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salix-babi · 3 months ago

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Still Yours

[ Dan Heng x Reader | SFW | Masterlist | AO3 ]

Synopsis: Dan Heng reunites with the group at Scalegorge and seeks to sooth a tension that's developed between the two of you.

Notes: Had another version of this I wrote to completion then completely scrapped it because I was dissatisfied with the ending. Perfectionism is a burden I must overcome. Writing this just happens to coincide with the return of IL's banner but I'm lowkey hoping it blesses my pulls. I need him. If he comes home, I'll work on a nsfw part 2 so PLEASE. GIVE ME YOUR BLESSINGS.

cw: SFW, some suggestive themes in the latter half, gn!reader, lil angst, yearning, reader is a tease, established relationship, reader can be perceived as TB, spoilers for Topclouded Towerthrust Trailblaze Mission.

Word Count: ~3.6k

The two of you hadn’t exchanged a word since Dan Heng managed to reconnect with the departed expedition team on the Luofu. Looking far different from how you last remembered him.

Not as he parted the oceans.

Not as you traversed the ruins of Scalegorge.

Not as you fought Phantylia.

Every time his gaze found on you, you were looking elsewhere. Occupied with murals or enemies that stood in your path. In all fairness, there wasn’t much breathing room with the destruction of the Luofu so close at hand, but the absence of your gaze felt… empty. Cavernous in his chest and tight all at once. Like he was still apart from you despite only standing a few feet away at any given time. He didn’t like it.

Dan Heng could count on one hand (one finger, even) the amount of times as you traveled through Scalegorge that the two of you were alone. An opportunity squandered by a hesitance he couldn’t quite place. A spike of anxiety as he caught you idle by a Vidyadhara egg. Your eyes (never once on him) focused beyond its iridescent sheen to the individual cradled within. He should speak. He knows he should. The back part of his brain screams to utter your name, no matter how weak it may sound in absence of your attention. Your care. …But instead, Dan Heng finds his words caught in his throat. His chest still, his limbs frozen, and his eyes transfixed. He watches with bated breath as you press a gentle palm against the egg’s cold outer shell, seeking the Vidyadhara within. You close your eyes, and listen to the echoes of a past life as it slowly sloughs away with the coming and going of the tide. A medley of fortune and tragedy washing over you in waves.

In your focus, your expression remains unreadable to Dan Heng. A detriment made worse from the distance currently held between you, yet he doesn’t dare step closer. A thousand questions run behind closed lips, forced into a neutral line despite the anxiety writhing beneath his skin. Were you sad? Were you melancholic? Do you grieve a life’s end or celebrate its rebirth? Or did you see one’s past and future united in a single entity. Do you see him?

Dan Heng wanted to speak up then. To acknowledge the silent questions that lingered between you two. To quell his own growing anxieties. However, it’s not until you’re pulling away that he seems to find his limbs. Your attention bestowed not upon him, but March calling your name in the distance. You had lingered too long and Mr. Yang was advising against getting separated. It made sense. Dan Heng watches (only watches) as your connection to the egg severs, the flow of memories fading from your mind as you reconvene with the group and once again wander out of his reach. He can only follow silently, his eyes lingering on the egg for a fraction of a moment as he passes.

There was a tension between the two of you, of that he was certain the both of you felt. A chasm that was growing wider the longer you avoided him, and he kept his distance from you. Even March was beginning to look a little antsy. But with so much to do and so little time, a lover’s quarrel was hardly their biggest concern.

His next opportunity arises as the group is rushing out of Scalegorge, Phantylia gone and an unconscious Arbiter General in arm. As others tended to Jing Yuan (greeted in a frenzy by cloud knights and a furious Master Diviner in tow), there you stood at the base of the high elder’s statue, scrutinizing its stone features. There were parts of it that were similar, features passed down through generations upon generations of high elders. The horns of The Permanence themselves. The weapon and the water known to be wielded by Imbibitor Lunae. Even the silken hair that stretches down their back. Traditional.

Dan Heng, in truth, struggled to see the differences himself sometimes. Denied his right in molting rebirth, he remains a carbon copy of the man who incited sedition within the Luofu, traitorous and guilty of unpardonable sin. Many would like to think he is the same man. Capable of the same crimes. Perhaps he would be, if it were you. Though he can’t afford to think that. Many assume regardless. But you…

So caught up in trying to decipher your expression, Dan Heng nearly jumps out of his skin when your gaze turns to him for the first time since you left him on the Express days ago. A small part of him soothes to bask in your attention once more, but the larger part of him claws with anxiety, a turning unease in his stomach. The vidyadhara stiffens, heart spiking to his throat so hard he nearly chokes. You seem equally shocked, but the sudden nervousness darts his eyes away before he could read anything beyond that.

Somewhere in the commotion Mr. Yang suggests they return to the mainland to get the general proper care and the group moves obligingly, sweeping the two of you back into the residual excitement following Phantylia’s defeat and once again snuffing out any opportunities to talk.

One chaotic trip later and you’re finally saying your goodbyes to the Luofu officials for the night. Jing Yuan was in the hands of trusted individuals in the Alchemy Commission and Fu Xuan gives you the barest skeleton of a debrief, the remaining group agreeing a more in-depth discussion can be reserved for the morning once all had at least had a chance to rest properly and the general’s condition has stabilized. Even so, Mr. Yang opts to remain a moment longer with the intention of discussing the nuances of their plan to handle the stellaron, and March had long ago left for her hotel room the moment everyone stepped back on the mainland, exhausted beyond compare. You had no doubt she’d be out like a light well into the following morning. However that, in turn, left you and Dan Heng alone to traverse the path back to your hotel. The starskiff ride was quiet. The walk from the docks to the hotel, soundless. If you had something to say you weren’t saying it yet, and Dan Heng had no idea where to even begin.

It isn’t until you’re reaching for the handle of your own room, ready to squeak out an awkward goodbye, that your hand is snatched in the grip of another. The motion was so sudden, his grip so desperate in those small seconds where he squeezed your fingers, that it nearly draws a startled sound out of you. Your fingers hover over the notch in the door, hesitating for only a fraction of a moment before turning to meet Dan Heng’s gaze for the first time since Scalegorge. You expect coldness and ferocity within the jade orbs that have been boring into you all day, aspects you’ve seen reflected throughout your battles. You braced for harsh words, some declaration that your Dan Heng (yours) was…

Well, whatever you were expecting was not what you received. Your breath hitches when instead he seems to plead, and for a moment you see your own uncertainties reflected in him. It’s the first time you felt anywhere close to being on the same page, the air swirling with questions and uncertainties barely held behind stoic lips. The hand enveloping yours refuses to let go, Dan Heng’s fingers twitching with the habitual urge thread your fingers together and feel whole again. To hold and kiss you until there wasn’t a doubt in your mind about who he was. Who he wants to be for you. But these things take time. He can see it in the way you chew at your lower lip, eyes darting to the side as you consider your options. He prays you’ll indulge him.

The few seconds of silence are grueling, the near-stranger in front of you daunting in appearance yet so gentle in how he holds on. But the squeeze of the hand around yours is so reminiscent of the Dan Heng who would comfort you during your worst bouts of anxiety — would hold you close beneath warm covers and scold you while dressing your wounds with the care of a lover — that you acquiesce, fingers retreating from your door and nodding slightly. Dan Heng nearly sighs the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Instead, you feel his grip loosen a fraction around your hand. His shoulders lose a bit of their stiffness, but he doesn’t let you go, and you allow him to lead you further down the hallway to his assigned room.

The silence between you persists.

Your eyes are trained on the back of his head, on the flow of dark hair down his back, and the teal tips of a set of semi-translucent horns. The offset of anxiety gives way for curiosity and idly, you wondered if you could touch them. Would he feel it if you did? Or would their translucent appearance allow your fingers to pass through as if they were nothing at all. Even as the battle had ended, Dan Heng remained in this form for reasons yet known to you. You had assumed (wrongly) that perhaps he was just… this now. But clearly something deeper was going on. Different from the worst of your spiraling predictions, and that gave you hope.

You’re brought back from your thoughts to the telltale click of an unlocked door and with a gentle tug of your hand in his, he leads you inside, only letting go once you’ve stepped in to close the door behind you. Your eyes scan the room in the meantime. A standard unit no different from your own on the first night here, though considerably untouched. You wonder if Dan Heng had slept at all since arriving on the Luofu. You knew he would sometimes meditate to stave off sleep, pulling countless nights working on the archives and only displaying symptoms of sleep deprivation if he got too deep into his work over the weeks. (Now that you think about it, a lot of his habits seemed a little inhuman…) No doubt he couldn’t walk the busier streets of the Luofu without drawing unwanted attention, cutting off more direct paths to more important locations. The thought has a slight frown tugging at the corners of your lips.

There’s a bit of an awkward moment as Dan Heng tries to figure out how to broach the subject, one you realize you’re all too familiar with. It’s when Dan Heng stands still, remaining dead silent when he’s expected to speak. He’ll stay there, fidgeting in his own way despite the discipline he so prides himself in. Crossing his arms, closing his eyes, concentrating as if the words would come to him easier. As eloquent with his speech as Dan Heng can be, he often struggled with connecting it to his feelings. It’s significantly easier when you’re there to help him through it. The familiarity is endearing, comforting in a way. Unintentional as it was on Dan Heng’s part. It spurs you to make the first move.

You settle on the side of the bed, marring the soft, pristine sheets. Teal eyes follow your every move, darting for any sign of familiarity from you while still being too afraid to approach. He’s uncertain of where the border lies, if it differs from what it was before, and ever the cautious man, Dan Heng doesn’t know where to push. You give your best attempt at a reassuring smile, smoothing out the worried tick in your brows and holding out a hand. An invite. One that Dan Heng accepts. You’re grateful when he takes it, movements ever so stilted as he shuffles to sit beside you. (You decide against drawing attention to how he keeps holding your hand afterwards.)

Dan Heng aches to be close, unable to help the way your thighs touch as he sits next to you. You radiate warmth even through his thick robes, gentle and familiar. He wanted nothing more than to sink into that warmth. “I…” He swallows dumbly, thumb rubbing circles into the back of your hand. Your more welcoming demeanor allows him room to think. “How… much,” he starts tentatively, keeping his eyes on your connected hands rather than you, “…have you learned of the previous High Elder?”

A quiet breath leaves you, one Dan Heng knows you’re trying to measure for his sake, but his worries spike anyways. “It…” The hand around yours squeezes tighter, and in the moments where you try to formulate your thoughts, his mind spirals through all your potential answers. The reason you were here must mean that some part of you, however small, still believes the Dan Heng you know still remains. He does. He knows he does. He’s all that left. Dan Heng sits before you, no different from the man you loved so warmly before all this began. Not Dan Feng. He just… needs to show you somehow. Quell your doubts just as he quells his own. “…” He braces to hear the sins of a past that is no longer his. The Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae, the unpardonable sin, and the sealed fate of all Vidyadhara.

“Does it… matter?” Your voice is tentative, quieter than he remembers. Dan Heng’s eyes widen unexpectedly. “When we first saw you today,” you continue, “you looked so different I... almost didn’t recognize you.” Now it’s your turn to look away, a reflection of your uncertainty in that moment burning into the floor. “For a moment I thought—” It's an awful feeling, one you can't bear for much longer. Your throat tightening, heart dropping to your stomach, dread settling like lead within you. Just the memory has you shuddering, blinking back tears meant for far worse scenarios. You lean against Dan Heng's side, craving normalcy just as much as him, and slip an arm around to hug his close, “I thought maybe you weren’t there anymore.” It's hard to say and even harder to hear. Dan Heng aches with the trepidation in your tone, squeezing your hand tightly. Like he could lose you in that moment.

“…I know.” It's all he can say.

“But... you’re still Dan Heng, right?”

He swallows the building pressure in his own throat, basking in the comfort of your pressure at his side while fighting back the urge to pull you closer still. To glut himself on you until the void of your absence sates. Dan Heng knows his answer. “Yes.” It's the most sure he's sounded, courage guiding his hand as it lifts your chin to face him. Draconic eyes bore into yours, sharp with determination despite the soft edges of unfettered yearning. "So long as you’ll have me, I want to be— I am Dan Heng.” He feels you shift beside him, jaw setting beneath his palm and this time, you look back at him with a scrutinizing stare. Eerily reminiscent of the way you had regarded the statue earlier. Nose scrunched and eyes slightly narrow. He’d find it cute under any other circumstance. Dan Heng stiffens. “Hmm…” Your spine straightens for a better vantage point, slipping your hand from his to poke at his cheek and tug gently at the sleeves of his clothing. “May I?” you ask, perhaps too politely to the vidyadhara’s anxious mind, but he nods all the same and you take his permission to raise yourself higher on the bed and gently settle yourself in his lap. Your legs straddle his on either side like you would any day before this one, and you let yourself look at him – really look at him – for the first time in this new form. Your familiar weight on his thighs is already doing wonders in quelling his nerves a bit. He’s thankful for the firm pressure there to ground him, and without thinking, he’s moved to rest his hands on your waist as he usually would. Always more than strong enough to keep you secure.

Dan Heng holds his breath under your scrutiny. He allows you to explore his more draconic form as you wish, using all his self-restraint to remain still as delicate fingers glide across his features. There’s a visible bob of his throat as digits rise from his neck and follow the curve of his jaw, brushing faintly across his lower lip before moving to press warm palms against his cheek. He wants more than anything to lean into your touch right now, nerves begging to feel more than just the trace of your touch against his lips after being apart for so long. But he’s frozen in place, more fearful that any sudden movements would scare you away. You’ve already been distant from him for far too long both physically and emotionally, and he doesn’t think he can stand you being so far for much longer.

You trace along the red marks lining his eyes, two now instead of the one mark you were used to. Your eyes catch his for a moment, finding piercing teal orbs staring back at you with an inherent intensity. Even unintentionally, his gaze demands your attention, longing and uncertainty swirling behind widened pupils. He was taking you in just as much as you were him, it would seem. So, your fingers continue their journey. Across his features, his nose and his cheek until ghost-like fingertips reach the auricle of his ear. The quiet breath he sucks in is… adorable, even more so the brief flash of teal in your peripheral signifying the movement of a tail. Soft fingers curl around the pointed tip of his ear to massage the cartilage gently between a thumb and forefinger, taking note of how his body stiffens a fraction. A different form yet his sensitive points have remained the same, it would seem. However, it’s only when he feels your touch travel upward along his hairline to trail soft pads along the curve of his horns that he fails to hold back a small, shuddering gasp.

“Sensitive…?” you ask as if it were nothing at all and there’s a slight hesitance in the shake of Dan Heng’s head, red beginning to visibly dust his cheeks. “Just… unexpected,” he settles on. The last thing he wanted was for you to stop. Not when you were finally so so close to him. He just couldn’t figure out what you were thinking. Were you aware of what your touch was doing to him? What it always does to him? Did you approve of all these differences in his appearance you were exploring so diligently? Or did you find it strange? Distasteful? Briefly, he finds himself regretting not reverting back to his more familiar form the moment they had left Scalegorge. He hadn’t needed to call upon the powers of the Imbibitor Lunae once Phantylia was dealt with, but every time he had glanced your way in this form, you had been looking elsewhere. He just couldn't move forward with you so uncertain about who he was. Who he wanted to be.

“Still mad at me for leaving without a goodbye kiss?” Your voice pulls him back to the present, wondering when he had closed his eyes in the first place with the way you were caressing his horns. It takes Dan Heng a moment to register your words, so distracted by the pass of your thumbs along its ridges. “W-what?” He blinks owlishly at you, pushing your hands away when he looks up half confused and half dumbfounded by the question. You smile impishly, arms coming to rest around his shoulders. “You always get grumpy when I leave without a kiss. So… are you?” The man frowns. You were teasing him. Dan Heng wants to get in your good graces. But… he couldn’t lie to you. On top of worrying about your wellbeing in the entirety of the week you’ve been apart, he’s also grown accustomed to spending his nights with you. Warm in the archives or out on a mission. He can understand a few days away, but to be without you for a week and without a goodbye kiss was… “I’m not mad, I just-…” His eyes flicker off to the ground beside you, hesitating as he finds his footing in his words. “I missed you.” Had he inherited the floppy ears of the Permanence along with those horns, you imagine they’d be sunken flat against the sides of his head with how saddened he looked in this moment. (Though you swear, swear you see those pointed ears tilt downward!!) But then you giggle, and he suddenly perks right up in surprise.

“Then you’re still my Dan Heng,” you hum softly and the relief that immediately floods the vidyadhara has him melting into your arms, canting his head forward to bump foreheads. The chime of another laugh makes him question if you had done all of this simply to tease him, wound up as he was. He’d think it cruel but, in the moment, he’s wanted nothing more than to hear those words. “Yes,” he breathes, unthinkingly. Arms wrap tighter around your waist, heeding wants to have you closer, and Dan Heng finally gives in to his desires. He closes what little distance was left to capture you in a kiss long overdue. Your lips were so soft, so perfect against his. Warm and gentle, the sensation all the sweeter having been without you for so long. Too long. You reciprocate with ease, a thumb stroking his cheek soothingly while your other hand slides down to rest at the side of his neck and he’s on cloud nine, sacrificing a hand of his own from your waist to reach for the back of your head and pull you closer, deeper, never wanting to let go.

“Yours.”

#salix-writes #sorry i write like an academic #or a victorian maiden #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng x reader #dan heng #imbibitor lunae

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acaplaya-musings · 1 month ago

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Hot take: the sequel soundtrack is better than the first movie soundtrack

(And why does that reindeer-inspired outfit work so incredibly well on Layne?)

Frozen 2 medley — VoicePlay music video

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The Frozen phenomenon was pretty inescapable for several years, and these lifelong Disney kids were not immune to the hype. So when they were considering how best to feature their newest (and youngest) collaborator, the sequel film's soundtrack quickly became an obvious choice. Its combination of whimsy, musicality, and earnest coming-of-age stories was a perfect fit for these performers.

Details:

title: Frozen 2 medley, feat. Adriana Arellano

original songs / performers: "Some Things Never Change"; [0:47] "Into the Unknown"; [1:38] "When I Am Older"; [2:28] "Lost in the Woods"; [3:22] "Show Yourself"; [4:48] "Into the Unknown" reprise; all by the cast of Frozen 2 (2019)

written by: all songs by Kristen Anderson-Lopez & Robert Lopez

arranged by: Layne Stein & Hannah Juliano

release date: 24 December 2019

My favorite bits:

the guys' offended reactions to Adriana singing ♫ "we're all getting older" ♫

Layne's adorable shrug at J.None's assertion that ♫ "reindeer are easier" ♫ and his cartoony Sven voice for ♫ "some things never change" ♫ 🦌

the ethereal North Wind calling to Elsa

those gentle staccato harmonies on ♫ "had my adventures" ♫

the whooshing sounds Layne includes in his percussion 🌬

Adriana's fantastic belting of ♫ "into the unknOOOWN" ♫

the deep growl and descening arpeggio Geoff does in the transition to help change the emotional tone

Eli's spot-on Olaf voice and Earl's lovely whistling in "When I Am Older"

J.None and Earl nodding in agreement that ♫ "it's really good" ♫

carrot chopping percussion 🥕 🔪

turning the terrified scream into a deliciously dissonant chord

the slightly goofy ♫ "woaw" ♫ transition into "Lost In the Woods" that lets Geoff get a little melodramatic in his spolight moment

J.None's silky smooth timbre for ♫ "chasing your heart" ♫

the carrot drumstick miming Layne indulges in after the cutting board is taken away 🥕 🥁

Adriana whipping out her phone's flashlight in place of a lighter to wave back and forth

the soft alto she achieves at the start of "Show Yourself"

Earl puppeting the salamander plushie on Adriana's shoulder

the heartbeat percussion Layne puts under the quiet moments

Adriana's descending riff on ♫ "show yourse-e-e-e-eeelf" ♫

Geoff's repeated slides into the basement

the delicate bell chords behind ♫ "come my darling" ♫

Layne's woodblock-y sounds in the build up to the ending

that lush final chord with all seven voices

Trivia:

○ Adriana was just 15 years old when they recorded this. VoicePlay included their invitation for her to collaborate with them in a birthday message delivered via her mother, Michelle, who the guys knew from the theme park performance community.

○ The haunting North Wind vocals were provided by Elizabeth Garozzo, another theme park buddy, who later appeared on screen in their videos for "Just Sing" and "In the Hall of the Mountain King".

○ Everyone's outfits are reflective of characters in the film, though they don't strictly adhere to the same vocal parts. Eli is Olaf the snowman, Earl is Princess Anna, J.None is Destin Mattias, Layne is Sven the reindeer, Adriana is Queen Elsa, and Geoff is Kristoff Bjorgman.

○ Adriana and Michelle created a behind the scenes video of the filming day that includes footage of some perilous carrot chopping percussion, an impromptu bit of their Moana medley, and the intentionally bad singthrough.

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○ The Facebook upload of this video racked up 2 million views in less than a week. Never underestimate the combined power of Disney fans, children's desire for repetition, and the extra leisure time that comes with the December holidays.

○ The arrangement and video got the seal of approval from the original songwriters on Twitter.

○ That interaction led to a mention on Broadway World.

○ The audio version was uploaded to streaming sites as individual tracks in an album entitled "Slushy", and includes a bonus remix of "Lost in the Woods".

○ Their artist friend Leon King was inspired to draw a joyful little Laynedeer.

○ The guys had previously performed and recorded some songs from the first movie, as well.

"Let It Go" was the finale of their "Wow! Hits" medley on the 2015 Sing-Off tour. It was also one of the alternate interruptions Layne occasionally used in their "Road Trip" skit.

"In Summer" was included in their "Aca Top 10 – Disney Sidekicks" countdown the year before.

J.None was part of the ensemble for the album version of DCappella's "Let It Go / Do You Want to Build a Snowman?" mashup a few months after that.

○ Although this was their first recorded collaboration, it wasn't actually the first time VoicePlay and Adriana had performed together. They had been part of the entertainment at an event in early June 2018, along with Paradigm Party Band, J's nephew, and Layne's nieces.

#Went to see Frozen 2 after my final year of high school #And now tomorow I'm seeing Moana 2 after my final year of university!#VoicePlay #Frozen 2 medley #Voiceplay frozen 2 medley #Jules-Has-Notes #Jules has notes #Acaplaya reblogs

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damn-stark · 4 months ago

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Chapter 22 Hanging tree medley

Chapter 22 of Moonlight

A/N- ;) Closer and closer to our boy Cregan

Warning- VIOLENCE, GRUESOME DEATH, swearing, talks of pregnancy, and blood, angst!!, fluff, SPOILERS FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 462-463

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

*3 DAYS LATER*

Dull blackened walls. Leaking roof. Rain, rain, and more stupid rain for 3 days!

Besides, seeing Alys for breakfast, lunch, and dinner all that you have is stupid dull walls, a leaking roof, and rain! All because of Aemond! All because he’s under some stupid mind trip! You don’t know how much longer you can take it, you don’t want to stay trapped in the same stupid four walls or you’ll go mad! You need to get out, you desire it with every fiber of your being, but there’s no way out besides the front door and that’s heavily guarded.

All that you have as an alternative instead is staying busy inside your chamber while it’s day. Yet when you’re awake you think of what Aemond did and tears escape your eyes, so you sleep. Sleep and dream apparently.

Of what? You don’t know, but it’s clear though. You’re in some unknown house with the sun casting through a window, looking out at a cobbled street, and a clean and beautiful white house. You want to feel the sun on your skin after being stuck under gloomy skies for so long, but ‘tis a dream. You can only see the sun dancing on your fingertips.

“Laenor.”

You freeze with your hand reaching for the beam of light and hold your breath as if any slight movement that you make will make this dream disappear.

“Stop! What are you doing?! You know you can’t go!”

The voice is familiar, but no matter how hard you try to connect it to a memory of someone, you’re unable to find it in your mess of a mind.

Footsteps quickly approach soon thereafter though, but you remain frozen. Even more so as you wonder if what you’re dreaming of isn’t some dream at all, but something made by Alys. A vision of the past foretold in a dream.

“You can’t stop me Qarl,” a different voice counters in a faltering sharp voice. And this voice, unlike the other one, is easy to connect to a person. This voice…belongs to your father. You can’t forget it no matter how much you have tried—“I need to go. I am going to see her,” you hear your father add before you see his figure in the corner of your eyes as he approaches the front door.

You want to look, you want to see him, and you know you will because this dream is too clear, too vivid for it to be a figment of the inner workings of your mind, but the best you can do is lower your hand back to your side and let out a shaky breath.

You can’t look, not even as another pair of footsteps quickly make their way over before slamming the door shut.

“What if you are caught, huh?” Qarl, the man with the voice you can now identify, argues. “Do you think that 5 years is enough for people to forget how you look?”

“I don’t…” your father trails off and you hear his feet shift against the wooden panels. You think that he’s going to follow up with something quickly, but the silence lingers, making you grow insatiably curious to the point you slowly turn and finally see him; it’s the side of his face, but it’s him and he’s so much thinner, he has eye bags, and sunken in cheeks. He almost looks sickly. Is he?

“I don’t need to make some big public announcement,” your father's voice quivers. “Qarl, I just need to see her. It’s been five years, she should have returned from Winterfell already, meaning she’s in King’s Landing, which leaves me the perfect opportunity to see her without getting caught.”

“That’s if you can even get near, it’s been five years, Laenor. She’s changed, the girl you knew is gone. What if it’s not possible to see her?” He queries and lifts his brows to press him to answer, but your father just scoffs and lets a faint smile appear on his face.

“I do not care if she’s changed,” he retorts and lets his bag slip from his arm. “I welcome it. I just need to see her, Qarl. I’m dying and all that occupies my mind is her. I…dream of her. She fills my every thought. Her. My daughter. My little girl.”

His words are simple. They’re so simple, but oh do they have a way to puncture your chest and make it ache. No matter how upset you want to be over the choices he made, at this very moment as you hear him, as you see him desperately pleading, you can’t stay upset. Not even a bit.

“I made her,” he says shakily with a wobbly smile to match his shaky words. “Me. She's the best part of me and I left her behind. You don’t know what that feels like, the guilt that torments me so, because she’s not your daughter. You’re not a father, but I am and I left her,” he cries as he touches his chest.

“I left them, and now I’m dying so all I need is just to see her,” he continues softly. “I don’t need her to see me even though I wish it. I don’t need to embrace her even though I dream it. I just need to see her from afar, I just need to make sure she’s okay and happy. If I die there in the stinking city then at least I would have gotten to see her one last time, so no Qarl you cannot stop me. I’m going so you can either stay or come with me.”

He was coming to see you. After you had all this doubt about his love for you, he was going to come see you before he died.

He still left you behind and made you believe he was dead, but he still thought of you, he still loved you after all that time, how can you stay mad at that? How can you forsake him when he has never forsaken you?

Albeit does that really aid your agonized soul? No, it still aches, perhaps even more so now that you know this truth. But past that agony that you feel, a part of you doesn’t hurt as much as it used to when you thought he forgot about you. A part of you feels at ease and healed, and it’s thanks to Alys.

For whatever reason, whether from the kindness of her own heart or a tactic used to motivate you out of your depressed state, you’re thankful and motivated. You can say that you will actually fight to get out now.

However, no matter how much you do wish to escape this past vision given to you through your dream, you can’t. You can’t leave yet. Instead, your surroundings slowly change. Where there were once walls from a house, now there’s an endless horizon, sand beneath your feet, and crashing waves against the shore.

Confusion is quick to take over you, polluting your every thought until you hear violent hacking from behind you. After that curiosity slowly creeps through, making you turn and freeze in horror when you see the vast ocean scene polluted by the remnants of a wrecked ship. Which means the hacking you heard…

You don’t want to see who’s lying on the sandy ground. You don’t want to, but you must, so you turn around slowly, and there on the ground lies your father, bleeding out from a puncture wound in his stomach.

“Father!” You cry out and before you know your feet carry you to him and you fall by his side. “Papa,” you whisper and reach over to grab his face and tilt it over.

When his eyes find you before him, face to face, his gaze begins to narrow as he seems to try and work out if you’re real.

“It’s me,” your whisper quivers. “It’s me. Your little Siren. Papa. You must know it’s me.”

His eyes slowly soften, making his pupils dilate, whilst his lips tug to a relieved smile. “It’s you. My little Siren.”

“Papa,” you mewl.

He chuckles out of joy and doesn’t hesitate cupping your face. “Look at you,” he coos. “You’ve grown into a beautiful young lady.”

You break into a smile and stroke his cheek. “Papa…I thought…I thought you didn’t love me. I thought you left me behind because you didn’t like me.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “No, no. How could I ever hate you? I love you. That’s why I left, you must know.”

You nod. “Yes, I know,” you assure him and keep stroking his cheek. “I know. I have so much to tell you, like—like you’re a grandfather. Aerion is my boy's name. He’s so beautiful.”

His smile softens, and he pulls your face towards him so you can press your foreheads against each other. “Will you…sing me a song? One last…time,” he whispers.

You nod as tears crawl out of your eyes. Yet before you can even think of a song to sing, his grip slips from your cheeks, and his head falls back limply as he takes his last breath.

“Father!” You weep. “Father, please don’t leave me again. Papa!” You cry out and slide your hands down to shake his shoulders. “Papa! Please, please.”

No amount of pleas will bring him back, you know that. It’s just a vision of the past, you know that, but you still try your hardest. “Please, papa. Please you must live. You must stay. You have so much to see, like Aerion. You have to meet Aerion and the twins. Please papa. Please.”

It’s no use though. His heart isn’t beating and no breaths escape past his lips. He’s gone, and all you can do with what little time remains is bury your face in the crook of his neck.

When he slips away and the scenery follows, you wake up to the dull and blackened walls, you wake up with your cheeks pampered in tears, but a fury lit within you that makes you want to fight your way out. After all, you’ve proven that you can. Even if you’re pregnant you can do it because you can’t stay here a moment longer. You need to leave, you need to see Aerion, and most importantly not be here when Aemond returns.

Thus after you take a deep and shaky breath, and wipe the tears off your cheeks, you slip off the bed. And since you have no weapons you simply walk to the doors with the intent to lure inside one of the guards standing outside the doors.

However, when your hand hovers over the knob a thud hits the door making your shoulders jump and a breath to escape past your lips.

What are they doing out there you wonder. And to satisfy your curiosity you lean forward with your breath held to peek through the crack between the doors, noticing your guards dead on the ground and two strange men standing over them with different colored outfits that don’t match the guards left to protect you. These men also have a more rugged appearance and don’t use armor like your men do. Are they Rivermen?

They must be, and you can’t take it for chance. If they’re here killing your men after Aemond and the army left then they’re not here on good terms, and it’s doubtful that whoever is leading them will let you have your freedom.

If it was you leading these men here then you would take yourself as a prisoner; you’re valuable on both sides, and unless they’re stupid then they’ll take you captive and cut some deal with your Mother or Aemond.

Which means you have to go to Astraea and leave at last, so with that in mind you quickly search your chambers and when you find a dark corner to hide in to get a jump on them, you start to move to it.

Yet just as you make it past the door, they swing open and the men make themselves in, ruining your chance to hide.

“Your Grace,” one of the men greets you mockingly and bows their head.

You’re at a standstill so you just pierce a glare into them and try to find something to use against them as they immediately become combative, proving they’re not stupid.

“We saw the purple dragon fly out and assumed you were gone,” the second man says, telling you at that moment Astraea must have gone hunting, she wouldn’t leave otherwise. Not while you’re here against your will—“We came into the castle, saw the guards, and thought nothing of it until there were two at the door. Must be our lucky day that the Kinslayer didn’t take his wife with him.”

You can’t find something to use against them, not while they both have swords, so you start to inch toward the doors.

“If you’re going to take me captive do it,” you try to end your torture. “At your own risk, you are Rivermen, you serve under the Queen, and she won’t be happy to hear you took her only daughter captive.”

The men look at each other unaffected by your threat and one of them proves that. “Aye, she won’t. Neither will the Kinslayer find joy in hearing his wife got taken, but Lady Frey wants Harrenhal, I imagine either of them will grant us the keep and the lands for you. Whoever does it first gets you back and gets our support.”

Lady Frey? As in Lady Sabitha Frey?

Of course, the Frey’s are up to no good.

Regardless, you don’t want to let Aemond respond to their deal first. He is closer so he will arrive here faster. And if he does he’ll only leave you in the same predicament someplace he will deem safer, which will be probably someplace like Oldtown or somewhere your mother nor anyone else would dare attack, and even thinking of being kept locked away in some isolated place terrifies you more than what these men could do, so you have to reach Astraea. But first, you have to escape these men.

You are close to the door so you can slip away when there’s an opening. You just need one more step. And you take it while not looking at the door to avoid giving them the idea that you are planning to escape. You just lift your foot up and put it back to get ready to quickly slip away.

Yet just at that precise moment, one of the men catches what you were plotting and immediately pulls his sword out to lunge forward, pointing the tip of the blade at your belly, the only place that will guarantee you to come to a complete stop.

“Not so fast,” he taunts and clicks his tongue.

Your breath falters but you don’t show your fear through your expression, you instead lift your nose in the air and clench your jaw to show frustration.

“Easy Angelo,” the second man warns the man as he sees where his friend points the blade. “We need her unharmed.”

The first man, Angelo scoffs and side-eyes the second man. “I’m no idiot. She just won’t try anything now, will you?” He directs at you as he starts walking around you without letting his threatening aim falter. However, you don’t respond, you just follow him with your eyes until he gets behind you with the tip of the blade now pointed at your back.

There’s room for threats, you could tell them that Aemond has Vhagar, the biggest dragon in the world, who can easily burn them to nothing but ash, but they know that. They know the firepower both sides carry, just like they know that you have a dragon of your own, so it means that they don’t care because they have you. They have the advantage, that’s what they know. But what about what you know?

No matter what has spread about you, they still doubt you. They don’t believe in your wrath, they’re ignorant to the picture others have painted of you because you’re a woman, a Princess who can’t have the capability of spreading such destruction.

That’s where they’re wrong though and you’re glad for it. You can thank their ignorance and their misogynistic views for that. And it’s because of the way they think that you easily find an escape. It is a bit more gruesome than you anticipated, but without a weapon of your own, you have no other choice but to be violent. They left you with no other choice but to fling your fist back just as he puts his sword away in an attempt to tie your hands together, and hit him right in the throat, making him stumble back as he starts to choke. You then swiftly spin around before he can recover, catching him reaching for his sword with one hand, so you hastily run at him and suddenly jump on him.

Once you’re clinging onto him the other guy shouts, whilst Angelo grabs a fistful of your hair to try and yank your head away, but since he’s still choking you manage to throw your head forward and sink your teeth on the side of his neck.

At first, your mind forbids you from sinking your teeth any deeper than you’re supposed to, but adrenaline and fear take control, so before you know it you bite through his flesh, causing blood to immediately flood out in your mouth and spill down your chin. You then yank your head back and rip a piece of flesh from his neck, rendering him nothing more than deadweight at that very moment.

No more taunting, and no more doubting. There’s just his blood as it squirts all over your chest and face until you let go of Angelo, and let him fall limply to the ground with a loud thud as you spit out the piece of him you ripped out.

“Angelo!” The other man shrieks, reminding you he’s there after feeling the rush of the moment cloud your mind.

“<That's right,>” you murmur in High Valyrian as you turn around and see how horrified the man is, to the point he stands there paralyzed with his widened eyes on his dead friend. He doesn’t seem to notice that you’re there anymore, not until you snatch the sword from the man’s corpse. Even then he fails to counter, it just seems like his eyes are almost going to pop out of his skull when he sees the bottom part of your face, and your chest covered in his friend's blood.

Yet it’s his inability to react that makes him an easy but also disappointing target. You want him to put up a fight, but he returns his gaze to his friend and with his last breath utters the name, “Angelo.” You then lunge the blade through his stomach so hard that the blade comes out of the other end.

After both men are nothing but corpses spilling blood over the ground you drop the blade and lift your nose in the air as you take in heavy breaths and think of what to do next. There’s no doubt more Frey men are here, Lady Frey wouldn’t be stupid enough to come with just a couple. She should have come with a handful of men, and a handful of men is just enough to overwhelm you and lead you back to the same problem you were just in, but worse because you wouldn’t be able to escape more of them.

It’s why you need to take your chance now that you have it. There’s no more men coming. They don’t all know you’re here, not besides the two that you just killed going by what they said, so you can make your escape.

Alys is here too, but you don’t need to worry about her, she can take care of herself. And Ser Jason? Aemond had him locked away so he wouldn’t get you out, there’s no way you can reach him without getting caught, so…you have to make the hardest choice and leave him behind. You can’t get caught or you’ll just be locked away again, you’ll fall into the same trap that put you in danger in the first place, so you have to leave before they see you. Ser Jason will understand that.

“Sorry, Ser,” you murmur to yourself as you drop the blade and don’t hesitate a moment longer before you leave the room.

Once you're in the hallway though you come to a stop to try and hear if more men are approaching. When you hear nothing, you stick to the shadows and sneakily make your escape. Luckily the castle is large, with a lot of area to cover, so none of the men or Lady Frey have reached the corridors you stride down. They don’t occupy the courtyard you run down, but you do hear voices in the distance once you’re outside, they sound close, but they’re not on top of you yet, so you just quicken your pace.

When you make it out of the walls you stand against one and glance at the woods and open area. If Astraea is hunting she’ll hunt for deer or some bear or something since you’re not close to the sea for her to hunt her fish. The woods don’t offer her the space for her to catch her meals so she’d be roaming over the tree line, over the open fields where she has space and more visibility. That’s where you’ll find her, so going off instinct, you continue to run.

Running while pregnant is not easy though. Especially not with twins, not when you're six months along; they weigh you down and make you slower, but you don’t let that stop you. Not at this moment, you push yourself as much as your body lets you. Your heart quickly begins to race, your rushing blood thumps in your ears, and beads of sweat form on your forehead, but you don’t care, you keep running and running.

The need to keep straining yourself in order to find your dragon only grows tenfold when you hear men in the background shouting to catch you and return you to the castle before you can reunite with your dragon somewhere in the distance. And since they’re not carrying twins they’re faster than you. Since their legs aren’t throbbing with the additional weight or out of growing exhaustion, they’re faster.

They get closer and closer, making you keep pushing yourself, making you try to run faster because you can feel her nearby. She’s close, you can feel it. You just need to run faster. She’ll scare them off.

However, your efforts are proven useless when one of them manages to get the lead out of the others he’s with and throws his arms around you to yank you back, pulling you to a harsh stop, and preventing you from reaching your dragon.

“Let go of me!” You bellow and try to throw your elbow back, but two more men catch up and take ahold of your arms, making your efforts to escape fruitless. “I’m your princess!” You throw out and kick your feet as they start pulling you back, but they don’t care. They see the blood staining you and don’t care. And since a lot of men are returning you to the castle they don’t care about you kicking or squirming.

Your fight is nothing to them, which makes returning to the castle an easy effort and once you're inside you're taken to the Godswood right away where you're pushed to your knees in front of none other than Lady Serena Frey, an old shrewd who was recently widowed, and who apparently has nothing better to do.

“Princess,” the old woman greets you and curtsies which means nothing when you’re on your knees with your hands tied behind your back. “It’s an honor meeting you. I will say you look nothing like your brother.”

You clench your jaw and narrow your glare on her at the mere mention of your brother.

“I expected to come to a weakly defended castle, but alas you’re here,” she continues to talk confidently with her chin up in the air, relishing in a confidence she can only gain because there’s no dragon nearby, you’re on your knees, and she knows Aemond and your own mother are far to do her any harm. “You truly are a sight for sore eyes, Princess.”

You tilt your head slightly and finally break the silence you had kept since you were put before her “You would be rewarded handsomely if you deliver me to my mother without strings, don’t you know?”

Lady Frey steps forward and lets out a deep breath as she seems to weigh on what you say before she sighs and nods stiffly. “Perhaps I would be rewarded, but what’s better than the jewel to the Riverlands? I was promised to be its Castallen but alas the one who made the promise is dead. Killed by arrows I heard.”

Your breath falters, and you drop your eyes to the ground as you make the connection that it was Jacaerys that she was referring to this entire time. It was your sweet and now deceased brother. You realize that and the memory of him only stomps on the ashes of your heart, making you ache.

“And with you as my prisoner, the Prince Regent and The Queen would both willingly give me what I want without the need of waiting until the war has ended,” she adds as her eyes burn into your downcasted attention. “The only question is who will offer it to me first with good benefits.”

“You have dominion over the twins, what more do you need? Surely this castle can’t be worth more than that?” You spat as you slowly roll your eyes up to meet her gaze without that ache reflecting in your eyes. You make sure not to demonstrate your sorrow when meeting eye to eye.

“With your brother dead you will most likely be heir now, if not you will rule over somewhere important, and if not you will always be a spoiled princess pampered until your death, so you will never know our struggles,” she rebuttals spitefully. “You don’t know what it's like having to fight to live. Holding Harrenhal is a promise for a better life, and respect. So yes, Your Grace this castle is worth far more than the Twins.”

Alright…

You remain speechless and just hold her gaze fueled with determination for a moment, and actually feel a speck of admiration for her need to fight for better, but you know now nothing will get her to let you go. You know Aemond will answer first and you know where he will leave you. He’s leaving you no choice…

You didn’t want to fight back with fire or blood. Whatever the case the Frey’s are allied with your mother, they let the Northmen cross and some have fought alongside them for your mother, so they have been allies, but if you let them take you you know where you’ll end up. And the fear of being locked away, of being useless when you can be the key to something great, or even something small that can give someone an advantage, is consuming.

It’s why you can’t stand the idea of being locked away. It’s why you won’t stand being locked away a moment longer, or for a far longer time, even if it’s what Aemond thinks is for the best. Which is funny to think about as you're currently on your knees with your hands tied behind your back because this need to keep you here where he thought your safety was guaranteed is what put you in your current situation. And it was only 3 days after he left. Not months, days! So it’s kind of funny, no?

He surely wouldn’t think so, but it sure as hell is funny to you. You could almost laugh at the irony of it, and all for what?

If only he could see you now. If only he could see the situation HE put you in. Him. Not anyone else, him, him, him, and only him. And all because of what?! A fear you don’t understand after he’s witnessed your ability to fight, and to survive fire. And maybe yes he’s just looking out for you, for your unborn children, but the paranoia that held him by his throat put you in one of the very situations he was trying to avoid. His paranoia put you in this situation, him, and only him! And now he will see what he forced you to do to escape. You will make sure of it.

“Take her inside,” Lady Frey orders the men. “Being under the open sky is too dangerous.”

Smart, but alas not quick enough. You feel her nearby like a magnetizing connection pulled apart and aching to reconnect and become one again. Yet she’s not on top of you yet, close, but if they take you inside now she won’t be able to help you. Thus as the man grabs ahold of your arm and starts to pull you up, you snap your head around and throw your face forward to chomp down on the man's crotch.

The man screams out, of course, but does what you wanted him to do; he lets you go, letting you slowly push yourself to your feet with your eyes cast on the ground all while meeting no fight back. They know after all that hurting you would guarantee no offer to be met, so they don’t retaliate even if the other men itch too. They stand there in confusion watching you draw in and draw heavy breaths out while your eyes stay focused on the ground, unknown to the fact that your mind is thinking about what you’re being forced to do, and what you’re about to do.

They see you there at a standstill and see an opening to recapture you. However, they quickly come to a stop before they can try anything when they catch you slowly lifting your head and slowly painting a different expression on your features.

Rather than expressing disappointment and guilt, your eyebrows start to pinch together, the corner of your lips begin to curl, your nose flares, and in your eyes, a fury is lit within that was not burning there before. One so threatening and furious that Lady Frey starts to realize something is looming nearby; something big, and something far more dangerous than any human, than you, or anything here. Something that is finally heard in the cloud bank above. Something they know to escape right away, but alas they’re far too late.

“Dracarys,” you utter one single word just above a whisper. And without the need to repeat yourself or even be heard by the creature hidden in the cloud back, a great fire rains down from above, ridding the sky of every cloud that hid her, and bathing you and every single soul around you except for one, in a life-consuming fire that leaves only you standing there with your nose in the air, heavy breaths escaping past your lips, and tears of anger welling in your eyes. All while the sole survivor runs away without looking back. All he knows is you came out unscathed, that’s all he cares to acknowledge after his escape because he fears you’ll go after him.

Albeit how can you when your mind is stuck on the fact of that matter that you didn’t want to kill them? You didn’t want to burn them and leave yourself naked in the middle of the Godswood, but Aemond pushed you to. Aemond left you here…and it’s because he left that you had to do it.

Why? Why did he have to leave? Why did he leave you behind?

You were going to leave after he accidentally pushed you, but if he had asked you to accompany him on his wrath around the Riverlands you would have accepted. And why wouldn’t you? But he left and he put your life in danger. He left and you had to burn them, you had to use fire. You had to kill the other two and leave your face covered in blood. You had to because of him. Him. Him!

Well, now he will see what he forced you to do. He will see what his actions led to. He will return expecting to see you still locked away in those chambers, but you’ll be long gone, all that will be left of you is the remnants of what you did, what he caused, and what his fear pushed you to do.

Aemond will return and see burnt bodies on the ground, and Lady Frey and a few others hanging from the Weirwood tree. He will see that he was wrong. He will face his mistake and your wrath.

He will see and you make sure of it all by yourself. It is taxing, only because you had to fling the bodies over the branches, but you did it. You left a gruesome scene and even though you have done bad things before, usually you’re basked with pride and confidence since you’re proving that you’re so much more, that you are strong, but this time as you look up at the bodies from the ground all you can do is cry as you’re hit with a wave of guilt for the first time.

You try to wipe the tears off your face, but hot streaks keep rolling down your cheeks, breaking through the dry blood that pampers your face, and only making your emotions clear to anyone with eyes. And when it comes to Alys and Ser Jason finally coming out to meet you in the Godswood that confidence that you usually carry like some mask after you fight is even more impossible to be bothered to be put on.

You try to paint yourself as unfazed. You try hard, after all, they were just stupid people who threatened your life. Yet when you turn to face Alys and give your back to the Weirwood tree carrying those burnt bodies, your bottom lip starts to tremble, your pinched eyebrows falter from their hardened hold, and your eyes, oh, your eyes, they scream your agony in such a way that Ser Jason thinks your pain is ethereal, and that the gruesome scene behind you is like a part of some beautifully tragic embroidered art piece on a tapestry.

“I have to go home,” is what you can muster through it all. “Will you come with me?” You direct at Alys, and she first approaches you to block your exposed body from your sworn protector and then gives you a response that comes easily to her.

“No. My place is here,” she says and only makes more tears run down your face, reminding her how young you really are in the grand scheme of things. You might’ve recently had a name day, but as she sees you before her with your face screaming the agony you’re under, she remembers that you shouldn’t be put through these trials and tribulations. You’re too young, but you’re forced just like many before you.

“But don’t fret my friend, will see each other again,” she uses a soft voice she had forgotten she was able to use. “Soon.”

You believe her, no doubt about it, so you nod gently.

“You send me a raven if you find yourself in trouble, and if Aemond—”

“I know how to avoid him,” she cuts you off to assure you. “Don’t worry. You just go back home to your boy and your mother. I will be fine. I always have.”

You nod again and just before you can go change, you take in a breath to say something else. “Thank you, for letting me find peace with my father,” you say shakily. “And for…letting me find myself. I know who I am, and what my place is in this story now because of you Alys, so…thank you. I will never ever forget what you did for me here, and I know you said it already, but if you want we can be lifelong friends. I don’t want to lose our friendship.”

Alys blinks repeatedly and her own lips tremble but she musters a confident but sweet smile. “Of course. I would…really love that.”

You swallow thickly and nod in comprehension before you wrap your arms around her to pull her in for an embrace. “Thank you,” you whisper and hold onto her tighter, feeling her carefully return your embrace.

After a moment of lingering in each other's arms, you pull back and look at Ser Jason past Alys’ shoulder. “Get ready, Ser. We’re going home.”

———

*SOMETIME LATER*

The last time you returned to King’s Landing was after leaving Dragonstone, and you were met with an arrow that barely missed your dragon. There was hostility where there shouldn’t have been any, and this time around it’s not all so different. Sure, an arrow isn’t shot at Astraea this time, so your life isn’t put in danger, but you are met with perhaps a more dangerous threat; two dragons roaming the skies they never lose sight of you as they approach you the closer you get to the city, fearing that the monster of Aemond’s dragon would descend at any moment.

Alas, their fear is misplaced, you don’t come as a threat. You could be one, the two people upon their dragons know that, but you’ve come home in peace. And perhaps now you look like some dog running back with its tail between its legs. And in some form, you are running back home, but it’s not out of cowardice. More so realization that your mother’s side is where you always belonged.

Hopefully, she gets to understand that and hasn’t given up on you even though she’s had every right to, and has most likely had snakes whispering in her ear telling her to stop putting a candle out for your return—and yes, you may still have some sort of hateful bias toward the snake called Daemon, that he doesn’t deserve any more. It’s been proven that he’s just an asshole and nothing more, but still! He’s most likely told her to view you as an enemy because it would make fighting her war easier.

And perhaps she should kill you. The whispers that have spread about the realm are not cruel rumors, you supported Aemond in taking Harrenhal, and you took part in the massacre of House Strong, so yes you were a devoted Green. You are a traitor to your mother’s side!

But you’ve seen your wrongs, you’re not tormented anymore. She needs to see that. You keep pleading to yourself that she does, that she forgives your wrongs and doesn’t truly cast you aside like you’ve feared she would so many times before.

She needs to see it. Please, please don’t let her forsake you.

“Give me your hand,” Ser Jason offers his help, but you jump off the ladders hanging down Astraea and land perfectly on the ground—“o-kay.”

The flapping of dragon wings claps in the sky louder and louder way before a long shadow starts to cast over you.

Yet even as the dragon is approaching you you avoid giving them your attention, you direct it to Astraea instead as you approach her head and lift your hand to gently stroke her face.

However, after a moment passes you can't help yourself from drifting your attention to the sky where you see Seasmoke.

You see him and your mind immediately goes to your father, what you just found out not so long ago in the form of dreams, and in some way, in some form a part of you expects him to be on that dragon. You wish for him to be on that dragon, but the truth breaks through your delusion just as quickly as it built up and you come out disappointed that you know it’s just Addam.

“And so the prodigal daughter returns,” his taunting voice hits your ears, making you press your hand firmly against your dragon whilst you slowly drag your attention to Daemon now on the ground departing from his dragon. “Which begs the question, friend or foe? Should I expect your Kinslayer of a husband to surprise attack us?”

You see him now, and not just a glimpse of him, you see all of him and he has his hand resting on Dark Sister with a not-so-lax hold as if anticipating a fight. Which is smart on his behalf.

“No,” you deadpan with no effort to sound kind or warm. “I have escaped his clutches while he’s away. I have returned to fight for The Queen…if she’ll have me.”

Daemon's gaze roams your body, noticing how tense your shoulders are, but not seeing any part of you twitch in a form to give away that you’re lying. Your voice is harsh and serious, no taunting or cockiness clings onto it, it just gives away your distaste for him but not anything else that should worry him. It’s why he chooses to trust you, and well, your mother had already told him that she wanted to see you when your dragon was first sighted in the sky.

“Of course, she’ll have you,” Daemon mutters, making your breath falter. “But your sworn protector needs to give me his sword, and Astraea needs to go to the Dragonpit.”

You snap your eyes to Astraea, and her own gaze turns to you which only makes your turmoil that much worse.

“It’s for safety measures,” Daemon adds as he takes note of your hesitance “Just hours ago you were the enemy. And even now when you enter the Red Keep and I follow you in who knows what can happen, do you understand?”

You swallow back nervously, and as you keep looking at Astraea as if your actions will physically wound her, you nod gently in agreement.

“Good.”

You can’t say it hurt you more to chain your dragon in the dragon pit because she’s been spoiled most of her life, so now she’s restless when it comes to being in chains and unable to sleep under the endless sky, so she’s hurt and when she’s hurt you feel it too.

Yet that pain doesn’t compare to the agony that you’re hit with when you step inside the Red Keep and forget Jacaerys is gone. You were so used to having him greet you whether it be with a furrowed brow or warm smile that you wait for him to come meet you and Daemon when you’re walking to the throne room. You expect him to walk around a corridor in a very heavy and quick stride. You anticipate seeing him—no, desire seeing him meet you halfway, but just as you turn the corner to reach the throne room, it hits you, he’s gone. Not temporarily, he’s not off handling something for your mother, he’s gone forever. He’s never going to come meet you ever again with either a smile or a bothered look.

You remember that and it shakes what little confidence you had mustered to talk to your mother. Now when those doors open and you’re greeted with the great image of her on that throne tears accompany your eyes, the corners of your lips are downturned, and sorrow and anxiety make themselves evident. There’s no holding them back anymore, it’s clear to Rhaena and Baela standing at the foot of the Iron Throne, and your grandfather, The Hand, standing below the steps that lead to the Iron Throne. And most importantly your emotions are loud and clear to your mother. Not the Queen, your mother.

Yes, she looks at you like she can’t believe you’re walking down the great hall. She couldn’t believe you were returning when she saw Astraea, nor could she believe she was hearing your title and name be announced the moment the doors opened, but alas here you are, striding to her with no pep in your step, no air of cockiness and arrogance around you. All she sees is her wounded daughter. Her weakness that crumbles her own mask and softens her heart hardened after Jacaerys death.

“Your Grace,” you greet and immediately go down on one knee, causing Ser Jason to do the same behind you.

Like before when you came to greet Aegon as King for the first time you keep your eyes downcasted. This time though it’s not to fake innocence, this time you can’t lift your eyes out of fear of what you’ll see, especially as you hear her get off the throne and hear her footsteps descend the stairs.

“I have come to swear my fealty to ward the Queen,” you proclaim with an attempt at confidence. “I know my word means nothing. Word has spread about what I was a part of at Harrenhal, and I will not say it happened against my will because I would be lying. I did it. I took part in killing House Strong, and I don’t regret it. I had my reasons. Just like I had my reasons to leave your side…” you trail off as you avoid giving those reasons so no problems would arise.

“But,” you add with a hint of softness. “I see my wrongdoings. I was wrong, I see it now. My place is here, by your side, My Queen. My place has always been at your side.” You nod in agreement to your words and still don’t look at her even if she now stops before you.

“I’m sorry I fell astray. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me. I wouldn’t have to take part in fighting, or any royal matters. I just want your forgiveness and for you to let me return to my place by your side…please,” your voice quivers on that last word. Not to make yourself sound more convincing, you just couldn’t control your emotions.

And either way, no matter how you would’ve sounded, or what word you used at the end, your mother still presses two fingers under your chin and tilts your head up to make you meet her gaze, and let you see tears that well in her eyes and the softness that reflects back at you.

“Rise,” she orders, and you slowly stand to your feet, letting her eyes fall to your belly that sticks out now before her gaze finds yours again.

“Your Grace,” you say breathily with the need to say so much more. You’re on the verge of a breakdown, but as you’re on your feet you can see the other people in the hall, you feel their eyes on you, so those two words are all you utter.

“Should we expect an attack from Vhagar now that you have left?” Daemon interrupts the moment, causing you and your mother to snap your gaze to him at the same time—“It’s said Cole has taken his army away from Harrenhal, where does he march?”

“He aims to join the Hightower,” you don’t fret to share. “But alas they’re taking the most obvious route so it’s a waiting game now to see if they can win against the Northmen and the Rivermen.”

Daemon scoffs and you continue more hesitantly now.

“And Aemond…is smart, once he finds out I’m gone he’ll be upset, but he wouldn’t dare come when he knows he’s at a disadvantage, besides, he wants you to go out to meet him.”

A teasing smile flashes on Daemon’s face that he hides by looking down.

“He left me at Harrenhal, locked me in our quarters to be protected, but Lady Serena Frey invaded Harrenhal with the intention of taking me captive to give me to the highest bidder,” you share and look back at your mother. “She said she was promised Harrenhal and wanted to take it by force. She's dead now,” you announce coldly. “They all are. That’s how I escaped.”

Your mother looks at you, not with fear at what she heard, but with a curiosity that she doesn’t express. It just gleams in her eyes.

“Good,” Daemon praises you.

“My sword is yours now,” you reassure your mother. “I will bleed for you, and I will use fire on your enemies now and until the day I die.”

Your mother draws in a deep breath and blinks repeatedly as she very lightly shakes her head before she grabs your shoulder with one hand and then cups your cheek with the other, making you draw in a deep shaky breath.

“Don't turn your back on me again,” she says, but not threateningly. There’s not even a hint of it, it’s more like she was pleading you not to more than anything.

“I swear,” you immediately respond, making her lips twitch up but not to form a smile just yet.

“<Welcome back home,>” she whispers and presses her forehead against yours, making tears slip out of your eyes, but not feel assured just yet. Not until you tell her everything you have trapped in your throat.

“<And thank you. For saving your brother, Aegon,>” she adds, making you pull your head back to offer her a smile and sweet words.

“<Of course.>”

You then step back and glance at your grandfather and offer him a stiff nod to acknowledge him, but that’s all, something venomous still churns inside at the thought of him.

When you look at the twins though, you can muster a short smile before you look back at your mother and finally get to what you’ve been itching to address. “Aerion?”

“Guarded by your dog,” Daemon chuckles, making you roll your eyes to him—“he’s as loyal as a hound that one. That’s the only reason why he still breathes.”

So Ser Cane has been protecting him this entire time? Good!

“May I go see him?” You ask your mother just in case she wants to touch on other matters and to let her take care of other trivial matters now that you’re back.

“Of course,” she doesn’t keep you waiting. She lets you go without anything else to add. Nothing to restrict you, after all, you’re her only biological daughter, you’re her child, and after losing three already, how could she even think of doing anything to hurt you in any way whether it be emotionally or physically?

If she could, she would lock you away like Aemond did, that would guarantee your safety, but she knows her limits, so she lets you go without any interjections.

Yet, close is all you get to Aerion. Before you can turn the corner that leads to his chambers you hesitate out of slight fear.

He’s a baby, nine months old to be exact, but it’s been four months since you last saw him. What if he cries when you try to hold him? What if he wants nothing to do with you? You would deserve his rejection, you haven’t been in his life for a short time, but it doesn’t mean that you want to mean nothing to your son.

But if you do mean nothing, if that fear becomes a reality then you have to face it, don’t you? You have no other option. Thus you draw out a deep breath before you turn the corner and get greeted with Ser Cane outside the door.

“Ser,” you announce your presence and gain his immediate attention.

“Princess,” he tries to sound serious but you hear the hint of surprise that matches the surprise in his eyes. “You've returned. Welcome back home.”

The corner of your lips tug to a gentle smile at the sound of his warm greeting. “It’s good to be home,” you say in return as you come to a brief stop before him. “I’m glad they have spared you, and I’m sorry that you had to go through that. I didn’t know it was going to happen.”

Ser Cane shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me, Princess. I have been through worse.”

You shake your head gently. “In any case I am sorry.”

Ser Cane shakes his head as well and speaks with determination clinging to every word. “I am your sworn protector and that of your son. My life and my sword are yours. To die protecting you and the little lord would be a good and honorable death. I would want it no other way regardless of which side you decide to fight on.”

Your breath hitches and you nod in comprehension. “Thank you, my good knight,” you whisper, making him bow his head before he opens the door for you.

“Go on, I’m sure he’s still awake.”

You swallow back nervously and take a peek inside first, but don’t see him, Vanessa, or any of his caretakers. You hoped they would be just across the door, but alas you have to step inside. And when you do, you do so with your eyes averted as if you’re ashamed of walking in.

“Princess?!” You hear Vanessa’s voice call out to you from across the room, bringing you to a stop but not making you raise your gaze just yet.

“You’re back? When did you arrive?” She continues asking so you answer.

“Not so long ago,” you speak quietly with shame clinging onto every word as if high-born ladies didn’t leave their children for long periods of time, as if being gone was such a great sin when it isn’t. It’s common for high-born ladies to be away from their children, but that’s not the mother you wanted to be because that’s not the kind of mother that raised you.

“I’m sorry,” you can’t hold back anymore, striking Vanessa with surprise and bringing herself to a stop as she made her way to you.

“For what?” She queries.

You blink repeatedly and then slowly drag your eyes up, feeling your breath escape your lips when you see Aerion awake in her arms, looking right at you with his father's blue eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Vanessa adds to try and reassure you. “He’s okay. We’re okay.”

You glance at her and nod in comprehension before you look back at Aerion as he’s unable to keep his eyes off you as if trying to figure you out.

“<Aerion,> You coo and whatever fear and hesitation you held falls completely when you see how big he’s gotten, and how big and healthy he looks

“<Hello, my little love,>” you continue as you slowly start to make your way toward him, hoping he won’t turn away from you.

“Look at you,” Vanessa interjects. “Six months along and you look so much bigger. I suppose twins do that though, huh? Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything to eat? Tea?”

You look at your handmaiden and shake your head. “No, no, I’m fine. Just…relieved to be back with Aerion. And you.”

She huffs and when you walk over and reach her you cup her cheek first, letting her mirror your action but then also start stroking your cheek gently.

“I’m happy you have returned,” she says sweetly, making you smile. “You must tell me everything, and I will give you something that came for you.”

You scoff at her cheeky smile but offer her an agreeing nod before you let her go and give your attention to your son, feeling your eyes soften right away, and feeling a spark where your heart once used to be.

“<Hello my boy, it’s me, your mama.>” You whisper in the most gentle voice so you don’t startle him, and he spares a glance at Vanessa before he meets your gaze and leans towards you to reach his hands out.

You gasp softly and feel your eyes sting with tears as you don’t hesitate to take him and carry him yourself, feeling how much heavier he is now. “<I have so much to tell you>,” your voice quivers as you stroke the side of his head whilst he reaches for the siren necklace Aemond gifted you. “<Like I missed you so much, and,” you laugh softly. “Guess what? I met your little brother in a vision. Not the twins, someone we have yet to meet.>”

With no care to what you’re saying Aerion lays his head on your shoulder as he clutches onto the Siren, making you let out a happy cry before you hug him tightly against you with the inability to stop pressing kisses on his head.

“I love you,” you whisper against his head and then nuzzle your nose in his head of white-silver hair, going unaware of the fact that your mother stood past the doors with the intention of walking in, but stopping the moment she catches you sharing such a sweet moment with your son and not being able to help her blissful smile.

It’s been a while since she’s smiled, since she’s felt bliss, but as she sees you with your own little one that’s all she feels, bliss.

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens

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storydays · 1 year ago

Note

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write this scenario with John dory and pop/rock troll reader?

I've had this one scenario playing in my head for days! Poppy and the other rulers, wanting a day of celebrating each other's music, made a contest where a troll/Bergen/(whatever Vaneer and velvet are?) can come and sings for a crowd and the rulers as the judges decided who win. Brozone (mostly John) decided to participate for fun. After brozones song, John and the others join the crowd to watch the next singer, which is the pop/rock troll. John knows her from his adventuring days, she’s the one who got away, aka his true love. (idk why we might've left, maybe they were separated somehow)

John is immediately dumbfounded - because she's right there! After all these years! His brothers, not knowing their past, immediately start making fun of him for liking her as she began to sing on stage. Immediately, even alone, she's seems to wow the crowd even more than any of the previous songs.

As soon as she's done, John rushes back behindstage to meet her, his brothers + Poppy and Viva, all rushing after him. Reader greets John so happily, all the others are kinda… shocked? Even more so if reader decides to kiss John in greeting.

OOH I abosolutely LOVE the cliche sceanrios!!!!!!! LET"S DO IT!!!!!!!!!!!!

John Dory X Fem! Pop Star! True Love! Reader

Small World

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

John Dory was ecstatic!

For a Hatchday surprise, his siblings' signed BroZone up for Trollstopia's 3rd Annual Cultural Fair. Anyone and everyone could sign up to perform in the talent show, but everything else was a totally free for all: The games, the different events, even the food(honestly, John Dory had no idea how Pop Trolls survive strictly on sweets, there was such a thing as too much sweets.) BroZone and the two Queens laughed and enjoyed each other as they tried different foods...although, John wasn't amused at the Rock Trolls' tiny replica of volcanic dumplings...wayy too hot.

Unfortunately the band couldn't decide on a song as usual, so they each picked a song from the year 2012, and decided to do a medley.

youtube

The siblings' cheered and clapped themselves on their back as they walked off stage from the cheering crowd when John Dory heard her.

Not his sunshine.

Pausing from where he was walking, the teal haired Troll turned around sharply as he watched a Troll wearing a midnight blue sundress dance around on stage, he could even see a yellow sunflower tucked behind her left ear.

"Come on, baby, let me see your face." He pleaded softly, staring intensely, not noticing his siblings', and the magenta eyed Trolls then walked over to where John was still frozen watching the performer dance.

"Oooh, JD's got a crush on (Y/N)!" Poppy teased, the other Trolls snickering, as they then started to make teasing remarks.

"When's the wedding?" Clay cackled as the others' made varying kissy faces and lewd gestures.

"It can't be her....it's not possible." John muttered softly, making the others' stop and closely watch him. "John?" Branch asked softly, as the Troll on stage then turned in their dance routine, bangs blowing in the wind, and slowly made eye contact with John Dory.

Blue eyes met (e/c).

You tripped slightly during your performance but quickly shook your head and smiled brighter before continuing your routine with a flourish.

YOU were there alive! But...you looked so sad even while performing.

As soon as you were off to the other side of the stage, you rushed to look for him as he for you, as he ignored his family's protest.

You rounded the corner, and stopped seeing him down the hall, and panted heavily as you both caught your breath.

After a moment of quite breathing, and wide eyed stares, you both observed the other. John looked so tired, and was sporting a new look, his hair shorter and he was wearing that brown coat you'd got him for a Christmas present one year, and there were more stress lines then last time you saw him.

John eyed the heavy bags under your eyes, and saw the sad gleam in your eyes. You didn't have that last time. You still wore the flower behind your left ear...that was one of the Valentine's present he gave you one year...it was a crystallized sunflower that you could wear forever without fear of it dying.

The world faded to the two of you as you took in the other's presence.

"Hey, sunshine."

Sobbing to yourself, you rushed into his waiting arms, kissing him as if you'd never kissed before, holding him as if he might fade away again.

"I've got you, and I'm never letting go again." He murmured softly, holding you tightly, rubbing soothing circles on your back, as he sobbed/laughed a

You both sat on the floor, holding each other tight and whispering sweet promises to each other.

John's family stood speechless, with a varitey of emotions on their faces, and they went to ask what the hell was going on, when Floyd stopped them, wiping a tear away. "Wait, guys..Clearly, they've been waiting for a long time. Let's give them a moment."

It really was a small world.

P2 or headcanons or both next? Hope I did you justice!

@vacayisland

#brozone x reader #dreamworks trolls #trolls band together #branch #clay trolls #trolls 3 #broppy #bruce trolls #floyd trolls #john dory trolls #john dory x reader #brozone #storydays

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pastshadows · 5 months ago

Text

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 20: A Plea for Tomorrow

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 5.5K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

Marry me?

The fabric of time warps, slowing and then seemingly stopping in concordance with your heart as you watch Astarion and Aldous grapple with each other. Your throat constricts around the sound of the erratic scuffing of Astarion’s soft-soled boots as he loses his footing. Every blistering beat of your heart circulates a new shockwave of escalating panic that paralyzes your body. It feels like being trapped in your own skin, your bones becoming a cage that keeps you frozen in time. The only indication that you’re screaming is the burn that roars through your throat as you let out a soul-shattering wail.

They say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes, but what happens when it’s not you who is dying but your soulmate? Your mind’s eye combusts into a carnival of flashing memories: the first glance of him on the coastline, the first real smile, his infectious laughter, the first kiss, the first hug, the first time he said I love you, the way his scarlet eyes always seemed to dance with a mixture of mischief and adoration when he looked at you.

Every memory is so vivid that it floods your senses. You can hear his voice uttering words that leave you defenceless, feel his skin against yours with every touch in stolen moments, feel the coolness of whispered secrets fan the heated skin of your cheeks, and hear his promises of eternity toll like a soft bell in your ears.

An eternity that now dangles in a void. You can almost see the seductive smile of death, circling like a raven-coloured vulture in the squirming shadows of the Underdark, ready to descend on the ruins of your life and pick them clean of the last scraps of hope.

How many times will you be forced to lose him? How many times can your soul stand to be broken again and again and again until nothing of you remains but a shattered husk? The memories twist into you like a knife, piercing your heart and soul, poisoning the joy into a medley of nauseating heartbreak.

Why didn’t you listen to Shadowheart, Gale, and Hecat? They had protested before you left camp. You paid little attention to their pleas and focused instead on Astarion’s protests. It made sense to leave them behind when you thought the feral spawn were a danger. The more beating hearts, the more it would send them into a frenzy should you run into them, but you had not anticipated Aldous.

You should have known better. Turn your head for one second, and fate will twist the tables against you. You’re used to keeping steps ahead of your adversaries, but you’ve been too caught up in your own pain, too afraid to think straight, and now that preoccupation has had an unfathomable cost. The realization washes over you in waves of shattered dreams and love, leaving only emptiness and unbearable grief in their wake.

No.

It cannot be.

It will not be.

You’re not sure what you would call the feeling that takes over your body as you sweat off the ice that has kept you bound in place, and you begin to wake up from this nightmare and spring into action. You sprint and leap off the edge of the derelict tower. Is it an impulse? Instinct? An inherent tendency toward self-destruction? Whatever it is, it blanks your brain enough to barely recognize that you’re moving forward until you’re plummeting.

A prickling sensation across the skin of your back invites you to lean into it, and you do, allowing your body to take control. The Weave revolves around you, sweeping across your skin in a rosy aura. Your robe is shred to pieces as a pair of dragon wings sprout into existence, expanding to their full span with a thunderous roar.

Your eyes lock with Astarion’s, and your adrenaline surges, detonating into determination. Mustering all your strength, your wings beat the air in a powerful down stroke, and you send yourself hurtling earthward. The tattered strips of your robe flutter in the rush of the current, your hair whips wildly across your face, and your arms outstretch, reflexively teaching toward Astarion as you dive.

Aldous bursts in a red puff of haze in midair, similar to what Astarion’s siblings had done when Cazador called them back from the attack on your camp. You’ve never been against killing, per se, realizing that sometimes it’s necessary, but you’ve always considered it more of a last resort. It was one of the reasons you agreed with Astarion when he wanted to release the spawn. They deserved a chance to live.

Aldous will not be given the same opportunity. Whether he can control his actions or not, you cannot wait to bring about his demise.

The tips of Astarion’s fingers brush yours as he reaches toward you with an awestruck expression. I’ve got you, you whisper, but the sound of your voice is lost in the torrential roar of the wind. The gentle brush against your fingertips is like pulling the ripcord from your heart, and your steadfast stubbornness and obstinacy drive away the survival instinct to slow your rate of descent as you see the other spawn begin to shatter against the looming earth in sprays of blooming red mist.

With a quick aerial manoeuvre, your arms enfold around Astarion’s waist, hooking under his arms to catch his dangling body, and your wings shoot out and expand to their full span. The lurch from his weight and yours as you try to slow the rate of descent feels like it nearly tears your arms from your body, and you grit your teeth against the pain of your bones and muscles straining in their sockets.

The ground is still coming up to embrace you much too quickly, and your wings beat against the air furiously as you try to fight the laws of physics and gravity. You manage to shift your position slightly to your left, so that the small, spindly Sussur tree is far enough away that your magic cannot be depleted and its branches cannot inadvertently stake Astarion.

With each beat of your wings, your altitude continues to diminish, and you realize that you will not be able to carry the weight of both of you. Your hope wanes, and Astarion seems to have the same realization. He tugs at your wrists in a plea for you to let him go, lest you both meet your demise. Your grip on him only intensifies along with your resolve, and with a final, desperate surge of power, your wings buffet the air, slowing your fall just enough to cushion the impact.

Curling your wings around Astarion to protect him, you crash into the rigid terrain, bouncing across it like a skipping stone. The force of the collision rips Astarion out of your arms, and the coarse sediment rends your arms, legs, and face as you skid over the abrasive soil. The air is expelled from your lungs in a heaving wheeze, and you fight to fill them again when your body finally lies fallow.

Agony radiates through every one of your limbs, and a piercing ache snarls your lungs with every breath. The frigid air gnaws at the skin exposed between the remaining ragged pieces of what is left of your robe, chilling you to the core. Seconds, minutes, or hours pass, trapped in this limbo while you fight the relentless pull of darkness beginning to envelop you like a suffocating blanket.

You war against the threat of unconsciousness as black creeps further and further into your vision with every stunned, slow blink. Eventually, you lose the battle to cling to the fragile thread of life, and you’re carried away on the wings of vestigial oblivion.

Your sandals clack against the paved streets as you and Astarion make a quick getaway from the Blushing Mermaid. You try your best to stifle your inebriated giggling as Astarion ducks you in and out of dark alleys and passageways, over fences, and through backyards, until he’s assessed that you’re far enough away that the patrons you swindled will not be able to track you down.

“That was your fault, love.” He chuckles exuberantly while smoothing your sundress down, tugging at the hem that rode up during your retreat, exposing the skin of your upper thighs.

“My fault?” You huff and shove him playfully. He barely wavers on his feet, and you end up sending yourself stumbling backwards, the spirits in your blood making your limbs loose and unsteady. Astarion’s quick to dart forward, and he wraps his arms around you, lifting you off your feet slightly. You wriggle in his arms, but eventually give up trying to escape his clutch. You wrap your legs around his waist. “I’m not the one who robbed them of all their coin in a game you knew they had no hope of winning!”

“Smart people don’t make bets unless they know they can win,” he snickers with a mischievous delight twinkling in his ruby-red eyes that are still bright against the dim light of the alley. “You were encouraging me!” He mimics your voice irritatingly well but adds his own flamboyant touch. “Come on, Astarion. Just one more round. Give them a chance to win their coin back.”

You snort to showcase your dissatisfaction and descend into a fretful fit of giggling. “Okay. I may have done that. What can I say? I just adore watching you in your element, Rogue.”

He pushes your back up against a wall and catches your lips in a kiss almost as rough as the stone pressed against your back. His skilled fingers kneed into the meat of your thighs with the perfect pressure, almost bordering on pleasurable pain.

“I’d be happy to demonstrate all my talents if you’re amenable,” he purrs, running his fingernails up and down the sensitive skin on the backs of your thighs. It sends a shiver cartwheeling down all the nerves of your spinal cord, and you sigh into his greedy mouth. “Come. Let’s go home, yes? As much as I would adore to take you right here, I am far too selfish, and you, my love, are far too loud.”

“As if you’re not equally as loud,” you taunt.

He places you carefully back on your feet, making sure you’re steady before offering his hand.

“I never was before, you know,” he says, half bashfully, half thoughtfully, with a slightly canted head. “I suppose you make me feel heights of pleasure that were previously unknown to me. The firsts are ever abundant with you.”

“Is that another one of your famous lines?” You quip with an arched brow.

He laughs heartily. “Sweetheart, my lines are markedly more exceptional than that.”

Astarion peeks around the corner to make sure that there are no guards walking the main concourse before you venture out onto it and start to make your way home. The conversation between you flows light and smooth until suddenly Astarion goes silent, and you realize he’s not beside you any longer.

When you look back, he stands and stares up at the tall, dark tower that stands like a poltergeist, looming high into the sky and casting a shadow over the city streets. You usually try to avoid this area with him, because every time he sees his old home, the now abandoned Szarr Palace, he looks at it sombrely. Sometimes you wonder if he regrets not completing the Rite, and that tower is an ever-standing reminder of what he could have had if only he hadn’t listened to you.

“Astarion?” You look up at the tower, standing like a thorn in the sky, casting a black mark upon the soul of the city. “Are you alright?”

With his attention enraptured on the abandoned palace, he doesn’t answer for a spell, and a frown settles over his expression, creasing his forehead and curling his lip up. You place your hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Hmm?” Astarion jolts slightly at the physical contact and does a double take, as if he didn’t even remember you were there in the first place. “Apologies. I’m fine. I just detest that building.”

The words erupt out of your mouth before you have time to think about them. “Let’s burn it to the fucking ground.”

Astarion chuckles but cuts himself off abruptly as he reads the fire in your eyes and the motivated heat in your expression. “You’re not joking, are you?”

“No.”

Your fingernails press into your tingling palms as your magic spikes and warms your skin. You may not be able to cleanse his mind of the horrors that infect his thoughts, but maybe you can cauterize the still-bleeding wounds in his soul, however slightly.

Astarion glances around and speaks in hushed tones. “As much as I would very much love that, the damn thing is constructed mostly of stone.”

“You’re about to be very impressed with me,” you wink. “Come on.”

You take his hand and tug him along, sneaking up through the back where you entered the first time. Not entirely surprisingly, it’s sparsely guarded, and by sparsely, you mean not at all. With Cazador dead and the Netherbrain attacks reducing the number of Fists substantially, they no longer patrol this area, and you’re able to walk straight in.

The door creeks forebodingly as you push it open, finding it unlocked. Cobwebs hang from the scones and writhe in the light breeze from the open door as they hang from the ceiling like strings of thinning memories. The obnoxious art is starting to peel away from the canvases, along with the wallpaper. It looks nothing like you remember it — forgotten and forsaken by the elements and time. Yet, the oppressive atmosphere still bears down on you with the weight of centuries.

Astarion stares spitefully at a decaying portrait of Cazador that seems to stare back at him with the same haughty disdain.

“Burn it, love,” you coo, letting a flame hover above your palm. “You cast terribly, but well enough for this.”

Astarion scoffs. “I’ve been casting—“

“Since before I was born,” you finish with a smirk. “Yes, yes. You keep reminding me how old you are. It doesn’t mean you cast well.”

Astarion’s nose wrinkles, but he shakes his head with a smile. He stares at the painting for a moment longer before he reels back. “Ignis!”

Cazador’s painting takes on a flame like dry timber and burns brightly in the midst of the gloomy darkness. You hope he burns in the flames of the Hells with such ardent fervour.

With a quick twitch of your fingers, you cast Telekinesis and fling a table across the foyer. It slams into the wall with a thud that echos through the deserted hallways and bursts into pieces that land haphazardly around the floor.

“Let’s trash it!” Astarion growls excitedly with a half-crazed, dark smile snaking across his lips.

The two of you run through the palace halls, laughing and breaking everything in sight. Sometimes you smash it, sometimes you burn it, and sometimes both, depending on what the item is or how it seems to affect Astarion. It’s quite cathartic, even for you, and you were not witness to the horrors that took place within these walls.

You can only hope it’s similar, if not better, for Astarion.

Astarion pays special care to Cazador’s study, where he was barred from going for two centuries. He flips the desk with little effort and sets the books aflame. His expression is one of almost madness as he tears through his prior life like a dragon tears through flesh.

You keep quiet, allowing him to relish in this destruction until there’s nothing left but your ragged breaths and the broken pieces of a life that once was. Smoke clings to the air from the burning furniture.

“Well,” Astarion pants, “I suppose that’s the best we can do.”

You smirk and lay your hand on one of the stone columns. Fire encircles it, burning brighter and brighter until the stone itself becomes molten and starts to drip like the wax of a candle. It takes not a trivial amount of your power to do so, but you do not let the effort of it show.

“You have the power of dragons at your side, my love. Stone is no match for me. What do you say we bring this whole building down?”

“Burn it, my fiery love.” Astarion takes one last glance around at what had been his home, or perhaps prison, for centuries. His brows pull down low over his eyes, and his teeth are bared. His voice is all gravel and malice. “Burn it all to the fucking ground.”

The Weave swarms into your body as you gather all the power you can possibly muster. The air around you vibrates, crackling with anticipation and energy. The auroral shimmer from your magic mirrors that of the frenzied blames you’re about to unleash.

Your eyes anchor on Astarion’s, and you hold your hand out to him. “Together.��

He takes your hand, fire blooming in his palm, and he gives you a curt nod. You unleash a torrent of fire that expands outward like a supernova. Your magic and his intertwine, tangling together like the limbs of long, lost lovers who have finally found each other’s embrace once more. The inferno swims through hallways like liquid, up the walls, and decimates everything in sight. The stones begin to melt under the searing heat, and black smoke billows across the ceiling.

Pushing yourself to the limits of your power, you compel the fire to burn white hot and shroud every possible surface in it until all is flame, ash, and smoke. There is a fierce sense of satisfaction that emboldens you, like you are cleansing the world of the atrocities that were committed within these walls. The flames leap as if aggravated, a pyre of vengeance, and they begin their insatiable dance across any surface they touch.

The fire burns with a brightness unknown to these corridors in countless years, and you have to squint your eyes against the light and heat of it. Sweat instantly veils your skin, dripping down your forehead. Astarion tugs on your arm, pulling you toward the doorway and across the threshold into the night.

You and him watch from a safe distance, staying off the main road so as not to be seen. Flames twist like serpents out of windows, black smoke billows into the night sky, and embers rise from the stone tower like angry red eyes against the darkness. With a final explosive burst, the palace begins to collapse in on itself.

The flames will consume the last vestiges of that place, and there will be nothing but a smouldering ruin where Cazador’s grand palace once stood by morning.

You wish Astarion could stay and see it.

Astarion’s ears twitch suddenly. “As much as I would love to stay and watch, we must be going. Guards are on their way, and I would rather not get arrested tonight. Dawn will be upon us soon.”

He grabs your hand and leads you to avoid the paths of the guards. It’s a silent retreat, with the both of you glancing back periodically to admire your handiwork.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stay and watch,” you say, sweeping your thumb across the back of his hand comfortingly.

“It’s okay, my sweet.” He offers you a small, albeit sad, smile before pulling you along. “I belong in the shadows. They are part of me.”

But they don’t have to be…

Astarion hesitates, only for a moment, and brushes his thumb across your cheek, wiping away the mix of sweat and soot. “This is a gift, you know. Thank you. I won’t forget it.”

Taste is the first sense that comes back to you, and the copper tang of blood films your mouth. Dirt grinds between your teeth when you clench your jaw, and you try to force your eyes to open. Your eyelashes hardly flutter, even though you’re straining. It’s as if they’ve been glued shut. There is a persistent ringing in your ears, like insects are buzzing annoyingly right beside them, and you cannot hear your surroundings well.

Your stiff and achey fingers twist into the soil beneath you, and you grasp blindly for anything that might keep you from descending back into the unconsciousness that your battered body yearns for. When you are finally able to pry your eyes open, the world is nothing but a confusing swirl of darkness and light that makes your brain pulse in your skull.

You try to move, but your limbs are laden, and a searing agony shoots through you that keeps you pinned to the cold, damp earth. A wave of thick dizziness blankets you with every small movement. Your hand comes to your head as if you might be able to steady your vision by holding it and comes away, slick with blood smeared across your dirty palm.

Fragments of memories begin to coalesce until they wash over you like a tsunami, nearly knocking you back to the ground in their intensity.

Aldous. The spawn. The battle. Astarion.

Astarion.

Your heart begins to pound against your ribs, revived by panic and love simultaneously. You manage to sit up, but the world around you swims, blurs, and distorts. Your wings are limp, dragging at your back, and you relinquish the manifestation. They waver, flickering as the magic is dispelled, and fade out, leaving behind only rosy, needlepoint glitter that rises into the air and ebbs.

Dread claws at your throat. “Astarion?!” You croak; your voice is rough and cracking. “Astarion!”

Just like it didn’t the first time you were down here alone, the only answer you get from the impenetrable darkness is the echoing of your own frightened cries. Gathering your dwindling strength, you manage to drag yourself to your hands and knees. Everything spins, blurring and contorting in a sickening disarray, and you dry-retch repeatedly. Your unquenchable desire to ensure Astarion's survival propels you forward.

You do not allow yourself to think about the alternate possibility.

Crawling on your hands and knees, you search forward blindly while your injured body screams in protest with every movement. The earth is uneven and littered with remnants of the tower that have crumpled away over the years, and you must drag yourself through the rubble.

You manage to hoist yourself to your feet with the aid of a large boulder. Leaning against it to keep yourself upright, you survey the bleak surroundings. Pale, motionless figures litter the ground in broken heaps. With your vision still hazy, it’s hard to discern details from afar. You stumble toward them, tripping over your own feet, rocks, and roots alike.

The scene is like walking through a surreal nightmare. The bodies are gruesomely mangled, some of them barely recognizable as people. Blood from the wound on your head drips into your eyes, sitting heavy on your lashes. Your horror mounts, your hands shake, and your breath rattles out of your trembling lips the longer you search.

“Astarion?” You call out again, and again, a deafening silence is the only answer you receive. “Astarion, please,” you whimper, devastated, rubbing your eyes to try and clear your vision.

An arm shoots out, clawed fingers wrap around your ankle, and they sweep you off your feet. Blood-red eyes set against a backdrop of inky black bore into you with a crazed fixation. The spawn crawls up your body, its fingers clawing at your flesh. Its legs are broken and bent in unnatural positions, and its jaw hangs loose on one side as it tries to sink its fangs into you.

Your tired arms strain against its weight, struggling to keep it away from your neck. You grit your teeth against the pain, and a deep-seated, previously repressed rage kindles and arcs within you. This world has used you up and let you down. Gods and devils alike have tried to use you for their own means, stepping on you, and you have refused to break.

You will not be killed here. Whatever it takes. You try to call on your magic, but it barely sparks across your fingertips before fizzling out.

Your power is depleted until you rest.

One hand relinquishes its grip on the spawn and chaotically searches the earth beside your body for something, anything, you can use as a weapon. The spawn lurches forward, its fingers blindly grasping at your face and hair, trying to drag itself closer. Its unhinged jaw snaps dangerously close to your neck, and saliva drools out of its mouth.

Your fingertips finally brush against the cool, rough surface of a brick sticking out of the dirt, and you frantically wrap your hand around it. With a roar, you bring the brick up, bashing it into the side of the spawn's skull hard enough to knock it sideways and off balance. You scramble to take advantage of the opening, pinning it down with your body, and bring the brick above your head and down as hard as you can.

You strike it again and again and again, ignoring the way the blood splatters across your face and coats your fingers. In your bitter frenzy, you don’t stop until you’re out of breath and your arms ache, even when the body beneath you lays still.

Getting to your feet, your chest heaves, and your eyes finally come away from the disfigured form lying by your feet. They dart around until the tiniest flash of silver catches them. You stagger toward it, the brick still held so tightly in your grasp that the bones of your hand jut out abnormally.

Astarion lies stationary, and he does not stir when you drop down beside him, discarding the brick, and take his face in your hands. His usually silver-white hair is matted and weighed down with drying blood, and only patches of his alabaster skin are visible between the blood and grime.

“Astarion.” You shake him vigorously — much harder than you should. You brush back the red-tinged hair sticking to his forehead. The coldness of his skin is a chilling echo of death. “Astarion, please get up.”

Tears trickle from your eyes while you unbuckle the clasps and undo the ties of his armour to get a look at his wounds. Pushing the leather jerkin to the side, you gasp at the puncture wound. You press your hands against it, putting pressure on it to stem the bleeding. His blood oozes between your fingers, relentless in its flow.

You shuck off what remains of your robe quickly, balling it up and pressing that against the wound instead. Can vampires bleed out? You’re not sure, and you’re not interested in finding out.

“Come back to me,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and broken. “I need you. I need you to… to….” The word lodges itself in your throat, refusing to be spoken.

I need you to marry me.

You press your lips against his forehead, the warmth of your breath rippling against the cold of his skin. When you met him, you knew intuitively that the threads of your life would always entwine with the threads of his. Now, the threads seem fragile and prone to snapping.

“We have beaten Gods together,” you rasp in shaky breaths, pulling him into your lap with the last of your remaining strength. “Remember the Goblins? They had been no match for us. The hag? Both times, we took her down, laughing. Bhaal’s chosen? Slayed. Raphael? Slaughtered in his own home, no less. We felled a Netherbrain and lived. We have beaten the odds time and time again together, and we are together. Please, fight. Let us beat the odds once more. Stay with me.”

Could you get him back to Shadowheart? No. You are too far from camp to drag him that far, and your wings are a once-a-day use. All the scrolls and potions of healing you had are somewhere in a bag, likely at the top of the tower, smashed to useless bits.

Your heart stutters in your chest as you look for any signs of life, but you find none. Astarion is technically already dead; you’re not entirely sure what you can look for. He doesn’t have a beating heart, so you cannot check his pulse; he doesn’t need to breathe, so you cannot judge that; his skin is always ice cold. You cannot tell if you’re sitting with the corpse of your soulmate on your lap.

That thought alone threatens to choke you.

“Please,” you plead again. To him. To any God who is listening. To time itself. “Don’t leave me. Not again,” you choke out, your tears spilling and mingling with the blood and mud slathered across his face.

A torrent of anguish washes through you. It feels as if your soul is being wrung dry, and fear once again gnaws at your core. Why have you been hiding from him? Why have you been afraid to be with him? Life looks so different when you are safe and sound, tucked away behind walls. In those moments, the illusion of time seems to stretch on infinitely.

You thought you had so much time to figure things out, but all it takes is one wrong move, one wrong choice, one wrong step, and one lucky swing of a blade, and all that time you thought you had is severed in an instant.

The crunch of peddles beneath boots makes you sigh, squeezing your eyes closed for a moment in exasperation. There is no need to look up and see who it is. You can feel his repulsive stare creep over your skin like waves of endless spiders.

“That was quite the show, sorceress,” he drawls. “Wings to go along with those spectacular scales.”

“Come one step closer,” you growl under your breath in a voice that sounds far too dark to be your own, “and I will kill you.”

Your hand grips the hilt of one of Astarion’s discarded daggers lying in the dirt by your side. There is no way to know how long you were unconscious for or how long Aldous has been watching. Does he know your magic is depleted? Why did he not kill you and abscond with Astarion when he had the chance? Is Aldous so hellbent on vengeance that he would wait until you’re awake so you can witness your death?

Probably. Aldous is many things, but smart or a strategist is definitely not one of them.

“I always did admire your spirit.”

He takes a middling step closer, and your hand tightens on the hilt of the dagger. Your fingers shuffle it into your grip, twisting it so that it fits comfortably and is balanced in your palm.

“I suggest you admire it from afar.” You hiss with serrated contempt.

“Your persistent obstinacy is inspiring,” he sneers with his lips pressed into a thin line. “But stupid, given the predicament you find yourself in.”

“Good Gods, Aldous!” You snap. What is he waiting for? Why hasn’t he attacked? Is he simply revelling in your pain, or is there more to his perceived constraint? The mortal man you knew had very little in the way of self-control. “What do you fucking want? Whatever you’re doing here, get it over with! I tire of your childish games.”

“My master will give you one last chance to take the deal offered. All of this could end here and now.” He crouches down, gesturing toward Astarion and fastening his eyes to you. “I will allow you to leave with your life intact, and you can return to your life free of this strife.”

It does sound nice, doesn’t it? In a perfect world, you could take the deal and never look back. There is a dark stain on your soul that yearns to take the deal, damn Waterdeep to its fate, and let someone else take up the mantle and play hero. You swallow hard as whatever light is left in your soul wars against the taint of dark temptations.

Your eyes fall to Astarion, and you recall the conversation you had with him. He did not think he could take the deal and live with the guilt. When did he become the voice of reason while you lean toward chaos and self-preservation? You bark out a sad laugh at the thought while sweeping your thumb across his cheek.

“In the next life it is, my love,” you whisper.

“How touching.” Aldous feigns sympathy with a scornful, ridiculing pout.

The numbing embrace of promised death caresses your heart, laughing from the shadows upon its winged chariot, ready to take you away. Your brow pinches as your eyes fall on Aldous with a grim defiance.

“It is like you say,” you chime with a voice of taunting, iced honey. “I am pigheaded to a fault. My answer remains the same. There will be no deal.”

“Honourable,” he concludes, “but foolish.”

“The only fool here is you, Aldous.”

He growls, launching himself forward with inhuman speed. His blade glints with an icy blue, reflecting the light of the Sussur tree. Your hand squeezes the hilt of the dagger, and you bring it up.

Gods.

You thought you had more time.

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

I did some research, and dragon wings are an actual thing for draconic sorcerers! Naturally, we had to give Kamena wings.

I've made a 3D render from a scene in the last chapter of these two. Since I have not included many details of Kamena's appearance in the story, so everyone is free to imagine their own Kamena, I'm going to link it instead of posting it here in case anyone would rather not see it since it is my vision of Kamena.

If you're interested in viewing it, the link is posted at the bottom of this chapter (20) on my AO3 here.

#astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion x you #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion smut #astarion romance #baldurs gate astarion #astarion ancunin #shadows of the past

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