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novaursa · 2 months ago

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The Queen's Command (2/2)

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- Summary: You came to Westeros to offer your services to the crown as a healer. And once the Dance starts and both Queens start to curry for your favor, you are forced to change the already written destiny of this war forever.

- Paring: Rhaenyra Targaryen/male!reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: Be aware of the time jumps.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1/2

- Tag(s): @subjectac7 @isansstuff @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The night air on Driftmark was suffocating, the aftermath of Laena Velaryon’s funeral long overshadowed by the violence that had erupted between the children. The stone halls of High Tide, once somber in mourning, were now buzzing with fear and anger as lords, ladies, and guards gathered in the Great Hall, surrounding the injured prince.

Aemond sat on a stone bench, blood streaming down his face from the horrific wound where his eye had once been. Grand Maester Mellos hovered over him, his hands shaking slightly as he prepared his tools, the sharp tang of herbs and ointments filling the air. Viserys stood pale and helpless, watching over the scene with a deep sadness, while Alicent paced beside him, her face a mask of fury and concern.

Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys had arrived moments earlier, alerted by the chaos. The moment they saw Aemond’s bloodied face and the children huddled in fear and anger, it was clear the gravity of the situation had far outstripped any funeral rites. Corlys’s voice cut through the din as he barked orders to his guards.

“Go fetch him,” Corlys commanded, his tone grim. “Bring our healer.”

Rhaenys glanced at her husband, surprised but trusting. Corlys’ employment of a mysterious healer had always been a point of contention with Mellos and the other maesters, but he had proven his worth time and again. Now, with Aemond’s life hanging in the balance, Corlys wasn’t taking any chances.

The Kingsguard stood in a tense line, swords at their sides, unsure of what might happen next. The children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela, and Rhaena—were still being held in check by guards, their faces pale as they watched the horror they had played a part in unfold. Luke’s face was stricken, his small hands covered in blood, shaking from the realization of what he had done.

Mellos looked up as he applied pressure to Aemond’s wound, muttering to the king, “We need to act quickly. The wound must be cleaned, stitched, or infection will take hold. I fear the eye is lost, Your Grace. There is nothing more I can do.”

Alicent, standing beside Viserys, her hands clutching each other tightly, looked frantic. Her son was maimed, his face forever changed. Her gaze flickered to Luke and Jace with seething anger. Before she could respond, the doors to the hall swung open, and the guards returned with you in tow.

You strode in, wearing your Asshaii robes, the dark fabrics catching the torchlight as you approached. The moment you entered, the room fell into a deep silence. All eyes were on you, and the tension ratcheted up even further. Your face was concealed behind your mask, as it always was, and your appearance—foreign, strange—made you stand out even more starkly against the richly-dressed nobles of Westeros.

Mellos straightened immediately, bristling at your arrival. “This is not necessary, Lord Corlys,” he said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “I have the situation under control. The boy’s eye must be treated properly, cleaned, and stitched before infection sets in. This man’s methods are… unorthodox.”

Corlys ignored the Maester’s protests, his voice calm but firm. “I trust my healer’s skills, Grand Maester. He has proven himself more than capable of saving lives where others have failed.”

You approached Aemond, your eyes flicking briefly over the prince’s injured face, assessing the situation with the calm detachment of a healer who had seen far worse wounds. Mellos, still standing over the boy, looked at you with open disdain, stepping in your way as you neared.

“The eye is gone,” Mellos said flatly. “There is no saving it. The boy will need to be stitched up before it festers. That is the only way.”

You did not respond to him, instead turning your attention fully to Aemond. Your voice was quiet but clear, laced with your distinct accent as you addressed the room. “The eye is not yet lost. I can save it, but only if I act now.”

A wave of surprise rippled through the room. Even Aemond, despite his pain, blinked up at you in disbelief. His mother, Alicent, took a step forward, her voice sharp with hope. “You can save his eye?”

Mellos scoffed, turning to Viserys and Otto, his voice rising with indignation. “This is madness. His methods defy the very will of the Seven! The wound is too severe—if we do not treat it in the traditional way, the boy could lose more than just his eye. Infection, fever—it could kill him!”

You stood firm, your hands steady and prepared. “I have seen injuries like this before. The methods I use are from Asshai, far beyond the knowledge of Westerosi maesters. I can save the eye if you allow me to work.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the King or the Hand to respond. Viserys looked torn, his eyes filled with uncertainty, but before he could speak, Alicent stepped forward. Her voice cut through the silence, firm and unyielding. “Let him do it.”

Otto Hightower stiffened immediately, his gaze darting toward his daughter. “Alicent—”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice cold but resolute. “This is my son. If there is even a chance he can keep his eye, I will take it. Let him work.”

Otto frowned, his mouth tightening into a hard line, but he said nothing more. The decision had been made, and Alicent’s gaze had a fire in it that brooked no argument.

Mellos, clearly furious, stepped back, his lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line as he moved aside to let you through. “You will regret this,” he muttered under his breath, but no one responded.

You knelt beside Aemond, pulling your satchel open, and began to work quickly and methodically. The room fell into an uneasy silence as you applied a dark salve from the Shadowlands, your hands steady as you worked with a confidence born from experience. You could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you—Mellos watching like a hawk, Otto frowning in the background, and Alicent standing near, her gaze never leaving her son.

As you worked, Aemond hissed in pain, but he did not flinch. The boy was strong, and you could sense a resolve in him that reminded you of those you had treated on the battlefield—those who had survived even when the odds were stacked against them.

Minutes passed, tense and quiet, as you stitched the wound using thread coated with a special tincture. You worked with precision, ignoring the disapproving mutterings of Mellos nearby. Finally, you sat back, your work complete.

“The healing will take time,” you said, rising to your feet. “But his eye will recover.”

Alicent released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her relief evident. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

The doors to the hall slammed open with force, and in strode Rhaenyra and Daemon, their faces a mixture of worry and fury. They had clearly heard the commotion and rushed to see what had happened. Rhaenyra's eyes immediately fell on her children—Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena—who were standing apart from Aemond, looking shaken but defiant. She moved to them quickly, kneeling down to inspect them, her hands brushing over their faces and arms, making sure they were unharmed.

But then, as she glanced up, her eyes fell on you. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, her world stopped. She hadn’t expected to see you here, not after all this time—not after you had promised that your paths would cross again. Yet, here you were, standing over Aemond, your mask now removed, your dark and foreign features bathed in the flickering torchlight. The sight of you stirred something deep within her, a flood of emotions rushing through her heart.

Before Rhaenyra could speak, before she could ask why you had returned, Alicent’s voice cut through the air, sharp and venomous.

“Look at what your son has done to mine!” Alicent barked, her eyes blazing as she turned on Rhaenyra, her finger pointed toward Aemond, who still sat on the bench, his face bandaged, the remnants of blood on his cheek. “He has maimed Aemond! He will never be the same because of your boy.”

Rhaenyra’s shock turned to rage as she rose, her protective instincts flaring. But before she could speak, the children began to talk all at once, their voices overlapping in a chaotic mess of accusations and defenses.

“He stole Vhagar!” Jace shouted, his eyes wide with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

“He called us bastards!” Luke added, his voice trembling with both fear and defiance.

“He has no right to Vhagar! She was our mother’s dragon!” Baela cried out, her face flushed with fury as Rhaena, standing beside her, nodded in agreement, her own tears threatening to spill.

The hall erupted in noise, the children’s voices mingling with the angry murmurs of the gathered nobles and guards. Rhaenyra’s hands tightened into fists at her sides, her eyes narrowing as she glared at Alicent. Daemon stood at her side, his eyes cold and dangerous as he surveyed the scene, his hand twitching toward his sword.

But before the situation could escalate further, you stepped forward, your calm, measured voice cutting through the chaos like a knife.

“Dragons cannot be stolen.”

The room fell into a sudden, stunned silence as all eyes turned to you. You met Rhaenyra’s gaze briefly before turning to Aemond, your expression neutral but supportive. “Vhagar chose him. Just as your dragons chose you,” you continued, your voice steady. “The bond between a dragon and rider is not something that can be taken by force. It is forged by something deeper.”

Aemond looked up at you, his good eye wide with surprise. For the first time since the incident, someone had spoken in his defense. Despite his injury, there was a spark of gratitude in his gaze as he listened to your words.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flickered with a mixture of emotions as she processed your defense of Aemond. Part of her bristled at the thought, but she knew you were right. Even in her anger, she could not deny the truth of your words.

You turned back to Aemond, your tone softening as you spoke to him directly. “You should rest, Prince Aemond. The wound will take time to heal.”

Aemond nodded slowly, still clearly in pain but comforted by your calm presence. You turned away then, making your way toward the door, your dark robes flowing behind you as you moved through the silent hall. As you passed by Mellos, you caught his muttering discontent under his breath, but you paid him no mind. His opinion no longer mattered.

Viserys, standing by the edge of the room, watched you go with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. As you passed him, he whispered, “Thank you,” his voice so low that only you could hear.

You offered the briefest of nods before slipping out of the hall, leaving behind a room full of tension and unfinished arguments. You knew the storm brewing within these walls was far from over, but for now, you had done your part. The rest would be up to them.

And as the door closed behind you, the weight of Rhaenyra’s gaze followed you out, her heart still racing from seeing you again after all these years.

Later that night, the corridors of Driftmark were quiet. You were alone, standing in a small antechamber, gazing out of the window into the dark sea. The events of the evening played on your mind, but you were used to such chaos. The court had always been a breeding ground for chaos and intrigue, and tonight had been no different.

The door creaked open softly behind you, but you didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Her presence was unmistakable. Queen Alicent’s footsteps were light, hesitant as she approached.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice low, almost uncertain.

You turned to face her, watching as she stood there, her fingers clutching the folds of her gown nervously. Her face was a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, something she seemed to be struggling to put into words.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said, her eyes lowering briefly before flicking back up to meet yours. “For what you did for Aemond. You saved his eye. I... I didn’t think it was possible, but you did it.”

You inclined your head slightly. “I was doing my job, Your Grace. Nothing more.”

Alicent’s lips pressed together, as though she had expected a different response, something more personal. There was an awkward pause as she seemed to weigh her next words carefully. You could see it—the conflict in her eyes, the weight of her father’s warnings, the judgment of the Faith. Yet there was something else there, too—something that had been stirring within her for far longer.

“I know why you were dismissed by the crown,” she admitted, her voice softer now, as if confessing a secret. “My father warned me about you. He said your methods were unnatural, that you were dangerous. And yet...” She trailed off, stepping closer, her eyes searching yours. “I watched you in court, when you served. I couldn’t help it. There was something about you. Something that I couldn’t ignore.”

Her hand, hesitant at first, slid up your arm. The touch was light, testing, as though she expected you to pull away. But you didn’t flinch. You stood still, your eyes steady as you watched her, understanding what she wanted, what had been stirring within her for years now.

“I was always drawn to you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, as if speaking the words aloud might break something fragile within her. “Even if it was against everything the Faith taught me. Everything my father said.”

You allowed her touch, her hand moving up your arm, her fingers brushing the edge of your robes. There was a tension between the two of you now, palpable and thick, and yet you didn’t move away. Instead, you tilted your head slightly, allowing her to continue.

Alicent’s breath hitched, her hand lingering at the edge of your robe, her fingers trembling slightly as they slid further up. Her gaze flickered with uncertainty, but also desire—desire that had been buried beneath layers of duty and repression for far too long.

“You don’t stop me,” she whispered, her voice almost accusing, though there was no heat behind it. Her other hand reached up, brushing against the edge of your collar, her fingers trembling slightly. “You let me...”

You tilted your head, your expression calm, though your eyes held hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “I understand what you want, Alicent,” you murmured, your voice low and steady. “I will not stop you. You’ve been bound by chains for far too long.”

Alicent swallowed hard, her breath shallow as she processed your words. Slowly, she began to disrobe herself, her fingers moving with deliberate slowness as she unclasped the brooch holding her gown together. The fabric slipped from her shoulders, revealing the pale skin beneath, and she stepped closer to you, her eyes never leaving yours.

Her breath came in soft, uneven gasps as the gown fell to the floor, pooling at her feet. For a moment, she stood there, vulnerable, exposed in more ways than one, waiting for your reaction.

You remained still, your eyes studying her without judgment, your hands at your sides. The quiet understanding between you stretched on, the boundaries of propriety and duty long forgotten in the silence of the night. There was no need for words now. What was about to happen had been written long ago, a secret desire neither of you could deny any longer.

Alicent reached up, her fingers grazing your jaw, her touch tentative but filled with need. You did not pull away. Instead, you allowed her to explore this moment, to embrace what she had been too afraid to admit to herself for so long.

The moon hung low over Driftmark, casting its silver light through the windows of the chamber where you and Alicent stood in the quiet aftermath of your encounter. The fire in the hearth had burned low, embers crackling softly as the room filled with the muted sounds of fabric rustling. You pulled your robes over your shoulders, the dark cloth sliding easily into place as you fastened the ties and reached for your mask.

Alicent, still standing near the bed, dressed slowly, her mind seemingly far away. Her hands moved absently over the delicate fabric of her gown as she pulled it back into place, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. The silence between the two of you had settled into something heavy, and it lingered as you adjusted the mask over your face, returning to the familiar anonymity that had shielded you from the world for so long.

As you fastened the final strap, covering your features once more, Alicent finally spoke, her voice quiet but filled with uncertainty. "What happens now?"

You turned to face her, your eyes meeting hers through the shadow of the mask. For a moment, you simply regarded her, the vulnerability in her expression, the weight of everything that had passed between you still hanging in the air. There was no regret in her eyes, but there was something else—something fragile, like she was standing on the edge of a precipice and didn’t know what lay beyond.

“Now,” you said softly, “I leave.”

Alicent blinked, her brow furrowing slightly as she took a step closer. “You’re leaving? Where will you go?”

“Where I am needed next,” you replied, your voice calm and even, as if the answer had always been inevitable.

Alicent’s lips parted as she struggled with the reality of your words. “I can speak with my father. I can convince him, perhaps even convince Viserys. They could employ you again—bring you back into the court. Your skills could still be of use.”

But before she could continue, you raised a hand, cutting her off gently. “No,” you said, your voice firm but not unkind. “The crown is dead, Alicent. It is no longer something I need to serve.”

The words hung between you, stark and final, and you could see the flash of confusion in her eyes. She had spent so long within the walls of power, serving the whims of the crown, that the idea of someone simply walking away from it, choosing another path, seemed foreign to her. She stood there, searching your eyes, trying to understand.

“But...,” Alicent began, her voice faltering as she realized there was nothing she could say to change your mind. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” you said softly, taking a step toward the door, “that my time with the crown is over. I go where I am called now, and Driftmark, King’s Landing... they are no longer places for me.”

Alicent took a deep breath, her hand coming to rest against the frame of the bed as if she needed the support. “Will I ever see you again?”

You paused at the door, your hand resting on the handle as you turned back to face her one last time. The mask obscured your features, but your eyes met hers, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something unspoken between you.

“Perhaps,” you said quietly. “But our paths were never meant to follow the same course for long.”

With that, you opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air, leaving the warmth of the chamber behind. The torches lining the halls flickered as you passed, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the silence.

Behind you, Alicent stood alone in the room, watching as the door slowly closed. The weight of the night, of what had transpired, pressed down on her as she stood there, feeling the chill of the empty space where you had once been. She wrapped her arms around herself, as though trying to hold onto something—something that had already slipped away.

And outside, the sea whispered against the shores of Driftmark, its endless rhythm a reminder that the world moved on, even when the heart wished to stay.

The wind howled around Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant, ever-present whisper of the sea. Within the stone walls of the castle, chaos reigned. Word had come from King’s Landing, brought by a raven in the dead of night—the news that shattered the fragile peace Rhaenyra had built around herself.

King Viserys was dead.

And the Hightowers had already acted, crowning Aegon the Elder as king, usurping the throne that rightfully belonged to her. The blow had struck deep, sending Rhaenyra into a state of shock so profound that her body had betrayed her. She went into early labor, her third child with Daemon, not yet due for weeks, now threatening to come into the world far too soon.

For three long, agonizing days, Rhaenyra labored. The cries of pain and anguish echoed through the halls of Dragonstone, casting a pall of anxiety over everyone within the castle. Daemon had not left her side, his face etched with worry as he paced outside her chambers, unable to do anything but listen to her suffering.

On the night of the third day, the storm that had been brewing over Dragonstone reached its peak, dark clouds swirling overhead, the rain coming down in sheets. Inside the dimly lit chamber, Rhaenyra writhed in pain, her body struggling against the birth that should not have come so soon. Maesters and midwives hovered over her, their hands trembling as they attempted to assist, but her strength was fading. And in her agony, her voice broke through the noise, crying out a name that hadn’t been spoken in years.

“Y/N!” she screamed, her voice hoarse and desperate, echoing through the stone walls. Her hand gripped the edge of the bed as another wave of pain wracked her body. “Y/N!”

Daemon, standing just outside the door, stiffened at the sound of the name. He glanced at the midwives who scurried in and out of the chamber, his jaw tightening. The name lingered in the air like a ghost, a reminder of someone he hadn’t seen in years—a shadow from Rhaenyra’s past.

Before he could make sense of the moment, one of his men rushed to him, breathless and soaked from the storm. “My lord,” the guard panted, “a ship just docked, and a figure... a masked and robed figure... arrived. He is asking for you.”

Daemon’s heart pounded in his chest as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. He turned sharply to the guard, his voice low and filled with tension. “Where is he?”

“On the beach, my lord. He came ashore alone. The crew stayed back.”

Without another word, Daemon stormed down the corridors of Dragonstone, his footsteps heavy with purpose. The rain was relentless as he stepped outside, the wind whipping his silver hair around his face, but he barely noticed. His focus was singular, his mind racing with the implications of what this could mean.

The beach was a blur of grey and white, the storm churning the sea into violent waves. And there, standing alone on the shore, was the figure Daemon had heard about. The robes were unmistakable—dark, flowing, and shadowed by the flickering light of the torches held by his men. The mask covered his face, just as it had years ago when Daemon had last seen him.

The healer from Asshai. Y/N.

Daemon approached quickly, his sword at his side, though his hand did not rest on the hilt. His eyes locked on the figure before him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough from days of sleepless worry. “Why now?”

You turned slowly to face him, your mask hiding the expression beneath, but your eyes gleamed in the torchlight. “I go where I am needed,” you said, your voice as calm and enigmatic as ever. “And she called for me.”

Daemon’s jaw clenched. “She needs more than your tricks,” he said coldly, though there was a flicker of hope buried beneath the anger. “She’s been in labor for days, and the child—” His voice faltered, betraying the fear he rarely showed. “The child may not survive.”

You nodded once, stepping forward. “Take me to her.”

The storm raged on, but within the halls of Dragonstone, the tension was even more palpable. The midwives and maesters surrounding Rhaenyra barely noticed as you entered the room, your presence commanding without needing to say a word. All eyes turned to you, but none dared question your right to be there.

Daemon entered behind you, his gaze never leaving Rhaenyra’s trembling form on the bed. Her hair, damp with sweat, clung to her face, and her eyes fluttered with exhaustion. She looked up as you approached, her breath catching.

“Y/N...” she whispered, her voice weak but filled with relief. “You... came.”

You knelt by her side, your fingers brushing lightly over her forehead, feeling the fever that had taken hold of her. “You called for me,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. “And I am here.”

Rhaenyra’s lips trembled, her fingers reaching out to grasp yours weakly. “Save my child,” she begged, her eyes filled with desperation. “Please.”

You glanced briefly at Daemon, who stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes dark with worry. Then, you turned back to Rhaenyra, your voice steady. “I will do everything I can.”

As you began your work, the room fell into an uneasy silence, the storm outside roaring as you focused on the task at hand.

Daemon watched, his heart pounding as he placed his trust—once again—in the healer from Asshai.

The maesters and midwives stood by, their faces pale and uncertain, as they reluctantly stepped aside to allow you to approach Rhaenyra. The storm outside seemed to echo the turmoil within the room, the howling wind and crashing waves matching the chaotic emotions swirling around them all. The maesters exchanged uneasy glances, their rigid adherence to tradition conflicting with the reality of Rhaenyra's condition and your presence.

Your hands moved with calm precision, though the weight of the room’s eyes was heavy upon you. The midwives whispered among themselves, clearly uncomfortable with what was happening, but they dared not challenge you—not with Daemon standing nearby, his gaze dark and intense, a silent command that kept everyone in check.

The birth was long and painful. Rhaenyra’s cries echoed off the stone walls, her body wracked with exhaustion after days of labor. Daemon’s face, normally so controlled, was tight with worry as he watched her struggle, his fists clenched at his sides. Time seemed to stretch endlessly, each moment pulling tighter on the threads of fate that bound them all together.

And then, in the oppressive silence that followed, the child came into the world.

You held the small, silent babe in your hands, her tiny body still and unnervingly quiet. The room seemed to hold its breath, the absence of a newborn’s cry weighing down on everyone like a leaden shroud. The silence was deafening.

“It’s a girl,” you said quietly, your voice cutting through the tension as you gently cradled the child in your arms.

Rhaenyra’s head turned weakly toward you, her face pale, eyes wide with fear and exhaustion. Daemon’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes fixed on the still form of his daughter. The maesters and midwives shifted nervously, their faces filled with dread.

“She’s not—” Grand Maester Gerardys began, but you cut him off with a calm but firm voice.

“Leave the room.”

The command was simple, but it hung in the air like a challenge. The maesters hesitated, Gerardys stepping forward as though to protest, but before he could say anything more, Rhaenyra’s voice, weak but filled with authority, spoke up.

“Go,” she ordered, her eyes sharp despite her exhaustion. “All of you. Leave us.”

The room fell silent once more, the tension crackling like lightning in the air. Daemon gave you a long, searching look, his face tight with uncertainty, but he nodded slowly. His hand lingered on Rhaenyra’s for a moment before he turned to leave, his steps slow and reluctant. The others followed, filing out of the chamber one by one, the oppressive silence returning as the door closed behind them.

For hours, Daemon stood outside the chamber doors, his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Grand Maester Gerardys stood beside him, his face stiff with skepticism and unease. The storm continued to rage outside, its fury mirrored by the fear that gnawed at Daemon’s heart.

“Whatever that man claims to be able to do,” Gerardys muttered, his voice tight with disbelief, “it is impossible. The child was born still. There is no—”

Before he could finish, a sharp, piercing cry filled the air.

Daemon’s head snapped toward the door, his heart pounding in his chest. The maester’s eyes widened in disbelief, his face paling as the newborn’s wails continued, clear and strong.

“That... that is not possible,” Gerardys stammered, his voice trembling with shock. But Daemon was already moving, his hand throwing the door open as he rushed back into the chamber.

Inside, the sight that greeted him was something no one could have expected. Rhaenyra lay in the bed, her body weak but her face alight with emotion as she cradled her newborn daughter in her arms. The small babe was very much alive, her tiny fists clenched as she cried out into the night, filling the room with the sound of life.

The midwives gasped in shock as they gathered near the door, their hands covering their mouths as they took in the miraculous sight. Even Gerardys, ever the skeptic, stood frozen in the doorway, his disbelief etched into his every feature.

Rhaenyra, tears in her eyes, looked up at Daemon as he approached the bed, her voice soft but filled with awe. “Her name is Visenya.”

Daemon stood there, rooted to the spot, his eyes wide as he stared at the tiny girl, alive and well, nestled in her mother’s arms. His gaze flickered to you, standing quietly in the corner of the room, your robes shadowed by the flickering light of the fire. He looked at you, bewildered, searching for some explanation—some answer to the impossible.

But your mask, as always, betrayed nothing.

You stood silently, watching as the room filled with wonder and disbelief, your role in the miracle already fading into the background. Visenya’s cries echoed around you, the sound of life returning to the hall. And as you moved toward the door, your part in the story complete, Daemon’s gaze followed you, questions burning in his eyes—but you offered no answers.

As you stepped out of the chamber and into the cold corridors of Dragonstone, the storm outside began to fade, leaving behind only the soft whisper of the sea and the distant cries of a newborn who had defied the odds to enter the world.

You stood by the hearth, your hand clutching a letter—its seal bearing the unmistakable sigil of House Hightower. The letter had arrived just hours ago, carried across the sea from King’s Landing. It bore a simple message, written in the elegant hand of Dowager Queen Alicent, summoning you to the capital.

The words echoed in your mind as you reread the letter one final time:

"I now have the power to employ you once more. Aegon, the rightful King, and Aemond both support my decision. Come to King’s Landing. Your place is with us."

With a flick of your wrist, you cast the letter into the fire. The paper curled and blackened as the flames consumed it, the message reduced to ash. You watched it burn without a word, your face expressionless behind your mask.

The sound of the door opening behind you pulled your attention away from the fire. You turned, your eyes narrowing slightly as you saw Rhaenyra step into the room. She was calm, her expression soft but thoughtful as she moved with the quiet grace that always seemed to surround her. Her silver hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her violet eyes held the weight of too many burdens.

You nodded in greeting, acknowledging her presence, but said nothing. She took a seat in one of the chairs by the hearth, her fingers tracing the armrests as she stared into the flames for a long moment. The firelight danced across her features, highlighting the exhaustion that lingered beneath her outward composure.

“I don’t know how to ever repay you,” she said quietly, her voice filled with a vulnerability she rarely allowed herself to show. “For what you did for me, for my daughter.” She paused, glancing at you with an almost sad smile. “You refused every reward I offered.”

You stood silent for a moment before speaking, your voice low but steady. “I need nothing, Rhaenyra. I live to serve.”

Rhaenyra frowned at your response, her eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and concern. “You speak of service,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I wonder… who or what do you serve, truly?”

You didn’t respond immediately, the question hanging in the air between you. It was a question you had asked yourself many times, but the answer remained elusive, always just out of reach. Rhaenyra watched you closely, waiting, but when you offered no reply, she didn’t press. Instead, she sighed, her gaze softening.

“You abandoned me,” she said quietly, her words carrying the weight of years. “All those years ago, when you left the court. You left without a word, and I never saw you again.”

There was no accusation in her voice, only sadness. It was a wound that had never fully healed.

“I have abandoned many things in my life,” you replied, your voice even, though there was a hint of something deeper beneath it.

Rhaenyra rose from her chair, moving toward you with slow, deliberate steps. When she was close enough to reach out, she did, her fingers brushing against the side of your masked face with a tenderness that had never dimmed over the years. The warmth of her touch was a stark contrast to the cold distance you often kept between yourself and the world.

“You will always have a place by my side,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with conviction. “You belong here, with me.”

For a moment, you stood there, her hand resting against your mask, her touch filled with affection and something more. The weight of your shared history pressed down on you, and the years you had spent apart suddenly felt insignificant compared to the bond that still tied you to her.

But just as quickly as she had come close, Rhaenyra pulled away, letting her hand fall back to her side. She gave you one last, lingering look before turning and leaving the room, her footsteps fading into the distance as the door closed softly behind her.

You were left alone once more, the crackle of the fire the only sound in the room.

And now, you were faced with a choice.

On one side, there was Rhaenyra—the Black Queen, the woman who had just bared her heart to you, offering a place by her side in the fight for the throne. She had never forgotten you, never let go of the connection you shared, and now she was calling you back, offering you a role in her kingdom.

But on the other side, there was Alicent, waiting for you in King’s Landing. The Dowager Queen, who had always been drawn to you despite her father’s warnings, now had the power to bring you back into the fold. She had reached out to you, offering a place in Aegon’s court, with the support of both Aegon and Aemond behind her.

Two queens, two crowns. Two paths.

And now, the choice was yours to make.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra x reader #rhaenyra x male reader #rhaenyra x you #rhaenyra x y/n #alicent hightower #alicent x reader #alicent x male reader #alicent x you #alicent x y/n #queen rhaenyra #hotd alicent #queen alicent #hotd rhaenyra

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thebisexualdogdad · 1 year ago

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Summer road trip with the batfam (batfam x GN!reader)

● so Bruce rented an RV for the batfam to go on a three month coast to coast road trip

● no crime fighting, just family time

● with you, Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Barbara, Duke, Cass, Stephanie and of course Haley and Ace it was a bit of a tight squeeze

● Alfred was back at home taking a much needed work free staycation

● Kate was also invited but she refused to be stuck in an RV with ten other people all summer, she and Alfred are happy having breakfast together once a week

● Bruce drives the entire time with Damian as his navigator

● mostly because Damian and Jason would kill each other if they weren't separated

● Jason has purposely instigated fights with Damian by eating his snacks clearly labeled 'Damian' on them

● and sometimes Jason gets accused when it was actually Cass who took Damians snacks

● Barbara has every kind of first aid or bug repellent you can think of

● you stop to go kayaking and she pulls six different kinds of sunscreen out of her bag

● Cass is the one delegated to documenting the trip

● and she takes her job very seriously

● she never not has her camera in her hands either taking pictures or videos

● Stephanie "no Cass we do not need photos of the gas station bathroom"

● and she has photos of everyone sleeping in weird positions on the rv

● and a video of Jason snoring to prove to him that he does in fact snore

● you all take turns on where you guys sleep

● there's one queen sized bed in the back that fits three and the two couches turn into a bed that fits another three and the rest are in sleeping bags on the floor

● Ace and Haley however always sleep cuddling someone in the nice comfy queen bed

● Tim has researched every single place you guys are stopping at

● Bruce thought it would be fun to just wing it and see what happens

● but Tim would not let that happen, he has the entire trip planned out down to what towns you would need to stop in for gas

● places everyone requested to go that Tim denied

● Bruce: the world's biggest ball of yarn because it's a classic road trip must see

● Dick: the corn palace

● Jason: vegas

● Damian: probably like a sword museum in the middle of nowhere that he somehow knows has an authentic ancient sword the museum thinks is a replica

● Barbara: the mothman museum

● Stephanie: Roswell

● Duke: the first taco bell

● Cass: dinosaur world

● you do stop at multiple national parks

● going hiking and swimming in little lakes with their own waterfalls

● Jason tries to sneak a snake he finds back onto the RV

● Duke "Oh no, absolutely not, get that thing out of here"

● Damian "you afraid of a little old snake Thomas?"

● Duke "that thing is not little, it is a deadly creature and I do not want it anywhere near me!"

● the RV breaks down outside a town in Wyoming with no cell service

● you all argue about who has to walk the five miles into town to get help

● Bruce and Dick are the two that end up having to do it

● when they return Damian has Tim in a headlock and Cass is taking video of it

● the random guy with the tow truck they brought back "uhh are they okay"

● Bruce "Oh yeah this is normal for them"

● you and Stephanie ended up breaking the no crime fighting rule when you went into a convenience store for more snacks and walked right into a robbery in action

● you two kicked their asses with ease, tied them up for the cops and bought your snacks like nothing happened

● Barbara back at the RV "Y/N is that blood on your face?"

● "nope don't worry about it!"

● Dick brings lots of board games to play while on the road

● Tim and Damian go way too hard trying to win which you have to play mediator for before they try to throw each other out the moving RV

● Jason still loses even though he cheats

● and Stephanie pretends not to know the rules just to mess with Tim and Damian

● you also stop at a bunch of campgrounds, telling ghost stories and having s'mores around a fire

● Barbara "has anyone seen Jason?"

● Dick "I'm pretty sure he said something about being excited to finally cross off peeing in the woods off his bucket list"

● Duke "he has the weirdest bucket list"

● a lot of you are big readers so there's books packed everywhere

● Duke "ooh we should have a book club"

● Jason "absolutely not you're lucky I even participate in Grayson's lame board games"

● Damian "for once I actually agree with Todd"

● you guys finally make it to the west coast and you all stumble out of the RV

● Tim "thank God this trip is finally over"

● Bruce "Tim we are only half way, we still have another month of driving back to Gotham"

● Stephanie "I should have stayed home with Alfred"

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monstersdownthepath · 5 months ago

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Herald of Besmara: Kelpie's Wrath

CR 15

Chaotic Neutral Colossal Outsider

Adventure Path: Skulls and Shackles: The Wormwood Mutiny, pg. 86-87

When one thinks of Besmara they likely think of "piracy," but her other two areas of concern are 'strife' and 'sea monsters.' One may thus believe that Besmara's Herald may be a powerful pirate captain, or perhaps an intelligent sea beast which either inhabits or commands a vessel. The most visionary may believe that Besmara's Herald could be nothing less than a whole crew of people running an enchanted ship! So when a mysterious fog rolls in and the lights of a ship that wasn't there alight from nowhere, the party may be tempted to look towards the helm, or the prow, or perhaps even the crow's nest to try and spot who's commanding the intimidating galleon... only for the skull at the front to tell you to quit eyein' its aft like some kind of pervert.

Indeed, Besmara has an elegant solution to the problem of what her Herald would look like. It's not a crew on a ship, or a sea monster, or a singular captain, it's a ship made of a sea monster which captains itself and utilizes a crew of zombie sailors when needed. Despite it's skeletal appearance and ghoulish powers, the Kelpie's Wrath is as alive as any demon or dragon, though it can passably imitate the feared ghost ships which haunt the seas at night, able to conjure ghostly lights (Dancing Lights), fearful sights (Major Image), and zombie fights (summoning a crew of up to 20 draugr) seemingly at a whim and wielding terrifying, spectral weapons and even whole ghostly creatures as though they were limbs. Many crews who've found themselves in its sights mistakenly believe its illusions and conjured zombies to be the real threats, unaware that the ship itself is their true enemy... and even if they did, it's unlikely to help.

Have you ever fought an enemy that was its own stage hazard? You don't want to, especially if that enemy can Plane Shift or Teleport with you in tow... or just immediately dive underwater. Though you have to fail a DC 18 Will save to be shanghai'd into another plane, having a ship suddenly teleport out from under you or dive a hundred feet underwater and drag you behind it is a real danger regardless of the situation, and it puts you at a huge disadvantage if you can't immediately clamber back aboard YOUR ship, fly, or walk on water. And if the phantom ship resurfaces right next to you...

Actually, what am I talking about? "If?" No, when. It's a pirate in service to the Queen of Pirates, and pirates are quite famous for never fighting fair. If you find yourselves prey to the Kelpie's Wrath, it's going to use every trick it has in the most underhanded ways it can. Let's take a look at what that entails...

We'll start with the obvious: It's an entire ship. Nearly a hundred feet long and hovering around 25 to 30 feet wide, the Wrath is a battlefield unto itself, but you absolutely do not want to stand on it to fight, because that's just asking for a terrible death. Engaging it from afar means you 'only' have to deal with its 40ft space and 30ft reach, denoting which part of itself it's focusing on defending, which is still a radius that covers most traditional battle maps entirely. Because you're only ever going to be encountering the Wrath on the high seas (regardless of what world or plane those seas are on), staying out of its reach is practically impossible unless you're using Pathfinder's rules for ship combat to engage it with a vessel of your own (WARNING: Do Not Do This), and you will inevitably be forced into melee with it... and then, unfortunately, forced onto it, which as previously mentioned is almost certain doom.

Everything within the Wrath's threat radius is subject to its trio of incorporeal touch attacks, which manifest as immense clawed hands, ghostly weapons, spectral sailors, and skeletal sea beasts of ages past, each one raking over the ship's target for 3d6 untyped damage plus 3d6 Electricity AND 3d6 Fire damage. The primary danger presented by these phantoms is that the party may not immediately know what's going on or recognize just how the attack works; the Wrath can conjure a crew of draugr to fight atop it AND it can use Major Image at any point within its reach, letting it clutter up the battlefield with obstacles which present no true danger to the party but which it can use as vectors for its incorporeal attacks, potentially making a party member out uselessly against illusions, insubstantial phantoms, and inconsequential minions.

Muddying the waters further, Wrath can use Seeming 3/day to swath its draugr sailors in magical disguises to make them appear more important than they truly are. Able to communicate telepathically, the ship can give complex orders to its entire crew at once to run baffling distractions or attack in tandem with it to make them seem like true threats, a tactic especially useful if the party doesn't yet recognize the ship is alive (or foolishly believes that only the skeletal figurehead is alive). Kelpie's Wrath thrives on sowing confusion when it attacks, and a DM would do well to remember that, describing its attacks and abilities in terms which feel ambiguous, like they could be coming from anywhere, like that one fancy draugr at the ship's helm that's dressed up like the captain or the strange balls of light dancing along its sails.

Even if the party feels like something is wrong, they'll have to go with their gut on this one; magic is unreliable when fighting the vile ship. Not because of any aura or unique ability it has, but because its space/reach means it can make extremely good use of its Disruptive and Spellbreaker feats, the former making it more difficult to cast spells defensively while in its threat radius (which is everywhere), the latter provoking Attacks of Opportunity if you fail the check to cast defensively.

Its touch attacks aren't just bad because of the damage, either. Being hit with two or more of them in a round lets it Keelhaul the unfortunate victim, repositioning them as a free action. Now, a reposition is a Combat Maneuver, which means it has to roll a CMB check versus the target's CMD. The average CMD of a 10th level Human Fighter is hovering anywhere between 25 and 35 depending on if they dumped Dex (WARNING: Do Not Do This) or got ahold of Str boosting items, and let's see what the Kelpie's Wrath has for its CMB...

+41?!

ah, right, Colossal size. This thing can juggle most players. Hope your party cohesion didn't rely on people being in specific positions!

In case you're not sure how the maneuver works: if you're repositioned, the attacker can shunt you into another space so long as that space is A) Within their reach, and B) within 5ft of your previous space... but for every 5 points the attacker's CMB check beats your CMD, that's another 5ft of movement. Now, remember how gigantic the Wrath's threat radius is? That's a LOT of potential spaces you can be shuttled into, and every 5ft you're moved from its Keelhaul you take an additional 1d6 damage because it's literally using your face to scrape barnacles and algae off itself. Keelhaul is an especially potent ability if used on the high seas, because the ability specifically states that it can use its repositions to drag victims underwater, forcing them into the ever-dreaded underwater combat scenario. Even if you've got Water Walk or Fly on, it can still shove you right into the drink if it beats your CMD by enough, forcing you to waste precious time getting back into the fight... if only to push you back down again, because pirates don't fight fair.

Also, Keelhaul specifically states "a creature hit with two or more of its attacks in 1 round," meaning AoOs and other off-turn attacks count. If you take one hit during its turn and then get schmacked because you triggered Spellbreaker or its Combat Reflexes, you're going into the soup.

If it doesn't want a victim in the sea, it also has the option to shove creatures directly into the center of its space, at which point victims are automatically dragged into its cargo hold and battered by treasure and captured supplies. This is treated as the swallow whole ability, victims taking 1d10+7 damage until they can get out, but it's not especially obvious what's going on, meaning players might waste their time trying to find an exit door out of the cargo hold or try to clamber back out the unyielding door when the 'proper' solution is to make a new door.

If the party manages to find out that swinging at the phantom limbs and illusions is useless, attacking the ship below their feet isn't exactly easy. The Kelpie's Wrath is magically reinforced, having an AC of 30 (hint: target its measly 6 touch AC) and DR 10/Lawful. It's got 30 Resistance to Acid, Cold, and Electricity, as well as 10 Fire Resistance and, of course, if you find yourselves managing to get past its defenses to outpace its Fast Healing 10, it can still suddenly poof away to rebuild, and if you think you can just use Dimensional Anchor or similar, it can still pop its once-per-minute Rush to crank its swim speed from 60ft to 150ft for one round, diving to the sea floor in a single round to give itself breathing room... and potentially taking breathing room from whatever schmucks are trapped in its hold.

And you know what? I've typed down... 12 entire paragraphs without even touching the Wrath's ranged options. This was on purpose! Because the Wrath is meant to get right up next to the ship it's attacking, and has every tool it needs to do so, including the ability to turn itself and its crew invisible 3/day or shroud its entire space with magical fog. Compared to all the shenanigans it can pull to get into melee and then make everyone wish it didn't, its ranged attacks need a little more preparation and math on the part of the DM, something they may not want to do on top of everything else it's already got. This is because its only ranged attack is using Telekinesis to hurl a storm of whatever garbage it's amassed at targets within 180ft of itself.

The Wrath can catapult up to 375 pounds of objects or creatures in a single action, not only allowing it to throw actual ammunition (which deals a flat 1d6 damage per 25 lbs; max 15d6 for a full weight object), but whatever it may have on hand or in its hold that it doesn't especially value. Since it can use Telekinesis at will and the spell itself has a tremendous range, there's no reason for it to ever run out of ammo, as it can simply dredge stones and wreckage from the sea floor and ferry it into its stores for later... but of course, there's nothing stopping it from using its enemies own cargo against it, or even lifting its enemies directly and throwing them around with nothing more than a thought. Most Medium-sized Humanoids weigh between 150 and 200 pounds, letting the Wrath snatch up two people at a time to toss around like ragdolls, including straight into the air if it wants.

There's something to be said about it hurling things far more dangerous than bricks and cannonballs, though, like casks of oil and a lantern, or barrels of Green Slime, or its own zombie crewmates. The Long range of Telekinesis also means it can get up to some pretty dangerous shenanigans if an enemy ship gets just a little too close, as it can pilfer cargo from a range, loose sails, send weapons hurling into the seas, or even spin cannons around just as they're about to fire if it readies an action to do so. Much like its phantom weapons, its telekinetic power helps make its illusions and zombie sailors all the more realistically threatening, adding to the confounding puppet show it puts on to throw people off.

The Kelpie's Wrath is one of the most dangerous Heralds a party to encounter, because they're going to encounter it on the seas (one of the most dangerous environments to fight in), AND they're not likely to even know it's nearby until it's dragging their crew to a watery grave. Even if they do, a DM can play up the possibility of it being a ghost ship for a while before any of them wise up to what they're really fighting, by which point someone might already be neatly folded and packed away in Davey Jones' Locker. It's not only dangerous for what it can do, but why it does what it does; most Heralds are only encountered if a god is offended, or has sent them on an important mission, but the Kelpie's Wrath freely wanders all creation in its off hours, attacking vessels with wild and greedy abandon. It's one of the few Heralds that an unlucky party may just randomly encounter, and thus have no possible way to prepare for.

You can read more about it here.

#monster spotlight #CR 11 to 15 #Misfits and Monitors Month #pathfinder #dungeons and dragons

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nexility-sims · 11 months ago

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𝐍𝐎. 𝟔 ❛ 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚 ❜ | NAKAWE PALACE, DEC. 1990

❧ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 / 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ A homecoming hadn’t been in Arnaut’s plans for years. Yet, had he imagined one, it never would have been occasioned by tragedy. The newspapers and evening news struck a grim chord as he arrived with his foreign children and foreign wife in tow: the queen’s heir was dead, and now her spare was recalled to fill the role. It need not be said aloud that this was its own calamity. While it was factual, the coverage eclipsed a deeper truth. Arnaut returned to Uspana with a hole in his life—one large enough to step through, large enough to become lost in, large enough that he could attempt, as she had, to drown within it. It tempted him. He could already hear the countervailing appeal of Safya’s voice in his ear. Duty wasn’t meaningless to him, but it was paper-thin compared to his iron reverence for her.

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

❧ i think this is my favorite scene of the episode, maybe just because i love arnaut and love him getting screen time. i had planned to write something poetic about the sharp contrasts between arnaut and lorri’s respective relationships with their sisters, but i had to sacrifice prose on the altar of exhaustion yet again. if anyone wants to ask questions, that’s a good one. & lorri is, as always, @funkyllama's baby.

TRANSCRIPT:

{Shuffling, wheels, doors opening and closing}

[L] Germán! Walk, please.

{Indistict children's voices}

{Abelina laughing}

[L] Well? A “stroll” before we go inside—?

[A] Are you okay? [L] Am I okay?

[A] Lorraine, this is it. We’re home now. [L] I know that. [A] I’m sorry.

[L] May I be honest? [A] About how you’re feeling? Please.

[L] Leaving isn’t hard. The reason for it is …

[L] What I want to say that I will not be grieving anything else.

[L] We don’t have a life in Iona to mourn. Or, I don’t. If I can put an ocean between her and myself, why would I be upset about that?

[L] You can’t worry about me. Not on top of everything else. [A] {Sighs} [L] I mean it.

[A] She isn’t here, but there will be others. Different isn’t better. [L] I know. [A] Germán and Abelina? He isn’t ready. We made sure of that. They’ve been training Leonor since she was old enough to walk—or before, even. They won’t be kind or fair to them.

[L] It’s my responsibility now. In a sense, I was born for it. I can be myself and grow into the role I have now. We all can; we all will.

[L] All I’ve ever wanted is to be of service. If that’s what will be asked of me, then I’m home now.

[A] Gone? [G] Yeah. [A] Sad? [G] Really sad, Lia.

#ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #ts4 royalty #sims 4 royalty #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 royal family #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.ep01

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 1 year ago

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We're finally at the final (thank the gods)! Things that we talked about that I haven't seen discussed:

Nathalie trying to kill Gabriel is such bullshit. "You can't do this! You'll hurt someone!" Nathalie, you have known that since day one! You knew he was working on this all season and you're good now! Why are you only trying to kill him now? You were healthy most of the season! You even physically pinned him! Oh, right, because you're not actually good. It's all just "better than thou" lip service. Hypocrisy is the easiest way to make us dislike a character and Nathalie's a massive hypocrite, so we're not fans.

Evil Nathalie was pretty fun. "Good" Nathalie is aggravating and has as lackluster a redemption as they gave Felix or perhaps even more lackluster. Felix at least switched for love of Kagami. Nathalie switched because Gabriel didn't heal her even though she had zero knowledge that he truly had a chance to do so (she wasn't there and Gabriel has never given up an opportunity to save Emilie so that he could chase Ladybug before). Adrien was never Nathalie's motivation or else we would have seen her protest things like Gorizilla, Style Queen, and Chat Blanc.

Moving on!

The mass teleport to Ladybug should have killed everyone because the whole world is supposed to be after her. A couple billion people teleporting to the same location should mean people squish each other or that portals open over each other/on top of people. Just saying. Budget saved her life because Mirauclous' Earth has a teeny tiny population due to rendering costs.

SO was mad how anticlimactic the final fight between Marinette and Gabe feels. Oh two people who barely interacted, have minimal personal connection, and always hated each other are fighting? Such a big moment! I'm so invested! He talked about how other shows build up to moments like this by making the villain terrifying or by making the villain and the hero have a strong, personal connection or even by making the fight super fun to watch, but miraculous did none of that. SO seriously didn't care about the fight at all and, to be honest, neither did I when I first watched it. I only tuned in when Marinette detransformed and I went, wait, wtf are you doing?

We get to all the scenes with heroes in other locations and SO paused the show every few seconds to ask me who tf person X was. Fei resulted in multiple pauses because of her varied forms. So I can confirm that the casual viewer totally followed this part and it was a wonderful addition (that's sarcasm, btw). He did ask "why would the French say that they need a bunch of Americans to win?" Which I though was pretty funny. That's certainly one way to read the Americans showing up!

SO works in IT. He was so mad that the laptop wasn't remotely wiped after it was lost/Lila stole it. And why does it have access to the Agreste mansion and not just the police robots? I thought Tsurugi corp was a tech company? This is all security 101.

SO's final thoughts: well that was soulless. I feel nothing. I can see why you're so done with this show.

Credit where it's due: while the final was massively disappointing from a story perspective and while I don't think Caline Bustier was written like a good teacher for anyone above the age of 5, it is really cool to show a pregnant woman run for office, win, and then be allowed to do her job with her baby in tow without any of that being treated as a joke. That's a really powerful thing for a young child to see and I'm glad it was included even Caline would make a terrible mayor in real life.

#ml writing salt #ml writing critical #ml season 5 salt #ml finale #suffering through a rewatch of season 5 for love of my SO

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atopvisenyashill · 8 months ago

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Alysanne-Daughter-of-Maegor AU

Maegor Targaryen serves as his brother’s Hand for six months before eloping with Alys Harroway, a female line descendant of House Qoherys - and thus partially Valyrian, perfectly suitable as a bride for the increasingly desperate Maegor. Forced into exile by King Aenys, Alys births her first and only child in Pentos, who she names Alysanne.

After slaughtering every descendant of House Harroway - except his daughter - and naming Walton Towers as the new Lord of Harrenhal, a distraught Alysanne demands to know why her father has not chosen to bestow Harrenhal on her instead. In lieu of an apology, Maegor has her betrothed to Walton Towers’ grandson, Mathis Towers, who will one day inherit Harrenhal. Before the wedding feast ends, however, Maegor flies back to King's Landing, Alysanne in tow, and sends Mathis out to fight the Poor Fellows.

When Hand of the King Rogar and Queen Regent Alyssa decide it is time to send Alysanne to Harrenhal to take up her seat - and marry the last of Walton Towers' grandons, a sickly infant named for her father, 15 year old Jaehaerys absconds with Alysanne to Dragonstone where the two are married, though they do not consummate the marriage until nearly a year afterwards, when Jaehaerys reaches the age of majority in 52 AC.

Jaehaerys’ Seven Speakers work for him for far longer due to the delicate peace that could be upended by both the marriage to Alysanne and Jaehaerys’ conviction to marrying his children to each other. The Speakers travel for years, in between rests at Court, talking up the piety of sweet Alysanne as well as Doctrine of Exceptionalism that will one day apply to the King and Queen’s children at several points throughout their reign.

Alysanne convinces her husband to pass several laws throughout her lifetime and tenure as Queen Consort. Though called “Queen Alysanne’s Laws” in King’s Landing, there were many that referred to her influence as The Laws of Abomination, a way of undercutting the good Queen's judgement by invoking her father's madness and monstrosity. Regardless, these Laws of Abomination remain codified into Westerosi Law into the present day.

Though much of her reign as Queen was marked by the shadow of her father’s legacy, the realm began to soften towards Alysanne as she demonstrated a compassion, intelligence, and respect for propriety that far outmatched her father and even on occasion her husband. By the time her first grandchild is born, the smallfolk had started referring to her as Good Queen Aly for all the ways she had improved their lives.

some more explanations here for the nerds!

Talked before about my “lucas harroway was a female line descendant of the house qoherys” thing, but to go into more detail here: Quenton Qoherys was already an aged man when he was gifted Harrenhal by the Targaryens (this is canon), and was eager to move his large family into the seat. One of those that came with him from Dragonstone is his daughter Quannah (made her up) who had married and had children with Ser Lothston Harroway, a knight in service to the Targaryens at Dragonstone. The two had many children, including Lucas Harroway, who inherited Harrenhal through his mother when all of Quenton’s sons and grandsons had died. Yes I have essentially done a “Harry the Heir” in the Riverlands, thank YOU!

I messed with the timeline because otherwise Jaehaerys is just too much older than Alysanne for this to be a plausible “love” story - anything more than 4 years I think seems like Obvious Grooming whereas Jaehaerys and Alysanne have always been a more lowkey, "banality of evil" type relationship. So Jaehaerys is a lil younger and Maegor speed runs his meltdown lol.

If it’s unclear, Towers line goes Walton -> Jordan (Walton's son) -> Mathis (Jordan's first born son) -> A Bunch Of Other Sons -> Maegor Towers (Jordan's last son). But then Maegor is like “psyche my daughter is coming home with me” because now he’s obsessed with her and the fact that she is the Only child he managed to have.

I wanted to add more queens laws simply because I wanted to give her more proto social justicey causes that make sense for the time period. I tried to base it off legal rights women had not just in medieval Europe but, since we have the whole "Great Empire of the Dawn" background, Han China as well! I thought since Maegor jerks Aly around a lot, she’d codify laws regarding daughters the way she did widows. So Alysanne convinces Jaehaerys to codify-

A man cannot abandon his daughter. Daughter abandonment was a big historical issue and I think if brought to her attention, as a daughter with a deeply weird dad, she would pass something that says no, if you have a daughter with your wife, you have to care for her, you cannot just drop her off at some random person’s porch or leave her in the woods to die.

Matrilocal marriages have the same legal rights as patrilocal marriages. Basically, that if a husband moves in with his wife - whether it be because she married down & she’s living with her father or she inherited so her husband moved in with her - they should be treated equal under the law (I can really see like, Iron Islands especially being fucking deranged about matrilocal marriages, and since Jaehaerys is standardizing laws, this is a good one for her to champion).

If a woman is widowed, she must not be compelled to give up her husband’s business. She must be allowed to continue his business or, if SHE desires, sell it/rent the space/etc for a fair price to another tradesman. Merchant class women were usually allowed to take up their husband’s trade, but this is a series with prima noctus so I imagine this is not a standard thing across Westeros and once again something she would want enshrined into law.

If the only heir is a daughter, she must be treated as an heiress because a daughter comes before an uncle. This one I think would really gnaw at her - Maegor essentially takes what should be her seat (as the only Harroway left alive because he just slaughtered her family!) and divvies it up between some random ass knights, then in an attempt to curb her willfulness, Rogar lets those random knights keep her damn castle. It’s her last link to her mother! Too bad, it’s someone else’s now. She can’t take Harrenhal back without looking Maegor-esque but she can make damn sure that if all that’s left is a daughter, that girl has the legal protection to claim her seat! Essentially, Alysanne introduces the title “heir presumptive” into law and gives that title some rights and protections.

I also came up with backstories for her Ladies Court that tie into the Maegor change:

Barba Towers - as a way of trying to make some peace with Jordan Towers’ sons, she takes one of his daughters as a lady when she visits Harrenhal for the first time since her mother's murder during her and Jaehaerys' first progress. To fit with the Harrenhal curse, Barba dies of the same Shivering Sickness little Daenerys dies of.

Poppy Butterwell - If you look through the history of House Butterwell, they seem kind of, um, skeevy. So I decided that the concept of daughter abandonment comes up when Alysanne and Jaehaerys go on their first progress. Butterwell abandons one of his daughters after having several in a row and no sons, and she's taken in by some random innkeeper in town (which is also why she has a more peasant-esque name - her father doesn't bother naming her). When Alysanne holds her women's court in Harroway's Town and puts the pieces together, she takes Poppy in, arranges a match - marrying Poppy high above her station - and starts pushing to pass laws protecting girl children.

Donella Darry - Another lady she takes from Harrenhal, though not until after Barba Towers dies. House Darry is a prominent and consistent supporter of House Targaryen in the Riverlands, and Maegor gives the Harroway holdings (outside of Harrenhal and Harroway's Town) to House Darry. This is a relationship I imagine is a bit strained - Barba and Poppy are both young naive girls in need of guidance but Donella just kind of exists as this mirror version of Alysanne - an eldest daughter jerked around from holding to holding by her father. I like the idea of Donella being heir presumptive of the Darry lands after her brothers die during the Shivering Sickness, and this is how Alysanne gets involved in inheritance laws for girls.

Arwen Sunderland - I wanted to give the Arryns a reason for acting so deranged towards Daella later on (Rodrik’s daughters are so fucking WEIRD my god), so Alysanne asks Arwen Sunderland to be one of her ladies over Rodrik’s daughters. Aly means nothing by it, she’s merely trying to reach out to the Sunderlands, given how unruly they can be, but because it’s early in her reign, and everyone is reading Maegor-esque behavior into her actions, they assume she means it as an insult, and project that onto poor Daella, which makes the Arryn girls hostile to her, and assume a level of spoiled behavior from the very scared Daella.

Elyse Marbrand - I figured after being forced to watch all her aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, on and on be slaughtered by Maegor, Alysanne would be obsessive about finding distant relations. Since Rhaenys and Visenya were big on marrying houses and regions that had some beef, I thought an arrangement between the Riverlands and the Westerlands would work well, and since the Marbrand's are a pretty important house, I figured that was a good match. So to simplify Quenton Qoherys + Elinor Tully -> Alarra Qoherys + Andros Marbrand -> Elyse Marbrand, aka a distant relation of Alysanne’s (through Quenton). Elyse stays at Court even after she’s had children of her own, though, because her husband, Theon of White Barrow, is a beloved musician and patron of Alysanne’s at Court.

Patronages - Queens often acted as culture makers for the kingdoms and Alysanne already does this in canon so I wanted to add a little more with ✨Maegor flavoring✨for her to do and I thought Alysanne acting as a patroness would fit into this well. Again, a little breakdown on my decisions here-

Coryanne Wylde - Coryanne is already a writer in canon and I thought it would be so funny, given how scandalized everyone is over what she writes, if Alysanne is the one bankrolling her. I like to imagine Coryanne kept writing really weird and sexual stories and Alysanne loved it; like medieval romantasy writing haha. I think Alysanne kept this one a secret though because while she did find it amusing, she didn’t want people to think her lascivious like her parents, and in fact Coryanne takes great pains to always depict her Queen characters as sexually untouchable but not prudish either.

Septa Lyra - Lyra is again one of the women sent to be Alysanne’s ladies maid while she & Jaehaerys are in dragonstone. One thing about women writers in medieval times is they were often nuns and they often wrote non fiction about whatever it is they were studying. I thought given Alysanne’s disapproval of the Maesters not allowing women in their ranks, she’d want to undercut them a bit by bankrolling a few female scholars. But ALSO I was thinking given Maegor’s war against the Faith, Alysanne would go to great pains to make sure she’s seen as pious. So Lyra mostly writes about religions in Terros and midwifery.

Septa Violante - She is one of the Seven Speakers and I figured they’re not doing this shit for free! Alysanne rewards Violante by basically writing her a blank check. Violante writes all sorts of field guides, histories of the various castles throughout Westeros, and even several legal works explaining the historical precedent for Alysanne’s Laws of Abomination.

Arwen Sunderland (again) - Arwen writes prose and poetry and while she’s not as salacious as Coryanne, she does have a fondness for stories that take place in war torn kingdoms, going into detail about the fighting and injuries. Her prose and poetry is much more scandalous so Alysanne keeps the identity of the author a secret - BUT makes it clear she is the patroness for that author. The prevailing theory is in fact that Arwen Sunderland wrote the books, something Gyldayn summarily dismisses as nonsense of course.

Theon of White Barrow - One of the only men Alysanne was ever patroness for, Theon is a nephew of Theomore Manderly who lives in the barrowlands. Alysanne arranges a marriage for Theon with one of her own ladies, Elys Marbrand (Aly canonically arranged a match for one of Theonore’s nephews). Theon, who stands to inherit only a modest holding in the barrowlands, opts to stay at court when the Queen becomes fond of his singing, eventually writing many songs and mummer’s shows for the Queen. The reality, however, is that Theon was not the writer - Elys Marbrand wrote all of his music and stories. Theon, Elys, and Alysanne were so close that during the First Quarrel, when Alysanne opted to hide out in Harroways’s Town soon after her husband vacated the Riverlands, the pair came with her to play music for her there as well.

Septa Elinor Costayne - listen. Alysanne spends a tumultuous childhood being jerked around Pentos and Westeros by her parents, is hauled back to KL and given several new mommies to make up for murdering her first one, only for all her stepmothers to be tortured to death as well. I think Alysanne would develop extreme attachment anxiety to both Rhaena and Elinor in the hell that is the last few years of her father’s life. While Rhaena is a complicated matter - I love their relationship as sisters and I think a 'doesn't want to be the evil stepmother but can't help resenting aly' dynamic would be just as rich as their canon relationship, so they are still CLOSE while trapped in KL - I have never liked that Elinor disappears to become a Septa!!! So I made the executive decision to disregard canon in this instance and have Alysanne guilt Elinor into staying in the capital with her, under the guise of being a patroness for Elinor to follow her passions. Even as Alysanne ages and outgrows the need for a mother, and Elinor stays only because she feels indebted for her life and obligated to care for this strange, disturbed woman, Elinor is writing all sorts of essays and papers so she has something to do. Kind of the equal and opposite of Alysanne's relationship with Gael - putting another woman in arrested development because she doesn't know how to cope with her own traumas pressing down on her.

#i put too much effort into this #not my magnum opus but still a masterpiece #alysanne targaryen #maegor targaryen #canon divergent au #rani graphics #rani attempts to be creative #alys harroway #lucas harroway #house harroway #alysanne of harrenhal au #harrenhal #house qoherys

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ageless-soul-au · 8 months ago

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I luv your art it’s so cool and awsome and I just wanna eat it lol, but I do have a question. I know your wars is genderfluid. And I saw in the “it’s you it’s still you despite everything it’s still you” post that in the last picture they looked more like a girl with longer hair and stuff. So can I ask, did wars transition in the future to look more like a girl or did they just get long hair (I assume they’re still genderfluid in the future) no hate at all I was just wondering! :)

Yeah they're still genderfluid in the future, and they're on E! I know not everyone reads the fics (you should!) but there are hints that Wars has body dysphoria, leading up to Legend putting the pieces together and saying it outright. Currently in-fic, Wars hasn't decided what they want to do about it, but the endgame is in fact physically transitioning. They'll come to this conclusion when they're ready.

Post-E, Wars binds and ties his hair back on masc days. On neutral days, they braid part of their hair and wear autumn tones to signify how they're feeling, but could go either way with binding. On fem days, she likes wearing dresses and having her hair down, but that's not a requirement.

This art didn't get as much love as the others in my new year's set, but I still like it, and it's post-E she/they Warriors. You should look at it! I think it's cute 🥰

As a whole, Wars is more comfortable passing as a woman, even if they feel differently at that specific moment, because it's just easier for them in Legend's era, since that's where they live after the ASAU quest. It might be interesting to see how that plays with Wars' military service, because they're gonna work with Fable on military reform for at least a little while... POV you're a palace guard: tall hot woman in full plate armor shows up to the castle with the Hero in tow and they both ask to see the queen, wyd

Let us know if you have more questions! :3

-Kio

#ask #ageless soul au #asau warriors

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theroyalsims · 11 months ago

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CASUAL ANYA SHOPS AT SWANKY STORE IN CHAMPS LES SIMS

The Crown Princess has traded cold chilly Brindleton for slightly sunnier (but by the looks of it, very wet) Champs Les Sims. HRH is currently in the picturesque seaside country to prepare for the upcoming World Sports Summer Festival, which will be held in Tartosa in the coming months.

HRH has been flying to and from the south of Champs Les Sims these past few weeks, where she continues her training. She has been photographed training on horseback numerous times during this past month. Brindleton's future Queen is hard at work to win the top spot in the upcoming three-day equestrian competition.

Yesterday, however, HRH was seen shopping and leaving a luxury boutique with her bodyguards in tow. The Crown Princess reportedly splurged on scarves, belts, and a few purses, said to be presents as she had most of the items giftwrapped.

The high-end store is known for its very A-list clientele and "normies" can't just walk in to buy a bag. The store is known for having a very long (and hard to get into) waiting list, with some patrons having to wait for over a year to get their hands on their desired bags. Of course, when you're a Crown Princess, those rules apparently don't apply.

However, despite previous reports claiming that Anya had the store "shut down," the fashion label itself denied said claims and issued a statement:

"No demands were made by the Crown Princess or her security officers to close down the store. In fact, they declined when we offered to temporarily deny entry to other customers in order to give HRH more privacy. HRH was assisted by one of our capable Sales Agents like the rest of our refined customers, and was treated with our world-famous hospitality and impeccable service."

This, of course, is a stark difference compared to a certain Countess and her diva behaviour. If you think about it, closing down shops seems to run in the family. The Queen once even closed down an entire street when she decided to eat out, causing a traffic jam. Nice to see Anya's not as demanding as her mum and sister when it comes to shopping!

The Crown Princess, who was dressed in a black embroidered jumper (a rewear), walked out of the store carrying her own shopping bags and an umbrella. Her every-present security officers were close by. The party then boarded a heavily tinted black SUV.

#ts4 #theroyalsims #ts4 simblr #simblr #ts4 royals #ts4 royalty #ts4 royal family #ts4 royal legacy #ts4 royal simblr #ts4 royal story #mystory #anya

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saintmeghanmarkle · 6 months ago

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Does any sinner know more about Tom Quinn? by u/Nervous-Spinach2046

Does any sinner know more about Tom Quinn? Tom Quinn is the new Scooobie, that much we know. But what makes a 68-year-old published author so desperate for money that he would willingly blow up his reputation and shill for TOW and the ginger whinger? Is he a sugar all along?I’ve never heard of him before. After a bit of googling, and here’s what I’ve found:He’s published six books on the BRF, and one is in the pipeline:Backstairs Billy (2015) – about the Queen Mum’s most trusted pageMrs Keppel (2016) – about King Edward VII’s mistress Alice Keppel, who is also Queen Camilla’s great grandmotherThe Reluctant Billionaire (2018) - about Gerald Grosvenor, Sixth Duke of Westminster (father of the current duke, Hugh)Kensington Palace: An Intimate Memoir from Queen Mary to Meghan Markle (2020)Scandals of the Royal Palaces: An Intimate Memoir of Royals Behaving Badly (2021)Gilded Youth: An Intimate History of Growing Up in the Royal Family (2023)Upcoming: Yes Ma'am: Upstairs Downstairs in the British Royal Family (August 2024)He is very prolific, and writes a lot about behind-the-scenes of the RF. I must say, if he weren’t such a sugar now, I would very much like to read some of his books, especially 1, 6, 7.From a bio I found on him on publisher Hachette’s website, he has spent 20 years talking to people in domestic service to learn about their lives. He’s also written a few bios of people who worked as servants. This is very interesting to me.Before he started writing about the RF, he’s written about a wide range of topics:fishing, eccentrics, long walks, railways, early aviation and the First World War, as well as the children’s author and illustrator Denys Watkins-Pitchford (better known as BB).(Source) He was the author of the “Strangest” series of books, and the editor of two magazines: The Countryman and Country Landowner’s Magazine. He also regularly appeared on British TV to talk about eccentrics, London history, and the RF.He had a blog, which only has three entries, all from 2021. From one of the entries we can see he has at least one son, who was studying to become a lawyer.What gives an inkling of his Markle sympathies is the cover of the Kensington Palace book: the most famous inhabitant of KP in the 20th century was undoubtedly Diana, Princess of Wales; the most famous in the century before that, was Queen Victoria before she came to the throne. Her mother has even named the set of rules governing Victoria’s upbringing The Kensington System. For the 21st century, I would say it would be William and Catherine, the current PPOW. But Quinn had this on the cover of his KP book:https://ift.tt/Slhq8y1 lived in Nott Cott in the KP grounds for, what, 5 minutes? Complaining the whole time, about the size, low ceiling, the name etc, of a piece of prime real estate in Central London? For free? (I assume H’s rent was paid by Charles). Not at all representative of such an illustrious palace.And then his last book, Gilded Youth, has this cover:https://ift.tt/VBAfq7J? Why not use either of these?Getty ImagesGetty ImagesI think it must be his solid background that made him a prime choice for the new UK PR “guru” to hire as the new Scooobie. Seemed less biased. But the shilling is so transparent. It’s rather sad to see him become a mouthpiece for the Harkles, although the bias was already there.Does anyone know more about him? post link: https://ift.tt/ZEbRmid author: Nervous-Spinach2046 submitted: May 30, 2024 at 12:38PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 2 years ago

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Vesuviella: Part 10

You end up employing Asra’s technique of grasping Muriel’s cloak to keep a steady walking pace to the Palace. With the way he was dragging his feet, you wouldn’t have left the woods before sundown. The two of you pass through the guards a few minutes late and find Nadia waiting in the parlor with Julian. You greet them, a sulking Muriel in tow. “Mi'lady. Ma'julian. We’re sorry to keep you waiting.”

You savor the embarrassed chuckle your reference elicits as Nadia guides you to the cleared space in the middle of the room. “I am sure it was unintentional, dear MC. Muriel, I’m very pleased to see you. Please, feel free to make yourselves comfortable. The director and I have already agreed on the scene we will begin practice with. I believe you’ll find it on page 23.”

You set your satchel down and flip through your script as Julian takes Muriel’s elbow and bodily drags him to stand closer to Nadia. “Don’t be shy, she’s your husband! You don’t have as many lines, but I still expect you to act the part. Now then -" He rounds on you with a sudden flourish, guiding you opposite the unlikely couple by the hand, “– In this scene, I need you to be upset. Full of righteous indignation! You’ve just heard about the ball from your attendant, without the idea having your approval, and now you’re trying to bargain your way out of it. You’re not ready to settle down! You haven’t explored all of your options yet!”

“Haven’t I already met Cinderella?”

“Certainly.” He leans back out of your space, folding his arms with a roguish smirk. “Cinderella has opened your eyes to all the possibilities. And you haven’t even met her ravishing fairy godmother yet. No run-of-the-mill nobleman’s daughter will compare after that.”

You sigh at his nonstop charm tactics and open your script. “Who’s starting?”

“You are. Storm in from over there and stomp your feet as angrily as you can. I want to hear your line from the other side of the Palace.”

He draws back, barely containing his excitement as you move to the corner of the parlor and tap into a week’s worth of frustration from working customer service at your shop. You turn around, jaw clenched, and rattle every teacup on the corner table as you thunder towards the King and Queen.

“Mother! Father! What in the blazes were you blazing when you had this emblazoned across every board in the country?!”

It's difficult to keep your composure as you see Nadia startle at your initial volume. She's fighting to stay in her Kingly role, eyebrows jumping with every blazing phrase you shout. There’s a moment of silence where you think you’re in the clear, until Muriel breaks character and doubles over in a fit of giggles, vainly attempting to muffle himself with his script.

Laughter is more contagious than the deadliest plague. Soon you’re all wiping tears from your eyes, the stiffness in the room finally shattered. Once you’ve had your last chuckle, Julian shakes out the script in front of him and points you back to the corner of the parlor.

“Excellently done, your highness. Let’s run that again, shall we?”

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ace-malarky · 2 months ago

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Team Bonding

ok there are no like glaring mistakes and this is just some fun 'n' dumb shenanigans but anyway

that Somewhat Shaky Start to my own holiday, now serialised for your amusement!

or mine. mostly mine.

@zmwrites, you wanted to see this right?

~~~

Roxy was first to the train station, with enough time to buy the biggest coffee she could reliably hold in one hand before she got through the barrier and onto the platform.

She sent a message to the group chat and grimaced at the time.

Train in ten minutes.

Oscar was next, Cai behind him and nursing a giant coffee of her own.

"We ready gang?" Kite whooped as soon as ve spotted them, hands in the air.

Onni, beside ver, grinned and waved.

Roxy gritted her teeth and checked her phone, because of course it was Clara that was running late.

"Train's running late."

"What?" Roxy snapped her head up from her phone.

Sure enough, the sign was showing a delay of two minutes.

This was fine. Still enough time to make their connection.

"Ok, made it, everything is fine." Clara burst through the gates and down the platform, panting as she did. "Who in the fuck decided we should be this early?"

"Onni," Cai said.

"Train company." Onni grinned. "Take it up with them."

There was still no train at the platform, no sign of one pulling in, unless that was it at the far end.

Roxy took a steadying drink and checked the board above them as a service announcement crackled over the tannoy. She didn't catch many words of it, but Oscar tilted his head and frowned. "What?"

"Oh, that's not - the Seven-fifteen was our train, wasn't it?"

"To Queen Street, yup." Onni nodded. "I don't like that was."

"Yeah, it - it's been cancelled."

"The fuck it is." Roxy spun on her feet to stare first at the train further down the platform and then at the sign above them.

"Alright," Cai said, and strode down the platform in the wake of the other passengers.

"The next Glasgow train doesn't get there in time," Roxy called, following her all the same.

"You mean there isn't a back up?"

"There's always a back up." Clara fell in beside Roxy. "Right?"

Roxy shook her head. "I don't - we needed that train."

"We'll get there." Onni patted her shoulder. "It'll be fine!"

When they caught up with Cai on the next platform, she was talking with someone in the ticket office.

Roxy slid in beside her to hear Cai's faint exasperation in her, "No, we need to be in Oban for 12 to catch the ferry. Our next train-"

"Yes, I see." The man nodded, staring at something on his screen. "How many are you?"

"Six in our group."

"There might be others with the same problem," Roxy said, but no one else had followed them to the office.

"Alright. If you'll just wait here," he sidled out from behind his desk, "I just need to talk with someone."

"Of course." Cai smiled without it reaching her eyes. "We'll be here."

"Because our holiday has been cancelled," Onni said, propping themself up on an unused desk. "Stopped clean in its tracks. A crime."

"Our holiday being cancelled, or us trying to go anywhere?" Oscar asked.

"Yes."

Kite laughed. "I did offer our boat-"

"Absolutely not," Clara cut ver off. "Bad enough we're going out to the isles. We could have got a plane."

"Clara," Onni said, beginning to grin, "do you get seasick, perchance?"

"Aren't you like made of water now?" Kite shot her a deeply unimpressed look. "Girly."

"It's the difference between the size of boats, right?"

"Yes, exactly. This is why Oscar's my favourite."

"Oscar is everyone's favourite."

"Alright," said the attendant, entering the small office with another man in tow, "we've booked a taxi for you, and you'll meet the train at Crianlarich."

"Really?" Roxy asked. "I mean - thanks. A taxi is quicker?"

He nodded. "If you'll just follow my colleague." He gestured behind them.

"Thanks," Roxy repeated.

The new attendant led them back down the platform and through to the other end of the station, to the back exit at the foot of Calton Hill. "The taxi should be here in ten minutes," he said. "Which will be enough time to get out to Crianlarich to catch your train."

Onni pulled out their phone to check the route. "This is saying four hours, which - oh, shit, never mind. That's public transport."

Kite draped verself over their shoulders and poked. "Yeah, three hours seems much more reasonable. Straight through to Oban. Crianlarich isn't that far."

Roxy let out a sigh and drank her coffee.

"Nah, it'll be peachy," Onni said, adjusting something. "See?"

The taxi did not come in ten minutes. Roxy was doing her best to stay level about it, but with every taxi that drew up only to drop people off and get back on its way, she was getting increasingly more tense.

"It would be a really bad idea to go and get a coffee, right?" Clara asked, sounding mournful.

"Probably should have thought about that before now, yes." Kite nodded.

"But alas, here we are."

"Just because the two of you - three of you," Clara corrected, shooting a sharp glance at Oscar, "are morning people, there's no need to rub it in."

"You can sleep on the ferry." Kite grinned. "Assuming we-" Ve cut off, straightening up as a taxi slowed down past them, turning in the circle to drop people off.

"Wait here," said the train attendant as he walked to talk to the taxi driver.

"That looks hopeful," Oscar said.

Cai hummed, putting her phone away.

"Do we still have time to meet the train?" Roxy spun her phone in her hands, locking and unlocking it.

"If we hijack a police car, maybe." Onni grinned.

"Just hit the motorway and never slow down, right?"

Cai rolled her eyes.

"Alright, he's going to take you through to Oban," the attendant said.

"Great, thanks!" Kite patted his arm. "Appreciate all of this, really."

The taxi driver opened the boot for them to pile their bags in and waited to close it after them.

"What are we, almost two hours later?" Clara asked, climbing into the taxi.

"Oh, you haven't been awake that long." Roxy snorted, joining her.

"No one should have been awake that long."

"Some of us have been." Onni dropped into the seat opposite Clara, Kite at their side.

Kite yawned.

"Did you even sleep?" Oscar asked.

"No, so I may fall asleep enroute."

Oscar swivelled from sitting beside Roxy to sitting beside Kite.

Cai laughed softly as she settled in the last seat.

Roxy checked her phone again, counting out the hours.

"We have time," Cai said. Her own phone vibrated and she checked it, smiling softly at the message she found there. "Shae says to enjoy ourselves and that the city is in good hands."

Clara snickered. "They're not going to give it back without a fight, are they?"

"Mint would. Shae might not." Oscar braced himself against the door as they set off.

"We can talk her down," Onni said. "Or we just formally hand it over and retire." They laughed at Roxy's frown. "It's a joke, Rox, no one is suggesting you have to stop."

"At least not permanently."

"At least not in this car."

Roxy smiled faintly. It was more a baring of her teeth.

"Who-" Kite started to ask, only for Onni to elbow ver in the side.

They left Edinburgh, watching it wake up piece by piece as they were driven across the centre and out to the West.

Roxy bent her head forward to see past Clara, marking the streets they drove down until they were out and onto the motorway that left the city behind.

She settled back with a faint sigh. "Ok."

"Didn't think we could do it?" Clara nudged her. "Told you it'd be fine."

"Be that certain about catching the ferry."

Onni laughed. "It's going to be fine."

"Yeah, we can always hijack a boat. I can sail those." Kite grinned, winking at Roxy. "You know. As a back up."

Roxy gave ver the dead-eyed, unimpressed stare that ve deserved.

"So obviously this is now going suspiciously well, right?" Onni asked.

"What do you mean?" Kite asked, without opening ver eyes or moving ver head from Oscar's shoulder.

"Don't - don't jinx it," Clara said.

They were well into the countryside, winding along beside rolling fields and the gentle slopes of hills growing more frequent, with the train line on its embankment in the middle distance between the trees.

"Well - comedy road trip rules right?"

"Who said this was a comedy?" Roxy asked.

"I don't think this counts as a roadtrip," Oscar said, almost at the same time.

"Are we not on a road? Are we not taking a trip?" Kite grinned.

Clara hummed. "But it doesn't matter because you're not going to jinx us."

"You're right, it's going to be fine," Onni said. "And even if, say - hypothetically - the car does break down, there'll be a strapping young laird to help us that Clara can flirt with and form a deep inescapable bond with."

"I envision a spring wedding." Kite raised ver hand to describe an arc before dropping it back to ver lap.

"Why me? Why not you? Or Oscar?"

"Uh-"

"Oh, going for some queer rep? Dig the angle, very nice."

Roxy rolled her eyes.

"So what would everyone else's roles in this be?" Oscar asked.

"Those two are obviously comic relief," Cai said, flicking a finger in Onni and Kite's direction.

She grinned faintly as Kite snapped ver eyes open. "Hey."

"She's not wrong," Oscar said, grinning even as he patted Kite's head.

"It's supposed to be the love interest that's grumpy with a heart of gold, Cai," Onni said. "You're going to have to downplay it."

"The heart of gold? No bother."

Clara laughed.

They slowed down as they drove into a town.

"Where is this?" Onni asked.

"Doune, I think? There's a castle through those trees."

"Ooh, can we-" Kite broke off in a laugh at Roxy's glare. "Joking."

"We're making good time, I think?" Oscar checked his phone.

"Yeah. It's going to be fine."

"Plus I'm sure our fearless leader has at least three contingencies in place by now."

"At least two of them involve leaving you at the roadside," Roxy repled.

Kite cackled. "That's fair."

"Ve's enterprising, I'm sure ve'd find a way to catch up."

"Yeah, I could just-"

"If you're about to suggest more crimes, I might scream."

"Yeah, Kite, leave the crimes to the big city."

"We're on holiday."

Cai let out a sigh that sounded a little forced, like she was trying not to laugh.

Roxy flicked a glance over Onni's shoulder at their taxi driver. He didn't appear to be listening to them.

They drove on out of the town and into the mountains. The road wound them along the sides of lochs and by the heads of glens that never seemed to get much wider before they tapered to a point in the distance.

The road never got to a single track, but the bends and the bushes hid what was coming.

Their taxi driver slowed to take the corners and then slowed again as they reached the edge of a village. He made a small noise that was only just picked up by the intercom and came to a halt at the side of the road. In the silence after the engine was stopped, the steady click of the blinkers could be heard.

"Hey," Onni said, twisting in their seat, "what's up?"

"Nothing too serious," the driver replied, cutting the engine, "but we'll have to wait here a bit while I get it fixed."

"Ok," Onni said. "So we can get out and stretch our legs? Find some snacks?"

"Yes." Their driver unbuckled himself and stepped out to pull open the door for them. "I'd say give it twenty minutes and check back here."

"Sweet." Onni stepped out. "Hey, do you want anything? Coffee-wise, I mean." They grinned. "I don't know much about cars, but maybe Cai can help."

Their driver laughed. "I'm fine without, thank you."

"Alright." Kite stretched ver arms out above ver head, cracking ver back. "Let's see what this place has to offer. Hey, where are we actually?"

"Crianlarich, I think?" Clara was on her phone as she ducked out of the taxi.

"Wasn't that where we might meet the train?" Roxy looked around for a sign to the train station.

"If you want to grab your bags and run for it, sure," Clara said. "But I trust our man here to get us to Oban on time."

"Is that an 'I'm being an optimist' or an 'I have foreseen this' statement?"

"Have I ever used my foresight for personal gain?" Clara tugged her sister to follow Onni and Kite down the road.

"Yes."

"Ouch." Clara laughed. "But - hey, Oz, how long will it take from here to Oban?"

"An hour and ten," Oscar replied.

"And we were going to be a solid two hours early anyway. We've got time."

"Alright. Sorry."

Clara bumped her shoulder into her sister's. "'S'alright, we love you regardless."

"So," Kite said, waiting for them at the door to the hotel's cafe. "Reckon this place has a hot young laird for us?"

"What - oh." Roxy sighed and rolled her eyes.

Clara laughed. "Ready for the rom part of this com?"

"You know it. And I need you, Wiz, and Onni to be at your best for this."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short." Clara patted Kite's hand as she stepped inside. "Someone could get you back on the straight and narrow."

Kite let out an affronted scoff. "Why would I ever want to be straight and narrow?"

Clara laughed. "You're so right, I'm so sorry."

Onni waved them over to a table. "Coffee and cakes, yeah?" They handed the menus to everyone. "Where's - oh, there she is."

Cai joined them last, slipping her phone back into her pocket. "Just telling our driver which hotel we're in."

"You got his number? Cai, you player!" Onni crowed with delight. "What will Shae and Mint think?"

Cai ignored them as she sat down.

"You jinxed us," Roxy said to Onni. "Why would you do that."

"I'm literally the embodiment of luck in this party, how dare."

"Good and bad," Cai said.

"Why do you have to do me like this. No one believes we're friends."

"Good."

"It's what you do with it that counts, right?"

"Thank you, Wiz. This is why you're my favourite. Reason number… we're into the hundreds now, right?"

"At least."

Oscar laughed, shifting in his seat and busying himself with the drinks menu.

"Besides, didn't we say no magic on this trip?"

"I mean I left the masks at home, if that's what you're asking." Onni shifted to let the server put their drinks and cakes down. "Thanks."

Roxy hesitated.

"Rox."

"I did! No, I - I did." She rubbed her fingers down the table in front of her.

"We're going to trust you on that because we're a team and that's what teams do."

"Oh my god."

"But this is also clearly set up for a betrayal and/or comedic misunderstanding later on, so I forgive you."

"You're the worst. How long do we have?"

"You have a full drink - don't chug that, Rox, holy shit."

Clara snorted. "She's just trying to protect my virtue."

"Oh, speaking of," Kite scanned the room, "see any potential?"

"What does a lord even look like?"

"Laird, Clara, please. You're in the highlands."

Oscar laughed.

"I don't know. Moneyed? A lot of tweed? Hunting dogs."

"Kite, don't you have a tonne of money?"

"Technically, yes. But I don't have a title so it doesn't count."

"Cai, tell me our driver has some good news."

"No, we have to let this play out." Onni put out their hand to cover Cai's phone, only to snap it back in at her glare.

She stepped away from the table, taking her cup with her to answer a call.

"He's kinda cute," Clara said, nodding at the bar.

"The staff? I see it," Kite said. "Probably not, though."

"Times change, Kite. Maybe he's down on his luck."

"If he's out of money, he's no use to us. We need access to a helicopter to get us out to the islands in time." Kite shook ver head, leaning back. "Touch down on Barra at sunset-"

"If we don't get to Barra until sunset I shall scream," Roxy said.

"Well that's a moodkiller."

Cai stepped back to the table. "Car's fixed."

"Oh good." Roxy launched herself for the door.

Clara laughed, scooping the crumbs off her plate. "I'll pay for ours, shall I?" She didn't wait for an answer, sliding around the seats and skipping towards the bar. "I'll meet you at the car!"

"Aw, but-" Kite laughed as Onni tugged ver towards the door. "I wanted to see!"

"You know what capitalism on a minor scale looks like, babe. Or are you that removed from the common folk that all of this is foreign to you?" Onni held the door open for the others.

In their wake, Clara laughed at something.

"Aw, sparks," Kite murmured, grinning.

Roxy and Cai were halfway down the street to the taxi when the three of them exited the hotel.

"I'm going to grab snacks, actually," Onni said.

"She might really leave you behind." Oscar looked worried.

"Then I will have the whirlwind romance and meet you on Barra." Onni laughed, checking the road before running across.

The taxi had been moved to a carpark and was idling away, Roxy and Cai chatting with the driver.

Or rather; Cai was chatting with the driver. Roxy was checking her phone, glancing up every so often.

"Where's Onni?" She frowned. "Where's Clara?"

"Getting snacks. They won't be long." Kite grinned. "And Clara-"

"Was just paying for the drinks," Oscar said, cutting in. "She won't be long."

Kite laughed. "Yeah. That's all."

Roxy narrowed her eyes. "We'll leave without them."

"Even your sister? That's cold."

"Onni said they won't be long."

Their driver laughed. "Sorry about the unintended stop."

"All good," Kite said. "The break was nice. "I'd have asked for one, but I wasn't sure our planner would appreciate it."

Roxy rolled her eyes and got back into the taxi.

"Love you!" Kite called after her.

"If we start heading down the street, they can both jump in," Cai said.

"Alright." The driver laughed and got in.

He'd barely drawn out onto the main road before they saw Clara on the opposite pavement with a man beside her.

"Oh go get it!" Kite called out of the window.

The man laughed as Clara ducked her head and said something.

"The car's fixed, but you should still get his number!"

Roxy rolled her eyes and pulled ver back into the car.

The man shrugged and pulled his phone out.

"Oh my god," Oscar breathed.

Clara tapped her phone as she said something to him and gestured for him to pose for a selfie with her.

"Aw, you waited for me!" Onni pulled the door on the opposite side open and ducked in. "I'm so pro- where's Clara - ooh what is happening." They shuffled into the seat beside Oscar.

Clara grinned and stepped off the pavement, turning on her heel to wave to the man.

"Meet-cute of the century." Kite pushed the door open for her.

"Sorry, we can go now." Clara fell into the seat beside Roxy.

Kite waved enthusiastically to the man as they drove away. "Tell us everything."

"Thanks for your intervention," Clara said, dryly. "I almost wasn't going to ask."

"What can I say, I make for an excellent wingman." Kite shrugged.

"Kinda makes my story seem inconsequential," Onni said. "Please share with the group."

"Ok, sure, but." Clara grinned, clicking her seatbelt in. "Last leg, let's go. We've got this."

"Second last, surely," Onni said. "On account of the ferry."

"If you jinx us once more, I will throw you in a loch, Onni. Shut up. Please." Roxy had her eyes closed, two fingers pressed between her eyebrows.

Onni laughed. "Alright, alright."

"Proud of you for getting a pic now dish." Kite made grabby hands at Clara.

"You think people won't believe us without proof?"

"You and Kite? Not a chance. Cai? Absolutely."

"Hey!" Kite faked ver effrontery.

"No, she's right. I wouldn't." Onni shrugged.

"You aren't supposed to side with her against us," Kite muttered, still grinning. "It's going to fracture the team."

"And at the start of our team bonding trip, too. How awkward."

"So what was your story, Onni?" Clara asked.

"Hey, no, you first." Kite slapped a hand over Onni's mouth. "Please."

"There's not much to say." Clara shrugged. "Bumped into him leaving the hotel."

"Like full tripped into his arms style bump? Is he from here? Do we have back up for-"

Roxy cleared her throat.

"If anything else happens?" Kite smiled innocently at Roxy.

Cai laughed softly, replying to a text.

"No helicopter. First thing I checked. He's on holiday too." Clara's phone buzzed and she smiled as she checked it.

"Ah, young love." Kite sighed and then laughed.

"Onni, what was your thing?"

"Oh, well, I just - y'know, met the local laird." Onni shrugged, opening their shopping bag. "Anyone want snacks?"

"What?"

"Yeah, I have a decent selection-"

"You met who?"

"Do you have a picture?"

Onni laughed. "No, I respect his privacy too much. Man's got enough going on."

Cai rolled her eyes, hiding a faint smile.

"So which one us is supposed to have foresight again?"

"I'm just very lucky." Onni leant back. "I don't think he would have been anyone's type, though."

"Oh?"

"Old. Still had a ring on his finger."

Kite wrinkled vis nose. "Listen." Ve cackled. "If it gets us a helicopter-"

"We appreciate your sacrifice." Clara patted vis knee.

"I don't think either of us did this properly, though. I mean, we're still in this taxi. No offence."

The driver laughed, muffled over the intercom.

"That's a bad thing?" Roxy raised her eyebrows.

"Not since this is working out for us." Onni offered her a small bar of chocolate. "C'mon, we're going to make it."

"Yeah." Roxy took the bar, relaxing. "Thanks."

"So are you actually going to keep in contact with your laird?" Kite asked, waggling vis eyebrows at Clara.

"I think I'm due a whirlwind summer romance, right?" Clara's eyes were on her phone but she stretched out her free hand, palm up to make grabby gestures at Onni.

"Sure." Kite pulled out vis phone. "Hey, what's his name?"

"Absolutely not."

"I can work with that." Ve grinned. "Oh, boo, no signal." Ve pouted at ver phone.

"Serves you right."

Kite shrugged and leant back, rolling ver head onto Oscar's shoulder. "Fine. Wake me when we get to Oban."

Oscar shifted his shoulder, careful not to dislodge Kite, and patted ver head.

"So wouldn't it be funny-"

"No." Roxy threw her empty wrapper at Onni. "Don't."

They laughed and let it drop.

The drive was smooth along more winding roads, between forested mountains and by the sides of lochs that spilled down the glens until one last turn took them past fields and into a town bigger than anything since they'd gone by Stirling.

"Is this it?" Clara asked, pressing up against the window. "Did we make it?"

The bay spread out before them under the bright midday sun, water almost as blue as the sky. There was a spit of an island blocking the view right out to sea, but it was there.

"I think so." Oscar twisted to see over his shoulder, through the front.

"I'll drop you at the railway station, is that alright?" Their driver asked.

"Sure is," Onni said, reaching across Oscar to poke at Kite. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, we made it."

Roxy pulled out her phone to check the time and sighed in relief. "Alright."

"Did we win?" Kite asked.

"With an hour or so to spare, I think?" Cai said. "We can get something more to eat before the ferry."

"Yes oh my god what an excellent idea."

Their driver stopped outside the train station. "Here we are."

"Thanks, man, you've been amazing." Onni tapped their knuckles against the glass.

"Yeah, d'you want to come for a coffee with us?" Kite asked. "Our treat."

Their laughed as he opened the door for them on his way to the boot.

"You're not going to head straight back, are you?"

"I'll have a wee break. Get something to eat, maybe."

"Get real leisurely about it." Onni swung their bag onto their back and staggered under the weight.

"One hell of a day out," Cai said.

"One hell of a work day, more to the point," Oscar said.

"Aye." The taxi driver waited for them to have all their bags out of the car before he closed the boot. "Enjoy the rest of your holiday."

"Safe trip back to Edinburgh," Oscar replied, stepping back to wave as he drove off.

"Now," Clara said, "someone mentioned coffee?"

"There's a Costa just there." Cai nodded to it.

"For shame, Cai, we supposed the small businesses." Onni shook their head at her. "Come on. Across there looks good." They pointed across the gentle curve of the bay to a seating area in front of some store fronts.

"Sure. Can we see if we can drop our bags at the terminal?" Kite asked. "It's kinda heavy."

Onni blinked at ver. "Skill issue," they said, and set off along the path.

Kite groaned and followed after them. "You're the worst."

"It's character building."

"Hey, Clara?"

Clara frowned as she turned about. "Hi? Oh, shit, hi!"

A man stood at the side of the road, sunglasses on and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows over jeans and black shoes. "Glad I found you." He smiled. "Had to make sure you made it."

"Yeah, I uh - I appreciate that."

Kite swivelled on ver heel. "Is this your laird?"

"This is Luke." Clara pushed Kite away as ve leant over her shoulder. "Roxy, Kite, Cai, Oscar, Onni."

"Laird?" Luke laughed, sounding the word out like he wasn't sure he'd get it right.

"Just a dumb joke." Clara shook her head.

"We can explain over coffee." Kite grinned. "C'mon."

Luke glanced at Clara, who shrugged and beckoned for him to follow.

"If you don't have anything better going."

"They'll understand if I'm late."

Clara giggled. "I can believe you came through to Oban."

"Well, I was concerned for your trip, and since I don't have a helicopter on hand, this was the best I could do."

"Maybe we should have left Clara to make her own way, hm?" Kite nudged Roxy. "It would have worked out and we'd get a car chase out of it."

"Yeah, sure. That… might have been fun." Roxy smiled faintly.

"See?" Kite grinned. "Everything worked out fine! We're getting our holiday! You and Cai can relax!"

Roxy snorted. "Alright, fine! Point made. I will relax."

"Excellent." Kite grinned. "After all, what else could possibly go wrong?"

#writing pieces #Superhero twins #roxana // scotch #clara // clarity #oscar // weaver #cai // kelly #Onni // ace #kite // aro #I absolutely did downplay the rom part of this idiocy #however. if nudged slightly. I may write a little aside of Clara's fun little moment #(everything else on their holiday proceeds to just be slightly off and it turns out that Onni's luck has indeed turned and they get abandon #lmao anyway. not making this more of a plot. that seems unecessary.

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flowercrown-bard · 2 years ago

Text

Prompt by @fulgurite-and-petrichor: I'd be interested to see what would happen if Eskel had been planning to give Jaskier a gift of a scarf or handkerchief after one of his performances - maybe for an occasion, maybe just as a sweet gift, maybe purchased or maybe hand made - but Eskel got caught in a fight on his way to the performance and shows up late and bloody and the gift got covered in monster gunk and blood

Tw: blood

Word count: 2992

(not edited and this was written on my phone so there are probably a ton of mistakes)

Why can't we give love, give love, give love

Jaskier was…Eskel didn’t know how to describe him. He was the sun and he was birdsong and he was laughter. He was a fire cracking merrily when the night was cold and he was a cooling breeze when others’ anger was boiling hot. He was…he was a gift. There was no other way to say it.

At first, Eskel had assumed that Jaskier was only travelling in hopes of some sort of trait.

Sing songs about Eskel and be paid in the public’s adoration and coin.

Keep a lonely witcher company and be paid with protection and shelter.

Give a scarred man a smile, a soft touch, the warm fluttery feeling in his chest and receive his heart -

But now. Jaskier had no use for something as battered as Eskel’s heart. It could not keep him warm, no matter how many times Eskel imagined taking Jaskier in his arms and holding him there, sheltering him from the cold and cruelty of the world.

Jaskier had no use for such things. Not when he could have the hearts of Kings and Queens.

A heart for a heart - that was the only trade Eskel was yearning to make with Jaskier. But the bard neither wanted Eskel’s love nor could Eskel expect him to give his own heart away to someone like him.

It took him nearly a year before he realised that Jaskier was not interested in anything Eskel could give. By now, he had acclaim enough that innkeepers gave him rooms for less coin than they would normally demand, if only Jaskier played for them. No human dared seriously harming a bard who could ruin their reputation with a song and even some monsters stayed away from Jaskier, when they heard him sing. He needed neither shelter nor protection.

So there it was, the simple truth: Jaskier had no use for anything Eskel could give. He had no use for Eskel.

So why was he still travelling with him then? Why stay by his side and smile at him and make his heart ache?

People always wanted something from Eskel. That’s how this went. They demanded his services or else they wouldn’t endure his company for even a single evening.

He had to make Jaskier endure. There had to be something Eskel could give him that would make him stay.

He needed Jaskier to stay. Needed his laughter, his gentle touch, his - him. Eskel needed him.

He needed to give him something.

Only, the past few months had been rough. Coin was sparse and Eskel barely had enough to afford a dry place for Scorpion to stay on top of renting a room at an inn.

Ironically, it was one of Jaskier’s songs that gave Eskel the inspiration for a gift he could give him. Eskel was sitting at a lonely table, uncomfortably close to the centre of the tavern, so he could see Jaskier, as he performed.

He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the sight. Jaskier, perched on a table, his cheeks red with wine, happiness and the warmth from the fire burning in the hearth behind him. The light of the dancing flames painted deep shadows on his face that made all of his expressions all the more dramatic. A bead of sweat rolled down Jaskier’s temple, but Jaskier kept smiling and singing.

Of a brave knight and the lady who gave her a handkerchief as a sign of her affection and a token of luck that would keep the knight safe during a tournament.

Jaskier sang and sang and when he finally took his bow, Eskel watched him subtly wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Phew, what a crowd,” Jaskier had grinning, as he let himself fall into the chair opposite of Eskel. Wordlessly, Eskel pushed his tankard towards Jaskier, who took a big swig. “I know the Tale of Leoran and Lady Luck would be a crowd pleaser, but I didn’t think they’d want to hear me repeat the last chorus five times.”

“I asked you to play the whole song again when you first played it for me,” Eskel reminded Jaskier and nudged his foot with his own beneath the table.

“Yeah, well, but that was different.”

“How so?”

“Well,” Jaskier stretched the word, clearly aiming to buy himself some time to come up with an answer, “you helped me perfect the song. I don’t exactly have anyone to give me good luck charms to fight the battle that is winning over a crowd with a new song, so I’ll gladly repeat a song for you until you have no more suggestions for how to make it better.”

A remark about how Eskel didn’t think Jaskier could write a song that he wouldn’t like, was already at the tip of Eskel’s tongue, but the words wouldn’t come. He found himself unable to speak with his mind clinging to Jaskier’s last words.

He didn’t have anyone to give him good luck charms. No lady to give him a favour, a sign of her affection.

Eskel did his best. He truly did all he could to stop himself from imagining himself to hand Jaskier a token of his affection under the guise of good luck. To stop himself from dreaming that he could have Jaskier’s heart in return, like the knight in the story.

He shouldn’t. He truly shouldn’t think of things like that.

But once he had started, he found it was impossible to stop.

Every time, Jaskier sang for a new crowd, his words kept coming back to Eskel and with it thoughts of giving Jaskier a good luck charm.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision to start on making the gift. It was just…those days when Eskel was on a hunt alone, while Jaskier stayed in town to perform or run errands, he was restless. He needed a task to occupy his hands and mind with while he waited for the monsters to come out, lest his his own mind and body turned against him.

He didn’t have much. Of course he didn’t. He was a witcher, only carrying the bare essentials with him when he went on a hunt. Potions, weapons, his notes on the case, needle and thread, in case he needed to sow a wound before he could make it to a healer. Bandages, or - in times like these, when there were monsters aplenty yet little coin to be gained - other cloth that could be used as such, if worst came to worst.

It was with one such pieces of cloth that Eskel was fiddling with that late summer day, as he waited for the wyvern to show up. It was a simple piece of cloth. Once, it had been part of his favourite red shirt, but that had been torn asunder by a grave hag. All that was left of it now was the small square of fabric. Eskel stared at the fabric. It’s rich red colour reminded him of the way Jaskier’s cheeks flushed when he laughed, of how his lips glistened when the remnants of red wine clung to them.

He thought of stories and love and the need to keep Jaskier around.

Almost mechanically, Eskel pulled out the needle he carried with him and threaded some of the yellow thread he had bought to fix one of Jaskier’s treasured doublets with.

Without thinking, he began to stitch.

A small sun, for the way Jaskier’s whole face lit up when he laughed.

Buttercups, as a reminder for the life Jaskier had chosen for himself.

A little round bee, for the honeyed words that made Eskel’s heart melt and the sweetness of Jaskier’s presence in his life.

The embroidery wasn’t the most beautiful. Not even the most artful one Eskel had ever made, but with what little time he had and the few tools he had, it was decent. If Eskel was generous, he’d even compare it to the way Jaskier sometimes shared raw unfinished pieces of music with him. Not polished by any means, but coming from the heart. And gods, was this coming from the depths of Eskel’s heart. The very part that people assumed was rotten and hollow and that in truth was brimming with that warm feeling that filled his entire being whenever Jaskier was near and made him ache when they were parted.

No, it wasn’t a perfect gift in general, but it couldn’t have been more meaningful coming from Eskel. Giving away something that had once been used to clothe himself, made beautiful with the thread he had bought to provide for Jaskier. It was little, but it meant so much. Eskel just hoped Jaskier would see the meaning behind the gift.

Or perhaps it would be best if Jaskier didn’t see. If he simply assumed the cloth was a handy handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow with instead of a secret declaration of feelings. Eskel could be content with Jaskier never knowing. He could be happy, as long as he knew that Jaskier would carry a part of Eskel with him, just as Eskel was carrying the memory of Jaskier in his heart, wherever he went.

Eskel made another stitch - the last one of the little sun - when a shadow fell onto the cloth, darkening his view. Eskel frowned and squinted to better see what he was doing. Damn it, of course, the clouds had to hinder him just now when he was almost finished. He lifted the cloth closer to his face and -

A gust of wind nearly tore the cloth from his hands. No, not wind. The air was moved by two mighty wings beating furiously. Eskel whirled around just in time to see the wyvern dive down, maw wide open and its sharp teeth gleaming dangerously in the light of the dying sun.

Eskel cursed and threw himself to the side. With one hand, he tossed up a Quen shield, the other one was clutching the cloth to his chest. It was foolish, he knew. He should have dropped it and unsheathed his sword, but he couldn’t bear the thought of dropping Jaskier’s gift into the dirt.

He had to get it to Jaskier. And he had to do so without it being tainted. In this moment, it was more important than any coin on the continent, more important than making it out of this fight unscathed.

Eskel ducked and rolled. He thrust his free hand out and cast sign after sign at the wyvern. The beast in turn attacked mercilessly. Slashing, biting, clawing at him.

Sharp pain, as its claws caught him across the chest. Fire racing up his arm, as teeth buried deeply into it.

Unbridled fear, as blood splattered, when the wyvern’s tail hit him in the shoulder. Eskel’s heart dropped, when he saw the drops of blood flow over his chest, down to where he was cradling the cloth against it.

No. No!

It was a gift. It was…it was supposed to be Jaskier’s. It was supposed to be happy.

How was Eskel meant to make him stay? How was he supposed to give Jaskier back a little bit of what Jaskier was giving to him freely every day?

Distracted by these thoughts, Eskel didn’t notice his Quen shield flicker and shatter.

On instinct, he pulled his sword after all. One swing was all it took to rid the wyvern of its head and the Continent of yet another monster.

The red cloth fluttered to the ground - soaked in blood and coming to rest on the dirt.

Eskel stared at it. Blood dripped down his chest, his temple, his arm. Red, red, red.

Like the gift he had wanted to make Jaskier.

He barely noticed sinking to his knees to pick up the now useless cloth. He reached for it, but his fingers missed it and found the dirt instead. Eskel blinked against his swimming vision. There was so much blood on the cloth. It barely left any yellow of the embroidery, tinging the sun red. A warning. A rising sun of a morning he might never again get to spend with Jaskier.

Then, the last remnants of the yellow disappeared fully, as they were replaced by impenetrable black, when Eskel’s body hit the ground right next to the cloth.

“Come on, wake up.”

Eskel’s brows twitched in displeasure. He wanted to keep sleeping. There were no bad thoughts while he wasn’t awake.

“Wake up,” the voice insisted. It was familiar. Sweet as honey. Such a terrible contrast to the sharp sting of the stench of fear. “Eskel, come back to me.”

There was the lightest pressure on his temple. Something dapped at it, wiped away blood and grime and sweat. Smooth and soothing. Silken cloth. Something more expensive than Eskel could have ever been able to waste coin on.

Following the feeling of the cloth were fingertips. Lightly, lightly, lightly brushing his hair away from his forehead.

“You’re going to be alright, I promise,” the voice said. “You just have to wake up. I can’t carry you back into town. So you have to get up. Can you do that for me?”

He could. For that sweet and strangely familiar voice, Eskel thought he could.

He fought, gathered all his strength and forced his eyes open.

Blinking, he stared up into a face that was distorted with worry. A smudge of blood was streaked across Jaskier’s cheek, but as Eskel looked up at him, Jaskier’s eyes filled with relief.

“Oh thank the gods." Jaskier's shoulders slumped in relief, as if all energy was drained from him all of the sudden."I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have given it to you before. It would have protected you. Or - or at the very least you would have known, but I was too much of a coward and now it's ruined and - I should have given it to you."

"Should have given me what?" Eskel asked. It was neither the most pressing question nor the one he really wanted to ask.

What are you doing here with me when you could be warm and cosy in the arms of another? Why do you keep staying with me when I can give nothing to you but that which you have no use for? How can I change my old and battered heart to make it into something you'd want to keep?

Jaskier let out a choked of laugh and the soft pressure disappeared from Eskel's temple. He squinted up at Jaskier, as he waved a blue piece of cloth through the air. It was dipped in blood and sweat, yet beneath it all, Eskel would recognise some small pieces of embroidery. The silhouette of a wolf. The shape of Quen, the protection sign.

"This," Jaskier said, sounding choked. "My favour. I knew I should have given it to you before you left for your fight. It's no use after you've already faced your foe, but I thought - I didn't know if… well it doesn't really matter, does it. Maybe you would have been more lucky if I had given it to you before you left and you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

No. It couldn't be. Jaskier couldn't mean what Eskel's foolish, selfish heart prayed he meant.

And yet…

"I am lucky," Eskel said slowly. With the strength of a hundred men, he lifted his arm and caught Jaskier's hand that was still holding the blue handkerchief above Eskel's face. "Luckier perhaps than I ever dreamed of being."

"What?"

"I - tell me I got this all wrong," Eskel begged, as he shifted his battered body enough so that he wasn't lying on the red piece of cloth anymore and could pull it out from beneath him. "Tell me this is what I think - what I hope it is."

Jaskier's eyes went wide, ad he took in the ruined gift.

"Eskel," he whispered almost reverently, his fingers ghosting over the cloth, as if afraid to break what was already broken. "Is this…"

"For luck," Eskel said. He swallowed thickly, as his eyes searched Jaskier's face for any hint that he should stop. He found none. "For you. It's not a good gift, I know. It wasn't even good before it got ruined, but…"

"It's perfect," Jaskier said. Tentatively, he added, "Is it just for luck?"

"Not just."

"This isn't just for luck either," Jaskier said and pressed the blue handkerchief into Eskel's hand.

"And yet I'm so lucky."

Jaskier's lips twitched and he averted his eyes, before they flickered back to Eskel uncertainly.

"What are you thinking about?" Eskel asked, pushing himself up on his elbows despite the pain flaring up in his chest.

"I am thinking," Jaskier began slowly, "since both of our gifts are dirty… there is one other thing that's supposed to bring luck."

"Is that so?" Eskel titled his head up slightly, just as Jaskier leaned down to meet him half way.

"Yeah," he whispered, his breath ghosting over Eskel's lips.

"What is it then?"

"This."

Jaskier had always given. He had given Eskel songs and company. Comfort and coin. Smiles and laughter and warmth. Of all the things he had given him, Eskel knew that this - the kiss Jaskier was giving him now - would always be his favourite gift.

And although he was sure Jaskier expected nothing in return, Eskel, for once knew exactly how to give back to Jaskier. He gave him a kiss as well, he gave his heart that was not as unwanted as it had seemed and, as the kiss broke, he gave Jaskier a promise that Jaskier whispered right back against his lips.

As Jaskier buried his hands in Eskel's hair and Eskel pulled Jaskier closer by his waist, two pieces of cloth fluttered to the ground once again. Both dirtied and ruined. Both heralding the happiest day both Eskel and Jaskier had had in a long time. Both bringer of luck and silent declarations of love.

#Thank you for the prompt!#Jaskel #Eskel #Jaskier #Witcher #Fic #My writing

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