#This is an unedited first draft that used the most basic free grammar corrector I could find

[yuripira4e]

in honor of just getting to 10k words on my first draft of this here's a little snippet of something I have planned/ written

Damon had returned two days later, at nearly last light. The cover of darkness had almost been enough to shield the black and blue bruising blooming over his skin. He had tried to hide his new limp from her, but the blood soaked through his bandaged knee said more than words could carry through her naïve skull.

Sit down dragonfly. I have something to show you. The words had been laced through with pain, his bruised face more visible in the light, even if he tried to hide it behind his honey-warm smile. Marked almost impossibly without touching the edges of the royal seal. No cuts either.

He had walked her to her bed chambers, tucking her in before beginning to set aside the steel gauntlets that nearly always adorned his legs. She sat guiltily away from him, still feeling the low churn in her stomach at the thought of him being tortured in forfeit of her stupidity. They said nothing as he had carefully pulled down the cloth that kept the steel from rubbing too uncomfortably against his shins and had laughed when Jude had made a face, turning up her nose at the older man who had feigned offense in return, making a show until Jude had removed her hands from her nose and sat closer.

Looking closely, she had watched as he turned the warm bronze part of his foot over to reveal the lighter half and its numerous blisters and pains. It was only when she looked toward the curve where his toes met his sole that she saw it.

“Damon!” she’d shrieked. He’d shushed her quickly, his wide eyes contrasted by the exhilarated smile on his face.

“Damon” she’d whispered even more fervently; reverently, because in jagged, blocky cuts, still red around the edges, and probably illegable to anyone who wasn't so well acquainted with the man before her, were the letters R and J.

“Yes, I do think I may have gone slightly dim when I was down there. Too late to do anything about it though. I did it with a stone. And no, Rireran doesn't know, and you're not going to tell him. He'd have my head.” he explained easily, though she discern the nervous truth of the statement. If the guard would be mad, it would be nothing on their high mages wraith when Damon did something foolishly impulsive.

“This is dangerous! My father would-“

“He would cut it off at best.” He admitted, waving his hand like it was a non issue. “And he would be right to do so. My oath has been tattered by this. Even just the intent.”

“.. Why?” was all she could think ask him.

He stared at her, the corner of his lip twitching down sadly for just a moment.

“You cannot choose your creed, dragonfly, nor your blood, and certainly not the seas of your birth, but you can choose what choices you make. I made this one. I respect your father with every bone in my body. He is our king. But.. I regard Rireran with every divide of my soul. He is more than an oath. He is the path of my retribution. He is the article of my faith and all my devotion. As are you.” he told her softly, gathering the plush sheets to tuck around her even more tightly before continuing.

“My oath garters that I should not feel what I feel, and I wish I could be selfless enough to stick to it. But I cannot.

When I was down there- the only thing I wanted was to tuck you into bed. To tell you this was not your fault. I thought about playing squares with Rireran. That I should replace that ugly burgundy and brown board. I wouldn’t though. Because it is ugly and I hate paisley but it's the only thing in my room I had with memories of either of you.” he rambled, trying to force all the words out. “This is for me. It’s for me.” He repeated at her like she didn’t believe him. Like everything he did was not a testament to her. “It’s my reminder to myself that I will not always be strong enough, and it’s my promise that I will protect you and honor my oath despite it. That I would mar every inch of my skin in your name.” He breathed out shakily, before running a large hand over her curls.

“You are kind, Jude, your guilt proves it. And I know you will be a wonderful queen, but at times I wished you to be a more selfish child.”

He had been crying then, she remembered. Yet he had looked so sure of himself- of her. So sure even if her small brain didn't understand anything else, it might've been able to comprehend the affection he held so openly. Vulnerable in a way he never shied away from, even when she couldn't seem to hold him in the same esteem. At that moment Jude did not feel kind. The only kind thought in her head was the voice of the man in front of her, gently guiding her in rights and wrongs. And she had watched as her kindness had been carried away like a fish at the butcher and spoiled in ways she might never know.

“You're going to die of an infection” she had responded instead, choking down any wetness that threatened her eyes and voice, yet he let her small hands poke the heel nonetheless. He laughed as she had traced the J. She tried not to think of her father. Of her mother. She stared ahead at the awful, bloody mess on the foot of the man who had raised her and committed it to her mind like a portrait, one she would hide away so that maybe the mildew that infected every other thing that could be beautiful of her mind- it could not touch it.

It would stay dry and hidden, but It would stay hers.