as much,” Redren laughed. “Shall we get going? Magic really drains me, especially the blood magic I was using.”

“What kind of magic is that?” Zevran asked, looking up at Redren. “The Crows, we rarely have magic-users, so I know very little of such arts.”

Redren launched into an explanation of how blood magic worked, lasting a good couple minutes. They had gotten about twenty feet into the forest when Zevran stopped, staring ahead. The path was lit softly by dimly glowing stones, giving the forest floor a winding green river. Redren couldn’t really appreciate the view, however, as he was transfixed with the way the fireflies’ yellow lights reflected in Zevran’s honey-coloured eyes. He didn’t even notice when the other man’s eyes shifted to look into his own until he blinked.

“Sorry,” he sighed.

“What are you apologizing for, Redren?” Zevran’s soft smile sent a wave of nausea through Redren’s stomach.

“Nothing, old habit,” he shrugged. “Most people don’t appreciate strange looks from strange mages.”

“I am not most people,” he laughed, turning back to the path and walking ahead. Redren had to jog a bit to catch up. They eventually made it to Morrigan’s dwelling, where a small campfire had been lit. Morrigan and Leliana were in their nightgowns, sitting on a log. Dog seemed to have followed Leliana back, as he was asleep a couple feet from the fire.

“And they finally return,” Morrigan said, not looking up from the fire. “I’ve been waiting for you two. Leliana insists waiting up for you fools.”

“That I do, yes,” she laughed, looking up at Zevran and Redren. “I wanted to make sure you were coming back, and not spending more time in the woods.” She smirked. “Reminds me of Orlais,” she sighed fondly. Redren as thankful for the dark as it helped hide his blush a bit.

“Unfortunately our lovely mage has not only a sick for magic, but one up his ass, as well,” Zevran lamented, making Leliana giggle.

“Don’t worry, eventually they come around. Right, dear?”

“Please remove your hand from my thigh, bard, before I turn you into an actual brainless songbird.”

“Why don’t you two go get changed into your nightclothes? Just tell us when you’re done.” Leliana shooed them inside.

Zevran started stripping the second the door shut, not giving Redren enough time to breathe. The man’s chest was clean shaven, matching his arms and legs. His tattoos also seemed to not be limited to his face, as they stretched around his body like serpents. He shook his head, undoing the think brown ribbon that held his robe together. He undid the two buttons that held the sides of the fabric together as well, holding the robe together loosely with his hand as he reached into his backpack to grab his nightclothes. He turned away from Zevran and slid on the long pair of brown pajama pants, allowing the robe to slide off before he put his white tank top on.

“And here I was hoping for a show,” Zevran lamented as Redren turned back around. The man wore nothing but a pair of short, very short, shorts. He was sadly removing his elf ears, as they were unfortunately uncomfortable to sleep in. He set them on the side table that he’d placed his armor on. “Back in The Crows,” he stated, “nobody ever changed in front of each other, as the most vulnerable a person is is when they’re in the nude. A shame you have no such trust,” he tsked.

“I’m not falling for that, assassin,” Redren laughed. “And here,” he took off his shirt, tossing it to Zevran. “Please be decent. If not for me, then for the women.”

“A fine compromise, my friend,” he nodded as he slipped the top over his shoulders. It was slightly large on him length-wise, covering up to the very ends of his shorts. Redren opened the door and nodded his head to the girls, indicating that they were changed. Dog was asked to stay outside, as Morrigan did not want him in the hut. Morrigan took her place on her bedroll, Leliana following suit, squishing herself up against the unamused witch. Redren laid down on the floor, and scooted over to make room for Zevran. Not that there was much room to make, though.

He could feel Zevran pressing into him, heating his left side up like it was on fire. He’d never shared a bed with anyone else, a bit of sad thought for someone in their early twenties, but still, the feeling wasn’t all too welcome. It was hot, the fake fur blanket heating the bedroll like a sauna. He stared at the ceiling, and knew Zevran was doing the same. The only light was from an electric tea candle that rested on a high shelf on the other side of the hut, ten feet away, since the campfire had been doused before the girls came in. He could hear Zevran’s breathing slow down, an indication that he was falling asleep. Leliana was already out cold, and Morrigan hadn’t been long after her. Despite the discomfort he’d previously felt, Redren started to enjoy lying next to Zevran, and he felt himself being soothed by the man’s steady breathing. His eyes started to feel heavy, and before he knew it, the world faded softly to black.

…

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that he was in a completely different position. He’d started off on his back, and now he was on his left side. His right leg and arm were wrapped around Zevran, in what was likely an incredibly right grip. He had also managed to shift up, so that Zevran’s head was nestled underneath his own. All in all, a very cuddle-y position. Shit.

“Now now, no need for such language,” he jumped when Zevran spoke, right out of his previous position.

“I am so sorry!” He apologized, his face red.

“No no,” Zevran laughed, sitting up. “It has been a while since I’ve shared my bed with another, and never so innocently!” His tone was both mocking and sincere.

“Well I, for one, am very happy I didn’t end up like your previous bedmates,” he sighed.

“Ravised by a very beautiful Antivan elf?”

“Likely dead, judging by your career.”

“I suppose one never came without the other,” he shrugged. “But since I am now serving you, I can assure that you’d only get the one.” He stood up, stretching, and Redren couldn’t help but notice how Zevran was wearing his shirt, and about how it rode up slightly when he stretched, exposing a tiny bit of his toned stomach. “Staring, are we?” Zevran laughed.

“That killing you offered sounds very nice.”

Zevran just chuckled, getting into his armor. Redren followed suit, almost not noticing how he mindlessly started changing without being so nervous. He pulled on his robe, and was nearly ready to drag Zevran out of the hut since he was taking a very long time, when he felt him arm being grabbed.

“And where do you think you’re going? Perhaps this is a Ferelden mage thing, and I’m being culturally insensitive, but as I’m supposed to be serving and protecting you, I cannot allow you to go out of this place without your hair brushed!” He shook his head in mock dismay, grabbing the brush from the table and gently shoving the mage to the floor. He started at the ends, holding Redren’s long ginger hair as he worked through the knots that had managed to appear while he was sleeping. As he worked, Redren felt himself slowly leaning back, relaxing into the other man’s touch. He didn’t say anything, but Redren could tell Zevran was enjoying his reaction. “Done.”

“Ah,” Redren ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks.” He glanced over at the wall clock, which claimed it was already eleven.

“It was my pleasure,” He smiled. “And based on your facial expression, it was your pleasure, too.”

“Let’s just get going.”

“Lead the way,” Zevran bowed, putting on his ear extensions.

The day was in all honesty, a blur. King Cailan staged another execution for Maria, who laid down on a slab for about ten minutes before she sat up and went to the tavern for a drink. Anora gathered everyone in the hall for another speech, starting the celebrations, and begrudgingly allowing the magic-users to use magic. Redren and Zevran met up with Morrigan, Leliana, and Alistair, and decided to simply have a good time, eating and watching Leliana break out her recorder and show off her bardic skills. They all sat and watched her, Zevran being the most interested. He had known she was a music student, but Leliana had a gift for recorder covers for basically anything. She was a strange talent all in herself.

The day flew by, like all other Sundays seemed to. The moon had come out, hanging big and bright in the night sky. It was full, and the sky was perfectly clear. Out here in the countryside, the stars were in full view. Many of the witches, wizards, and other magic users were performing ceremonies. He wasn’t a big part of such things, and as a blood mage, he wasn’t big on nature magic. Morrigan was messing around with Leliana, prodding her with her staff, making the bard giggle.

He got so swept up in everything, he hardly noticed Zevran’s hand on his shoulder.

“Would you mind talking to me for a moment?” He didn’t wear his usual carefree smile, so Redren wasn’t sure what he was feeling. “I promise it’s not anything bad,” he said, reassuring Redren with a hand on his shoulder.

“Alright,” he agreed. “Would you like to go somewhere more private, or…?”

“That would be appreciated, yes.” Zevran grabbed Redren’s hand, and hoped the other man couldn’t feel how nervous he was. Zevran took him back to the forest, where it was dark enough for only the glowing rocks to be visible underneath the cover of the the trees. The moon lit the area, soft rays of light dancing as the trees swayed in the slight breeze.

“What,” Redren started. “Uh, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to offer you my gratitude,” he said, looking down for a moment. “I’ve had,” he paused, and looked up at the taller man, “I have had so much fun.” His smile was wide. “I wanted to thank you, for making all this possible for me.”

“No, no, it was really Leliana. You, you shouldn’t be, you shouldn’t be thanking me,” Redren said, stumbling over his words.

“But you could’ve easily told her no, that you didn’t want anyone else in your group,” he countered.

“But-”

“Oh hush,” Zevran laughed. “Can’t I just say thank you? If anything, simply for being so sweet to me.” Redren wasn’t sure what to say, and he didn’t have to. Zevran stood up on his tip-toes, gently grabbing the back of Redren’s neck to pull him down. He placed his lips on Redren’s, and kissed him. Redren’d never been kissed before, and he could hardly think. It wasn’t a fevered exchange, or heavy, or passionate. It was just, soft and incredibly romantic. What else to expect from an Antivan? He thought, closing his eyes and pressing a hand to the small of Zevran’s back.

Eventually, Zevran pulled away, breathing fairly heavily. Redren was sure he was, too.

“If that wasn’t wanted,” he started, looking apologetic, “I’m incredibly sorry, but I-”

“Oh don’t worry,” Redren cut him off, laughing a bit to hide his excitement. “That was not unwanted!”

“Ah, good!” Zevran said, letting out a relieved breath. “You just looked so shocked, I wasn’t sure!”

“Well, I mean, I’ve never really been kissed before, so…” Zevran looked at him like he was insane. “Are you kidding m-” the sound of a dog barking cut him off.

“There you two are!” Alistair called out, jogging to where they were, Dog on his heels. “It’s getting late, and… wait, what are you two doing?” He squinted, looking at them in the low light.

“Is it such a crime to want to get to know your fellow Grey Warden better?”

“You know what? I don’t want to know. Morrigan and Leliana have already packed stuff up, and I was sent to retrieve you for the closing, which is in like, ten minutes.”

They followed him back to the field, where King Cailan was standing on a wooden box, Anora on the grass next to him.

“I thank you all for coming,” he began, a smile on his face. “It has been an amazing weekend, and I hope to see you all next month! We are incredibly thankful for the turnout, and I hope we only continue to grow!” Anora took the makeshift stage, breaking character to smile.

“And I would like to say, that regardless of magic ability or race, you all contribute something to make this place special,” She put a hand to her chest. “And I thank you.”

Everyone eventually dispersed, heading back to their cars. Morrigan and Leliana came over to where Zevran, Redren, Aliastair, and Dog were, holding backpacks, including Alistair’s, which he’d left with them when he went to find Zevran and Redren.

“Time to head out,” Leliana sighed. She led them back to the van, tossing their things into the back. Morrigan once again took the wheel, as not only was it her mother’s van, but she was the only one who could stay awake reliably the whole way back.

“So,” she started, looking in the rear-view mirror at the rest of the people in the back, “how was your first LARP, my elven companion?” Zevran launched into an excited explanation of how much he loved it, that he had an amazing time, and that he’d be honored if they invited him back.

“Of course we’ll invite you again!” Leliana laughed from the passenger seat. “You were very fun to have along!” She looked back to where Alistair was, raising an eyebrow at the mildly concerned expression on his face. “What’s up, Alistair? Got something on your mind?”

He took a deep breath. “Redren and Zevran were shagging in the woods!”

“Alistair!” Redren yelled, more shocked than upset.

“I’m so proud!” Morrigan laughed. “Finally!”

“Morrigan!”

“Losing your virginity at a LARP? Wonderful!”

“I did not!”

“Awww, a shame,” Leliana sighed. “I thought we were one in the same, there!”

“What?” Redren and Alistair said at the same time, making Zevran suppress a laugh.

“What? I had a beautiful witch offer me a dark ritual in the woods, and I accepted! Had a great time, got a girlfriend and a permanent plus three health!”

“So that’s where that bonus came from…” Redren muttered.

“You know, my lovely Morrigan, you’ve given me an idea,” Zevran said before he was quickly shushed by Redren’s hand over his mouth.

“Don’t.” He narrowed his eyes. “Lick this hand all you want, I don’t fear it. I’ve had that mouth on my mouth.” Zevran’s response of good point was muffled.

Eventually, they all fell into quiet, the hum of the van as it drove through the night calming.

…

The next LARP was amazing. As was the next, and the next, and the next. He and Zevran had officially become a thing, and he couldn’t be happier about it. Dog truly was the only one Alistair had now. Redren had worked up the neve to give Zevran the pair of Dalish leather gloves he’d embroidered. Zevran wore them all winter long. Their whole little group had been invited to one of Zevran’s theatre productions, and Redren couldn’t have been a prouder boyfriend. He could tell that the Live Action Role Playing had helped, as his character tame through in every line. And God, did he look good! How Redren had managed to snag someone like that, he’d never know.

Grandma Wynne had been supportive, and if anything, too supportive, saying things like It’s a changing world! or I’m so happy you could find someone! General happy grandma things. Zevran made sure to visit him almost every morning, sitting at the barstools and watching Redren wait tables. Redren had even visited Zevran at his job, although such an experience wasn’t exactly good for his more innocent heart.

All in all, they were very content to be the nerds they were.

#zevwarden week #jesus this is LONG #zevran arainai #zevran x warden #da warden #da morrigan #da leliana #alistair theirin #dragon age #dragon age origins #fanfiction #im so sorry this is late!!!!#original content

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