#a torch against the skies

[ceaselesslyinlove]

when helene’s chapters changed to “blood shrike” and elias’ chapters changed to “soul catcher”

[acourtofquestions]

Hearth to hearth, the Flame of War went.

Over snow-blasted mountains and amongst the trees of tangled forests, hiding from the enemies that prowled the skies. Through long, bitterly cold nights where the wind howled as it tried to wipe out any trace of that flame.

But the wind did not succeed, not against the flame of the queen.

So hearth to hearth, it went.

To remote villages where people screamed and scattered as a young-faced woman descended from the skies on a broom, waving her torch high.

Not to signal them, but the few women who did not run. Who walked toward the flame, the rider, as she called out, "Your queen summons you to war. Will you fly?"

Trunks hidden in attics were thrown open. Folded swaths of red cloth pulled from within. Brooms left in closets, beside doorways, tucked under beds, were brought out, bound in gold or silver or twine. And swords-ancient and beautiful—were drawn from beneath floorboards, or hauled down from haylofts, their metal shining as bright and fresh as the day they had been forged in a city now lying in ruin.

Witches, the townsfolk whispered, husbands wide-eyed and disbelieving as the women took to the skies, red cloaks billowing. Witches amongst us all this time.

Village to village, where hearths that had never once gone fully dark blazed in answer.

Always one rider going out, to find the next hearth, the next bastion of their people.

Witches, here amongst us. Witches, now going to war.

A rising tide of witches, who took to the skies in their red cloaks, swords strapped to their backs, brooms shedding years of dust with each mile northward.

Witches who bade their families farewell, offering no explanation before they kissed their sleeping babes and vanished into the starry night.

Mile after mile, across the darkening world, the call went out, ceaseless and unending as the eternal flame that passed from hearth to hearth.

"Fly, fly, fly!" they shouted. "To the queen! To war!"

Far and wide, through snow and storm and peril, the Crochans flew.

[hisfavegirl]

Haven Of Harmony - Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader.

Summary : Your marriage with Daemon became more harmonious after the birth of your twin sons, Daemon also decided to bring his family to move to Dragonstone and settle there. Your happiness increases when you share the happy news.

You sat on a carved stone bench overlooking the vast expanse of Dragonstone, the cool breeze carrying with it the sound of roaring dragons and the laughter of your children. Your silver hair shimmered in the sunlight as you watched your five children soar through the skies on their dragons, their figures cutting against the blue heavens.

Your eldest, Maegon, led the group with his fierce determination, his bond with his dragon, Verathor, evident in every dive and turn. Vaelya followed close behind, her graceful dragon, Nyserion, matching her fiery spirit with elegant precision. Aerion, as daring as ever, performed daring maneuvers on his dragon, Aurion, his laughter echoing through the sky.

Below them flew Aelor and Vaegon, the youngest of the brood, though no less skilled. Their dragons, Elyrax and Thalaxion, moved in perfect harmony as they joined their older siblings in an impromptu mock battle against Daemon, who flew on Caraxes.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you saw your husband struggling to keep up with the coordinated attacks of his children. Caraxes let out an annoyed roar when Vaelya and Nyserion swooped low and nipped at his tail, causing Daemon to grumble in irritation.

“Is this how you treat your father, you little wretches?!” Daemon bellowed, though his voice carried no real anger.

Maegon grinned triumphantly from atop Verathor, pointing his blade toward Daemon in mock challenge. “You taught us too well, Father!”

Aerion joined in the teasing, circling Caraxes with a wide grin. “Looks like you’re getting old, Father! Maybe it’s time you retired to the ground!”

Daemon’s face twisted into a comically exaggerated scowl, making you laugh even harder. “Insolent brats,” he muttered, though his smirk betrayed his pride.

Just then, Vaelya swooped low beside Caraxes, her long silver braid whipping in the wind. “Leave Father alone!” she called to her brothers, her voice indignant. “He’s still the best dragonrider!”

Her brothers groaned in playful annoyance, teasing her for being their father’s favorite. “Of course, she’d say that,” Aerion quipped, rolling his eyes dramatically.

As you watched the exchange, your heart swelled with pride. Your children were not only strong and fearless but deeply bonded to one another. Despite their teasing, their love and respect for Daemon — and for each other — were undeniable.

When the battle ended and the dragons began their descent, your children landed one by one, their faces flushed with excitement. Daemon was the last to dismount, shaking his head as he approached you. “They’re insufferable,” he muttered, though his smirk revealed his amusement.

You chuckled, reaching out to smooth his windswept hair. “They’re just like you,” you said, smiling fondly.

Daemon grunted, pulling you closer as your children ran toward you, their laughter filling the air. Vaelya threw her arms around Daemon, while Maegon and Aerion excitedly recounted their victory. Aelor and Vaegon tugged at your sleeves, eager to tell you about their dragons’ latest feats.

Surrounded by your family, you felt a deep sense of contentment. These were the moments you cherished most — the laughter, the love, and the unbreakable bond that tied you all together.

You gazed at your family seated around the long, grand table in the hall of Dragonstone, the warm glow of the torches casting flickering light upon their faces. Daemon sat at the head of the table, his silver hair catching the firelight as he leaned back in his chair, laughing at something Maegon had said.

Maegon, ever the confident eldest, was recounting his latest dragonriding exploits, his hands gesturing animatedly as he described how Verathor had outmaneuvered Caraxes in the skies. Vaelya, seated beside him, rolled her eyes playfully, a smirk on her lips as she cut into her roasted lamb.

“You only won because Father let you,” she quipped, her silver braid swinging as she turned to Daemon for confirmation.

Daemon chuckled, raising his goblet. “I’d never let any of you win. If Maegon bested me, it’s because I trained him too well,” he said, winking at his eldest son.

Aerion, sitting next to Vaelya, grinned mischievously. “Maybe next time we’ll team up, Vaelya. Even Caraxes wouldn’t stand a chance against the two of us.”

Vaelya narrowed her eyes at him. “You’d just slow me down, Aerion.”

Across the table, Aelor and Vaegon were engrossed in their own conversation, their young faces alight with excitement as they talked about their dragons. Elyrax and Thalaxion were already developing distinct personalities, and their bond with the youngest twins was clear.

You watched them all with a soft smile, your hands resting on your belly. The babe within you kicked gently, as if sensing the joy in the room. Daemon caught your eye and raised his goblet toward you, his expression softening.

“To the Lady of Dragonstone,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection. “The one who holds us all together.”

The children joined in the toast, their voices overlapping as they cheered. You smiled, feeling a deep warmth in your chest as you looked around the table at the family you and Daemon had built together.

This was your sanctuary, your joy. The laughter, the teasing, the love—it was all you had ever hoped for. And as you listened to the lively chatter and felt the gentle movements of the babe you carried, you knew the future would hold even more of these cherished moments.

As the lively chatter at the table quieted, you cleared your throat softly, drawing everyone’s attention. All eyes turned toward you, and you suddenly felt the weight of your unspoken news. Daemon, seated beside you, tilted his head in curiosity, his sharp gaze locking onto yours.

“What is it, my love?” he asked, his voice laced with concern and intrigue.

The children, scattered along the grand table, paused their conversations. Vaelya arched an eyebrow, Maegon leaned forward slightly, and Aerion exchanged a curious glance with the twins, Aelor and Vaegon.

You hesitated, your hands instinctively moving to rest on your stomach, hidden beneath the soft fabric of your gown. The secret you had kept for months felt heavier now that you were about to speak it aloud. But the love and trust of your family gave you strength.

“I have something important to share with all of you,” you began, your voice steady but soft. You glanced briefly at Daemon, who was now watching you intently, his expression unreadable. “It’s news I’ve kept to myself for a little while, but I think it’s time you all know.”

The children exchanged glances, their curiosity growing.

“What is it, Mother?” Vaelya asked, her tone eager yet calm.

Taking a deep breath, you finally said the words. “I’m expecting another child.”

For a moment, silence filled the hall as your words settled over them. Daemon blinked, his eyes widening in shock. “Another… child?” he repeated, his voice almost a whisper, as if trying to confirm what he had just heard.

“Yes,” you said with a small, nervous smile. “We’re going to have another baby.”

The children erupted into cheers and exclamations.

“A new sibling!” Aerion grinned. “That’s incredible!”

“We’ll have to prepare the nursery again!” Maegon added, his initial shock giving way to excitement. Even the twins, usually more reserved, looked genuinely thrilled, their identical smiles lighting up the room.

Vaelya leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms with a teasing smile. “If it’s another brother, I’ll have to teach him some manners. I’m already outnumbered as it is.”

Daemon, however, remained quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. Then, without a word, he rose from his seat and crossed the distance between you. Gently, he cupped your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours before a wide grin spread across his lips. “You kept this from me?” he asked, his tone half-amused, half-incredulous.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you admitted sheepishly.

He laughed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You’ve certainly done that, my love.”

As the children continued to celebrate, Daemon pulled you into a warm embrace, his hand resting protectively over your stomach. The warmth and joy that filled the hall were palpable, and for the first time in months, you felt completely at ease. This was your family, your strength, and your greatest happiness.

You stood by the window of your chamber, gazing out at the vast, dark sea stretching endlessly before you. The soft whisper of the waves blended with the cool night breeze, brushing gently against your face. The moonlight bathed the room in a silvery glow, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the sound of footsteps behind you until a familiar warmth enveloped you. Daemon’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you gently against him. His hand rested lightly on your growing belly, his touch both tender and protective.

He pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his breath warm against your hair. “You shouldn’t be standing so long,” he murmured, his voice low and full of quiet affection.

You leaned back against his chest, finding solace in his steady presence. “I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, your voice soft. “The sea… it calms me.”

He chuckled lightly, the vibration of his laugh rumbling in his chest. “And here I thought you might be admiring something else,” he teased, his tone playful but his embrace tightening ever so slightly.

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Perhaps I was,” you replied, tilting your head to glance up at him. His silver hair gleamed in the moonlight, and his sharp features softened as he looked down at you with a rare, unguarded expression.

Daemon leaned down, his lips brushing your temple as his hand gently caressed the curve of your belly. “Our child grows strong,” he whispered, pride evident in his voice. “And you—you’re remarkable, carrying them.”

You closed your eyes, letting the moment sink in. The weight of his words, the warmth of his touch, and the rhythmic sound of the waves all melded into a perfect harmony. For a fleeting moment, it was just the two of you and the life you were bringing into the world, wrapped in the quiet serenity of the night.

You walked slowly through the garden, your hand resting gently on your growing belly. The warm sunlight bathed the blooming flowers around you, and the gentle breeze carried the scent of jasmine and roses.

Above, the thunderous roars of dragons echoed through the sky, mingling with the bright laughter of your five children. You stopped for a moment, tilting your head back to take in the breathtaking sight.

Their dragons darted through the clouds, weaving intricate patterns as they chased one another. Maegon led the playful pursuit, his determined shouts urging the others to keep up. Vaelya, ever the fierce competitor, followed closely, her dragon’s wings cutting through the air with precision. Aerion, with his clever tactics, swooped around to intercept them, his laughter carrying down to you.

Your youngest twins, on their slightly smaller dragons, joined the game with enthusiastic squeals, their dragons roaring proudly despite their size.

A soft smile spread across your face as you watched them, your heart swelling with pride and joy. They were so free, so full of life, their bond with their dragons and each other unbreakable.

Your hand moved gently over your belly, feeling the faint but certain movements of the new life within you. “They’ll be waiting for you,” you murmured softly. “And I’m sure you’ll join them up there one day.”

Lost in the moment, you barely noticed Daemon approaching until you felt his arm slide around your waist. He followed your gaze to the sky, his lips curving into a smirk.

“They’re a pack of wildlings,” he teased, though his voice was full of affection.

“And you love it,” you replied, leaning into him.

He chuckled, placing a protective hand over yours on your belly. “Maybe one day, there’ll be even more dragons up there.”

You smiled at the thought, your gaze still fixed on your children as their laughter and the roars of dragons filled the sky. It was a moment of pure peace, a reminder of everything you had built together.

You walked alongside Daemon toward the lair where Caraxes rested. The sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the stone path as the faint roar of dragons filled the air.

When Caraxes saw you approach, the great red dragon lifted his elongated neck and moved forward with surprising gentleness. His sharp, intelligent eyes locked onto you, and instead of focusing on Daemon, he lowered his head and began to sniff curiously at your belly.

You couldn’t help but smile as Caraxes let out a low, rumbling growl of recognition, as if he understood the new life growing within you.

Daemon crossed his arms and let out an exaggerated huff. “Traitor,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at his dragon.

You laughed softly, reaching out to pat Caraxes’ snout. “It seems he knows before anyone else, my love,” you teased, your hand brushing over your belly. “Perhaps he’s just more in tune with me than you are.”

Caraxes nudged you gently, a surprising act of care for such a fearsome creature, and you giggled at his affectionate gesture.

Daemon rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched with amusement. “I’m the one who rides him, feeds him, and yet here he is, fawning over you.”

You turned to him with a playful smile. “Perhaps he’s simply acknowledging the mother of your children—and his future rider’s parent.”

Daemon smirked and stepped closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Or perhaps he’s just testing my patience,” he quipped, though his voice was filled with warmth.

Caraxes let out a low, satisfied rumble as though he had won some unspoken contest. Daemon shook his head but pulled you closer, his protective gaze shifting between you and his loyal dragon.

You turned your head toward a dark cave not far from where Caraxes rested. A strange feeling prickled at the back of your neck, and you tilted your head slightly, as though straining to catch a faint sound.

Daemon frowned, his brows furrowing as he noticed your sudden distraction. “What is it?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes scanning the mouth of the cave. “I… I thought I heard something,” you murmured, your hand unconsciously moving to your belly. “Like someone calling my name.”

Daemon’s gaze followed yours to the cave, his expression turning skeptical. “There’s no one there,” he said firmly, stepping protectively closer to you. “Are you certain it wasn’t just the wind?”

You shook your head slowly, unsure. “It didn’t sound like the wind. It was…” You paused, struggling to find the words. “It was faint, but… familiar.”

Caraxes let out a low growl, his head snapping toward the cave, as though he, too, sensed something.

Daemon’s hand moved to the hilt of his sword instinctively. “Stay here,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“No, Daemon,” you said quickly, grabbing his arm. “If it’s nothing, there’s no need for you to risk yourself.”

He hesitated, glancing back at you, then toward the cave. “You’ve been restless of late,” he said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Perhaps it’s just your mind playing tricks on you.”

You nodded reluctantly, though you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping through you. Daemon led you away from the cave, his arm wrapped protectively around you, but your gaze lingered on the dark entrance, wondering what—or who—you might have heard.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. The quiet, soft whisper calling your name seemed to grow louder, more insistent, despite the absence of any visible source. You turned back towards the cave, your heart pounding in your chest. It was as if the very air around you had thickened, filled with a sense of foreboding that you couldn’t ignore. The wind had shifted, but it wasn’t the change in temperature or breeze that unsettled you. It was the call.

Daemon, still standing by your side, noticed the subtle shift in your demeanor. His sharp eyes followed your gaze towards the cave, then back at you, reading the unease in your posture. He knew you too well, and he could sense that something wasn’t right. But when he glanced back at the entrance to the cave, he saw nothing that could explain the anxiety that seemed to settle in your bones. “What is it?” he asked again, his voice tinged with concern but still a hint of uncertainty. “What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, trying to push the mounting anxiety down, but it was no use. “Daemon,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, “do you hear it? The calling… it’s still there.”

Daemon furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “I don’t hear anything. It’s just the wind.”

But as you spoke, Caraxes, the great dragon, shifted his position. His massive body, usually so relaxed and calm, became tense, his eyes narrowing, his nostrils flaring. The dragon, a creature so in tune with his surroundings, seemed to sense something you couldn’t. The silence that hung in the air grew thicker, almost oppressive, and Caraxes let out a low, guttural growl, his massive head turning toward the cave, his wings flexing in readiness.

You instinctively took a step closer to Daemon, your breath shallow. “Caraxes… he’s acting strange,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, but there was no mistaking the concern in your tone. The dragon had never acted like this before, his movements sharp and watchful, his attention fixed on the cave, as though waiting for something to emerge.

Daemon turned back to the dragon, his expression hardening. He was no stranger to the instincts of his dragon, but this felt different, more urgent. He glanced at you, eyes searching your face, trying to read the fear that had crept into your expression. “We should go back to the castle,” Daemon said firmly, his hand reaching out to guide you. There was no hesitation in his voice, no argument. He had seen enough to know that something was wrong. He didn’t need to be convinced.

“I don’t like this, Daemon,” you muttered, still unable to shake the unease in your chest. You could feel your heart racing, the thumping echoing in your ears, the voice still faintly calling your name, but growing more distant with every passing second. It felt like something was waiting, something watching from the depths of the cave.

Daemon’s grip on your arm tightened, pulling you back towards the path leading away from the cave. He wasn’t taking any chances. “We’ll deal with it later, if necessary. Let’s go back now, before anything happens,” he said, his tone firm, almost protective.

You didn’t argue. The last thing you wanted was to be close to that cave any longer. You felt the presence of something lurking, something ancient, that you couldn’t fully understand, and it was pulling at your very soul. Daemon’s protective instincts had already kicked in, and you couldn’t deny that you felt safer with him by your side.

As you turned to leave, you glanced one last time at Caraxes, still poised and alert, his eyes watching the cave as if he too were waiting for something, or someone. The dragon’s unease mirrored your own, and it made your pulse quicken. What was it that lingered in the shadows of that cave?

But Daemon urged you forward, guiding you back towards the castle. The call faded with each step, the heavy presence lifting from the air, though the feeling of something unresolved still weighed on you. You weren’t sure what had just happened, or if it would come to anything, but you knew that something was out there. You could feel it deep in your bones.

As you returned to the safety of the castle, you could only hope that the strange pull from the cave was nothing more than a fleeting moment. But in the back of your mind, something told you that this wouldn’t be the last time you heard the whisper.

You sat with your daughter, Vaelya, in her room, gently brushing and braiding her silver hair. The soft glow of the afternoon light filtered through the windows, casting a warm hue over the room. She sat quietly, her hands resting on her lap, but her eyes sparkled with excitement as she handed you a small piece of fabric.

“I finished this today,” she said proudly, showing off her neat stitching. The design was simple, but her careful work and attention to detail were evident.

You smiled warmly, running your fingers over the stitches. “This is beautiful, Vaelya. You’ve done such a wonderful job.”

Her cheeks flushed at the compliment, but she beamed with pride. “I want to learn how to make clothes,” she said, turning to look at you with a determined expression. “So I can sew something for the new baby when they arrive.”

Your heart swelled at her words, and you placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “That’s very thoughtful of you, sweet girl. I’m sure your new sibling will cherish anything you make for them. And I’ll help you, if you’d like."

Vaelya nodded enthusiastically, her small hands gripping the fabric tightly. “I want it to be perfect. Something they can wear when they’re little and keep forever.”

You couldn’t help but smile, pride and love filling your chest as you looked at your daughter. She was growing up to be such a kind and caring soul, and moments like this reminded you of just how special she was. “It will be perfect, Vaelya, because it will be made with love.”

Vaelya looked up at you with her big, earnest eyes, her fingers toying with the edge of her fabric. “I hope the baby is a girl,” she said softly, almost shyly. “Sometimes, I feel lonely when my brothers go off to train with Father. They’re always together, and… it’s just me.”

You paused for a moment, your heart aching for your little girl. Setting down the comb, you leaned forward and cupped her face gently in your hands. “Oh, sweet one,” you said tenderly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I know it’s hard sometimes, but your brothers love you so much. And they’re never too far away.”

Vaelya nodded, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I know. But it would be nice to have someone to stay with me—someone like me.”

You smiled warmly and pulled her into a comforting embrace, stroking her hair as you whispered, “Perhaps the gods will hear your wish, my love. If they will it, then you may just get the sister you dream of. But even if the baby is another brother, he’ll still be a part of our family and love you just as much.”

She rested her head against your shoulder, her small arms wrapping around you. “I’ll love them either way,” she murmured, her voice muffled. “But I hope the gods are listening.”

You chuckled softly, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll have to wait and see. But no matter what, you’ll never be alone, Vaelya. You have a family that loves you more than anything, and that will never change.”

You leaned back slightly, looking into Vaelya’s eyes with a playful smile. “You know, my sweet girl, there’s something special about being the only daughter in this family.”

She tilted her head, curiosity lighting up her silver eyes. “What’s that, Mother?”

You brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear and said with a grin, “It means you’re the one who gets spoiled the most. Your father can never say no to you, can he? And your brothers? They’d move mountains just to see you smile.”

Vaelya giggled, her mood lifting. “That’s true! Father always lets me ride with him on Caraxes, even when my brothers have to wait.”

“Exactly,” you said, laughing along with her. “And when you want something, who’s the first to come running? It’s always your brothers, trying to outdo each other to make you happy. Don’t tell them, but I think you’ve got all of them wrapped around your little finger.”

She beamed, a spark of pride in her expression. “Maybe being the only girl isn’t so bad after all.”

You kissed her cheek and added, “It’s not bad at all. You’re their princess, Vaelya, and they’ll always treat you as such. No matter what, you’re cherished and loved beyond measure.”

Vaelya hugged you tightly, her arms wrapping around your waist. “Thank you, Mother. I feel much better now.”

You stroked her hair and whispered, “Good. Never forget how special you are, my darling. You’re the heart of this family, and nothing will ever change that.”

You jolted awake, your breaths coming in uneven gasps. The room was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window, casting long shadows on the walls. You instinctively turned to your side, finding Daemon still deep in slumber, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He looked so peaceful, oblivious to the torment that plagued your mind.

You ran a trembling hand over your face, trying to steady your breathing. The voice—no, the thing—had followed you even into your dreams. This time, it wasn’t just the echo of your name whispered in a way that sent chills down your spine. No, this time, it was accompanied by the piercing gaze of two glowing yellow eyes, their stare burning into you as if they saw through every layer of your being.

Your hand instinctively moved to your belly, seeking the comfort of the life growing within you. The faint fluttering movements of your unborn child eased you slightly but did little to dispel the unease that had taken root.

You exhaled slowly, trying not to wake Daemon as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. The cold stone floor against your bare feet sent a jolt through your body, grounding you momentarily. You paced quietly, your mind racing. Was this a warning? A sign? Or simply your imagination conjuring something from the depths of your fear?

Your gaze flicked to the window, the same one you had stared through earlier that day. The ocean beyond looked endless, and for a moment, you thought you saw something moving just beneath the surface of the moonlit waves. You shook your head, dismissing it as a trick of your exhausted mind.

A soft sound from the bed startled you, and you turned to see Daemon stirring. His hand reached out, searching for you in his sleep. His brow furrowed when he found the space beside him empty.

“Love?” he mumbled groggily, his voice thick with sleep. He sat up slightly, rubbing his eyes before his gaze found you standing near the window. “What are you doing? Come back to bed.”

You hesitated, debating whether to tell him what you had seen—what you had felt. But the weight of it was too much to carry alone. Slowly, you crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, your back to him.

“The voice,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “It was in my dreams tonight. But this time, it wasn’t just a voice. There were eyes—yellow eyes—staring at me. Watching me.”

Daemon sat up fully now, his concern evident in the way he placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Yellow eyes?” he repeated, his tone sharpening. “What else?”

You shook your head, clutching his hand for strength. “That’s all. But it felt so… real, Daemon. I can still feel them, as if they’re watching me even now.”

Daemon’s grip tightened protectively. “Whatever it is, I won’t let it come near you or our children,” he said firmly, his voice laced with determination. “I’ll find out what’s behind this, I swear it.”

You nodded, leaning into his embrace. Yet, even as his arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the world, the memory of those yellow eyes lingered, a haunting reminder that something—or someone—was waiting in the shadows.

You woke up to the warmth of sunlight streaming into your chamber, bathing the room in golden hues. Your hand instinctively reached out to the space beside you, only to find it empty. Daemon’s absence was unusual. You turned your gaze to the window, noting that the sun was already high in the sky—a clear sign you had slept in later than usual.

Quickly, you rose from the bed, your movements a little slower due to the weight of your pregnancy. After a moment of washing and dressing with the help of your maidservants, you made your way toward the Great Hall, curious as to where your husband might be.

As you approached, the lively chatter of your children reached your ears, bringing a small smile to your face. Entering the hall, you saw all five of them gathered together, their silver hair gleaming in the sunlight as they talked animatedly. Each of them was full of life, their bond as siblings evident in their laughter and shared smiles.

“Good morning, my darlings,” you greeted, your voice warm. They all turned toward you, their faces lighting up at the sight of you. Vaelya was the first to rush over, wrapping her small arms around you as she glanced at your growing belly.

“Good morning, Mother,” she said sweetly. “We were just talking about dragons.”

“Of course you were,” you replied with a chuckle, brushing her hair back affectionately. The boys approached next, all of them brimming with energy as they greeted you.

Despite the joy of seeing your children, your eyes scanned the hall for Daemon. “And where is your father this morning?” you asked.

The children exchanged glances before Maegon, the eldest of your triplets, answered, “He left early. He said he had something to handle with Caraxes.”

“Something important,” Vaelya added, frowning slightly. “But he wouldn’t tell us what.”

You nodded, trying to hide your concern. It wasn’t unusual for Daemon to disappear for a time, especially when it came to matters involving Caraxes, but his absence felt different today. Something about it unsettled you.

“Did he say when he’d return?” you pressed gently.

Aerion shrugged. “No, but he told us to take care of you.”

Your heart warmed at their father’s thoughtfulness. “Well, I suppose we’ll see him when he returns,” you said, smoothing over your worry with a smile. “Now, tell me more about these dragons you’ve been discussing.”

For the moment, you decided to focus on your children, listening as they excitedly shared their thoughts on dragon lore and their dreams of flying. But in the back of your mind, the question lingered: where had Daemon gone, and why hadn’t he told you?

You watching your older triplets—Maegon, Vaelya, and Aerion—engaged in their Valyrian lessons. Their voices rose and fell rhythmically, perfectly mimicking the fluid cadence of the ancient tongue. They had taken to the language naturally, their silver-haired heads bent over their scrolls as they recited lines of poetry and prose with pride and precision. You couldn’t help but smile, a deep sense of pride swelling within you.

Not far away, your two youngest children sat on a soft rug, their giggles and cheerful chatter filling the room. They weren’t yet old enough for formal lessons like their elder siblings, but their curiosity had already begun to bloom. The maester patiently read to them from a large tome, recounting tales of your family’s storied history, while they listened with wide, fascinated eyes. Occasionally, their little hands darted out to point at the illustrations, followed by an excited string of questions.

You leaned against the wall, your hand instinctively resting on your growing belly. The faint movements within reminded you of the life you were nurturing, the next addition to your family. Your children, your legacy, were everything to you. Watching them thrive—both in their studies and their play—filled you with an overwhelming sense of fulfillment.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Turning, you found one of your trusted handmaidens waiting. “My lady, everything is ready for your midday meal,” she said with a bow.

You nodded, glancing back at your children one last time before you stepped into the room. “Come now, my little dragons,” you said warmly, your voice drawing their attention. “It’s time to eat.”

Your older children exchanged a quick look before closing their scrolls, standing to join you with polite smiles. The younger two bounded toward you, their excitement spilling into laughter as they took your hands. The maester rose as well, bowing respectfully before excusing himself.

As you walked with your children, you felt a deep sense of contentment. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you had built something truly special—a family bound not only by blood but by love, trust, and the indomitable strength of your shared lineage.

You sat at the head of the table, your five children surrounding you, their laughter and lively chatter filling the room. Maegon, as usual, was up to his tricks, teasing Aerion by slipping a piece of fruit onto his plate when he wasn’t looking. Aerion caught on quickly, retaliating with a playful shove that almost knocked over a goblet.

“Careful, boys,” you said with a laugh, shaking your head. Vaelya rolled her eyes dramatically at her brothers, muttering something about how they were always so loud during meals, which only made the twins laugh harder. The younger two watched with wide, amused eyes, their small hands clutching at their cups as they giggled at their older siblings’ antics.

Despite the warmth and joy around you, your eyes kept drifting toward the door. Daemon had been gone since early morning, and his absence weighed heavily on you. He was rarely away from meals, especially when the whole family was gathered. A seed of worry had taken root in your chest, and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, the feeling lingered.

“Mother, are you all right?” Vaelya’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. Her sharp, observant gaze was fixed on you, her silver brows slightly furrowed in concern.

You smiled softly and reached out to squeeze her hand. “I’m fine, my love. Just a little distracted.”

Maegon leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “Father’s probably off somewhere brooding over his sword. Or maybe Caraxes is keeping him company.”

Aerion snorted, but it was Vaelya who scolded her brother. “You shouldn’t say such things. Father will be here soon.”

Her words, though confident, didn’t entirely reassure you. You forced yourself to smile again, hoping it was enough to ease their concerns. “I’m sure he’ll join us shortly,” you said, though you weren’t entirely convinced yourself.

As the meal continued, you did your best to focus on your children, laughing at their jokes and encouraging their conversations. But every so often, your gaze would flicker back to the door, your heart silently willing Daemon to walk through it and ease the growing unease within you.

The soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet echoed through the serene garden, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze offering a soothing accompaniment. Yet, despite the tranquil surroundings, your thoughts were anything but calm. Daemon’s prolonged absence gnawed at your mind, an unwelcome companion to the unease that had lingered since the strange dream.

You stopped by the edge of the fountain, its crystal-clear water reflecting the late afternoon sun. Your hand instinctively rested on your growing belly, seeking comfort in the steady rhythm of life stirring within you. The memory of those piercing yellow eyes from your dream resurfaced, sending a shiver down your spine.

Was it just a dream? Or something more?

You tried to push the thought aside, telling yourself it was nothing more than your imagination playing tricks on you. Yet, the way Caraxes had reacted near the caves, the whispers you’d heard… it all felt too coincidental.

The garden, usually a place of peace and joy, now felt slightly different—like the air itself was heavier, the shadows longer. You glanced around, your sharp instincts picking up on the faintest rustling in the bushes nearby.

“Daemon,” you murmured under your breath, your voice filled with a mixture of longing and worry.

But no one answered.

You continued to walk, your hands tracing the blooms of the roses you passed, their soft petals grounding you for the moment. Yet, your mind remained restless, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was coming, something just beyond your understanding.

For now, all you could do was wait—and hope that Daemon returned soon to ease the storm inside your heart.

The dim light of the late afternoon barely penetrated the entrance of the cave as you stood there, frozen in a mix of awe and apprehension. The cool, damp air from the cave brushed against your skin, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of earth and something more—something ancient, something powerful.

Your heartbeat quickened, a steady drum in your chest, as your eyes adjusted to the darkness. You took a tentative step forward, then another, the sound of your soft footfalls echoing faintly against the stone walls.

And then, you saw them.

Two glowing yellow eyes pierced the shadows, the very same eyes that had haunted your dreams. They watched you, unblinking, radiating an intelligence and intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

A low, rumbling growl filled the cavern, deep and resonant, reverberating through your bones. It wasn’t a sound of anger, but one of acknowledgement—a call, an answer, a connection.

As you stepped closer, the massive form of the dragon began to take shape in the dim light. Its scales were a deep shade of black, glistening faintly like polished obsidian, with streaks of gold running along its massive body. Its wings were folded close to its sides, but even so, you could sense the sheer power they held.

This was the creature that had been calling you. The voice you’d heard in your dreams, the presence you’d felt lingering in your thoughts—it was this dragon.

You took another step forward, your hand instinctively resting on your belly as if to shield the life growing within you. The dragon’s eyes shifted briefly to your hand, and you could feel a strange, almost protective energy emanating from it.

It lowered its massive head, bringing its snout closer to you, and let out a soft huff of warm air. The gesture felt like a test, as if it were gauging your courage, your resolve.

You reached out with trembling fingers, your heart pounding in your chest. As your hand made contact with the dragon’s scaled snout, a surge of warmth and energy coursed through you. It wasn’t just the touch of a dragon—it was a bond forming, a connection being forged.

This dragon had been waiting for you.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you whispered softly, “You’ve been calling me, haven’t you?”

The dragon let out a low rumble in response, its eyes closing briefly as if in agreement. This was no ordinary creature—it was a dragon of destiny, one that had chosen you, not just as its rider, but as its equal.

For the first time in days, the unease that had plagued you lifted. In its place was a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew you wouldn’t face them alone.

You stepped out of the dark cave, the sunlight momentarily blinding you as the dragon followed closely behind. The ground beneath you vibrated faintly with each heavy step the massive creature took. Its obsidian scales glinted in the light, making it appear both menacing and magnificent.

As you lifted your gaze, your eyes met Daemon’s. He stood a short distance away, his sword still sheathed, his chest rising and falling as though he’d run to find you. His expression was a mixture of shock, concern, and something else—awe.

His sharp eyes left yours and shifted to the beast that loomed behind you, its golden eyes meeting his for a moment before it let out a low, rumbling growl that reverberated through the air. Caraxes, perched on a ridge not far away, responded with a hiss, his long neck stretching out as if to assert his dominance.

“Gods,” Daemon finally breathed, his voice rough with emotion. He took a step toward you, his eyes darting between you and the dragon. “You’ve bonded with it.”

You nodded, your hand instinctively moving to rest on your swollen belly. “It has been calling me, Daemon,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “In my dreams, in my thoughts. It was waiting for me.”

Daemon’s gaze flicked to the dragon again, his jaw tightening. “You entered the cave alone?” His voice held a hint of reproach, but it was overshadowed by the amazement in his tone.

“I had to,” you replied firmly. “This bond… it was meant to be.”

The dragon behind you lowered its massive head, releasing a deep, resonating growl as if to agree. Daemon’s lips parted slightly, and he shook his head in disbelief. He took another step closer, now standing directly in front of you.

“You never cease to surprise me,” he murmured, his hand brushing your cheek briefly before sliding down to rest on your belly. His other hand gestured toward the dragon. “What do you plan to name this beast?”

You turned, looking back at the dragon whose glowing golden eyes still watched you intently. A name formed in your mind, as if it had been waiting there all along.

“Aryx,” you said softly, the name feeling like a perfect match for the creature’s power and grace.

Daemon tilted his head, considering the name before nodding approvingly. “Aryx,” he echoed. “Fitting for one as formidable as this.”

You smiled faintly and looked back at him. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Daemon smirked faintly, his usual arrogance returning to his expression. “Worry me? You’ll be the death of me one day, woman.” His tone was teasing, but the way his hand lingered on you spoke volumes of his relief.

With one last glance at Aryx, Daemon turned back to you. “Come. You’ll have to explain all of this to the children. And I suppose you’ll want them to meet your new companion.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the weight of his arm wrap protectively around your shoulders as he led you back toward the keep. Behind you, Aryx released a mighty roar, the sound echoing across the cliffs, declaring its presence to the world.

As you walked alongside Daemon toward the training grounds, you could already hear the excited chatter of your children and the occasional roars of their dragons. The sight before you warmed your heart: Maegon, Vaelya, Aerion, and the twins were bustling around, preparing their saddles and checking their dragons. The bond they shared with their mighty companions was unbreakable, and it showed in every gesture and movement.

Daemon glanced at you with a knowing smirk. “They’ve grown so much,” he said, pride lacing his tone. “Soon they’ll rival even the best riders in the Seven Kingdoms.”

You nodded, your gaze never leaving your children. “They are remarkable,” you said softly. “But that is no surprise—they take after their father."

Daemon chuckled, his arm brushing against yours. “And their mother, who seems determined to keep surprising me.”

As the children mounted their dragons, Daemon turned to you with a playful glint in his eyes. “Come, let us join them. You shouldn’t just watch from the ground.”

You shook your head with a smile, placing a hand on his arm. “Not yet. Go with them, Daemon. I’ll follow soon enough.”

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued, but he didn’t press further. “As you wish,” he said with a shrug, leaning in to kiss your temple before walking toward Caraxes.

You watched as your family took to the skies, their dragons soaring into the clouds with powerful wingbeats. Their laughter and cheers echoed down to you, filling the air with a sense of joy and freedom.

Once they were high above, you turned back toward the path leading to Aryx’s cave. The dragon waited for you, his golden eyes watching your every move. With steady determination, you approached and climbed onto his back, feeling the surge of power beneath you as he rose to his full height.

“Let’s give them a surprise,” you murmured to Aryx, and with a mighty roar, he took off.

The wind rushed past you, and the exhilaration of flying filled your chest. As you ascended higher, you spotted your family in the distance. Your children were the first to notice, their astonished faces turning toward you. Vaelya’s delighted laugh rang out, and Maegon pointed, shouting something to Aerion.

Daemon turned, his eyes widening in disbelief as Aryx flew closer. His smirk grew into a full grin as he shook his head, clearly impressed.

You and Aryx joined the formation, gliding gracefully alongside your family. The children circled you, cheering and calling out to Aryx, who responded with a roar of his own. Daemon guided Caraxes closer, his voice carrying over the wind.

“You’ve outdone yourself this time, my love!” he shouted, his grin unrelenting.

You laughed, your heart swelling with pride and happiness. For a moment, as you soared through the skies with your family, all was perfect, and the world felt entirely yours.

As the wind rushed past your face, you couldn’t help but feel a familiar exhilaration coursing through your veins. This wasn’t your first time in the skies; you had flown before, though on Caraxes, with Daemon close behind to guide you. Those moments had been thrilling but restrained, as you were a guest on his dragon, not its rider.

But this—this was different. Sitting atop Aryx, feeling the immense power beneath you, was a completely new sensation. His every movement responded to your unspoken commands, the bond between you forming as if it had always been there.

You recalled Daemon’s words from years ago, the first time you’d mounted Caraxes. “You have the blood of the dragon in your veins,” he’d said, his voice steady with confidence. “It’s time you learned what that means.”

At the time, you’d been nervous but determined. Riding Caraxes had been a test, one that you had passed. Even then, you had felt the connection, the sense of belonging that came with being a Targaryen, a child of fire and blood. But riding another’s dragon, no matter how trusted, was nothing like this.

Aryx was yours. His golden eyes mirrored the fire that burned within you, and his roars seemed to echo the strength you had always carried. It was as if he had been waiting for you all along, waiting for the right moment to be claimed.

Now, as you soared alongside your family, you understood what it truly meant to be a dragonrider. Your mother’s legacy, the Targaryen blood that coursed through your veins, had made this moment possible.

Your children’s cheers and laughter brought you back to the present. Vaelya waved enthusiastically, her silver hair whipping in the wind. “Mother, you look magnificent!” she called out, her voice brimming with excitement.

Daemon, ever the watchful husband, guided Caraxes closer. His eyes gleamed with pride as he glanced at Aryx, then back at you. “I should have known you wouldn’t settle for anything less than your own dragon,” he teased, his voice warm.

You smirked, feeling more confident than ever. “I am a Targaryen, after all,” you replied, your tone playful but resolute.

The skies were alive with the sound of dragons and laughter, and for the first time in a long while, you felt utterly complete. This was your family, your legacy, and your destiny. The dragon within you had awakened, and there was no turning back.

As your feet touched the ground, the adrenaline of the flight still coursing through you, your children came running toward you with wide smiles and eyes alight with excitement.

“Mother, you were incredible!” Maegon exclaimed, his face flushed with admiration. Vaelya nodded vigorously, her silver hair shimmering in the sunlight. “You looked so powerful, flying alongside us!”

Aerion smirked, crossing his arms. “I think Aryx suits you better than Caraxes ever did,” he teased, earning a chuckle from his siblings.

You smiled warmly at them, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “It seems I’ve made the right choice,” you said, glancing back at Aryx, who settled on the ground behind you with a proud huff.

Daemon approached you then, his expression softer than usual, though his eyes still carried that glint of mischief. He placed a hand gently on your stomach, his touch warm and familiar. “The blood of the dragon runs strong in you,” he murmured, his voice laced with pride.

You chuckled softly, resting your hand over his. “And in them too,” you replied, glancing at your children, who were now animatedly talking about your flight.

Daemon leaned closer, his voice low so only you could hear. “You continue to surprise me, my love. First, you claim a dragon, and now you carry another part of our legacy.”

You met his gaze, your smile softening. “This is only the beginning, Daemon,” you whispered, a sense of quiet determination in your tone.

The moment was filled with the warmth of family, the strength of your bond, and the unyielding pride of being part of the Targaryen legacy. Together, as the dragons roared softly in the background, you felt unstoppable.

Time seemed to move swiftly, and now you were in the final months of your pregnancy. Your growing belly made every movement more deliberate, yet you couldn’t help but feel restless under the watchful eyes of Daemon, Maegon, and Aerion.

They had practically barricaded you in your chambers, determined to ensure you rested properly. “Mother, you need to think of the babies,” Maegon would say, his tone a perfect echo of Daemon’s sternness. Aerion, equally protective, would add, “You promised to stay in bed. Don’t make us get Father involved.”

Even Vaelya, your usually gentle daughter, seemed to side with her brothers, albeit with a softer touch. “It’s only a few more weeks, Mother,” she’d plead, her silver hair cascading over her shoulders as she helped adjust your pillows. “You’ll see your dragon again soon.”

The restriction stung most when you thought of Aryx. The bond you had formed with your dragon was unlike anything else, and the thought of not visiting him made your heart ache. Yet every time you mentioned it, Daemon would shoot you a look that left no room for argument.

“I’ll not risk you or our children,” he declared one evening as he sat beside you, his hand resting protectively on your swollen belly. “Aryx will wait, but these little dragons need you here.”

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m surrounded by dragons,” you teased lightly, though the frustration lingered in your voice.

Daemon smirked, leaning closer. “Indeed, and they all take after me,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

Despite their protectiveness, you couldn’t deny the love and care surrounding you. Even if it meant enduring the confinement for a while longer, you knew it was born of their devotion to you and the new life growing inside you.

Despite the strict orders from Daemon and your sons, you rarely followed them to the letter. You valued your moments of freedom, however small, and the garden became your secret escape.

Whenever Daemon and the children flew together with their dragons, you took the opportunity to slip away from your chambers. With the help of your most trusted handmaidens and guards, you ensured no word of your little excursions ever reached your overprotective family.

Clad in a simple cloak to conceal yourself, you carefully made your way to the garden. The fresh air and the vibrant colors of the flowers felt like a reprieve from the monotony of your confinement. You would sit beneath the shade of a tree, your hand gently resting on your swollen belly as you gazed up at the sky.

Above, the sight of your children soaring through the air on their dragons filled you with pride and joy. You could hear their laughter echoing through the clouds as they raced one another or practiced aerial maneuvers. Aryx’s occasional roar would mix with the sounds of the other dragons, a reminder of the bond you had with him, even if you couldn’t be by his side.

You often whispered to the babies in your belly, “One day, you’ll fly too. Your siblings will teach you everything.”

When their flights ended and they descended back to the ground, you made sure to return to your chambers before anyone noticed your absence. The guards and servants who had kept your secret offered you subtle smiles, understanding the importance of these small moments of peace.

But you knew it was only a matter of time before Daemon or one of your children caught on to your little rebellion. And when that day came, you were sure there would be a lecture—likely from all of them. Until then, you relished these fleeting moments of freedom under the open sky.

As you sat beneath your favorite tree, the soothing breeze ruffling your hair, a familiar voice broke the peaceful silence.

“Mother!” Maegon’s voice echoed through the garden, firm and laced with disapproval. “Why are you not in bed?”

You flinched slightly and turned to see your eldest son striding toward you, his silver hair shining under the sunlight. Aerion followed close behind, his arms crossed, wearing an expression that mirrored his brother’s irritation. Vaelya trailed behind them, her lips pressed into a thin line, clearly torn between supporting her brothers and sympathizing with you.

“I needed some fresh air,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you adjusted your position under the tree. “I promise I’m being careful.”

“That’s not the point, Mother,” Aerion said, his tone exasperated. “You’re supposed to be resting. Father specifically said—”

“Oh, your father,” you interrupted with a soft laugh. “He’ll scold me enough when he finds out. Do you really have to add to it?”

Vaelya stepped forward, her expression softening as she knelt beside you. “Mother, we’re just worried. You’re in your last months, and we don’t want anything to happen to you or the babies.”

Her gentle words tugged at your heart, and you reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know, my darling. But I promise I’m not doing anything reckless.”

Maegon knelt in front of you, his hands resting on his knees. “At least let us bring you back to your chambers,” he insisted, his voice softer now but still firm.

“And what of your flight practice?” you asked, tilting your head playfully.

Aerion shook his head. “We’ll return to it after we make sure you’re safely back where you belong.”

You sighed, knowing there was no arguing with them. “Fine,” you relented with a small smile. “But you’ll have to help me up. Your little siblings are making it quite difficult for me to move around these days.”

All three of them immediately moved to assist you, their concern evident in their careful movements. As Maegon and Aerion supported you on either side, Vaelya stayed close, keeping an eye on you as if to ensure you didn’t try to escape their watchful care again.

As you walked back toward the castle, you chuckled softly to yourself. “You’re all so much like your father,” you murmured, earning a collective groan from your children.

“Someone has to be,” Maegon replied with a smirk, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

As you walked back to your chambers with Maegon, Aerion, and Vaelya, you felt the sharp pangs of contraction intensify. Your hand instinctively went to your swollen belly, your breathing becoming shallow as you tried to hide the pain from your children.

“Mother, are you alright?” Vaelya asked, her brows furrowing in concern as she stayed close to you.

“I’m fine, sweet girl,” you replied, offering her a reassuring smile despite the discomfort. “Just help me get to my chambers.”

Once inside, you eased yourself onto the bed, your breaths coming heavier. “Maegon, Aerion,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “Go find your father and bring him here. Tell him it’s urgent.”

Both boys nodded, though worry was evident in their expressions. “We’ll bring him right away,” Maegon assured you before he and Aerion quickly left the room.

Vaelya stayed by your side, her small hands reaching out to hold yours. “Is it time, Mother?” she asked softly, her voice a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“It seems so,” you said, stroking her silver hair to calm her. “But don’t worry, my darling. Everything will be alright.”

She nodded, though her grip on your hand tightened as another contraction hit you. You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths to steady yourself.

“Shall I fetch the maester?” Vaelya offered, her tone eager to help.

“Not yet,” you said, squeezing her hand gently. “Stay with me for a moment. Your brothers and father will be back soon.”

The two of you sat together, the room filled with a quiet tension as you braced yourself for what was to come. Despite the pain, you found comfort in Vaelya’s presence, her strength reminding you of how much she was growing into her own.

You exhaled shakily, gripping Vaelya’s hand as another wave of contractions rippled through you. “Vaelya,” you said softly but firmly, “go now and fetch the maester—”

Before she could respond, the door swung open. Daemon strode in, his expression a mix of worry and urgency, followed closely by Maegon, Aerion, and your younger sons, each looking equally anxious. Behind them came the maester and a group of midwives, already prepared for what lay ahead.

Daemon’s violet eyes locked onto you immediately as he crossed the room in quick strides. “I told you to rest,” he said, though his tone was less scolding and more laced with concern. He knelt beside the bed, gently taking your free hand. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you managed, though your voice wavered. “It’s time, Daemon.”

Vaelya stepped aside as the maester and midwives moved to your side, their practiced hands beginning preparations. Your sons stood awkwardly by the door, unsure whether to stay or leave, until Daemon turned to them with a commanding but gentle tone.

“Take your sister to the other chamber,” he said, glancing back at Vaelya, who hesitated for a moment. “Stay together and wait for news. I’ll come for you when it’s over.”

Vaelya nodded, her lip trembling slightly as she cast one last glance at you. “Be strong, Mother,” she whispered before Maegon gently guided her out, his arm protectively around her shoulders.

Once the door closed behind them, Daemon turned back to you, his hands moving to steady you as another contraction surged through your body. “You’ll be alright,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring. “I’m here. We’re doing this together.”

You gripped his hand tightly, drawing strength from his presence as the maester gave quiet instructions to the midwives. The room filled with focused energy, and despite the pain, you felt a surge of determination. Soon, your family would grow once more.

You screamed as another wave of pain tore through you, your grip on Daemon’s hand tightening until your knuckles turned white. The maester and midwives moved swiftly around you, preparing for the imminent birth, but your focus was entirely on the searing discomfort and the man at your side.

Daemon leaned in closer, his voice low and soothing as he murmured, “You’re strong, my love. You’ve done this before, and you’ll do it again. Breathe with me—”

You shot him a glare sharp enough to rival the edge of Dark Sister. “Easy for you to say,” you snapped through gritted teeth, your tone biting despite the exhaustion. “You’re not the one pushing out your insufferable offspring.”

Daemon smirked faintly, though there was a flicker of guilt in his violet eyes. “Fair enough,” he murmured, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face. “But you’ve always been stronger than me. You’ll survive this, as you always do, and I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Another contraction tore through you, cutting off any retort you might have had. Instead, you groaned loudly, your head falling back against the pillows. Daemon tightened his hold on your hand, his face now entirely serious. “You’re almost there,” he said firmly, his voice unwavering. “Focus. You can do this.”

Despite your irritation, his presence grounded you. As much as you wanted to yell at him for being infuriatingly calm, his unwavering support gave you a sliver of comfort amidst the chaos.

With a guttural scream, you pushed with every ounce of strength you had, your cries echoing through the chamber. Tears streamed down your face as the pain overwhelmed you, but you didn’t stop. The maester’s voice was a distant murmur, urging you to keep going, but all you could focus on was the burning pressure and the sound of your own labored breathing.

From outside, a deep, resonant roar cut through the night—a sound that sent shivers down the spine of everyone in the castle. Your dragon’s call was filled with raw emotion, almost as if it mirrored your pain, your struggle. It was a bond deeper than words, one that transcended distance.

Daemon’s hand was in yours, his grip firm yet reassuring. His voice, usually so confident and commanding, was filled with worry as he whispered, “Almost there, my love. Just a little more. You’ve got this.”

The roar of your dragon grew louder, shaking the very walls, as if demanding your triumph. It was a primal connection—beast and rider, enduring the agony together. The sound gave you strength, a reminder of the power that ran through your veins.

You cried out, gripping the sheets with trembling hands as the maester urged you to push once more. The pain was overwhelming, your body strained beyond its limits, but you knew you were close. Tears streamed down your face as you screamed again, the sound of your agony echoing through the room.

Outside, the roar of your dragon reverberated through the castle walls, a deep, mournful sound that seemed to resonate with your very soul. It was as if the creature could feel every ounce of your pain, sharing in your struggle even from a distance.

“One more push, my lady,” the maester’s voice broke through the haze. “You can do this.”

With every ounce of strength left in you, you pushed, your cries blending with the primal roar of your dragon. And then, suddenly, the tension broke, and the room filled with the sound of a baby’s cry.

Tears of relief and joy blurred your vision as you collapsed back onto the bed, trembling and breathless. Daemon’s grip on your hand tightened, his own eyes shining with unshed tears.

“It’s a girl,” the maester announced with a small smile, carefully wrapping your daughter in a soft cloth before placing her in your arms.

You gazed down at the tiny, wriggling bundle, her silver hair already glinting faintly in the dim candlelight. Her cries quieted as she felt your warmth, her little fists opening and closing as if reaching for you.

Daemon leaned closer, his hand brushing gently against the baby’s head. “A daughter,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s perfect.”

Outside, your dragon’s roar softened, almost as if it, too, was calming down now that the ordeal was over. You smiled weakly, kissing your daughter’s forehead as you whispered, “Welcome to the world, little one.”

You cradled your newborn daughter gently in your arms, her tiny fingers curling around your thumb. Her soft cries had subsided, and now she rested peacefully against your chest. A smile spread across your face as you admired her delicate features. She was perfect in every way.

The door creaked open, and you turned your head to see Vaelya standing there, her silver hair glinting in the candlelight and her violet eyes wide with joy. Her small hands were clasped together, trembling slightly as if she couldn’t contain her excitement.

“She’s here,” Vaelya whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “My sister…”

You beckoned her closer, and she hesitated only a moment before rushing to your side. She gazed down at the baby in awe, her eyes shimmering with tears. “She’s so small,” she murmured, brushing a finger gently across her sister’s tiny hand. “She’s beautiful.”

Before you could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Moments later, the door burst open, and your four sons came rushing in, their laughter and voices filling the room.

“Where is she?” Maegon demanded, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the bundle in your arms. Aerion followed closely behind, shushing his younger brothers even though his own excitement was barely contained.

Vaelya stepped aside reluctantly to give them room, though her protective stance didn’t go unnoticed. Each of the boys took turns peering at their new sister, their expressions a mixture of fascination and pride.

“She’s tiny,” Aerion observed with a grin, his tone teasing. “Like a hatchling."

“She’s a princess,” Maegon corrected him, his voice firm. “And she’ll grow into a dragon, just like us.”

“She already has,” Vaelya interjected, her voice soft but unwavering. “She’s my sister.”

You watched the scene with tears in your eyes, your heart swelling as your children gathered around you. They bickered playfully over who would protect her the most, but their love for their new sibling was already evident.

As the noise subsided, Daemon stepped back into the room, his gaze falling on the six of you. He didn’t say a word but crossed the room to stand by your side, his hand resting on your shoulder.

“She’s ours,” you whispered, looking up at him with a smile. “All of them are.”

“And they’re perfect,” Daemon replied, his voice low with pride as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple.

Vaelya turned to Daemon with wide, pleading eyes, her excitement almost tangible. “May I name her, Father? Please?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with hope.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, glancing at you with a small smirk. “Do you think you’re ready for such a responsibility, little dragon?” he teased, though his tone was warm.

Vaelya straightened her shoulders, her expression determined. “I am. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

He chuckled, nodding. “Very well, then. Let’s hear it.”

Vaelya hesitated only for a moment before stepping closer to you, her gaze fixed on her baby sister. “Her name is Nyelarys,” she announced proudly, her voice steady. “It means ‘radiant one’ in High Valyrian. She will shine brighter than the stars, and her fire will be as strong as any dragon.”

The room fell silent as everyone absorbed the name. Daemon tilted his head, a rare softness in his expression as he repeated the name quietly to himself. “Nyelarys,” he said, testing the sound. Then, he nodded in approval. “A fitting name. You’ve done well, Vaelya.”

Your sons, standing nearby, each murmured their agreement, though they couldn’t resist throwing in a few playful comments about who would teach Nyelarys to ride a dragon or wield a sword.

You smiled at Vaelya, your heart swelling with pride. “It’s perfect,” you said softly, stroking her hair. “Just like you.”

Vaelya’s cheeks flushed with happiness, and she looked down at her sister with a radiant smile. “Welcome to the family, Nyelarys,” she whispered.

You smiled warmly at Vaelya as she gazed at her baby sister, her silver hair shining in the soft light of the chamber. “Would you like to hold her?” you asked gently.

Vaelya’s eyes widened, and she looked at you, almost hesitant. “May I?” she asked softly, her voice filled with wonder.

You nodded, adjusting Nyelarys in your arms before carefully passing her to Vaelya. “Of course. Just be gentle.”

Vaelya sat on the edge of the bed, her movements careful and precise. She cradled Nyelarys in her arms, her hands supporting the baby’s head the way you had shown her. For a moment, she simply stared at her little sister, her expression a mixture of awe and adoration.

“She’s so tiny,” Vaelya whispered, a smile tugging at her lips. “And beautiful.”

You watched the tender moment, your heart swelling with pride. “She’s lucky to have a sister like you, Vaelya,” you said softly.

Vaelya looked up at you, her eyes shining. “I’ll protect her. Always. Just like you and Father protect us.”

Your throat tightened at her words, and you leaned forward to kiss her temple. “I know you will,” you murmured.

Nyelarys let out a soft coo, and Vaelya laughed quietly, brushing a finger against the baby’s cheek. “I’ll teach her everything I know,” she said, her voice filled with determination.

The sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway, and you both turned toward the door just as Daemon and your sons returned. Each of them held a cloth-covered bundle, their faces alight with excitement.

“We’ve chosen the perfect egg,” Maegon announced proudly, his voice echoing in the room. Aerion added with a grin, “Father made us climb the hardest path to find it.”

Daemon smirked, holding up the egg he’d chosen. “Only the best for our little princess,” he said, his tone teasing as he walked over to you and Vaelya.

Vaelya glanced down at her sister, then back at the egg. “It will hatch,” she said with confidence. “It has to. She’s one of us.”

You exchanged a knowing look with Daemon as the boys gathered around, their excitement filling the room. It was a moment that reminded you of the strength and love within your family, one that would endure for generations.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

[misswynters]

Toxic Devotion

Jacaerys Velaryon x gn!reader

[warning: toxic relationship, yandere behavior, implied non-con touching, murder

[synopsis: You will do anything to protect jace and so does he. Getting rid of anyone who even looks at you wrong. It should be easy, right?

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

The torches flickered along the walls of the narrow corridor, casting eerie shadows as you moved with purpose. Your blood was still boiling from the encounter, the venomous words of the your once handmaiden echoing in your mind.

"Bastard prince," she had hissed, her eyes filled with contempt. "Not fit to sit the throne, not fit to touch such noble blood like you."

Rage had surged within you, swift and deadly. Without a second thought, you had grabbed the nearest sharp object, a ceremonial dagger, and silenced her vile tongue forever. Now, as you made your way back to your chambers, the weight of your actions settled over you like a shroud, but you felt no remorse. You had done it for Jacaerys, and that was all that mattered. Nothing was more important to you than protecting his beautiful self from any harm. Pushing open the heavy door to your quarters, you were met with a sight that sent a cold shock through your veins.

Jacaerys stood over the lifeless body of your kingsguard, blood dripping from the blade in his hand. Your eyes widened, and you took a step back, but Jacaerys's gaze was fixed on you, a mix of protectiveness and ferocity in his eyes.

"He touched you," Jacaerys said, his voice low and dangerous. He was glaring at the body with disgust. "He had no right."

You looked down at the body, remembering how you had woken earlier to find the kingsguard in your bed, clearly drunk, his intentions unclear. You had been too disoriented to react, but Jacaerys had come in just moments later, his rage instant and deadly.

"He was in my bed when I woke," you whispered, the horror of the situation sinking in. "I didn't-"

"I know," Jacaerys interrupted, stepping closer to you. "I know you didn't invite him. But he dared to overstep, and he paid the price.”

You met his gaze, the intensity of his emotions matching your own. "I killed the handmaiden," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "She called you a bastard, said terrible things about you."

A dark smile twisted Jacaerys's lips, and he reached out to cup your face in his bloodstained hand. "You did it for me," he said softly, his eyes gleaming with a twisted kind of pride. "Just as I did this for you."

The silence between you was heavy with the weight of your actions, but it was also charged with a dangerous kind of devotion. In that moment, you both understood that your love was a double-edged sword, cutting down anyone who dared to come between you.

"We're bound together," Jacaerys murmured, his thumb tracing your cheek. "By blood, fire, and death. No one can tear us apart."

You nodded, leaning into his touch, feeling a strange sense of solace in his words. "No one," you echoed. As Jacaerys pulled you into his embrace, you knew that your love was as destructive as it was passionate. But in this world of treachery and betrayal, it was the only thing you could trust. And so, with bodies lying in your wake and blood staining your hands, you clung to each other, bound by a love that was both your salvation and your damnation.

The storm raged outside, lightning illuminating the dark skies over Dragonstone. Inside your chambers, the atmosphere was equally charged. You and Jacaerys lay in bed, the events of the day replaying in your minds. His arm was draped possessively over your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

"I can still see the look in her eyes," you murmured, staring at the ceiling. "The fear, the hatred. It felt...satisfying to silence her."

Jacaerys tightened his hold on you, his voice a low growl. "They all think they can judge us. They don't understand what we have, the lengths we'll go to for each other."

You turned to face him, your fingers tracing the contours of his face. "They will learn. Anyone who dares to come between us will meet the same fate."

He captured your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. "We are unstoppable, my love. Together, we will claim what is rightfully ours." The fire in his eyes mirrored your own, a shared madness that fueled your ambition. "Tomorrow, we must deal with the aftermath," you said, a hint of worry creeping into your voice. "Questions will be asked."

Jacaerys's expression hardened. "Let them ask. We'll have our answers ready. We protect each other, always."

A scream could be heard from a distance, another handmaiden must’ve founded the poor girl lying on your bed, lifeless. The sound of footsteps in the hallway made you both tense. Jacaerys sprang from the bed, moving silently to the door, his sword in hand. You followed, your heart pounding. A knock echoed through the room, and Jacaerys opened the door a fraction, revealing your most trusted servant.

"My lord, my lady," he whispered urgently. "The bodies have been discovered. The court is in an uproar." The servant was shaken up, nervously fidgeting his fingers. In fear of doing anything wrong and that also lead to his untimely demise.

Jacaerys glanced back at you, his eyes cold and calculating. "Well, i guess we don’t have much of a choice now do we."

You nodded, steeling yourself. "Let's face them, it can’t be that bad." You walked towards him reaching towards his hand, your eyes softly looking towards his, which were the opposite. Darker than they usually are.

Hand in hand, you stepped into the corridor, ready to confront whatever awaited you. The court might rage and whisper, but you and Jacaerys were a force of nature, bound by a love that was as fierce as it was toxic. And nothing, not even death, would come between you.

taglist: @benjicotblckwood

[ceesimz]

I Did It All.

"Alexia Putellas, what do you have to say about leaving the pitch for the final time?"

Twenty years done, not enough. Twenty years more, too much. A discrepancy far more complex than it needs to be.

Days spent treading the same grass that legends of the past had once done, winding and weaving fluidly through near faultless defences, roars of awe following as stars returned back to their rightful place in the sky with each jump of celebration.

Nights spent in clubs and restaurants, surrounded by people high on glory with medals around their necks, a privilege some may argue wasn't warranted. Though, when stadiums filled to their capacities chanted just one name over and over as if it was the holiest sacrament of Catalunya, fighting against that was as close to blasmephy as one could get.

To now slip off into the unknown, leaving behind only a name that no longer gave way to the presence of a figure the fields didn't deserve. The future would never know her, only her name, only her stats, only her achievements. Perhaps it was best to keep it that way.

Decades of critics speaking in such a way it was almost sacrilegious, months of shame in the media for purely being a human in the worst era of her life, weeks of slander and insults for fighting for rights in a system built to spite her, twisting her kindness into a weakness. But always, the rightful figure rises, pulling the sword from the stone and raising it to the skies in triumph. The crown could get heavy, but not once did it falter. Not once did it fall.

With the final few imprints of her boot studs as she stepped off of the turf, she simply relinquished the responsibility and handed the legacy over to the next generation, trusting them indefinitely to carry the honour in the same way she did. It wasn't just the handing over of a torch; it was the exchange of a rite of passage, a way of life, and a promise to uphold the standards of excellence and righteousness she had engraved into the sport she gave her life to. This passing of the baton wasn't solely focused on the end of something though, no, it was the beginning of something far more important than people could understand. It was time for the up-and-coming stars of the sport to take the pen and write their own chapters into the history books, encompassing the opportunity to build something even more empowering than those before them.

Allowing the armband she had worn with great pride to slip off her arm, she shed the weight of a thousand battles, all of the lessons she had learnt from each victory and each defeat now etched into every fibre of her being. The world watched as she exited the field for the last time, an understanding wordlessly divulged between millions at the recognition that this was a landmark moment.

Kaleidoscopes of nostalgia flitted past her eyes as if it were an old film roll, freeze-frames of time portraying unimaginably euphoric moments. Only for them to never be experienced again. Though every cheer, every chant, and every image of a shirt worn with her legacy stitched into the fabric of it, flooded through her veins, and would for evermore.

The high regard her peers held her to, whether she had come across them on the pitch time after time or never met them at all, was a testament to the irremovable mark she had left on the beautiful game. Other countless memorable figures that were desperate to meet her, brands desperate to work with her, all these examples of her undeniable impact.

Alexia Putellas never cared about being immortalised in her sport. She was just a girl from the outskirts of Barcelona, chasing a dream with her loved ones holding her hand along the journey. Some of those hands had slipped away as time went on, but that meant she only gained more guardian angels to watch over her. With a family as tight-knit as hers, each member past and present a constant reminder of her purpose, she never lost faith. Sure, there were moments where it faltered a little, but no matter how much people tried to make a mockery of her failures, she would step back up; each comeback better than the last.

Her longevity was unrivalled, performing to the highest standards near enough all the time, even when others didn't deserve to witness it. Still, she gave away every part of herself to a sport that tried to silence her and failed to give equity until the latest moment possible. Always undervalued and unappreciated in her place of work, but did that stop her? Dampen her spirits? No, of course it didn't. And she had ample evidence to prove it; awards, trophies, medals, and most importantly to her, an easier path paved for those following in her footsteps.

The final chapter was about to finish though, the book of a near flawless career soon to slam shut.

Football would feel the loss of her absence, but like the story of Ozymandias, the dust will blow over and erase her stature, the nature of the sport will run its course and she'll be a figment of the past. Her time had come, and she had done everything and more of what she needed to do.

She moved from an ever-present figure to just a silhouette with a few steps.

Here, now, at the crescendo of a note-worthy career run, there was only one way to answer such a question.

"I did it all."

[multifandomfix]

Imagine Rhaenys finding out you’ve been taken prisoner by the greens.

Rhaenys paced, her brow furrowed and fists clenched. The battle had raged hours ago, leaving the air heavy with smoke and ash. While her forces had survived the day, she had not seen you, her knight, her love, since the chaos descended.

“Tell me again,” she demanded of the messenger. Her voice was sharp, but beneath it lay a tremor of fear. “Where was she last seen?”

The young soldier hesitated, glancing nervously at the Queen Who Never Was. “Near the river, my lady. She fought fiercely, but the greens… they overwhelmed her. She was taken.”

Rhaenys exhaled sharply, her nails biting into her palms. She dismissed the soldier with a wave, her mind racing.

“Taken,” she repeated to herself. She couldn’t let herself imagine what torment you might be enduring. She had seen too many captives of the greens broken and bloodied. But you, her fearless knight, were stronger than that. You had to be.

Mounting Meleys was not a question but a necessity. Her dragon stirred at her approach, sensing the tension in her movements. “We fly,” she whispered, her voice resolute. “I will not lose her.”

The greens’ camp was well guarded, torches blazing against the encroaching night. Rhaenys circled above on Meleys, her sharp eyes scanning for any sign of you. She saw movement, a group of soldiers near a tent, their laughter echoing up to her ears. Her blood burned with rage.

She landed with a thunderous roar, Meleys’ fire lighting up the dark. Chaos erupted as soldiers scrambled, but Rhaenys wasted no time. She dismounted, her sword drawn, cutting through anyone foolish enough to stand in her way.

There was a tent was just ahead, and Rhaenys tore through the flap to find you. You were bound, your armor dented and bruises blooming across your skin, but your eyes— oh, your eyes still burned with the same fire she had fallen in love with.

“Rhaenys?” Your voice cracked, as you felt a bit of disbelief —but more so relief— flood through you.

“I’m here,” she said, kneeling to untie your bonds. Her hands trembled slightly, though she would never admit it. “I’m here, my love.”

You gripped her arm as soon as you were free, your strength surprising her despite your injuries. “You shouldn’t have come alone—”

“I would burn the realm to ashes for you,” Rhaenys interrupted, her tone fierce. “Do not question my resolve.”

Before you could respond, Meleys roared outside, a warning of more soldiers approaching. Rhaenys helped you to your feet, supporting you as you both hurried back to the dragon.

Once in the saddle, with you securely in her arms, she took to the skies. The greens’ camp became a speck below, their shouts swallowed by the wind.

Rhaenys held you close as Meleys soared higher, her lips pressing against your temple. “I will not lose you,” she murmured again, more to herself than to you.

And you knew she never would.

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Rhaenys Targaryen: @thekirbishow, @astrogrande

[blueraineshadows]

Chapter 14

Sebastian Sallow 🔺️F!MC 🔺️ Leander Prewett

Tensions are building as emotions run high. Leander’s life hangs in the balance, and choices must be made.

Chapter Master List and Ao3

Tags: NSFW / Violence / Blood / Torture / Angst / Trauma / Dark Magic

Chapter 14: Trust Must Work Both Ways

Leander 

The insistent throb of pain in his chest made every heartbeat feel like fire, the pain spreading outwards in a wave with each pulse. It echoed in his head, his thoughts cloudy and fractured as he tried to open his eyes. It was so quiet, and he could feel a chill in the air, the scent of dirt mingled with a freshness that made him think of deep woodlands and clear, blue skies. It didn’t make sense. The last thing he remembered was the narrow chalk tunnels, running through the dark, and a girl screaming. 

Each time the world tried to flicker back to him, the pain intensified, but he couldn’t move his arms to try and ease it. The ground was cold and damp beneath his clothes, and when he tried to open his eyes to see, the blurry dimness was nothing more than smudges before him, illuminated in pale gold. 

Was this how it would all end? He tried to remember what happened, but the throbbing pain made it hard to focus. As he tried to place events in order in his memories, flashes of images presented themselves, all of them bleeding into one another as he rasped in wheezy breaths. His lungs burned. A woman with cold blue eyes. Luella Rookwood. A stinging slap to his face, rough hands dragging him. Miss Montgomery weeping. Pain. Always the pain.

The kitchen in Shell Cottage drifted in and out of his thoughts. He breathed in slowly, carefully, fancied he could hear the waves crashing on the shore, catch a glimpse of silken black hair and crystal blue eyes. He could hear her, she was speaking softly, her fingers touching his cheek. He wanted to retreat into the vision, it was safe there, it wouldn’t hurt anymore. 

“Lee, please, look at me,” her voice whispered, but there was an urgency to it. It didn’t match the peacefulness of the cottage. “Wake up. I need you to wake up, please.” 

His lashes fluttered, and a groan escaped him as the pain smashed into his chest anew. His head rolled, but gentle hands caught it and held him steady. He tried to swallow, his lips moving, but a mere croak came out. “MC?” 

He could hear her soft sniffles as though she was crying, and he blinked quickly, forcing his eyelids to open. Wincing at the glow of a fire torch, a hazy vision of MC came into view. She leaned over him, her hands holding his head.

”Oh, thank the Gods,” she gasped, gentle fingers smoothing back his hair. 

Gradually, his surroundings came into focus, the peaked canvas roof of a tent, a dirt floor. When he made to lift a hand to touch MC, bound ropes stopped him and he grunted, panic adding pressure to the awful pain in his chest as he tried to move. 

“Hold still,” she urged, holding up a potion bottle. His eyes felt itchy and tight as he focused on the little glass phial. Wiggenweld. “Open your mouth. I’m going to tip it in.” 

Her hand held his jaw as he parted his lips, and she eased his head back. The potion hit his tongue, his whole mouth tingling at the liquid relief. He was so thirsty. 

“You’re going to be alright,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at something. He wished he could move his arms. Her touch on his cheek pushed back against the agony. She smiled. “This time, I’m going to save you.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed the potion, focusing on the feel of her fingers stroking against his face, and let the drowsy feeling of sleep claim him again. 

MC

Her hands shook as she carefully eased Leander’s head back against the thick, wooden tent post, his eyes fluttering closed again. He was deathly pale under his freckles, his lips almost white, and it made for a sharp contrast against the blood. His cheek was slashed, and blood had trickled down from a wound on his head, his usually neatly combed hair sticky and mussed. His drowsiness frightened her, he didn't seem to know where he was, but when he had spoken her name, the relief had been palpable. 

They didn’t have much time. Sebastian could only distract for so long. Leaving the potion to work on Leander, MC crawled around him to the blonde girl tied against the pole at his back. She appeared relatively unharmed, just a split lip, likely from a swift blow to silence her. MC shook her shoulder and she groaned, blinking slowly before fixing a piercing gaze on her. She frowned, and then her face morphed with recognition. 

“You’re MC,” she said, clearing her throat. She sat up straighter, scowling at her bonds. “Did you do this?” 

MC scoffed and shook her head, narrowing her gaze a little as she studied the girl. She must be the one Leander had told her about, the new Auror who took McKinnon’s place. Her hair was pale blonde, her face as pretty as a little doll. She looked every bit the delicate maiden, but there was a strength in those eyes that spoke of determination and strong will. There had to be something about her considering she had made it through the Auror training program. 

“Are you injured?” MC asked, her eyes scanning down the slim frame beneath the Auror robes. 

“No, no I don’t think so,” she replied. Her intense gaze studied MC warily. “You are MC, aren’t you? The prisoner that Auror Prewett meets with.” 

MC aimed her wand towards the ropes, her face carefully impassive. “That’s me,” she said. “And you are his new partner. Apologies, I don’t recall your name.” 

“Montgomery,” she said, eyeing MC’s wand with a touch of wariness. “What are you doing?”

“Hold still. I’m going to cut the ropes and then I need your help. Leander is badly hurt, and I need to get him out of here.” 

She stiffened, her eyes flaring. “First name terms? How cosy.” 

MC fixed her with a hard stare, hoping that this girl didn’t start the sarcastic games that McKinnon seemed to favour. “Do you want me to cut you free, or not? Honestly, I don’t care either way. I just want to get Leander out of here before your worst nightmare comes through that door. Trust me, you do not want to face the camp Executioner.” 

Montgomery swallowed hard, her eyes darting towards the tent flaps that led outside, shifting nervously under her ropes. MC took little satisfaction in the flare of fear that flitted across Montgomery’s gaze, her patience was on a taut leash, her attention drawn to how Leander was faring. Reaching out a hand, she felt his forehead. It was cool to the touch, no fever.

“How bad is he?” Montgomery had twisted her head, trying to get a look at Leander behind her. “He was hit by a blasting hex from Luella Rookwood. His head hit a crate as he fell back.” 

“Not as well as I would like,” MC muttered, fresh hatred bubbling up for Rookwood’s spawn. She grit her teeth as she imagined Leander being hit, grimacing as she cast a slicing charm and the ropes fell apart, freeing the young Auror. MC shuffled back as Montgomery pushed the severed ropes free and brushed dust from her robe, shifting up stiffly and then gasping when she spotted Leander slumped behind her. There was concern in her eyes, but she recovered swiftly, her training kicking in as she did a quick scan of the tent, her mouth set into a firm line. 

“What is this place?”

“You’re in Scotland,” MC replied, crawling back to Leander to check on him. “This is an Ashwinder camp about three miles east of Bainburgh. I wouldn’t bother memorising the location, they move regularly to avoid discovery.” 

“They took our wands when they captured us,” Montgomery said, shuffling closer. “Any chance your plan to get us out involves retrieving them?” 

MC gave Montgomery a curious glance. Considering her dire circumstances, this Auror had a steel spine, and she was clearly ready to do whatever it took to help, including looking to an ex-prisoner for answers. There were none of the sly games that McKinnon had favoured, at least for now.

“You are going to trust me, then?” MC asked, looking Montgomery right in the eyes. 

“If it’s good enough for Auror Prewett, then yes, I will trust you,” she nodded. “What do we need to do?” 

A grudging respect for this Auror filtered through to MC, but she would still be keeping a close eye on her. She nodded towards a wooden bench on the far side of the tent. “Your wands should be on that table over there,” she said, pulling out another potion from her pocket. “Grab them, and then we need to get Leander awake enough so we can Apparate. I’m hoping he will be strong enough to travel that way.” 

As Montgomery hurried to search for the wands, MC gently took hold of Leander’s face, stroking his uninjured cheek. “I need you to wake up again, Lee,” she said, rising tension making her constantly glance towards the tent entrance. “Someone could come and check on you at any moment.”

His eyes fluttered, blinking open a bit quicker this time, the first dose of potion doing its work. She gently clasped his jaw, using her thumb to pull down his lower lip. “Another potion, Lee,” she murmured, meeting his bleary gaze. He managed a stiff nod and opened his mouth. “That’s it. This will help. Where does it hurt?” 

He swallowed down the potion and tried to move, wincing with a sharp intake of breath. “Chest…bad,” he wheezed. “Head…”

Sucking back tears at seeing him look so weak, fear dragging ice fingers down her spine, she leaned closer to him. “I need you to stay awake for me,” she urged, stroking back his hair. “I need to get you out of here. Do you think you could manage me Apparating you? Is that safe?” 

He nodded. “Do it,” he rasped. 

Swiftly cutting his ropes, she grabbed his shoulders as he slumped. Montgomery crouched beside her, the found wands in her hand. She helped MC steady Leander, her eyes far too curious as she looked between MC and him. 

“I’m going to assume nobody else in camp knows you are in here,” she said shrewdly, her eyes darting towards the door. “You risk the whole operation if you are caught assisting us.”

MC fixed her with another cold look. “I’ve got someone being a distraction, but it gives us minutes at best. I suggest you hold on to me, now.”

Both girls froze as the tent flap was shoved open, MC immediately snatching her wand into her grip and moving to block Leander. She thought she might actually faint with relief when Sebastian stepped in, quickly pulling the flap closed behind him. He looked tense, his eyes scanning the scene quickly before he hurried forward.

“Time to go, now,” he snapped, taking her arm. He glanced down at Leander and grimaced. “Shit, he doesn’t look good.” 

Montgomery was gaping, her eyes wide in shock. “Gods, you’re…you’re Sallow,” she gulped. 

Sebastian turned his gaze to her, seeing her properly for the first time. His lips curved into a smirk. “Indeed I am. Pleasure to meet you, Miss,” he said smoothly. He held out a hand towards her. “I assume you’re coming with us.”

“Auror Montgomery,” she mumbled, sliding a hesitant hand into Sebastian’s grip.

MC rolled her eyes at the blush that stained Montgomery’s cheeks as she wrapped her arm firmly around Leander, and tugged at Sebastian with the other hand. “Seb,” she hissed. 

As soon as Montgomery’s hand was firmly within his, he gave MC a nod, and that violent tug pulled behind her navel. It was mere seconds, but she felt the heavy drag in her arms as she clutched Leander, feeling the weight of bearing two as they were ripped through time and space. 

Sebastian

The landing was neither elegant or gentle as they crashed into the soft bed of wild grass. He hadn’t taken them too far, only to the Scottish border, a small spot near an old ruin of a castle. It was fully dark, a chill wind whipping across the exposed landscape. MC was clinging on to Prewett as if her life depended on it. From the looks of him, it was his life hanging in the balance, the blue tinge around his mouth suggested chest wounds and his pallor was very poor.

“Where the blazes are we?” Montgomery leapt to her feet, wand in hand as she scanned the darkened moor around them. “I thought you were taking us to get help. St Mungo’s would have been the better option.”

“For you, perhaps,” Sebastian muttered, more concerned about his own immediate problems. He reached for MC, grasping her elbow and tugging. “Come on, we need to get back to the camp before anyone notices we are missing.”

The tight, furious look on MC’s face told him he had a fight on his hands. Her fingers were curled into Prewett’s bloodied robe, and her chin lifted in that stubborn way of hers. “I’m not leaving him until I know he is alright,” she said flatly. 

“When they realise that the Aurors got out, it won’t take a genius to figure out who helped them when they discover you gone, too,” he pointed out, his own stubbornness kicking in. The mood back at camp had been restless, the Ashwinders hyped up by the scrap in the tunnels. Having prisoners to torment had their teeth gnashing eagerly, and things would sour really fast once they discovered the empty tent. He tightened his hold on MC, eyes dark and firm. “We need to go. Now. Let him go.” 

The flicker in her eyes, just a flash of pain that was quickly masked, but it revealed the double meaning behind those words. As soon as she could release her hold on Prewett, Sebastian had every intention of Apparating them both back to his tent, but her hands remained fisted tight in his robes, her mouth a tight line. Letting him go was more than just the physicality of it. She had to leave him here, in the dark. Injured, and in the hands of a stranger. That crack in her shield had revealed the panic, and the pain of having to let go. 

“I can’t just leave him,” MC said, her voice wavering slightly. Even her lips trembled. “He needs help.” 

“What exactly is going on here? You seem to be rather over familiar with Auror Prewett. Is there something afoot here that I should be aware of?” 

MC turned her attention towards the suspicious blonde Auror, her eyes hardening. Sebastian looked to her, too, but kept hold of MC’s arm. Montgomery was watching them through narrowed eyes, her wand not aimed at them, but ready in her grip. 

“There is nothing you need to be aware of,” MC said, her tone laced with ice. “Is it really so shocking that I would help him?” 

The wind whipped at their hair and clothing, but the rattle of Prewett’s wheezing breaths could still be heard. He coughed, blood staining his pale lips. As much as Sebastian could throttle the bastard through his fear of losing MC, to see him in this state was a sobering moment. He remembered Prewett as the stammering kid who still hadn’t grown into his feet at school, opening his big mouth without thinking, always trying to keep up with his peers but somehow managing to fall short every time. 

Look at him now. His robes were of fine quality. He was a fully fledged Auror, living a good life, and he had managed to capture the soft part of MC, and that was no easy task. Her shields were high and thick, but she had let him in. He’d always figured he hated Prewett, but perhaps it was merely envy. The bloke had carved himself a path through his struggles, he had done well, and it merely highlighted the mess Sebastian had managed of his own life. His ambitions had led him into darkness, whereas Prewett had strived to be better. Did he deserve to die in a field for his efforts just so Sebastian could keep MC close?

Sebastian found himself kneeling in the damp grass, pressing a hand to Prewett’s head to check for fever, his thoughts already racing through the various healing spells he knew through long hours of research. He heard MC’s sharp intake of breath, her cool hand clutching his arm. Had she thought he would hurt Prewett? Perhaps finish him off? It made his guts twist in shame because perhaps he was more than capable of doing just that. 

“It’s alright, MC. There is no fever, but his breathing suggests dangerous chest injury,” he said, aiming his wand towards Prewett’s sternum. “If his ribs are broken, they could have punctured his lungs. I can check.”

“Will he die?” MC asked desperately, as the tip of Sebastian’s wand glowed white.

A quick glance at her face revealed her fear despite the darkness of the wild moor around them, the weak light from his spell casting ghostly shadows on her taut expression. If Prewett died, it would crush her. If helping this damned Gryffindor didn’t prove how far he would go for her, then nothing else would. 

He shook his head. “Not if we help him.”

“I can’t believe what I am seeing,” Montgomery gasped, her eyes wide as she watched on. “An Ashwinder helping an Auror!”

Sebastian ignored her, allowing the spell to show him the cracked and ruined mess of Prewett’s ribs which were definitely broken, the images flickering before his eyes in black and white like an ink drawing. The spell he had learned during a study session with Ominis, researching ways that might help his old friend ‘see’ things. They had been amused at the illusions of their friends in skeletal forms, casting the spell on unsuspecting students at Hogwarts. At the time he hadn’t anticipated the uses he would need it for later in life, and now, staring at the ruin of Prewett’s chest cavity, he felt his stomach churn at the pain it must be inflicting on him. 

“You believe the hype that surrounds us, it seems, Montgomery. Perhaps we are not the monsters you think we are,” MC countered, eyeing Sebastian's wand movement as she gently stroked Prewett’s hair back. “How bad is it?”

Sebastian grimaced, meeting her worried expression with a shake of his head. “He needs a Healer. Broken ribs, most likely internal bleeding. I can mend the bones. I reset an Ashwinder’s broken leg once. It mended up a treat. As for the bleeding, that's a bit more tricky.” 

“He needs to go to St Mungo’s,” Montgomery insisted. “All Aurors have a designated bed available due to the violent nature of our work. He would be seen immediately.” 

“Then let's go,” MC said, already holding Prewett against her. His head rolled, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His eyelids flickered as though he would wake, but he remained limp in her embrace. Time was running out. 

“No, we can't,” Sebastian said, grabbing her arm. “I'm wanted in London. You are supposed to be under cover, and with that article printed in the Prophet about you, there will be suspicion on both sides. Damage limitation, MC. Let Auror Montgomery take Prewett in. We need to return to camp and keep up appearances. You've done your part. You got him out.” 

“Listen to him…” Prewett rasped, the effort of speech making him cough. Blood gurgled in his throat, his face contorted with pain. MC clutched at him, her hand fluttering like a panicked bird near his face.

“Right, that’s it,” Montgomery said, dropping to the grass on her knees. Her wand was put away, her hands reaching for Prewett. Grim determination settled over her features and she gave MC a pointed look. “I’ve got him. I’ll take him to St Mungo’s.”

For a tense few seconds, Sebastian eyed both women, certain that MC might shove the Auror away and disappear with Prewett alone. He kept his grip tight on her sleeve just in case. If Rookwood so much as caught a sniff of her arriving at St Mungo’s with an Auror in her arms, it would be over. 

Something softened on Montgomery’s face, and she placed a careful hand on MC’s. “Clearly, you think highly of him,” she said gently. “Don’t worry. I will make sure he is cared for. Go back to the camp. It’s what he would tell you to do, isn’t it?” 

Slowly, reluctantly, MC nodded and withdrew her hands. Sebastian put his arm around her, trying not to notice the way she was staring at Prewett as though it would be the last time. 

“I should be taking you back to London in charmed chains, but I will let it go just this once. You have surprised me, Sallow,” Montgomery said, wrapping her arm around Prewett to support his head. Her eyes gleamed in the darkness, pale light from the slither of moon peeking between swiftly moving clouds highlighting the pale blonde of her hair. “The reason I have this position is because you took out my predecessor. You are the most wanted murderer in our books, and yet, here you are saving not just me, but an old rival, too. Perhaps I should be thanking you.” 

“I’m not doing this for you,” he said coldly, narrowing his eyes. At the edge of his vision, he saw MC look up at him. This was for her, just as he had promised. Anything for her, even if it meant saving Prewett’s skin. “Get him out of here.” 

“Don’t let him die, please,” MC begged. 

The vulnerability in those words cut Sebastian like cold blades. He could feel her trembling and he held her closer, noting the puzzled curiosity on Montgomery’s face as she nodded. In the blink of an eye, they vanished, the crack of the magic splitting through the blustery night. MC buried her face into his chest, the shield completely slipping from her as she sagged, a sob tearing from her throat. 

MC

It mattered not that Sebastian had draped another blanket over her as she lay in his bunk. Still she shivered. Huddled into the smallest shape she could manage on the camp bed, the blankets drawn up to her chin, MC fought the tiredness that tightened her eyes. The tears had subsided, and she had to believe that Montgomery was good on her word, that Leander was safe in St Mungo’s. Yet, if she allowed her eyes to close, all she could see was his deathly pale face, the blood on his lips, and the terrifying sound of each rattling breath that echoed from his crushed chest tortured her memory. 

Fear was a strange companion. She was definitely no stranger to it, spending many hours crouched in the dark of Azkaban and facing terrors no human should have to. Fear for yourself was something she could grasp and own, swallow down and challenge. Fear for another person ate at you like a ravenous beast, its hungry teeth devouring everything inside of you in uncontrollable tremors that left you hollow and fractured. An unfortunate side effect of becoming attached to another person, of loving them and caring about them, was to face the devastating fear of losing them.

If she had ever doubted her attachment to Leander, she no longer did. The thought of her world without him in it left her cold. Especially since it had been her word that had sent him into those tunnels in the first place. If he died, then she had sent him to his death. 

A hand touched her shoulder, Sebastian’s shadow casting over the bed as he blocked the glow from the lamp on the table. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

She could hear the worry in his voice, the plea for her to take down the wall she had slammed up around herself, but she merely shook her head and kept her face turned away. He had brought them back to the camp, immediately pouring her a fire whiskey that she had tried to push away, but he made her drink it promising it would warm her up. The drink had indeed burned all the way to her stomach, but the shivering had not stopped. 

Refusing any more of the horrid drink, she had let him tuck her into his bunk, murmuring reassurances that Leander would be okay. It still hadn’t fully sunk in how he had helped. Sebastian hated Leander, and she had given him good reason to want to hurt him, but he had done no such thing. She had shared Montgomery’s surprise, and needed to thank him for his kindness, but the words were stuck solid behind her fear. 

He had done it for her. I’ll do whatever it takes, MC. 

Her throat ached with fresh tears but she bit them back, swallowing down the softer parts of herself behind the safety of her thick walls. Not until she knew that Leander was alive and well would she allow herself to take a true, deep breath. 

Sebastian stroked her hair, the solid weight of him leaning against the side of the bunk a comfort despite the distance she had needed to put up. She felt the press of his lips at her temple and closed her eyes, a brief respite at the soft warmth, before the rustling of the tent doorway made her rigid once again. 

“Well, isn’t this cosy,” a soft, feminine voice drawled. 

If there was one thing you could say about her and Sebastian, it was how in tune they were when it came to that sense of threat. Sebastian was on his feet in one fluid motion, and she was upright, blankets thrown back and her feet hitting the floor just as fast. Once again, despite her superior power, Sebastian edged until he was slightly before her, ever the protector. 

Luella Rookwood stood in the entrance of the tent, her beautiful face decorated with smudges of dirt and splatters of blood. Her blonde curls were escaping from the pins that held it back, her mouth twisted in displeasure, her eyes spitting furious envy as she glared. 

“What do you want?” Sebastian asked carefully, his hand hovering at his wand holster.

Luella smirked, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers. “Not your usual greeting for me, Sebastian,” she drawled, her gaze lingering over him. “Is that for her benefit?”

MC forgot her fear for a moment, hatred pure and cold solidifying in her gut. The way this bitch tried to claim Sebastian merely added to the utter thirst for revenge that thrummed thick and hot through her blood. Luella had hurt Leander. She was the reason he had looked like Death could come to claim him. MC didn’t even remember doing it, but her wand was already in her hand, her fingers clamped around the handle like a vice. 

“Get out,” MC hissed, barely hanging on to the threads of her control. 

Luella lifted an eyebrow in bored curiosity. “Are you threatening me, little prisoner?”

MC felt Sebastian’s touch against her lower back, a silent warning. “Nobody is threatening anyone,” he said softly, but MC heard the tell tale silky tone in his voice. It was the voice he used in the duelling pit, smooth and controlled, but behind it was a storm waiting to be unleashed. “Why are you here, Luella? It’s late.”

“And yet, Daddy’s little pet is here, tucked up all snug in your bed,” she said, moving closer, slow and deliberate like a prowling cat. “Does my father know you’re playing with his new toy?” 

“No more than he knew about us,” Sebastian said smoothly. 

The smirk that curved Luella’s mouth made MC’s blood curdle, her fingers adjusting around her wand. “What’s the matter little prisoner? You look a little tense. You did know that I used to share that bed once, hmm? Something tells me that I was merely keeping it warm, though. A convenient bit of fun until you crawled back out of Azkaban.” 

It was hard to tell if the reproachful look she gave Sebastian was genuine or not. Either way, MC felt rage blister up her spine, her limbs trembling for a completely different reason now. She felt Sebastian grip the back of her blouse, but it didn’t stop the surge of power that coursed through her veins. Her ancient magic truly did thrive on powerful emotions, and MC felt like she might actually implode from the spinning web of feelings assaulting her this evening. 

Luella’s eyes widened and she took a hesitant step back, her hand grasping for her wand. “Gods, look at her eyes,” she muttered, throwing Sebastian a bewildered glance. “What’s happening to her?” 

Sebastian’s lips twitched upwards, a look that bordered on the edge of pride lighting his eyes. “Isn’t she quite marvellous?” He said, his fingers caressing up and down her spine. “All that power, just waiting to be unleashed. It’s easy to see why your father is quite taken by her. A true rarity in the world.” 

Luella lifted her chin, her mouth settling into an entitled pout, her wand at the ready. “Father always did like his trinkets and toys, although he tires of them quickly, discarding them for something newer and prettier. Something you have in common with him, Sebastian.” 

Luella’s eyes glittered with challenge. Clearly, her ego suffered at his rejection. MC grit her teeth, sick of the fancy word play. Her magic seemed to crackle and fizz at her fingertips, the tremor visible in her wand hand as she aimed towards Luella’s stylish, black boots. The short, sharp blast of white hot magic erupted from the end of her wand, striking the floor of the tent right before Luella’s feet. The whole space lit up with the ancient magic glow, making all three of them wince. Luella yelped and jumped back, but not before the magic had scorched the lower parts of her trousers and ruined the fine leather of her boots. 

Her head jerked upwards, blonde curls bouncing as she fixed her enraged eyes on MC. “You dare to strike at me!” She hissed. 

Sebastian had his wand up and ready, his hand once again grasping the back of her shirt. MC had the growing suspicion that he clung on to her in fear that she might disappear. He seemed reluctant to leave her side, and kept a constant hand on her. Reigning in the surging power of her magic, MC sucked in a steadying breath, but kept her aim on Luella. 

“I’m going to make you squeal in pain, little prisoner,” Luella vowed, her eyes narrow slits of hate. “I’ll make you fear every mirror you come across knowing the horror your own reflection will provide once I’m through with you.” 

“Now, now, Luella, my sweet. Less of the dramatics, if you would. That is no way to speak to my guest,” Rookwood said smoothly, entering the tent behind his daughter with his usual air of confidence and flair. He smiled with all the icy charm of a venomous snake, his gaze sweeping around the tent whilst wrinkling his nose in disdain. “My word, Sallow. This tent is rather lacklustre. You ought to upgrade, dear boy. Put your wand work to good use other than for torture and death, and transfigure yourself some more luxurious furnishings.” 

Luella quietly seethed beside her father, her cheeks flushed and her fists clenched at her sides. “Look what she did to my boots,” she said, pointing down towards her feet, her words ground out through clenched teeth. 

Rookwood barely gave them a second glance before he shrugged. “Conjure yourself a new pair,” he suggested. 

“Are you joking?” Luella scoffed, her mouth tightening. “These boots came from Paris, the finest craftsmanship there is! There is no conjuring a pair such as these.” 

Rookwood sighed and pinched his thumb and forefinger at the bridge of his nose. “Then return to Paris for a new pair if it means that much to you. I care little,” he said, his voice thin on patience. He gave them all a withering look. “Now then, what’s all this petty squabbling about? I sent you over here to ask Sallow about the missing prisoners. Where are we on that matter, daughter dearest? May I remind you that my patience is already dangerously thin after this evening's series of events. Some good news would be most welcome now.” 

MC shuffled closer towards Sebastian and she could feel the tension in his grip on the back of her shirt. This is where they needed to play it calm and steady. MC gripped her wand with both hands and settled her features into the blank, cold stare she so favoured. 

“Your daughter barged in here and disturbed my rest,” she said, her voice cool and level. “After days hiking through the Highlands on the hunt for ancient magic deposits, I was feeling rather exhausted and retired early. I’m not sure I appreciate being awoken and threatened in such a manner.” 

Luella glared with outright hatred, her eyes wide at the sheer audacity. Sebastian dipped his head, no doubt fighting a smirk. 

“You were sleeping? So, you missed the drama concerning the Auror ambush?” Rookwood asked his questions, his cold, blue eyes assessing her carefully. 

MC tilted her chin upwards as she nodded to confirm. “Sebastian was just filling me in on tonight’s news when Luella charged in here. I’m not sure I appreciate such hostility. It’s also rather dangerous considering how charged my magic is after absorbing new deposits. It can be rather unstable and difficult to control. I’m afraid some magic unleashed itself and damaged Miss Rookwood’s footwear.” 

The lies rolled easily from MC’s tongue, spoken to appeal to Rookwood’s sheer greed over her magic as a means of distraction. It appeared to work, his eyes lighting up at the mention of her absorbing more power. “You were successful in your search, then?” 

“Indeed we were,” Sebastian said, his voice dripping with cool confidence. “And we think it should be easier to find more now. It appears the deposits could be linked to deep emotions, and we plan to continue the search. With your blessing, of course.” 

“Of course,” Rookwood said, dipping forward in a slight bow. “And you shall have it.” 

Luella folded her arms, her face screwed up in frustrated disgust. “This still doesn’t explain how my Aurors managed to escape from the prisoner tent,” she fumed. 

“That sounds rather close to an accusation, Luella,” Sebastian said, tilting his head. “Are you suggesting MC had something to do with their escape?” 

MC arranged her features into a grimace. “Why in Merlin’s name would I help any bloody Aurors? I’ve spent the last few years locked up behind bars because of those pricks, I can’t say liberating one of them is high on my list of priorities.” 

“Indeed,” Rookwood said, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against his chin. “In this case there were two captured Aurors.” 

“One of them was a tall redhead by the name of Prewett,” Luella said, her face now sickeningly smug. “I remembered you mentioning this particular Auror before, Sebastian. Isn’t he the one who visited you in Azkaban, little prisoner? He escorted you out as well by all accounts. I thought a little reunion might have been particularly interesting. The fact he managed to get away whilst crippled by injuries is both puzzling and disappointing.” 

MC felt fear begin to trickle down her spine. This bitch knew too much about Leander already. “I remember him,” she said stiffly. “I can’t say I’m in a hurry to see him again, either.” 

How bitter the words tasted on her tongue when her entire being itched to travel to London and lay eyes on Leander. The need to see him alive and healed pressed with an urgency that made her want to fidget, but she held herself firm. 

“Not even to whisper secrets into his ear?” Rookwood leant forward, his gaze so piercing that MC fancied it felt like ice scraping along her bones. “The Daily Prophet deems you a public risk, and the Ministry claims they have it all under control. It’s a tricky situation. I have you here in the midst of my family where you can hear all sorts of wonderfully dark secrets, and now prisoners are disappearing, my lock ups are being raided. Tell me, sweet one, what you would think in my position?” 

MC refused to cower under his scrutiny. She had faced Dementors, she had stared into darkness that tried to clutch her within its grasp and chase all reason from her head. This was just a far reaching, greedy man and she was sick of all the game playing. She could handle this. She felt her spine stiffen, her face became hard and cold, her eyes glittering chips of stone to equal his. She had become one with her wall of defence, all that was soft and vulnerable so deeply hidden by this cold fury she presented that it could have been non-existent. 

“I suppose that all depends on what it is you truly want, Rookwood,” she said carefully, tilting her head as though pondering his question. “I mean, if it bothers you so much, I could always just leave. Without me, there is no power, the problem goes away. I shall continue to research and grow my understanding of what I am capable of regardless of your involvement. You have ambitions. I get that. It seems to me that you need me more than I need you, though. Choose what you wish to believe, but don’t play games with me, and don’t send your daughter into my private space so she can throw accusations and threats around. Next time, I won’t be so polite, and perhaps it will be more than a pair of scorched boots for her trouble.” 

Luella gaped, incredulous. “Are you hearing this, father? You see how she threatens me to our very faces?” 

Rookwood considered MC carefully, his eyes subtly narrowing as he rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. When his gaze flicked towards Sebastian, a slight frown creased his brow. “You truly are a cold little thing, aren’t you? And yet, Sallow appears unaffected by you. He stands as if he would protect you, unflinching. What hold do you have over him, hmm? You killed his kin in cold blood, and yet he remains loyal to you.” 

MC shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, whilst her heart thudded with a frenzied rhythm beneath her ribs. “He has the same choice as you, Rookwood. He can stay, or he can leave. Either way, it makes no difference to me, or my magic. But, he has been with me since the beginning. He understands. He also knows that I could kill him at any moment, I could kill anyone. Ashwinder, Auror, or otherwise. I’ve been crossed by all of you and the only person I fully trust is myself.” 

It took everything she had to stop her hands from shaking, from breathing in rapid gasps, as she pondered the truth of that statement. 

“I’ve seen what she can do, Rookwood,” Sebastian said, following the thread she had begun to weave with his habitual confidence. “You’ve seen it, too. Mere glimpses perhaps, but you know as well as I that MC is dangerous. The Ministry knows it just as well, and I don’t doubt that they will have eyes on her. They would be fools not to. I also believe that MC hasn’t reached her full potential yet, there has to be more. Are you willing to suffocate that over a pair of missing Aurors that mean little to this cause? They were nothing more than toys for your Ashwinders to break, and yet you risked having them here in camp where they could lay eyes on MC. What if they did hear she was present? They now have that information to take back to the Auror Office. You risk them coming to claim her back under the ruse of arrest.” 

Rookwood threw a disgusted glare towards Luella, who flinched back in surprise. “The boy has a point,” he snarled. 

“You would take their side over your own daughter?” She cried, spluttering in disbelief. “Are you seriously going to believe all this graphorn shit they are speaking?”

MC could have hugged Sebastian right then for his clever manipulation of words. He had always been able to squirm his way out of trouble, deflecting attention by highlighting points that pressed upon a person’s weaknesses. He was dangerous when it came to these types of games, and she was fully aware of how she was equally liable to fall for it. His tenacity had always been a trait that she had admired, though. 

Rookwood’s mouth was a white line, his usual theatrical presence squashed under a temper that flickered cold fire in his gaze. “These two bring me news of success in the form of discovered deposits. You bring me chaos and two problems in the form of escaped prisoners who now have potential intelligence on us. You who should know better!” 

Luella’s cheeks flushed scarlet, her eyes darting towards MC, who couldn’t resist a cold, satisfied smirk in return. The indignation on her face was far too satisfying for words, so instead, MC reached out a hand and caught hold of Sebastian’s, linking their fingers in a bold statement of unity. That’s right, bitch. He is mine. 

“Sebastian and I intended to return to the search for more deposits at first light. Is that going to be a problem?” MC asked, her tone exceptionally calm and innocent. 

Rookwood turned his granite expression her way, his eyes scanning them both in a way that made her palms itch. “Do what you must. Absorb all deposits you come across,” he nodded. He turned and grasped Luella by the elbow. “As for you, daughter of mine. We have matters to discuss in private.” 

With a gentleman’s bow and a tip of his top hat, Rookwood exited the tent with a furious Luella in tow, the last look she threw back towards MC livid with a promise that this wasn’t over. 

MC stood completely still, her fingers gripping Sebastian’s hand as the sound of departing footsteps receded from the tent. The opening fell closed, flapping gently in the night breeze that came down off the surrounding high peaks. She could hear her own restrained breathing, the erratic pulse in her ears from the effort of maintaining such tight control. It had been too easy. Rookwood had rolled over without any push back at all, and it left her uneasy. 

Sebastian let out a long sigh as though he, too, felt the tension. He pushed his fingers through his mop of hair and brought their clasped hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You are brilliant,” he said quietly. She lifted her gaze to him, the strength of her barriers wobbling. “Scary, but brilliant.” 

One look at those chocolate coloured eyes and the defences fell. She sagged, shaking from the adrenaline and stunned at her own audacity. Of course, he caught her. She was held against his chest as he wrapped strong arms around her, her own hands clutching at his jacket in an effort to ground herself. 

“I’ve got a really horrible feeling about this, Seb,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, remembering the flash of furious envy in Luella’s eyes when she noticed the deliberate way MC had held Sebastian’s hand. In trying to show a front of strength, she had allowed her own jealousy to get the better of her, and she had shown her hand in more ways than one. 

“You weren’t wrong, MC. You do hold all the power, and that is just what Rookwood wants,” Sebastian said, stroking soothing hands down her back. “It will be alright. You’ll see.” 

“We should just cut our losses and kill him now,” she said, lifting her head to look at him. “We could do it easily. Kill him, take what we can, and run, before anyone else has to get hurt.” 

“If you think it’s easy to get access to his collections, think again. They are well hidden and guarded. Killing him now will cut us off to all the artefacts and knowledge he has stored, all the items that belonged to Isadora that he stole. I know how much you want those,” Sebastian said, cupping her face. “Not only that, what’s to stop the Ministry arresting you for his murder again? They can claim you are unstable, you broke the terms of your probation, and they could throw you back into Azkaban in order to keep you under control. I am not going to risk that happening again, MC.” 

“How many more people have to get hurt, or even die because of this cursed magic festering in my veins,” she hissed, clenching her hands in frustration as angry tears burned under her lids. “Why did it have to be me? Why did I have to be given this power? I don’t want it, Sebastian. I hate it!” 

“Hey, hey, easy now,” he soothed, making her look up at him, his thumbs easing across her cheeks. “Take a breath. You’ve got this, MC. Your power is a gift, and I don’t know anyone else who could handle it as beautifully as you do. You amaze me with your strength, your ability to keep that gorgeous head up despite everything that gets thrown at you.” 

She stared at him, her eyes softening slightly. “You and that smooth talking mouth of yours, Sallow,” she huffed. 

A smile flashed on his lips, but a shadow of concern drifted into his eyes just as quickly. “This defeatist talk. Is it because of Prewett and what happened this evening?” 

MC dipped her gaze to his neck, her fingers toying at the open collar of his black shirt as she swallowed past the ache in her throat. “He could have died. Seeing him like that…” She paused, horror clamping her in a vice. She closed her eyes and took a breath. “It was my fault. He wouldn’t have been in those tunnels if I hadn’t told him about them. You were right. It was me. I sent word to him, and now he is in St Mungo’s fighting for his life. All because of me.” 

A muscle ticked in Sebastian’s jaw. “How did you tell him?” 

Warmth crept across her cheeks, but she didn’t flinch or hide from him. “We have a secret method of communication. Please, don’t ask me to explain. The less you know about it, the better. Just in case this all goes to shit.” 

“You know trust needs to work both ways,” he said quietly, his eyes guarded. “You said you wanted to trust me, but I need to be able to trust you, too.” 

She nodded. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “Any other information you share with me, I will tell you if I intend to share it with Leander. Like you said, we are all on the same side here.” 

Sebastian held on to his wariness, but he was gentle as he held her chin and bent his head to hers. “It will be a cold day in hell before I trust an Auror, but I hear you. Thank you for telling me the truth.” 

His lips were warm and soft, and MC welcomed the feel of his kiss, drawing a little comfort from the intimacy. Each kiss, each caress of his hands eased the tightness in her tense muscles, added a seal to the spoken bond of trust they needed to enforce between them. Her blood fired with a different kind of magic that came from the unexplainable pull he had on her, their bodies seeming to have an understanding far beyond their comprehension. 

Once again, she found herself curled against him, his arms holding her close as they drowsed on the edge of sleep. His hands roamed up and down her back, shaping her hips and sliding contentedly along her thigh. The occasional soft brush of lips against her face, ear and neck sent shivers across her flesh. As intimate and as comforting this shared closeness felt, MC could not shake that uneasy niggle that something wasn’t quite right. 

The hour was very late when she whispered in his ear that she needed to excuse herself for a moment. He mumbled sleepily, a soft smile lingering on his lips after she pressed a long kiss there before slipping from the warmth of his bed. The air was cold, goosebumps prickling her skin as she pulled on her boots and selected a warm robe from her chest. Pausing at the tent entrance, she glanced back towards the bed, soaking in the image of Sebastian asleep, his hair tumbled against the pillow. 

“Please, trust me,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.” 

Quietly slipping out into the night, her breath fogged before her face as she hurried away from the tent, not wanting the snap of her Disapparating to wake him. The stars shone above her head, innocent observers to the dark and twisted lives that played out below. Under the cover of some nearby trees, MC felt a flutter of anticipation behind her ribs, bracing herself for the long distance she needed to propel herself across. Closing her eyes, she pictured the city of London, her focus centred on the aged cobbled street of Diagon Alley. 

In the shadow of the pitched tents in camp, a figure stood very still, eyes watching as the robed figure of MC left the tent and hurried into the trees. After the crack of her magic made her vanish, a slow grin spread across a knowing mouth, and the figure turned to go and make their report. 

Leander 

Arriving at St Mungo’s and being tended by Healers became a patchwork of hazy memories that came to Leander in jumbled flashes. The pain in his chest cancelled a lot of lucid moments out, the bitter taste of blood thick in his mouth. Words of reassurance had been spoken into his ear, the gentle hands of Auror Montgomery touching to his brow in hesitant comfort before the Healers had urged her to leave him to rest. In the silence of his designated hospital room, the tangled web of his memories rushed in, and his slowly healing chest began to quicken as he remembered MC being there, the tears on her cheeks. Perhaps most shocking of all, was Sallow. He had helped her. He had helped him. 

The healing potions and spells had been strong, knocking him out into a deep, restful sleep. His ribs had begun to knit together, the cracks and breaks becoming smooth bone as though they had never been ruined. His lungs repaired, making his breaths return to their gentle rhythm once more. His head had been cleaned, his hair neatly combed, the wound at the back soon to be a distant, painful memory. Even his hospital issued robe was free of any stain, a spotless, crisp white, edged in blue. The beauty of magic being able to erase all physical traces. The mental struggle was another matter entirely.

Waking from his sleep, Leander blinked slowly against the low light of a bedside lantern, the room still and quiet. There was a lingering ache in his chest, but he could breathe freely, rolling his head against the plush pillow and then stilling as he realised the warm pressure of a hand clasped with his. Glancing down, a swift breath left his lips in surprise at the sight of MC.

Seated in a hard hospital chair, her head was laying against his bed sheets, her dark hair pooled against the starched white, her hand wrapped around his as she slept. There were dark smudges under her closed eyes, but her features were relaxed, lips slightly parted. There was nobody else in the room, but he couldn’t help but wonder how long she had been there, and if anyone had seen the familiar way she lay with him. It was a risk to be caught with her like this, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull his hand from her grip. Instead, he kept still, watching her rest as he had done so many nights when she had stayed with him, his thumb gently stroking against her warm skin. 

He must have dozed off again, because the next thing he knew, he felt the press of a kiss to his forehead. Blinking his eyes open, he stared up into flawless, spring sky blue, a smile lingering on MC’s face as she stared down at him. 

“Ah, so you’ve decided to join the land of the living after all,” MC said softly, she gave his hand a squeeze, a shadow flickering in her gaze. “You scared me, Lee. Don’t you dare do that again, you hear? I forbid it.” 

Amusement twitched at his mouth. “And miss waking up to this beautiful smile? I shall have to think about it.” 

Her lips parted and she huffed a short laugh. “Leander Prewett, when did you become such a smooth talker?” 

“I’m not entirely sure,” he grinned. “It could be all the potions and medicine I’ve swallowed giving me superpowers.” 

“All the pretty nurses had better watch out, then,” she smiled, moving back to sit on the edge of the bed, although she kept hold of his hand. He could feel the warmth of it spreading up his arm, but reminded himself not to read too much into it. 

“You are taking a risk being here with me,” he said, his voice a little raspy still. “Especially after that ridiculous report in the Daily Prophet. If you are seen with me it could jeopardise you in the camp.” 

Her face darkened and she looked down at their joined hands. “It might be a bit late for that. I think I have fucked up anyway. I’ve got a bad feeling, Lee. Something just feels off, and I don’t like it.” 

“What do you mean? Tell me,” he urged, frowning slightly as he tried to sit up a bit more. She put her hand against his shoulder and pressed him back against the pillows with a firm look. 

“Just remember you are here to heal and rest,” she said, holding him there until he allowed himself to relax. Slipping her hand back into her lap, she glanced towards the door and leant closer to murmur quietly. “Rookwood is rolling over too easily. I don’t like how he just accepts everything that I say with a smile. He fucked me over once before, there is no reason for him to not try it again. I know he already has an idea to drain the ancient magic from me, but I can’t get rid of this nagging that there is something else.” 

Leander’s frown deepened and he pushed back against the fog lingering at the edges of his memories, rubbing his face as he tried to remember his conversation with Andrew Larson before the raid on the tunnels. 

“I mentioned Merlin and Morgana to Andrew, and he did find a few documents about them, although there was only a very brief mention of ancient magic,” he said. He gave her a curious look. “He did say something about Rackham, though. He is one of the Keepers below Hogwarts, isn’t he?” 

MC nodded. “Yes, he was a vessel of ancient magic, too. It was his portrait that I spoke to the most about it during my time at Hogwarts. He gave me the impression that he led the other three, but despite the words of wisdom he offered me, I always felt as though he was holding back. All three of them did, to be honest.” 

“Andrew tells me that there is a lot more to be discovered when it comes to Rackham, that there are files in the Department of Mysteries about him and his visions. He was a Seer, and whatever he relayed to the Ministry is kept under strict lock and key. This isn't an unusual practice. Predictions about the future can be dangerous if in the wrong hands.” 

“What if the visions are about a particular person? Do they not have the right to view these predictions?” MC asked, her chin tilting upwards. “Do you think there are predictions about me in there?” 

“I honestly have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “I suppose it is possible considering the ability you both share. I don't have access to the Department of Mysteries and neither does Andrew up to a point. We have spoken before about how secretive they are.” 

MC looked deep in thought, her teeth worrying at her lower lip for a moment as she stared blankly across the room. “Maybe it is time that I paid a visit to Professor Rackham again,” she said, her voice tinged with reluctance. She gave him a dark, resigned look. “It would mean returning to Hogwarts and the chamber beneath. I can’t say the idea is all that appealing, but if I explain the situation, perhaps I can get Rackham to talk.” 

“I can speak to the Head of the Auror Office and set things in motion with Headmaster Black,” Leander offered, that eager feeling washing through him at the thought of getting back to work. “I can go to Hogwarts with you, if you wish. You don’t have to go alone.” 

Her eyes seemed full of sadness as she looked at him, her other hand shifting to close over both of their clasped ones. “You really are too good for this world, Lee. Look at you offering to follow me into even more trouble when you’re lying here in this hospital bed. You don’t deserve such darkness, especially from me,” she said, blinking quickly as she dropped her gaze. 

“Hey, I didn’t take the role of an Auror expecting rainbows and unicorns, MC. Getting hurt is a risk, but it’s part of the territory. It’s why they reserve beds for us here. Don’t take the responsibility of this onto your own shoulders. I won’t let you,” he insisted. 

She gave a nod, but avoided his gaze, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Do it. Set up a visit to Hogwarts, and as soon as possible. I don’t want to give Rookwood too much time with his plotting. Sebastian and I are going to keep away from the camp for a few days under the ruse of seeking out more deposits for me to absorb.” 

“A ruse?” He frowned. “What will you really be doing?” 

MC leaned even closer, her eyes darting towards the door again. “I want to revisit Isadora’s old haunts, maybe there was something I missed the first time around,” she whispered. “I also want to track down more information about my mother. If she truly still lives, I want to find her. Ominis is helping me with that. His aunt, my mother’s sister, left him her house in Norfolk, and he has given me permission to go there and read some old family journals that may help. Rookwood must not know about my connection to the Gaunts. I’d rather Marvolo Gaunt doesn’t find out, either.” 

“Okay. Just be careful,” he nodded, holding her hand a little bit tighter. His other hand drifted up to brush back strands of her hair, his fingertips grazing against the shell of her ear. “And stay in touch via the parchment. I cannot help but worry about you.” 

“Only if you do the same,” she said, meeting his gaze. 

He couldn’t stop the pleased smile curving his mouth. “You worry about me?” 

“That is not what I said, Prewett,” she said, sitting up primly, but warmth lingered in her eyes. 

Leander would have loved to say more, to tease more smiles to her mouth, but the door to his room opened. MC jolted and slid her hand from his, rising quickly to her feet as she turned to face the door. The loss of her warmth was regrettable, but he too had stiffened in the bed as Auror Montgomery entered, pausing in surprise to see MC standing there. Leander felt his cheeks and neck heat up, adjusting his bed sheet nervously. 

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Montgomery said, her own cheeks reddening. “I didn’t expect you to have visitors already at this hour.” 

Her gaze darted curiously between MC and himself, and he cleared his throat, his jumbled thoughts grasping for something to say, but MC seemed to have things under control. She stepped towards Montgomery. 

“I should be the one to apologise,” she said smoothly. “I took a risk coming here tonight, but I needed to make sure that Lea…erm, Auror Prewett was well. I thought a visit during the day would raise too many questions.” 

Montgomery arched a brow. “And your visit now doesn’t warrant a few curious questions?” 

MC stiffened. “Considering I saved your neck tonight, any questions you may think you have will surely be kept behind closed lips. Lives are at risk, Auror Montgomery, including your own now that the Ashwinders know your face.” 

Leander bit his lip as the two women stared each other down. He had become so accustomed to the rare warmth that MC allowed him to see, that to witness the colder, harder side of her still managed to make him shiver. Perhaps more surprising, was the way Montgomery kept her head up, and rather than cower under what was surely a hard glare in MC’s eyes, she merely nodded. 

“I must thank you for your assistance. You did indeed save our lives tonight, both you and Mr Sallow have my sincere thanks,” Montgomery said. “I did not expect it from Sallow. You will forgive my surprise that he leant a hand.” 

“All you have heard about Sebastian is what the Aurors want you to hear,” MC said. “I am fortunate to know him better than that. Things aren’t always what they appear to be, Montgomery. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to Scotland before I am missed.” 

When MC turned to him, Leander saw the hardened expression on her face, but for him, she allowed a softness to darken her eyes. “Rest up now, Prewett,” she said. “I will be in touch.” 

Leander nodded, his eyes doing the talking, and then she was gone, walking swiftly out of the door into the corridor beyond. Montgomery watched her go before closing the door softly, her gaze turning to him with burning curiosity. 

“Before you say anything, MC is right. The less you know about her, the safer you will be,” he said quickly, holding up a hand. 

Montgomery moved closer towards the bed, her hands smoothing the front of her skirts. “The last thing I would ever wish to do is cause you any trouble, Prewett,” she said carefully, but her eyes were still lit with that burning curiosity. “But, anyone who sees the two of you together can clearly see that there is something between you. You did not see what I did whilst you were badly hurt. This is much more than an Auror and his informant. That girl cares for you, and deeply. Only a fool would not see it.” 

“I have known her for a very long time,” he said, reaching up to fiddle with the front of the hospital gown. “We were friends as children, school friends. That was partly the reason Harrington assigned me to her case in the first place, thinking that our previous bond would be beneficial in coaxing her to cooperate.” 

Montgomery frowned slightly as she sat in the chair that MC had used, her back perfectly straight, hands clasped in her lap. “Well, I must say it seems to have worked wonderfully well. She seems rather taken with you. It is puzzling, though. From reading the case files, I thought that she was romantically involved with Sallow. He was awfully touchy with her. You could almost say possessive. I am still in shock how he helped us, he is not what I expected at all.” 

Leander closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the pillow, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over him. “What can I say? This is a complicated case.” 

Never had a statement been more appropriate. Montgomery eyed him, lifting a hand as though to place it on his forearm, and then thought better of it. She pulled a piece of parchment from her pocket instead and tucked it into his hand. 

“I can see you are tired, but the reason I came is to give you this,” she said, her eyes lighting up with that fire and spirit he had come to recognise. His fingers curled around the smooth parchment. “I swiped it from the office just now and came straight here. The other Aurors were more successful in the tunnels, they have seized many crates of valuable items that are being assessed as we speak. There was also a ledger full of names and dates, but this…this is a map of other locations situated around the British Isles. These could be more storage locations, or dens, perhaps.” 

Leander sat up straighter and opened the folded parchment, his tiredness forgotten. “This is huge, Montgomery. Why did you bring it to me? Surely Harrington and the others will be already planning to investigate these locations.” 

She smiled, her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “They would if they knew about it. I happened to be having a poke around the books they had seized, and this fell out of one. When I saw it was a map, my curiosity got the better of me, and then I knew it would be of importance when I saw the symbol at the top.” 

She reached forward to point at the little swirling icon near the top, and it was only then that Leander noted the date in the top corner. He met Montgomery’s amber eyes, his own curiosity firing into life. “That is the symbol for ancient magic,” he whispered. “How did you know that?” 

Montgomery blushed furiously and twisted her hands in her lap. “Well, you see, I was a second year when MC came to Hogwarts. When the truth about her spread around the school, I was in awe of her, and the magic that she could wield. I have been reading anything that I could get my hands on about ancient magic, which to be honest is very little. She fascinates me. I couldn’t believe my luck when I landed a position on this case, and to be partnered with you of all Aurors. You have a connection to the woman herself!” 

Leander stared at Montgomery, his lips parted. “You…you make her seem like a…a goddess, or a super human entity,” he stuttered. 

“Well, isn’t she?” Montgomery shrugged. “She has power beyond anything the rest of us can understand, she defeated a goblin rebellion and fought against the most powerful dark wizard of our time, or at least so we thought. Now, she has come out of Azkaban seemingly unfazed, and walks amongst the most dangerous wizards in the country. To come face to face with her was extraordinary, especially when it became apparent that she was saving us.” 

Leander swallowed and leant back against his pillows. To him, she had always been MC, the girl he couldn’t stop staring at over the plants in Herbology. So caught up in how enamoured he was of her, he hadn’t given much thought to her having an elevated status in the eyes of others. He felt reasonably confident that he knew the girl behind the mystical powers, behind the articles written about her. The pedestal he had placed her upon varied significantly from the one Montgomery clearly cherished. 

He turned his gaze to Montgomery, remembering the time she had almost begged to accompany him on his meeting with MC, the sparkle of curiosity that constantly lingered in her gaze. A chill swept down his spine as he came to the realisation that others could see the same in MC, hero worshipping her in ways that meant they would follow wherever she led. With all that ancient magic at her fingertips, she could summon an army and cause mass destruction if she chose the dark path. 

For the first time he seriously considered how dangerous MC actually was, and how deeply he had involved himself in assisting her. He swallowed thickly again, his throat unbearably dry. 

“Did you still hold this fascination with her when she was imprisoned for murder?” He asked. 

Montgomery grimaced and shook her head. “I was devastated. She went from saving the world, to taking lives. It fuelled my motivation to become an Auror, though. As I progressed through my training, I came to wonder if perhaps things were not so black and white. Seeing your first dead body raises questions one would rather not face,” she said, meeting his eyes. “Tonight merely confirmed it for me. The way she is with you, saving you like that, and she even said it herself just now. Things are not always what they seem, there are shades of grey blended in the blacks and the whites of the world, and underneath all that power, is she not a human like the rest of us. I believe she is.” 

“What are you saying?” He asked carefully. 

She nodded down at the parchment map in his hands. “That map means something. I couldn’t fully understand it beyond recognising that ancient magic symbol. Some of the locations are familiar, of course, but I am certain this is far more valuable in the hands of MC than in the hands of the Auror Office.” 

“But, that’s withholding evidence, Montgomery,” he chided gently, the rule breaking chaffing a little despite his own little discretions. “Is that really how you want to start your career?” 

Her face settled into one of determination, her eyes lit with it. “I believe in seeking out the truth, and gaining justice for those who deserve it. You strike me as being of like mind, Auror Prewett, and I don’t believe for one moment that you believe MC to be the villain the world wants to paint her as. I would even go so far as to say that you would do anything for her, even break a few rules for her, rules such as not becoming emotionally involved with a suspect.” 

Her eyebrows lifted in a knowing smirk, and Leander felt a fierce flush heat his cheeks. 

“I want to help you,” she said firmly, her hands gripped tightly in her lap. “Taking the map was my first step into dangerous territory, I am fully aware of it, but I think this will be worth it. MC is one for the history books, and I want to be a part of it. Let me help you, Auror Prewett. Let me help her.” 

Leander was astounded, and he sat there staring at his new partner with fresh eyes. She was right about this being dangerous territory, and another person in the know merely added more risk, but it would be mighty lovely to have someone on his side in the office other than Andrew. Perhaps he should doubt her intentions, maybe this could be a trap to catch him out, but the way she stared at him, she appeared resolute and fully aware of what she was saying to him. He glanced down at the map, noting the locations, one of which was Hogwarts School. What did it mean? 

Montgomery was already in it up to her neck stealing this map, and she had seen too much already between him and MC. It was a cold thought, but if the circumstances required it, Montgomery could be silenced. It made him quiver in horror just to think of it, but he knew MC wouldn’t hesitate should this prove to be a trap, neither would Sallow. 

“You know the risks this would present, and not just to you, but those you are close to as well,” he said slowly, his gaze serious. 

She nodded. “Anything worth fighting for always comes with risk.” 

“And you think MC is worth fighting for?” 

“I really hope so, Auror Prewett,” she said, her eyes shining with her hope. “The potential she has…the good she could do. Is that a yes? You’ll let me help you?” 

Leander sighed and smoothed his hand over the map before nodding. “Yes, you can help me,” he replied. Montgomery uttered an excited squeal and clapped her hands together. He bit back a smile. “You may as well start by dropping the formality. Call me Leander.” 

Her smile lit up her face. “And you may call me Ivy.” 

Sebastian 

Waking up to find MC missing had tightened the ball of lead that had settled in his stomach ever since Rookwood had left the tent. Both Luella and her father were dangerous people, and MC had boldly thrown down the gauntlet in front of them. He hadn’t argued when she had voiced her concerns that something felt off, but reassuring her seemed the best option. Inside, he was shitting a brick. 

Launching himself out of his bunk, he pulled on his boots, the panic like vicious claws as he double checked that his wand was in his holster. He had to find her.

Where had she gone? The fear that Rookwood had taken her hovered, but she could fight him off fairly well, and she wouldn’t have gone quietly, either. The other option presented a different kind of fear, the fear of what it meant for their relationship if she had run off to London to find Prewett. She said she had chosen him, that she would have to let the Auror go, but the way she had crumbled at the sight of Prewett bloodied up and dying fed into his flames of envy and fear. Not only did he fear losing her, but she could end up blowing the entire cover story if caught being soft for an Auror.

Throwing on his jacket and running a quick hand through his jumble of hair, he strode out of the tent, greeted with the cold air of pre-dawn. A strip of gold and pink lit the horizon, the nearby trees a dark shadow crouched at the base of the nearby peaks. His lungs burned as he breathed in the chill, his breath out fogging before his face as he glanced around camp. At this hour, it was quiet, the fires burning low. A distant bird gave an early call at the impending rise of the sun, the last few stars still clinging to the sky. 

He missed Rosier, a second pair of eyes would have been rather handy about now as he stalked through the camp, his gaze darting into every corner. His stomach rumbled in protest, but breakfast would have to wait. He needed to lay eyes on MC before anything else took priority. Footsteps sounded behind him, boots on packed dirt, and he turned, glancing over his shoulder. He paused as Luella gave him a sultry smirk, her hair neatly pinned back from her face now. 

“Morning, handsome,” she purred, stepping closer towards him. “You’re up early. What’s the matter? I’m surprised your little bed warmer didn’t keep you tucked up under your blankets. Or, maybe…just maybe, she isn’t there?” 

‘Where is she?” His eyes narrowed, his fingers flexing against the cold, mountain air. 

Luella chuckled, one hand on her hip. “She is a piece of work, your little prisoner, isn’t she? So hard, so cold, so uptight. How is cuddling up to her better than what we had? I was never that cold with you, sweetie. We were all about fire and fun.” 

“Enough with the games, Luella,” he said, his voice flat and bored. His stomach twisted, waiting for the trap to spring. She was far too cocky not to know anything. “Clearly, you have a point to make, so make it. Where is MC?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” she shrugged, her smile borderline devious. She twirled her wand playfully. “Although, if I were to put a few galleons on it, I would wager she is in the company of Aurors right now. I’m right, aren’t I? You think I'm a fool, Sebastian, and you know how I hate to be made a fool of, don’t you?” 

“I don’t think you’re a fool at all, Luella,” he said, keeping his face cool and calm. He even dared to smirk a little. “As for the Aurors, I couldn’t confirm or deny such a claim as I have no idea, either. If she is with them, then she has played me, too.” 

Her smile widened, her head tilting as she studied him. “Interesting. Well, I guess we shall find out.” 

He frowned. “Oh? How’s that?” 

“Father wishes to see you,” she said, her smile disappearing. “He has a little surprise for you.” 

Sebastian stilled, his smirk fading as he realised he was unlikely to enjoy this little surprise. Luella came closer, standing before him, her eyes glittering with something that made his spine freeze. She held out her hand to him. “Shall we?” 

He felt sick. Everything inside of him screamed to run in the opposite direction, but he couldn’t do that. There was too much at stake here. Feigning a confidence he didn’t feel, he smiled as he slipped his hand into Luella’s. She Disapparated instantly, dropping them into the centre of a freezing ruin, stone walls crumbling against a backdrop of wild Scottish landscape. 

“Ah, at last! Here he is,” Rookwood announced, holding out his arms in a gesture of welcome, his smile arrogant and cold. “Welcome, dear boy, welcome. We have been waiting for you.” 

A muffled cry came from the side and he turned his head, his stomach dropping so violently that he actually doubled over clutching at it. “No,” he gasped, the word a strangled sound that did nothing to convey the sheer horror and fear that seized him. 

Rookwood laughed, his gaze turned to a sky breaking with the dawn of a new day. Luella gripped Sebastian’s arm, her breath against his cheek mingling with the frigid cold breeze that swept through the ancient castle walls. “I warned you, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I warned you this would happen, but you went and fucked me around anyway. Nobody makes a fool out of me, Sebastian. Nobody.” 

The horror of this situation sunk wicked, cold claws into him, rendering him speechless, and all the while he could hear this screaming terror spiralling through his head. It was like he was 16 years old again, old bones at his feet, and everything he ever loved was about to be ripped from his grasp. 

MC 

Walking the clean corridors of St Mungo’s hospital, you could glean the sense of safety that came from good people doing all that they could to assist others. The atmosphere was one of warmth, protection, Healers and nurses moving about the building offering gentle smiles as they passed. If they knew who she was, she didn’t feel any sense of hostility despite the rumpled, dark nature of her clothing, or the untidy locks of her hair that fell loose about her shoulders. 

Exhaustion pulled at her, dragging her downwards towards a haze of fog, and she longed to just curl up and vanish into it. That persistent sense that something loomed clung to her, something dark and dangerous just waiting to jump out and destroy everything. Not even the relief of seeing Leander sitting up in bed could dispel it. MC hugged her arms around herself and walked slowly towards the hospital foyer where she could Apparate, finding herself filled with a longing to be held by someone who would tell her that everything would be alright. 

The story of her life. She had always held a deep and profound longing for that. 

Sebastian waited for her back at camp, no doubt still asleep, his smart mouth softly parted, his pretty hair wild against the pillow. He would hold her. He would hold her for as long and as hard as she wished. She just had to say the word. 

Not for the first time, she heard softened footfalls in the corridor behind her, glancing back to just catch the glimpse of a robe swirling out of sight around a corner. She hesitated, a frown creasing her brow. The corridor remained silent, the lamps glowing to provide a low light at this hour. Her sense of impending doom seemed to be making her paranoid, for she felt certain that this robed figure was following her. 

Continuing on her way, MC glanced out of a window, the sky beginning to lighten with the first promise of dawn. Quickening her steps, she felt eager to get back to Sebastian. They needed to gather their things and leave, setting out to revisit Isadora’s old hideaways. MC had the urge to walk where she had once trod, soak up the ambience of those old places in the hopes of bridging some connection. 

As she entered the foyer, soft footsteps made her turn again, and this time she caught sight of a slender figure in a dark grey robe, the hood raised to cast shadow over the face of whoever it was. They appeared to be female, slender hands tugging the hood lower as they dipped their head. 

MC frowned, her hands clenching. “Are you following me?” 

The robed girl paused, her back to MC, her head turning slightly as though they might meet her gaze. But, the sharp crack of magic filled the space instead, the robed figure becoming a twisted swirl of black as they Disapparated. 

MC flinched, swearing under her breath. That impending sense of doom seemed to sharpen, and her chest tightened. The urge to get to Sebastian swelled and she pictured the inside of his tent back at camp, focusing all of her magic into getting her there. She desperately needed to see his face.

Sebastian 

If he closed his eyes hard enough, the memory played out as clear as though he was right back there in the moment. He could feel the gentle dip and sway of the little boat, he could see the way the starlit sky reflected off the surface of the inky black waters of the lake. In the distance, Hogwarts stood proud and strong, the windows lit with the warm glow of welcome. His little freckled hand gripped the side of the boat, the other wrapped tightly around that of his twin. Inside, his stomach was a riot of nerves as he looked up at the huge castle. His heart squeezed at the memory of his mother’s embrace, her tear filled eyes as she bid him farewell. He wanted to make her proud. He would show her. He would prove that he could be as brilliantly clever as she was. 

Daunted at the prospect now as he faced where he would live for the foreseeable future, he maintained his brave face, squeezing Anne’s hand and pretending that it was she he was comforting and not the other way around. 

“Don’t worry, Sebby,” Anne whispered. “We have each other. Always.” 

When he opened his eyes, it was no longer night, and the sky bled with a crimson sunrise. A cold wind gusted against him, ruffling his hair as he choked and spat dirt from his lips. The pain crashed against him like a wave, warping his vision as he twitched and bit back his screams. Fighting it with everything he had, he thrashed on the ground in the centre of the ruin, blinking furiously until he could see her. All the time he could see her, it would be alright. 

Anne was on her knees, her mouth gagged and her hands bound at her back. Tears streamed down her sunken cheeks as she watched him. Powerless, weak, trapped. His twin, his other half, the stronger beat of his heart. Kneeling in the dirt with a wand aimed at her head. All the time he took the pain, that wand remained silent. 

“Crucio!” 

His back arched from the ground, the scream that left his throat left him raw, and tears bled from his eyes. How many times had he inflicted this pain on others? Too many to count. It was so very different to be on the other end of it, but he would take it, he would take everything they had to give to keep their attention off Anne. 

His skin felt like it was peeling back away from his flesh, his very bones screamed in agony, wildfire spreading and pulsing until he had no control over anything. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Rookwood called out, delight ringing in his tone as though this was some kind of party game. 

Sebastian could not stop shaking, his teeth chattering madly as his eyes rolled trying to focus. He could taste blood in his mouth. He had bitten his own tongue. 

A booted foot pressed against the side of his face, pulling an agonised sound from him at being touched. His skin protested savagely at the contact. 

“You know better than anyone how much I detest a traitor, Sallow,” Rookwood purred, bending down to look at him, lip curled in disgust. “Think of this as a little warning, if you would.” 

The boot lifted and Sebastian writhed, panting and spitting the blood from his mouth. He glared up at Rookwood with all the will he could muster. 

“My, my, you are a stubborn bastard,” Rookwood chuckled, stroking his chin. “Bring the twin.” 

Sebastian grunted in his effort to get up, falling back into the dirt as Anne was dragged across the ground towards him. She was weeping profusely, fighting her bonds as she was thrown down beside him. Sebastian reached for her with arms shaking so badly he thought he would miss, but his fingers grasped her shawl and he dragged her closer. She moaned, the muffled sound of his name coming from behind her gag. 

“Anne,” he managed to gasp, holding her to him. With no hands free to return his embrace, Anne pressed her head to his chest, nuzzling against him like a tiny kitten. 

“How touching,” Rookwood crooned. “Sibling love. The things we do for our loved ones, hmm? You can imagine my surprise when I sent for your sister to come and pay us a visit. I do love it when I come across an old acquaintance. It certainly shed some light over some things I have been pondering about.” 

He chuckled again and Anne twisted to glare up at him, practically growling with defiance. Rookwood bent to grasp her chin, his wicked grin so gleeful and cold. “Look at you, precious girl, still fighting against the gift I gave you all those years ago. You and your brother have remarkable spirit. Tough, little Scots, brave until the very end, I don’t doubt.” 

Anne ripped herself from his grip, falling back against the ground with a thump. Sebastian dragged her into him again, shuddering violently, but determined to hang on to her. 

“All we need now is my ancient magic wielder, and then the party will be complete,” Rookwood smirked, glancing around the ruin with smug arrogance. “It’s time for us all to have a little chat.” 

Dread coursed through Sebastian, his fingers like claws as he clutched a shivering Anne to his chest. They were waiting for MC. He was a quivering wreck on the ground, barely able to breathe let alone square up to anyone, and both of his girls were in danger. His worst nightmares had become twisted reality. 

He looked down at Anne, her big brown eyes looking back at him, eyes so like his own. All the bitterness and fury evaporated, and all he could see was the love he had for her, every time she had held his hand in comfort, every time he had ever returned the favour. He’d do anything for her. It was his job to protect her, and he’d gladly die doing it. 

“It’s…alright…” He managed to gasp, his shaking hand touching her hair. “I promise…it’s alright.” 

He fiercely wished that he could believe it. 

To be continued...

Taglist

@eternalremorse @slytherin-paramour @writing-intheundercroft @evaslytherpuff @loving-him-was-red13 @sevprince-91 @lucy-withthediamonds-inthesky

[thescarletnargacuga]

IT'S ME AGAIN! BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH ANOTHER KINGDOM AU REQUEST!

Could you do one where Pomni gets kidnapped by the gummi bandits and taken to the dark lands where the Ether dragon (sun and moon) is? And then have Caine come in to rescue her?

And have a romantic ending? 👀👀👀

ALSO BUBBLE TRANSFORMING INTO A HORSE BECAUSE CAINE NEEDS A NOBLE STEED HEHEHE

A/N: a classic fairytale setup, I like it!

MY HERO

A KINGDOM AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

AU credit @allisonraeyt @tadk-ask-blog

WARNING: fantasy action

~~~

Pomni felt dizzy as she slowly came to consciousness. The world was still dark when she opened her eyes. She tried to move. Only to find that her hands and ankles were tied. She let out a gasp and her voice was muffled by the rag tied around her mouth. Her heart started to race and she struggled against her bonds.

Torch light blinded her against the night when the bag over her head was violently ripped away. "Knock it off!" A gruff voice barked in her face. Pomni flinched away and froze in place, breathing heavily against the gag. "Cooperate, and you won't get hurt. Understand?"

Pomni had no idea where she was other than some cave. It smelled dank and reeked of animal filth. Three anthropomorphic gators stood over her. The largest held a bright burning torch that lit the whole cavern.

"Boss," The smallest of the three gators spoke. "When is the dragon gonna be here? The longer she's with us, the more likely-"

"Shut it. They'll be here when they get here. The amount of gold from their hoard they're offering for her will be worth the wait." The largest gator pointed a jagged knife in Pomni's face. "And once you're no longer our problem, you can scream and struggle all you want. No one gets past the Ether Dragon."

~

Gangle knocked on Pomni's door not long after sun up. "Princess? Are you awake?" The bedroom was silent, so she opened the door carefully. "Princess Pomni? I'm terribly sorry to-" The room was completely upturned. "Skies above! Guards! GUARDS!! PRINCESS POMNI HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED!! GET PRINCE CAINE!!"

Not even a minute later, Prince Caine rushed into the bedroom. He was just as taken aback as Gangle was on first entering. "What...!? How did this happen!? Did none of the patrols hear anything!?" He roared at the guards that followed him.

"No, my liege. We had no reason to believe anything was amiss." One guard answered quickly.

Pink magic glowed along the edge of Caine's pupils. His mystic sight scanned the room. The room was a mess, but jewelry and expensive silks were still there. Pomni fought back. She had to have cried for help.

There was a strange aura to the room. He could feel it. He kicked aside a broken drawer to find the source. A piece of scroll parchment covered runic symbols was stuck to the floor. "A silencing seal. That explains why no one heard her, and tells me they don't have natural magic."

He went to the open window. It was a long drop from her bedroom. Claw marks scratch the strong stone wall. "Strong enough to climb several stories without rope." Caine commented to himself. At the bottom of the tower, something glistened.

Caine vaulted out the window, much to the shock of everyone else in the room. He let himself freefall most of the way down before teleporting short range to the ground. He knelt down to inspect the shining magic only he could see. A single drop of water, sparkling on a single blade of grass.

"A tear!" Caine elated. "Well done, Pomni!" He looked ahead and saw another shining tear in the distance. Caine whistled loudly and Bubble flew to him as quick as a lark. "I need you to be my wings! The princess is in danger!"

"Right away, your majesty!" The tiny voice of the bird shapeshifted into something much larger and more regal. A pegasus. His bright white coat shined in the morning sun as he pawed the ground, eager for take off.

Caine mounted bareback, no time to saddle up. "Ya!"

Bubble reared, flaring his wings and galloped into take off. His powerful wings putting distance between him and the ground quickly.

Caine watched for tears on the ground, steering Bubble to follow. "I'm coming, Pomni."

~

Pomni wiped her cheek on her shoulder. Her face was still wet with tears. She hoped the spell Caine taught her worked, even when they knocked her out. She and her three captors sat in silence for a long time before a booming echo came from the entrance. Something huge landed at the entrance to the cave.

With each rumbling footfall, Pomni lost more and more hope that it was Prince Caine. From the dark emerged a two headed, dark blue and bright gold dragon. Its colors split down the middle like the horizon at twilight. The golden head glared down at the group. The dark blue head gazed down with indifference.

"We got your prize. Hand over the gold and we'll be on our way." The leader of the three bandits boldly states to the Ether Dragon.

"Stifle your arrogant tone, mortal. Or I will burn it away." The eyes of the golden head flared like stoked flames.

The two meeker bandits backed up. The leader stood steadfast. "This mortal successfully stole from the High Prince himself. I have every right to be arrogant, but we're not here for me. You want to Princess? Hand over the reward."

The golden head huffed angrily, but remained silent when the dark blue head looked at her. The blue half clutched a large chest and set it down in front of the bandits. "As honored."

The lead bandit kicked open the chest. It was full of treasure from the dragon's horde. He gestures to his lackies to bring Pomni forward. "She's all yours. Pleasure doing business with you."

Pomni fought the grip of the bandits, doing everything in her power to stay out of the dragon's clutches. She screamed against the gag as the clawed hand of the golden dragon reached for her.

A pink bolt streaked through the air and exploded on impact against the scaled hide of the dragon's claw. The Ether Dragon roared in pain and turned to the entrance of the cave to see a winged horse and rider swooping into the cavern.

"UNHAND HER!!" Caine held up a shining silver sword, blazing magenta with magic.

With all attention on Caine, Pomni headbutted the bandit lacky next to her. He doubled over and dropped his knife. She awkwardly hopped over and managed to get a hold of it. She struggled to try to cut her wrist bindings as the cave shook with the movements of the huge dragon.

The golden head immediately shot a stream of bright orange fire that heated the whole cavern. The blue head tried reaching for Pomni again.

Bubble flew forward bravely headlong into the wall of fire. Caine pointed his sword straight ahead and a powerful beam of pink magic split the dragon's fire.

Pomni barely dove out the way in time to avoid the pearly white fangs of the blue dragon head snapping at her. Her ankle bindings held tight but she was making progress on freeing her wrists. She squirmed away as fast as she could out of reach of the reaching dragon head.

"Foul light bringer." The dark blue head bared its fangs, unable to reach further without the cooperation of its more temperamental half.

The bandits sheltered in place the best they could. The packed treasure chest was too heavy to move quickly and they were staying out of this fight.

The golden head roared and snapped its jaws at Caine as he flew into range. Caine lashed his sword and pink magic flared out in a wave, slicing into the dragon's face. Both heads felt the pain, and the dark blue head turned to fight Caine as well.

Caine was waiting for that. He has Bubble swoop down and he reached out for Pomni. Pomni had just got her wrists free and dropped the knife and rope as she reached out for Caine with both hands. Caine grabs her wrist and hoists her up in his lap on Bubble's back.

Bubble double timed it out of the cave. Both dragon heads roared as the dragon gave chase. Once outside, the massive wings folded to the dragon's sides unfurl and the Ether Dragon takes to the skies. Both heads release a breath attack, orange fire and light blue lightning merge to create an overpowered blast of elemental energy.

Caine held his sword out vertically behind him and shielded Pomni with his body as the energy hit the sword's defensive aura. Fire and lightning blazed around them with terrible force. Bubble's wings were singed but he kept flying as fast as he could.

Caine's eyes went completely pink as he whispered to his sword. The sword sang with a metallic ring and he threw it. The sword flew like a guided missile and sliced through one of the dragon's wings multiple times. The dragon rapidly lost altitude, despite its best efforts to stay in the air.

The sword boomeranged around to Caine's open hand. He blinked the light like from his eyes as he watched the Ether Dragon crash-land on a hillside, roaring furiously.

Caine tapped the rope around Pomni's ankles with his sword and the binds disintegrated. Things were finally calm enough for Pomni to pull off the gag in her mouth. "Blegh!" Her mouth felt horribly dry, so instead of speaking, she buried her face in his chest in a right hug.

Caine snapped away his sword and hugged Pomni back. "Thank the stars you're okay."

Pomni looked up, tears of overjoyed relief walked in her eyes. Caine gently caressed her cheek. "The tears shall lead you to the Kingdom. I'm proud of you for remembering."

"I had a good teacher." Pomni said quietly.

~

The three gators bandits. Slowly carrying their massive box of loot, the smallest makes conversation. "Why didn't the Ether Dragon steal Pni themselves? Aren't they super powerful?"

The other lacky answered. "The castle has special defences just for ol' two face. They can't get close, but even if they could, they're massive! Caine would see them coming miles away and he's quite powerful himself. He's High Prince for a reason."

"Oh."

They stop when the ground starts shaking out of nowhere. It's not until they look behind them, they see the massive enraged Ether Dragon sprinting right at them.

"No Princess. No deal." Stated the blue head.

"I'M GOING TO DESTROY YOU FOOLS!! YOU LED HIM RIGHT TO US!!" Screamed the gold.

[moonmaiden1996]

Taming the Beast Part 5

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4

M rating. _ Suggesting and references to sex

The sky stretched vast and relentless above you, the dragon’s powerful wings slicing through the clouds in a rhythmic beat. The cold wind stung your cheeks and tangled your hair into wild knots as you clung to the saddle. The thrill of the journey warred with simmering frustration, only heightened by the possessive hands resting firmly on your waist.

Aemond’s grip tightened slightly as the dragon banked sharply to the right, steadying you. His voice, low and intimate, reached your ear above the roar of the wind. “Relax,” he murmured, his lips far too close. “You’ll grow accustomed to the skies, wife. It’s in your blood now.”

You stiffened but refused to look back. “It’s not fear of falling that keeps me tense,” you replied sharply, your words cutting through the wind like a blade. “It’s the company.”

Behind you, Aemond’s chuckle was soft but unmistakable. “Such fire,” he mused, his fingers brushing your side deliberately. “It only makes you more tempting.”

Heat of indignation flared in your chest, but before you could respond, Daemon’s dragon swept closer, its shadow sprawling across the clouds.

“You’re hogging her, Aemond,” Daemon’s voice carried over the rush of air, laced with mockery. “She’s meant to be our bride, after all.”

“Stay in formation, Daemon,” Aemond shot back, his tone clipped. His fingers pressed harder against your waist as though staking a silent claim.

Your stomach churned—not from the height, but from the tension crackling between them. The journey to King’s Landing had been a gauntlet of veiled remarks and heated glances, their rivalry palpable. You kept your eyes fixed on the horizon as the sprawling city grew closer with every beat of the dragon’s wings.

xxxx

By the time you reached King’s Landing, the city lay cloaked in darkness, its streets hushed beneath the watchful glow of the moon. The dragons descended, spiraling downward with a speed that made your heart lurch. You clenched your jaw as the beast landed in the torch-lit courtyard of the Dragonpit, its talons scraping the stone with a jarring sherik.

Before you could dismount, Daemon was already there, his hand outstretched. “Allow me,” he said smoothly, his grin sharp and predatory.

You ignored him, moving to swing your leg over the saddle, but Aemond’s hands caught your waist, steadying you. His grip lingered, fingers firm as they guided you down.

“Careful,” he murmured, his eye locking onto yours with a heat that made your stomach tighten. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Nephew,” Daemon drawled as he approached, his movements as effortless as his smirk was wicked. “You’re holding her as if you mean to keep her.” His eyes glinted in the torchlight. “You’ve had all evening to hold her in your arms.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t release you until you stepped back, freeing yourself from his hold.

Aemond retorted coldly, his tone clipped. “Don’t mistake me for someone who needs instruction in how to hold what’s mine or for how long I can do so.”

Daemon laughed richly, the sound unapologetic and echoing through the courtyard. “Oh, is that so? Then perhaps you can explain why, after such a long and intimate journey, our dear wife still seems eager to escape your arms. You sound like you need some practice. Not to worry I would not mind you watching while I take our bride in my arms tonight. You might learn a thing or two about making them yearn for your touch.''

Before you could step away from the pair, Daemon caught your arm, his touch surprisingly light but undeniably possessive, his smirk deepening. His violet gaze devouring you, and his voice softened as he leaned in. “Come, wife. Let me see to your needs tonight. I’ll teach Aemond how to care for a bride—and how to make her a wife.” His grin turned wolfish. “I promise you’ll be worshipped in every way a devote husband should.”

Your breath caught, indignation and something else warring within you, but before you could respond, a steward approached, bowing low.

“Greeting My Prince's. My Lady, Welcome to Kings Landing. Separate chambers have been prepared for the lady and her… husbands,” he announced carefully, his eyes darting nervously between the two princes.

Aemond’s gaze turned icy, his jaw tightening. “Watch you mouth, boy. She is our bride our wife what do you mean separate rooms?” he repeated, his voice dangerously low.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained but his tightening grip told you he was less then amused.

“I meant no disrespect. It is the King decreed,” the steward stammered, “that until the marriage is properly blessed in a ceremony witnessed by the court, the lady must have her own quarters. Till she is a Princess.”

Daemon let out a low chuckle, his amusement palpable. “The old man has a sense of humor, after all.” His tone was light, but the sharp glint in his eyes betrayed darker thoughts.

Aemond, however, was far less amused. “How long?” he demanded, his tone icy.

The steward hesitated, visibly wilting under Aemond’s glare. “Fourteen days, my lord.”

Aemond’s fingers flexed at his sides, his expression cold enough to freeze the air. “Fourteen days,” he repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. “This is absurd.”

Daemon clapped a hand to Aemond’s shoulder, feigning sympathy. “Patience, nephew. I’m sure you’ll find a way to endure. Though I admit, it’ll be a test of your mettle.” His grin widened. “Let’s hope you don’t lose your mind before the fortnight is up.”

“Enough.” Your voice cut through the rising tension, sharp and commanding. Both men turned to you, their surprise evident.

You stepped forward, addressing the steward directly. “Thank you for arranging the chambers. I’ll take my leave now.”

Daemon’s chuckle followed you as you turned away. “Spirited, isn’t she?” he remarked to no one in particular. I knew we made the right choice. I cannot wait to get on my knees between her legs and worship like she deserves.”

“Don’t speak of her with such filth,” Aemond snapped, his voice cold and biting.

Ignoring them both, you followed the steward into the Red Keep. The idea of a private chamber was a small mercy, and you intended to savor it. Behind you, their voices continued to bicker, growing muffled as the grand doors closed.

xxxxxxxxx

Inside your chamber, you bolted the door firmly behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you let out a long, steadying breath. The room was modest by royal standards but luxurious compared to what you were used to.

Crossing to the desk, you sank into the chair, your mind racing. The journey had been overwhelming, and the city even more so. Yet in the solitude of your chamber, you felt clarity returning and with that you could plan carefully.

You had questions that demanded answers—about your father’s death, your uncle’s absence, and the motives of the two princes vying for control of your life.

If your Shadowcats reached the city before the ceremony, they could help you navigate the labyrinth of the Red Keep. You needed allies, leverage, and, most of all, time. Your uncle was somewhere in the city, and with him, what remained of your father’s loyal men—hopefully, Brutus, your father’s war-bear, was among them. Tomorrow, you would venture to your father’s wings, and from there, you would find a way out of this mess—out from under the dragons' suffocating grip.

For now, though, you allowed yourself a fleeting smile. The dragons might have their fire and their claws, but they were not the only ones with power in this game.

Pleaseeeee let me know what you think!!!

LIKE. COMMENT. REQUEST

[rise-my-angel]

Heart of the Great Wolf

47 - Into the Haunted Forest

Pairing: Jon Snow x F!Baratheon!Reader, Robb Stark x F!Baratheon!Reader (Past)

Length: 16k

Warnings: angst/hurt comfort, character death, disturbing imagery and violence, non descriptive animal death, past trauma, mild illness, smut, oral (f receiving), p in v

Notes: The first scene of this chapter does not necessarily take place at the same time that the main chapters contents take place in. Previous Chapter Here, Series Masterlist Here

The night had been calm. Sky was dark and stars white and bright, visible with not a cloud to fog their vision of the lands below. The wind was hardly there for once, and not a speck nor sign of rain or snow meant that peace could be found. Or, it should have been found. As it was, that calmness, that serene quiet and clear skies were a lie with what laid below. The longer footsteps walked through the empty halls, the more the silence turned to muffles, which turned to the source of disturb in their home as the doors to the outside were opened.

Their shores should never have been used for such a purpose. It was an insult, a sin, a spitting on the only god they should be serving and yet it now was the sight of something red and terrible. Fear and pleading, they were chosen for no crime. Not weak men, nor selfish or stupid. They were as good as the rest of them and yet they stood on the pyres, hands forcing them tied around the poles, and wood placed just enough on the rocky shores that the waters tide would not touch them.

Torches were lit in hands of those foolish enough to believe whatever this was. Orders of a King and yet it went against what they were. This was not spoken of in the promises made when they chose him. It was all making sense until some months ago. Many travelling to here or there, and plans for more made until those months passed and something had changed. Something that changed the man from determined to a darkness growing more and more to be feared.

It was confusing for many of them, and it would only be revealed as much as he wanted to reveal it, which until tonight, had been none. The original plan was supposed to be their only one. Daenerys Targaryean had dragons, claimed to be a Queen, had vast armies, it made sense for a man like their King to come up with. This did not. Her dragons were still sought after, but the plan had changed from being sent away to find her, to leaving some place as opposite of the Slave cities of Essos as could be. But, as they walked, they knew it was their Uncle who was King, it did not matter if it didn't make sense to them.

Yara knew she had to obey whatever command she was given. Euron Greyjoy ruled the Salt Throne, not her.

Personally, she had no affinity for the Targaryean girl or her dragons. Yara was Ironborn, and their power came from their ships. Dragons were air and land and fire, not ships and water and the freedom to sail and take whatever. Raiding and taking what they need wasn't possible when one would burn said lands to take it in the first place. It wasn't sustainable, there was no end there that made sense.

But, Euron didn't make sense. He returned home from over a decade of exile as a man she did not recognize. He was rambling, and crazed, yet terrifying in his confidence of the psychotic things pouring out of his mouth. Stories she didn't know if she should believe. He hadn't made sense since he stepped back on Pyke, and it continued to not make sense as Yara walked down to the shores of her home.

Only now were she and her Uncle Victarion given details on what the new plan entailed. Who they were now tasked with finding and bringing to Euron. The only Queen which mattered he had put it, but then that witch had showed up. Slunk into the room and tried seducing words to offer one last thing before Yara, Victarion and their men departed. An offering.

It was that offering Yara approached now. The very red witch's voice loud as she stood before the pyres with Euron standing tall without question beside her. “Here us now. Accept these tokens of our faith my Lord, and lead us from the darkness.”

The men on the pyres did not beg mercy, and yet each step Yara took towards the shore did she wish to give it to them. Bloodshed was their livelihoods, but this was not bloodshed. This was cruelty and torture with nothing to gain from it. She briefly wondered if these thoughts would show her weak, but as she came to the side of her Uncle Victarion, he held the same expression. One which felt as doubting as hers as they glanced to one another.

Euron was their King, and they would let this happen, they would follow their orders, but they both felt as if whatever path this was leading them on, was going to be a war they cannot win.

Half around listened intently to the words this witch was speaking, the other half standing as unsure as the two of them were. Euron had not even shifted once. He didn't look even remotely affected by what he was about to do. Continuing the witch spoke in reverence, “Lord of Light show us the way, yours are the stars that guide us.”

He hadn't done anything like this when the plan was to find the Targaryean girl. What was it about this one though that demanded such extremes? Why was she so necessary it warranted this? But Euron had told them, she had plenty of time to come to him herself. So now they must do as Ironborn live by, take what they need. And to Euron, he only needed her. Nothing else mattered, not the morals nor the cost.

“Lord of Light, protect us.” Euron watched, his uncovered eye bright and certain with almost a hint of a smirk on his face at how little he cared about the horror he was to allow. Yara and Victarion shared one more glance, before watching the witch give her final words acting as command. “For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

In an instance, the pyres were properly set alight, and their visions all were taken over by reds and oranges of flames taking those consumed by them. Their screams did not last long, but they echoed in Yaras ears even in the silence which followed. Euron had not flinched, or moved or blinked the entire time. Whatever the reason he wanted this girl, he seemed to think this was worth it. Yara disagreed. No one person was worth this.

All passed her by, one by one returning to the warmth of the castle walls until only Victarion by her side remained. His voice was low, and hiding the doubt in them despite none else there left to hear. “I dare not think what Damphair would say, knowing what has become of us.”

Yara pretended as he did, neither voicing their doubts despite it being felt thick between them. “Have you seen him?” His silence was her answer. Face falling into somewhat of a grimace, she shook her head slightly. “This isn't who were are, uncle.”

Victarion knew that, but he gave her the only answer he could. A lie. “It wasn't once. But it is now.”

Only she was left. The fires dimming eventually into a smouldering of embers, and Yara could only think to herself that she could not decide which she wanted to feel more. If she should feel guilty she gave up on rescuing her brother as she once declared, as she now wished he was here to give any comfort to her ragged soul. Or if she was thankful she abandoned him that night, so he wasn't here to see this.

Theon would be ashamed if he knew this was what his big sister had allowed their fathers Kingdom to become. Yara knew she deserved it, she felt ashamed too. But still, once the sun rose in the sky, she had gathered her men as Victarion did his to prepare regardless of the guilt and doubt.

They had a long, cold journey ahead of them, and she had a feeling this King in the North would not let them take you from him without a fight.

For something so quick on it's feet, he moved very slowly with a trepidation which was exhausting for any to watch. The small dips within the snow creeping ever so closer to where he was sniffing out what he should not sense as danger, and yet there he paced. Taking every inch of time there was to do so. Such an amount of time taking to approach it, one would think it was smart enough to sense a trap by that point.

The little fox was not quite as clever as he was quick, and within a single breath of a wrong step did a whoosh rush through the air as sharp ends clamped down as planned. The brightness of the snow at least provided an easy way to monitor movement patterns out here for small prey, and thus far all five laid traps had given something to varying degree of sizes.

Not particularly heavy the fox was, easy to tie ends of thin ropes around two legs at a time and looping it around to much more easily lunge over a shoulder. Human footprints in the shape of boots were not the only ones leaving the scene, but a very large pair of ones owned to a wolf followed with a huff on it's breath as if to grab attention.

The hand reaching out to run along their ears and top of their head didn't last long against the affectionate shake of the wolfs head before a laugh followed. “You can wait the time it will take to cook it.” Only when the wolf did not ease up on their intending want, a small chunk of meat kept in a small side pocket, hidden away under the sheepskin fur, was brought out and tossed their way, the wolf gleefully catching it in his mouth.

A sigh and shake of a head, the wolf at least found content for now. Climbing up the remainder of the snow covered hillside, mostly forest surrounded but there were clearings such as the one coming into view which showed a grander image then preciously imagined.

Mountains which sat far in the distance looked like they spanned on forever, snowy peaks which bled down to the tops of the trees of the forest which seemed to go on for as long. Down below though, the clearing in the most immediate view was as strange as it was becoming familiar in it's own way. The remains of a small camp having mostly been cleared away, packed up on the two horses which seemed unaffected by the cold around them.

Still going strong, the fire which had been in the centre of the scene the night before burning bright with the last remains of firewood to add to it still sitting close by. The figure knelt by the fire had their head down, working away at an animal, large and immobile laid out in front of them, half of it's skin already being sliced away with ease. The wolf trotted down happily to join, only then causing the figure to glance up to the approacher.

The moment he could see more up close, you knew without a doubt already Jon was forming something far more clever to say then the still early hours of the morning should permit.

Whatever natural ability to tease and poke fun at you existed naturally in his blood, was now tenfold. Utterly relentless he could be now that there was none to hear him tease you but two horses, and Ghost. Not a soul existed for miles, not a scrap of human life was left in the fortnight you had been travelling.

Not yet words shared, as he paused in his work to pass a sharp knife to you. Ghost settling somewhat by the fire between you both as you each continued on in the quiet. Only to have you drop the movement of your hands barley able to begin removing the skin, when his voice finally found itself far more teasing then you expected. “Does five small things win or lose against me getting this one and dragging it back on my own?”

Your eyes rolled up to the sky with a grin, knowing the moment you dropped back to look at him in an amused incredulity, Jon was failing horrendously at covering up his own smirk. “Not even five minutes passed this time.”

The confidence in his voice was both well earned and yet only there to serve as mocking towards you, knowing how easy it was for him to do. “I wasn't making fun of you, I was asking a question-”

Shaking your head, you looked back down to the animal in front of you, trying very hard not to be weak and tear your gaze right back to his teasing one. “You're the one who told me to handle the traps, Snow. It isn't my fault I keep losing.”

Jons audacity to genuinely kneel there and say to you, “I never said you lost.”

Biting your tongue could barley even contain the grin trying so desperately to poke back out. Purposely now not looking at him, knowing it would only serve to amuse him more. “Perhaps if I too was strong enough to pull a bloody deer all the way back on my own, you'd finally lose once in a while too.” His voice barley rasped out before you raised your voice ever so slightly, in an almost childish defence knowing what was about to be said. “If you say anything about my fragile state, Jon, I swear to all the gods,”

His laugh gracing your ears was nothing but welcome. Only just flickering your eyes up enough to catch his, noting he had shamelessly not stopped watching you. Not even moving back to his own work, just looking far to adoringly at you for your own good, or health.

“Were you this touchy last time?”

You had not the foresight to notice he had walked you right up to the edge of a trap and gleefully watched you fall right into it regardless. Mouth falling open in offence, you tore your eyes back up in a narrowing glare. “First you make fun of me, and now you say I'm being sensitive-”

He had too much energy this early, it wasn't fair. “I didn't say you were sensitive, I asked of you were touchy last time.”

Your head dropped, almost dramatically and he laughed once more. Muttering under your breath as you returned to work. “That entirely depends.” Asking on what, you raised your eyebrows unknowing he once more was guiding you to just the right ends to make fun of you. “On how much more or less you'll keep this going depending on my answer.”

Jon said it with such a flat tone you almost found it in you to laugh, yourself. “So you were this touchy.”

Sighing deeply, you shook your head slightly glancing back up and Jon had purposely returned to the deer in front of him. Catching only your eyes with a playful glint before looking back down. Your attention glancing over to Ghost, who was relaxed as could be watching it all play out. “I thought we were a team.”

Letting out a tiny huff as he only rested his head down more, Jon laughed again. That time your eyes rolled into the back of your head, now trying to ignore them both. There was work to be done before leaving, and Jon would keep you here going back and forth far longer then time should permit.

Not that time wasn't all you had out here.

By all estimations, only a fortnight had passed. The first days of it were as unremarkable as they somehow were the toughest. Getting used to being out in such cold without any stop was something you were not yet used too. Even a building of four stone walls around a person and no fire would have done more to keep the cold out then nothing at all.

You didn't complain, but the chill sat in your bones for those early days passed. Naturally, it was as if it bothered Jon none. He didn't even seen to notice any difference of cold out here then he would in the North of his home, tending to this exactly the same but out in this open. Or, somewhat open.

The Haunted Forest went on and on for most of the known lands of beyond the Wall. It was where much travelling would be done until nearing the mountain ranges leading to the Fist of the First Men, but that was not for a while would you two get there. So for now, it was a vast array of snowy woods and forests that gave strange sight to an endless land you knew nothing about.

Once lands you heard about in stories, of dangerous creatures roaming any which way. Of the blood thirsty wildlings, ready to snatch and savage any woman they could find and their terror was why no women could ever join the Nights Watch. Instead, the lands were empty.

Wildlife still lived here, yes, but other then Jon and yourself, the only other living things anywhere by were two horses and Ghost. Nothing else was around, as if everything too had gone into hiding. Leaving the sights to not be noticed by whatever cold could come sweeping through at any moment. Likely looking out in the sunlight thinking the small party of travellers were fools heading the wrong way in the open lands to be spotted.

Some days it felt like that. In the dark of night, if high enough in the lands near a clearing, you could stand by an edge and see the shimmering green in the distance. It felt like a torment, knowing it was drawing you two near to the end, but the determination of cause acted as an invisible force pulling you towards that end anyways. But you didn't talk about it. Not now.

You both knew that this might be a journey only going one direction, but you had time for now to not think about it. The furthest any have ever gone and come back that you knew any truth of, were the Frost Fangs and it would take months to reach there. You could feel that impending, morose sense of doom when that night shimmer of green drew as close as the hospitable lands lasted. Only then would you have to face that reality. Or want too.

“How far do they go on for?”

You had asked looking at the maps, eyes trained directly over the ends of it which showed no direct ending of something. Jon had leaned more into your side, the press of a hand firmly on your lower back running ever so slightly up your spine a tad before dropping back down. Murmuring quietly, as he looked between you and the map. “We don't know. No one's ever been recorded to survive far enough to know where it ends.”

Any maps of it cut off, as if guessing it could not be assumed the degree of it's vastness and so much of it was lands none could go, see, or touch. It was something as if to keep something out, separating whatever was in there from man being able to travel freely into it. “Some say if you sail west long enough you'll end up in the furthest east edges of Essos. Maybe if you travel long enough North, you'll end up walking into the start of the Sunset Sea.”

It was quiet between you both for only a moment until Jon murmured, “Didn't you used to think the world was flat?” What was flat, was the expression on your face it fell into. Arguing back under your breath that you were eight when you thought that. “Thought you were the smart one.”

Were Jon not far stronger then you, and standing far too close to gain any upper hand against, you might have turned and shoved him for that. But still, your eyes drifted to it once more, the way the map cut off without any notion of if it continued passed that point. Gloved fingertips tapping gently against the edge of Thenn, you pushed that sensation down.

Worry about the unknown when you get there you told yourself. Worry about it then.

The days were easy, still enough time of sun in the sky to get a decent amount of the way into the lands, before finding a place to stop. Once nightfall hit though, there was no more place for a fair back and forth debate of plans. Once the sun fell beyond the sky, it was Jons word alone. He knew what lurked in the dark here far more then you did, he didn't want any risk of you finding yourself out of his sight once the only light guiding you was that from the moon, and the whatever fires sat in the middle of your camp.

But the daytime, with light everywhere shining even brighter against nothing but the white snow, it was far easier to see Jon smile and joke. Less to find in a determined terror, he could relax knowing at the least, what threats existed here some time ago no longer were to always look out for. The wildlings were once the enemy to watch out for, but now the enemy was something far different, and it hunted at night. Not in the light of day as you two travelled in.

Six villages this far you both had passed, and each according to Jon had been abandoned long before he saw them the first time. “Some fled, trying to get south of the Wall. Most joined up with Mance Rayder, though.”

Brows narrowing in the slightest, your eyes remained trained looking mostly up and around. The forest paths were a bit longer, but provided the most safe path. Yet gave nothing lacking in sights to take in, almost as if you were as surprised now how far it went on for as you were seeing the wolfswood when a girl. Voice a bit distant, as you eyes caught sight of Ghost following beside him. “Doesn't sound much like a plan. Going to war with the Nights Watch, but what happens when they crossed it? The Seven Kingdoms forgets how they got there?”

It took him a moment to answer, it had been some time since he thought back so those days so vividly, but now it was all around in him memory as it was new for you. “Don't think he had one.” Catching your gaze as you turned to look at him with a question, he elaborated further. “Mance was trying to protect his people, get them south of the Wall before winter came. It took him years to get them all in the same place, but I think that's as far as he got.”

Inhaling a bit, you considered such a fact before jumping to any unfair conclusions. As easy as it would be to. “I suppose when your primary goal is trying to not die, everything else tends to be secondary to that.” A small glint shining in the greys of his eyes spoke enough, and it almost succeeded in bringing the smallest of smiles from you before looking away. “Can we really say we aren't trying if we've both already done it before?”

Matching yours with a bit more ease, your eyes flickered to the side briefly enough to catch a smile much more free on his face, the lightness as he spoke matched as well. “We aren't out here to protect ourselves, we're doing it for our people.”

Almost interrupting his thought, you found the alternate path he was headed towards. “I'm not trying to disrespect the man. I didn't even know him. I'm only saying it doesn't seem like a great plan, if the only option he had if he had crossed was for his people to roll over everything and everyone for a thousand miles.”

A curiosity sat in Jons eyes as he watched you, no malice sat in your expression or tone but you also understood war in a different way then Jon did. The war you've seen were vast and traditional, it was difficult to change such a point of view to that of pure survival when the one you marched into with Robb was so different.

“Can't imagine what he'd say now. Learning in the end the one who betrayed him, brought all his people south without any more fighting over it.”

It caught him off guard you suspected, how quickly it slipped from your mouth without thought behind it. “What do you call getting stabbed in the middle of the courtyard, then?” Your eyes peeled over to his, and a darker bemused glaze sat in his as a nonchalant jest of smug sat in yours.

Lowering a tone in deepness, Jon was short as he replied back. “They didn't kill me for that.” You only muttered that it likely didn't help the matter, but you trusted neither of you felt any blame one way or the other. Not for that anymore, not now. “Trust me, Ser Alliser had wanted an excuse for years. Only matter of time it was before he found a good one.”

“Why?” Turning to look, everything of playfulness had dropped. You barley knew him, but you knew enough to feel the spite returning as it did that first meeting. “Why did he hate you so much? No one that day could give me a real reason.”

But Jon also sighed, looking forward once more and yet also back into such early days so long ago. Back when the worst of his life he thought was being left at the Wall by his father and leaving you to his brother. “I don't know. He did from the moment I got there. It didn't help things when I tried to kill him.”

How he almost managed to get you to pass that by, with the manner he dropped it as you knew that information. Turning with a bit of an open mouth, your eyes shined in wonder he didn't look at. “We're discussing why he hated you, and you somehow didn't think to mention that first?”

“It was only in my first few months. It was after you and my father were arrested, Ser Alliser insulted him in front of me,” Pausing you knew images and memories of what was likely an anger sunk back into his bloodstream. “Before he knew it, I was going at him with a knife. If Grenn and Pyp weren't there to stop me, I would've done it too.”

In one way it was difficult to look at Jon now and imagine such an impulsive action, but you knew the Jon then and his handle on his temper was one. His lack of willingness to control that temper on behalf of the love for his own family, was another completely. “Call it bias, but I can't say I disapprove that you tried. I barley knew him for hours and already I didn't know how you put up with that as long as you did.”

A huff of a laugh came from Jon, “You cut his head off after only knowing him for hours.”

“Someone had to finish the job in your honour.” For a moment nothing was said, until you felt that watching feeling. Turning slightly to glance at Jon, you regretted it in a moment. The look in his eye was undoubtable. “Jon. You cannot possibly be thinking about that right now.” Asking with a rougher tone why not, you felt the fluster wishing to come up your chest. Biting your tongue before finding a much more collected answer not looking his way. “There is nothing appealing about what I did.”

Jon though, switched between watching the path head and glancing to you with the same low words he irritatingly knew got to you. “You killing a man isn't what's appealing. It's how passionate you were about doing it to defend me.” There was little doubt Jon was using how much you were purposely not looking his way against you. “You'd feel the same if it were me, why can't I return that?”

Stammering a bit, your jaw clenched trying to focus. You knew what he was doing. Jon had been at this for the past three days. Trying to gauge how much more needy you were getting and enjoying all too much how hard you worked to pretend you weren't worked up more often now. If you recalled, two months was around when you begun to feel rather needy for Robb as well.

At least you two were in a camp full of soldiers. Jon had you out in the open North with no soul around for hundreds if not a thousand miles to see you but the guarding direwolf beside him. Muttering back low enough he heard, but quiet that you knew you were trying to push passed his intentions. “There's only so much daylight on our side, we can't stop everytime you-”

“Everytime I what? Want you? Everytime I want to shove you against a tree and-” You with much more of an obvious fluster all but shouted his name with wide, embarrassed eyes and instantly he laughed. “Gods, you're making it too easy.”

Oh it was even worse then what you thought. “Maybe I'm not sensitive, maybe you're just being mean, your Grace.” He didn't say anything and you both knew you were not looking at the glint in his eye on purpose. Instead, he left it in the open air, a tease or riling up it could go in either path. He was unpredictable in how mean he could be now that he had you all alone.

Further into the day you'd get and as the sun would continue to fall it was Jons keen eye which would search for a place to stop and always with enough time to settle before night fell. Arguing that it may take longer by being so strict about not travelling at night, but once it was dark and you both could look North and see the glowing green waiting for you, it was difficult to find reason to distrust his instincts.

For now, enough sun remained that he beckoned you to follow, circling more up a path to a small cliff side edge. Jon would always climb from his horse first, keeping you there until he had every reason to suspect there was nothing waiting behind any shadow.

A fortnight passed and the routine was beginning to come easy. Settling the horses first, food, water, they were the easy part. Jon nodding for Ghost to go with you as you gathered wood for a fire insisting he could handle things from there. Though, you were well aware he was giving you the less labour intensive job, with no amount of reminders that only two months you could still do everything you used to. The first night out here, Jon merely pulled you in to press his lips gently to your forehead before shoving you off a bit, murmuring, “Stop arguing.”

When you had pointed out that wasn't anywhere near an argument he had smirked. The next night he simply gave you things to do right away instead of taking over what you already started. Now you just knew better, and no amount of knowing you could do more would make it feel better in his head. So you let him give you the easier tasks, knowing it was thus lighter on the weight bearing down on his shoulders about it.

You did not think of it in that manner at all, but you knew too well, there was already much guilt in his heart. To Jon, he had dragged his pregnant wife out into the far North not knowing if you two would ever come back. He had no choice in bringing you, but he would blame himself if you made his worries any worse then they needed to be.

Ghost at least, had a much more direct manner of ordering you around. He was large after all. The direwolf would simply nudge you to the side out of his way if he decided you were not fit to carry the heavy object in question. There was no mistakening why Jon was the one Ghost bonded too. They were essentially the same person within two different entities.

On many occasions, when you would put down enough branches into the pile collecting, Ghost would saunter up and snatch a large amount in his mouth and look at you expectantly to pick up the smaller amount left. A playfulness in his eyes as he would wait for you, knowing you'd inevitably run your gloved hand over his head and ears first. Picking the rest up that early evening, you looked back up to the direwolf with a brightness in your eyes. “He wasn't so far off when he said we already have a child, was he?”

If Ghost could shake his head like a human to agree, he would have. Sometimes it was striking, how used to him you were. Moreso out here it came to you. In what a direwolf's natural home would be, Ghost fit into it perfectly and yet also was more human then some men ever behaved as. You had only ever spent a significant amount of time around three of them, and it was interesting to see what traits of their companions they took after.

Robb could be just as troublesome and playful, but Grey Wind always represented the assertive independence, the part of Robb that was undoubtedly a King was what was found in his direwolf. Jon had all the same aspects of him as a King, and yet it was his playful and gentle side which was found within Ghost. You could almost wonder if they were there, meant to bring out the best in their human companions which otherwise might not have come out so easily.

But there was a third you knew, and you didn't prefer to think of why you knew the direwolf that much. If you let yourself you could still see her face as you and Lord Stark approached her. The cutest wolf you'd ever seen, and yet she had not a clue what you were there for.

Nudging you slightly, Ghost brought you out of such a memory. Still crouching on the ground, you smiled at him before gathering the rest up. You didn't want to think about that now, what it meant. How Ghost seemed to tie so deeply into the strange abilities which seemed to exist in Jons blood, and what it meant when you help take a wolfs life away without taking the human with it.

You knew he was aware you were back, but you preferred not to interrupt when he did this part, letting him focus solely on setting things up. Already having the base of a fire going for you, your next task begun. It was nothing one could ever call a grand meal, but once the evening sky turned gold, you knew as long as wildlife was around to take advantage of, you'd make best of what you had.

Jon left nothing up to chance. With only the three of you, taking turns staying up to keep watch was not sustainable. If you'd all be asleep come dark, Jon was ensuring anything coming his way would be heard before getting there. And knowing it was not the free folk coming to hunt him down for being a crow he was on the watch for, but the blue eyed dead which could come at anytime.

Turning back though, something in his heart took a skip. It was a sight strange to him, but he had once been desperate for it. Travelling with her, there was not one day he'd wake and not prey to the gods to let it be you he'd see. Instead it was always her, and it always put him on edge no matter how recently he awoke. Jon would wish it would be you there with him, it was all he wanted, all he focused on to get through it all with his sanity.

But the sight he came upon? The camp now set, serving as what home he could give you in this place, you were a strange blend. The sheepskin was not unlike what the free folk would wear to endure such cold so normally, and Jon found himself both hating it and loving it. He hated it, because he wanted to bring you home. Let you wear the dresses he knew you preferred and live in the comfort you deserved to have. But he also loved it.

It was what he would want in his most insecure days. Dreaming of taking you into this very North to live a life where your love was not disapproved of so heavily. You knelt by the fire with a small narrowing in your expression as he knew you were trying to make something good rather then edible alone, as if it were normal. Jon knew you weren't sure of your place here, but he stood there with his heart floating in his chest at how natural you were in whichever kind of life he dragged you into.

But here beyond the Wall, you didn't fit. Or, you shouldn't have fit. A highborn girl, born in luxury within the royal family. Nothing but expensive, beautiful dresses made from fine silk, taught how to be a lady and you presented yourself as such. Smart and well read, but sweet and innocent enough that it made men everywhere want you even if you refused to believe him when he said it.

In your home you were a Queen, and you grew up the closest thing to a princess a girl could get and yet you were here with him. In a frozen land, making your way deep into such difficult inhospitable lands and giving up everything to do so. You were always more to Jon then just a pretty maiden, but for everything you deserved to be, he felt something so warm in his chest at the manner which you worked in the small campsite as if it were everything you needed anyways.

Maybe it was being back out here doing it, but something was filling him with an adoring pride at being able to call you his, knowing that you were exactly the kind of girl Ygritte made fun of. But here you were, surviving the same lands she did, but all without making fun of her for any opposite. You fit her clothes as much as your own, when Ygritte would rather have burned yours then even pretend she could fit into them.

Ygritte would've hated everything about you, and it made him feel all the more angry at her for it. Even after all this time, standing there knowing you were his wife, carrying his child, and following him to the genuine ends of the known world when you should be home in Winterfell in comfort.

These were the lands of her home, and maybe he thought, if she could watch him now, she'd understand that the man she forced him to pretend to be was nothing of who he wanted to be. Maybe she'd finally understand he willingly shared with you what she forced him to pretend to want to give. Maybe Jon thought, he should make love to you under the night sky even just once, so she could see what love was, and why Jon would never have given it to her.

By the time Jon returned, you gave him a small smile glancing from your focus. “Perfect timing, your food is just about ready.” He said nothing as you worked, not that you took any notice, you didn't need him to fill the air every moment. You were fine knowing he was in your sights by the fire now.

It was one of the few times you found something resembling a normal feeling out here. By the fire as the sun set, even past the sting of the cold everywhere else, you would look to Jon and feel a bit less unsure about it all. You both had a long way to go, but quiet moments of normalcy here, nothing but Jon and Ghost at your side, it felt as if you truly were supposed to be here. “What?”

Registering the question in your head, bringing you back to notice now Jons gaze was set directly onto you with curiosity. For only a second did you give yourself that time further to entrench yourself in that feeling before swallowing such sappiness back down where it belongs. Turning your attention back to what was boiling, you told a half truth. “My apologies, your Grace. I'll admire you out of sight next time.”

Shaking his head with an amusement, Jon choose to not reply to that. Likely knowing flustering you as you were perched over a hot fire was not the correct time to do so.

“I'm taking us on a different path then we planned tomorrow.” Glancing up at him later into the evening, your mid bite allowing him to simply elaborate for you. “We'll set up came earlier, but there's somewhere I want to go. Something I need to see before I lose the chance.”

Agreeing with whatever his plan was, you could see a distance in his eyes finding the flames. Lost in a memory you were too apprehensive to interrupt to ask about. A whole lifetime passed for Jon both in the Nights Watch and in the far north here, and sometimes it was easy to forget how little you knew of his life in the years you were apart.

Clever he was, picking to choose when to bring it back up. Kneeling behind you a the sky fell dark properly, carefully untangling the natural mess from the day in your hair as night truly begun to sink down on the North. A low murmur right in your ear, warm breath dancing along the skin and almost shivering down your spine as a result. “It seems dark enough to say we're not going anywhere now.”

A smile falling on your lips as you leaned a bit back more into his warm touch. “What is there to say about it? You were there, you saw what I did.”

Shifting part of your hair to one side, a flutter of your eyes came about as Jon rasped deep into your ear before leaning down to press his lips to your neck ever so gently. A free hand of his sat firmly on your upper arm, the other running up and down your opposite arm toying with the idea of finding your waist as he spoke. “I know you, and I know you wouldn't have done it without getting him to confess in front of everyone.” Asking lightly if Edd hadn't told him, but Jon only pressed another kiss to your neck, lingering longer that time. “He did, but he's not the one who made that choice. He wasn't the one who did it. Had you ever done it before yourself?”

Shaking your head only slightly as to not disturb his warm place by your neck, a little bit of airiness poked through the memory thinking back of it. “I killed before, but never in that way. Robb was the one who did it, I stood with him but he swung the sword.” Only quiet followed, but Jon shifted a bit to lean more back against the rock side behind, pulling your back into his chest properly. One arm wrapping across your front and sitting by your other shoulder, rightly anticipating you reaching one hand up to wrap with his there.

His other did as he always did in such a position now. As his brother once had. Firmly against the front of your stomach. Jon liked to find his hand soothing over your scar, but now you knew the possessive nature behind it had grown to something else. “Why not get someone else to do it? No one would have blamed you.”

The weight trapped in your throat, it did none to let you swallow the flood of raw grief that you had no more need to feel. He was behind you, he was alive with you, but it felt as fresh as it had in the same hours that day. “No one took responsibility for it. The ones who knew, the men I spoke to who all pointed the finger at Ser Alliser without even knowing the truth. Everyone knew it was him, and he was allowed to walk around as if he had been waiting for such a day for years.”

Nudging the side of your head with his, you turned more to the sensation without committing to trying to seek out his eyes. Were you anywhere but in his arms, Jon wouldn't have been heard. “It wasn't your fault- no darling, we're not doing this again. He wanted me dead for years, he only used me going after you as an excuse. It wasn't your duty to take justice, you shouldn't have had to.”

Mumbling a bit, there was a chance of none Jon did not pick up the wavering. “I thought you found me defending your honour attractive.”

A chuckle hummed in your ear, Jons thumb reaching up to brush against what of your chin and jaw he could from such an angle. “I do, but that doesn't mean it wasn't hard for you. I never avenged you and Robb when I had the chance, so yes it's important to me that you did for me what I didn't for you.”

You weren't sure why it was what came out, but it did and quickly. “You know what made me angry the most? Thinking that your last moments, you were forced to die alone. No one was there who cared, just let you bleed out in the snow before hiding what they had done.” Your grip on the hand close to your shoulder tightened, Jon returning the change right away as you tried to almost force the sting behind your eyes away through that alone. “He said to me he should have left you outside the gates, force me to freeze to death with you but it wouldn't have changed anything. It wouldn't have changed that you were alone. I came back without him, but at least Robb and I were with each other when it happened. The last thing the other saw, but I couldn't stand the idea of Ser Alliser getting to walk around free when he forced you to die thinking you had no one.”

His rasp deep and warm right by your ear, his hands pulling you back more into him were such a feat even possible. “When I finally realized what happened, when I was in Ghosts mind, if you hadn't come through those gates that morning I would've gone looking for you anyways. I couldn't stand thinking you were somewhere out there, thinking no one was left to care about protecting you. I didn't care what the others thought, even if I was going alone I needed you to know I cared, I needed you to know I still loved you more then anything else.”

“And that's why I had to execute him myself. I still loved you, and even though I couldn't get there in time to save you, I'd protect whatever you had left. From any of them.”

Hiding somewhat in your neck and partially in your hair, Jon stayed there. Muffled against you as you tried to lean and return the gesture back from such a spot. “I'm starting to think we've never been normal about each other.” Your breathy laugh caused a deeper one to rumble through his chest into your back. “Am I wrong?”

Rising up suddenly, he left your hand go to tilt rest at your other cheek pulling you so he could press is lips to the side of your head as he continued. “The old me would have never done any of that seeing you alive again the first time. Not right away. I'd have at least waited until I had you in a warm bed to tear your clothes off.” Running his thumb up and down your cheek still, the leather somewhat cold against the wind. “Would have said more then three words to you.”

Turning suddenly, Jons hands settled on your hips as you straddled his lap. Perched on his shoulders, able to run along his exposed neck while it was not hidden away by his curls. Bright was all your eyes shined at him with, and a sickening adoration you found yourself unwilling to downplay as he found the same instinct right back. “If I recall, I wasn't exactly begging for you to stop.”

There it was, that tease in his eyes which shined so perfectly. The need in him to hold you tighter and closer with the obstacle of how covered up you both were out in the cold. “As soon as I had your shirt off, you were desperate to get mine off too.” Leaning forward more, hands cupping both sides of his face against the scratch of his facial hair, Jon moved one of his to hold you steady up your spine as he followed suit and sat up to meet you closer.

Just barley nudging your nose with his as you tempted yourself with kissing him, eyes darting back and forth between his lips and closing to enjoy the proximity. “I was desperate for you the moment you kissed me, think I'm always a bit desperate for you. Don't know what's happened, you came back and all I want to do is hand my body over to you for whatever you could possibly want.”

Jaw clenching tightly, Jon drifted that hand up to run through the hair down your back. Slinking through the stands he had so recently smoothed out and grasping a hold of it much more tightly. Words slurring together a bit the more worked up you knew he felt. “If I did whatever I wanted to you, you wouldn't even be able to walk when I'm done. I don't know I'd even let you, maybe I'd keep you tied to by bed. Stripped and bare, legs spread for me the moment I walk in, whenever I want.”

Swallowing harsh, Jon had spotted it no doubt. Breathless against him, lightheaded in the need growing the longer you sat there but he made forgetting everything around you in his favour too common. You hadn't even said a word, only nodding obediently.

The thicker his accent, the more worked up he was, and it was as thick as could be, murmuring against your lips. “All I'd have to do is taste you for hours. Drink between your legs and never let you cum until you'd beg me for anything. That's when I'd ask, when I'd suggest it, any of it. Show you why you've always belonged to me.”

Dropping your head slightly, forcing a whine back down your throat even though Jon could feel you desperately attempting to not grind down onto him. Reaching up from your waist, Jon tilted your chin to force your gaze to meet his. Brows furrowed in a seriousness before he lurched forward. Capturing your lips with his, bruising and rough in the moment he kissed you and only pulling you closer by the hand tight in your hair.

Your hands wrapping instantly around the back of his neck, you let him deepen the kiss as he moved his lips, soft and perfect against your needy ones. Teeth nibbling at your bottom lip and you parted ways for him almost too instantly, almost too obediently. He hadn't even asked yet, but took full advantage to slid his tongue into your mouth, brushing against yours.

Keeping your lips against his, the hand at the back of your head loosening his grip only enough to slink through the strands of your hair more. Not so forcefully tight but almost controlling, his large hand pressing the back of your head to keep your lips all to himself. Stealing your every breathe but you pressed against his front as much as you could, almost wishing you could still give him more.

Only a fortnight passed which you two were alone out here, and already Jon had you utterly weak for him in such a powerful way. Nothing and no one to distract you from the burning inside your lungs which pleaded his name for more. Licking the inside of your mouth, you tried to brush against his tongue back but he kissed you just the way he wanted, you surrendering all control to him, begging for each break in the kiss to come back, chasing his lips once more Jon never refused.

But in the cold of night, you could hardly share as much as you were desperate for. Pulling back from your lips, saliva not even breaking between you as Jon husked out deep as anything, “I wanted to make love to you here, take you under the stars, but not tonight, not yet.”

Surging upwards, Jon hauled you to your feet along with him by your hips before pressing his lips to yours once more. Pulling back just as you gasped from the suddenness, “I'll take care of things here, I want you to lay down for me.” Your nod, eyes fluttering closed, was not enough. Calling your name to attention, meeting his eyes black in their desire. “Alright?”

“Alright.” A hand ran down your hair gently, and prompted you as if nothing was out of the ordinary, to where the tent was firmly set, waiting to hide you from the cold properly.

You knew the routine, after all, only the two of you it was easy to find new patterns with one another and Jon was not a difficult man for you to read. A laugh leaving you gently right away, tucked away on one side, curled up as if being in a ball did not make him one very large patch of fur, Ghost barley took notice to you interrupting the lack of cold as you moved inside.

Shocking it was how easy it was for the cold to seem so much less permanent hidden by the simplicity of four walls, or what makeshift walls a tent of such size served as. The sheepskin was the first to come off of your torso, tearing it from you to the dark shirt long down your arms underneath. Part of you wanted to sigh, you did every night.

It was as if you were in the Westlands all over again. How much wearing things such as this day in and out made you miss your dresses. Truly, you didn't know how men did it. You hated having to dance to get even most of your heavy layers off and even then your legs still firmly hidden away. In the outside it was nice, when you were in here, it was nothing but an annoyance.

Only two of you, not much could be taken. But the material hiding the snowy ground was thick enough you couldn't feel the cold under it, and at the least the fur on top was as close to the comfort of Jons bed as you two could recreate.

Listing off in your head what he was doing, knowing the routine set which you almost had down to exactly when he'd do what, right up to matching in your head the approaching of footsteps coming your way. The fire no doubt hidden as embers to not catch any possible chance of attention, it left not a peek of light as your eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Laid back somewhat, perched up by your palms against the fur, you watched as Jons figure only briefly brought the cold and light in with him before hiding away again. The sounds of boots coming off and layers shedding, you had not a clue what he left until the feeling of his warmth came to you.

Keeling down on the fur over top of you, Jon crawled over to force your back against the floor of the tent. Your hands seeking him to find he had nothing on, not a thing and yet he was so warm. The brushing of his curls now loose danced over you as Jon reached for the bottom of your own shirt. Pulling it up and tossed away to the pile without another thought. Your pants next he gently pulled them down and nothing left was in his way.

Crawling back over, one hand cupped the side of your cheek and jaw, moving your lips perfectly into place as he pressed his bare frame over yours. Your legs spreading as they bent to seek home by his hips, Jon used the other to cup the back of your head. Keeping your lips to his as he guided you to follow in his kiss. Nothing but the gentle sound of his lips moving with yours was around. Not the sounds of outside, not the crackling of a fire always close in any room. Just the two of you, as your hands roamed his shoulders and back.

Not a shred of the roughness he took you with earlier, moving from your lips down to your neck, not biting. Just his lips, his tongue, still taking his opportunity to suck marks deep into your neck, you gasped loudly as your back arched up into him. The hand on your jaw, now wrapping around your waist, keeping your hips pressed to his, the feeling of his cock hard running along you as if he could simply ignore it.

Your heart pounding in your chest the further his lips moved, your breathing heaving your chest as he came down to them. Grasping each in a rough hand, that time your gasp was far sharper, far more high pitched as you almost didn't contain a whine along with it. His eyes adjusted better then yours, Jons gaze shot up to you. Muttering quiet with a thick rasp, “Shh, darling. I know, they're sensitive this way, barley have to touch you anywhere else now.”

Your head falling back to the ground, your hands wanted to keep holding onto Jon, but his shoulders too far down to wrap around properly, only nails digging in slightly as you mumbled back. “No, please, please I need you-”

Pressing his lips gentle to each breast, despite caressing and groping them tightly together, he reassured you with deep tones to seduce rather then calm. “I'll touch you I promise, but these,” Groping more before his fingers found your nipples in a more pinch that had you gasp for him again. “You're so sensitive now, carrying my child...” More and more your core twisted at the sparks he sent through your breasts.

He was right, they were so much more sensitive now and Jon adored it. You nodded despite not knowing if he could even see, but your tongue was stinging being bitten down on to contain yourself, the worry that how suddenly Jon touch burned you would seem depraved and unhinged, but you felt it with such need as he twisted the buds of your breasts, giving them a tug before letting one hand go back to grasping to replace the twisting sensation with a bite.

A hand finding his curls, grounding yourself before you floated away Jon bit at your nipples before sinking his teeth into the skin around it. Leaving a sheen of cold from his saliva when he would drifted, only to switch to the other. His hand now yanking at the nipple against your breast stinging from how much you knew he marked it in colours.

Biting down against the other, your core burned and twisted right until you felt tears leave the corners of your eyes from where you lay, but always arching into his touch. He couldn't you thought, he couldn't finish you just from this surely. But if that were the case, why were your hips almost grinding up into his, feeling the brush of his cock.

Moving away, Jon looked up to you with a tilt of his head. “You're not going to cum for me, just from this alone..” Testing the waters, he groped them roughly with his thumbs running along your nipples and the manner in which it twisted in your gut would be embarrassing had Jon not dropped his head slightly. “Fuck..” Before returning right back. Taking your nipples between his teeth and increasing the roughness every passing cry.

It was so quick, the build without anything but the slight brushing of his cock against your core, but it was too fast. It had you shiver in his touch not from the cold, but your hands tightened in his hair. A growl leaving him at the tug, you did it again only for Jon to bite down at your breasts harder. You could feel how much they were going to sting come morning but you craved it.

“Come on.” Muttering against you, as he yanked at them once more. But it was the return of his lips to your neck which did you in. It felt humiliating, an orgasm coming from his touch at your breasts alone but you writhed up into him almost desperate for your breasts to be let go. Sloppily trailing to your lips, Jon captured another kiss as he muttered under his breath, nothing but inaudible swears until he slunk to your ear with hot breaths. “I'm not done.”

That time he did not pace himself down your body. Somewhat sitting up, Jon grasped your hips, yanking you to pull down the fur. Pulling your legs over his shoulders, Jon leaned down enough so your back remained flat but his grip on your hips kept you hoisted in the air, and more notably, kept you wide open for his mouth at his desire.

Grateful for the hidden acts, knowing were you to see the utter display Jon had you in, you would feel nothing in your bones but a deep shame at what you were willing to let him do. Licking a path right from your core up to your clit, he gave the same treatment to it as he did your breasts, teeth scraping against the bundle of nerves before sucking at it. Cries leaving you without notice but the feeling of how wet you were not anything to Jon but a feast.

Tongue flat against you, licking down before shifting enough so one hand slid down to cup a cheek of your ass, as if keeping you perched right for his tasting. Licking deep inside of you, the spinning in your head immense as you soaked him with every brush of his tongue inside. Warm his mouth was against already your warm cunt, the winter outside need not exist as the sweat built up the more you cried out, hands grasping at the fur beneath you tightly.

Grunting into you, fingertips digging roughly into your ass to the degree you felt his nails carving half moons into the skin. His other hand firmly at your hip keeping you trapped in such a position, and yet your hands yearned to touch him. To let him touch you, but words couldn't escape between breathe of pleads and begs of his name for something your desire could hardly ask for through the fog.

Nose nudging against your clit, every bit of wetness you soaked him with was not let escape to find your skin. Only his tongue, as Jon felt the pounding in his heart as his insides burned how much he could loose his senses this way. Your begs for him were the only sound he needed, knowing if he kept you this way, you'd cling to him so needy when he finally climbed back over top of you. For now though, he guided you into that darkness more around you, sucking back at your clit before nibbling down and tearing gasps from your lips.

Drinking from your cunt, were they not closed, Jons eyes may have rolled into the back of his head, the taste was so heavy but so perfect. You gave no man this but Jon, it belonged to him, this taste belonged to him and not even a sliver of what you were like down here could match to such a feast.

Were the end of you both coming to the destination of this journey, the only meal Jon wished to have before you both went was this. He'd keep you on his mouth and tongue as long as he possibly could, he knew he would need this. Almost every night Jon wanted to let his tongue run along your soaking, sensitive walls until you gifted him more of your wetness.

Which you continued to do, begging his name.

“Gods, Jon..please, you're-gods you're so good, so perfect..” Sometimes you knew you spoke but not a clue what words truly came out of your mouth. But that core inside you burned and twisted and turned until you felt your legs tensing around him, but Jon only held you tighter against his ravenous mouth.

Growling into you, it vibrated against your walls and dragged you over that edge. Tongue soaking up every slick of orgasm you poured into his mouth. Breathless cries leaving you, but Jon only growled more the longer you came, the longer you let him lick inside your cunt the perfect taste.

Only when your legs started to tense and almost pull away did Jon tear from you. Letting your legs drop, spread wide for him did he let you heave in need for air, hand running along his mouth to gather what remained before crawling back over you, hoisting your legs back up to his hips, muttering against your lips so close you already could taste what remained on him of you. “Wrap them around me.”

Somehow relaxing now that your arms could follow your legs, the later at his hips and hooking around his back and your arms wrapping around his shoulders as your nails scratched into him. His kiss deep and forcing his tongue into your needing mouth to brush against yours, making you taste yourself the way he couldn't stop craving.

A hand cupping the back of your head to keep your kiss against his lips, Jon spared no more time as he used his other hand to grasp your hip. In one single, smooth and soaking thrust Jons cock stretched you thick, sinking as deep as he could go without any resistance despite how tightly you clenched around him. Your nails carving into his back, tearing himself from your lips in almost a snarl at the sting, despite such an innocent look on your face, overwhelmed at how much his cock filled you.

Jon knew by now, he had utterly ruined everything that once made you so pure.

It wasn't the cold causing you to shiver as such, the slow drag of his cock against the most sensitive walls inside of you, making you feel his every inch. Only when he was sat deep inside of you did Jon press his forehead against yours, rasping through such a gruff need. “I'm bringing us home. All four of us, I promise.”

Eyes hooded from the spark flying through your veins, you sought after his kiss. Muttering between each press of your lips, “Stay with me, that's all I need. No matter what, that's all I need..” Pushing you back into the furs to deepen the kiss, you felt the protest in him but you raked your hands through his curls almost soothingly.

You didn't need any promises but that you'd be together. Everything you needed was already with you, right in this tent and that was all you could ever ask the gods for. Slowly, Jon begun to slide his cock almost all the way out, only the tip still inside you and he thrusted back in you just as slow. A burn hardly out of control much like the embers of the fire outside, enough to keep you going but dim and soothing instead of wild and out of control.

Breathing heavy between you both as each slid of his cock snug inside you had you cry out, and each time you clenched around such a sting he gave you Jon eased you with a kiss. For every way he could take you, nothing was ever more overwhelming then when he fucked so calm, slowly, taking his time instead of tearing you apart. One hand high on your waist slid down, running over the scar with a pressure knowing he was trying to feel any changes yet.

Brows furrowing you knew he was trying to figure it out, what did you feel like the night before what could he be imagining from hope, but your cries tore him back to the present. Somewhat hiding in his neck, you burned white hot within you, you were soaking his cock you knew it. Every thrust it got worse but you might cry if he stopped, if he pulled out. Grasping desperately around his back and shoulders, Jon tried to shift so he ran a hand down what he could of your hair.

“I know, darling. I know. It's a lot.” Nodding against him, he never changed his pace, never moved how hard he thrusted into you, but your muscles shook as your mind fogged. So hazy he could say anything and you'd nod in agreement as long as he kept his cock inside you.

Closer and closer the building in your core got, the more Jon buried his face in your hair in return. Trying to keep above instead of pressing you into the furs, but you let a whine escape enough that Jon almost groaned in your ear, even moreso when you begged so sweetly. “Please Jon, please, I want you to finish with me..please..”

Turning to kiss the side of your head, Jon nodded against you after. “I'm close, show me what you learned.” Hesitantly, you let a hand around his shoulder slide away. Drifting down between your bodies, Jon knew you found it the moment you jumped the slightest in his arms. “That's it, come on,”

Slowly sliding in and out, you refused to touch your clit at any pace Jon was not setting. Rubbing just slight circles, trying to find the right feeling when he bit at your ear, hissing against it. “Don't overthink it.”

It was a little easier, telling yourself once again to focus on his cock inside of you and you followed as such so naturally. Pressing your forehead against his, you felt his cock throbbing inside of you just as the heat in you burned enough the coil twisted tightly, small needing cries left muffled into his neck and clenching tight around.

Just as it released, just as the desire flooded your veins with a beg of his name did Jon groan yours. Pressing you flat against the fur, but not before he snatched your hand from your clit. Pushing it against the fur as well beside your head, Jon interlocked your fingers together as he pulled back to capture your lips into a rough kiss. Thick and hot, his seed spilled inside of you at the deepest point, your hand grasping somewhat at his waist beckoning him almost further.

Slow thrusts moved down to slower, and slower before almost hardly being considered moving as you and Jon both lost each other in his kiss. As if you weren't already carrying his child, Jon refused to leave as if you needed to be filled with his seed at any time.

Gentle brushes of his tongue against yours, just to coax you back to him. Smaller kisses being pressed back to your lips each time he pulled away, followed by a longer, more chaste kiss as he slowly pulled out of you. Running a hand up and down your hip and keeping your fingers interlocked on the other side as he did so. Murmuring the moment he led up, “I love you.”

For the sweat and seed shared between your bare bodies, Jon let out a boyish smile and chuckle along with it. Pressing a kiss to your lips once more muttering, “And I love you.” Until the after shocks would settle, Jon kept you in his neck and his face in your hair, running hands over one another.

Only when you could kiss him back without gasping for any air once more, Jon finally turned you in his arms. Pulling your back firmly against his chest as he pressed his hand once again firmly against your stomach. Both nuzzling back into the other, you both were fine if sleep was harder to come by out here as long as you'd find it wrapped in one another like this.

It was but another grim day in the sky, but such things felt normal no matter where in the North one travelled. Climbing off your horse, you gently led him over to where a few posts still remained, albeit more rough and more covered in snow then likely when such a place was kept.

It was a clearing of land in the middle of the forest, and yet the buildings here no longer existed as they once had some time ago. Scattered remains which in fresh days looked like they could be burnt, but the snow and ice dusting over them now hid such evidence from afar. Running your gloved hand along their mane before stepping towards what remained of an open entrance like gate.

Jon did the same not a few feet from you, but his mind was as distant as his grey eyes were hazy with something unspoken and troubled. You wouldn't rush. He had wanted to come to whatever this was, and you would give him whatever time he needed with the remains of a memory.

Your feet carrying you one path to another avoiding the rubble, but unavoidable the longer you walked around what used to be some sort of building. You had been through villages once belonging to the free folk, but this reminded you more of a home. Tucked away in the forest from the rest of the world and it was a wonder what sort of world this north used to be before the winter colds came down.

Everything was as clear to Jon as it was both times he had been here. The first filled with strange memories, visions of the very woman walking some feet around the keep from him with Jons own brother, the truth of what exactly went on with the girls living here and the stacking upon stacking of evidence that a monster of a man lived here.

It was difficult to imagine someone with spirits as bright still as Gilly had come from such a dour, horrible place. Or how she had found harmony and love in someone as unlikely thinking he'd find it as Sam. Then again, once more Jon looked to you, wide eyes searching all around to put together what Jon was not saying in the silence, and he knew you too were somehow what he never thought would be someone he could have.

Finding a voice eventually, Jon walked more towards the middle of the keep over the wood still remaining from when he himself had helped burn it down. “This was Crasters Keep.” Your head turned to look at him, and it was still so odd seeing you in such a place he hated. A place where once was full of men he would be terrified to have you anywhere near. “The Nights Watch had an arrangement with Craster. We'd bring him things from south of the Wall, and he'd let our rangers stay and sleep here on their way to wherever they were going.”

Eyes narrowing in question you asked, “I thought the free folk had all hated the Nights Watch.”

Nodding, Jon didn't dispute it. “They did. Craster included. He hated everything that wasn't himself. He just liked his greed more then his privacy.” Your expression twisting a bit, he knew that wasn't even the half of it. Jon wasn't about to tell you the disgusting truth of his wives, or the vulgar things he meaninglessly shouted towards Jon with just to try and humiliate him in front of his brothers. He only was alright with you being in this place, now that it was gone.

Some things north of the Wall Jon thought, you should never know. The world you lived in together away from here was bad enough, he didn't need to divulge the worst of this place to you. Or what his brothers did once this place became theirs. Your voice cutting through the quiet, “What happened here exactly?”

Face falling into a frown, Jon considered the most gentle way to describe it. The first half was the easy one, the second not so much, taking his time explaining to get to that second half. “I wasn't here for it, it was after the brothers got attacked at the Fist of the First Men. They were making their way back to the Wall and stopped here, but for some of them I guess they had enough.” Turning to look at him, Jons face fell a bit to something he knew you'd tell was a sorrow. “Some of them put a knife through Crasters mouth, took hostage some of the brothers that fought back, and killed Lord Commander Mormont.”

Eyes widening at him, Jon knew it wasn't pity. It was his own guilt for how it ended for him and not being anywhere near it that he was seeing. Tender your voice was, trying not to overstep what you could tell was a wound which still felt strange in his heart. “So they burned it all down?”

“No. I did that.” Training his eyes to the ground, he begun searching for any signs. Glancing to Ghost wandering by with a look asking for him to help without need of words. “Mance's army was coming this way, and I knew if they got here, the mutineers would tell them the truth. What our weak spots were and how few men we actually had. So I had men come with me to kill them all before Mance got to them.”

Not seeing your reaction, but he could tell a bit that you were on the further North side of the keep. “What about his wives? What happened to them?”

Maybe he was being too soft with you, but it wasn't just the mutineers he could see, it was Ramsay. A man like him would've fit right in with that lot. So he kept the worst of it out. “Some ran, the ones who were still here when we got there, I knew they had nowhere to go. Offered to take them back to Castle Black, find them work, keep them safe. But they refused.” Asking why, Jon once more concocted a gentler version of it. “My brothers killed their father, took over their home, and Craster wasn't exactly a good man either. So they told us to burn it down, they'd find their own way.”

Jon looking through the rubble wondered, where had they gone, who did they find. Perhaps they found a way to get South, he hoped they did. They deserved a better life then anything in the far North could give them.

A whine from the west side came from Ghost, drawing his attention. Climbing over most of it, Jon jumped down to what had his direwolfs attention. Pulling back some of the rubble, it was cracked, it wasn't whole, but it was there. Looking up with a low muttering, “You sure?” Ghost only gesturing his head back down, and Jon knew that was a yes. Running his hand over with a small smile, “Good boy.”

He picked it up gently. It was all that was left, but what was left didn't deserve to be left out here. Maege Mormont had said she knew what it felt like to have your brother die thousands of miles from where you were to protect them, betrayed by his own men. She knew that pain exactly as Jon did, and Jon had the feeling you refused to discuss certain things about Robb, because you were avoiding the conversation of why you couldn't get his remains home.

He wanted nothing more then to have a scrap of Robb to bury, but he could give Maege this. He could bring what was left of Jeor Mormont home hopefully. He'd try at least. Shifting things around he wrapped it before finding a safe place for it near the bottom of the bag over his back.

Pushing up to stand once more did Jon notice he and Ghost were alone. The horses both still there, but nowhere in the remains of Crasters Keep did he see you. Calling your name, Jon glanced to Ghost in question.

It was that dream. The one you had the night you, Robb, and Theon had discussed sending him back to Pyke. You had gone to sleep that night, and dreamt of another night in the wolfswood by Winterfell. Only as you walked through the woods north of the keep, you realized your memory had blended with whatever it was Jon had seen that night. You knew these woods from that dream, and further and further your feet carried you looking for it.

The dream had haunted you for years, you would see nothing now you knew but you had to find it.

A baby laid on the snow, as if tossed away while it cried, and a crackling of ice before blue eyes glowing as crystals picked the baby up and walked further away into the northern woods. You had woken suddenly from that point, but you knew now it was real. Standing there, you resisted the urge to reach for your stomach. The idea of giving your child up in the snow for something to take like a monster in a bed side story.

Only a monster could do such a thing, giving up life they helped to create before it ever stood a chance? No good person worth remembering would do such a thing. You hadn't even heard Jon coming up behind you until the hand pressed against the hair at the back of your head, turning you enough to pull you to his lips. A kiss left to the back of your head as that hand slipped down to grasp at the edges of the fur covered hood by your neck.

Standing beside one another, it was another wave of an oddity for you both. The sight of a vision you knew the other had seen, and only now so many years later did you meet here in person where it had haunted you both. Rasping low in your ear, “Don't wander off on me like that.”

Whispering that you were sorry, you could see from the side of your vision him nodding without anger or irritation behind it. He was as wide eyed and trapped in place as you were. “How could someone do that? Give their child up to them, abandon them in the snow like they mean nothing to you?”

Using his grip on the fur, Jon pulled you closer into his side. “He was a monster. Murdering his own children.”

You both could see it, the creature walking away with the baby. The first time for you, that ice and cold and blue haunted your nightmares. “What did they want them for? The boys, what did the Others want with children?”

Was Jons answer more disturbing or less, neither was sure. “I don't know.”

His own hand reach out to run against your stomach before using the grip to turn you around, keeping you at his side with the hand pressing at your lower back. Moving you both back up the snowy grounds to the keep, Jon didn't want to look back. He wanted to know many things by the end of this, but maybe he didn't want to know what happened to the boys Craster gave up.

That way he wouldn't have to imagine in some months, the nightmare of his own son being given up like that. Jon knew he was many things in his new life, but willing to give up his children like that would never be one of them.

You relied on Jon to guide this journey, and this you never questioned his route. So perhaps, it was being kept from you that instead of crossing the Gorge as he knew was more then possible, he was taking a bit of extra time to go around it before making the longer trek to the Fist of the First Men.

The Frost Fangs were a long stretch of ice covered mountains and the terrain was going to be the more rough part. Jon having told you that it would take the longest to get through them. “If I were alone, it may be easier, but I'm going to be taking it slow with you. We won't get there for months, so I won't rush you through them. Not now and certainly not then.”

You both knew why, not only were you not used to terrain which was coming that way, but by his estimation, you would be at least four months by the time you would reach the beginning of them. You'd be showing by then, and he wasn't going to risk you or the babies life if there was even a scrap of a chance he could get you home.

Sometimes it surprised you that even in the sort of cold around, the feeling of freshly fallen snow still was something near refreshing. For quite a while as you travelled, there was a continuous falling around you of large, almost wondrous snowflakes heavily making a home in your hair. More then once Jon however had turned to ensure you weren’t too cold, and just as many times as he would ask, would you dismiss it with your eyes squinting upwards.

The white of the cloud covered sky and the endless snow falling down against it like a blanket was a feeling familiar even though the side was more new. As Jon clarified his question, affirming that you nor the baby would be too cold, you smiled before looking back at him. “Her fathers a man of the North, and I grew up around the rains and storms of an island. I think she is well equipped to handle a little more cold then normal so far.”

All you caught at first was a vauge comment under his breath somewhere along the lines of saying that indeed, his son would be prepared for it. Continuing on the never ending battle for which you were to have persisted between you both. Boy or girl?

Glancing up ahead, Jon gestured to a coming stream. “We’ll stop here until it clears up.” Looking over to him with a bemused dismay you attempted to ask if if he heard what you had said about being fine, when he cut you off with an ease and calm. “I did, and I’m ignoring you.” You could see the grin forming as he rode up ahead of you first.

Securing both horses, Ghost around you both had begun his usual wander. Dutifully by Jons side when travelling but always eager to stretch his legs at any stop. Settling his, Jon gently took the reigns of your own horse for you, not even a question in his conscious mind of allowing you to simply do the work. He almost had to pause mid movement to think about it when you had opened your mouth. “You do have to let me do things on my own sometimes.”

Eyes narrowing up at you in thought, Jon kept it to himself for the duration it took to settle the reigns and rise back to his full height before he gave you a small shrug. “I could. I don’t think I’ve actually stopped you from trying.”

Turning away slightly with a forming grin a this ease and audacity, you arms crossed your front before looking back with a raised brow and tint to your tone of playful challenge. “You absolutely have done that.” Asking when, you sighed out with a more mocking tone of frustration both knew was not real. “Everyday. I can do things on my own still, I am very much as able as I was months ago if you let me prove it. But, even though-”

Taking a step close to you with a laugh of his own, you cut your own words off in favour of having him elaborate on what was so funny. “You’re about to do the thing my father always said.”

Head jolting back a little in question, your eyes brightened a bit wondering of his point. “What?”

An eyebrow raised on him that time with a tone filled to the brim with a smugness that it was about to get under your skin. “That everything somebody says before the word but, is horseshit.”

Your face falling amusingly flat, you tilted your head at him. “I think you’re being a bit hyperbolic. He never quite said it as crudely as that.”

Jon though had something in his eyes radiating with a memory not quite as amusing, but wrapped around a lightness of better times. Looking back down to you with something far less teasing and much more soft, as if relaying the memories to you as they played out behind his eyes. “He never said it like that to you.” Your silence taking appropriately as a question of elaboration, he turned more to the sight of the stream beside you both as you followed. “You’re a girl. He never swore around you or my sisters, wasn’t proper.”

The quiet was light for a moment, but instead of falling into the same form of memory, what slipped out of you was much too quick for your own good. “So why didn’t you ever learn that lesson?”

By the time Jon turned back to you with something smart on his lips, did you make your move towards the stream. Refilling your own water with the thought in the back of your head when you stood up to do his as well, Jon continued speaking as he came up beside you. Only, turning to him at one point to respond did you realize you hadn’t actually known what he was saying to you. Noticing you had somehow stopped paying attention.

Eyes narrowing a little, you realized you were focusing far more on a growing feeling in your stomach. You had reach two months without this, you thought perhaps new life meant you would not return to this.

Jon only noticed you were distracted, perhaps seconds before it all came up. Trying to turn from him completely, he did not let you go far. Following you in seconds, your frame keeled over as the sickness all came up. Hair gathering in his hand, the other running down your back but he was quiet as he was close.

One wave stopped and you only got as far as a wince before more returned. It was never much, but always was as unpleasant as it burned your throat no matter how little there was. Leaning more to your side, in the seconds you had to gasp for air, Jon pressed a kiss to the back of your head, but didn't speak. Just kept himself there, the gentle nuzzle on occasion doing more to calm you then he would know. Just when you thought you were done, just a bit more.

In truth, you stayed knelt there longer then you knew was needed because you were embarrassed. No you hadn't wanted Robb to fuss, but you simply didn't want to be ill like that in front of your husband, and you still didn't want to despite Jon being close by your side now. This was an unflattering, gross part of being with child and you wished it would have waited until you were alone long enough Jon wouldn't notice. Jon though, only gently promped you to drink water, knowing no doubt the burn scratching your throat. You whispering out between drinks, “I'm sorry.”

Running a hand through your hair, Jon was confused. “Darling, don't be sorry.”

Shaking your head, you hadn't looked back at him yet. Pushing up from your thighs suddenly, trying to shake off it hoping he would ignore your sudden outburst did you turn only to find Jon rummaging through something he kept on him. Tossing it to you, your brows narrowed before unravelling the small bundle and thus a bright amused look came over you instantly.

“Dare I ask why you have these on you ready to go?”

Twisting his face in a playful doubt, Jon ran his hand still through your hair. Watching you take one from it before wrapping it back up for you, and tucking it away on your own person. “I wasn't going to bring you here if I didn't learn how to take care of you.” He said it so passively that it clashed with the lift in your heart. Mint and Ginger. He had brought it from Winterfell with him, knowing it would help should you get ill at times.

The mixture easing things in more then one way, you washed the rest of it with water before Jon pulled you back to his side towards the horses. Only you grasped at his arm first, turning you back to him with a look of ask in your eyes. “You're too sweet to me, do you know that?”

Running a hand through your hair, Jon leaned right into you, only to stop inches from your lips when you raised yourself up to meet him halfway. “Didn't you just throw up?”

The drop in your expression as you looked at him flatly. “Really Snow, you think I don't now why you brought mint of all things?” He only laughed in response. Smirking with a slight shake of your head, you playfully scolded. “Taking care of me only as long as it benefits you.”

Jon nudged your nose with his, “I love you.”

Eyes rolling before you leaned up to meet his lips, Jon kept you there for as long as it took to steal the breath you had just gotten back. Somethings it seemed, sweet, teasing, or otherwise had yet to change.

And thus it continued on. Another day of travelling the cold and empty, and another night spent in routine ending with Jon unwilling to sleep without being inside of you, nor you without him. Underneath him, pressing you into whatever tree or rocks he was impatient enough to take you against, or perched in his lap as the only sound anywhere for miles in the night was skin slapping together as he would bounce you roughly on his cock, echoing through the walls of your tent.

The only things you had out here were each other, and you knew the further you got here, the more desperate it was going to get. But you knew, no matter what it cost to get there, you wouldn't wish to be away from Jon no matter what.

If your second chance together was to die at the end of his journey, you both would make it count until the very final moment. You came back to life, to bring Jon back to life. You loved many in your life and always would, but this was where you were meant to be.

Following him to the very end, no matter what unknowns were awaiting there for you.

[pinturas-sgm-aviacion]

1940 05 Westland Lysander MkIII - box art Italeri

The Westland Lysander was a short take off and landing (STOL) aircraft that was initially employed in the forward observer/artillery spotter/army cooperation role. It would later provide air support for what would subsequently be called covert operations in Occupied Europe. It first flew on June 15, 1936 and was a factor in the post-war development of a STOL requirement by the world’s major air forces. Entering service with the Royal Air Force in June 1938, its design was significantly influenced by the German Henschel Hs 126, a similar aircraft in the Luftwaffe inventory. The Lysander was fully operational with No. 16 (Army Co-operation) Squadron at the time of the Munich Crisis in September 1938, and began the R.A.F’s process of phasing out its then designated artillery spotter aircraft, the Hawker Hector bi-plane.By the time war broke out a year later, it was in service with seven squadrons, six of which deployed to France in the first months of the war (Nos. 2, 4, 13, 26, 613 and 614). When hostilities in the West began in earnest in May 1940 with Germany’s invasion of France and the Low Countries, Lysanders began reconnaisance and artillery spotting operations, with Nos. 2 and 4 Squadrons re-deploying to Belgium.On occasion, Lysanders gave a surprisingly good account of themselves when pitted against state-of-the-art German fighters. In one action, a group of Lysanders was attacked by six Messerschmitt Bf 110s over Belgium, and the rear gunner of one of them, L.A.C. Gillham, shot down one of the 110’s, before his pilot could escape at low level. In the coming weeks, Lysanders were frequently set upon by Bf 109’s, particularly when unescorted by their own fighters. While not fast, they were highly manueverable; if they were lucky, they would escape with mere battle damage. But between May 10 and May 23, 1940, nine crews and 11 aircraft were lost to enemy action. On the 25th still more were caught on the ground in a strafing attack at Clairmarais and destroyed.By the time of the Dunkirk evacuation, the Lysander squadrons had been decimated, having virtually no serviceable aircraft. Often their crews flew against intimidating odds, being called upon to air drop supplies without fighter escort to British or French troops, or provide ground support with their loads of 40 lb. bombs, all in skies increasingly dominated by the Luftwaffe. They inflicted damage along the way; on May 22 Flying Officer Dodge shot down a Henschel Hs 126 with his forward machine guns, while his rear gunner downed a Junkers Ju 87 Stuka. But this was the exception. Of 174 aircraft deployed to France, 88 were lost in air combat and 30 more destroyed on the ground by the time the French capitulated.

After Dunkirk, contemplating a loss rate of 63 percent, the RAF had little choice but to withdraw the Lysander from front line service — at least for daytime operations. The Lysander would go on to its greatest fame as the aircraft of choice for Special Operations Executive, a covert auxiliary of (and competitor to) the British Secret Intelligence Service (SIS), charged by Winston Churchill with covert operations in the Occupied Countries and a mandate to “set Europe ablaze.” Soon, on a regular basis, Lysanders of No. 138 Squadron (Special Duties), painted matt black, inserted agents and their weapons, ammunition, explosives and other supplies, and withdrew shot-down airmen. Sometimes they withdrew people wanted by the Gestapo, or brought Resistance leaders back to London for briefings. Lysanders would later be used by both the British Commandos and the American Office of Strategic Services on similar operations in Europe and the Far East.

Landing in unprepared clearings or meadows at night, the landing ground identified by small torches lit by members of the Resistance, Lysanders helped sustain hope in Occupied Europe and Asia. By 1942 they were equipped with larger fuel tanks (starting with the Mk. IIIa) to allow penetration deeper into France, and their ladders touched up with flourescent paint to allow quicker ingress and egress from the plane. There was constant danger – one on occasion, a Lysander guided to a landing by torches touched down, only to be met by German machine gun fire. The pilot, Squadron Leader Conroy, slammed the throttle open and struggled to get airborne, stemming the blood from a neck wound by clamping his hand over it. Brushing the treetops at the edge of the landing field, he managed to return safely to England.

In the Middle East, Lysanders were able to operate longer in their original roles of artillery spotting and reconnaisance since Axis fighter aircraft were not as readily available. In Palestine, they flew throughout 1940 doing aerial blackout inspections, coastal watch, and general co-operation with the Palestine Police. In North Africa, No. 6 Squadron was deployed to Libya and was ordered to remain in Tobruk when the British retreated from Rommel’s Afrika Korps, providing close air support over the beseiged garrison, which continued to hold out. During the war, Lysanders were operated by Britain, France, Ireland, Canada, Finland, Egypt, and South Africa. By war’s end they were a rarity, except in Canada, where relatively large numbers of them persisted until the 1950’s.

[dgrailwar]

Round 13, Day 6 - Typhon's Defeat, The End of a Curse [LONG]

While morale had started high, things seemed to be going south. No matter what they threw at the giant, nothing seemed to be working. It wasn't as if the Servants didn't have help. The Mystic Eyes of the Gorgon only seemed to slow Typhon down slightly, and any monsters or summoned soldiers by Echidna and Gunner respectively were being smashed much faster than expected.

But that was the might of this giant… Typhon, after all, was a nigh-invincible dragon that thrived in the darkness and within the Earth and yet could rend the heaven's asunder and destroy the hopes and dreams of the faithful- and the curse of the Pretender was filling in any conceptual gaps that it would normally have.

"We're barely scratching this thing!"

The Ruler's eyes narrowed as the Alter-Ego complained, before her expression grew resolute.

"…Alter-Ego, can you get me up there?"

"Huh? I mean, probably, but…"

"Please. I have a plan to give us the upper hand, but you'll have to trust me."

The Alter-Ego frowned, before nodding. She took her rival into her arms, gently. The Alter-Ego's grasp was loose, the Ruler having to hold on tightly to compensate for the weaker hand grip of the Alter-Ego, but it was enough. With dazzling speed, Meltryllis darted forward, her movements like water as she slipped and danced past wave after wave of energy emitted from their behemoth of an opponent.

Quietly, in the Alter-Ego's arms, the Ruler chanted.

"The heavens declare the victory of God… The skies proclaim the work of His hands… Day after day they pour forth speech… Night after night they reveal knowledge…"

The Alter-Ego jumped upwards, and the Ruler let go, clinging onto the grand form of Typhon.

The Ruler stabbed her sword into the pulsating core.

The sword she had never swung once- she had used only her banner leading up to this point. For once her sword was drawn... that signaled the beginning of her end... her second Noble Phantasm.

Her body was tiny against the body of the dragon, truly minuscule, but the way mana was gathering around her, she was like a bright torch within the darkness. She continued to pray, as she gathered more and more magical energy into her being, preparing herself.

"My heart burns inside with the flames of devotion. This is where I meet my end. My destiny now runs it course. My life's dream has reached its conclusion."

"I devote the only thing left to protect His way. O' Lord, with these flames of purity, take everything along with my body…--"

"…La Pucelle…!"

There was a massive explosion of flame. A gout of brilliant fire that burned like the sun, enveloping the massive dragon as it roared- but ever-louder was the proud shout of the Ruler, a bellow of a woman determined to put everything she had into even rendering the god-killer able to be 'killed'. Wars were not won without losses- victories not without sacrifices- that was the unjust nature of this world as it currently stood.

However-- Jeanne d'Arc was no stranger to death, nor sacrifice. So to burn for a future that humanity believed in, even if couldn't see it herself, she would immolate herself a thousand times over!

There was a pause, as the flame died down. A fragile form weakly began to fall to the ground, as the giant began to shudder and creak, limbs adjusting as it returned to life. However, it's hide had been horrible shattered, and blood oozed and sloughed out from where the Ruler had triggered her Noble Phantasm.

"Miss Ruler...! No... no... It didn't work…?!"

"No… Ruler did it! It's vulnerable! Any conceptual defenses it may have had… her flames burned them away! To burn away a divine layer of protection granted by Gaia herself to one of her children… what an immensely powerful Noble Phantasm!"

"Well, now that we're sure it can die, that just means we can't let this chance go to waste! It's readying another attack, heads up!"

"…Om Sri Ganeshaya Namah…"

The MoonCancer whispered, before beginning to run forward. Typhon reared his heads back, three heads each preparing a powerful blast of mana that could end everything. She leaped into the air, her form glowing as another shape began to expand out of her. A massive god, with the head of an elephant and four mighty arms-- the great form of Ganesha-- manifested around her, translucent and bright. It headbutted the godkilling dragon, before each of the four arms clamped on tightly.

The smug, excited voice of the MoonCancer holding the divine title of 'Ganesha' echoed through the chamber, laughing heartily.

"Nice try, you knockoff Maldragora! But you're not the only one who can get big! Behold my improvised Noble Phantasm, Ganesha Impact: Pilot Mode! The immense weight-- I mean pressure-- of this super god is something even you can't fight against!"

' DIVINE SPIRIT… DETECTED… TRIGGERING NEGA-KERAUNOS… '

Red and black streaks of lightning began to form around Typhon, as the divine manifestation held tightly.

"Oh, what now? You're about to use your super move? As if I'd let you finish your inputs! Besides, this is my chance to show off a new skill-- see, someone told me a real hero kills with their eyes!"

The massive ephemeral Ganesha's eyes flashed as two massive jets of light burned outward, the dragon letting out an echoing roar. Then, while two arms held the wings of the gargantuan dragon, two more arms reeled upwards and smashed downward, crashing into two of Typhon's heads. The possessed godkiller let out a terrifying growl, wing-jets flaring with crackling energy before a massive explosion rocketed outwards, the Ganesha effigy shattering like glass as the MoonCancer went flying backwards, slamming into the wall with a heavy thud before falling to the ground, the magical energy around her fading.

Seeing the massive god vanish, the Gunner instantly snapped into action, pointing at the wounded dragon.

"Pseudo-Noble Phantasm, activate! Strange God: Arahabaki! Suppressive fire, Kiheitai! We're going all out! You hear me?!"

You could see the Spirit Origin of the Gunner-class Servant crumbling under the weight of the Noble Phantasm he was using. A deluge of gunfire rained upwards at the massive dragon. Such beasts were far before his time- he was a man of the future, and Typhon was a thing of the past. So, to have the glory of being part of the team to lay such an entity low… there was no fate more interesting for Takasugi Shinsaku!

"Fire! Fire! Fire! Don't let up! We can't let up! Not even for a second!"

The assistance of the Ancient God and the Mother of Monster's spawn was appreciated as well, though he pushed his thoughts on how to recreate such immense divine power down. Being surrounded by the superweapons of Greece was distracting, but he had a job to do.

Another streak of dark lightning roiled, scraping across the ground as it sent his men scattering. He watched, gritting his teeth before the lightning surged through him, the massive arms of his mechanical marvel thrown upwards in an attempt to defend, as he and his machine were consumed in a blast- the Gunner's body crashing to the ground.

"Forget about someone, Typhon? Waltz… étoile!"

Like hail raining relentlessly from the heavens, the Alter-Ego struck. Her bladed legs cleaved into one of the eyes of the massive divine beast, as it roared and swung at her with an all-encompassing hand. Her movements were beautifully swift, as she leapt from one head to another, driving her spiked knees in whenever she had the chance, carving blood out from the dragon like sap from a tree.

Like a swan, she flew through the air-- however, the dragon swiftly adapted-- the dancer getting caught by the jaws of the beast.

However, rather than a yell of agony, one could hear the Alter-Ego cackling with smug glee, as the dragon's attention was firmly affixed on her.

"You... idiot..."

The Alter-Ego whispered, teeth digging into her body.

"Now… do it… now!"

She screamed, a signal far too unsubtle for her tastes, but she was in a position where being picky wasn't an option.

The dragon's attention was yanked away from the fluttering white of the Alter-Ego's attire, but it was a moment too late. Two forms stood a distance away, their bodies glowing with pure, intense prana.

"The legend hidden in the mountain of the Messiah… The despair seen by those without a god…"

"I will guide people's dreams and people's wishes… Let's bring them all to the sea of the distant stars…"

"For these are the flames of purification…!"

"Some day, we will finally reach that place…"

"PARADIS… CHÂTEAU D'IF!"

"…Pale… Blue… Dot…!"

Like a rushing shadow, the Avenger appeared before the dragon, and began to ensnare Typhon's soul.

Like a burning star, the Voyager manifested before the dragon, and began to unburden Typhon's soul.

However, the two Noble Phantasms did not exist in a contradictory state, but simultaneously. A Noble Phantasm that would entrap the dark curse, and finally put the grand monster at peace.

Their Noble Phantasms collided with the massive form of Typhon, the power of two mighty Heroic Spirits, who both hinged their lives on hope. They had no tricks, no gods of fate to assist their wills-- they simply had their ambition… and their hope. And with a great scream from both of them, that would turn the vocal chords of an ordinary human to a bloody pulp, they pushed all the mana that they had within their forms.

Finally, in a moment that could only be described as a 'man-made miracle', the dragon let out one final roar as it faded away into the massive torrent of mana.

[kiwinatorwaffles]

minecraft — legend of the white eyes

using the prompts in @redwinterroses’s fic writing challenge from… uh… 2021 LMAO whatever i’m late to the party but it’s ok!! i decided to go with minecraft because i love the lore :3

this is a full hotbar fic! it is exactly 579 words, as a full hotbar would have 579 items.

***

you are being watched.

or, at least you think so.

you can’t confirm anything just yet, but there always seems to be eyes on you. a quiet observer. you never see it, but you’re certain it’s there.

every so often, while mining, you pass by a three-by-three tunnel dug straight through a cave wall. you hear footsteps. when you approach, they stop. you cautiously place down a torch. there are no mobs. but there is something, somewhere, watching your every move. a chill runs down your spine as you stand still, waiting for it to appear and attack you. it never does.

each time, the mining trip ends with you digging your way to the surface as quickly as possible.

at first, when bringing it up to alex, she calls you ridiculous for suggesting so.

“of course we’re being watched,” she says. “there’s a billion monsters out there watching us every single night. that’s like saying a block is square.”

but it’s different, you swear. it’s not like any other mob. it’s something more.

“more what?”

you’re not so sure. maybe it’s the footsteps. or the tunnel in the wall. or the fact that it never attacked you. you always see a flash of white eyes. you assumed it was a stray the first few times, but you later realize that it isn’t. it always seems to be the same entity, over and over again.

but that can’t be possible. mobs despawn after time. villagers stick near their homes. you and alex are the only players.

at least, you think so.

that changes when alex bursts through the door the next day, eyes wide open when frenzy.

“you’re right,” she huffs. “there’s something out there. i saw him.”

“him?” you ask.

“i’m actually not sure. i only saw an outline of a man through the fog. but i know it looked like us.”

a player.

you both barricade the doors in your house afterwards, even though you know it won’t do anything against a player, who can destroy like you can. you’re not sure why you’re so scared. you’ve never seen alex this scared, either.

thankfully, the next day is sunny. you visit the village first thing in the morning, asking if they know anything about what you and alex saw. they can’t answer, instead referring you to the library. you spend the new few hours carefully combing through books, searching for any mention of caves, fog, or white eyes.

there’s only log recording strange occurrences in the world. trees without leaves. pyramids in the ocean. holes in mountains. but no white eyes. the sun has already set, so you thank the villagers and make your way back home. you’ll ask another village tomorrow.

the fog has settled in with the darkened skies. you quicken your pace, sprinting down the path.

you freeze once you spot a dark figure with glowing white eyes in the distance.

he doesn’t move. neither do you. he carries a glistening sword. his clothes are tattered and torn. his gaze pierces into your chest.

you barely see him, but even within the fog, you realize that you recognize his face.

it’s yours.

he says something, but you can’t hear it. a chill runs down your spine.

he steps forward. you blink.

when you open your eyes, he’s gone, like a shadow in the night.

as you stare into the empty mist, you finally hear his voice echo in your mind:

why are you here?

[superthatguy62]

Bowser Day: A quick note on the influence of Sayuuki

So, as it's commonly known, Bowser was inspired by the Bull Demon King from Journey to the West. Specifically, he's inspired by The Bull-Demon King from the Toei movie "Sayuuki" or "King Gruesome" from "Alakazam The Great".

Now, most people are aware of the design similarity and that's where their knowledge of the comparison stops.

However, Bowser shares another thing or two in common with the Bull King in this movie.

The Bull King (and Princess Iron Fan, his wife) make their lair inthe Flaming Mountain. At the climax of the movie, Wukong engages the Bull King while his allies fight against the Queen and the other demons. Wukong leads the bull outside and takes the fight to the skies. Using his cape, acts as a matador, stabbing the bull king with spears while provoking him with a red cape.

Eventually, he allows the Bull King to run into the cape, which disorients him and causes him to fall into the volcano.

And, well, we all know how King Koopa tends to go out.

Bonus random fact:

For further irony, this adaptation of Journey to the West is one of the ones to not feature Red Boy: Bull Demon King and Princess Iron Fan's son who trolls Wukong and his allies (They do have an imp minion who generally fulfills a similar role, but they don't treat him as a son and the Bull-King even reneges on a deal they had). While Bowser lacks a Princess Iron Fan equivalent (though he does carry a torch for Princess Peach), Bowser Jr. could be considered his equivalent to Red Boy , especially when using the Magic Paintbrush which resembles a spear.

[johannestevans]

Two Birds

Fiction. The son of a politician in Ancient Greece speaks to a new soldier. 

Rated T, 3.2k. A priest of Aphrodite, secreted in a secluded fort for the benefit of his father, a politician, makes small talk with a new soldier. Adapted from a TweetFic.

Also on Patreon / / Also on Medium / / Tip on Ko-Fi.

---

Xanthippos sighs quietly as he looks out over the countryside, bored to his back teeth and considering escape once again. He’s never been much of a runner for the sprint or the long haul, but he supposes he has stealth on his side – and yet stealth for how long, and to what distance?

Here at the end of everything, mountains sprawling on every side, he would have to go for days on end to get anywhere, and weeks to get anywhere halfway good.

Sitting on one of the tower walls, he watches the skies change colour as the sun sets, sliding beneath the horizon like a discus sliding into its case. The bright blues of the afternoon have been giving way to sweet and easy peaches for some half an hour, and now those breezy pinks are darkening from red to deep, plummy purples. Soon those flowers, ripening to fruits, will ripen once again to nothing, and all will be black.

Turning his head, he sees a polemarch standing behind him – this must be the newest of them, Xanthippos supposes, this one not young but on the younger side, and quite brawny.

Tone quavering somewhat, he says by way of greeting, “You’re the son of—”

“I’m not interested in letting you fuck me,” says Xanthippos, too casual to be considered arch. The polemarch’s shadowed eyes widen, the lit torches about the tower lighting his face curiously under the shadows of the helmet. Xanthippos goes on, “I’m a priest of Aphrodite, yes – but I’m here because my father treats me as a favourite trinket he owns, not to be used as a fucktoy by his soldiers.”

The soldier falters, and then asks, “What did Aphrodite bless you with beauty with, if not to be enjoyed?”

“To be looked at,” Xanthippos says immediately, his voice cool and his gaze colder. “Not to be touched.”

“Fine,” the polemarch murmurs, and stares at him, looks Xanthippos’ body up and down, his helmet tottering slightly on his head as his head moves. “I’ll just look then.”

“See that’s all you do.”

“You don’t seem particularly grateful for our protection.”

“Not a strategist, are you?” asks Xanthippos, setting sympathy dripping from his every word, just to enjoy the way the other man bristles at that little jab, his shoulders coming up higher, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re stupid,” Xanthippos supplies helpfully. “Block-headed? Dim?”

“No matter how powerful the man you’re the son of, I can still beat you, boy.”

“Not without consequences, you can’t – but by all means…” Xanthippos spreads his hands, inviting the polemarch to advance, but he lacks the follow-through for all this anger gives him confidence, standing still, and his laugh is mocking. “I’m here because I’m a detractor of my father’s, fool – protection, indeed! I’m protecting my father’s reputation, perhaps, I’m hardly here for my safety.”

A curiously expressive face this man has, for a supposed officer. The polemarch’s heavy eyebrows furrow, his mouth tightening and showing the shadows of stubble on his face – rather too much facial hair, in fact, to be strictly uniform. “You don’t think you’d be the target of some of the violence against him?”

“I don’t,” Xanthippos murmurs, “and even if I were, it would be justified. That I’d say that means I’m better off exiled here on this mountain rather than where the people are.”

The other man stares at him, and then asks in a very slow and uncertain voice, “You think protestors be justified in hurting you?”

“Perhaps not, but I would understand the instinct. My father spills senseless blood all the time – why not like for like?”

The polemarch shifts on his sandalled feet, and steps a little closer. His eyes are strikingly pale, more grey than blue, and despite the shadows under his eyes and the darkness from his stubble and hollowed cheeks, his skin is on the paler side, his hair more gold than brown.

Xanthippos gets a whiff of the man on the breeze, underneath the leather and oil of his armour. He smells good.

“What do you think of him?” Xanthippos asks. “Keen Perseon, the politician?”

“He’s a great man,” says the soldier immediately, reflexively.

Xanthippos can’t help himself from laughing. “What a meaningless thing to say,” he retorts. “Do you have no thoughts in your head at all?”

The polemarch looks at him darkly. “I’m having some thoughts right now.”

“My father is a liar,” the priest says. “Corrupt and disloyal, willing to sacrifice his own people for profit and petty luxury. And you think him a good man, do you?”

“He’s a strong commander.”

“Is he actually? Or does he just throw money at his strategoi?”

The polemarch is silent now, and Xanthippos examines his features in the remaining sunlight, admires the strength of his jaw.

“Who are you relieving?” Xanthippos asks.

“Hermeos.”

“That’s a shame. He’s more handsome than you are.”

The soldier shrugs.

The sun has sunk fully beneath the horizon now, the discus set in its envelope, and the skies are streaked in rich, dark reds and gathering purples, like spiced wine.

“You often sit like this?” asks the polemarch. “Sit on the fence wall like this?”

“Why, do you not permit me?”

“Doesn’t seem safe.”

“Why is that? Is some assassin going to push me off?”

“Or shoot you from down below,” the polemarch says, and Xanthippos clucks his tongue as he shakes his head.

“I told you, no assassin’s about to traipse all the way here simply to menace me. My death would be at most a minor embarrassment to my father, and would make no impact at all on his political power.”

A shadow of something passes over the soldier’s face, sympathy, perhaps, compassion, or perhaps merely self-doubt. “He wouldn’t care at all?”

“He might do. I’ve no doubt he’d feel some grief as he might the death of his favourite horse. A smart man would be better off assassinating one of those.”

“… A horse?”

The priest sighs and says slowly, “Yes, dear, a horse.”

The polemarch, his tone flat, remarks, “You sure no one would want you dead for your own sake? You seem the sort to provoke it.”

“Perhaps. I’m no politician, and I see no reason I should speak as one – my brothers want for that sort of nonsense, but I’ve never cared to hold or twist my tongue for votes or favour. I serve the gods, and Love, particularly – and love is truth, in my mind.”

“And your life?”

Perhaps it’s meant to be threatening, but Xanthippos has been threatened by far more frightening men than this poor sod, and in far more dangerous scenarios. He could have held back the haughty laugh that tumbles from his mouth, but he doesn’t bother, looking down at the polemarch from his seat.

“My life is honesty,” he says again, “in service of my mistress, our Lady Loved and Loving.”

The polemarch is close enough now it’s hard not to touch him even incidentally, and so Xanthippos reaches out. The soldier jumps at Xanthippos’ touch on the side of his neck, his thumb pressing down against the point of his pulse. His skin is hot to the touch, and his heart is pounding under the skin.

“What is your name?” Xanthippos asks, and the polemarch’s pale eyes widen a fraction.

His lip quivers momentarily before he answers, “Zoismos.”

“And tell me, Zoismo. Do you have faith in the gods?” As he asks, he shifts his grip on Zoismos’ neck, feeling the thickness of the muscle on his shoulder, the slight slickness of the gathered sweat on his skin. There’s an ever so slight tremor beneath his hand, and he watches the other man’s pale eyes cast to the side.

They’re alone in the watch tower, and beneath them, Xanthippos watches two of the real soldiers moving past one another on their patrol of the fort walls.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hardly a complex question, even for your feeble mind,” Xanthippos snips.

That makes Zoismos stiffen.

“Do you have faith in the gods of Olympos? Believe in their power?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you lie to a priest of Aphrodite. Am I not a mouthpiece of the goddess herself? Would you lie to her as you do me in this moment?”

“I’m not l—”

“Ah!” Xanthippos interrupts sharply, a bark in the words, and he pinches Zoismos’ ear as though he is a child and not an apparent general some ten or fifteen years his senior, making him sharply grunt in pain and stumble back from him. “Do not be caught a second time attempting to deceive me, Zoismaki,” Xanthippos whispers, and he watches a vein in the soldier’s neck pulse, sees the darkening of his flesh through the gaps in his helmet as his pale skin blushes. “Why does your heartbeat quicken? Are you really afraid of me?”

“I’m not afraid, I’m—”

“Is Zoismos truly your name?”

“Yes, I—”

“You believe in the gods?”

“Yes, I—”

“And is that your armour?”

Zoismos stops as still as a statue bronzed, and the last dying light of the evening shines glossy on his sweating skin. “What?” He has a strong, gruff voice, but once again now, it quavers. Xanthippos cocks his head to the side and gestures casually to his shoulder.

“Apart from that helmet teetering on your head like a child’s toy, do you see how loose the straps are here, even drawn as tight as you could manage the belts? The plates are too big for you, Zoismaki. No quartermaster would stand for it.”

“N—”

“Let’s not keep digging, my friend, we needn’t have a grave to lay you in,” Xanthippos says. “I may not be a tactician like my father or a warrior like my brothers, but I know what a soldier should look like, which is more than you, apparently. Some sort of militia man, are you? Never worn armour like that before?”

Zoismos looks once more to the side of them, down at the soldiers on their patrol, and Xanthippos eases himself from his perch.

“What was your plan? Come to me alone, that I might be seduced by your handsome body and gruff demeanour? Take me aside?”

The sweat is all but dripping from the man now.

“Slit my throat, abandon me in my bedchamber, and make your escape before your crime is discovered?”

Zoismos lunges, but Xanthippos is quicker than he is, and he dodges – instead of leaping for the hatchway down into the tower, which the assassin automatically attempts to block, Xanthippos leaps to the corner of the tower and grips at one of the torch poles, hanging himself off the edge of the tower, making the wooden supports creak.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Zoismos hisses, and Xanthippos laughs.

“Come cut me down, if you want to,” he challenges, and he watches the fear in Zoismos’ face. “You aren’t just stupid, are you? You’re also a very poor assassin.”

“I’m not stupid! Or an assassin?”

“No?”

“Please get down from there,” Zoismos says anxiously, and Xanthippos arches his eyebrows and shifts, passing his shawl around the pole he’s hanging from and hangs back from the taut fabric instead of by the grip of his arm, arching his back and leaning back his head.

Zoismos lets out an anxious sound, taking a few steps forward and holding up his hands, but not daring to actually touch the torch or the tower fence, let alone reach over for Xanthippos himself.

“Blood of Ares, Xanthippos, get the fuck down,” calls up one of the patrolmen. “Hermeos has told you before!”

“Tell me who you are, Zoismaki,” Xanthippos says in mild tones. “You seem remarkably concerned for my welfare to be an assassin.”

“I’m not here to kill you,” Zoismos says frantically, and Xanthippos laughs and pulls himself up. He doesn’t hop down onto the main platform but stays balanced on the fenceposts, and Zoismos’ expression is disbelieving as he stares at Xanthippos’ feet, at how he balances himself on the smoother ends of the posts, leaning into the breeze.

“You’re in a stolen officer’s armour and you’ve crept into an isolated border for unaccompanied, all to get yourself close to little old me. You must have something plotted – or someone has, anyway.”

“Sir—”

“Sir, am I?” Xanthippos asks, his eyebrows raising higher. “Start being truthful, Zoismos.”

“Skylax sent me,” he says, and Xanthippos peers down at him, his hands coming to rest on his hips. “He, um. Not to assassinate you.”

“To do what, then?”

“Hurt you.”

“Hurt me? My brother sent you to hurt me?”

“S… Scar you.”

Xanthippos furrows his brow. “Scar me?” he repeats.

“Perseon is sick,” Zoismos says. “He said if we… If you were, um, if you were injured, you’d have to go back to your father, and care for him. That if I scarred your face, so you weren’t beautiful anymore, the temple wouldn’t take you back.”

Xanthippos sighs, shaking his head, and very slowly steps down from his balance on the posts, seating himself on the fence again, this time facing into the tower instead of looking out over the mountain side.

“I—”

“Sh, shh, I need a moment.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Xanthippos takes in a few soothing breaths, in and out, keeping himself comfortably calm, and then he looks Zoismos in the face.

“Zoismo,” he says, “what is your usual relation to my brother?”

“What do you mean?”

“How do you know him, Skylax? Was I right, guessing you were a militia man, is that your connection to him?”

“I’m a sailor,” Zoismos says, “I’m on a, um… I’m on a…” He bites his lip. “I don’t want to lie to you.”

“Then don’t.”

“My captain, he’s been smuggling supplies,” Zoismos says. “We were just fishing before, but now, um, now we… Smuggle.”

“That’s new for you, yes?”

Zoismos nods.

“Are you good at keeping secrets, Zoismo?”

“No.”

“No,” Xanthippos agrees. “That’s why Skylax sent you here, dear – to die.”

“What? No, no, that’s—”

“My father isn’t sick,” Xanthippos says. “He’s on Lesbos. And I’m more than capable of defending myself from an attacker – and even were you successful, Zoismo? The temple would hardly loose its hold on me. Not if I wished to stay.”

“But if you weren’t beautiful any more,” Zoismos says stammeringly, casting his eyes about, “if beauty is a gift from the gods, and it were, it were taken from you by some faceless soldier, then—”

“Zoismo, I am a devotee of Aphrodite.”

“So?”

“Remind me, my friend – who is her husband?”

“Ares?” offers Zoismos. “Or, or Hephaistos.”

“It was Hephaistos, once,” agrees Xanthippos. “They did not divorce upon discovery of the smith’s appearance, hm? Describe him to me.”

“Hephaistos?”

“Hephaistos.”

“Ugly,” Zoismos mumbles.

“Yes,” says Xanthippos. “Club-footed and slow, shrewd and cunning because he cannot run and will not be respected face-to-face – soot-stained and burnt and lopsided. Husband of Aphrodite. And you think my temple would abandon me for a scar on my face? Will that rob me of the light in my eyes, the lustre in my lips, the shape of my hips and backside and clever fingers? The melody in my voice, or my skill in speechcraft and poetry?”

Zoismos crumples like a soiled rag, dropping to the floor in a heap, and he drags off the ill-fitting helmet, letting it clatter to the floor. His hair, golden-brown, is a sweaty mess clinging to his scalp, and he grips at it and stares down between his knees. For such a big man, he looks very small indeed, and Xanthippos hops down and stands before the other man, looking down on him as he might a penitent in the temple.

“I am stupid,” Zoismos whispers, desperately aggrieved, clutching at his own head, and Xanthippos sighs softly and reaches down, touching his sweat-damp hair.

“You were manipulated,” Xanthippos murmurs, then picks up Zoismos’ stolen helmet and tucks it under his arm. “My brother saw you as naïve – he saw you as a risk to the illicit nature of his operations and took pains to eliminate that risk.”

“Why didn’t he just kill me?” Zoismos demands, seeming nearly on the verge of tears.

“Because if you had come at me with a weapon and I had killed you in self-defence, it would confirm that I am indeed at risk of assassination, that my father is right to keep me from my temple, to keep me impounded here. Two birds, one stone.”

“One idiot,” whispers Zoismos, and Xanthippos leans and grips him under the forearm, dragging him up from the floor.

“Take it from me,” Xanthippos murmurs, leaning in closer. “There are better things in life than to be cunning. To be honourable, loyal – better that than shred.”

Zoismos sniffles, but like this, Xanthippos can smell him, and this close Zoismos can smell him in turn – he sniffles and then breathes in deeply, takes in the scent Xanthippos wears, the sweetness of the rosewater that complements his skin.

“What do I do now?”

“Have you a family, Zoismaki?”

“No.”

“You will stay here with me, then. I can always do with a loyal man behind me.” He wipes Zoismos’ wet cheeks and then says, “I can punish my brother on your behalf, even. My cunning is yours, if you would use it.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Zoismos whispers, his lips quivering, his body shaking. “I knew you would be, but like this, the falling sun behind you, the gold of the hour lighting your face and the golden threads in your shawl… Skylax said it was for, for the good of the region, for your father, but I don’t think I could ha— It would have been blasphemy, if I’d cut your face. Worse than lying to you.”

Xanthippos laughs faintly, fondly, and uses his shawl to wipe the other man’s face clean.

“You will be a good temple attendant, I think, at such a time as I am free from this place,” Xanthippos murmurs, and turns the other man around, patting him on the plump behind. “You’re not bad to look at yourself at all. Down you go, my friend. Let’s introduce you to General Hermeos.”

“Is he going to be angry?”

“It’s possible,” Xanthippos says. “But he’ll probably just laugh. And afterwards, I’ll take you to my bedchamber, hm?”

“I thought Hermeos was more handsome than me,” says Zoismos anxiously, and and Xanthippos smiles at him, utterly endeared.

“Zoismo, dear, were you listening a moment ago, to me talking about being cunning and shrewd? Did you add up the numbers and take note that I am a liar, in fact?”

Zoismos stares at him, visibly uncomprehending, and Xanthippos says – more gently this time, “I was lying, Zoismo, about Hermeos being more handsome than you.”

Zoismos seems even more uncomprehending, and then he understands, his eyes flitting downward, his cheeks darkening further. “Oh,” he whispers, and Xanthippos pats him on the generous behind once again.

“Off you go,” he murmurs. “If you’re quick, you might even get a look up my robe skirt as I descend the ladder after you.”

Zoismos stumbles in his haste to descend, and Xanthippos laughs and gives him a few rungs’ head start before he follows him down.

FIN.

[snapmite1998]

As the first snows of winter blanketed New Berk in a pristine layer of white, the entire island buzzed with excitement and anticipation. The heart of the Viking village, with its sturdy wooden structures and intricate Norse carvings, was adorned with frosty decorations and garlands of evergreen. Torches lined the pathways, their flames flickering gently in the cool winter breeze.

Hiccup, the fearless leader of the tribe and a dragon-rider who had united humans and dragons, stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean. The cold air nipped at his cheeks, but he hardly noticed. His thoughts were consumed with the woman he was about to marry: Rapunzel, the golden-haired princess from a faraway land. Their love story was one of fate and bravery, woven together by their shared adventures and unwavering support for one another.

As the sun hung high it cast a warm, golden glow across the snowy landscape, the villagers gathered. The village center was transformed into a winter wonderland, with hanging icicles that glistened like diamonds in the firelight and tables laden with hearty Viking fare. The scent of roasted meats, spiced cider, and fresh pine filled the air.

Rapunzel, radiant as ever, was a vision in her wedding attire. Her gown, made of the finest white fur and embroidered with delicate silver threads, shimmered with each step she took. Her hair, a cascade of golden locks, was intertwined with tiny white flowers and adorned with a simple silver circlet. Her emerald eyes sparkled with joy and excitement.

Astrid, Hiccup's trusted friend and general, took Rapunzel's arm. "Ready?" She whispered with a smile.

Rapunzel nodded, her heart pounding with happiness. Together, they walked down the aisle, the soft crunch of snow beneath their feet a gentle accompaniment to the melody being played by the village musicians.

Hiccup turned as Rapunzel approached, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of her. She looked like a goddess, a beacon of warmth and love in the icy surroundings. Toothless, his loyal Night Fury, stood by his side, purring with approval.

The ceremony was conducted in the old Viking tradition, with Valka, Hiccup's mother, presiding. She stood before a massive stone altar, upon which a pair of dragon scales—one from Toothless and one from the Light Fury—had been placed as symbols of unity and strength.

"Today," Valka began, her voice carrying over the silent crowd, "we gather to celebrate the union of two souls who have shown us the true meaning of love and bravery. Hiccup, son of Stoick the Vast, and Rapunzel, daughter of the distant kingdom, have chosen to walk life's path together. Just as they have ridden the skies with dragons, may they soar high in their love and partnership."

Hiccup and Rapunzel exchanged vows, their voices steady and filled with emotion. They promised to support, cherish, and inspire each other through all of life's challenges and triumphs. As they sealed their vows with a kiss, the villagers erupted in cheers and applause, their joyful noise echoing through the snowy day.

The village came alive with merriment. Viking warriors raised their goblets in toasts, children danced around the fire, and dragons roamed freely, joining in the festivities. Hiccup and Rapunzel moved gracefully between their guests, sharing smiles, laughter, and stories of their adventures.

Later, under the starlit sky, Hiccup took Rapunzel's hand and led her to the edge of the village. There, a pair of dragons awaited them, their magnificent forms outlined against the shimmering snow. With expert ease, they both climbed onto their respective steeds—Hiccup on Toothless and Rapunzel on a gentle Singetail named Bluster.

Together, they soared into the night, the cold wind rushing past them. Below, the village lights twinkled like stars, and the sound of music and laughter rose up to meet them. As they flew higher, breaking through a thin veil of clouds, the world below seemed to disappear, leaving them alone in their own serene haven.

In that moment, with the vast, snowy landscape stretched out beneath them and the endless sky above, Hiccup and Rapunzel felt a sense of unity that transcended words. They were two souls, forever bound by love and adventure, ready to face the future together.

As they descended back towards New Berk, the warm glow of the village welcoming them home, they knew that their story was only just beginning—a story filled with passion, courage, and an unbreakable bond.

Hiccunzel pictures by sweethaamada on Instagram