#and how tied up that is in him being the perfect naval captain and the perfect husband and the perfect man

[quatregats]

Thinking about transfem Hornblower and like...I do absolutely think that there are things that read as dysphoria, but that's not the stuff that really makes me headcanon Hornblower as trans. I think the way in which the narrative is set up, in which we have a main character who is obsessed with performing a particular brand of masculinity despite the fact that he is terrible at it and it consistently makes him miserable is actually what does it for me. Like there's a point in the books where Hornblower's internal narrative becomes so unbelievably dishonest and unreliable about him being so! happy! that you can almost see that there's some central disjuncture in who he is that he refuses to address, and that's what really sells me. I do think you can read it multiple ways (the only readings of it that I personally actively disagree with are any that imply that he's legitimately happy in that situation because he's clearly not) but when you put the dysphoria-adjacent comments in with the larger context of insane cognitive dissonance of older Hornblower I think it makes a transfem reading really compelling and honestly explains the later books better than a direct reading could.

[luninosity]

And - final @evanstanweek fic!

Prompt 7, “holidays,” this time...which, um...became International Talk Like A Pirate Day. And implied imminent sex, and piratical roleplay, and terrible, terrible jokes. And maybe something like a marriage proposal. 1,490 words, no warnings.

Read at AO3 here! Or here on tumblr below.

#

“Hey, Seb,” Chris says.

 Sebastian, lazily settled against Chris’s chest and halfway through reading a script for a potential upcoming Shakespeare adaptation, looks up and says, “For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?”

 Chris laughs, and retorts with, “I do love nothing in the world so well as you,” because Chris knows Much Ado About Nothing decently well, too. “Know what day it is?”

 “Saturday?”

 “Yeah, but also International Talk Like A Pirate Day. Scott just sent me like ten terrible pirate jokes. What does a pirate use his cellphone for?”

 “Oh my god,” Sebastian says.

 “Booty calls.”

 “No.”

 “Come on, that was awesome. All of these…arrrr.”

 “I’ll divorce you,” Sebastian threatens, not seriously because he’s extremely comfortable right here in morning sunshine on the pillowy sofa with Chris at his back and Dodger draped over their feet.

 “You like terrible puns,” Chris says, “I know you do,” and then, “wait, we’re not even married!”

 “Exactly,” Sebastian retorts, with emphasis, and goes back to squabbling Shakespearean lovers.

 “You’re thinking about us being married.” Chris points a finger at him. “You love me. And the terrible puns.”

 “If you say anything about a Jolly Roger,” Sebastian says, “we’re not having sex for like a week.”

 “Can I ask if you’re prepared to be boarded?”

 Sebastian sighs, sits up, and kisses the love of his life, mostly because that’s always a good distraction. It works like a charm; Chris dives into kissing him and being kissed with every drop of enthusiasm that makes up that huge rainbow-hued exuberant heart.

 Kind of unfortunately, Sebastian’s head also briefly pictures Chris in a pirate’s hat. With a parrot.

 He resolutely ignores that image, and climbs into Chris’s lap, instead.

  Around lunchtime, Chris asks what he feels like as far as food. Sebastian opens his mouth, and then Chris says, “If we were pirates we could get barr-beque,” and Sebastian throws a couch-pillow at him.

 Chris apologizes for that one, though he’s laughing. Sebastian sighs.

 They get pizza, in the end.

  “Hey, Seb,” Chris says later, as they’re turning toward home, out with Dodger in the afternoon breeze, wandering around under trees like ruffled green dancers beneath a big blue sky.

 “Don’t you dare,” Sebastian says, hand held securely in Chris’s.

 “Why couldn’t the pirates play cards?”

 “Because the captain was standing on the deck,” Sebastian says.

 Chris’s whole face lights up. “You know that one?”

 Sebastian narrows eyes at him. “It was the logical answer!”

 “Why’re you anti-pirate?”

 “I’m actually not,” Sebastian says. “I’m kind of pro-pirate. Plundering, specifically. Getting, um, pillaged behind that tree.”

 “I love your ideas,” Chris agrees, and pushes him up against a friendly tree trunk and kisses him and gets hands all over him, pinning his wrists to tree-bark, sneaking under his shirt, pushing between Sebastian’s thighs, with Chris’s body large and hot and hard and adoring and pressed up against him. They make out in the woods until they’re both breathless and giddy and Sebastian’s about one caress away from coming in his pants, laughing, clinging to Chris, a leaf in his hair and mud on his boots, loving everything about his life.

  Chris kind of gives up on the talk-like-a-pirate day jokes, after that. Possibly this is because Sebastian’s distractions via sex have worked, or possibly not; either way, Chris seems apologetic about it, and even makes dinner, one of his mom’s cozy classic pasta recipes. He also opens a new bottle of decently expensive red wine Sebastian hadn’t known they had, and grabs the space-themed wineglass, the one etched with tiny stars.

 “I don’t mind your terrible pirate puns,” Sebastian says. Chris prefers beer, he knows.

 “Yeah, I know. I don’t know.” Chris shrugs. “Just felt like being nice to you.”

 “Why pirate day or whatever it is, again?”

 Chris shrugs again. “Just kinda fun? Random?”

 Sebastian considers Chris’s face, and the wineglass, and his own love. And then looks down at his toes, and tells Chris, “I’m wearing the wrong socks, then.”

 “Huh?”

 “Y’know, for the whole pirate thing. They should be, what…arrr-gyle?”

 “Oh my god,” Chris says, “I love you, I fucking love you, Seb.”

 “I might need more wine,” Sebastian says. “Especially if it’s from the…sand bar.” It’s the actual worst joke he’s ever made.

 Chris starts laughing so hard he has to grab the counter, and also Sebastian’s shoulder.

 Sebastian grins. Even his socks feel smug.

  They’re too full after pasta to do much about pillaging, so they flop down on the sofa and watch a documentary about Mars for a while. Chris gets a fire going, and the wind purrs outside, and Dodger’s snoring in his bed, and it’s so domestic and so perfect that Sebastian’s eyes get a little prickly and his heart feels a little shaky. Sometimes he still can’t believe it: being here, being part of Chris’s life. Himself, Sebastian Stan. Loved so deeply and so well.

 Because he loves Chris so damn much, he leans over to bite Chris’s shoulder. Chris grins and pets his hair, and even tugs slightly, because they both know how that dominance goes right to Sebastian’s head and stomach and happy cock; it does now, too, as usual.

 “You want me to do something about that,” Chris beckons, “maybe take care of you a little, if you’re needing some attention, Seb?” and his voice turns all low and rumbly and commanding, and fuck yeah, but:

 “One sec,” Sebastian announces, and hops up, and runs to their bedroom. He’s got a plan.

 He doesn’t have a whole lot that he can work with as far as costumes, pirates not having been a feature of most of his random daydreams, but he’s come up with a few ideas. A loose open white shirt, skinny black pants, a scarf tied around his waist. Some eyeliner. Some of his older jewelry, chunky extravagant rings and necklaces. He grins at himself in the mirror: some sort of haphazard pirate-steampunk-twink grins right back.

 He runs back out to the living room, where Chris is sitting up and being kind of puzzled, though that expression shifts the second Sebastian pops back in. Chris groans, “You’re just doing this to fuck with me, now, aren’t you…”

 “I was kind of hoping you’d be doing the fucking,” Sebastian says helpfully. “You know. On board with that. You can, um, come bury your…treasure…right here.”

 “Jesus,” Chris mutters, but he’s shaking his head, smiling, trying not to laugh. “Okay, okay, point made. Got it. Aye, captain. Or something.”

 “You’re right,” Sebastian says. “This is fun. Come claim my booty. Your booty. However that works. I’m all yours anyway.” He is. Body, heart, soul: everything he’s got, everything he is. He’s Chris’s.

 “I love you.” Chris gets up and comes over, hands settling on Sebastian’s shoulders, drawing him in close. “Where’d you find the scarf?”

 “It’s an old one. I thought maybe you could tie me up with it. Bend me over the bed—the railing, the captain’s bunk, whatever—and have your way with me.”

 “Are you the pirate, or am I?”

 “Maybe I’m your captive,” Sebastian considers. “You know, the dashing daring pirate adventurer that you keep chasing, good upright naval officer that you are, and you’ve finally caught me.”

 “And I’m about to do everything I can think of to you,” Chris jumps in. “Make you beg for mercy. Make you bend over for me, and spread those pretty legs. Make you take my cock, and like it.” His hand lifts Sebastian’s chin, fingers biting down: not too hard, and he’s grinning, eyes made of wicked loving conspiratorial blue. “That what you had in mind?”

 “Totally,” Sebastian says. “I mean, aye. Yarr. Yo, ho, ho, and rum, and all that. I think I like your holiday. Um. Chris?”

 “Yeah?” Chris’s thumb strokes his cheek, too gently for an angry naval officer. “Somethin’ you need, before I haul you off to my cabin?”

 “What I said earlier,” Sebastian says, “about being married to you…about us getting married…I mean, this isn’t me asking, it’ll be way more perfect whenever that happens, don’t worry, but…I just wanted to say…yeah. I do think about that. I kind of think about that a lot. I want all the weird random holidays with you. Forever.”

 Chris’s smile’s so wide and bright that it fills up the world, every fantasy and every holiday all rolled into one expression. His hand’s still cupping Sebastian’s face; the other comes to rest on Sebastian’s hip, over the scarf, with something like reverence. He says, “Guess what, Seb.”

 “Something about pirates and being a good…mate?”

 “Well, yeah, obviously that. My mate.” Chris leans in to kiss him; Sebastian’s entire body thrills to the claiming. “But also…we’ve been pretty much thinking the same things, about that. If you were wondering. I want all the weird random holidays and terrible puns and fucking perfect pirate role-play, forever, with you.”

[cozycryptidcorner]

Chapter Two

Read Chapter One Here

Four days prior

A rush of blood runs down your mouth and chin, though no one in the room bothers to offer up a tissue of any kind. Instead of using your jacket sleeve, you resign to glare at the orc sitting across from you in defiance, letting your nosebleed drip onto the shiny metal table. The blood doesn’t seem to faze him, though, and as he carefully shuffles some papers around, he doesn’t offer up an explanation for your arrest. Which isn’t great for you, because your head is pounding with a dry kind of pain that only a killer hangover can pull off correctly, and your patience is as thin as a microthread. You don’t have assault of a security personnel officially on your record yet, but today is a good a day as any for some magic to happen.

Finally, after he makes you wait for a good full five minutes, the pool of blood steadily growing until it’s almost close enough to start dripping off the table, he clicks the electropad™ off, flipping it so that the screen lies face down.

You glare.

“Don’t try evading arrest, kid.” He seems unfazed, then states your full name in a calm, droning tone, and adds, “do you know why you’re here today?”

Your mouth closes even tighter, the metallic kick of blood on your tongue, making your mouth salivate.

After a moment where the orc waits for you to incriminate yourself (honestly, this isn’t your first rodeo and he knows it, so why he even bothers, you don’t know), he lets out a huffy sigh. Someone walks through the door, then, someone tall and far more well-groomed than both the orc and you, with long, thick hair-like strands that are tied away in a tight bun. They hold themselves with the confidence of someone who has yet to see a downfall, the kind of hubris that is palpable, you can see the aura of it like a pulsing, bright lightbulb.

“Thank you for watching her, captain, but I will take it from here,” they say, hands folded over their uniform. An insignia gleams on either side of their uniform visible even with the dim, flickering light of the holding room. An… admiral, you realize, they’re an admiral. What’s an admiral of the Democratic Republic fleet doing here, in this shithole, wanting to speak to you?

Nothing good, you think, biting your lip down.

The orc grunts, standing from the chair that barely holds his weight, and lumbers out of the room, shutting the thick, steel door behind him. To be entirely fair, you aren’t at all intimidated by the slender frame of the admiral, but you are aware of the vast repercussions that an assault to a space naval officer will bring. Though, instead of trying to pull any intimidation tactics, the admiral offers up their handkerchief. It’s real fabric, you realize, taking it between two of your fingers and using it to pinch the bridge of your nose, and will probably stain brown. This is a good sign, you think. They want to be on your sweet side, which means they probably want something from you. You can play this to your benefit.

“Do you have any idea what you did last night?” They ask, looking you over with a pair of disturbingly golden eyes.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

“Mm, yes,” out comes an electropad™ from a satchel made from the same material as their uniform, “I’ve been told that you have a habit for drunken excursions. Now,” they push the electropad™ over, “does this look at all familiar?”

You lean over slightly to look over a… profile? It has the recognizable Starward Matchmakers™ logo on the top center, so it’s a dating profile… with… your face. It’s a Starward Matchmakers™ dating profile for you. The pending date says you submitted it sometime late last night, only a few hours after you arrived at a bar with the intent to get completely wasted. Which… fuck. There go your bragging rights of never needing an algorithm to get laid.

“No,” you say, honestly, “but that’s usually the intent for when I go out.”

The admiral reaches over, gently dragging the pad back. “Well, it seems that you have made a full profile, with the genetic testing already submitted and analyzed.”

Now that you think about it, there were those bright, sparkly machines that advertised an expedited matching… if you had the credits. Oh, good lord. You hadn’t checked your bank account before the cops came pounding at your door, but you might take a gander that a good chunk will be missing when you do. Great. Perfect. What a way to wake up in the morning; no coffee, a battalion of security officers at your motel doorstep, and your credits almost drained. What the ever-loving fuck did you do last night?

“And?” You ask, barely managing to cover up your nervousness.

“And,” the admiral says, tapping their fingers over the matte, glass surface of the pad. After a moment, they hold it up so you can see, “it appears that you have a very unique match, indeed.”

You stare.

The admiral arches an eyebrow.

“No fucking way,” you take a deep breath, nervously picking at the threads of your tunic. “This is a joke, right?”

“I’m afraid not.” The admiral slides the pad further in your direction for a better view.

“I don’t believe you.”

“And you are entitled to that belief.” The admiral states, placing their hands on the table, “but the fact of the matter is that you are now out in a… very opportunistic position.”

You almost didn’t hear them, mouth in a thin, straight line, staring at the profile picture of a creature you had hoped to never, ever meet. After just a moment, though, you snap your head up. “What do you mean?”

The admiral smiles.

—-

Now

Thankful to your, um, it’s challenging to think of him as your soulmate, despite everything that’s already happened, there doesn’t seem to be more than two places at the main table set, even though it looks as though the dining hall could hold a decently sized crowd of stiff and unyielding upper class driders. Everything is washed in a warm, organic glow, an oddly shaped chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a soft, flickering light coming from the inside of the delicately blown glass. Most of the chairs aren’t anything like seats for bipedal humanoids save for one (yours, you assume), most of them resembling something like stiff bean bags made from black, velvety material.

Before the Starward Matchmakers™ representative could steer you in whichever direction she wants you to go, the drow attendant, Elias, gently takes you by the elbow.

“My lady,” he says, humbly, “the keias has requested you take the seat at his right hand.”

“Oh.” Is it a surprise that he wishes you to sit by his side? Maybe not, but the significance of it is not lost on you, that is if Lolthites even hold the same regard for the ‘right hand’ as humans. Maybe not, and this is just a regular dinner where you just happen to be sitting at the prince’s right side.

And perhaps you are overthinking this whole affair.

“How beautiful for you,” the Starward Matchmakers™ representative says, giving you a carefully expressive glare, before looking back at the drow attendant, “I need to be sitting next to my client.”

“I’m afraid the keias’ orders are quite precise about the sitting arrangements, ma’am,” the drow attendant bowed only a fraction in comparison to the bow he gave you, “it is grossly improper for the serving class to dine in the presence of royalty, especially so for one so… sturdy.”

“Oh!” Her voice goes high pitched, the side of her smile twitching subtly. “Wonderful. How… considerate, that your keais reserved a space, far away, for me.”

“His grace knows no bounds!” Whether the attendant, Elias, is being facetious or sincere to the feeling of his words is wholly lost on you, but all you care about is how he leads an only mildly resistant Starward Matchmakers™ representative farther away.

Click, click, click, click.

You turn, just as prince enters through a different door than the one you and the Starward Matchmakers™ representative had come in. Unsure of what to do with your hands, and just things in general, you fold them in your front, picking at the edges of your fingertips just to have something to anchor you to reality. Even if you hadn’t known his reputation, his appearance, and really, the appearance of all driders can most certainly be... Off-putting, to say the least. You are still consciously refraining from flinching every time you see those cold, beady black eyes.

The prince, as expected, is wearing something that’s considered handsome on this planet. You’d call it a dress, maybe not to his face, but the drapery of a billowy fabric that adorns his figure kind of reminds you of… oh, what did they call them… kimonos, from an ancient Earth civilization. There are some holovids on it, you’ve mostly ignored them, though. The certain kind of outfit has stayed with you, for whatever reason, maybe it’s because both kimonos and togas have seen a recent comeback in modern wear? It’s kind of odd, now that you think about it, that the prince wears something that could be considered fashionable on both planets. The fabric itself is so black that it seems to be sucking in all light, making his grayish-blue skin seem paler, the folds and creases of which are almost invisible to your eye. Like before, his hair is well-groomed, thin, straight, and long, a portion of it tied away in an ornamental bun adorned with a jeweled pin.

“Your gr-” you hesitate, unsure of if you should be addressing him formally or not. You try to go for the latter, testing the boundaries of the relationship he expects, and try to recall his first name. You can almost feel the Starward Matchmakers™ representative creep out of the shadows to glare. “Aksanos. Hi.”

“Hello.” He doesn’t flick out one of his golden gilded claws to slit your throat for disrespecting his title, much to your surprise. Instead, he offers the hesitant curve of his mouth, though it doesn’t go far enough to be called a smile. The prince could just be bearing just fangs, you aren’t certain. With a simple movement of his wrist, he gestures to the chair made for bipedal humanoid and waits for you to seat yourself before moving to take his own.

A servant drow comes out from another one of the doors, carefully hidden by wickedly shaped pillars, with a platter of food. An appetizer, you remember from your brief training, something to eat before the main dish comes out. There seems to have been some concern over your usual diet, as most of the things that the drow servant spreads over the table are things you are familiar with.

“I suspect that you find the food selection satisfactory?”

You are already halfway through the plate when you remember to swallow. God, you haven’t had this good a meal since… since…. “Everything is great, thank you.”

“And your accommodations?” He asks as though he genuinely cares about what you think, which, impossible.

“Are great,” you say, unsure of how much to disclose, “it’s much better than where I’ve been before.”

“And where would those places be?”

He’s probing. You try to think of all the places that don’t inherently have the reputation of black market trades. “Uh, Obren, Forest, the Rift, and some others.”

“So you’ve been to plenty of other planets.” One of the golden claws against the black marble table. “I read that you’re a pilot.”

“I am.”

“It was rather vague about what exactly you piloted.”

Again, something you have to remain vague about. It’s no use lying, you’ve done it before and had some trouble keeping track of what is what. “A Siber-Class freighter.” A beautiful ship, one old enough to be considered an antique, but still young enough to work with minimal issues. “I called her the Seventh Star.”

“Poetic.”

You automatically assume that he’s mocking you, but there isn’t any sign that he is anything but sincere. With your background, you should think that you’re at least decent at reading people, but then again, you’ve never tried making any kind of deals with driders. Or anyone from the Empire.

Ask him questions, be interested in his life.

“So,” you try desperately to think of something, “tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?” He straightens.

If the rumors are true. “Well,” you say slowly, “what is something you enjoy doing when you aren’t being… princely.”

He picks at his food with an uninterested air, taking a moment to answer. “Archery.”

The mad prince of Lolth lined everyone up in a neat little row, shooting them in the heart, one by one.

“Like the old kind, with bows and arrows?” You ask, trying not to show the spike of fear that bursts into your veins.

He nods, once, and finally takes a bite off something on his plate. “It’s soothing, once you know what you’re doing.” Oh, you just bet it is. “If you would like to learn, I’d be happy to teach you, or find an instructor.”

You don’t want to flat out refuse, you don’t want to seem rude. “If… if I end up staying, then certainly.”

His eyes snap up, and even though there are no pupils or irises to show movement, you can still see the shift in the glassy black. “If you stay,” he says, a question inside of a statement.

“Well,” you fucked up, you know it, “I mean, if the matchmakers are wrong, and we aren’t-“you pick up a fork and stab some kind of light green vegetable, “we aren’t really compatible.”

“They’ve never been wrong before.”

Oh, right. The people of the Empire don’t exactly have freedom of the press or public records that anyone can look at. “We might be the first, then.”

“Alright,” he stares at the wineglass in his hand, swirling the blood-red liquid around, “that is, I suppose, a fair statement to make.”

Another course saves you from having to try and come up with something to say to that, or a subtle way to let him know that you probably aren’t a permanent addition to the lovely planet of Lolth. Before you can even stop it, you’re smiling, because you recognize the food set out. It was your answer to the Starward Matchmakers™ profile question what is your favorite food? Drunk you didn’t try to lie and say something that would, you don’t know, make you seem like less of an animal, no ma’am. Drunk you went straight in and demanded what her taste buds deserve and what her stomach does not need.

And, right now, it’s something you can’t be more thrilled to see. Sure, it’s been dressed up quite a bit and turned into something ridiculously fancy, but still. You have to stop yourself from swinging your legs back and forth from the chair in excitement.

“I’m assuming that you’re the one who planned the meal.” You say, stopping yourself from inhaling the food.

“I did.”

“Well, you are very thorough. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Things to look out for: the prince has an eye for detail. Though the Democratic Republic’s counter-intelligence knows that, they even warned you before you left, it’s different to see it in action and have it affect you, directly. And for it to be something positive?

After the main course, out comes dessert. It’s not anything you are relatively familiar with, but you suppose this is the prince’s way of trying to introduce you to his world’s cuisine. You know it’s dessert, that’s what the servant announced as she brought it out, and it let out an immediate relief to your fear of having to sit for another three or four courses. You’ve heard that the more extravagant dinners that the royal family hosts can be up to fifty-three courses, and to be honest, it sounds like a stressful endeavor that you’d rather not deal with right now.

“This is… how do you say,” the prince drums his fingers against the table, “almost like a custard. It’s made from the sweet mushrooms that grow along the cavern farms. They place them in large jars to ferment, and it makes this.” He gestures to the crystalline bowl.

It looks like nothing more than the Sludge Surprise you’ve eaten in a station cafeteria, so you aren’t put off by its appearance. After all, you’ve had to eat worse things in your life just to survive, so you pick up the spoon nonchalantly. The prince observes you, trying to appear indifferent, so you offer no reaction as you scoop some up into your mouth, running it over your tongue as you try to decipher the taste. There is so much going on inside your mouth, it takes you a little bit to sort it all out. Chocolate? Maybe? Not the sweet kind, no, definitely more bitter… and perhaps a sort of... earthy wine? You eat another bite. It’s not particularly sugary, but not overpoweringly bitter.

“It’s good,” you say, taking another mouthful. “Really good. Wow, fermented mushrooms?”

The prince seems satisfied with your enjoyment. “Yes, it’s a delicacy here on Lolth. No one else has been able to successfully replicate the taste, even with the correct mushrooms. The way they grow in the soil of the caves brings out the unique sweetness.”

“Huh, I never would have guessed mushrooms, if you hadn’t told me straight away.”

He looks pleased. “If you would like, I could have this sent to your room every night.”

You’re already shaking your head. “I might get used to the taste. I don’t want it to lose its effectiveness as a dessert.”

He pauses, and for a moment, you’re confident that you’ve insulted him. “That… that is an interesting point of view,” he says, “but should you change your mind, do know that you are welcome to request it at any time.”

“I will, of course,”

Both you and the prince finish with dinner, and as the drow servant clears away anything left from the table, you sit awkwardly in your chair, sipping on some wine in the hopes that it will kill your nerves. The prince is, in a strange twist of the metaphor, staring at you like a bug underneath a microscope. Not in a demeaning way, you suppose, more like he is a bug enthusiast, a bug scientist, and he is thrilled to have your kind of bug underneath the magnifier.

“Are you certain there are no changes needed for your accommodations?” He asks, once more.

Get the freaking Starward Matchmakers™ representative in a room on the other side of Lolth. You force a smile. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”

“It’s only temporary,” he says, again, ” if you decide to stay, that is.”

You have a feeling that the permanent accommodations he has in mind are in his own wing of the estate. Which, you mean, makes sense, since the two of you are supposed to ride off into the proverbial sunset and make wild, wild love. “Of course.”

“You must be exhausted,” he says, “the representative said that your journey was long. I apologize for keeping you so late in your schedule.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” you say, running your fingers down the sheer layer of your dress, “and I should most likely return to my room to sleep.”

“Of course,” he stands, and gestures to the door you had first entered in, “would you like for me to walk you back?”

You see the Starward Matchmakers™ representative standing just to the side of the door. When did she get here? How long was she standing, watching you? What did she see? What did she hear? Your smile fades, and you mumble, “I shouldn’t keep you for any longer, sire.”

He turns and sees the Starward Matchmakers™ representative himself, his larger seeing eyes narrowing slightly. “If you insist,” he says, “then I shall call Elias to escort you and your… assistant.”

The prince lifts up his wrist, allowing a billowing sleeve to fall back far enough back to reveal a wrist band with a shiny, flickering cover. One of his clawed fingers swipes across the screen, tapping it in quick succession only twice, and then the drow attendant is entering through the servant’s door, bowing low. “Your grace. My lady.”

“If you should want for anything, anything at all, let Elias know,” the prince says, reaching the table and gently taking your hand. An odd sensation of tingles run through your arm and into your spine, little tiny sparks of nerves that seldom fire finally awakening. Then, calmly, he presses his lips onto the back of your hand. It takes everything in you to stay standing normally, your breathing only quickening slightly, and you feel like you’d rather be afraid of him than whatever… whatever is running through you now.

“Of- of course,” you say, finding your voice in the chaos of your head. The thing he told you… ask Elias for anything... Everything you need probably goes through the drow attendant first, who then will alert the prince of anything suspicious. That means you can’t just order the ingredients for something like a bomb without raising suspicion. Not that you’re stupid enough to do anything like that, you knew that your movements would be monitored, at least you know who is doing the watching now….

The prince lets your hand go, and you’re snapped out of your thinking stupor.

You give a little bow, not so much for him, but for the Starward Matchmakers™ representative watching with an eye that doesn’t miss anything, and follow Elias out through the door. Out into the hallway. Back to your room. The Starward Matchmakers™ representative walks close behind, her eyes burning a hole into your back, already queuing up the three million questions she plans to interrogate you with, most likely. You already know half of the things she’s sure to find wrong with your interactions, your posture, your tone of voice, and your lack of respectful pronouns that you hadn’t used until you noticed her against the wall. Oh, you’re going to be in so much trouble.

You’re already premeditating your counter-arguments as you walk through the beautifully crafted doors, mouth in a firm line. Elias bows once more to you, not to the Starward Matchmakers™ representative, and shuts the doors to give you some privacy. Just as you are fully geared up to throw hands (even though the Starward Matchmakers™ representative rarely gets physically rough with you), she brushes some dust from her skirt and says, only, “that seems to have gone well.”

All expectations of the fight are gone as quickly as they came, though you still give the Starward Matchmakers™ representative a weary glare.

“I mean it,” she affirms, arching her eyebrows, as though she couldn’t possibly think of why you’re so suspicious. “The prince seems, at least, marginally taken with you. There are still some ways we can improve, of course,” she places a hand on your shoulder, “but I’d say that we are doing fine. Don’t screw it up.”

The Starward Matchmakers™ representative walks away, back to her room, leaving you alone. God, you’re drained. And, you think glumly, throwing yourself on the lumpy chair made for a drider, it’s only day one. You still have months, maybe even a year, left stuck buried kilometers underneath this hellscape planet, and you more than likely will never be able to fly during that time. Your fingers are already itching to take the pilot’s stick, to hijack one of those fancy ships and take off into the galaxy.

But you can’t.

You won’t.

You still have a job to do.

Chapter Three

[mrneighbourlove]

Fall of a Dynasty: Ch 3. Signing the Fine Print

"I've stopped the bleeding," Doctor Boo-Boo yawned. He was sleeping in his private quarters in the castle after completing surgery on Tulilaid's foot. The captain of the guard had fallen from his horse during a routine scouting drill when his saddle slipped off due to the buckle breaking. It was an accident, but broke a few bones in his foot. Unfortunately, it needed surgical repair, so he was off duty for a few weeks. Still, with Kelly fussing over him, he would be back in tiptop shape in no time. "The Emperor will be fine. She just needs rest now."

"Thank you, my brother said he'd be along shortly, he had to uh... put on more presentable attire." Ralnor worded his sentence delicately. "Not come in his night robe."

"You don't have to sugarcoat it, prince, I know how much the king and queen fuck."

"... very well then, he had to change out of a pair of leather pants."

"Nice. Anyway, I'll come back and check on her in an hour. I need check on Tulilad now, make sure he wasn't quoting that obnoxious poetry since the drugs make him loopy."

"Thank you." Ralnor waited until Dr. Boveir exited the medical wing and turned his attention to Zannah. "We are... quite surprised. At this kind of visit, I mean."

Zannah was incredibly tired, but the moment she locked eyes with Leere, she was being kept up by spite. No way she’d fall asleep around that woman. Ralnor was rumoured to be quite the snake himself as well. “That tends to happen when people try to assassinate you.”

"Tell us what is happening." Ralnor told Zannah. "We cannot help you unless we know the full story."

“My Empire is in the middle a civil war Ralnor.”

Rinku tilted her head, her wrinkles frowning at the thought. “We haven’t heard about that.”

“Because it’s been very small, and I’ve kept a tight lid on it until now.”

"Civil war?" Ralnor sounded... uneasy. If there was unrest in the Kikai Empire, it would not be long until it spread elsewhere. He would not risk having it spread here. "I'm assuming someone is trying to take your throne."

“Worse. They’re trying to tear down the fabric of my Empire for a democracy. But yes, I imagine they want the seat of authority once all is said and done.”

Leere shrugged dismissively at the Emperor. “I’m guessing you came to Hyrule to discuss that very issue. Until of course you were attacked.”

“That is correct as well.”

"I'm here, I apologize for the wait, my queen had need of me." Covarog did change clothes but forgot to wipe the lipstick off of his cheek. "Doctor Boveir filled me in on what happened. What's this nonsense about a fight on our doorstep?"

"Evidently, brother, there is a civil war in the Empire." Ralnor informed Covarog. "They want a democracy now."

"That's... more fighting, more deaths, it could threaten to spread here if it is not contained."

"Exactly."

"We have to get this issue resolved at once." Covarog asked Zannah. "Who is the perpetrator behind this?"

Zannah scowled, hiding her disdain with a half-hearted chuckle. “What? Not even a hello?”

We'll have time for pleasantries later, for now, we need information." Covarog was concerned about the Empire once again getting too haughty and trying to attack Hyrule. The last thing he wanted was another war. The kingdom had just recovered from Vul'kar. "Who is behind this?"

Zannah sighed, breathing softly. “A man by the name of Jaster Fett. He had enough influence to lead my Theron to betray me.”

"Is this someone you know or someone new?" Ralnor inquired. "If it is an enemy of the past, we could handle this with an advantage by predicting his next move."

"I've never heard of this man." Covarog thought for a moment. "The only person I ever knew to so open about his method of attack like this was your brother."

“I’ve never heard of this man until recently.” Zannah’s eyes gleamed malice at Covarog, the mention of her brothers from the likes of him infuriating her. “You’ll have to be more specific. My twin who was decapitated in front of me, or my eldest brother?”

"The bastard that kidnapped our sister, is that clear enough for you?" Covarog said dryly. "He's the cruelest son of a bitch that I ever knew."

Ralnor agreed with a nod. "Bastard for sure, though at least he's dead."

“I kidnapped your sister. Along with my Android.” Zannah didn’t know if he was playing a joke on her, but she’d keep her pride damn it.

Leere narrowed her eyes at the Emperor. “You seem almost proud of that.”

“Of course. It was one of my greatest military achievements.”

“Even if Rinku captured you and hog tied you.”

That quieted Zannah up good on the subject. “My brothers are long dead Covarog.”

"The only reason you're in our good graces is due to my wife, let's not forget that." Covarog glared at Zannah. "For some reason, she thought you worth sparring even after what you did to Kanisa, not to mention my wife's sister."

"Brother, let's stay on point." Ralnor had to be the voice of reason here. Even though he did not care for Zannah either, he thought there was definitely something to gain from this. "I suppose I should get right to the point. We negotiated a treaty, saying that we would not declare war on the Empire and the Empire would extend us the same courtesy. We would help each other in trade and provide supplies if there were to be a disaster. Yet, we never had lines of declaration about aiding during a civil war."

“Excuse me? You’re my ally? What do you think will happen to Hyrule if I’m not leading the Empire?”

"Simple." Ralnor spoke without batting an eye. "We crush it like we wanted to years ago. If you can't control your own people, and they become a threat to us, then we will use our forces to contain this mess you allowed to spiral out of control."

“And how many dead will that leave in Hyrule? Thousands. Can you have those deaths on your head King Covarog?”

"You honestly think that we will lose? You know my wife's capabilities. You've seen her army of dragons and elemental sorcerers." Covarog did not look too worried. "We have one of the best armies and a giant naval fleet thanks to Admiral Corsaire. My father's relationship with the local monsters would definitely help. Besides, I have it in good word there are many who would love to take a swing at the Empire. Yet, I do think there could be a way around this."

"I agree, brother, though it depends on whether or not she would take the offer and swallow her pride." Ralnor knew he and his brother had the same idea. "We could introduce you to someone who would solve this problem very easily."

“I’m asking if you can accept the dead on your side.”

“Zannah. Don’t you think the casualties of war can be avoided? At least mitigated?” Rinku rocked back and forth slowly on her chair. “You have children of your own. You don’t want them being caught up in a skirmish.”

“My children? My children are both safe in Danjur and already on deaths door. They often wondered why they weren’t outright killed due to the magnitude of their injuries. Don’t speak of my children.” Zannah groaned as her leg injury pulled her aches. “What possible friend can help me? That sounds like another debt.”

Leere looked to the two brothers. When she figured out who they were talking about, she shook her head. “No. I’m not having him interact with her black hearted soul.”

"You don't dictate who he can and cannot interact with." Ralnor reminded Leere. "He decides whether he wants to or not one we propose the idea to him. Besides, you know he has a love of conflict."

"Not to mention, he is probably the only one who could put her in her place." Covarog snorted in amusement. "I know he did with me."

"He does that to everyone he meets, the bastard." Ralnor groaned. "The question is, what would he want in return?"

"I suppose that's for him to know and her to find out."

Leere threw her hands in the air. She was ready to go to bed and deal with this lost fiery reptile in the morning. “Fine. She gets a cell, right?”

"Unfortunately, no." Ralnor mused. "She is, after all, still part of our treaty and a visiting diplomatic guest."

Covarog yawned, tired as well. "How do we get him here?"

"Oh don't worry." Ralnor looked up at the ceiling. He knew Bonegrinder always heard the voices in the castle. "He knows to come."

~

"Good goddesses, why did he insist that we meet down here of all places?" Covarog hated the cold and the tunnels were dark, dank, and just that. Freezing.

"I would have been happy to meet him in the library like last time!"

"He likes to make an entrance and I told you to wear an extra layer." Ralnor responded to his brother's complaining like an annoyed parent. "And he likes to play on his own turf."

"Not to mention, we have cripple here stuck in a wheelchair."

"She couldn't walk down here."

"Not like she's going to be able to run from him if she gets scared either."

Leere was glad they could all get a fresh morning after a night’s rest. Zannah didn’t seem to think that 6 hours was a proper sleep though. “My son has a better wheel chair then what you provided Covarog. I’m freezing my ass on this thing.”

"Well, I'm sorry that we don't have one with memory foam cushioning for your pompous ass like Annuciata does for your son." Covarog held out his hand in a gesture. "Do you want to postpone this meeting so your ass will be more comfortable while I order you a perfect chair?"

"Brother..."

"Fine. She's being testy."

"I agree. But we're here to negotiate."

"Where is the big guy anyway?"

"Oh, he's here." Ralnor assured them. "He's just watching for a moment. You know how he like to observe."

"Pretty prince, what did you bring old Bonegrinder?" The snake was on the ceiling, hidden by shadows. He chose not to reveal himself just yet. He wanted to know more firstly before getting involved with another royal leader. "A green lady to add to his precious collection of children? Blue and White will be intrigued."

"No, Bonegrinder, she is actually here because we told her that you could help her."

"Hmm, and help the green lady with... what?"

Leere jabbed Zannah’s back, poking hard with her finger. “Well Zannah. Do you want to tell the lovely man what you’d like?”

Zannah hissed at both Covarog and Leere. “I loath you both. And what man? I don’t see anyone because you have strapped to this chair and we are in a dank catacomb.”

"Hehehe, what makes you think that Bonegrinder is a 'man' as you put it?" The snake was amused. "That he is even human? Is your worldview so limited, green lady?"

"Oh, you made him laugh, that means he likes you." Covarog informed Zannah with a grin.

"Just wait until she has had a day full of his antics." Ralnor rolled his eyes. "Then she'll get why I can't stand him."

"Oh, pretty prince, you love old Bonegrinder, you just won't admit it."

“Enough of this. I came here to ask assistance for my Empire. Show yourself, or do you waste my time with false friends Covarog?”

"False friends? Now, now, green lady, do you mistake Bonegrinder for a ghost?" The Anagari slowly slithered downward from the ceiling. Over the years, he had grown from giant to enormous. Now, he was wider in girth and longer in length. Yet, he still held the daunting face of insanity displayed across his features. "He assures you, green lady," His tail coiled around her wheelchair, bringing her closer to his face for her to see him truly up close. "He is not a spirit nor a specter, he is very much alive."

"See? Told you. He loves an entrance."

“You’re a giant chimera!” Zannah was openly shocked by how huge the snake man was.

"HAHAHAHA!" Bonegrinder actually laughed, deeply, at her stunned face. "Green lady, Bonegrinder is an Anagari, an Echidnan, a child of Mother, and one of many in her legion."

"If you think he's big, Mother is three times his size."

"And Mother is many."

"Very much so."

"Tell him, green lady, tell him what you wish of him." Bonegrinder's tail tilted her chin upward to keep her gaze upon him. "Do you wish for knowledge? Do you wish for strength? Or perhaps do you wish to surrender to the fate the deities have dealt upon you, knowing there is no winning against a divinity."

“I wish for my Empire I so carefully built up from near annihilation to not fall to the hands of filthy traitors. It survived Ganondorf, and it must survive now. I have citizens to look after. The Hasai people will grow weak with time if left to a democracy.” Zannah coughed, the cold getting to her lungs.

"Hrm, so you wish for your people to survive," Bonegrinder slithered around Zannah, circling her as he spoke. "But what are you willing to sacrifice? His magic, Echidnan magic, has its price... even the two pretty brothers know this."

Zannah gripped her chair handles tightly. If Zizi was here, she’d be with every human that hated her guts. Part of her wondered if the three siblings brought her here to be become a snack. “You’re all friends, and you all represent Hyrule’s interest. What do you want from me?”

"He already knows of the little problem back in your home," Bonegrinder informed Zannah. "A civil war with someone trying to take your throne. However, you have lost the faith of your people. If you were placed back on the throne, then this would eventually happen again."

"Thus, where my suggestion took place." Manaco suddenly appeared aside of Bonegrinder. "And he listened. The question is, will you?"

"Your people admire strength and dedication to the betterment of the whole... yet, he can give them one thing you've failed to do." Ralnor placed his hand on Manaco's shoulder. "Loyalty."

Leere and the others spent an extra hour and two discussing without Zannah how they could deal with her little predicament. It her who took Manaco down to Bonegrinder to discuss their plan with the giant shaman.

"And to keep the Empire under wraps, and to ensure that no future betrayal or lack of control happens again in the future at your hands, we decided to select our nomination to the throne." Covarog declared. "Your daughter, Athena. While she was not originally our first choice, Manaco here then had a splendid idea."

"I'm the nephew of Queen Zarazu, the child of her younger sister and a well-respected Waku back home." Manaco then laid out his proposal. "I will marry Athena and help her govern the Kikai Empire...”

"Hehehe, see, green lady?" Bonegrinder chuckled. "They have thought this plan well... however, where Bonegrinder comes into play is his magic to ensure this runs smoothly. Are you ready to hear his price?"

Zannah crossed her arms, her eyes staring down Manaco’s soul. To marry his daughter and take the throne was a serious step to take. “When did you want to marry my daughter boy?”

"Pffffttt..." Covarog tried to contain a snicker. "Good goddesses, you're blind, woman."

"Seriously?" Manaco looked miffed. "I've liked her since I first laid eyes on her. She just wouldn't have anything to do with a 'little kid' when she was a 'cool teenager'. You know how that goes." He shook his head. "Besides, I am a man now. I have my own house, my own land, I have bested others in combat, and by Hasai law, that means I have entered into adulthood. I may not be direct royalty, but I'm the best chance you have at regaining the respect of your people. They already adore my mother and my father, and I have won their trust in the past."

“Hmmm. Perhaps I should have groomed you, instead of producing all your half siblings.” Zannah didn’t hold snark, but real hindsight in her voice. “In her condition, however, I don’t think she’s mentally strong enough to marry anyone.”

"And that is where this old snake comes in," Bonegrinder simply waved his hand over Zannah's leg and the wound... was gone. No pain. No scar. No indication there ever was a hurt. "See, green lady? There is more to this snake than meets the eye."

Zannah stood from the chair, kicking it back towards Covarog. She had no words at first, but when she found them, she knew exactly what she would say. “Tell me your price once more. Heal both my children, and I will pay it.”

Leere crossed her arms. She supposed mother hood could make even the hardest killers soft.

"Not only will you agree to this plan, but in the future, Bonegrinder will have use of you," The Anagari informed Zannah. "No matter how much you deny the deities or curse them, they do have a handle in your fate. One day, Balance will be challenged by Chaos. The world will be at stake; not just your survival, your kingdom's survival, but everyone's." He used his magic to depict a feminine figure with eight wings fighting against a blob of shredded teeth which threatened to swallow her whole. "Queen Luimaya will play a vital role years from now. We will all have to fight and stand with Balance. His condition is you, your kin, your people, will be faithful not only to Luimaya but to the deities as well. Only then, will they possibly not consider your soul damned for daring to achieve what a mortal should never dream of."

“Then perhaps your deity should have a chat with my own. Exodrum is a god of fire and war. His blood is in me. I don’t know about a war in the future you speak of, but he’d choose the side that can bring the most challenge.” Zannah was still confused. “I’m already Hyrule’s ally. If a nation threatens them, we attack. Nothing changes there.”

"You think your puny god of fire can disobey the mother of the heavens if he doesn't want to do what she says?" Bonegrinder asked Zannah with a very disturbing smile. "You seek power, green lady... you have never experienced true power before. Yet, the question remains... do you agree?" He held out his hand.

"This snake is told that this is a gesture human do to show the agreement is complete. Once you take his hand, there is no going back on your word. He will heal your children, and help save your nation, but the prices are yours alone to pay."

“I agree. Heal my children and make sure that the bastard known as Jaster Fett perishes.” Zannah looked to Covarog, tilting her head. “There’s nothing you want as King?”

"Loyalty is good enough for me, as well as the previous arrangements in the treaty. Besides," Covarog admitted with a chuckle. "Gloating is good enough for me."

"That and once again, the queen spoke on your behalf." Ralnor reminded Zannah.

"The Empire, under Manaco's and Athena's rule, will report directly to Hyrule. It will become an extension of our country."

"And there's that."

"So, green lady," Bonegrinder asked her once more, offering his hand, swirling with magic to seal the binding. "Do you agree?"

“What?” Zannah couldn’t believe that her territory would become a state of Hylian law. It was moment she found hard to breathe.

Leere, however, took a deep breath of satisfaction. When she heard what Zannah did to Zizi, she thought back to how she should have killed her long ago. This was suitable payback. “That’s right. The Empire becomes part of the Kingdom to Hyrule. What’s the matter Zannah, you look a little green in the gills there.”

“So I’m to exit the throne immediately?”

"Yes." Covarog was not giving Zannah a chance to argue. "My kingdom has been burned by your flames one too many times, Zannah. We're not allowing it to happen again."

"The only reason that we're not taking this opportunity to simply crush your nation is due to the queen's insistence that an overflow of allies is better than not enough." Ralnor explained to Zannah. "Simply put, you are a pawn on our chessboard now, that will be moved as we see fit. We took one out of your books, Zannah. Figured you'd at least have an inkling this was coming."

"Worry not, green lady, Bonegrinder will ensure your little girl is healthy enough to take over and provide an heir." The Anagari flicked his tail. "Your bloodline will continue... but the throne is now out of your reach."

“I’m a Queen in a game of chess. Don’t insult me you tiny Gerudo.” Zannah internally thought about this choice. What would T0-D say? What would Annuciata say? What should she say? She had an idea all three would agree. Turning to Bonegrinder, she shook his hand. “Do what you can to help my people. That goes for the rest of you worms as well.”

"Queen? Of nothing now, Zannah."

Once the Emperor took the hand of Bonegrinder, there was magic working there. A seal formed around Zannah's wrist. It was not large, only small scribble of elegant writing. This would hold Zannah to her word. The Gerudo brothers had expressed to the Anagari that they held concern of her trying to find a loophole or break her bond.

"Now, green, little, lady... tell this old snake. Where are your children?"

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/614055858328977408/fall-of-a-dynasty-ch-2-friends-in-high-places

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/614060759069130752/fall-of-a-dynasty-ch-4-a-family-made-whole

Crossover with @ridersoftheapocalypse. Story arc revolving the Hasai.