#and it’s overcast outside so right before sunrise it’s

[604am]

[marislittlestories]

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Mature | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Spy Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Hogwarts Eighth Year

6/10 - one, two, three, four, five - read on ao3

january 1999 - may 1999

1999 starts with snow. It falls, slow and lazy, from a dark, overcast sky and covers the ground outside in a thick layer. It’s not quite cold enough to keep it in pristine condition, so it melts into an icy sludge by mid-morning, but for a few hours before the sun rises, the world is quiet and still and blanketed in glittering white.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Ginny shakes him awake while it’s still dark out, “We’re going to have a snowball fight.”

Draco stares up at her from his makeshift bed, “What time is it?”

“Nevermind that. Get up.”

He can’t refuse her. He hurriedly throws on his warmest clothes, including, of course, his very own iconic Weasley sweater, presented to him by Molly when he arrived at the Burrow a couple days ago. It’s a beautiful burnt-orange that brings out the nearly-invisible flecks of blue in his steel grey eyes. The crooked D is black and a slightly different texture. It’s possibly one of his most prized possessions, right up there with the aviators that Claire gave him over the summer and the copy of Darke Arts & Their Masters that he recklessly nicked from Bellatrix when he was sixteen.

They join the group outside. Hermione, Ron, Charlie, Bill, Fleur, and Percy are all huddled together, teeth chattering in the cold, brisk air. There’s just a hint of sunrise on the horizon, turning the sky brilliant shades of gold and red and pink. The flecks of snow drifting in the air gather on Draco’s shoulders and hair and stick to his lashes.

He crowds as close to Ginny as he can, watching as Harry and George make their way out of the house over to where the rest of them are waiting. George hasn’t been himself, not since the battle, not since Fred. Draco had known this, from what Ginny’s said over the past few months, but it’s different seeing it for himself. It’s different experiencing the force of George’s listlessness firsthand, face blank, strings cut.

In the time that Draco’s been here, just over two days, Harry hasn’t left George’s side for more than a few minutes. They’re always together, sometimes chatting quietly, but more often just sitting in silence. It makes some unnameable emotion surge in Draco’s chest.

It’s not quite jealousy, not quite pride. This is the person I have given everything to, Draco thinks, and he deserves it, he keeps deserving it. It’s a feeling resigned to its own fate, a burgeoning satisfaction made sharp by its hopelessness, made hungry by his bottomless desire. It’s a longing, a knowing, a vision of a future that will never exist, one where he could have that kindness, that unwavering loyalty and care for himself.

He thinks that if he had it, he may never be lonely again.

It’s such a bittersweet, maudlin line of thought that he stops it there. The rest of the world comes back into focus, and he only has to glance in Ginny’s direction to see the look on her face, naked concern and sorrow.

“You okay?”

She shrugs, and glances over at George and Harry talking, heads bowed together.

“I know it’s different for him,” she whispers, “But I’m worried, you know? He smiles and laughs now, which is a hell of a lot better than a few months ago, but… There’s this heaviness, like I can see the grief around him, and it just never leaves, not like it does for the rest of us.”

Draco sees it too, “Yeah. You were like that, during the summer. It won’t be like that forever, it might just take him longer to shake it, that’s all.”

She sighs and leans back into him. He breathes in the scent of her shampoo, something tropical and summery, at odds with the wintry landscape surrounding them, and he’s overwhelmed again, by love and despair and hope, by a million other feelings he couldn’t describe if he was asked to.

The intensity, the way it ebbs and flows, whiting out his physical senses for a moment, it’s all become familiar to him. After so much deliberate numbing, there was bound to be a little pain, a little discomfort when it all came flooding back in. It feels like his shower later in the morning, stepping under the hot water after being out in the snow. It’s a thawing, too sudden to be entirely pleasant.

The next time it happens, he breathes through it. He closes his eyes and he lets everything crash down around him and he catalogs everything he feels, bad things first. It gets easier and easier.

***

Pansy pulls him into an empty compartment on the train, throwing a tight smile over her shoulder at the rest of his friends, catching him off guard. He’s always been the one to turn back, to grab hold, to stay. He’s lost everything he hasn’t sunk his teeth into, and there is no better example of that than Pansy.

He doesn’t know what to do other than stare at her from the other bench. First year, Pansy had shown up to Hogwarts pale and almost disturbingly composed for an eleven year old. Her signature burgundy manicure was just one item on a long list of what set her apart, what made her instantly seem more mature, more sophisticated, more in control.

Her nails are neon pink. She looks anxious, but underneath it she’s well-rested. She even has a bit of a tan.

“Do you remember, in fourth year,” she says in a small, quiet voice, “We were talking about the Durmstrang students? You said it was sad to look at them, so sad that you had to look away.”

Draco does remember, so clearly, like it was yesterday, “Yes.”

“That’s how I felt with you, you know? I couldn’t see you without seeing the sadness, the misery, so I just… closed my eyes. I’m so sorry, Draco, I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it up to you, but I want to try.”

“It’s not your fault,” he replies automatically, “I knew what I was doing. I pushed you away.”

Pansy shakes her head as frustrated tears gather in her eyes, “But I knew it too. I knew something else was happening, even if I didn’t have the details, and I let you do it. I let you go off on your own, and it wasn’t because it was what you wanted, or because I was hurt. It was just because I was a coward. I didn’t want to face it.”

It stops him. Whatever platitude he was going to offer her dies on his tongue, and he just stares at her in shock and pain. His hands have always been empty, reaching. His feet have always been soft and bruised. He’s never thought about why no one has reached back, why no one carried him across the rough earth. He’s never had anything but the deep, abiding feeling that the loneliness that has plagued him for as long as he can remember is somehow his fault.

“I-” he takes in a long, shuddering breath, “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t want to face it either. I didn’t face it, not really.”

She sweeps him up in her arms and he spends the rest of the journey crying without shame or guilt or worry. He cries and he knows that Pansy will hold him, that she will shield him from the world for a couple hours, and when he is done she will not look at him differently.

***

They all sit together in the Great Hall, all of Draco’s people. Except Ella, of course, who is two tables over with her massive, eclectic group of friends. Ginny fusses over his bloodshot eyes and the general air of exhaustion around him.

“We only just got back to school. How have you already had a crisis?”

Draco laughs, “It was good, alright? I made up with Pansy.”

“Oh, thank Merlin.”

“You have no idea how close she was to locking the two of you in a broom cupboard somewhere,” Dean says.

“Hey,” Pansy starts with an air of nonchalance that immediately sets Draco on edge, “Where’s boy wonder?”

Ron frowns, “Harry? Something came up at the Ministry.”

“Whatever you’re doing,” Draco mutters, “Stop it.”

“If we’re going to have a mushy, Hufflepuff friendship, you have to let me scheme. For balance.”

“I absolutely do not!”

“It’s just your love life,” she whispers.

“Oh, if that’s all.”

“It could be worse,” she says, “Would you rather me interfere with your career prospects?”

“Yes!”

“Come on, it’s not so bad. You’ve got an in now. Mutual friends.”

“What exactly do you want me to do? Ask Ron to be my wing man? Have Luna say something vague and disconcerting about the love of his life being right in front of him?”

“Hmm,” Pansy drums a pattern on the table with her fingers, “I’ll have to think on that one.”

Draco peers at her with suspicion and terror, “What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

He’s going to, obviously, but he lets it go for now because the feast is starting and Ginny is trying a little too hard to listen in.

***

“This is a great start, Draco,” Professor Islington beams, “Really, really impressive.”

He blinks at her, frowning, “Seriously?”

The report is a mess of disjointed research and half-developed theories. The bulk of it is a sort of annotated bibliography, if an annotated bibliography was meant to be full of expletives and strings of question marks in place of intelligent commentary. He likes to think there’s some of that, too, but it’s dwarfed by the rest, a stream-of-consciousness dumping ground.

“Seriously! I know you probably wanted to have turned in something more polished, but nothing is ever polished when you’re in the middle of it. The ideas you have, though, and your grasp on the historical and theoretical… it’s all excellent. I did take the liberty of consulting with Professor Flitwick on some of the more complex Charm work, and he agrees. If he’s to be believed, you’re some sort of prodigy.”

Draco thinks of the way his hands shake every time he casts a spell, no matter how benign, “I wouldn’t take his word for it.”

“I think you’re onto something with runic enchantments and sentience. You’re not taking Ancient Runes this year, are you?”

He winces, “No, I know I’m rusty.”

She smiles, “Well, this is your project. I’m trusting you to make use of the resources available to you, and that includes asking for help if you need it, alright? I know an excellent professor of Ancient Runes who is currently on sabbatical and would be happy to consult.”

Draco thinks about it, and then he thinks about last term, how he let the project consume him.

“I think I have a better idea.”

He steals Harry’s spot at dinner that night, right by Hermione, “I have two questions for you, one of which I think I know the answer to.”

“What are they?” she asks, already laser-focused on him.

“Have you started on your capstone project? And because you’re Hermione, and you’ve definitely started, how attached are you?”

Ron tries to shush him, “We’re at dinner, mate, that’s an off-limits topic until we leave the Hall!”

Draco raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t get me started,” Hermione glares down at her plate.

“Is that a yes, and it’s not going well, or a no, I don’t know what to do and I’m freaking out about it?”

“The second, if you can believe it.”

Draco pumps his fist, “Sick. Listen, I have a proposition for you. My project is turning out to require pretty extensive Ancient Runes expertise, and I dropped that-”

“After fourth year, I know,” Hermione narrows her eyes at him, “This is the thing that essentially turned you into a phantom last year?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“I’m in,” she says firmly.

Ron groans, “I wish you’d never become friends.”

“I can keep an eye on him,” she says, “Make sure he doesn’t actually disappear into the ether.”

“Wow, thank you so much for the vote of confidence,” Draco mutters.

Dean, Luna, and Ginny sit down across from them. Pansy takes the seat next to Ginny. Out of their usual group, Harry arrives last, and after a second’s hesitation, he sits next to Draco, even though there’s enough space next to Ron for him. Sure, it would have meant that he was facing a random sixth year, but he could have done it.

Draco is hyper-aware of the sliver of bench between them, just a couple inches.

“No one has confidence in your ability to take care of yourself,” Ron says, prompting laughter from everyone else.

“I’m still alive, aren’t I? Anyways, I’ve gotten better! Haven’t I?”

Dean answers his imploring look with a shrug, “Sure, but when you’re at rock bottom, you can only really go up.”

***

On a Sunday morning in February, he plays his first full game of Quidditch in years. It’s the last phase of try-outs for the school team, all of the candidates that passed the initial rounds of skills tests playing together in a rotating cast. Draco plays with three different combinations of players; Ginny is in all of them, on his team for two and against him for one. She is a ruthless Chaser, and he wants, desperately, to play for her.

“Thank you,” she says breathlessly, pulling him into a hug on the pitch, “I know you weren’t the most enthusiastic-”

“I had fun. I’m glad I did it.”

She beams at him. They both make the team, starting line. Ella manages to slide in as a Seeker sub, and she nearly tackles him when they get the news.

“I did it, I did it!”

Draco hugs her close, “You did. I’m so proud of you, El.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly, almost shyly.

It’s such an unfamiliar tone that it takes Draco a few seconds to respond, “For what?”

“For training with me. I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”

Draco smiles dopily at her, “Aw. You don’t need to thank me. What are big brothers for?”

She scoffs, “You forgot the annoying.”

“Sorry, what are annoying big brothers for?”

The endless slog of training, conditioning, practice once again punctuates his week, sets a rhythm to his life that he hadn’t realized was important. He feels better, more real, for it. He goes to bed every night with aching muscles, and yet he somehow has more energy than ever. That ravenous hunger that used to consume him, the need to win, never returns but there is something relieving about pushing his body to its limit.

Sometimes, he’ll feel it becoming something else, a convenient way to punish the weakest parts of himself. He’s better at catching these things before they happen now, and he pulls himself back from the edge every time. He takes an extra rest day. He piles his plate full at every meal. He even takes Dreamless Sleep when he has to, and he doesn’t feel guilty or out of control.

“Has it always been this simple?” he asks, mostly to himself, as they’re coming back from Quidditch practice one evening.

Ginny glances at him, “What?”

“I don’t know, existing?”

Ella rolls her eyes, shoving at his shoulder, “Why does everything have to be some great big tragedy with you? Sometimes things are easy.”

Except that hasn’t happened to him, not ever. Everything has been a constant battle, a fight to the death, a sacrifice and a trial by fire. Ella ruffles his hair and jogs to catch up to the rest of the team. He lingers on the path behind them, Ginny at his side, looking down at the soft moss beneath his feet.

It doesn’t hurt to love Ella or Marcie or his friends, not anymore, and if he took his shoes off right now, the earth would welcome him and cushion his step. Another piece, falling into place.

They walk on towards the castle.

***

The Gryffindor common room is nearly empty by the time he starts to pack his things up. He’d been working on the project with Hermione, but Ron had dragged her away from it nearly an hour ago and they’ve both gone up to bed. There are a few students that Draco doesn’t know scattered in various armchairs, but right around the fire, it’s just him and Harry.

Harry’s bent over a stack of parchment, a colorful array of plastic tubes lined up on the floor beside him. They’re some sort of Muggle writing utensil, and Harry seems to always have them when he’s studying. He’s pretty sure that Harry isn’t studying right now, mostly because he usually doesn’t look so upset when he studies anymore.

“What are you working on?”

Harry looks up at him from his place on the rug, green eyes tired and slightly unfocused, “Oh, it’s just Wizengamot shit. I fucking hate politics.”

Harry goes back to swiping color over the printed text. Draco thinks about slinging his bag over his shoulder and going to get some sleep, but he can’t quite make himself do it. The two of them are very similar, in some ways, and Draco knows what it looks like when someone is working themselves into a hole. He knows how hard it is to claw your way out of it, too.

“I could help,” Draco offers, cursing himself in his head.

He doesn’t need another puzzle to solve, but it’s Harry. It’s Harry, and he looks like he hasn’t slept well in weeks, and Draco knows he hasn’t been to any meals today. It’s Harry and Draco will never be able to look at him struggling with indifference.

Harry frowns, “What happened to fuck the world?”

“There’s a big difference between reading over a bit of legal code and recounting the worst years of my life for an audience. In detail.”

Harry ducks his head, ears turning red hot.

Draco sighs, “What I mean is, this is something I can do. If you want.”

He reaches out, palm facing upwards, and waits. Harry hesitates but eventually does hand the folder over to him.

“What is it?”

“As far I can tell,” Harry says wearily, “Garbage.”

Draco scans the text, noting the color-coded annotations in Harry’s atrocious handwriting. It’s impressive, despite being barely legible, and he’s right, too. A lot of the language is vague, superfluous. He’d have to consult existing law to be sure, but it doesn’t seem to do much of anything.

“And you said Robards is the one doing it?”

“Well, he’s not writing the bills, but he is letting them through and I can’t imagine this is anything but a coordinated effort.”

Draco nods, recalling the dinner with Hestia, months ago now. Robards may be an asshole, but he’s not an idiot. If he’s letting this gibberish through, and not actually coherent legislation, there’s got to be a reason outside of pure pettiness. Surely he doesn’t believe it would actually pass under close inspection.

“No, it has to be…” Draco thumbs between the last two pages again, “When are you going to the Ministry next?”

“Tomorrow. I have a free period in the afternoon, and I’m just going to skip my last class.”

Draco winces. He has a meeting with Professor Islington that evening, and a full slate of classes besides, but he’s been willing to die for this boy. Ditching is nothing.

“Yeah, alright. I’m coming with you.”

Harry bites his lip, “Are you sure? I don’t want to make you do something you’re not comfortable with…”

“Relax,” Draco smiles, “I’m the one who offered. I think I can get some information for you, and it won’t cost me anything but a little time. No big deal.”

Neither of them really believe that, but Harry doesn’t call his bluff. Draco tags along on his pre-approved Floo trip to the Ministry lobby, where he splits off from Harry and takes a lift up to the DMLE. Oliver Travers is sitting at his desk, tucked into a corner with a few other cubicles, scribbling something on a legal pad.

Draco raps his knuckles on the yellowed wooden divider, “Hey, Oliver.”

“Dray,” Oliver greets, face alight with something long-familiar to Draco, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

He winces, “I need something.”

“Ah. So not my dazzling conversation?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by earlier, I went away for a while, after everything,” Draco says, apologetic, “And I’m sorry that the first time I’ve seen you in almost a year is to ask for a favor.”

Oliver waves a hand in the air, dismissive, “Oh, don’t worry about that. You know I’m always happy to help, and I know you’re good for it. You always are. I’m assuming you need information.”

“Yes. It’s about the Wizengamot.”

Oliver glances around at the sparsely populated room, “I can give you something, but I can’t do it here.”

“I understand. Up for a field trip?”

Oliver follows him back down to the offices that line the corridors off of the Wizengamot chambers, and he’s clearly surprised when they pass Hestia’s and take another turn. Draco doesn’t bother knocking, he simply strolls into Harry’s office. Under Oliver’s watchful, heated gaze, it’s much easier to settle back into the smooth confidence that he’d worn like armor, back when he’d frequented the Ministry during the war.

“Oliver, Harry,” Draco gestures lazily, “Harry, Oliver.”

Oliver tilts his head, “Potter.”

“Travers.”

“Right,” Draco says slowly, “So you two have met.”

Neither of them seem to be eager to elaborate, so Draco shakes his head and drops it. This is above his pay grade, not that he’s getting anything out of this at all, besides a headache.

“Anyways, I looked over some of the legislation that Robards let out of committee last week, and if he doesn’t have ulterior motives, I have serious questions about his competence. And reading comprehension.”

Oliver laughs, “I’ve missed you, Dray.”

“Dray?” Harry mouths, expression dripping with judgment.

Draco rolls his eyes, “Any insights?”

He looks at Harry, gaze narrowed, “I don’t think I have to say this, but just in case, you didn’t hear any of this from me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I have my suspicions.”

“And are these suspicions supported by any observations, or…?”

“Robards has been meeting with a lot of Wizengamot members, but it’s an… eclectic bunch, to say the least. Not natural allies.”

“He can’t be courting votes,” Harry says, “He wouldn’t risk it.”

Robards’s position in the Wizengamot is powerful, but precarious. He acts as a gatekeeper, deciding which bills to put to vote and which to let die in committee. He is not an elected member, and he is strictly forbidden from engaging in political maneuvering, so if he is trying to influence voting he could be removed from his post and be in danger of losing his job as head of the DMLE as well.

“No, definitely not,” Oliver confirms, “The people he’s meeting with… the legislation he’s letting through… it doesn’t really add up, not to that. He’s not talking to anyone persuadable. I think he’s probably being very careful about that.”

“So what do you think he’s doing? I assume you’re not going to actually give us names.”

Oliver shrugs, “I’d give them to you, if I didn’t know you’d just tell him as soon as I left.”

Draco grins, unapologetic.

“I’ve heard some other chatter- I can’t repeat it exactly- but it makes me think certain factions within the Wizengamot are trying to test you,” he nods at Harry, “There have been some whispers, I guess, that you’re just a figurehead, that there are a group of people behind you, in the shadows, and you simply take the votes they tell you to.”

Draco gets so angry that he actually starts to shake, “Are you serious?”

“I mean,” Harry shrugs, “That’s not the most incorrect thing someone has ever said about me.”

Draco snorts, “Oh, yeah, because that’s a high bar to clear. Fourth year alone-”

“I’m just saying, that is essentially what’s happening. Hestia and Hermione are a lot better at this than I am, and I do rely on their judgment most of the time.”

“Don’t pull that shit with me,” Draco says, still incensed, “I’m not some decrepit politician whose brain has been rotted by twenty years in the Wizengamot. You did not stumble into this.”

Harry blinks at him, shocked into silence for a moment. He recovers quickly, opening his mouth, presumably to argue his point.

“No. I’ve seen your fucking annotation system.”

“That’s the thing, though,” Harry gets animated, and a thrill runs down Draco’s spine, “I basically copied that from Hermione, too. I didn’t do any of this myself, not really.”

Draco is alive, on fire, “Care to translate that for me?”

Harry simply stares at him, confusion and discomfort battling across his face.

“I think you’re forgetting that I have firsthand knowledge about Hermione’s note taking,” Draco says, “She hates writing on a text, even when it’s a copy, and she has to write down every thought she has or she can’t make them line up properly. She takes a truly insane amount of notes, but she doesn’t annotate shit. And yeah, they’re color coded, but based on a completely different set of criteria than yours. So, if I had to take a guess, I’d say that at some point, maybe when you got into politics last summer, you asked her for help with a legal text, and she taught you her system, which you then adapted.”

Harry doesn’t exactly confirm that Draco is right, but he does stop arguing.

“So,” Draco turns back to Oliver, who is clearly holding back a laugh, “What exactly is the objective here?”

“You know, that’s one of my favorite things about you. You take everyone completely seriously, and you make them take themselves seriously too.”

Draco sighs, “Focus, please.”

“They’re trying to trip him up with nonsensical legislation,” Oliver says, “They’re going to grill him in session, if I had to guess.”

“The only real solution, then, is to read through it all with fine toothed comb,” Draco groans.

“Yeah.”

Draco rolls his shoulders, “Ugh, to work we go then. Thank you, Oliver, I owe you one.”

Oliver stands and walks towards the door, pausing with his hand on the doorknob and turning back to Draco with a smile, small but no less dazzling for it.

“I think I’ve decided what you owe me, actually,” Oliver says, “A date.”

Draco tilts his head, smiling up at Oliver in exasperation, “I-”

Oliver holds his hands up, “You can say no, but it’s just one night. Give me a chance to convince you I’m perfect for you?”

They stare at each other. Oliver is earnest, sincere, and he understands Draco, all of the ugliness and dark, gritty truth. He’s seen the world Draco exists in, he’s been a part of it, lived it too. He knows what it’s like to plant your feet in the shadows.

Besides, Draco’s never been on a date.

“You get two hours,” he concedes, “Next weekend.”

Oliver’s grin widens into something triumphant and heated, “I’ll make a reservation.”

He leaves then, and Draco checks the time. He could make it back to Hogwarts for his meeting with Professor Islington, if he left in the next few minutes.

“I have to get back to the castle,” he says, “How many do you have left to read through?”

Harry answers reluctantly, “Eight.”

“Give me one you’ve already done, and five that you haven’t.”

“I can’t ask you to-”

“You didn’t,” Draco replies firmly, leaving no room for debate, “I said I would help, and I’m going to.”

He takes the folders from Harry’s outstretched hand. It’s not the first time Draco has wanted to take a piece of Harry’s perpetual burden, and it’s not the first time he’s reached out to grab it, but it is the first time Harry has given it to him, willingly, knowingly. It’s important in a way Draco can’t articulate.

Before he can make a move to leave, Harry clears his throat.

“It was during the war,” Harry ducks his head, looking down at the file open in front of him.

“What?”

“For a while last year, it was just me and Hermione, and we had to do a lot of research for,” he pauses, “Anyways. I’m not really good at this shit, you know, but I wanted to help. That’s when I started taking notes like this.”

Draco can’t fight the smile blooming across his face, but he doesn’t have to let Harry see it. He turns towards the door.

“I’ll see you back at Hogwarts,” he says, and closes the door softly behind him.

***

Pansy shows up in his dorm to drag him to dinner that night. Professor Islington had probably picked up on how distracted he was, because she cut their meeting short, after talking through the seemingly contradictory accounts of the Room’s relationship to Gamp’s Law. Draco wishes he could test his theories in real time, but if he could, he’d never have started on this project in the first place.

“I thought you weren’t going to do politics,” Pansy says, eyeing the folders spread across Draco’s bed.

Pansy knows better than to think that this change of heart is motivated by friendship. Draco is not that selfless.

“Shut up,” he mutters, “You know why I’m doing this. We really don’t need to talk about it.”

Pansy folds her arms, “Draco, we’re going to talk about it. I’m not going to lecture you, you know that, but… are you sure this is a good idea? That you want to do it?”

“I want to help.”

“And you promise this isn’t a power grab?” she grins.

He laughs helplessly, “Promise. Maybe it’s not very Slytherin of me, but world domination has lost its appeal. Besides, you’d probably be a better overlord anyways.”

“You’d be terrible. So inefficient.”

After dinner, she follows him back to his room and sits with him on his worn-in cotton duvet, handing him one of the fizzy Japanese drinks she always seems to have on hand, the ones with the glass marble inside. He breaks the seal of it with a pop.

“You don’t have to help, you know,” he says.

She picks up a folder, “Yeah, yeah. Explain Harry’s serial killer code to me.”

Harry goes to the next session of the Wizengamot armed with a stack of legal code, all annotated using his meticulous system. Draco hadn’t outsourced the reading beyond Pansy. He doesn’t know why Harry didn’t ask Hermione for help, and that wasn’t something he wanted to push back on.

When Harry shows up to breakfast the next morning, the storm raging in his eyes and in the tightness around his mouth have both vanished. He looks, for the first time in weeks, well rested.

He smiles warmly, incandescently, at Draco, “Thank you.”

Draco tries to remember that smile, when he has to go through the mortifying process of telling Pansy he has a date.

“I’m sorry, when did this happen?” she asks, delighted, “Was he really that grateful for your help?”

He frowns, “What?”

“Y’know, with whatever bullshit the ghouls in the Wizengamot were pulling?”

It takes him a second to understand what she’s saying, and then he giggles nervously, “No, no, Pans. The date isn’t with Harry. And if it was, I’d be extremely offended that you thought it was payback for a favor.”

“Oh, excuse me, sorry I assumed that you’d be going on a date with the only person you’ve been interested in since you were fourteen. What are you doing going on dates with random blokes? How do you get yourself into these situations?”

Draco winces, “As payback for a favor?”

Pansy is shrieking with laughter as she jumps onto his bed, kneeing him in the ribs in the process.

“Oh, fuck, ow, Pansy!”

She helps him select an acceptable date outfit, one of the few nice sweaters he has left and a pair of jeans without holes in them, and he ties his hair up while she yells at him to leave it down.

“It’s so pretty now, why would you even grow it out if you were just going to put up all the time?”

He tightens his ponytail, “I didn’t really mean to grow it out, it just happened.”

“Well, you’re certainly not allowed to cut it now!”

“It’s my hair,” Draco says.

Pansy stares blankly at him, “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“It’s not like I was planning on cutting it,” he mutters, “But I could, if I wanted to.”

“Uh huh.”

The date itself isn’t so bad. Oliver had made reservations at the Indian place in Hogsmeade, and he was perfectly polite. Charming, even. The conversation flows effortlessly, and Draco finds himself laughing more and more as the night progresses. They blow right through the mandated two hours and spend the rest of the evening wandering around the shops, not really buying anything. It’s really just an excuse to keep talking.

And then Oliver walks him part of the way back to the castle, all the way to the gate that is charmed to only let students and faculty pass through, and Draco remembers that it’s a date.

Oliver steps into Draco’s space, brushing a hand over the lapel of his peacoat, “So, how’d I do?”

“On?”

“Convincing you that we’re literal soulmates?”

Draco laughs breathily, “I’m sure you’re very persuasive, but…”

“Mh. Are you saying you need more information? Another date, perhaps?”

Oliver’s smile is soft, inviting. He wants Draco, and he knows what wanting Draco means, and he’s everything that a thirteen year old Draco imagined.

There is just one, glaring problem. Draco doesn’t want him.

“I don’t think another date is going to change anything,” Draco whispers, taking a small step backwards, “I had a great time, and you’ve been wonderful, I just…”

Oliver nods, ducking his head, “Right.”

He puts more distance between them, and Draco wants to broach it, wants to comfort someone that he’s come to see as a friend, but he knows that it would be counterproductive.

“I’m sorry.”

“Is this the part where you say it’s complicated?”

Draco can’t help but laugh, “It’s the part where I say it’s actually very simple. I’m in love with someone who doesn’t particularly care about me.”

“Ah. That is a situation I’m deeply familiar with,” Oliver says with a miserable twist of his mouth.

“I-”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s become something of a pattern for me. You are not the first, and you certainly won’t be the last person to tell me that they like me, just not as much as I like them.”

“Would it be awful of me to ask that we still be friends?”

Oliver shakes his head, as if dispelling the rain cloud above it, “No. I suspect we’ll be great friends, once I’ve found someone else to fixate on.”

“Let me know how that goes.”

“I promise, you will hear all about it. As long as I can hear about whatever tragic little story you’ve written for yourself.”

It’s not an inaccurate description. They part as friends, and Draco completes the trek across the grounds and into the castle, a little after curfew but not enough for him to be genuinely worried about getting caught. He slips into the common room with no incident and sleeps easily.

***

Ginny shoves her way into place beside him at breakfast, “What’s this I hear about you going on a date?”

“Would you let me eat before you launch the interrogation?”

“Late night?” she smirks.

“I was barely even late for curfew.”

“It was longer than two hours, then,” Harry chimes in.

Draco glares at him, which he silently congratulates himself on, “Fuck off.”

“What?”

“I agreed to two hours.”

“And Harry knows this because…”

“He was there.”

“Oliver Travers,” Harry offers, “Personally, he seems a little sleazy. I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

Draco considers homicide, briefly, and then thinks about all the work he’s put in keeping Harry alive. It would be such a waste to kill him now.

“The guy at the DMLE?” Ron asks, leaning across the table.

“Yeah.”

“He’s not the worst looking person you could go on a date with,” Ron says, considering, “I know he didn’t go to Hogwarts, but still, very Slytherin. I can see it.”

Draco appreciates the support, however pointless it is.

“It doesn’t matter,” he groans, “There won’t be a second one.”

Ron nods like he knows something, “Bad kisser.”

“No, what the hell,” Draco buries his head in his arms, hoping that he’ll wake up in his bed and all of this will be a bizarre, terrible dream.

“If he’s a good kisser, why aren’t you going on another date with him?”

Draco elects to ignore the rush of speculation that spawns from that comment, and goes back to eating his breakfast. He’ll wait until it dies down, and then he’ll set the record straight.

There is an inevitable lull, and Draco clears his throat, “Okay, here’s what happened. Oliver helped me out with something, I agreed to go on a date with him in exchange. I knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere, and it didn’t. We had dinner and talked for a while, and then I turned him down when he asked about a second date.”

“Because he’s not the person you’re in love with,” Ginny says, like this is a fact everyone is aware of.

The entire group goes silent. Draco gapes at her.

“What? Claire literally announced it at my birthday party. This is not news.”

“Is that true? Are you in love with someone? Like, right now? Actively?” Dean asks.

Pansy bursts into wild peals of laughter, head thrown back and everything.

“I hate all of you,” Draco spits, and takes a croissant with him as he abandons the rest of his food and storms out of the Great Hall.

No one tries to come after him.

***

Ginny manages to catch him with his guard down after Quidditch practice later in the week, “Hey, can we talk?”

“I don’t know, do you want to tell another one of my darkest secrets to a captive audience?”

“Is it a secret if someone literally already told everyone in the audience?”

“Claire made one off-hand comment that no one but you seemed to take as indication of anything!”

“How was I supposed to know the rest of our friends are dumb?”

Draco snorts, “I’m not really mad, you know. I just don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Ginny fidgets, plays with the tips of her fingers and doesn’t speak. Draco certainly won’t be the one to break the silence.

“I just… I get it, okay?”

Draco looks at her, really looks at her, and he sees it. All the scattered puzzle pieces come together, the hints of it he saw on her birthday, everything he’s seen since…

“It’s both of them, right?”

He couldn’t imagine Ginny loving Dean or Luna in isolation, not seriously, not now.

Ginny nods.

“Well,” Draco says, considering, “I don’t want to rain on your misery parade, but we know Dean is at the very least attracted to you. Or he was at one point. And Luna is… she’s Luna. I think-”

He can’t finish the thought, because he knows how painful it is to dream, to imagine.

***

Occasionally, Hermione will indulge Draco’s sentimentality and they’ll work on their project at his old spot, across from the entrance to the Room. It’s a small comfort, to feel the gentle ebb of its magic, though it won’t appear. It means that it’s not gone, and even if they don’t manage to fix it themselves, their research may serve as the foundation for someone else to do it.

It will serve the students of Hogwarts again, eventually. Some other lonely child will stumble across it and it will become a refuge for them, just as it was for Draco.

“You call it the Room of Hidden Things?” Hermione asks absently.

“I know some people make the distinction between the static version of the Room and the Room in general, but I like the name. I think it works, given that it is hidden most of the time. Besides, that’s what I was introduced to it as.”

Hermione looks up, her focus intense and sharp, a blade pressing but not breaking the skin, “So someone showed it to you?”

“Not exactly. I found it on my own, but Dumbledore knew I was using it, and he called it the Room of Hidden Things.”

“Hm,” her face screws up into something annoyed, “I was under the impression that he didn’t know about the Room.”

“Why?”

“He never acknowledged it to any of us, even when it could have been useful.”

“Well, he always was supremely unhelpful.”

Hermione snorts, “That’s an understatement. I mean, do you know how much shit could have been avoided if he just told us point-blank that you and Snape were on our side? Or if he tried to actually prepare any of us for what he knew he was going to ask us to do?”

“I think it was probably a little different for me,” Draco says, “At least I knew what was happening most of the time, even if he refused to help.”

“Honestly the most frustrating part was not knowing what was going on with you.”

Draco laughs, incredulous, “What? Why?”

“Harry wouldn’t fucking shut up about it. He would oscillate wildly between thinking you had never done anything wrong in your life and being convinced that you were the next Dark Lord. This was like, a day to day kind of thing.”

“What the hell?”

“Yeah. I think it really freaked him out when you just suddenly stopped giving a shit about anything. In fifth year? Your grades dropped and you stopped antagonizing him and you sort of just floated through the halls, not really looking at anything. At first, he really thought you were in danger and we needed to help you, but… you know what fifth year was like. Dumbledore basically shut him out completely, and then Sirius died, and Harry stopped caring for a while too.”

“But-” Draco cuts himself off. He shouldn’t want to hear more, not when it will inevitably become fodder for anxiety and nightmares later, but he can’t help himself, “Was there something I did? That flipped the switch?”

Hermione, for all her intelligence, takes it at face value. Simple curiosity.

“No. He just got… angrier, I guess, more combative. He started going back and forth a lot, on everything. His moods changed so quickly. And then, one day, it stopped. He settled a little, and he started saying you were being coerced. That’s basically how it stayed until the war was over and we found out that you were a spy the whole time.”

Draco is relatively sure what day it was that changed things. He doesn’t want to think about it. He directs the conversation back to the project, back to the Room and the magic that binds it together.

“Maybe we’re overthinking this,” Draco says, “We can’t test the boundaries of the Room because we can’t get inside, but we can do some diagnostic spells from the outside.”

“If it’s still there.”

“It is,” Draco frowns, “Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“I don’t know, there’s like a hum? A frequency? A tone? Like a television that’s turned on but not playing anything.”

Hermione blinks, “Okay, we’re going to move past the fact that you’re familiar enough with TVs to use that comparison, because the implications of what you’re saying are… Draco, is it a feeling or a sound?”

“Feeling, but they’re not that different, you know? It’s all vibration.”

“Yeah, yeah, got it. Have you felt it before?”

Draco narrows his eyes at her, “Um, is that a trick question?”

“It’s really, really not. Does all magic have a vibration to it?”

“Yes?”

“Holy shit,” Hermione breathes, “That’s not, Draco, that’s not something everyone can feel, not even most people. It’s very rare to be able to sense magic that way, intuitively.”

“Alright?”

“I have to… I need to think about this,” Hermione mutters, already stuffing loose sheets of parchment into her book bag, “I’ll see you at dinner.”

***

The last of the snow melts away and dead things start to grow again. Draco’s life becomes full to bursting, some of it good and some of it bad, but none of it empty. He and Harry orbit around the same people, and they never quite touch. It’s manageable. In a quiet corner of his mind, there is something that wants more. It’s like a living thing, insatiable, and Draco keeps it on a leash. He restrains himself the same way that Harry does. He restrains himself in a way that is visible.

Dean sometimes still sends him concerned glances over dinner. Luna leaves little glass bottles full of things that Draco doesn’t recognize in his pockets. When questioned, she says they’re talismans for happiness or luck or on one occasion, a healthy sex life.

In some ways, he feels the least lonely he’s ever been. He feels less like a bruised flower petal, just waiting to be crushed beneath someone’s boot. He’ll be sitting at dinner, surrounded by his friends, and his mind won’t turn to war or death or venom at all.

In other ways, the chasm widens every day. The sadness that has been his constant companion his entire life might be slipping away, but it still feels like a loss, like a thing he needs to grieve. He’ll catch a glimpse of Harry, still too tentative, reserved, and it’ll pull him right out of whatever conversation he’s in. He feels like he’s in some alternate reality, a world apart from the rest of their friends, none of whom seem to notice how quiet Harry has gone.

He wonders if this is normal, to the rest of them, and it’s just the absence of hostility that Draco is seeing. Maybe this is how Harry has always been, when he doesn’t hate you.

But then Draco remembers that laugh, the rest of fourth year, Harry fighting and, on occasion, fighting back. He remembers the first in a collection of things he loved about Harry, the one he kept close to his chest, clutched in shaking hands; the obvious fear in Harry’s eyes, the way it didn’t change him at all.

They’re all walking back from another Hogsmeade trip, in the middle of March, and Draco keeps peeking over at Harry, too concerned to be careful.

“Hey,” Ginny says, bumping into his purposefully, “What’s been up with you lately?”

Draco shrugs. He’s still distracted, trying to figure out if Harry is tired or upset at something specific, something solvable, something Draco could fix for him.

“Is it because of the thing?”

“The thing?” he repeats, amused.

“The big embarrassing thing we happen to have in common?”

Draco loops their arms together and tugs her properly into his side. He supposes it is. As always, he’s let himself get swept up in the tide of Harry’s need and he’s forgotten that fighting the current is something he can do, should do. Logically, he knows it’s not entirely healthy to be so consumed by another person, especially one who will never reciprocate, but he doesn’t really know how to do anything else. He’s trying, and failing more often than not.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I know you said that you didn’t want to talk about it, but I’m here if you ever change your mind, you know that, right?”

“Of course,” Draco says emphatically, “Gin, you’re the best friend I think I’ve ever had. It’s not because I don’t think you’ll listen.”

She brightens, “Can I tell Pansy you said that?”

“Fuck, no, she’d actually murder me in my sleep. But, I don’t know, Pansy’s my oldest friend and there was a time when we were more similar, it’s just… you and me, we’re the same person. It was kind of scary how well I knew you without knowing you at all.”

“It was the same for me,” Ginny chokes out past building tears.

“Please don’t cry, then I’ll start crying.”

“Okay, okay,” she takes a few deep breaths, “Just to be clear, this isn’t me asking you to talk about it, but why don’t you want to?”

“It’s quite tragic. Doomed. I think I just don’t want it to take up so much space in my life anymore.”

Ginny tries, successfully, to trip him. He doesn’t fall, but he does stumble over his own feet, cursing.

“Fuck, you know I got clumsy, that’s not fair.”

Ginny doesn’t laugh at him, which is the first sign that she’s a little annoyed.

“Gin?”

“You’re being stupid, aren’t you?” she hisses, “Self-sabotaging.”

“Genuinely, no. I’m actually trying to do the opposite. Promise. I’m not just saying that it’s doomed because I don’t want to be happy. It’s… really, really not going to work out for me, seriously, and I let it be my whole world for a long time anyways. I’m trying to move on from something that’s hurt me, a lot, or at least get rid of the most painful parts.”

Ginny doesn’t look entirely satisfied with his response, but she doesn’t push for more, and the rest of their friends go along pretending that they didn’t hear any of the conversation.

***

Hermione drags him back to the seventh floor more and more frequently so she can pester him with questions about how the Room feels. They do some diagnostic spells, but with little luck. Hermione tells him, cagily, that she has reason to believe the Room is Unplottable, which seems like overkill to Draco, as Hogwarts itself is Unplottable. There’s a reason why students get hopelessly lost within it, and it’s not just the sheer size or the staircases. It is impossible to map the inner workings of the castle. In any case, the complex tangle of shielding and cloaking enchantments that go into making it Unplottable and invisible also make it impervious to most examination they’ve tried.

They can’t even confirm Draco’s pet theory, that the magic of the Room is anchored with runic enchantments engraved deep in the stone, the entire reason that he now has a research partner in Hermione.

He doesn’t need it, not quite in the same way he did when he first took on the project, but it’s still a place he felt safe, another thing he loved that has been ravaged by war. Maybe he can’t fix his relationship with his mother, or bleed the darkness from the Manor, or make Harry’s grief and guilt and pain disappear, but he knows this is something that can be repaired. He wants to be the one to do it.

***

The weather continues to get warmer, and Quidditch starts to take up more and more of his time. They’re the underdogs of the season, brand new to the league and fresh out of a war, but they fight through April and May, and they win more than they lose. As they approach the end of term, they’re ranked fourth, with a real shot at the final match.

Draco is proud of himself, but he’s prouder of Ella, whose mind is outpacing her body- for now. She may not be as fast on a broom as Draco quite yet, but she spends hours pouring over plays with Ginny and she’s better than anyone at corralling the players, bringing different styles and personalities together into one cohesive whole. She’s going to make an excellent Seeker, and an even better Captain one day.

The last match before graduation is grueling. It’s the only game they’ve played at home the entire season, and Castelobruxo gets an astronomical lead very quickly. They spend most of the game catching up, and Draco spends it distracting the other Seeker and waiting for the lead to narrow enough that catching the Snitch would actually win them the game.

They win by ten points, in the end. He hits the ground with a little too much momentum and practically rolls off his broom, snitch in hand.

Ginny tackles him into a sweaty hug, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Draco laughs, “You were brilliant, Gin.”

“I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

He catches sight of Luna and Dean behind them, hand in hand, wearing matching grins. He takes hold of Ginny’s shoulders, turns her around, and shoves her into their arms.

People are flooding the pitch, forcing Draco to fight through the crowd to get to Ella. She’s standing on the sidelines, smiling wide and beautiful. She does her best to deprive him of his hearing.

“You were so good! I can’t believe we made it to the finals!”

He tries to get some distance between his ear and her mouth, “Just think, next year that’ll be you.”

That seems to incapacitate her. She clings tightly to his hand as they start to look for Marcie. He isn’t afraid of losing her in the crowd. For a moment, he isn’t afraid of anything. The three of them, him and Ella and Marcie, collide and begin to jump around excitedly in a tangle of limbs. They’re laughing. Ella is crying a little.

He doesn’t know how to describe it. There’s a part of him that is deeply, deeply sad. He thinks maybe there always will be. It’s distant, though. There is so much more happiness in this moment, in most moments now, and it overwhelms the sadness. It drowns it out.

He heads off to shower and change, and then he meets them back at the path to Hogsmeade. Harry is there when he returns, chatting with Ella about how he thinks the match went. Marcie is standing beside them, looking bored. Her face lights up when she sees Draco.

“I have so much to tell you,” she’s smiling, but she says it very seriously.

He gestures for her to go ahead, and the four of them begin to make the trek to Hogsmeade. She regales him with the latest drama from her school. Lauren and the boy she likes- no, not Rowan’s ex-boyfriend, that was over weeks ago- went to the movies and he held her hand in the popcorn bucket.

Draco wrinkles his nose, “Wasn’t it greasy? That doesn’t seem very pleasant.”

“She said it was the best thing that has ever happened to her.”

He shrugs. Who is he to judge?

“And Becca got into a fight, like a real one, with punching and everything.”

“Becca? Sweet, sensitive Becca?”

Marcie nods furiously, “It was so cool. Not that hitting someone is cool, but it was a boy so.”

“Oh, that’s fine then.”

Andromeda and Teddy are waiting for them outside the restaurant, because Teddy is exercising his full lung capacity by shrieking very loudly. She hands him off to Draco as soon as they approach. He doesn’t mind a little crying.

He just bounces Teddy lightly on his hip, cooing in his ear, “It’s alright. It’s okay. You’re fine, aren’t you? Just a little upset. That’s okay.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Andromeda asks, after she’s already passed him a burping towel and his teething beads.

Draco smiles at her, “Of course not. You can go in, if you want. If he doesn’t calm down in ten or fifteen minutes, we can take turns or something.”

She sighs in relief and kisses him on the cheek, “Thank you. My energy is not what it used to be. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’m sure.”

Draco walks the length of the little alleyway beside the restaurant and talks softly to Teddy. He’s calmer after a few minutes, but everytime Draco stops walking or bouncing him, he starts crying again, so Marcie comes to grab his order and they get his food to-go. Harry offers to switch off with him, but Draco politely refuses.

“It’s alright,” he says, “I’m happy to take this shift.”

Harry doesn’t protest, but he does linger outside the restaurant for a moment too long, looking back at Draco with something that isn’t quite a smile.

Draco spends the evening outside with Teddy in the balmy night air, looking up at the stars and telling Teddy everything he can remember about Remus Lupin. He thinks about the summer with Marcie and the fall with Ella, how desperately he wanted to erase all of the bad things they’d seen, how futile the wanting is. There are some things that love just cannot fix.

But he can do this. He can listen to Marcie’s gossip and read the books she tells him about in her letters, he can do core workouts with Ella that border on insane and let her make fun of him, he can give them a family. He’s done his part to make the world a little kinder, a little more inhabitable for Ella and Marcie. He’s made sure that Teddy will not have to see the same horrors they did, the ones Draco did.

He just has to care. The rest of it, he doesn’t have to do alone.

***

Ginny flings herself onto the pitch next to him, panting.

“Fuck, that was the worst two hours of my life,” Draco gasps, “You’re actually sadistic, oh my God.”

“Baby.”

She’s been ramping up their practices in preparation for the final match of the season, which they’ll play against Durmstrang just after the end of term. If he’s honest, Draco doesn’t completely understand the fervor. It’s not like they really have a shot at winning, however miraculous their season has been so far.

“Stretch, shower, eat,” Ginny chants under her breath like a mantra, “Stretch, shower, eat.”

Still, it’s several minutes before they move at all. Draco goes through the motions of stretching his worn muscles, starting at the neck and working his way down his body, until he’s warm and malleable, until he feels as if he could be pulled apart like taffy. The hot shower almost puts him to sleep, and dinner afterwards actually does. He and Ginny doze off, ridiculously early, on the rug in the Gryffindor common room.

Draco has no dreams.

Ron wakes him a couple of hours later with an apologetic smile, “Things are about to get loud in here, if you want to go sleep in your dorm.”

He peers around the room, which is obviously being set up for an improvised party of some kind. A couple sixth years are pushing all of the furniture against the walls, and Neville is levitating a case of Firewhisky down the stairs and into the common room.

He blinks the sleep from his eyes, and finds that he’s no longer tired. Or, rather, that he’s reached a level of exhaustion that’s tipped over into restlessness. He could go back the dungeons, but chances are, he’ll have a hard time falling back asleep.

“No, I’m awake.”

“Do you want to stay then? It’s someone’s birthday, I think. Not too sure who.”

“Is that alright? If I stay?”

Ron is unimpressed, “Obviously. No one cares who’s here.”

It’s true, really. No one questions his presence, and once Ginny wakes up, he doesn’t feel out of place at all. She slings an arm around his shoulders, and they pass the next few hours getting steadily drunk and talking about absolutely nothing. He drinks away the ache in his muscles, and Ginny drinks away the thin veneer of sadness that she usually carries around.

“We’re never going to be together like this again, are we?” Ginny whispers in the dark, “After term ends.”

She’s already had offers from half of the professional teams in the United Kingdom, and though she hasn’t signed a contract yet, Draco knows she’s set on the Hollyhead Harpies. She’s just waiting on the final details, including what date she’ll have to report to training.

“No.”

“Sometimes I wish we could live in last summer forever, even though it was shit.”

Draco smiles, “Me too.”

But he knows that Ginny’s right. It’ll never be like that again, not really. He still has no idea what he’s going to do after Hogwarts, but he has this inescapable feeling that going back to Crawley Down would be like trying to fall back asleep and continue a dream that’s already over.

“I’m going to miss you,” Ginny sighs into his shoulder.

Eventually, he has to make the mad dash to the dungeons without getting caught. Curfew has become increasingly relaxed, but he’d still get in a lot of trouble for wandering around the castle in the middle of the night while obviously intoxicated. The riskiest stretch is the stairs. There’s nowhere to hide when you’re stuck on a moving staircase.

It’s on the stairs that he runs into Harry, who is presumably going up to the common room. Harry peers at him in the low light, takes a sniff, and recoils a bit.

“Draco,” he says, scandalized, “Are you drunk?”

“No,” Draco answers honestly. He’s a little tipsy, but definitely not drunk.

Harry sighs, “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Probably because I smell awful. That’s not my fault, though. Ginny spilled her firewhisky on me.”

Draco leans back against the railing of the stairs and waits for it to stop moving. It’s making him a little queasy. He’s always gotten motion sickness easily, unless he’s on a broom. He threw up on the train to Hogwarts his first year.

The stairs click into place, and Draco starts to descend. Harry follows him.

“Are you going to go back to following me around everywhere?”

He’s thinking about what Hermione said, about Harry changing his mind every day, and he’s wondering if Harry is still unsure. Not about whether or not Draco is a Death Eater, just… Hermione hadn’t understood him until recently. Maybe Harry doesn’t really know what to make of him either.

Harry reaches out to catch his elbow, “No. I’m just making sure you get back to your common room alright.”

“Oh. That’s very nice of you. You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, you know.”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry says softly.

“You are. Even though you’re sad right now.”

Harry shifts to take more of Draco’s weight. The line of his body is warm and solid against Draco’s side, “I’m not sad.”

“It won’t last forever, promise. I thought I’d never be happy again but I am. It happens all the time.”

Harry doesn’t really respond, and the conversation is seemingly over. Draco can’t imagine ever getting sick of this. He knows it doesn’t mean anything- Harry is selfless, good, in a way that Draco is not- but it’s still nice. It feels like eating a warm dinner, sinking into a hot bath. His limbs are heavy, in a good way, and he knows that Harry has him. He’s not going to fall.

Harry doesn’t keep his word about taking Draco to the common room. Instead, he takes Draco all the way to his dorm and deposits him on his bed. Draco remembers the lightning bolt carved into the frame too late, but Harry doesn’t notice it. He’s too focused on taking Draco’s shoes off and Conjuring a glass. He casts an Augmenti, makes Draco drink it, then casts it again.

“That’s for the morning, alright?”

Draco nods. He doesn’t think he could speak, even if he knew what to say.

“Goodnight, Draco.”

***

Draco sits by the lake, staring out at the endless expanse of water. It’s not really endless, and he knows it, but his vision is no longer good enough to see the other side so he imagines that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

Only him, and the rocky beach, and the water.

Distantly, he can hear footsteps behind him. Harry’s distinctive scent, sandalwood and cloves and vanilla, washes over him as Harry lowers himself to the ground beside Draco.

“I think I owe you an apology,” he says, and the words are so startling, so incomprehensible, that Draco jerks violently.

His heart is already racing, mind telling him this is a trap, “Pardon?”

Harry sighs and drifts back, laying down and looking up at the sky, “I didn’t know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Potter.”

“I haven’t brought it up, because Hermione said you might not want an apology and I felt like I owed you that much, but Draco…” he sits up again. Draco won’t look at him, but he can sense Harry’s restless movement, “I can’t keep not talking about it.”

“Hermione was right.”

He’s going to be sick. He doesn’t want Harry to say sorry. He can’t actually think of anything worse. It’s one thing to know that he didn’t deserve the treatment, it’s another to have someone actually say it. To have Harry say it.

“For sixth year, at least-”

“Does it matter?”

He looks at Draco with a strange expression, somewhere between confused and frustrated, “Of course it does. I almost killed you.”

Draco shrugs, “Like you said, you didn’t know I wasn’t really a Death Eater.”

“Even if you weren’t just acting on Dumbledore’s orders, and you really were a Death Eater, I’d still regret doing it. And what I meant was, I didn’t know what the spell did, when I used it.”

“I’m not upset about it,” Draco says, “If that’s any consolation.”

“It’s not.”

There’s a long silence, and then Harry manages to find something worse to say.

“I saw them. The scars I left. Last night, when I took you back to your dorm, your shirt rode up. I saw them.”

“Please. You don’t need to do this.”

“Look at me?”

Draco does, because he can’t say no to Harry. Harry’s eyes are so, so green. Right now, they’re sad and tired and a little desperate. He has the sudden thought that maybe Harry needs to do this, the same way Draco needed to sweat out the pain of last summer.

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, and then waits for a while before he says anything else, “I wouldn’t have used it if I knew what it did. I already had serious doubts about how much you wanted to be doing what I thought you were doing, and when I found out that you had been on our side all along… it made perfect sense to me. I know that you were never the person I thought you were in the first place, and you certainly weren’t then.”

He takes a breath and breaks eye contact. Draco can feel hot tears building behind his eyes and he tries to hold them off, but he can’t.

“I know that crucio wouldn’t have hit. I know you didn’t mean it.”

Draco cries. He cries for a long time, and when he’s done, Harry is still there, still sitting beside him on the lake shore. He feels raw in the worst way. He doesn’t understand why Harry couldn’t have just left him alone, and for the very first time, he thinks he hates him. He hates Harry Potter.

So he tells him, “I hate you.”

“Would it be easier, if you did?” Harry asks, voice soft.

Draco laughs, and it’s wet and grating, but it’s genuine, “No, I don’t think it would. Couldn’t you have just listened to Hermione?”

“Eh, I think we’re at the point where there’s not much left we can do to hurt each other.”

If only that were true. Draco peeks over at Harry, and he’s surprised to find that Harry is looking at him too, with warmth and understanding and kindness. There’s always been something contradictory about Harry’s eyes, a steadiness at odds with how wild his body and his magic are. It feels dangerous, like a beast on a chain. His wand is out, just resting in his loose grip. Draco realizes, with a start, that it’s his. It’s the wand that Draco got at Ollivander’s when he was eleven, the wand that he handed to Harry during the final battle, the wand that killed Voldemort.

He shivers.

“I don’t know why I haven’t given it to you,” Harry says, rolling the wand between his hands, “It’s been eating at me, a little.”

And then he stills, face conflicted, and slowly extends it towards Draco.

Draco shakes his head, horrified, “I don’t want it.”

“But-”

“No.”

Harry laughs, but it’s an awful, painful thing, “I don’t understand.”

Draco can’t explain himself. He likes that the last thing he did with it, with the wand that had seen so much death and darkness, was hand it over. He likes that no matter what else happens, no matter where life takes them, there will always be a part of Draco there in the knobby wood, forever waiting to be called upon, ready to serve.

Though it’s not enough, not enough to quell the insistent demand for more, not enough to slake his thirst, it’s a small comfort.

“I don’t understand why I-” Harry pulls the words from inside himself, and it doesn’t sound easy, “I think it would have killed me, maybe, to give it back. I can’t… I haven’t used another wand, even though I feel guilty every time I pick it up, thinking of you without your wand. Mine broke, while we were on the run, and it was like losing a part of myself, and I knew I was making you feel that way, but I just couldn’t let it go.”

Draco lowers his head until it’s almost between his knees, “I gave it to you. You should keep it. I’m not sure if it would even respond to me now, and I had to get a new one before last term anyways.”

He could obsess over what it means. He could spend every waking moment thinking about Harry reaching for the wand when he needs something, about it becoming a part of him.

But he sees the waves coming, and he lets them crash over him, and then he lets them wash back out to sea. The unpredictable torrents of emotion haven’t stopped, but they don’t bowl him over anymore. He knows how to keep his footing. He knows how to keep himself from drowning.

There will always be a line that connects them, that tugs at Draco’s heart, but he’s stronger than the pull of it.

[wehearwesay]

A scene worth a 1000 words

All night, rain had been drumming against the window, shaking the glass violently in its pane. No storm, no thunder, just the steady swish of tropical downpour

It helps me lie awake, but at the same time, doesn't keep me from falling asleep. The rain has also made it quite humid, not enough to break a sweat, no, but enough to feel it.

Perhaps that's what made the first few weeks of monsoon insufferable for few, the feeling of the temperature rising, even despite it raining.

Eventually, my body relaxed, senses nulling, and I fell asleep

The next time my eyes opened, the view was a scene worth a thousand words; I woke up, and could feel cold sweat on my forehead, taking a not so wild guess, the temperature had risen somewhere in the night, then dropped again. The rain hadn't settled, but only grew in force, along the rain came the roll of thunder which had woken me up, and outside the window, the morning mist was visible. 

The sun, inch by inch, rose above the ranks of buildings, and little by little, faint daylight washed over the city, most blocked by the heavy black clouds hanging up in the sky, making it so half the town was still covered in blue-black shadows.

The city was quiet, too, which was rather unusual, the mist blanketing the ground seemed to have brought along a carpet of silence, as no bird chirping, nothing, was audible. 

The skies were overcast, threatening to break apart, a melancholy deep slate gray, with hundreds if not thousands of raindrops . The direct dim light from the sun seemed to color the raindrops slightly, the parts of the sun, which were visible through the crevices of the dark clouds, shone indirect light like I had never seen before. The corners of the storm clouds were colored a pretty mix of sunrise colors, which dyed and faded the outlines. Light and shadow melt together and fused as one. It was similar to dropping pastel neons on a completely black and white canvas.

To me, this was a rare sight

Or maybe it was just I who didn't appreciate or experience nature's beauty enough.

People say the most beautiful things are experienced in the strangest of times, so pure that nature keeps it hidden away from the threat that is humankind. I can imagine, if the world was awake right now, there would only be a crowd of people photographing this sight, rather than appreciating it from their own eyes. Yes, pictures are a gateway to memories that might be forgotten, but seeing this, I found it hard to believe I could forget it. 

To say I feel ashamed is an understatement;

because soon, despite having this awe-filled sight right in front of my eyes, instead of memorizing it, looking at it, my eyelids felt heavy.

And despite myself, I fell asleep.

Beautiful things come and go, I guess

Despite being somewhat ashamed, after thinking it through, I think I am rather prideful that instead of staying awake long enough to remember that perfectly, and possibly take a photo of it, (hypocrisy, I am aware) I fell asleep. Because, the main reason I picked up my pen, and sat down, writing this, is due to the scene being fuzzy in my mind. The main reason I sat here, trying to imagine, challenging my memory, is because of the reason I fell asleep.

And I may be called selfish, but I am glad I didn't take a picture, and now, I get to keep this actual scene to myself. 

Like a little gift from nature to me,

The main goal for writers is to make the reader so invested, that they actually imagine themselves in the author's story, and I could have described the scene better, but I am quite selfish.

-me

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"Happy little mistakes"

  -Bob Ross

[roydeezed]

In Winter, deciding what she is, she freezes. There's something about her then that begs you not to wake. Be it the heavy covers or the cold air that hangs around. She says, "Please don't, I can't seem to be anything for you." She says it in the dead trees and the frozen rivers and lakes and the chill that seeps into your bones. And you wish you could say something back in a voice loud enough for her to hear. But you're just one person. So you say it back through the small things. You say it through the warm drink in your hand that wakes you up in the morning. You say it through the layers of wool and polyester and nylon that keep you warm enough to talk. You say it through the walks and runs and the quiet contemplations as the sunrise sparks into a fiery kaleidoscope off of the snow and you say it through the things you do in a frozen city that make you it's heart beat. Going to your job. Shoveling the drive way. Meeting friends and eating soup in a cafe and being alive. You say, because she knows the truth and she knows this year's not as great as before, "It's not that bad. I like you just the way you are right now." You say it so because you do, and because the two of you cut scars into each other that you know might never heal. That that was the price of living with one another, and loving one another. You each worry about the damage you do without realizing how you're the reason the marks of the past fade. You worry about not healing the new ones, but the old ones are scabbed over and long since faded. And you say it all in such a small voice that you worry she might not hear. But... you're not alone. Because an uncountable number of others say it with you. A chorus of appreciation.

And come Spring, he hears it. Her mood is temperamental. She swings in with a dance, her smile a portent of what she will be, come a few months. She lights up the skies and melts the snow and goes to sleep as you do but wakes up moody. He's overcast and somber. He asks, "Won't you please stay inside? I want this all to myself." But you have to say back, struggle as you might. Lie as you might, "Let me in on it, it looks fun." So you trudge through the miserable and unnatural midday darkness, the rain refracting any sunlight that sneaks past the persistent clouds into oblivion. And you see her Kore, as she thinks and considers and contemplates. She's hunched over the clouds, towering over the hills and forests in the distance, the storm a skirt draped over her crossed legs. His gaze pierces you as go about your day and he promises you that he will change. A chill runs down your spine as you wonder what that promise might bring. And as you try to sleep, the world outside seeming to play timpanis of thunder and hi-hats of rain to lull you into sleep, she crashes in with the wind. A percussive jazz solo of night as she keeps you awake. You wanted to sleep but that desire was shattered when you looked at her. The drumbeats of loose window nets, houses whipped by rain and wind and the whipping of flora betrayed more than she wanted to let on. As his wind screams through valleys of buildings and dips in the road, scoring out space between hills and ditches, you see the emotion behind it all. Is it anger, is it elation? His face is a whirl never settling straight. And it demands to know, "Does it matter?"

And it's that defiance that carries him into summer. A blazing paragon that beats down. That equally sneers at you to stand and helps you get up. One that says, "Keep up!", and doesn't look back. You hear the joy in his voice but also a challenge. And for days, precious days, you wonder if you can. And then suddenly you're running alongside of him laughing, the two of you trading victories and losses, of days spent on the beach and in parks and on tennis courts and tracks, keeping up and falling behind and rushing past. Until all of a sudden you don't hear that laughter anymore. He's bent over and gasping for breath as he gestures you on, never one to admit defeat, promising to catch up. But you know the truth, that your time with him is never long enough, so you you jog backwards and with a smile you yell out, "I'll see you soon!", before turning around and running off.

And into... Autumn. Somehow they got ahead of you. Again. And again they've changed before you can. They're warm. And cold. But always cozy. And shy. But you want to know who they are. They wear knitted sweaters of fallen leaves and are always holding cups of the perfect morning. You want to try. You want to ask. But you know they drink it for you. So you don't have to find out what it really tastes like. Some days they're Fall, others Autumn. You don't know what the difference is but it makes you happy to see them be themself. Their hair changes from green to yellow to orange to red with highlights of every kind hidden underneath. And you look under that mop of hair to find out what goes on underneath and you see bright shining eyes. And you hear them mutter, "So I wonder if..." And you steal those words from their lips and try to follow along. To understand every little thought they think. You want to get to know them. Through everything, they interest you. You meet them in libraries, in cafes, and under withering trees with crunching leaves underneath. They're buried in a book that seems to hold the secrets of the universe in it. And you try to find something similar, equivalent, to devour before you meet them. You spend so much time trying to understand it before you do that when you finally get to them, they've just dusted off their pants and are heading home, their favourite bookmark cradled between the back of the book and the last page. You manage to mumble out a goodbye and hope to see them again next year.

And when you see him again, he's Winter. The thoughts had piled up and gotten too much and like an awning piled up with snow, he looks like he's caved into himself. You don't feel much better than he looks so you reach out a hand, both of you on your asses, knocked down by the year that came before. "So how does this work?", he asks. You wonder too. Do you both hope to pull each other up or do you both just sit and wait to be buried by the avalanche of the holidays and the new year? Do you dig yourself out or do you just let the cold of sleep take over. He brightens at the last ideas but you know you can't let it end like that. So you pull and say, "Let's find out."

[tae-cup]

Down With The Ship | One

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female!Reader

Summary: Captain Jeon Jungkook; a beautiful mess of blood and gold. His greatest treasure, may also be his greatest downfall.

Genre: Pirate!au

Warnings: Mild mild mild sexism, talks of arranged marriage, people being asses and some people being nice

Rating: T for Teens

A/N: I’m so impatient asdfkhslkfh Cross posted to AO3

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

 Word Count: 8.2k Words

Network Tag: @castlebangtan

Other: Masterlist

Previous (teaser) | Next 

          The ship had been sitting in the harbor for exactly two days, three hours, 30 minutes, and 41 seconds. You timed it, tapping your foot against the tiles of the hallway. The moon was still in the sky and wouldn’t be rising for another three hours. You had three hours to convince the crew of that ship to take you in. Why? Well, you didn’t want to get married, that’s why. 

         The gold band around your ring finger was more of a shackle than any chain or handcuff. You snuck out of the backdoor. It was...easier than you thought it. You wore a pair of baggy pants that you stole from your brother and a nightshirt with the end result being a tragic mess. 

          On your way, you ran into a young guard. His face looked new, so he was likely in training. He looked startled to see you there and you could almost feel the nerves rolling off of him. You smiled and he looked hesitantly from you to the backdoor. 

“Hey aren’t you-?” He started, but you swiftly kneed him where the sun didn't shine and sprinted. He groaned in pain, falling down with a loud thud and probably waking up half the household. You didn’t have much time. 

          The wind ran through your hair as you hurried down the darkened streets. You tried your best to take the back routes, the smell of the sea drawing you nearer. You had always felt a connection to the sea, you couldn’t stay away from it. The crystal waters, the froth of a storm, the salt that tinged the air. You fell in love with it and fell out of love with your home. Ever since...You shook your head, trying to forget the past. 

         Your skin longed for the cool water to lap over it, to caress your body, and take you away from the awful life you had. Well, it wasn’t that awful, but it was certainly no way to live. Yes, you had luxurious items, but that wasn’t what you wished for. Adventure called to you as you neared the docks. The distant shouts of men and the sound of metal clanking against metal invaded your senses. In your hand was a small bag of necessities; a change of clothes, undergarments, a pen, and a notebook of papers. You made your way to the ship you had been watching for the past three days. 

         The ship was tall and proud, the mast reaching high into the sky. The sails were drawn in, the anchor weighing down the wood. The ship looked weathered but sturdy. There was a dim candle flame flickering in the round window of the ship. You took a deep breath and stood outside the hull. The walkway was drawn up so you weren’t left with many options. You checked your watch. You had two hours to sunrise. Two hours until everyone would begin looking for you, maybe less. You looked around the dock, searching for and gathering stones. You took a deep breath, returning to your spot. 

         Five chances. You held the other four rocks in your arm and then with your dominant hand, you gripped one of the stones. You winded up and threw. Clank. It hit the hull. No movement. You sighed and moved to aim for the window. Clank. It missed by a few feet. Three more chances. Your hands clenched and unclenched nervously. You had never been...the most athletic. Clank. Closer. Clank. Right on the money. 

        You held your breath, waiting as the candlelight suddenly disappeared from the window and the small circle popped open. The candle stuck out, now attached to an arm. The dawn was fast arriving, the sky lighting up into a gray sky, the clouds still overcast. 

“Who goes there?” A deep voice barked out. 

“I was wondering if you had any, uh, any openings on your ship for one more?” You called out, your voice traveling easily in the quiet. Upon hearing your voice, the hand withdrew, and instead, a face popped out of the hole. 

“Little girl, do you know who we are?” The man had very defining features, his nose prominent and his lips wide. 

“No, but I really just want to get out of here, you have to let me on.” You could almost hear your mother calling for you. 

“There’s a merchant ship coming in the morning, you can hop on their ship.” You saw him look you over. 

“Achem, sir, you don’t understand I...I need to go now.” 

“You being chased or something?” The man narrowed his eyes. 

“Something like that.” You smiled weakly. 

        Surprisingly, he laughed loudly and disappeared from the window. A few moments later he appeared on deck, a coat hastily thrown on as he lowered the stairs for you. 

“Climb aboard.” He held out his hand and you hurried forward heart pounding. “I’m Taehyung, the gunner on this here crew.” He explained as he redrew the walkway. “Let’s just say this isn’t the first time we’ve helped a runaway.” 

“Thank you.” You said breathlessly. 

“Though, we’ve never helped one quite as pretty as you, maybe Jin?” He seemed to go off into his own tangent. 

“I think you’re very...pretty, sir?” You said awkwardly. 

“I’m glad you think so.” He laughed and slung his arm around your shoulder. “I think you’ll fit in just fine-”

“Kim Taehyung, who the hell is this.” A new voice barked. A tall man appeared from the shadows. 

“Ah, Jungkook, this is…” Taehyung turned to you expectantly. 

“Y/N.” You finished for him, summoning a smile despite wanting to turn around and run. 

        The man, Jungkook, was intimidating, his aura commanding attention. He had inky black hair and even darker eyes. The man looked like he had just gotten out of bed and yet he still looked handsome. 

“Y/N, this is Jungkook, our fearless captain.” Taehyung stood up straighter. 

“Nice to meet you.” You bowed your head. 

“Why are you here?” Jungkook wasted no time. 

“I’m running away.” You were apprehensive to tell him much else. What if he just delivered you back home after hearing your story? Would he think you were a stuck up brat? 

“From who?”

“My mother,” You started, he scoffed. “And an arranged marriage.” You continued quietly, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. The ring on your left finger felt heavier than ever as he scrutinized you. 

“Fine. You can stay, but you need to pull your weight.” He turned on his heel. “Follow me.” 

Taehyung rushed forward, shoving you along as well. 

“Exciting! He’s never this quick in his judgment, though he’s always had a soft spot for young ladies such as yourself.” He whispered. 

“Y/N?!” Your mother’s distinct voice called. “Is that you?!” 

“Shit.” You muttered. Of course, that guard went and tattled on you! What happened to the scout’s honor?  Taehyung turned, along with Jungkook. 

“I suppose that’s your people?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow and walked purposefully past you. He was at the side of the ship in four strides. “Who goes there?”

“Lady Y/LN. I request my daughter to be returned immediately!” Your mother’s shrill voice shot through the harbor. You winced at her tone, eyes meeting Jungkook’s. You begged him not to tell her, but he didn’t seem to register you at all. 

“I’m sorry, we have no woman on this ship, Lady Y/L/N.” Jungkook responded curtly and walked away from the side, ignoring your mother’s protests. You watched him, confusion and shock written on your face. Did he just...defend you? No one had ever done that before, taken your side. It had always been you versus the world. 

“Get ready to set sail. It seems we can’t stay here much longer and Ms. Y/N, I need to speak with you immediately.” Jungkook clasped his hands behind his back, walking forward. 

          You hurried after him, falling into step just a pace or two behind. You weren’t well versed in crew behaviors, but if he was the captain, he was much like a nobleman. And you always had to fall a step behind a nobleman, regardless if you were a man or woman, but especially if you were a woman. 

           There were shouts as Taehyung wrestled his crewmates out of bed. As you sat in, what you assumed to be, Jungkook’s office, you could hear the footsteps of several other people. They all scurried to the demands of a new muffled voice. 

          Jungkook took a seat, propping his legs up on the desk and crossing them. You realized he was, in fact, no nobleman at all. He watched you carefully as you sat across from him. 

“So, you’re going to tell me all about yourself, little miss, and then I’m going to give you two options, got it?” He rested one arm on the back of his chair, the other hanging over the armrest. 

“Right.” You cleared your throat, still trying to take in all that had happened. His eyes appraised you, flickering from your eyes to your lips to your neckline. 

“Well, I’m Y/N, as you know. I ran away because I’m being forced to marry someone I don’t love, simple.” You explained dryly. You flashed your engagement ring and then slid it off, pocketing it. “Haneul isn’t a bad guy, but we don’t mix at all and I don’t think I’d survive a day married to him.” 

“Alright.” That seemed to be a good enough excuse. The captain pursed his lips in thought. “I’ll give you two options. Option one; you join my crew full time. Option two: we drop you off at the next town and you’ll be on your own.” 

“Both sound...not so bad.” You thought for a moment. He seemed amused. You wanted adventure, you didn’t want to be dumped off on your own again. “I’ll join your crew.”

“Do you know who we are?” 

“No, I just saw your ship, and, well, I’ve always loved the sea.” Your eyes went distant as you thought about it. 

       Jungkook smirked, letting out a chuckle of laughter. He took his feet off the desk and leaned on the desk, chin resting on his interlaced fingers. 

“Welcome to the crew of the Bulletproof Boy Scouts.” 

Shit.

           Okay, so jumping aboard the most feared pirate crew of the decade was not the best decision you had ever made. It was right up there with agreeing to an engagement you knew you would never follow through with and stealing your mother’s jewelry. 

“You can’t fish, you can’t wield a sword, and you can’t even cook. So what can you do, little lady.” Jungkook frowned, drumming his fingers impatiently on the desk. 

         The slight swaying of the ship was making you nauseous and it didn’t help that you were below decks and not up above. It felt extremely stuffy, borderline claustrophobic. 

“I can draw. I’ll help you navigate and write out maps.” You cleared your throat, trying to settle your stomach. 

“Hm…” His eyes were cold, calculating, as he seemed to think it over. “I suppose so, but you’ll need to help Jimin with his chores as well.” 

            Jungkook stood and motioned for you to follow him. He opened the wooden door and led you down a series of halls. They were short and thin. Your shoulders almost brushed the sides if you walked straight. You didn’t feel...scared of Jungkook. He was definitely intimidating, but you didn’t fear for your life. You had heard the tales of his crew being merciless and cutthroat, not sparing a single person on a ship if they happened to raid it. 

“There are some things we need to go over.” He stopped and turned to you. 

      You stopped short, trying not to bump into him, but a wave of dizziness washed over you. You were definitely feeling a bit seasick, but you had enough pride not to tell him. 

“Which are?” You stared at him, your expression confused. 

“In order to become a full-fledged crew member, you need to go through our trials.” He explained. 

        You waited for him to continue, your attention still on him. You were very good at following orders, you had been doing so your entire life. Reading social cues and understanding another’s position were all things you had been taught at a young age. It was mostly to prepare you for a valuable suitor, but you never had any intention of following through on that part. 

“The trials are three things that you should be able to get through easily.” The dark-haired male turned back around, beckoning you to follow him. You fell into step once more. He stopped outside of a door. 

“In here are your quarters. Now, before you go in, I’ll tell you about the trials. First, you need to spend a night in the holding cell below deck. Second, eating Jin’s carrot soup. It sounds innocent, but there’s always been something off about it. Third, you need to walk the plank.” 

“Walk the plank?” Your eyebrows shot up. 

         Yes, you could float in the water, even keep yourself upright, but you had never been a strong swimmer.

         “If this is your ploy to get rid of me, it won’t work, captain.” You gave him a mocking salute, before remembering your place. 

He chuckled darkly. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you, Little miss.” You ignored the shiver that rolled down your spine. 

“Y/N.” You interrupted, getting tired of being referred to as ‘Little Miss’. 

“You earn your name here, darling.” He tilted his head and then turned around. “Meet at the jail tonight for your first trial.” He then proceeded to stride into the hallway and disappear around the corner. 

            You sighed and took a glance around the hall. It was completely silent except for the creaks and groans of the ship. You carefully opened the door. Inside, there was a desk pushed to the corner of the right wall. The left wall had a bed and on the wall farthest from you was a small round window. 

          You rushed forward and unlatched the window, letting the night air into your tiny room. You curled your fingers around the cold edge of the window, taking in a deep breath to settle your nerves. You swayed slightly, still trying to get a hang of walking on a ship. Five deep breaths later and you resigned yourself to shut the window. You quite liked the fresh air, but it was starting to get chilly.

            The morning sun had finally graced its golden hue across the shimmering ocean. The waves skipped by, nothing more than a blur as the ship sailed away from the port. You opened your small bag and organized your things. You placed the notebook and pen in the desk drawer and stored your spare change of clothes under the bed. 

           It wasn’t anything too fancy, just a summery yellow dress that you knew would come in handy as it got warmer.  There was a soft knock at the door and you would have missed it if it weren’t for you already standing near the door. 

         You pulled out a string of white lace and tied your hair up with it. Then you shoved the rest of your belongings haphazardly under the bed. 

“Hello? Is our little sea artist in there?” A voice you didn’t recognize called out to you. 

“Yes, coming!” You knocked into the bed frame, hissing and cursing under your breath.

          Being on the ship was already reversing years of properly trained manners. It wasn’t like the principles of dance and etiquette had ever really stuck in your mind anyway. You had only been on the ship known as BTS for about two hours and you had already grown attached.

         You threw open the door, nursing your smarting elbow. A man with broad shoulders and the most perfectly shaped face you had ever seen stood in the doorway. He had an eyebrow raised, his hand frozen mid knock. You cleared your throat awkwardly. 

“I’m sorry have we already met? I’m pretty bad with names.” It was a lie, but to be fair, the morning had been hectic. He just let out a laugh at your antics. 

“No, I don’t believe so. I’m Kim Seokjin, but please, just call me Jin.” He said, dipping his head. 

“Y/N.” You responded in turn and followed his gesture. 

“Nice to meet you! I’m the boatswain here on this fine ship.” He grasped your arm and dragged you above deck. “The Captain asked me to give you a tour and introduce you to our crew.” 

“Oh my god, I’m supposed to eat your soup later.” 

He seemed deeply offended and he crossed his arms. “I don’t know why that’s still on the stupid trials. I don’t add any weird ingredients, it’s just carrot!” 

           Jin was the opposite of any rumors you had heard while Jungkook hit the mark perfectly. The contrast was astonishing.

           The wind whipped around the loose strands of your hair as you stepped into the blinding sunlight. Waves flickered by, splashing harmlessly against the hull. Jin led you over to the bow of the ship where a young man was standing at a large steering wheel. He was accompanied by a shorter man and they were giggling about something. The picture was pretty adorable. 

“Hoseok!” Jin shouted over the wind, pulling you until you were right in front of them. The young man flashed a dazzling smile, handing the wheel over to the man next to him. 

“Hello! I’m Hoseok, everyone just calls me hobi, except for the Captain, but he’s a little grouchy.” The man, Hoseok, winked. You chuckled a little, Jungkook’s scowling face coming to mind. 

“That’s Jimin, he’s the cabin boy and a little shy, but he’s right up there with the best of us.” He hitched his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the man behind him. 

         Hoseok had dark brown hair and chocolate eyes that put you at ease. Jimin had light blonde hair and chubby cheeks. He sent you a shy little wave that made you want to coo. 

“Alright, now get back to work, Hoseok. You can’t trust Jimin with the wheel for too long.” Jin rolled his eyes as Hoseok mumbled something under his breath. Then you were swept away to the other side of the ship. 

          A tall man wearing a loose white top and black pants stood at the railing, clearly deep in thought. Jin cleared his throat loudly, causing the man to startle. He turned around, his mouth open to scold the older man when he noticed you. 

“H-hello.” The man seemed quiet. His voice wasn’t soft-spoken, just a little timid about the words he chose. 

“Aish, snap out of it. Where’s our fearless first mate, yeah?” Jin patted his back hard, making him cough a little. 

“That’s enough! That’s enough! You just startled me.” His voice was husky and low, but not as deep as Taehyung’s. “I’m Namjoon, first mate. You must be the new little miss.” There was a look of disdain in Namjoon’s eyes. “It’s been a while since we’ve had fresh meat.” 

“Ah ha...right.” You subconsciously pulled your hair back tighter. 

“Someone should go wake up Yoongi, he’s probably still sleeping and we need more fish.” Namjoon instructed, his voice firm without a hint of the timidness displayed a few moments prior. You could see why he was the first mate. Even Jin straightened slightly in his presence. 

“Well, looks like there’s no one else around to do it.” The man beside you placed his hands on his hips, a frown was evident. “Come along, missy. You get to have the pleasure of waking him up.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.” You mumbled, following him below deck anyway. 

          You immediately wanted to go back up. Once you had experienced the freedom of standing on the deck, you couldn’t imagine electing to stay below deck for long periods of time. On another note, your parents would never allow you to sleep past 8:00 A.M. Yet another reason you were an opposite to this sleeping man. Jin took a right and stopped outside of a door. 

“I just need to wake him up?” 

“Sh!” He put a finger to his lips, then nodded frantically and pointed towards the door. 

        Then he bolted. He turned the corner, heavy footsteps pounding against the wood floorboards, a creak every now and then. 

        You sighed as you watched him go. You crossed your arms, pondering what to do. Why did no one want to wake this man up? He was probably harmless, but then again, this was the Bulletproof Boy Scouts who were known for being merciless. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck stood tall. He’s standing behind me, isn’t he? 

        You turned around, halting a shriek from exiting your throat as you came face to face with a very pale man. You assumed he was Yoongi. Yoongi had very pale, bleached blonde hair and dark eyes. His face didn’t change when you met his gaze. The only sign he wasn’t a mannequin was his eyes moving to take you in. Then, his lips quirked into a smile. 

“So I see the others didn’t have the balls to wake me up and instead sent the new girl?” He scoffed. “As if that would change anything, anyway, I’m up now so whatever, you’ve done your job. Now shoo.” 

        The interaction ended so quickly you got whiplash. The door shut in your face with a loud slam. 

“Ah, it’s okay, miss, it’s a real skill to wake him up.” Jimin stood at the end of the hallway, a small smile on his face. 

“Oh no, he’s awake, just rude.” You said, emphasizing the last part. 

          You really should be more thankful, but after meeting the crew, they didn’t seem so bad and you felt yourself quickly easing into the groove of things. There was a muffled crash from inside the room and a string of curses made their way through the door. You let out a breath. 

“Anything else I need to do?” You asked, stepping closer. 

           Jimin seemed to ponder this before wildly shaking his head. His lips were pressed together and you weren’t sure if he was shy or staring at you with distaste. Considering his previous actions, you decided on the former. All the men on the ship held an intimidating presence, but Jimin felt timid. His aura was shy and withdrawn, yet he never seemed bothered by teasing. 

“I’m just the cabin boy. If you want a specific job, ask Jungk-I mean the captain.” 

“Right.” You nodded your head. Then the two of you fell silent. 

           You reflected on the men you’d met so far. Hoseok was kind with a warm face and sunny smile, you couldn’t imagine him being as vicious as people claimed. Jimin, who stood before you, had a quiet way about him, but he had the cutest gestures. Jin had a very motherly presence, warm, welcoming, and much like someone who you could depend on. Yoongi, who you’d just met, was, as you called him, rude. He seemed grumpy, a little rough around the edges, but was most likely a good guy. Taehyung was odd. He had this energetic way of conducting himself, yet his personality shifted so drastically when he spoke to Jungkook. 

            Namjoon held a look of disdain in his eyes when you introduced yourself to him. You chalked it up to him being apprehensive about suddenly have a new person on board. Jungkook was quiet and a bit of an enigma, but he always seemed to have a rage simmering just below the surface. His face floated into your mind and you had to stop yourself from blushing at the thought. Jungkook was one of the most handsome and shockingly beautiful men you had met in a long time. Which was saying a lot since you mostly spoke to nobility in your time at home. 

“Right, well,” you stuttered awkwardly. “I guess I should get going.” You brushed past him as you made your way upstairs. He didn’t move, still a little dazed it seemed. 

            The ocean air was a welcome breeze. You made your way to the nearest railing and leaned over the edge, watching the land grow farther away. The winds were in your favor. The day was clear and the sun glinted off the ocean, making it shine like a diamond. Yes, a diamond that you wanted to spend your entire life polishing and sailing over. 

“You might fall in if you lean too far over, little miss.” The unmistakable voice of the captain himself came from your right. You turned to look at him, ponytail flying around your neck as you faced away from the wind. 

“Yeah? And who says I don’t want to?” 

“The little miss has quite the sharp tongue already.” He watched you carefully, his eyes flicking over your body. 

            You knew these men had likely never worked with a woman before, but they all acted like you were the first meal they’d seen in ages. It was as if they’d never even seen a woman and that was factually untrue because Taehyung and Jungkook spoke with your mother. Though, you wouldn’t blame them for mistaking that screeching owl for some animal instead of a noblewoman. 

“Must be the effect of being around you, lover boy.” You said without thinking, then suddenly halted. He raised an eyebrow and then barked out a laugh. 

“You are a funny one, miss.” His eyes crinkled in amusement, his lips curling to show off a bunny smile. You huffed a little and turned back to look at the ocean skidding by. 

“It’s beautiful out here. I thought I’d never see it.” You said after a brief pause. He just nodded, looking out over the deep cerulean blue of the sea. 

“Despite all differences, everyone on this ship shares one thing in common.” He began, taking in a sharp inhale of salty air. “We all hold a deep love for the sea.” 

             The jail door slammed shut, keys locking it into place. It was dark, damp, and cramped down in the holding rooms. They weren’t so much rooms and more like little jail cells, metal bars, and all. You groaned, trying to reason with Taehyung. 

“Taehyung, it’s so cold, could I at least have a blanket?” You pleaded. Sure, you sounded spoiled as fuck, but it was pretty chilly and you were probably going to catch a cold. 

“No can do.” He stated simply, brushing his fingers through his long dirty blonde hair. In his other hand, he swung the keys around on the ring. 

“What if the ship starts sinking, will you just let me drown?”

“The ship won’t sink.” His words did little to ease your worries. 

        Your teachers had always called you a worry wart, impulsive, and you had the habit of then freaking out when those impulsive decisions led to a bad situation. Just like now. You crossed your legs, leaning back against the wooden boards. 

“Are you going to stand there all night?”

“Nope.” Taehyung smiled, or at least you thought he did. It was dark and the candle he held was on its last legs. “When the candle runs out, we switch places.” He explained. “I have the hard job of waiting until you’re asleep.”

“Oh boo hoo, you have to talk to me.” You rolled your eyes. 

         Your tutors would be horrified if they could see you now. There was a steady drip from the ceiling, which you didn’t want to know was from, and the wall you leaned against was slightly damp from the ocean crashing against it. 

On the bright side, the ship was rocking so steadily it was quick to make you drowsy. 

“Goodnight, little miss. Tomorrow I hope to call you Y/N.” 

-

         You came to around midnight. That’s what you thought at least. The jail was pitch black and you couldn’t help the little flutter of panic that crawled up your throat. Then there was a heavy stomping up the stairs that led to the jail and another set of stomping as someone descended. A flicker of light bounced over to you. The pale face illuminated made you wish you had woken up at a different time. Yoongi didn’t seem pleased to be awake either. You warily raked your fingers through your hair. 

“What do you want?” You said, but your words lacked their usual bite. You were tired and the darkness weighing at the edges of your eye was honestly terrifying.  

“Not sure, but I know I don’t want to be here.” Was all he said before falling silent, his eyes watching you like you were prey in the dark. The lull of the ship swept you up in its arms and carried you into dreamland once more. 

-

         The next time you awoke, you assumed it was before the dawn. You were met with a snoozing Jimin, the candle hanging limply out of his hand. The wax dripped steadily onto the floor. 

“Jimin.” You reached through the bars, hand landing on his foot. He jolted awake, rubbing his eyes. 

“Oh no, I fell asleep.” He mumbled, carding his fingers through his hair. 

“It’s fine. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” You smiled sympathetically. 

         Jimin seemed like the type to rethink things a lot, to regret or feel guilt unnecessarily. You were like that in a lot of ways and in all honesty, you saw in him the woman you were trying to break out off. 

          You had been taught all your life to be a simple woman. Simple-minded, not outspoken, and certainly no self-confidence. While you never took the subliminal messaging to heart, you always knew your place in society, and sometimes you could see that messaging shining through.  

          They did this using a lot of guilt. You remembered once asking to play with the boys instead of playing tea party, but the others screamed ‘what would your mother think? Your parents work hard for the money for your pretty dresses only for you to ruin it.’. He had never cared...Your mind drifted back to your guard from a few years ago. 

“Captain will kill me, though.” Jimin took a breath and slapped his cheeks to wake up. 

“My back is so sore.” You groaned, hand going to massage your lower back. 

“The beds upstairs aren’t much better.” The man snorted. “Captain says that it’s a deterrent to slacking off. That doesn’t stop Yoongi, though.” 

You watched him carefully, a small smile on your lips. Jimin came across very meek, but he had survived for a seemingly long time, so he must be strong in some capacity. 

“Tell me about yourself, Jimin.” You kneeled next to the bars, wrapping your cold hands around the metal. 

He tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. 

“About...myself?” He asked. “Hm, people usually don’t ask me that.” He took a moment to think. His hand patted his non existent facial hair. You waited patiently, it wasn’t like you had anywhere to be. It was sort of calming. 

“Well, when they say you’re not the first runaway they’ve helped, they mean me.”

“You ran away too?”

“Sort of. My father always pushed me to sail the sea, to grow some chest hair.” He scoffed. “That didn’t help much, but at the time BTS was disguised as a simple merchant ship. So I took up a job working as the cabin boy under Jungk-the captain.” He straightened, patting down the front of his t-shirt. 

“I think the captain felt bad for me when he revealed what they actually were, but he didn’t expect me to want to stay. I became a runaway. You and I are both wanted people.” He smiled wistfully at you. “But it’s been years and people stopped searching for a boy from a small town. Actually, we’re going to dock at my hometown, so I’m not allowed to leave. I usually do the supply runs, but people would recognize me.” He explained. 

          You thought over his words. A runaway, huh? You and I are both wanted people. Right, you probably had a bounty on your head, but you didn’t want the journey to end so soon. 

“What is the name of the town?” 

“Krestleven.” His face revealed a pain long hidden away. Your breath halted, the town triggering your hidden memories. 

           He stood against the wall as you surveyed the crowd for a suitable guard. His eyes were as blue as the sky, as deep as the ocean itself. And you found yourself drowning. You pulled yourself from your thoughts.

“Do you miss home?”

           His eyes held a far away look. He seemed frozen, eyes moving slightly as he thought. You wished you could see how his mind worked. Then he looked you in the eyes, his face void of emotion. 

“BTS is my home now.” 

           You stretched out your limbs, releasing a sigh of relief as your bones cracked. It was nice to breathe the fresh air. Down below, you had gotten a tad seasick and nausea wasn’t the best when you were in close quarters with yourself. The day was gray, heavy clouds rolling over the sea like an omen. Hoseok and Jimin looked tense as the ship came into view of the settlement. Jungkook, who stood next to Namjoon at the side, was frowning. 

“Tell Yoongi that Jimin can’t go.”

“It’s been years, Jungkook, they won’t recognize him.” 

“We don’t know that.”

“My word is final, Namjoon.” 

             Namjoon stiffened, gave a curt nod, and strode toward the stairs that led below deck. You hesitantly took a place next to the captain. Unlike the real world, in this fantasy, you had no idea what your place was. You didn’t know what boundaries could be crossed, but one night on the open sea had already opened so many doors for you. The captain barely registered your presence.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked. 

“Well enough.” He said, but the dark circles under his eyes said otherwise. 

You didn’t pry, simply nodding and turning back to watching the land come back into view. 

“I can go.” You stated. His eyes turned to watch the side of your face, but you seemed serious. 

“And why should I let you do that?”

“I’ve actually...I’ve been to Krestleven before.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, we get a lot of our guards from there.” You shrugged. “I picked out a guard a while ago, a personal guard.” You bit your lip. “But he died one night, protecting me, so I tried to avoid going back.” 

             You remembered the screaming, the crying. Days you spent inside, remembering his touch. So you swore to never love again, or that the next person you loved would truly be the one. You could only afford yourself one heartbreak and you planned on throwing yourself deep into it if you were to ever fall in love again. Jungkook seemed to read you well, because he remained silent. He didn’t comment on the noticeable shift in your aura, the slightest tension in your shoulders. 

“You don’t have to go.” He said after a while, his hand suddenly coming up to rest on your shoulder and you tried not to notice the wince on his face when his fingers accidentally brushed the open skin of your neck. It was a touching gesture, the proximity seemingly intimate. You felt your heart flutter, but you pushed it away. 

“No, I want to go.” 

            Krestleven was as beautiful as you remembered it. Despite the cloudy sky, the sea was calm. The mountains in the distance towered over the cold town and all the houses were pushed together like penguins huddling for warmth. You had learned about penguins from one of your tutors. She had been a little...nutty as your mother would have said. She had been very enthusiastic about animals, but you always liked her best. 

            BTS had anchored out a little ways away and Jin took the rowboat with you and Yoongi to shore. Yoongi was quiet company, but Jin explained to you that it was in his nature. A man of few words. He had said. This had earned a glare from the shorter man. 

            Yoongi, being the striker, had extensive knowledge on the plant and marine life in the surrounding area. He claimed he needed to pick up some supplies in the town and then he’d be all set for the next voyage across the sea. 

              Stepping foot onto land was an odd experience after just gaining your sea legs. Your legs wobbled and you almost fell, almost. Yoongi, surprisingly, held out a hand to steady you, but you refused it. He raised an eyebrow, but then just dropped his hand and placed his hands behind his back. 

“You two better behave!” Jin called, crossing his arms. He had to stay and watch the rowboat while you were gone. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.” You joked. 

             You decided to wear your yellow sundress today. The weather might not be perfect, but you’d fit in more with the crowd if you dressed like a ‘lady’. Here on land, you had to conform. You had to act like a lady and wear pretty dresses to appease the male eye. 

“Over here.” He said gruffly, slipping into the crowd, and you found yourself chasing after him. 

             He was taller than you, but still shorter than most men so you were having trouble seeing him in the crowd. The market was crowded as people tried to get the first batch of goods from each vendor. Low stalls held vendors of all kinds. From jewelry to fish and fine art. 

            You caught a glimpse of his blonde hair every now and then as he easily wove through the crowd. You finally caught up to him at a bait and tackle store. The place had the putrid smell of fish and salt. You scrunched up your nose at the intoxicating scent. 

“Hey, I’m just going to wait outside.” You poked his arm and he gave you a stiff nod of acknowledgement.

          You went to stand outside, enjoying watching the people rush by you. Everyone was in a hurry to be somewhere, but you weren’t. You were completely calm. 

          It all shattered when you spotted a familiar bar across the way. You could still see him leaning against the side, his arms crossed around his chest. You wanted to drown in the depths of his eyes again. You could have sworn you saw him, a twinkle in his eyes as he beckoned you closer. But before you could take the first step, the crowd rushed by and he was gone, just like the wind. 

            You rubbed your eyes, cursing. Now is not the time to be seeing ghosts. There was still that twinge of regret, of melancholy. I should have run away with him the first time he offered. Suddenly, someone bumped into you, flinging you into the rush of traffic. Your breath quickened as you found yourself pushed farther away. You planted your feet into the ground after a while, forcing the crowd to part around you. 

“Y/N?” You whipped around to see a familiar face. It’s the soldier. What did you say? Sorry for kicking you in the balls? Shit, wait, he’s probably here to take you in. So of course you bolted. 

“Y/N! Come back! You’re mother,” He squeezed past the people, huffing out words between breaths as you fled. “Is really,” He reached out for you. “Worried.” He finished finally, his hand grasping your arm tightly. You spun around. 

“What’s your name, soldier?” You said fiercely, your tone like a commander to quell your shaking legs. 

“Myung-Suk.” He answered quickly, dropping your arm like he’d been burned. 

“Good, I’ll remember that.” You narrowed your eyes, trying not to give away the trembling of your hands and the fear in your heart. With freedom comes fear. And suddenly you weren’t so sure you wanted to live life on the run. Wouldn’t that get exhausting? To always have your guard up? 

“Is there a problem?” Yoongi’s low drawl interrupted your thoughts. 

          Myung-Suk eyed the shorter man warily before shaking his head quickly. He backed off and ran. You turned and grabbed Yoongi’s arm, pulling him towards the docks. 

“What’s the rush?” He quirked an eyebrow, but you ignored him. 

          Your breath was labored as you tried to control the panic flooding your system. He dug his heels in, effectively stopping you. Your chest rose and fell, eyes darting from the dock to Yoongi to the market. You were getting paranoid and you swore you kept seeing figures watching you. You swore you kept seeing him. 

“That was Myung-Suk, a guard for my mother.” You said quickly. “They’re probably going to come for us next.” You continued, your breath getting shallower. 

“Woah, woah, take a deep breath.” Yoongi held your arms and took a deep breath to show you. You followed his lead and soon enough your heart rate was calming. 

“Listen, this isn’t the first time we’ve been on the run with a wanted person. We also are smart and strong enough not to get caught. Have some faith in us.” He smiled gently, gracing you with his gummy smile that put you at ease instantly. 

“Alright, I see what you mean.” You murmured. He released your arms and you shivered as the wind blew in. 

“We should probably get going.” The blonde haired man looked at the sky. “It might rain and Jin needs to start making that carrot soup for you.” His voice was gruff, as if he hadn’t used it in a while. 

          You had noticed that he seemed quiet, almost silent, when around the other crew members. You weren’t sure if there was a reason for this, as he seemed very observant and to have strong opinions of his crew; good opinions mostly, but he still never shared them. You studied his side profile as he focused on helping Jin row the boat. 

           He was handsome, quiet, a little too quiet for your tastes. But the silence was nice. 

 “I should’ve known you were going to be trouble.” Jungkook tsked as Jin set the bowl in front of you.

“Now, now, captain, she hasn’t been nearly as much trouble as Jimin was.” Jin chided the younger man. Jimin flushed a bright pink and you sent him a sympathetic look. 

“Yeah, but once again we’re all being forced to eat Jin’s carrot soup.” Taehyung sighed, picking up a spoon. 

“Yah! You don’t have to eat it, Taehyung!” Jin shouted, causing the table to ripple with laughter. Taehyung’s ears burned as Jin continued the rant. 

“Sheesh okay okay I’ll eat it.” Taehyung groaned and took a large spoonful to placate the older man. The others just pushed it around, their gazes moving to you, then Jin, then the soup. 

         You stared at the bowl before you. It looked harmless; a simple chicken broth and carrots floating around. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. 

“What did you put in here?” You asked. 

“Nothing!” Jin cried, taking a big spoonful of soup and then coughing loudly. You turned back to the concoction. The room held their breath when you took a sip. 

“Well?” Jungkook’s lips were twitching into a small smile. 

        It tasted earthy and the carrots added a weird texture. You moved it around your mouth before swallowing. 

“Oh, it’s not too bad-” You started and then it hit you. 

It felt like your mouth was on fire. You gagged, coughing and taking a huge gulp of water. 

“Jin! What the hell did you put in here?!” You choked, fanning your reddening face. Jin huffed and looked away. 

“I didn’t put anything in there.” He crossed his arms like a child. 

“You obviously did! My mouth is on fire.” You gasped, finishing the water. 

          The crew chuckled at your red face. Namjoon, despite having acted so cold to you previously, let a smile slip onto his face. He had dimples that you thought were quite cute. You could feel the captain’s stare piercing your profile so you turned to face him, patting your cheeks in an attempt to cool them down. He had an odd look on his face, his eyes bouncing between you and Namjoon. Then he casually stood. 

“Well, since that is over, I’ll see you nice and early for the last trial.” Jungkook dipped his head and promptly left the room. 

        You pressed your lips together, eyes trailing as he walked away. The group tensed as the door to the galley shut loudly. Then Taehyung started choking on his soup and the atmosphere returned to normal. 

         It was too early to be dragged out of bed and all your limbs were sore from the hard bed in your quarters. The chilly wind made your hair hit your face like a whip. The clouds were still dark and the waves looked choppy. You leaned over the railing. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You called over your shoulder. Jin peered over the side. 

“Yeah, it’ll be a little chilly but I’m sure it’s fine.” He shouted back. 

         Jungkook was holding up a map and pointing out into the distance while muttering something to Namjoon. The first mate nodded, paying close attention to his counterpart. 

“Jin, this might not be the right time to say it but-”

“Little lady, are you ready?” Jungkook barked, his boots thumping loudly against the boards. The words ‘I can’t actually swim very well’ died on your lips. 

        The captain was wearing a loose black top and tight black pants. He wore a black coat that fell to his ankles with golden buttons lining the sides. On his head was a velvet black hate that was embroidered with gold stitching. You caught yourself staring and glanced away. 

“Uh...yeah.” You said quietly, giving a slight nod of your head. 

      He scooted you towards the plank. 

“I said, are you ready?” His voice was loud against the wind. 

“Yes!” You shouted. 

“Louder.” He commanded. 

“Yes, I am, Captain!” You turned to face him, shouting with all your might.

         It sounded more like a scream and oh, how you wanted to scream. You wanted to scream at him to stop calling you little miss. You wanted to scream about your engagement, you wanted to scream until you couldn’t any longer.

         As the wind swept away the words on your lips, there was a freedom to screaming and no one being around to hear. There was a freedom in knowing your loudest thoughts could still be yours and only yours. You took a step back and then hesitated, turning to see the drop below. 

“Then go.” His voice was suddenly low in your ear and you knew he was right behind you. 

“I don’t know-”

        Then there was a hard shove on your back and you lost your footing. 

         You were falling, the wind whipping your hair out of its ponytail, obscuring your vision. All you could see were the faces of your crew members peering at you from the railing, but Jungkook’s smirk was imprinted in your mind. 

           The world rotated as you twisted in the air. Streaks of gray and inky blue. You gasped in a breath, only to lose it as you hit the water. The splash was tiny compared to the unrest of the sea. 

            You could feel yourself getting lost, sinking deeper, the cold seeping into your bones. You could be at peace, resting here. Who knew that such a simple thing, such as stepping off a plank, could give you such a catharsis. No, you need to go back up, breathe, and live. It was a soft hum in the back of your mind, growing bigger as you sunk deeper.

            Then your eyes flew open to see a figure jumping into the water, their dark shadow passing over you. Only then did you want something to live for; for the adventures you were yet to have, for the people you had yet to meet. The shadow reached out for you and pulled you up, yanking you to the surface faster than you thought possible. You gasped for air, breaking the surface. 

The captain’s furious face met your blurry vision. “You idiot, why didn’t you say you couldn’t swim?” 

-

“Why isn’t she resurfacing?” Jungkook gripped the railing.

          A few more moments passed and the crew looked at each other, worry evident. He was angry. Angry you didn’t tell him you couldn’t swim, angry he pushed you, angry he didn’t understand your limits. 

        You had looked so afraid in the last few moments. And he wasn’t one to usually care about pushing too far beyond limits or to really care about anyone. His crew came first and he couldn’t understand if you were a part of that crew yet. Someone inside, he considered you a part of the crew, but you still needed to do the trials, it was tradition. He was frustrated. Why am I feeling this way for some stuck up noble girl?

         Scowling, he shrugged off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, revealing his strong forearms. He threw his coat over Jin’s shoulder, who was still watching the water with worry. The man jumped at the sudden action.

“Captain what are you-CAPTAIN!” Jin rushed forward to see Jungkook clasp his hands above his head and dive right into the frigid waters. 

Taglist: @lovelyseomin​ 

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[rideboldlyride]

MRAU: The King and the Reaper

(This is the telling from this, @elleleh’s AU, and artwork, approved by her. Please go follow her for more of these beautiful stories and artwork!!)

***

A loud clatter of the prison door sent it's occupant shying away from the noise, and into a nearby corner. Shivering, the man looked akin to a stray dog, cowering in the filthy cell. The visitor stood tall in the dusty shadows. A dim red glow appeared at his lips, hinting at the sneer. The stream of smoke replaced the glow, and his expression was hidden once more. But it had been enough to identify the spectre.

“Reaper."

Purring, the scarred man kneeled before his captor.

"You know me."

"Of course. You're the second most feared man in these parts."

Cocking his head to the side, he let out a tsk.

"Second? Someone must have heard something." His face shifted from bravado to intensity, and he leaned in over the man. "Tell me."

Even as the man shivered and cowered away, he shook his head.

"Not even to you, Reaper."

Eye's squinted in frustration, and the glow from the cigarette in his mouth lit them up.

"You will tell me."

Resolute, the old drunkard stood surprisingly firm.

"Better death at your hands, than at his."

Removing the cigarette from his lips, he extinguished it under foot. As he spoke again, the smoke slipped from his lips.

"We'll see about that."

***

It was a cold night on the coast of northern Vale. A sound of fluttering wings startled a drunk man stumbling out of a nearby inn, and he turned to the source. Emerging from the black, a darkly clad man with a scarred visage, rose a brow to him. The charm at his throat glinted in the moonlight, and the scar caught the shadows unnaturally.

The drunk tried to look behind him, to spot the source of the sound, but the imposing figure stopped before him.

"Light?"

Shaken from his stupor, the drunk dug into his pockets, producing a lighter. Snagging the flimsy tool from him, the larger man puffed at his cigarette. Tucking the lighter back into the other man's shirt, he turned away. Without a backwards glance, he threw a parting statement.

"Your ass is hanging out."

Still confused by the interaction, he let out a 'huh?' before the words connected with the cool breeze he felt, and he reached for his belt loops to pull up what remained of his dignity.

Pressing deeper into the port town, Qrow took in the sights. There was only one ship docked at the port, he had confirmed, but it was obvious that most of the men were stretching their legs on land. A skeleton crew had remained aboard. But he hadn't wanted the sober crew tending the ship, he wanted the sloshed lowlifes that filled the less than reputable inns.

A breeze whipped down the road from the harbor, carrying with it a misting of rain- a warning of the storm to come. Turning up his coat jacket, its large lapel kept the almost freezing water off his neck. A large crash caught his attention, followed by laughter. He had found his target.

He made no attempt to hide his presence, opening the door with an air of certainty. The men within sobered immediately. One let out a soft curse, and they all straightened up. Qrow squinted after them, and after taking a puff on his cigarette, stepped further in and out into the brighter light.

The men heaved a collective sigh. He raised a black brow at their responses, but it was the man who let out the curse that his attention was most drawn to.

Stepping up next to his space at the bar, Qrow threw down a few lien.

"Seems you mistook me for someone else."

"Got that right, pal." The man sneered at him.

Qrow sat beside him. "Well, the least I can do is pay for a round of drinks for you all."

Gesturing to the barkeep, he bought them all another round, and himself a whiskey.

"Fair enough. Guess you're alright."

"That was a pretty strong reaction, buddy. Who's got you all running scared?" A disarming smile, and a hearty laugh was enough to embolden the young man at the bar.

Slurring his words slightly, his new friend rounded on him.

"Our captain. Terror of the seas."

Qrow parroted amazement.

"You mean you all sail with the Pirate King?" He forced a little bit of awe into the last few words.

Knowing that this man had most likely signed his own death warrant with those words meant little to Qrow. If you're crew wasn't loyal, they weren't your crew. The young man pressed on, pride filling his chest.

"Sure do! He's down at the harbor still. Hear he don't leave the ship."

"You hear?" The lanky man's heart sank- this might be another dead end.

"Well, I just finished my first 'tour' of the ports, if ya will."

Ah. Fresh blood, drunk on their success. He wasn't going to last long, with or without Qrow speeding up the process. Those types never did.

"So, then, I'd guess you would have to go to the ship itself to meet him, huh?"

"Good luck. He don't take to visitors kindly. And he rarely talks, let alone notices anyone but his crew."

A small doubt nibbled at his brain. Luck wasn't his forte, but he hadn't needed either type on his side yet.

"That's not a man, that's a legend."

The smaller man scoffed into his drink.

"That's only cause you haven't met him. See there was this stowaway, see..."

Plied with drinks and encouragement, the young man spun tales that even his other crewmates would have hard times believing, but within those stories, crumbs of reality were hidden. And Qrow was good at piecing together the crumbs.

An hour later, he feigned great exhaustion, and squared away his tab and lodging. Saying his farewells, he entered his room and locked it. Kicking off his shoes and removing his coat, Qrow flopped onto the bed, fully dressed. It was one less step he'd need in the morning.

His appointment was an early one.

***

It was still dark when Qrow arose, but the edges of the overcast sky were starting to redden. The ground was slushy under foot, and the eaves dripped icy water, with one particular drop finding itself between his coat collar and the back of his neck.

Growling at his luck, he pressed out into the dim light. A few men stood outside the doors of the inns, uttering insincere farewells to ladies of the night, while others stumbled away from their perches at bars, empty bottles in hand. A few years prior, the draws of the night might have been tempting, but now, he just wanted to get the mission over with so he could go home.

Pulling a cigarette from his coat, he patted at his pockets again for a missing lighter. Cursing it's absence, he stepped to a nearby lantern and made use of it's fire.

The crew were beginning their trek to the ship slowly, stumblingly, steadily, and Qrow quickly outpaced them. However, as he neared the dock, the crew grew steadily more sober, having manned the ship through the night. His presence was quickly noted.

A flurry of sword points and cocked pistols steadied themselves at his bemused expression.

"I'm merely an... ambassador, if you will, here to speak with the Pirate King."

The sky was steadily reddening behind the heavy gray clouds, casting it's unearthly pall onto the boat and it's alert crew. A sneering voice queried, unseen over the rails of the ship.

"What would he want to talk to you about, Reaper?"

A spindly silhouette emerged at the top of the deck, backlit by the bloody sky.

"From what I hear, you don't talk much."

Curling a corner of his lips, Qrow jeered at the oily creature at the top of the gangplank. His eyes lit up with a pull of his cigarette.

"Mainly because you're not the one I'm here to talk to. Besides," the imposing young man, leaned back, moving unaffectedly by the surrounding weaponry, "from what I hear, he isn't much of a fan of others speaking for him."

Shrugging, he pulled out another unlit cigarette, using the smoldering butt of his previous one to light it.

"But I guess that's your funeral."

***

The dogs had been slow in returning to the ship, and it's captain was not pleased. It had been a while since they had been back at Harbor's End, he knew, but the itch to be gone had been there since they had docked a week prior.

His face and fingers felt cold, and he was desperate for the heat of the flames to warm them again.

Absently, two days into their respite, he considered marshalling the forces to pillage the town, but talked himself out of the pleasure. He had resorted to obsessing over the condition of his ship instead.

So when, on the day of departure, the men were slow to return, his mood had further soured. The sky was aglow red, an ill omen, when he finally withdrew the curtains on his cabin. Growling, the King of Pirates ground the heel of his palm into the aching empty socket. All signs led to bad luck for the crew and it's planned setting off. He pulled a cigarette and lit it. It was going to be one of those days. If he didn't end up putting down one of the dogs before sunset, he'd be amazed.

And then he heard it.

That damned Dreg running his mouth. This Bird of Prey wasn't going to even make it to sunrise.

Speaking as with any sort of right to command. The captain didn't care to who or what about- he was tired of that slime on his ship.

The door opened without a sound, and he emerged on deck. Of the crew still at the port, all surrounded an unwelcome visitor, weapons at the ready. Dreg had not heard or seen him emerge, and his lips curled in disgust.

"... But I guess that's your funeral."

The visitor spoke with confidence, but sounded young. Out of clear sight angle, the only things ascertainable were the dark clothes and hair, along with a thin stream of smoke. He'd make short work of the interloper when he was done.

As he moved forward, the captain made no attempt to hide his footfalls. The rest of the crew noticed it, but Dreg pressed on, oblivious to his fate. Jeering, the dogs hooped and whistled, and the fool felt emboldened.

Unsheathing his sword, he drew up behind him even as he continued to seal his fate.

"I'm not going to waste the captain's time with a minion like you!"

Like a mouse discerning it's fate as a hawk's shadow falls upon it during it's last moments, Dreg spotted the imposing shadow fall upon him. Before he could turn, the Pirate King's sword slipped effortlessly through him. Trembling hands, the slimy cur turned to his captain, muttering out protests to an indifferent expression.

His words became distant, as his eyes rolled back into his head, and he slid off the blade. Crumpled to the ground, the captain used a boot toe to encourage the carcass to tumble off the gangplank and into the waters below.

The crew growled and hooted when the body hit the water. Pulling a cloth from his side, he wiped clean the blade before he would turn attention to the visitor, and the men turned their glee in the same direction.

Sheathing his sword, he turned his gaze to the young man, and froze. In the early sunrise, the charm around his neck glowed as red as the eyes staring back at him.

Steadily, he stepped down the gangplank, stopping a few steps away.

He took in the scarred visage of the man before him. For the first time in many years, the captain wasn't sure of what to do next. A pause passed between them, and the crew, expecting immediate bloodshed died down.

The Reaper knew who stood before him, and the King of Pirates held no doubts either. What time had passed for them both, for their titles to mean more than their names?

"Qrow."

A raven brow rose, waiting.

"You're alive."

To say he was surprised would have been a lie. And to blame him would be a greater one.

The young man withdrew the cigarette from his mouth and extinguished it under foot.

"I'm just as surprised to see you drawing breath," he paused, and Kite Branwen saw him roll his shoulders, before forcing out the final word. "Father."

[thesnadger]

Quiet Hours

(It was inevitable I’d write something for The Magnus Archives. A small conversation set during the weeks Jon and Martin were in Scotland before everything went sideways.)

Ao3

When Martin woke up, Jon was already gone.

As soon as he saw the empty room around him, Martin knew he wouldn’t find Jon anywhere in the safehouse. He looked anyway, checking what rooms there were and walking a slow circle around the outside. He moved slowly, taking his time not out of any sense of thoroughness but to delay the inevitable moment when expectation became certainty, when what he’d sensed the moment he woke up was confirmed.

Jon had left. And he’d taken any trace that he’d ever been there. The bag he’d been living out of, the scattered papers on the kitchen table. Even the empty cigarette package that he’d left crumpled on the floor next to the wastebasket, all were gone. He hadn’t stepped out temporarily, he’d taken his things with him and he wouldn’t be returning.

Martin found he didn’t feel any need to speculate on why Jon would have left so suddenly, without a word or even a note. There was a logic to it all. Jon had a history of going off on his own, following some plan of his to its natural, likely dangerous conclusion. And Martin had known in the back of his head that those plans probably wouldn’t involve him for long. Eventually, Jon would leave him behind.

He had only hurt himself by entertaining any other possibilities. He had no one to blame for the dull ache in his chest but Martin Blackwood.

A quiet unease crept through him, as if there was someone standing behind him. He didn’t want to look, not because he feared there would be someone there, but because he knew that there was nothing and no one, and that was so much worse. It made him uncomfortable in the safehouse, and he went outside.

The sky was dim and overcast and a mist dampened his skin as he walked out. The air had a numbing chill to it, but he didn’t shiver. He was focused on the view. In some ways it was the same as always, green hills dotted with rocks stretching out in all directions. But today there were no animals outside, and a dense fog had gathered on the horizon, obscuring the village from his view. Somehow, Martin knew that even if he walked to the end of the road and pushed through that fog there would be nothing on the other side. Just more empty green. More mist and overcast skies.

It was better this way. Or, no. Not better. Definitely not better. But this was the way it was meant to be. Martin closed his eyes and let the mist gather around him, until he couldn’t feel anything at all.

Then he woke with a start, disoriented, eyes darting around the room. It was night and he was indoors. A sliver of a moon shone through the window. The sky was free of mist. A dream. It had been a dream. Just a nightmare.

Martin kicked free from the tangle of blankets and dragged himself off the futon. He didn’t want to fall back asleep where the dream might still be waiting, ready to take him back to the mist and the quiet and the numbing cold. He’d stretch his legs a little, maybe get a glass of water. Anything that might clear his head.

He was surprised to find Jon in the kitchen. He was slouched in one of the chairs, staring out the window and fiddling with a pen. It was only when he saw Jon there that Martin realized he should have been surprised to not see him in the room where they’d been sleeping.

A floorboard creaked and Jon started, turning in Martin’s direction with an intense stare that softened as he realized who it was.

“Just me.” Martin said, raising a hand for a wave and trying to smile. He was still re-orienting himself to the waking world.

“Ah. Yes. I see that.” Jon nodded. “Sorry. Startled, that’s all.”

“Have you not been to bed?” Martin asked.

“Not yet, no. I’m, er, getting some work done.” He gestured vaguely to the table in front of him. “Trying to see if I can work out what we should be worrying about, I suppose. Where the next danger is coming from."  

Martin glanced down. There was a pile of old statements that looked untouched--Jon always lost interest after recording, thought for whatever reason he refused to throw them away. Next to them was a yellow legal pad that had barely been marked. A small list of names, question marks and one or two scribbled words were in one corner. That was it, aside from a spot in the margin where something had been scratched out and scribbled over so thoroughly that it was nothing but a dense black square. Martin couldn’t guess what was underneath it. Jon saw him staring and flipped the page over.

“You look like hell, you know.” Martin said. “You shouldn’t burn the candle at both ends. It’ll catch up to you if it hasn’t already.”

“It probably has.” Jon sighed. “What about you? What are you doing awake at this hour?”

“Oh. You know. . . .” Martin shifted, standing in the doorway. “Nightmares . . . trauma. The usual.”

“. . . Ah.” Jon replied. “Right. Of course.”

He looked uncomfortable at that, and Martin shrugged dismissively, hoping to clear the air. “Well, we’ve all been through a lot.”

“Still. That doesn’t make your troubles any less important.” Jon said. His voice was soft and serious, and something about it put a twinge in Martin’s chest.

“. . . It’s only a dream.” Martin said. “Can only do so much about it. Just thought I’d clear my head before trying to sleep again.”

“I see.” Jon gestured towards the chair across from his.

Martin sat down, then gestured at the notepad. “So. . . what exactly are you working on? Any leads?”

“Oh. . . no, not really.” Jon shook his head. “Just trying to, sort of. . . .” He trailed off, looking at the blank page. “Nothing. Honestly, nothing at all.”

“. . .Oh.” Martin smiled a little. “Well. It isn’t as if you’ve got to worry about being fired.”

Jon smirked at that. “Suppose not.”

“Don’t imagine there’s much to do but wait.”

“Yes.” Jon sighed. “Just keeping myself busy, really. Well, trying to. I, ah . . . .” he glanced off to the side, lowering his voice to a mutter. “I know what my dreams will be like.”

So that was it. Martin knew what he meant, of course. He’d heard the tape Jonah recorded while Jon was dead to the world.

“I don’t know.” Jon continued, “maybe. . .maybe if I don’t sleep I can . . . give everyone a night off?”  

“Is that how it works?” Martin asked.

“I’ve no idea.” Jon sighed. “It might?”

Martin considered this. “Well. Even if it does, never sleeping again isn’t really a solution.”

“I know, I know,” he reached up and rubbed his eyes. “I suppose I still need sleep as much as anyone else does.”

“Bet that drives you crazy.” 

"At least we’ll both be alert if there’s a midnight attack from some paranormal creature. One that’s fond of the Scottish countryside.”

“Sure. Evil bagpipes, probably.” Martin said. Then he saw the expression on Jon’s face. “No. No. You’re kidding me.”

“Statement #9931907.” Jon nodded. “A manifestation of the Slaughter in Lancraig.”

“ Bagpipes though?”

“The sound of them, anyway. Not some sort of. . . homicidal wind instrument scuttling along on pipe legs, if that’s what you’re imagining.”

“That was exactly what I was imagining, yes.”

“Mmm. The man who witnessed it mentioned how much sheep sound like people pretending to be sheep. I can’t help thinking about that every time I hear one out here.”

“What?” Martin laughed, “that’s ridiculous. Sheep sound like sheep.”

“I suppose I haven’t had enough exposure to tell yet.”

“Well, neither have I. Still.” He shook his head. “Suppose we’ll have plenty chances to hear them out here. Might be holed up for a while, until some other monster or something forces us out.”

“To be honest, Martin, I think it’ll be a relief when something does.” Jon said. “At least we won’t be waiting anymore.”

Something about Jon’s tone made images from Martin’s dream come creeping back into him, and he frowned. The feeling of the vacant safehouse still lingered. The emptiness in it that had been. . . deeper than a room that simply had no one in it. It was a palpable absence, like the silence after a question or a vacant hospice bed. He found himself focusing on it in a way that he didn’t want to.

Jon must have noticed something, because he cleared his throat. “Not that the waiting’s been all that bad,” he added. “It’s quiet at least. And both of us were in need of a holiday.”

“Are you--” Martin hesitated. “I still think you should get some sleep. For the record. But if you’re not going to, would you mind if I stayed up with you? I. . . .” He paused a moment, then decided to be blunt. “I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.”

”. . .Of course.” Jon hesitated, but when he spoke his voice was gentle and sounded sincere. “That’s. . . completely understandable. Given everything. I, ah, I wouldn’t mind the company either.”

Martin let out his breath, surprised at the relief he suddenly felt. Some tension he’d been holding since waking up eased, and he sagged forwards in the chair. “Right. I mean, thanks.”

Jon nodded and stretched, checking his watch. “Sunrise is at 6:27 am today. Just a few hours from now. The world should feel a bit safer in the daylight.”

“Yeah. That’ll be nice.” Martin didn’t ask Jon if he’d looked the time up or just Known it. It didn’t seem worth pressing.

By the time sunrise actually came, they’d fallen asleep in their chairs. Slumped forward on the kitchen table, unconsciously pressing against each other for warmth.

(Note: @squeeneyart made this beautiful image based on this idea as I yelled about it in Discord to them.)

[jow99]

White Cliffs to Broken Hill

An early start to go up top and see the sunrise. It was definitely worth getting up for. We went back to bed for a bit of a read before getting up, breakfasted and ready for our onward trip.

As we set off I noticed it was already 30 degrees at 8:30am. The first 100km was retracing our steps back to Wilcannia. This time however we saw a couple of emus. It was then a right hand turn and then onto Broken Hill. The temperature was gradually rising as the day progressed. The wind also started to pick up and as we neared Broken Hill you could see the red dust on the horizon.

Something we hadn’t realised is that the clock changes a bit before reaching Broken Hill. This meant that we arrived at about 11am. We went in search of the tourist information (which was closed) and grabbed a coffee before heading to our accommodation. It was a bit early to check in but we grabbed some brochures and headed out again.

We drove the 26km to Silverton and had a bit of a wander around. The old Gaol has become a repository for all manner of old bric-a-brac. The sky was a pink colour with all the red dust swirling around. Unfortunately the heat and wind were making being out and about a bit uncomfortable.

We headed back to the motel and moved in for our 2 night stay. We are staying in what I guess you’d call a suite. There is a wall that separates the bedroom and bathroom from a lounge/dining/kitchen area.

We passed the rest of the afternoon catching up with washing and blogging (bliss to have coverage again) and generally avoiding the 40 degree temperatures outside.

Early evening we had some nibbles then headed out to the Living Desert sculptures hoping to see the sunset out there. It was hot and super windy and a million flies so we drove to the Sculptures rather than walked. They are pretty good so I’m glad we went. Unfortunately though it was too dusty and overcast for a good sunset so we eventually gave up and headed back into town.

A quiet night tonight drinking wine and watching tv at our accommodation.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Eden

Park Jimin/Reader [F]

Genre: God AU, romance, angst, royal-ish au

Warning(s)?!: imprisonment, torture, violence, toxic royalty [Rated: T]

Words: 24k 

----

The God of Eden- Ventus- vanished decades ago.  His kingdom fell prey to Senri, the neighboring God to fill the seat of the Ventus.  Famine, corruption, and destruction were eating away at His home.  Just where did He disappear to? Why did He abandon his people? Or rather, a better question, who took Him and what can you do to get Him back to his rightful kingdom? 

It was just as it normally was in Kiah.  Working at the palace, many a folk knew of the palace grounds jabbering and if you were lucky enough, you could hear quite a few words passed around of how the castle town was fairing. The separation between the palace and castle town was vast- like two different solar bodies. However, almost always the result in hearing about the outside’s state would make your throat burn.  The castle town never seemed to be thriving, acting more as a ghost town than anything more.  

Kiah- the kingdom in which you lived and worked.  Working as a metal worker inside the palace walls, you were tasked with many objectives.  From welding to locksmithing, it was your job.  However, not every day brings metal work.  Some days you are tasked as a simple maid, waiting on the corrupt wealth that resided in the castle.  The family that had been chosen many eras ago by Senri.

Senri: the main deity of Kiah.  Kiahan Castle resided directly beside the Temple of Senri.  Senri- as legend says- use to co-rule over two kingdoms together with another God.  However, it is said that one God had gone back on his word and betrayed Senri, so the kingdom of one split down the center into two.

That other kingdom was known as Eden.  The kingdom without a God.  Ventus- the God of Eden- had vanished decades ago.  Prophets and worshippers of all kinds all pushed out pleas to have their God returned, but all those pleas fell on deaf ears.  For Ventus never returned.  In his place, Senri stepped up and ruled over Eden with an iron grip. Taking the spoils of a lost war and claiming the ruined grounds of the kingdom lost to deities.

The two went hand in hand.  Ventus of the moon and the wind.  Silver and night were his and his alone while Senri was known for his control of the sun and the clouds. When Ventus disappeared, so too did the sun.  Senri, though his domain was the sun itself, dismissed the sun and clouded the kingdoms in an everlasting overcast.  Though the titles are vague, the powers the two God’s held were inconceivable.

Senri was merciless. Once again gaining the power to conquer and rule two kingdoms as one and move the people like pawns on a chess board.  Senri cared not for the people who are forced to be called his.  All he cared for was making it impossible for Ventus to ever return.

You hated this kingdom.  Working in this palace, in Kiahan Palace with the royal family acting solely as Senri’s obedient lap dogs.  Part of you wished that Ventus would return to Eden someday, and an even bigger part of you wanted to join that kingdom if he ever did.

You often heard tales that Eden was once a prosperous, golden land. Fields of gold wheat, droughts were non-existent, famine was limited and killed far less than now.  Crops and food were never lacking, always fruitful and harvest season was always a goldmine for the people.  It was peaceful without feud.  This blissful time was referred to as the era of the Garden of Eden.  A place for all to be free and live easily.

However, when Ventus disappeared, that Garden turned cold and baren.  Wheat wilted, crops died, livestock froze in icy tundras and whirlwinds of terrible storms plagued the lands.  Ventus was once named the God of Storms, so perhaps he simply left his people and were punishing them for some unknown sin.  However, there would be no evidence to support a sin had been committed.  Ventus just stopped existing, completely gone with no trace to follow.

You were wandering around the castle, it was late afternoon, the faded glow of clouded evening covered the atmosphere.  The sky outside the tall window panes of the castle walls were a grey gradient that faded into a deep navy.  Daytime without having a sun retiring for yet another night beyond the horizon.  

Senri was- ironically- never fond of the sun.  Days in Kiah were always cloudy, overcast with the tiniest sliver of the light being a blessing. You wished one day you would get to see the sunrise or even watch the sun disappear with the most beautiful array of colors.  Though, it was all wishful thinking.  You had long given up hope that you would ever witness anything that once was; anything the legends spoke of were simply a fool's dream.  The events and sights explained and painted in books were lost to you as a simple daydream.

You stood and watched the fading sky for a moment longer, wanting to stay in the moment.  However, you knew the world would continue forward, thus so should you. You hiked the basket of scrap metal and broken locks you held further up to your chest as your arms held it and continued once more down the halls.  Your destination is the west hall: the servant’s quarters.

The castle was old. However, age didn’t appear to be an issue when it came to the looks of the interior.  It was a grand castle.  Golds of all shades and not a spec of silver to be seen.  Gold was the color of Senri, while silver was used to represent Ventus.  It was practically banned from the kingdom.  Even the Knights' chainmail were copper stained.  

The halls were tall, wide and grand, columns of masterful architecture sculpted from top to bottom to support the ever heavy castle.  The tiled floors were spotless, without a nick or scratch and could be used as a mirror if one so desired.  The walls were never bare, always with a painting, a tapestry, blade rack, shield and weapon or window. Small torches remained unlit during the day time- if you could call the overcast day- along the lower walls and a lucky servant would light each and everyone come nightfall.

Your boots clinked on the floors, echoing in an almost eerie fashion.  Dressed in black trousers and an equally dark tunic covering your chest.  Your hands were covered in your fingerless, work gloves so your palms wouldn’t become raw, dry or torn from work.  Your turtle-necked tunic covered your throat as your hair was down, having undone it from its tied state once your work was finished for the day.

You weaved around the castle halls you knew like the back of your hand until you shuffled to a stop in front of your door. As you were employed by the castle’s royal family, you were under strict orders to remain in the castle for ease of access if you are summoned.  It basically eliminates the chance of you never showing if summoned.  If one was hired by the family, they practically shoved you in the cage known as the Kiahan Palace.  

Shifting your basket to your hip with one arm supporting it, you unlocked your door with the key you removed from your neck.  You didn’t trust anyone in the castle as far as you could throw them. Locking your room was one of the only things you could be in control of. Once you heard the click of the lock unlatch as well as felt the give from the key, you pulled the key out, squeezed it in your palm and opened the door.

Kicking it shut behind you, you placed your basket on the small table you keep right inside your doorway to the direct right and did not hesitate to relock your door.  Sighing with relief in privacy at long last, you turned and placed your back on your door before you slid down it.  Your rear hit the wooden floor that wasn’t nearly as nice as the corridor’s tile as you closed your eyes and allowed yourself a minuscule rest.

“Finally,” you breathed.  

Your room wasn’t the worst in the kingdom; however, it was nothing compared to the royal halls and what you guess the royal family’s rooms may appear to be.  However, it was enough for you.  

A queen bed was placed in the far back of your room, the headboard against the wall with both sides and the foot of the bed open to climb into it.  A rug of faded crimson lay under your bed frame as the room itself was of a hardwood flooring.  Off to the left of your room was the bathroom that had come with it.  A tub and shower with a small sink, dinky mirror and toilet lay beyond that door.  In the main room, you had a large wardrobe with your clothes, tunics, and weaponry placed safely inside.  A trunk sat at the foot of your bed, locked so none may snoop inside.

Finally, a desk sat under the large, west side window of your room.  Your window was grand, low sitting- only a foot or two off the ground- as it traveled far up your wall and wide enough to open it outwards.  The window split down the center, two handles in the middle of the metal panes and a single lock beneath.  A small flower bed sat beneath the outside of the window; however, you had long since removed any and all soil and replaced it with stones and gravel.  Any hopes of growing any sort of flower on your own was a dead hope, you were far too busy and forgetful to care for a plant.

Small, three-pronged metal hooves for torches graced each wall for whatever light fire could put when the torches were lit. Creation dancing shadows of each direction and length in the flames. 

Kicking off your boots, you pushed yourself back to your feet.  Traveling to your bathroom, you tied your hair back, pushing it away from your face as you turn the cold water from your sink on and splashed your face.  You did this two or three times before you felt satisfied and turned the water back off, as you leaned against your sink.  

Your hands clung to the edges of the porcelain bowl as you kept your face downcast, the water dripping off your chin and the tip of your nose.  Rolling from your forehead and clinging to your eyelashes.

Today in Kiah was just like every other day.  Waking up at the crack of dawn, taking a quick shower, dressing in your tunic and heading out with a basket filled with scrap metal and proper locks to replace the old broken ones.  Only to replace the broken scattering of metal waiting for you throughout the castle grounds.

It was a bland cycle of repetition, one you wished would change.

You wiped your face dry with a towel that hung over the sink’s side and exited the bathroom before you peeled off your tunic.  Throwing it at your feet, you walked barechested to your wardrobe that you opened and pulled out a comfortable nightshirt.  

It was a shirt that was far too big for you.  You pulled it over your head as you shed away your pants.  The shirt hung to conceal the rim of your underwear as the three buttons at the top of the shirt remained unbuttoned and low on your chest. The shirt had cuffs at the sleeves, yet you kept those unbuttoned as well for maximum comfort. This was your favorite shirt.  It belonged to your father before he passed.  

Padding your bare feet along the wood of your floor, you took the basket that still sat unmoved on your door side table and carried it across the room to your desk. Taking the stool that sat beneath the wooden surface, you took a seat and started picking out the metal, piece by piece.  

Grouping was a very important thing when it came to your work.  You’d group metals by how they were broken, or by size, or even by its components.  Isolating iron from bronze and copper. After that, they were broken down into what they are- or used to be before they were broken.  If you deduced that, you could match together pieces here and there to create a blueprint of sorts.  After all that is finished, with plans of remaking and fixing what is broken, you’d place the parts that go together into a cloth bag with instructions on what to do tomorrow and place it all back into the basket.  The outliers of scrap metal brushed into the top drawer of your desk for another puzzle another time.

It was late by the time you finished.  Placing the basket back at your door side table, you stood in front of your door.  It was forbidden for servants to leave their quarters beyond the chiming hour of nightfall, and yet it was soon approaching the devil’s time.

Looking at the ticking clock of wood and iron on your wall, you watched the hands tick slowly, inching closer to 3am.  You sighed as you held your stomach.  You were stealthy enough to sneak into the kitchen, right?  You steeled yourself as you unlocked your door as quietly as you could, grabbing the key to loop around your neck and soon stepped out into the halls.  

The castle was disturbing and soulless enough during the day time, but the night brings out the true nature of the word horrifying.  The torches crackled with fire and shadows danced along the busy walls.  The silence would make a small rodent tampering along the floors seem as loud as a war drum.  Your bare feet felt chilled on the tile floor.  You breathed in, if you got caught by some unforeseen guard, you’d just play like you were sleepwalking.

Surely they would buy that excuse, right?

You stuck close to the walls, running to hide in the shadows and avoiding the flames of the torches that were easily eye level.  The short trip to the kitchen felt like a treacherous odyssey as you ducked and avoided guards, listening out for heavy clunking of boots and the jingling of chainmail.

You were tiptoeing down the hall when the guard you were quietly tailing from a decent distance when he suddenly stopped. Your breath hitched as you pressed yourself against the wall as much as you could.  The tapestry behind your back folding with wrinkles as you clutched its floor-brushing fabric in your palm.  You pressed the back of your head against the wall expecting to hit the marble wall behind you, but in fact, it didn’t hit the smooth of the marble wall. No, not at all.  

Uncurling your fingers from the tapestry, you moved your hand to go behind it and lightly knock on the wall.  What was behind you wasn’t marble, but sounded and felt like wood?  You watched as the guard soon walked off and you used the limited light from a nearby torch as you looked behind the hanging cloth.  A door lay behind it.  

The journey to the kitchen was forgotten the moment you found the hidden door. Looking to your sides, you listened and watched to make sure the coast was clear of any patrolling guards.  Testing the door handle that lacked a lock, you were shocked to see it turn down completely and allow the door crack open when you offered the tiniest of pushes.  Looking both directions once again and analyzing what was happening once more through your mind, you quickly slid under the tapestry and through the door, clicking it quietly shut behind you.

The corridor you had found yourself in smelt of must and moisture.  The air was thick and stagnant, like a hot humid day confined into a small space. You pulled and flapped the front of your shirt as you breathed heavily in the thick air.  Figuring you had nowhere else to go, you proceeded forward.

It was pitch black dark. You kept one hand on the wall to your right as you followed it in a straight line, only taking small curves every now and again.  It was a pretty straight shot forward into the darkness.  The small dim light from under the door you went through was long gone as you were swallowed by thick, damp dark air.

The ground became much rockier as you proceed with each step.  What you presumed were once tiles were broken and kicked up, your bare toes kicking them and feet stepping on them, making you wince well more than once.  Stepping slowly- carefully- with your hand guiding you, you soon ran into another door.  You don’t know how long you were in that corridor, or where ever you were, but you’ve come this far.  

Trying the new door, it pushed open, though with more force needed that the first.  The door was rusted, wood old and decayed as the metal on it was tough and loud as it squeaked.  Peeking through it, you were met with light again.  This time, you were led to a spiral stone staircase descending further down.  You never remembered a level below the castle existing before.  Though it was very well plausible that you weren’t even on the castle grounds anymore with how far you’ve walked. Small torches- far smaller than the ones in the castle halls- sat in iron sconces.  Taking one off the wall for possible future sight problems, you pushed the heavy, creaking door closed behind you.  

Your shirt clad covered body shivered.  The damp air turned chilly as you slowly took careful steps downwards.  The stairs were stone and aged well beyond a generation or two.  Corners and edges were chipped and certain portions of steps were worn away from what you guessed was previous use.  You wondered if this passageway lead to somewhere particular, or if it is still used? What would you find at the end? 

A small lump formed in your throat at the thought of this passage to nowhere still being used and the newly arriving fear of possibly running into someone.  If that happened, you would have absolutely no excuse for your snooping.  You’d be thrown out of the castle, or if this was a far too extensive crime, more than likely spat at by Senri himself followed by the punishment of execution by guillotine.

The descent down felt agonizingly long.  Part of you thought you were going to end up at the core of the planet if you kept going much further.  However, not much longer you were at the bottom.  Standing on a stone landing, walls all around you with only one other possible direction to choose to go other than back.  Through the single door that stood in front of you.  

Placing your torch into a vacant sconce, you inspected the door.

It was in better shape than the one at the top of the staircase.  The wood seemed well taken care of, despite the damp atmosphere of the lower tier of- wherever you were. The metal that welded the door to the metal frame was strong and sturdy and in no need of any repair anytime soon unless a wrecking ball should somehow crash into it.  There was a small metal slit in the door at eye level.  Taking the handle that stuck off of it, you slid it to the left, opened the window and peeked inside.  

It was dark, you could hardly make out a single detail on what may be inside.  For all you knew this was just a vacant room. Empty and lost to time.  With the window still open, you looked down at the door handle.  A single metal ring that you simply pull on to unlatch the door.  With a curious mind, you grasped it, the metal chilling your skin and tugged. The door lurched at your motion.  It seemed to be able to open with ease; much to your shock.

Abandoning the window, you grasped the ring with both hands and tugged.  Your feet stepping backward as the door opened further and further. The bottom of the door chasing your defenseless toes. Once the door was open enough for you to slip inside, you peeked in once again, leaning your torso only half way in.  

The light the stairway allowed only lit a small portion of the room before the firelight faded into the complete darkness of this room.

The air felt tight and compressed.  The room was small, you were certain of that. A small grate was at the very top of the ceiling of the room, you could only assume it lead to somewhere outside where it lay in the ground.  Perhaps this was a room for water drainage?  That would certainly explain the dampness. You were nearly content with that conclusion, that is until you hear scuffling bounce off the stone walls.

There was something in this room.  

It was a rat, that was the most probable of choices.  Rodents were bound to be found in a place like this, it was second hand thinking that even a child knew.  Taking a shaky breath, you grabbed your torch once more from it’s sconce and slowly stepped into the room.  

Small puddles rippled and splashed with your footsteps from the last heavy rain that no doubt drained into the room from the grate above.  Soon though, your hip ran into the edge of an old, worn out table.  Hissing, you rubbed your skin, lifting your shirt to see the red skin of your waist.  Finally, looking at the table itself, you sucked in a breath, covering your mouth with your free hand.

Anything from knives to whips lay on the table top.  An ax, knives of all shapes and sizes, whips of leather and of spiked tips.  You felt sick looking at them.

You dropped your torch, the fire extinguishing in a puddle as you took several steps backward.  Your stomach churned and flipped. You heard the shuffling again, like something moving around behind you.

Turning around with an impressive whirl, you fell to your rear with a shaken shout.  

Tonight must’ve been a night that Senri wanted to view the moon, casting the clouds aside.  That would be the only explanation as to why the moonlight shone through the grate above your head and lit the room with a brilliant, soft blue light.  Showing you where you were, what was in the room, your discarded torch and the man tied up against the back wall.  

“Oh, Gods,” you gasped in heavy breaths.  Breathing shouldn’t be this hard right? Just, in and out, right?  Yet, there you sat, on your ass, hands braced behind you as you stared at the moonlit boy having the hardest time breathing in your life.  You mentally walked yourself through the breathing process as your breath left you and seemed to never return. Breathing in felt like gulping water.

The man before you hunched over as he rested on his knees.  His hands and hands were restrained by mere fabric by the looks of it.  Pure white sheets wrapped around his wrists, tangled around his elbows and under his underarms.  His ankles, however, had chains around them, though they were of a material you’ve never seen.  

The shackles seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, shining so beautifully like the moon itself was trapped inside. Only now you realized that the shackles were made of pure silver.  On the clasp of the shackle was a scripture in a language you couldn’t read.  You hardly recognized it.  The encryption almost seemed to pulse, glowing off and on with the light of the moon.

Looking at the fabric confinements once more, they hung from the ceiling, held up and drilled into the stone walls and ceiling with the same pure silver material. You brought your sights back down to finally look at the man himself.

His hair was as white as the moon.  A shining silver from root to tip.  A mask was placed over the entirety of his face.  Pure white with golden designs around the eyes in the shape of a beautiful butterfly from temple to temple across the mask’s face.

He wore a white collared shirt, torn and stained with black harnesses hooked over his shoulders and wrapped around his waist.  Black, snug pants hugged his legs.  Straining against his thighs and the holes in the knees were frayed and obviously created at the number of times he’s probably dragged them across the stone floor.  He wore boots on his feet, though they were aged, scuffed and you could faintly see the sole of the boot detach from the cover.

His frame was lithe, slim yet as he hung and draped against his restraints, his arms raised, you could catch the faintest glimpse of his stomach, hard and muscular and his arms and shoulders crinkled his shirt as it pushed against his chest.  He was nowhere lacking in the muscular department so it seemed.  

Then the questions came.

Who was this man?  Why was he here?  How long has he been down here?  Has he been getting whipped? Cut? Completely tortured beneath the surface of wherever you were wondered to?  You found yourself internally fighting over the decision to move closer to him or to run out of the small room that appears to be his dungeon cell.

You quickly stood up and took to pacing back and forth; as if rambling and panicking to yourself would actually get you anywhere.  As you ran your fingers relentlessly through your hair, your nonstop mumbles and quick steps in puddles and kicking loose peebles had woken the masked man up.

With a groan and a twitch from him, you quickly shut up with a small yelp and moved far too quickly back against the wall.  Falling against it, you braced your hands at your side behind you as you watched the masked man move ever so slightly.

His motions, although slow, were smooth.  Like a steady flow of water into a calm stream. His body twitched and seemed to jolt and pop into place as he moved to stand tall on his knees instead of slumped over like he previously was.

Raising his masked face, his body remained unmoving.  You don’t know what was more frightening.  The lack of movement from him as he was now looking directly towards your figure against the wall.  Or the fact that his mask hid his entire face, so you could see nothing besides that golden butterfly across his eyes, sitting on a sea of white.  

For some reason the air around this man made you freeze.  His consciousness as well as his awareness of your presence sent shivers down your spine and caused your knees to tremble. You’ve never seen this man before in your life, but somewhere in your very core said something about him, you felt something you couldn’t name.  Something that just wasn’t quite right.  Something strong-- sinister maybe?  

Something ungodly.

“I have never seen you before,” his voice wasn’t what you were expecting.  It was smooth, if not a little rusty.  It wasn’t too low, nor too high.  It was a voice that- despite your shaking frame- could almost calm you. You jumped, not actually expecting him to speak first- let alone at. 

“I- well I-,” you cursed yourself for being unable to form a proper sentence; how embarrassing.  You closed your mouth, pushing your dry lips together and swallowing.  Letting out a puff of air, you tried once more.  “I was… wandering around the castle and I just… ended up here.” Your voice, small to begin with, nearly vanished as you spoke.  You felt so small, and you weren’t even the one restrained in this room.

“You are of this kingdom?” He spoke again.  You figured that he wouldn’t want to converse with you, especially since you were the stranger who accidentally discovered something you obviously were never supposed to.

“I- I am,” you spoke with a fragment of a question.  It caught his ear.

“You question your homeland?”

“I-,” you hated this kingdom and its god.  However, could you really be open about that to this man?  You didn’t even know who he was!

“Do not lie to me,” his voice became gruff, almost like he could hear you were doubting your instincts to reply back truthfully or not.  Your stilled as you curled your hand, nail to your palm and pinching your bare leg every now and again to remind yourself that this was no dream. “Kiahan; you are or you are not.”  The question had left him roughly as he demanded a response.

“I am,” you lowly replied in truth.  He let out a sigh as he hung his head, his mask tilting down, the golden butterfly out of view now hidden in the shadow of his hanging head. He didn’t seem to be dangerous, though that may be a crafty facade for all you knew.  Though, with the restraints, he holds no real harm at the moment.  So, the curiosity in your gut was safe to be released you concluded. Perhaps he could answer the questions you so desperately want answers to.

“If I may be so bold,” the man spoke before you could even open your mouth to start speaking.  “I’m not fond of those who ask many questions, so may I ask you to keep them to a minimum?” He did it again!  It was like he knew what you were going to do before you truly did it!  What? Is this man good at reading body language or something?  A small chuckle left his mouth as he shook his head, raising back up ever so slightly.

“Alright,” you quietly responded.  You twirled and spun the questions in your head like a carousel, picking what questions would take precedence over another.  “How many will you answer?” You asked.  

“Oh, you still wish to ask them?” He sounded almost impressed.  

“I do,” the first sentence of yours to come out strong-willed. It made the man before you straighten his back and shift around.  His knees came out in front of him as he sat his rear completely on the ground, kicking his boot-clad feet out in front of him.  His arms that were raised in a slight slack were now completely above his hand, white silks pulling on his wrists and arms.  He leaned back against the wall as the center ceiling grate kept a steady flow of moonlight flooding the room.

“Three,” he answered and you could hear the smirk on his face.  

“Three,” you repeated quietly to yourself.  Soon, you were nodding to yourself, seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Alright, I’m ready to ask my questions.” He remained silent, your cue to proceed along with the interrogation.  “Where are we?”  

What a boring first question-- that was the first thought that ran through his head.  He looked up, peering through the eye slits of his mask to the moon threaded grate above him. 

“We’re in an underground cell created to hold me in solitary confinement presumably in complete secrecy.”  You opened your mouth but he spoke again. “Ah ah, careful little maid.  Asking me ‘why’ still counts as a question.”  You shut up as you then scowled.

“I am not a maid.  How dare you.”  His hands opened, fingers spreading into the air.

“Oh pardon me.  I didn’t think they let concubines of the royal family run around and snoop on their own.”

Opening your mouth in frustrated awe you were honestly insulted.  Who the hell did this man think he is?!  He’s the one tied and bound, not you so why is he talking down to you like you were the one who was in a compromising state!

“I’m a metal worker, thank you very much.  Ungrateful, bound men should really hold their tongue.”  The man only chuckled before it erupted into a laugh.  It was almost menacing, the way the sound of his laughter bounced off the walls and rolled into your ears, it seemed sinister.  Yet, also still amused.

“You must pardon me,” he repeated, still chuckling deeply to himself as he was slowly calming down.  “Alright, metal worker, my time is not free and yours is quite limited.  So hurry this process along if you would.”  He had some nerve.

“As you wish,” you gruffly muttered as your second question flew out of your mouth.  “Why are you here?”  The question seemed to muffle any further chuckling from him as the air grew cold.  It was strange that the air in the room seemed to be almost connected to him.  Like the atmosphere took the place of the man’s face you couldn’t see, telling you his expressions without being able to truly see them.

“There are many answers to your question, which one would you like to hear?”  You didn’t comprehend what he meant by that. Perhaps there were many ways to phrase his current position.  And perhaps one way was much crueler than the other.  You, however, were willing to hear anything to make this trip worth the risk and time.  

“I want the truth, if you would be so kind,” you stated.  

“Of course,” he tufted.  “You all always want the truth, even if you hear it though, there is no guarantee you would believe it all.”  You remained silent, unmoving and still resolved to hear the answer to your questions.  He sighed.  “I was… captured long ago.  Does that satisfy you?”

You looked down at the cold, damp stone floor.  You nodded.  It did, but it didn’t.  You couldn’t help but feel his answer was short.  He was being short with you, being truthful, yet not completely so.  There was more he was keeping from you, which you could not blame him for.  He was a stranger, you were a stranger, and he had no reason to open up to you. He could have lied to you, yet you felt in your gut that he didn’t.  

The man sat in his ever sitting position as he looked at you through his mask.  He hadn’t seen you before, as he’s stated he’s been confined and he was curious as to how you ended up here anyway.  Not even he knew where he was located precisely.  He knew the general area where his cell was held so mockingly, but the pinpoint location was completely unknown to him.  

He even scowled to himself.  You were someone in which he knew nothing about, he’s never seen or met you.  He had no need to even answer your questions, or even give you the time of night.  He could’ve just pretended to remain asleep, yet here he was.  Answering your questions- graciously giving you three- and answering them with the utmost of honesty.

He watched your body move slightly with a shiver in the cold, underground cell.  In quite the enticing array of clothing- or rather lack thereof.  A simple white shirt and undergarments along your hips were hardly enough to call clothing.  It’s been quite some time since he’s interacted with someone who didn’t intend to bring him harm.  You had him gnawing on his lip behind his mask.

“I get one last question,” you spoke as you twiddled with your thumbs.  Almost nervous like.  “I-,” you stopped but started once more immediately after steeling yourself. “I wish to know your name.”

His body stopped swaying ever so slightly in his fabric prison as he raised his head higher.  You couldn’t see his eyes beyond his mask, but you could feel his eyes piercing through you.  

“Come over here,” he demanded of you.  You don’t know why you found yourself absolutely obeying him. You picked yourself up off the ground as you staggered on your feet.  Your feet were sore and sure to have cuts along the bottoms from all the stone you’ve walked along to get to this point.  You felt as if a string was yanking on your chest, dragging you, begging you to go to him.

If you had to describe it, it was like he just placed a spell on you.  Your body felt like it was moving under strings like a puppet and only when you stood in front of him and dropped to your knees now face to face with his mask, were those strings severed from you. Even so close, you could not see his eyes through the mask’s dark slits.

As you knelt in front of him, he was able to search your eyes.  They were vastly different from the two men who often frequent his prison.  Their eyes were simple, flat and dull.  They held nothing and only ever sparked with ill intent when they bared a blade or tested a whip.  Yours though, yours were so human.

They were vast as he gazed at them through his mask.  The dark shadow of your eyes in this place did nothing to diminish their shine. The moon’s gaze added a cover of silver as he could see all your emotions, your thoughts, and dreams behind them- even your name he knew through them.  He was able to get such a clearer image of you through your eyes, even when he was sealed up so tight.  His powers which were suppressed weren’t completely at a zero after all.

“You wish to know my name?” He questioned from behind his mask.  You nodded at him.  “Remove the mask that conceals my face and I may allow you one question more.” Your arms rose with a smooth uncertainty.  You wanted to remove that mask, look this man in the eye and get his name to roll off his tongue.  Your trembling fingers slowly reach out and cup along the sides of the mask.  Your fingertips brushed against his hair and the side of his cheeks as you curled your fingers around the mask.  With a breath, you pulled the mask off his face and dropped it to the stone floor where the sound of it echoed into the moonlit room.

The man before you was just as beautiful- if not more so- then the moon itself.  Your hands hovered over his face where his mask used to be as you were lifted above his head on your straightened knees.  Your hair hung pasted your cheeks as you looked down at him and he looked up at you.  

He really didn’t know what he was thinking, asking you to remove his mask.  He no longer remembered what he looked like after all these years.  Perhaps he was the same, or perhaps not.  

The way you looked at him made him more and more curious with each ticking moment.  His eyes were that of a silver coin, shining and reflecting as a mirror would.  His skin flawless as the moonlight bounced off it.  He looked like he could be the child of a god and if he managed to say it, you would almost believe it.  This man was ethereal; beautiful was an understatement.

“Have I rendered you speechless,” the smirk on his face is something you had imagined when the mask was covering him.

“No-I,” you stumbled.  “I simply wasn’t expecting you to be as beautiful as you are,” you answered with an honest breath.  He could feel your breath on his forehead as you spoke and almost relished in the warmth it brought to his skin.  Even now, he knew his own to be cold as ice.

“You wished to know my name, did you not?” You only nodded as he pushed himself back up on tall knee.  He was now higher than you, swapping roles as he now looked down at you and your vastly emotional eyes.  “Jimin,” he told you. “You may call me that.”

He was almost ready to pry the final question he granted you out of your throat when something felt off.  His body moved towards yours on its own, hovering ever closer to you as your face was hovering close to his neck.  His arms fought against the restraints of the silk as he looked up at the grate.  Shifting his gaze, he looks at the door as it soon slammed shut with the narrowing of his eyes that shone with a soft glow for but a moment.

Pulling a small scream from your throat, you looked at the door before you looked back at Jimin, finding him already looking down at you.

“Replace my mask and you must leave.”  You wanted to protest, wanting to know why.  In reality, you knew you had to leave. You should’ve left ages ago, but he somehow kept you rooted. The aura he gave off was enough to keep you in that small chamber of stone. “Please, you must go.  This cell is not completely secret, someone had to put me here, and it is only a matter of time before they walk in through that door.”  

“But, my final question-”

“Y/n, please.” Your eyes widened.  How did he-?

“You knew my name?”  Jimin sucked in a breath.  Dammit, he slipped.  He hissed as he could detect someone at the very top of the long spiral stairs he knew the echo of far too well.  He tugged on his arms, hoping that even the smallest bit of slack could be offered to him. To no avail.

“Save your question, but please, go.  The grate above you is loose, climb to it and run.”  He instructed. You only nodded as you grabbed his mask from the ground and carefully slotted it back over his face. Slowly, you got off your knees, Jimin’s eyes following you under his mask as you ran around and grabbed the single chair in the far corner of the room and stood on your very toes to reach the metal grate just enough to lift it and push it to the side inch by inch.

When you were able to grip the outside terrain with your curled fingers, you felt it was all stone. You mentally sighed, stone being much easier to grip than what grass and mud would be.  Ready to hoist yourself up, Jimin stopped you for a brief moment.

“Do you truly not view Senri as your God?” His voice echoed as you looked down at him.  How did he know that?  You saw his head look to the door and you didn’t hesitate to lift yourself up, kicking the chair over in the jump from your force.  You clambered through the small hole and soon rolled yourself into the outside air.  The lack of dampness and open area was a nice change compared to the cell’s air.

Before you moved the grate back into its place, you peeked your head down into the room, your hair hanging from its place on your scalp and creating a dark waterfall.  You called down to Jimin as you offered him a small, upside down smile.  You don’t know why but perhaps a smile would make the next words you tell him believable.

“I do not view Senri as any God of mine.  I shall save that final question for another night. Do not forget.” Then, you disappeared, moving the grate back into place and he could hear your feet patter off to return to the castle.  He sighed as he looked down, dropping himself to his rear as he looked back up at the grate, the moonlight dimming as it became covered by clouds.  

Then, the door to his dungeon kicked open, a single man stood in the doorway.  One in which Jimin was far too familiar with.  A wicked sly grin grew under his mask as he kicked his head back against the stone wall like he’d been alone all night until now.  

“Ah, welcome back, Your Majesty.”  

When you managed to push the grate back into its slotted space in the small patch of stone, you quickly staggered to your feet and took off.  The ground around you was full of green grass and you were in the center or a maze of hedges. Cursing lightly, you prayed that you would even find your way out.  Yet, frustration set in as you quickly found yourself turned around more than once.  Passing the same statue at least 3 times over now.  You stopped as you looked around, biting the nail of your thumb.

Beyond the hedge maze was a building of which you couldn’t quite make out or identify from the back. The darkness of night didn’t help that fact either.  You decided to keep your eyes on the building.  Being methodical under the assumption that the exit must be at that building, you should be able to get out without too much further hassle.

Eventually, you did manage to weed yourself out of the grassy maze, but you wished it hadn’t taken as long as it did.  Quickly moving to the front of the building which aided your escape, you felt your breath leave your lungs like someone had just sucker punched your gut.  You instantly recognized the building from the front, dark out or not. You saw this building every day out of the back windows of the South Hall.

It was the Temple of Senri.  

The temple was strictly off limits to everyone besides the royal family.  It’s located directly behind the palace, beyond the stone gardens that only select caretakers are permitted to maintain. Sure enough, beyond that stone garden and past a small roll of grassy hills was the south poets' gate entrance into the palace.

Jimin was held in a cell beneath the temple that was connected to the palace via a hidden stone passage.  That can only mean he was captured by the royal family, right? The only ones who could possibly know about it and Jimin would be them.  The king, queen and the heir to the throne, the prince.  The only other possible person to even know the slightest knowledge about Jimin’s hostage situation was-

“Senri,” you whisper to yourself into the chilled night air.  The wind picked up as you soon grew anxious and shivered.  You shook your head. Turning from the temple, you ran.  Ran up the rolling hills of the backcourts, through the stone garden and back into the palace.  Traveling back through the halls, careful to be undetected once more you finally ran once again into the safety of your room as you clicked the lock shut behind you.

What was once a simple stealth mission for something to eat at the dead of night, turned into a mind-boggling puzzle that left you with gooseflesh and more questions.  That final question would have to be chosen wisely if you wanted a proper answer that even slightly sedated your burning curiosity.

That may be what shocked you the most out of every turn the evening offered you- your twisted curiosity. Maybe a smarter person would forget this ever happened, forget they met a man named Jimin under the Temple of Senri- a forbidden place for someone like you. However, even after everything so far, you were sure of only one thing.

You absolutely would sneak in to see Jimin again.

As you lingered in your room, it was hard to believe you even left it.  The palace was as quiet as before and the room was the same picture as it would be any other night.  The only evidence was the scratches on your feet and the erratic pulsing of your blood through your veins.

You were usually someone who would stick to a schedule.  Your life had been laid out in front of you ever since your father passed and you were placed in the castle.  Metalworking was the objective you were tasked with until you inevitably worked yourself to death one day.  Yet, with one glance into Jimin’s moon silver eyes, you wanted to take that hypothetical schedule and tear it to shreds.

Gazing at Jimin seemed to sever a link of chains that bound you to this palace. This royal tyranny.  This god. This kingdom.  Now, you have decided something else as you lay on your bed at an hour that was bound to leave you exhausted and possibly ill.

You wanted to free Jimin, even if you knew absolutely nothing about him or who he may be at the end of all of this. Even if he were some criminal who was bound to manipulate you, you simply felt like you had to free him.  You didn’t give yourself a choice. 

You didn’t sleep at all.  By the time a yawn came out of your mouth and you were ready to close your eyes, the birds began their ceaseless crying and the halls began to fill with footsteps of all varieties before harsh banging was shaking your door in its frame.

Dragging yourself out of bed, walking to the door to offer a weak, yet hefty bang back to the person on the other side you waddled your way into your bathroom for a shower.  If you took a bath, the probability of you falling asleep and drowning was way too risky.

You cleaned up your sore feet and layered them with two pairs of socks today.  It would be suffocating for your bottom limbs, but the extra cushion was sorely needed.  Dressed up in your tunic of a dim, quite ugly, yellow and black trousers you tugged on your boots and grabbed your basket of metal ready to weld the day away as your thoughts were muddled with Jimin and how you were going to manage seeing him again safely.  

As you left your room, your hair a damp tangled cascade on your back, you walked down the hall with the tapestry you knew Jimin’s secret door was behind.  It was practically killing you, the urge to rip the tapestry down and rush through the door clawing at your conscience.  Sure, the sun may not be out, but you wondered what Jimin would look like in a brighter light, even if just slightly. Though, the moon complimented him nicely.

You waltzed down the hall, basket on your hip as you remained expressionless as you did any other day.  You eventually made your way down into the kitchen, as per usual, ready to snag a small handful of fruits to throw into the basket with all your work for your throughout the day ‘meals’.  An apple, a vine of grapes, a small roll and as your mind reeled back to Jimin, you snagged a second apple as you quickly turned your back and left to your workspace.  

When you pushed open the wooden door of your ‘office’, you were greeted with the back of another worker of the castle you knew but didn’t converse with all too often.  He was a quiet fellow, not too much younger than yourself and kept to himself.  He would do maintenance and run around  the palace in circles like the royal families lapdog; and he would obey no matter the task assigned to him.  

When you walked in, he was stepping off a small, definitely unsafe, step ladder that lifted him to the low ceiling of your work room.  Wiping the brow of his forehead, he huffed as he looked at his handiwork, more so seeing if he needed to go back up right at this moment or if he was good to go for at least a little while now that you were here.  Your office space wasn’t exactly up to snuff like the rest of the castle.  

Your ceilings were weak, leaky and quite frankly a mud hut would be more efficient to work inside.  Though, you were a measly metal worker and posing an argument to have your work quarters either moved or renovated in its entirety would be far too much hassle for the snot-nosed royals.

After having patched the ceiling enough to his liking, he nodded before he snapped the step ladder up and carried it to shove it off into a corner where it always stayed when it’s not in use.  Wiping his hands on his already stained, no longer only white, trousers, he ran his forearm over his forehead once more.  It was also always unbelievably warm in your work room due to the dramatically large stones and ember fire pit that would soon burn with flame and the metal welding table far by the window. Having one puny chimney and one cracked window wasn’t nearly enough ventilation for cool air.

“That patch should last the week this time,” He spoke softly under his breath, though you knew he was talking to you rather than himself.  He was always quiet, and you grew to recognize when he was having a personal monologue and when he was addressing you.  You nodded.  

“The last one must have just been simply too worn because of the fire.  I will keep an eye on it more and I will call you if this one begins to falter as well.  Thank you for your work, Jungkook,” you spoke just like you did every other time he came to fix something. He only nodded briefly before he left the room, the wind pushing at his heels as he was soon gone as fast as you assumed he came.  

Jungkook was a mystery throughout the castle. Known for his achievable work and overwhelming good looks. However, it didn’t stop his shyness- similar to a young boy who is being scorned for stealing their sister's doll and burying it in the dirt. Though, you took the idea that the fact he at least spoke to you a small bit, he didn’t hate you at the very least.  

He wore his emotions on his cheeks, and you’ve never once seen him truly frown.  At least, not directly at you. You also swore that when you were faulty with a fever, he was the one who snuck chopped up herbs under your door inside a small cloth bag for you to find and steam for a nice, hot herbal tea.  

You sighed as you soon set your basket onto your desk and slotted yourself onto the stool, not really ready and willing to slave away another day, but you had nothing else to do.  You couldn’t see Jimin until the moon was up.  Perhaps if you finished early, you could actually get some decent sleep tonight in the end.

Melting, steaming, pounding, hammering, welding and cooling.  Your day happened just as always.  Rinse and repeat the steps and there you were, a professional metal worker, or what you could only assume the royal family saw as professional.  Your work was far from exquisite, though it got the job done. Finishing your workload with 5 brand new locks and a set of matching keys for each too, you allowed yourself a small rest. Throwing a bucket of water on the stone fire and removing your tunic you were finally able to breathe.   

Sat only in your chest bindings and trousers around your waist, you watched the thick smoke of the water doused fire drift up through the chimney and exit somewhere out into the overcast, grey daytime sky.

Practically crawling across the floor, you picked yet another grape off the vine you took from the kitchen that morning and popped it into your mouth, the tart of it makes you wince as you soon welcomed the taste.  Your bread had been devoured long ago and your apple had been half eaten, the rest of it browned from air exposure and then tossed out the window for compost or whatever animal found it.  Your grapevine was nearly empty as the second apple remained whole and healthy.

Soon, you felt the sweat on your body cool as you picked up your tunic top and threw it back over your head, tossing the new and cold metal of locks and keys in your basket before you left your workroom.  Briskly walking to drop off of your daily metals, you slid the basket into its place for it to be checked over later by advisers of the king to make sure they were durable enough and left it behind.  

You have been bothered all day long about Jimin and his location and how everything seemed awfully specific and odd about his seclusion.  You wanted to know why his shackles were silver, a material loathed in Senri’s land of fool’s gold. Why did those white silks keep him restricted so well and what was the mask he wore and why was it so bothersome to think about?  

Without realizing, you had spent the remainder of your day in the library.  Reading books about the Gods, about Ventus and Senri.  About silver and about the moon and the sun.  About what the silks holding Jimin might be.  Writing down any and everything you could.  When you ran out of paper you would write on your skin, covering it with your clothes when someone would walk past.

When the evening bells tolled, you cursed as you quickly scrambled to put away your books and rushed out, back to retrieve your basket and return to your room.  

You grimaced when you saw your basket of crafted metal hadn’t been touched, the king’s advisers once again not doing their job unless you waited on their hand and foot, spoon feeding them their tasks.  You rolled your eyes as you grabbed your basket, metal and locks inside along with your one apple left, shocked to see it hadn’t been stolen.  Did anyone even look at your basket today day?

You shook your head as you sped off to your room, but not at a pace that was suspicious.  Not, just a small hop that made it look like you were simply well worked and ready for rest.  When, in reality, you were ready to make yet another secret trip.

You were jolted awake when your bedroom door was met with a harsh bang.  Throwing yourself out of the bed, you unlocked the door and swung it open, catching the retreating form of a guard who had probably just slammed his spread into the wood of your door. Shutting it again with a harsh grunt, you heard thunder outside your window that made your head turn.  

The oncoming storm worried at your mind; all because Jimin was still in that cell.  Scrambling about your room, you slipped on a pair of pants under your untucked top. Forgoing your boots as much as you wanted to wear them, the heels were just too loud in the empty, echoing halls of the late night palace.  

Taking a small candle and holster, pocketing a small box of matches and the one apple you had kept with you, you quickly left your room.  The trip to the tapestry was even more nerve-racking than last time.  A destination and really no excuse as to why you were roaming when you shouldn’t be this time.  Though, you made it under the cloth and through the door without detection once again.

Taking a breath of air, you knelt to the ground. Taking your matches, you struck one on a piece of jagged stone and watched the flame burst before it simmered down enough you could light your candle.  The corridor to the staircase was far too dangerous to keep traveling in darkness. Once lit successfully, you waved out the match and discarded it on the stone floor before you stood back up and made your way down the long trek of the stoney hall.

It was several minutes before you reached the heavy, rusted door to the stairs and with your shoulder against it, pushed it open.  Pushing it shut with your back, you blew out your candle, now in the fire lit stairwell of torches.  Carefully stepping down with your bare feet, you soon made it to the bottom and you were still for a moment.  Silent and listening.  

Jimin chased you off for a reason last night.  Someone must’ve been on their way, how he knew that- you didn’t know, but that had to be the case.  Last night, you found him far late into the moonlit hours.  This time, at the high moon, surely you’d have more time with him. Maybe he’d even grant you more questions, because after all your reading and all your thinking, you had several.

It was silent in the cell beyond the door. The sound of the rain starting bouncing off the stone.  Rain was no good omen in Kiah.  Rain was never just rain, it was storms- it was destruction and it was Senri throwing a temper tantrum about something or another.  Letting out his frustrations, even when he was not the one who should control the rain- perhaps his attempt to control what was once Ventus’ was what caused storms to brew.  

Rain, water, moon, wind, and tide all belonged to that of Ventus.  It was his domain to rule, but when he disappeared, somehow Senri must’ve found a way to take the reigns and completely distort and abuse the power.  

The sun and desert should never tamper with the moon and its tides. Senri’s corrupt rule was proof enough of that.

Shaking your head, you take the metal ring of the door and once more pull it open.  The creaking of the door and the small splashes of your bare feet against the damp stone caught Jimin’s attention.

He had already been awake, fading in and out of a weary state when he felt the air in the stairwell change.  Though, the presence was different than that of his usual visitors, and low and behold, there you were in front of him again. Covered more than the previous night, holding an apple in one hand and and a blown out candle in the other.  

His tense shoulders slacked as you walked inside, placing your candle on the table of torture instruments and walked over to him.  You still hadn’t known if he was awake or not. You placed the apple down in a puddle of clean rain water and slowly approached him.  Jimin watched, completely still, as your feet stepped in the ankle-deep puddles of uneven stone and he questioned why you continued to remain barefooted when your feet were so cut and damaged.

He watched as you slowly knelt in front of him, reaching out to touch him, but hesitated a moment. He saw the sleeve of your long shirt lift, revealing words upon words of information.  Scanning them, he noticed the name Ventus a number of times. Reading that name once again made his chest swirl and his fists clench.  

“Jimin?” You slowly questioned as you whispered, not a breath louder than the rain dripping through the grate above.  He remained silent, however. “I’m going to remove your mask now,” you warned before your fingers curled around the edges of it just like last night and slowly pulled it off.  

You were met with his silver eyes staring at you in an unwavering manner.  He looked so tired, eyes heavy and skin ghostly.  Setting the mask down at his side with ease, you quickly pushed on his shoulders and persuaded him to untuck his knees from under him to sit on his rear.  It may be wet on the cell floor, but it would be better for relaxing if he sat down completely.  

Jimin remained silent as he moved with your touches and pushes, doing what you willed of him. Oddly obedient for himself, he had to admit.  

“Why have you returned?” The first words spoken from him and he sounded ungrateful and irked.

“I have found out many things within the day that has passed.  Would you like to hear about it all?” You completely disregarded his questions.  He remained silent, so you took your chance to start talking before he would eventually interrupt you. “I spent my day reading books upon books about the old Gods and their kingdoms.  I read about many kingdoms to the east and west. Some with one God, other with several.  Then, I read about Kiah and Eden.  The sister kingdoms who used to rule as separate kingdoms with two Gods, but decades ago merged into one melting pot of a falling empire.”

“What did you learn exactly?” Jimin questioned, more than curious about how the books told history, or how the books may have completely distorted history.

“I learned many things.  About the kingdoms and about their Gods.  Senri and Ventus. Complete polar opposites and yet they managed to work side by side for so long.” You paused as you decided what should come next.  “I read in the books that it was the disappearance of Ventus that caused Senri to fill in the spot left behind thanks to his partner's vacancy, but… that doesn’t feel solid enough to me.”  

“You doubt your kingdom’s history?”

“I do,” you answered without hesitation.  “I cannot help having this feeling that the answers to all my questions are dangling in front of my eyes.”  You looked at the silver chains around Jimin’s ankles.  “Silver was the element of ‘Ventus of the Moon’ and has been forbidden in Kiah since I was a youth.  Just speaking of it can land even a child harsh punishment.”

You reached out and lightly touched the chilled shackle.  The metal was smooth, cool and something about it felt so much different than all the copper and gold in which you were most familiar.  When you came into contact with his shackle, Jimin’s very core shook.  He’s still just as sensitive with silver now as he was back then.  

“I am a metal worker.  I grew up in the palace of Kiah under the royal family chosen by the God Senri. I am not a loyal follower of my God and I am a studious worker only because I wish not yet to die.  However, I will admit to being a lot of things, one thing I am not is stupid.”  You moved and hovered above Jimin’s face, tall on your knees as your hands came and cradled under his chin, making sure his eyes went nowhere but into your own.  “I would like to ask my final question now, Jimin.”  

He was silent as he looked into your eyes.  He kept seeing you in them.  Your past, your emotions, your work, your skills, just you. The window to your soul is those deep, dark, living eyes and they remained wide open for him to look and watch as he pleased.  He couldn’t bring himself to tear away from them, not even willing himself a blink.

“Are you certain you wish to ask a question as heavy as the one resting on your tongue?” He whispered as if he had already known the question ready to come out of your mouth.  You nodded. “As you wish.”

“I have many questions, even ones I know you could answer; however, I will stick to the one I am due for.  Regardless of how you answer, my desires shall not change.”  When you thought about your decision to free Jimin, you noticed just how cold Jimin’s skin was to touch.  It was like touching a soft pool of water that sat still in the dead of night.  “Jimin, you’re Ventus- aren’t you?”

It was an emotion so foreign for him to hear his name back after so long.  It restored a part of him he thought to be lost; the God he knew himself to be and the God he thought to be dead so long ago.  In this cell, in these bindings and chains, he was as good as human.  He was restricted with unimaginable magic and held prisoner here like a dog.  His mind wandered back to the times he was a God, freely roaming his home back in Eden.

“I am,” he spoke with a small, short breath.  Admitting he was Ventus was even more foreign than hearing it from another.  He was Ventus of the Moon, but he was now so used to being Jimin after all this time held captive.

You dropped his chin, moving to kneel with your knees tucked under you on the ground, relaxing as Jimin’s eyes followed your movement.  After a moment, you got up and moved to take the apple from it’s puddle and brought it back to him.  Kneeling once more, you offered it to him, holding it in front of his lips.  

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“You may be a God, and you may not live like normal humans do, but something to eat surely can’t be all too awful.”  That was correct.  Gods need not live off of human food, as they would never starve.  The only way for a God to die is to be killed by another God.  However, that does not mean starvation and hunger does not affect them.  It’s an illness, one that crawls in the stomach of Gods and it relentless.  They would not die, but they would suffer.  

Jimin could not remember the last time he was able to eat anything. The clawing in his gut became numbing years ago, but the apple in his line of sight made that feeling jolt back with a fury.

“You cannot expect me to actually be fed,” he spoke in a tone that mimicked his raised brow.  You rolled your eyes. Leave it to a god to be full pride, even given the current situation.

“I could always eat it myself.”  

Jimin rolled his eyes back at you as he quickly moved to bite a chunk into the apple you presented him.  He lowered his head as he chewed and swallowed, taking a breath.  Eating truly was a taxing task when you hadn’t done it in decades.  Yet, he soon found himself eating around the core you presented him with.  

You dabbed at his lips and chin with a small handkerchief you kept in your trousers once he finished.  You set the apple core aside, mentally reminding yourself to not forget to take it outside with you once you leave.  Jimin sat with his legs in front of him as he tilted his head back, eyes closed as he breathed.  He seemed better than before- if you could at all shine a positive light on his prison predicament.

You itched to ask more questions.  You wanted to know so much, but you knew that you shouldn't ask.  You weren’t even sure how to properly address him anymore if you were honest with yourself.  He was a God, someone of immense power and someone far more valued than yourself: a simple human woman.

“I have a favor to ask of you, Y/n,” Jimin spoke as he kept his eyes closed and head back. “If you agree to it, I’ll answer any questions you may have.  I require no limit.”  

“And what would that favor be, Ventus?” Your voice spoke with a higher register as you spoke his Godly known name.  Unsure if you should be using it without a title or really at all as you were not of Eden.

“Do not refer to me as the God Ventus. You met me as the hostage known as Jimin,” he lowered his chin back down and opened his eyes as he looked at you.  Your breath left your throat, Ventus truly was a beautiful being.  “I would prefer to remain as Jimin in your eyes, at the very least.”

“That- that is all you ask of me and you will answer any query of mine?  That seems far too simple.”

“It is simple.  Jimin is the name I took when I became that of a human while held in imprisonment.  He is something Ventus of the past is now quite familiar with.  Truth be told, I cannot even remember how to be a God.  It’s been far too long.”

You sat in silence in front of him.  He must have so much pent up emotion inside of him, it must be painful at this point.  He cannot die, he is stripped of his title and his power, and his freedom that used to be as vast as the night sky was snuffed out into nothing by the sun that shone so brightly it burned.

You looked at your fingertips, all the hard work you’ve put into your work all these years and Jimin was here under your feet all along- suffering worse than you. No matter how cruel and harsh the castle work was, Jimin would be blessed to have the ease of your life compared to his cruel fate.  

“I believe,” you started, “I can agree to that condition.  Though I have many questions, I will do my best not to overwhelm you.”  Jimin remained silent as you looked at him and he at you.  “What-,” you started then halted, rewording yourself. “Do you remember what the sun looks like? Like, the sunrise or the colors of the sky at dusk?”

Jimin blinked as you asked.  

“Senri is that of the sun, yet you’ve never once seen it?” You shook your head.  It made sense if Jimin truly thought about it.  Senri was so obsessed with Jimin and his power over the moon and night that it must’ve consumed him when he sealed and stole the power from Jimin.  With so much unrelenting power it could only seal itself into Senri- the nearest god. Senri was nowhere near strong enough to control what Ventus had previously.  The moon, hypothetically, was stuck in front of the sun in an everlasting eclipse.

The thought of you not experiencing the warmth of the sun and the beauty and light it brings with it was enough to make Jimin angry. Stripping mankind of an essential as important as the solar system’s center star.  How flagrantly sacrilegious.

“I do.  Would you like to hear about it all? Use my words to paint a picture in your mind about what it contains.” You nodded at him.  He smiled as he got comfortable and slid his eyelids over his eyes.  Thinking of just the right words to explain such a sight. “The sun is a light one cannot simply shut off or snuff out.  It is as if the strongest burning torch was lit into the sky and grew and grew until it created a world.  The sky is a canvas for when the sun approaches after long nights and sleeps after tiresome days.  It becomes painted with colors of, like staring at an ocean in the sky with clouds as white as the eyes.”

“Clouds are white?!” Your sudden outburst startled him into a chuckle.  As expected, an overcast is always a state of foul, ugly grey.  

“They naturally are, there are many types of clouds.  Some that are flat against the sky, some that climb and tower into the heavens and some that are like cotton balls that float above us.”  The way your face gleamed with all the knowledge that books couldn’t teach you was so innocent.  Jimin took pride in the idea that he was passing on knowledge of his life to a generation that was blind to it all.  His mind whirled as you kept asking questions, quite frankly forgetting that you told him you would try your best not to overwhelm him.

He imagined a future of fools as he spoke and visited with you.  He imagined one day perhaps escaping this prison of his.  Breaking through the stone walls after he ripped these silks off his arms and shattered the silver that- ironically- bound him.  He imagined a future in which he could clear the skies and put Senri back in his place before he becomes so consumed by his obsession with Ventus he would corrupt and fall.  He imagined returning to Eden. To his home and his people and rejoicing as he worked to piece it all back together.

Most damming of all, he imagined that you might be at his side the entire process. Staring wide-eyed at the sun the first time you saw it, watching your tears the first time you get to witness the sunrise.  What clouds looked like and seeing the blue sky that hid behind all the grey you are so accustomed to.  

Jimin wasn’t sure how long you had continued to kneel on the stone floor and talk with him, but soon he deemed it time to shoo you away.  He knew you had your own life and your own work to attend in the morning, and it was quiet so perhaps he could get his own rest tonight without any unnecessary visits.

You persisted in trying to allow him to let you stay longer, but he only moved his arms ready to counter, resulting in a hiss as the silks tightened around him.  You looked at the spotless fabric.

“Why is it you cannot rip these?” Jimin gave you a warning look. “It is my last question tonight, I promise.” He sighed.  

“They are from across the seas.  Enchanted with a prayer of someone who cannot worship a God such as myself.  Once attached to a God, it can bind and trap any deity who shares power with another.”

“Shares?”

Jimin nodded.  “It is a fabric that was made by someone who worships one God.  A God of an entire country.”

You gasped.  “A single God can control all that is in a single country?!” It is no foreign knowledge that kingdoms were a great deal smaller than whole countries.  “That cannot be, Senri is proof that one cannot control all that is and can be!”

“Do not be so flabbergasted.  A particular God has been at his work for far longer than Senri and I across the seas.  He has grown accustomed to how his world works and respects that he is to stay clean out of ours.”

“They… seem like a decent sort.”

“I cannot stand them.  They are insufferable and arrogant.”

You chuckled at him as you took his mask gently from the ground.  “You two have that in common then.”  Jimin was nearly insulted as you slid his mask over his face, making sure it would not fall in the day to come. “It is alright for me to come and visit you again, isn’t it?” Jimin smiled, even if his face and expressions were sealed off from your sight.

“Please do.  I don’t hate your presence.” You scoffed as you grabbed the chair and climbed out of the grate just as last night and slid it back over it’s cover once outside.  Once more maneuvering out of the maze, only remembering where to go this time around, and back into your room with the most cautious of steps you made it to your bed where you flopped down in the utmost flop of gracefulness.

Jimin was Ventus. On top of that, you learned so much about him and the world he remembered.  You wanted to see that world too one day, and you could only do it by achieving your goal.  By setting Jimin free.  Though, it would definitely take time.

Your visits to Jimin continued for days that turned to weeks that soon melded into months.  Jimin grew more and more worried about the prospect of you becoming caught in your acts of sneaking down to see him.  You, however, weren’t as high strung about it.  You were more than ready to rat  the royal family- who you came to learn kept Jimin down here- completely out if you had to.  

However, it was today as you sat in your workspace fiddling with the boring metal scattered along your desk when someone had knocked and entered your work room without even getting confirmation from you.  Turning your back, you saw Jungkook shutting the door behind him and then turning to you.  Your first thought was he had to fix your ceiling again, but he had no equipment with him.  And the smirk on his face told you he was about to cast his shy boy demeanor aside and completely throw a wrench into your everyday routine.

“Can I help you with something today, Jungkook?”

Jungkook pursed his lips out as he locked his hands behind his back and quite fancily waltz further into the room as he strolled up to your desk. “Perhaps,” he said with a high twinge.  Unclasping his hands from behind  his back, he took to leaning them onto your desk, distracting you from your work as he leaned down, his back parallel to the ceiling and his legs straight, ankles crossed.  He picked at his lip with his teeth as he moved to tinker with your scrap metal.  “You know,” he began, “as someone who is needed for repairs day in and day out every day of the week, it’s no wonder that I have a special privilege.  Do you know what that privilege is?” You just ticked your brow at him.

“Is this going somewhere?”

“Of course you don’t,” he said, ignoring your question. “No, no- not many do after all.  But, you see, that privilege is that I haven’t any restrictions on when and why I need to be in my chambers or not.  I’m free to roam the castle as and when I please without consequence.  Using the excuse of checking up on a repair from a week ago, or simply going to work on something I hadn’t the time for previously.  So, with that in mind, it is no surprise that I see things that I am not supposed to all the time.” You shot him a warning look.  “And my goodness did I see something I just have to share.  For a few nights now, I’ve noticed you have been looking a bit rough around the eyes.”

“I have no need for your input on whether or not I’m pleasing to look at.  I care not for my appearance in the daytime.”

“Why daytime specifically? Is the little metal worker exploring at night?” Mock interest.

“I am sleeping at the hours I should be.  I have no need to care about my looks when my room is locked and I am dead to the world outside my door.” You answered calmly.  Though, you couldn’t suppress the complete shaking of your hands as you lowered them below your desk.

Jungkook lifted his right arm as he curled his fingers under his chin, his fingertips brushing the softest portion above his top lift.  Tapping as a sly smile grew on his lips.  “Is that right?” He slurred as if catching you in your lie.  To be honest, he did.  He was obviously hinting at the idea that at least once, he’s seeing you slip behind that tapestry and disappear inside the hidden door.  

“I thought you were a shy man.  What do you want, Jungkook?” You demanded as you finally met his gaze.  The glimmer of entertainment at your attention flicked with life in his brown eyes and it honestly made you want to knock him through the roof.  

“I am shy when I don’t know the person.  You, however, are different. I’ve been in this room numerous times for the same repair and the same greeting conversation cut short.  I just believe we should… for lack of better terms- strengthen our relationship.” You glared at him.  “As platonically as possible that is.  I mean no offense when I say you are not my type of woman.”  You were a touch offended at that statement of his.

“Don’t gloat.  You’re not as wildly desirable as you seem yourself.”  You huffed as you looked away from him.  He feigned pain as he lowered his head with a dramatic curve in his brow and a fake tut in his chin.  “Cut the act, what do you want,” you scowled.

He lifted his head back as he hooked his foot under the metal ring of a nearby stool and dragged it over.  Adjusting it just slightly in position so he could take a seat at your desk with you.  

“I want to know where that tapestry door leads to.”  You froze.  You knew he knew, but hearing it aloud made the state of your secret far more ominous.  If the royal family found out, if Jungkook told them, you’d be- at best- thrown in prison. Jungkook saw the panic in your eyes, and honestly, he felt bad about it.  Sure, Jungkook may have a lot of dirt on multiple people within palace walls, but he held no ill will towards you.  He had no intention of holding whatever it is you doing against you.  In truth, he would support it, as it went against what the corrupt royals want.

He saw the way your arms shook as you squeezed your hands tightly together under the desk as your shoulders squared up.  Your eyes darting back and forth like you were reading at the fastest pace mankind possibly could.  You were trying to come up with a lie, something to keep him off the trail of the truth, and even if you did- the hesitation that stunned you silent was too long.  Whatever came out of your mouth, if it wasn’t the truth, he would surely know.

“Y/n,” you jumped, pulled from your racing thoughts.  “I want the truth.  I don’t care how it sounds, but I do not want you to lie to me.  I have no intentions of spreading whatever it is that is making you disobey the rules.”  

You saw no lie in his eyes and did not hear any dishonesty in his words. In complete truth, you had been bottling up so many secrets and learning so much it was driving you mad to keep it all to yourself.  If Jungkook was truthful, and he swore, perhaps you could confide in him?

“Do you swear? Swear you won’t repeat anything I say to a third party.  Swear on it.”

“I swear on Senri himself,” he stated with a smirk.

“No,” you sneered. “Anything but him.”

Jungkook paused. “Then, I swear on my mother’s life,” you let out the smallest exhale.  It was no secret when his mother visited him he was more bright and cheery within the castle.  He loved his mother so, and with that love, you knew he would not break this promise.  

You got up, went to your office door and cracked it open.  There were no bodies outside and no boot clad footsteps to be heard.  You closed the door shut and flipped the bolted lock.  No one would enter now.  Going back to Jungkook, you pulled open your desk drawer and then revealed a hidden pocket underneath it.  A hidden area where you keep metals you’ve never seen or rare metals that you want to keep to tinker with.  Within them, was a scrap of metal you pulled and held in front of Jungkook’s eyes.  

The metal reflected in his dark eyes as he gasped in awe at it.  “Is that-”

“It’s silver,” you said as Jungkook hushed you, thinking your voice to be far too loud.  

“You can’t just say that!  If someone heard you, you’d be arrested immediately and your office and room would be searched thoroughly and then you’d find yourself sitting in a cell with a mangy all man named ‘Darien” for the rest of your life!” You rolled your eyes- as if you didn’t know all of that already.  He had no idea how nervous you were when you chipped a piece of Jimin’s shackle and snuck it back to your office like a crook.  

You jerked your hand a bit as a signal that it was alright for Jungkook to touch the metal.  He knew just gazing at it was nearly equivalent to treason.  However, when the metal touched his skin as he pulled it from your fingertips, he gasped as how it felt so different.  

He was in innocent awe as you sat back down onto your stool, your metals for work forgotten.  As he fiddled with the metal, moving it between his fingers and rolling it in his palm as well as looking at it from the light of the room and watching how it shined and glimmered as you had polished it, he smiled like a child tasting sweets.

“Is this what you keep going to see?  Is there more silver?”  

You rolled your tongue along your teeth.  “Yes, there is, but I cannot obtain it.  It’s- restricting something.” Jungkook set the silver down onto the table, oddly careful with it- treating it like glass when in fact it was far greater in durability.

“Restricting something?”  You sighed as you leaned your elbows on your table, rubbing your face with your hands.  “What’s hidden behind that door Y/n?”

“A passageway.  A secret passage that goes far into the castle’s south before descending in a stairwell.  It leads to a dungeon- a single cell where a single prisoner is kept.  Directly below the Temple.”  

Jungkook was shocked, as it was appropriate.  You were just as shocked when you found it, at least he didn’t have to experience the nervous concoction of bubbles in your gut when you traversed it for the first time all those nights ago. He remained silent, as you continued with a sigh on how to specifically word everything in a way that made some decent sense to someone who should know the castle in and out.

“In this cell, is a prisoner and I’ve been going back night after night to visit this prisoner.  He has grown on me.  He is someone special to me, and I’ve learned much about him.  As he has learned much of me.” You cut yourself off.  You sighed as Jungkook leaned forward, engrossed in the prisoner he was just now finding out about.  

“There’s something bad about him, isn’t there?” You shook your head.

“No! He didn’t do anything wrong!  He doesn’t deserve to be locked up.  He was kidnapped, forced into chains and restricted and his powers were stripped and he-”

“Woah, hold on. Powers were stripped? What does that even mean?”

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself.  “No, forget that.  I mean-”

“I told you to tell me the truth.”

You sighed heavily as you ran your hands through your hair. “Who I refer to him as is Jimin.  The prisoner below the Temple of Senri is called Jimin.  However, he does have a second name. One that he’s held with him for a very long time, even before he was imprisoned.  You have to promise me not to let anything I’m telling you leak.”

“I’ve already sworn on my mother.  Would you feel better if I swore once more on my siblings?”  

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea.”  You shook your head as you stood up and moved to Jungkook’s side, bending to cup around his ear and whisper to him.  Though you knew no one as outside the room and you both were alone, you didn’t want to risk anything.  “The one in that cell is the God of Eden.  Ventus is being held captive in Kiah.”

“You told someone?!” Jimin scolded as he jerked on his bindings, scowling at you as you squeezed your eyes shut in front of him.  He had noticed your rigid form and worried someone had seen you, but when you removed his mask, sat in front of him and blurted out you told Jungkook about him and how you’ve been sneaking around to see him, he exploded.  “You can’t do that!  What if he tells someone else, what if the King should find out!”

“He swore he wouldn’t tell,” you defended weakly.

“Sure, and Senri promised me ages ago that we’d rule as one.  Look where that got me.”  

“That’s not even remotely the same.”

“It is when your safety is on the line, Y/n.” Jimin sighed as he slouched back onto his rear, his feet kicked out in front of him.  He nudged you with the toe of his boot.  “You know I do not want to yell at you, but I know first hand what your King and his son are capable of.  I do not want harm to come to you like it has me.” You nodded.  

You knew that.  He has made it a point recently to overreact to anything you mention that could possibly bring you harm.  He gets overheated when he sees a small cut on your hand from work when you see him.  He wants the best for you, and even if he knows you cannot obtain it within the castle walls, he can wish.  He can even pray.

He sat on the stone floor as he sighed, looking at you.  He watched you gnaw on your lip as you worried your thoughts through your eyes.  He could read you like a book, and he had yet to even tell you how he could see things about yourself that you didn’t even know.  Just by looking into your eyes, he wanted to keep it to himself.  Your eyes were his favorite thing about you, so he kept it to himself.  He wanted to keep looking at them.  

Though, you were frowning for far too long.

He kicked at your knee again as you jumped, brought out of your thoughts as you flicked your eyes up to him, locking onto his own as he smiled.  The window to your everything looking at him.  “Smile,” you told you as you just huffed and relaxed your stiff body. “Hey,” he started again, “I have something I want to give you.”

You looked up at him?  “Pardon?” He nudged his boot against you thrice as he lay his leg flat, heel on the ground his toes pointed upwards.  

“Remove my boot,” he requested as you raised your brow.  He rolled his eyes.  “Don’t think, just do it you brat,” he teased as you lightly swatted his calf.  He chuckled as you started unlacing his boot and removed it as he said.  Beneath was a fabric that only covered the bottom of his foot and curled over his heel and toes, leaving his foot more or less bare.  Pushing up the bottom of his pant leg, you saw something.  A silver anklet.  “You may remove that from me and wear it for yourself.”

You jerked your head up to him, your fingers brushing the beautiful piece of jewelry.  You shook your head.  

“No, I am not permitted to.  It is a piece belonging of a God, I cannot simply-”

“It may be, but it is also the same God of ownership who is giving you permission to wear it.  I want you to take it. Won’t you accept a gift from me?” You looked at him, a small smile on his face as you slowly nodded.  You removed the anklet, replaced his boot on his foot and looped the anklet around your own ankle.  “Silver looks rather charming on you.”

The night rolled as it always did afterward.  The next day, and the day after, Jungkook made it a point to catch you sometime in the day to make you spill about your visit.  He wanted to get to know Jimin, but you absolutely refused to let him go with you.  You were too wary about his skills in sneaking around and you were slightly concerned if you did allow him to accompany you, Jimin wouldn’t like it too much.

Also, it was a comforting thought knowing that only you knew about Jimin-- other than the royal family of course.  But, it was you who truly knew him.  Jimin was like a dream, though as all dreams do so bittersweetly- this one had to have an ending at some point.  

You woke one particular morning with a dry taste in your mouth.  You felt like something was suffocating you while you slept and no matter the water you drank or the number of times you cleared your throat, the unpleasantness wouldn’t leave.  Perhaps you were getting sick from so much exposure to whatever was in Jimin’s cell.  

If he knew, he’d surely tell you to take a few days for yourself and your health.  Perhaps you’d tell him when you visited tonight and take the next few nights for yourself.  Taking another swig from your water glass, you sat at your desk working as usual with Jungkook at your side.  He had cleared up his schedule of repairs for a bit to talk to you.  

It’s come to a point that you now called Jungkook a friend.  It wasn’t just Jimin he talked about with you, but all sorts of things.  He talked about his family far west of the castle.  His mother worked as a librarian while his younger brother was soon to finish early schooling by now. His youngest sister was like a little duckling, always following her mother.  His father worked as a smith in Jungkook’s hometown, supporting his family.  He certainly had a large family that he loved dearly.

You learned that it wasn’t just you Jungkook confronted with the idea of him knowing secrets.  Though he wouldn’t talk of your secret and Jimin, he was more than eager to yap you up when it came to Clevin the Guard’s secret stash of mint leaves for tea he steals from the kitchen every Saturday morning.

He was dear to you, and although younger than you, he was quite protective of you in regards to your work and health. His concern was something he and Jimin shared. When you told him that, he was flattered you compared him with a God; which made you immediately retract your statement so as to not boost his already inflated ego.

Jungkook was family to you now.  The only family you gained back within the time you were completely alone.  Though, you supposed it’s been a while since you were truly alone.  You had Jimin as well, but- how you felt towards him was far different than how you felt in regards to Jungkook.

There was a knock on your workroom door before a royal guard entered the stuffy room.  Clad in a far more superior armor than the typical castle guard, these men guarded the royal family specifically.  Jungkook stiffened as you remained calm and stood up to greet him.  The man stepped aside and allowed another man to enter the room.

The Prince of Kiah.  You’d seen him in passing, but never up close.  He was handsome sure, but if only he knew how truly ugly he really is. He strode in pride until his toes touched yours, almost impressed at your lack of backing down.  His brow ticked up as you looked into his eyes, eye contact solid and unwavering.  This man did not frighten you, he enraged you.

Jungkook sat rather restlessly at his stool.  Knee bouncing as he kept picking up and putting down the same metal lock you just finished welding as he watched you work on it previously.  Jungkook knew many things- all of which you had told him. How the royal family is responsible for Jimin’s torture being the more prominet thought in his head.  He was worried you’d lose your cool, scared you’d snap and reveal everything.  He just hoped you wouldn’t pick a fight.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of His Highness’s visit?” You spoke in a calm tone, a professional one you would call it.  

“I’ve come to ask for the assistance of the metal worker in the castle to help my father and I open a box we’ve recently discovered.”  The guard from before walked to the prince’s side, him finally backing up away from you, giving you room to breathe.  The guard handed him a small cube, wrapped in the most golden of silks.  Unraveling it showed a silver box with inscriptions on it that couldn’t be read.  It was marked completely in a foreign language- but you recognized it.  

You hid your intake of breath as Jungkook stood up, almost like he commited a crime.  The prince dismissed him. “Do not worry, I will not accuse you of a crime.”  The prince’s eyes moved back to the box, then to you. “This box is pure silver, dug up recently and returned to us from the far east along the border of Eden.  We’d like for you to find a way to open it so we may look at what may lay inside.”

“Why would a family of gold want anything to do with silver?” You asked, a bite in your voice.  The prince’s brows ticked before a sly grin grew on his face. ��“We wish to find a lead as to why Ventus disappeared so long ago.”  You slowly curled your fists at your sides, hiding them the best you could behind your rear. Liar. “If we can do that, perhaps our brilliant God Senri can retrieve him and work at his side once more.” A miserable liar: the Prince

You took a moment before you stretched out your palm towards the royal ass himself.

“I’ll accept the task.  I will make attempts and I will not stop until I am certain I can open it.”  The prince’s smile turned wicked for but a moment before he masked it over with a gentle smile.  Setting the box into the palm of your hand, it was heavy and large.  It felt like a giant hammer rather than a small cube.  

“You shall have my mine and my Father’s thanks.  As for you, noble repairer,” Jungkook jumped, attention on the royal snot, “your duties in keeping the palace in one piece is admirable.  Keep it up.”  And, just as he marched inside with his guard at his side, he marched out, the door shutting behind him.  

Jungkook slammed himself against the desk as he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.  All while you stood motionless, staring at the cube in your hand, the raw silver in your palm. Your knees staggered as the silver box dropped onto the floor, a heavy thud in it’s fall down.  Jungkook sprang from his stool before your knees hit the floor too hard and you felt your chest constrict.  

“Y/n, what's wrong?!” He shook your shoulder as you just stared at the silver box.  

“That box,” you started, Jungkook looking over at it.  “It looks just like Jimin’s shackles.  The writing, the symbols, it’s all the same.”  Jungkook looked at the crown of your head as you reached out to take the silver back, dragging it to your knees with shaky fingers.  “I have to show Jimin.  I have to.  This belongs to him, I know it does.”  You gripped your trouser-covered ankle as you sat on the floor with Jungkook, gripping tightly over the silver anklet you had hidden under your clothes. 

When night came, it came too slowly.  You grew so impatient and you couldn’t leave your room fast enough when midnight struck.  Practically dashing to the door, and down to Jimin, you burst into his cell and fell to your knees in front of him, a small pouch strapped to your side with the box inside.  As you fell in front of him, breathless, Jimin jumped as fear engulfed him.

“Y/n?! What is wrong, why are you in such a hurry? What's happened?” You ignored his onslaught of questions as you untied the pouch and plucked out the box, holding it in front of his face as you ripped his mask off, throwing it far to the side without the same gentle care you always offered it before.  His breath hitched.  “How did- Y/n how did you find this?”

“So, it’s yours as I suspected?” He nodded, shoulders stiff as he tugged just slightly on his restraints.

“Y/n, you must be careful with that. You mustn’t lose it, you must not allow harm to come to that cube.  It’s far too important.  How did you find it?”  His tone was cold and demanding.  He sounded like the rude Jimin from the first time you saw him.

“The prince gave it to me.  He instructed me to open it, feeding me lies that if I did it would allow the royal family to ‘find out’ what happened to Ventus.”

“Do not open it.  At least, not around Senri or his royals.  You mustn’t.  Promise me you won’t.”  You weakly nodded, though you didn’t know what you were agreeing to.  “That cube is what sealed my power, inside that is all the power I was stripped of, Y/n.”  You gasped as you nearly let the cube topple from your hand.

You slowly set it down at his knees as you then touched at his shackles, identical.  

“Is that why these shackles can restrain you? They are made of your power too?”  He weakly nodded as he hung his head. You picked the cube back up. “If I were to open this box, like the prince requested, what would happen?”

“Senri would gain what remaining power of mine he doesn’t already possess and he would become completely corrupted.  Your dream of seeing the sun would vanish forever.  Senri wouldn’t even be Senri anymore, he’d be something more akin to a demon than a God.”  You shivered at the thought. “Y/n, I’m serious.  Do not open that box, promise me you won’t open it in front of them.”  

“What if I opened it in front of you?” You asked shyly.  Jimin breathed out his nose and if he wasn’t bound, you bet he would’ve run his hand over his face.  

“Ideally it would restore the power I was lost to and I would be able to free myself-”

“Then why can’t I open it in front of you?”

“It could kill you!” He screamed, making you jerk and drop the cube onto your lap as it rolled onto the stone floor off your legs.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.  “It wasn’t my intent to yell at you.”

“I know,” you softly spoke.  

“Just once I wish I wasn’t bound so tightly,” he basically whimpered in agitation. He didn’t answer you when you questioned him what he meant, but just once he wished he could hold you. In actuality, he wanted you to break that box.  He wanted you to smash it at his feet, but he didn’t want the recoil of his released power to backlash onto you in such a cramped cell.  What if you got hurt, what if he hurt you?  

That night Jimin wanted to send you back immediately, but he never got the chance as someone barged into the cell with the two of you. Jimin sprung up, tugging in his silk restraints and kicking at his shackles as the Prince of Kiah stomped into the cell.  You never got the chance to get to your feet as you quickly kicked the cube towards and behind jimin, hiding it in the shadows.

“You wench! I knew you were loitering around behind the royal family!” He grabbed your shirt’s collar behind your neck and yanked you to your heels.  Dragging you as Jimin watched as blood stained the stone beneath you as your heels tore open. “You’ve committed treason to the highest regard! Betraying your King!” 

“Release her!”  Jimin screamed, yanking, wishing that just once his binds would give.  Just a little, just enough, but nothing.  They remained as tight, maybe even tighter than always. Jimin was ignored as you were dragged out of the cell, the heavy wooden door slammed shut as Jimin’s screams to release you were silenced.

The prince threw you onto the stone steps, your head hitting hard against the edge of a step as you saw stars.  Your vision blurred as an immediate headache and pain followed.  You felt the weight of the prince on top of you as something enclosed around your throat.

You gasped as the prince strangled you, squeezing the life out of you.  Your feet kicked as your hips bucked in any attempt to escape him.  Your hands enclosed around his wrist, trying to twist him off you as your mouth opened with desperation to get any air at all.  Your hands moved to swing at his face, your nails catching his skin and cutting his cheeks and throat, but his attempt to kill you didn’t cease.  

You gagged as you felt the slight roll of saliva trail down your lips in the most disgusting feeling in the world. You hiccuped and pleaded with tears burning your eyes at the desperate need to breathe.  

Knees still kicking, hips still thrashing and hands searching for any way at all to free yourself, you took to searching around the prince himself.  Your hand landed on a step and a loose piece of rubble.  Without a thought, you curled the stone around your hand and swung up, knocking the prince in the head as he toppled off you and down the few steps back to the base of the stairwell.  

You rolled onto your side as you held your throat, cuts from his nails and soreness from his grip burned as you hacked and coughed, breathing letting your lungs utterly burn. Your back hurt and felt coated in soon to be bruises from all the thrashing on the uneven, jagged stairs you were pinned on. You wiped the drool from the corners of your mouth with the back of your shaking hand, as your blurry vision refused to clear.  A ringing was heard in the back of your head, a ringing that wouldn’t stop.  

It was clear from the warmth on the back of  your head that you were bleeding as the blood ran down your neck into your shirt’s fabric and down your back.  The collison from earlier damaging you more than you originally thought.  You gasped, trying to find your footing, but finding it impossible.  You fell against the wall, wanting to descend and get back to Jimin.  

You were hardly even able to move a foot before guards rushed the stairwell, seizing you and gathering their prince.  Who was injured and unconscious, but not dead- unfortunately.  The commotion throughout the castle that night was loud as you were dragged through the halls and thrown into a cell above ground and in the farest place possible away from Jimin- in the Northern castle’s wing.  

You were offered no medical aid as you collapsed onto the cold floor behind bars and finally, you let the ringing stop as you closed your eyes, worrying about Jimin up until the moment you let your mind and body sleep in anything but comfort.

Jimin was frantic all night.  He didn’t know what to do.  You were followed, you were found and you were taken away so quickly he couldn’t even process the action until you were gone.  He heard skirmishing outside the door before guards marched down and then began back up the stairs and out into the palace.  It was deathly quiet, and he hated it.  It was the devil's hour, a time in which he was almost always by your side telling you of the world that was lost.  

He was panicking and he was beside himself.  Hysterical may be another way of putting it.  Jimin couldn’t stop thinking about what may have happened to you.  Would you return to him once more?  Would you be exiled? Banished from the castle, the kingdom?  You commited treason, an act punishable by- no.  He didn’t even want to think about it.  

Jimin didn’t want to put the thought of you dying into his head. 

That is all that consumed him all night and the following day.  When night came once more, he was so tired, so emotionally drained as he hung limp and hollow in his silks.  The fight in his body was zapped away and for the first time in so very long, he wished to simply give up. He wished that you worshiped him, that you prayed to him.  Maybe then he could hear your voice, confirm your life was still burning- but alas you were not of his land.  

You believed in him, you looked at him, you knew of Ventus- but you were not one of his children.  You did not worship him.  You did not praise him.  So, your voice, your prayers, your pleas, and thoughts were all deaf to him and he heard nothing.  Not even the wind could tell him of you anymore with his power sealed so tightly.

Jimin nearly screamed when the wooden door to his cell was pushed open gently.  Too gentle to be someone he thought may be a threat.  He bared his teeth as he glared, his mask never being placed back on him as the intruder stepped into the room as thunder rumbled far off into the night sky.

A brunette boy with a build of a man far above his age. He looked to be younger than you in his eyes.  If Jimin’s own eyes weren’t clouded by rage, by hate, and by fear he may have seen that the man who entered his room was no threat.

“I’m not an enemy,” he started.  “My name is Jungkook, I’m a friend of Y/n’s.”  Jimin hissed at him.  

“I am no fool.”

“Please believe me.  She- she told me.  I was that friend she told about you.  You’re Ventus, right?  She told me she calls you Jimin.”  Jimin’s body relaxed.  He was telling the truth.  This Jungkook man was a friend of yours.  A friend in which you trusted so wholeheartedly that you revealed your secret.  Then, he raised his shields again.  

“If you were the only one to know of me, why was he hauled off last night!  Why did the prince know of her and her visits!”  The venom in his voice was sharp, stabbing like the sharpest knife as Jungkook felt small.  The God was smaller in form, yes, but the raw power and rage made Jungkook feel like a child being yelled at by his father for the first time again.  

“I don’t know!  She- I woke up and someone had told me she was arrested.  They didn’t tell me why, but the only idea I could think of was you.  So, I managed to get permission to speak with her.”

“She’s alive?” Jimin breathed as Jungkook slowly nodded, stepped forward just a bit more.  He had an objective coming here tonight.  

“She is, but her execution is to be immediate.  It’s scheduled at dawn, they are to drown her in the river.”  Jimin’s body slumped.  He was shaking in rage as he knew it was a direct blow from Senri to him.  Drowning her, drowning you in something that was originally his to control.  Water was his realm as was the moon and wind and in this way Senri was punishing Jimin and you both.

Jungkook moved slowly as he moved around Jimin and to a small shaded area and searched around before he picked up the item in which you asked him to find.  While he posed as a betrayed friend and demanded to see the traitor, he used it to finally get to see you. Jungkook knelt in the shadows as he held the cube of silver in his hand, turning and examining it.

“You know, Y/n may not last until her execution.” Jimin’s body jolted.  “She has a wound on the back of her head, and cuts and bruises around her throat. Her entire body is so weak now. It is no mystery the prince tried to kill her.  Without proper medical aid, she could very well die before dawn.”  Jimin let out a shaky breath.  No, he mustn’t.  

Gods mustn’t weep.  

Jungkook wrapped something around the silver cube, something that was small and filled to the brim with explosives.  It was your last resort.  He placed it back in the shadows and stood up, walking back to Jimin’s front, looking the God in the face.  

He noticed his mask laying far from his slouched form, the edge of it chipped as he picked it up and placed it on the table in the room.  Jungkook looked at the grate above him that you told him you always exited out of into the hedge maze and behind the Temple before entering the south gates of the palace.  It was like he knew where he was, despite this being the first time he’s been here himself.

“I’m going to do whatever I can,” Jungkook said as he turned and walked towards the door, knowing that he could return the way he came without worry.  The castle was far too busy to be concerned with this passageway.  He opened the door, before he stopped on his way out. Pausing over the threshold.  “Y/n also sends a message,” he looked back over his shoulder.  “Don’t give up and don’t let Senri win.”

Jungkook closed his eyes, exiting the room with nothing more to say.  He didn’t turn his back and he didn’t look back at the God, allowing him to shed the tears rolling down his face in the silence of his cell and the brewing nighttime storm overheard.  

Jimin was in a restless daze for the second night in a row now.  The thunder rolled with lightning striking among the clouds above him with rain pelting down and creating small rivers of water to flood into his cell and engulf his feet. The sensation and chills that came with the weather didn’t even bother him at this point.  He tried to find something in the sound of the rain and storms that calmed him.  

The storm meant at least that Senri was enraged, so perhaps you weren’t dead yet.  He hoped you hadn’t succumbed to the injuries Jungkook said you had gained from the prince’s attack.  Jimin felt guilty.

He had given you his name, both of them and he kept allowing you to come back.  He didn’t push you away or tell you that you weren’t allowed down in this cell anymore, he just kept letting you back in. Soon, he grew to expect it.  He anticipated your visits and looked forward to seeing you.  It was his fault you were going to die and he couldn’t do anything about it now.

By the time the sky teased dawn, the storm quit and at sunrise, the people of the castle and otherwise were loud.  Even so far from the castle grounds beneath the temple, he could hear them.  The people and the guards chanting.  Throwing insults at the traitor for treason and for betraying their dear, lawful God Senri.  He could hear the sounds of the golden shackles that no doubt encased your wrists and feet as you were held in your cell, waiting to be taken into the lake, held under the current by those same, heavy golden shackles.  

Jimin could picture your face in his mind.  Your eyes dull and lidded as your mind was hazy with injury and hurt.  He could picture your frail body trembling and shaking in fear and uncertainty.  Your tattered and torn clothes with your bruises and injured skin.  He could picture it all as you lay on your cell floor, too tired, too exhausted and too out of it to do anything more than just breathe on your own.

Then, the crowd’s sound changed.  What was once roars of enthusiasm at killing a traitor at dawn had turned into fear and panic.  Jimin straightened his body as he took to his weakening knees.  

“What’s happening?” He whispered solely to himself. He craned his neck to look up through the grate and at the usual, grey, overcast sky.  Then he smelt it, smoke.  There was a fire.  

Soldiers and guards ran through the halls as the fire that was started in the Northern Cell corridor quickly spread along the walls from torch to torch as tapestries burned and doors were now coated with thick, licking flames. Chaos erupted from staff and citizens outside the castle who had ventured from town to see the immediate execution of a traitor but were soon scurrying away from that same palace because of the fire that seemed unrelenting.  It was as if the fire had a soul as it spread and ate at the palace.  Devouring it wall by wall as Senri fled enraged to the cell below the Temple.

Jimin didn’t know what was going on and it was killing him.  He tugged and yanked as he wanted so badly to crawl out of the grate like he’s seen you do so many times before.  He wanted to follow after you, get you out of that castle- that cell- and run.  He wanted to go back to Eden, back where he knew where to go and how to get there.  He wanted to go back home.

Even if going back home like this- a half God or whatever he was anymore- he didn’t care.  He just wanted to go.  

The fire in the castle only erupted further when a column weakened and soon crumbled, shaking the ground as Jimin felt its tremor in his chest. However, it was that very earthshaking tremor that so very slightly loosened one of his silks.  He felt his right arm lower just a fraction as he looked up at the silk that now had slack in it.  

With a hard yank, his right arm pulled at the seamless silk. Pulling hard continuously with a warcry he heard the first rip and before long- Jimin freed his right arm.  Silk hanging from the ceiling as it blew with small drafts as his arm fell to his side.  He moved it, up and down, rotated it and bent it, all the movements feeling so foreign to him after having it suspended upwards for so long.  He almost smiled at the small bit of freedom he managed to achieve.

Then, his cell door flung open, or rather it flew right off its hinges.  Slamming open and then tumbling to the floor with a loud crash with splinters and small rocks following after its impact.  Jimin glared as there stood Senri, fuming as gold licked at his eyes.  The dull silver of Jimin’s counteracted the glare that would surely strike fear into any human.

Seeing Jimin half freed, Senri seethed.  He was the opposite of Jimin completely.  With golden hair and skin like the sun, tanned and shining.  The clothing he wore were robes of silks and from gold to brown he wore it.  Not a speck of white or silver on him.  Even his earrings were hoops of gold as they pierced his lobes.  His eyes burned anyone who gazed at them, but not Jimin; not Ventus.  

“Your pesky human sure does meddle far too much for her own good,” Senri spoke with a deep voice of someone who has been in power far too long.  HIs head was looking far too big as he kept wrapping the belt of responsibility around his waist.  A belt that would never truly fit him.

“She is of your kingdom, so do not blame me for the actions of someone who was neglected by her God.  You are to blame, nothing is my fault.” Jimin countered.  Though he was correct, Senri refused to be wrong.  His pride wouldn’t allow it.

“All will be well once we recover her body from the fire.”  Jimin’s body stiffened.  Senri, having gained some sort of ground it seemed, slyly smirked as the robes he wore fluttered as he crossed his arms over his chest.  “I would have preferred a drowning as planned, but having her body burn is acceptable as well.  So long as she ends up dead.”  Jimin’s remaining arm that was bound locked as he flexed and pulled in a motion so small Senri could not pick it up.

Jimin toned out Senri’s voice as he shook his head, trying and pulling bit by bit at his left arm.  If he could free his arms, he could find a way out of the shackles at his feet and he could go.  He could leave.  

His anger only grew, accumulating and stacking up inch by inch in his head as Senri just boasted and bragged about the human who was burning in the Northern Cells. Jimin felt sick as he shifted his footing, unknown to him the silver at his feet cracking slightly and the cube behind him in the shadows heating up.

Senri, after finishing up his little monologue of your demise, turned to leave.  Was his only goal to come and break down the door and rub in his face that you were dying, if not already dead?  Jimin’s jaw clenched as his brow ticked.  His chin tucked out his chest as he heaved his chest and with a cry and as much strength as he could muster, he grabbed his left arm with his right hand and yanked with the whole of his body.  His left arm strained against the silk as he heard the fabric begin to tear and soon Jimin had fallen forward.  

White fabric fluttering down to the ground in front of him as he landed harshly on his elbows and hands as he huffed.  Both of his arms bracing him as he bent over on the ground.  Senri, shocked, spun back around before Jimin’s eyes shone with a small amount of power he was granted back now that he was out of those damned silks.  Picking the door up with the wind he gathered from the grate, he slammed it back into the doorway.  

He had no time to try and collect his thoughts before Senri was busting the door down once more with an almighty heat and then an explosion blasted behind Jimin’s back. A surge of power began bouncing around before Jimin saw the silver cube of his powers jumping around with a rope of explosive powder strapped to it.  With a resounded sound and smell of heated power, it blasted and the cube broke open.  The heat of Senri’s being the perfect match to strike the cube open directly behind Jimin. 

The power that belonged to Jimin slithered along the ground into Jimin’s body.  Flowing into his hands, his knees, his feet and shattering the shackles at his ankles into nothing but dust.  The wind blew the grate clean off the top of the cell as the force of nature funneled into the cell like a contained tornado.

Senri’s body grew limp as what part of Jimin he had taken for himself was sucked out of him like a vacuum, leaving him breathless and on his knees on the floor.  Jimin watched with wide, pure silver glowing eyes as the power flowed into him like blood as he watched it course through his veins.  Silver and pulsing on his skin as his body began quickly reaccustomed to what was rightfully his.

Then, the wind calmed with a whoosh of a finale.  Jimin picked himself off the cell ground with far more balance that one would expect, and the pure fury in his eyes burned more fierce than any fire Senri could ever hope to create.  He took a step towards Senri as he raised his hand to his face, inspecting the silver dancing behind his skin.  

Senri, clearly enraged that his prisoner was freed, was rendered speechless as he snarled.  He was quick to stand, and shove Jimin out of his way, quite literally jumping directly up through the grate that was no longer there and running off.  Senri was spent, so much power sucked out of him too quickly left him feeling far too distorted.  

He fled through the maze he built so long ago before his shoulder was clipped by something.  Pain shot through the shoulder of the God as he stumbled to his knees.  The same pain occurred over and over again among his body.  Cuts on his shoulder, his back, and his legs, keeping him from moving.  The wind shoved him onto his back as it slammed into his chest. Soon, Jimin stood over him, the wind whipping around his hair and the white of his shirt.  

His hand was raised as small tufts of visibly white air blew from his fingertips.  

“Whirlwind Sickles are something I suppose you need to grow once more accustomed to.  Surely you can’t have forgotten how much wind can smoothly injure, have you Senri?” It was no mystery to either of them that even far back when they ruled together, Jimin was the stronger of the two.  Favorited by nature and able to control his power and beyond that.  Senri stood no chance in the state he was in.  

Jimin took and placed his foot onto the chest of his fellow God, as he harshly stomped on it.  Jimin's calm demeanor was melting away bit by bit, stomp by stomp as he kicked and stomped and cut at Senri’s body.  Years upon years of torture and pent up anger and hate was being released all at once as Senri screamlessly took it.  His mouth was open as if he wanted to scream, but Jimin had sucked the air around him, leaving him in a deafening pocket so no one, not even Jimin himself, could hear his pathetic cries.

Jimin soon stopped as he moved and pinned the God at his feet.  His knees trapping his body as his hand gripped the collar of his once fine, not ruined robes.  He gripped harshly as he trembled and Senri just heaved and gagged as blood bubbled from over his lips.  

“I could kill you,” Jimin seethed.  “I should kill you.  Destroy you and damn you to the furthest pit of hell for your betrayal and ceaseless torment upon not only Kiah, but Eden as well.”  Jimin shuddered and shook as he just shoved the God’s head backward, knocking him into the ground.  Jimin’s fingers trembled as he curled them into tight fits and only punched the ground in place of Senri beat up face.  “But, I won’t.  I can’t.” His body shook as, for the first time in so very long, the sun became visible as the clouds parted for the first time in several, long years.

The dawn broke as the overcast dissolved, the light and warmth of it spilling onto Jimin’s shoulders.  “Y/n, valued life.  She loathed you with every fiber of her body, but she would never wish you or any other being dead.  She wouldn’t want me to kill you, even if you deserve it.”  Jimin pushed himself off Senri’s body as it lay motionless on the ground, twitching slightly.  

From around his body began to form small ropes of magic, encircling him before his body disappeared into small crystals before those too faded away.  Jimin sighed as he looked up into the sky.  “The other God’s will decide what to do with you now.”  Jimin watched as the smoke from the castle’s fire burning high into the sky, the wind blowing easy now as the sun shone brightly.  A tear escaped his eyes as he looked at it: the sky.  

“It truly is a beautiful sight. Isn’t it Y/n?”

“My God, where did you even run off to?” A single man muttered to himself as he trudged through the silver castle of Eden in search of his homeland deity.  

After the burning of the Kiah Palace’s Northern halls, Jimin stepped forth showing himself to the people of Kiah and proclaiming himself as Ventus, the God who disappeared decades ago.  He explained the tale of how he was played dirty by Senri and was held hostage for the entirety of his disappearance and how Senri would most likely never return.  

In lieu of this, a declaration from Ventus to Kiah was given.  The Royal Family was to be prosecuted for holding a God prisoner and the castle was to be evacuated.  Senri was to be no more, and the land would have no God until a new one was assigned this region, so no one was permitted to be seated in the palace thrones.  When a new God came, a new family would come with it- or perhaps not.  That will be Kiah’s future problem, not his.

He remained in Kiah for weeks, helping the people fix their homes and spread the truth and news about the old and new God to come.  Then, once that was finished, he returned to Eden. He left Kiah behind him, no longer caring for his sister kingdom. The age long chapter of his long life was closed and he locked it up for good. It has now been two years since his return home.  

Ventus lived in his own palace of silver and his people in the castle town behind the main gates of his palace.  He rules as himself, with no royal family under him.  He would take any and all downfalls of the future upon himself and himself solely.  He would not put the lives of his people in the hands of anyone else.  They were his responsibility.  If only Senri realized that this form of thinking is what truly makes a successful ruler- maybe things would have turned out different.  

Kiah had gained a new Goddess, one that can properly rule without Jimin’s aid and has been thriving and leading Kiah into a prospering golden age.  Eden was growing well once again as well, thriving and full of life just as it was before he vanished.  His people welcomed him back and soon his castle was bustling.

With people and workers and servants and maids of his and others that stayed with him, he was cooped up.  He’d often take trips outside the castle walls to ensure his kingdom was safe and healthy.  He would get a smile out of the village children who marveled at the royal tunics he wore when traveling.  

Now, at the moment, he was sitting in his chambers, tunic lazily thrown on as he had returned from a trip from town not too long ago. The silver earring dangled from his right earlobe as a loop pierced his left.  His silver hair was pushed off his forehead, messy as glasses sat perched on his nose. Turns out he stared far too long into the sun that fateful day in Kiah, it damaged his eyes.

He sat at his balcony in a cushioned chair, his hand perched on his crossed knee as his eyes scanned a book.  He has become quite the bookworm to try and learn all sorts of things to help his people grow and overcome obstacles.  He refused to give his people the easy way out and fix everything for them.  He’d asist, but they had to put in just as much- if not more effort since they were human if they wanted healthy, long-lasting results to come to them. 

He loved them all dearly, they were his people.  However, they would grow spoiled and helpless if he were to always hold their hands.  He was there to guide them, not lay out their future and let them merely walk without harm.  People can only grow through harm and difficulty.  He and they knew that.  It was mutual respect they held with their God.

At his door, came a resounding knock.  Rather, an insistent banging was more like it.  With a huff, and knowledge on who has come knocking so early in the morning, he placed his book onto his lap when he shut it with a dull snap. He sighed and rubbed his temple, removing his glasses from his face.  

“You may enter,” he duly voiced, the grand door to his chambers groaned as it opened and in stepped his priest.  His priest was a handpicked follower who devoted his studies and time to praying and learning the way in which Jimin chose to govern and rule his kingdom and people.  They were the one person who Jimin allowed himself to lean on and turn to when faced with any sort of problem.

He was reliable, yes, but he can sometimes be so strict it becomes suffocating to Ventus.

“You’ve been gone all morning,” his priest scolded.  “I’ve been looking for you and from the looks of it, you were in town all morning again.  It’s nearly noon!” Jimin tossed his book and glasses onto the small, round glass table at his side as he kicked his head back into his chair.  The priest sighed.  “The fact of the matter is, I don’t mind when you go, just let me know so I’m not wasting time wandering around the palace grounds for a God who is not even here.”

Jimin chuckled to himself.  It was a funny thought.  His priest bickering to himself as he waltzed around in his garments.  He finally looked at his priest, furrowed brows and arms crossed as he was decked out in his official, ceremonial robes.  Jimin’s eyes widened.

“Why are you wearing your ceremonial robes, Taehyung?” Taehyung, his priest, sighed as he slapped a hand to his face.  

The robes were fine.  Silk and the purest shades of blues and whites all woven together with silver stitching.  The arms were wide and flowed with elegance as the top of the robe wove around his chest.  From the waist down the robe was cut off with a fabric tie that showed how the gown of the robe split and showed the white trousers he wore underneath.  His white ankle boots a final touch.  

Taehyung’s hair was a parted and was a blinding blond that bordered a platinum shade as he wore an earring that wove into a cuff and curled. A piece that accented his God’s style very well.  When Jimin first met him, he was skeptical Taehyung was a priest at all, let alone the highest standing one in this current generation after Ventus’s vanishment and then return. Though he was pleasantly surprised that Taehyung truly did know what he was doing and wasn’t some farse.

“The Dove sent by Yaieh has arrived.  They are waiting in the Moonstone Gardens.”  Jimin nodded as he opened his mouth.  

“Oh, that is correct.  Yaieh’s Goddess was sending one of her Doves to train over here and learn our customs.  I wasn’t expecting them for another day or so.”  Taehyung crossed his arms once more.

“Apparently, she left Yaieh as soon as possible, as per Goddess Sherea’s request.  She sends her regards as well, wishing Eden a long-lasting golden period.”  Jimin smiled as he nodded.  Sherea was an old friend of Ventus. The two had an alliance formed between them before his vanishing period.  He can only assume she had sent one of her worshippers in training, called a Dove, over as a symbol to once again have an alliance.  One in which he would not refuse.  

Eden and Yaieh have never been on bad terms, and Jimin is determined to keep it that way.  

Jimin hoisted himself from his chair as he walked to his wardrobe, quickly fixing himself up.  A shirt with a collar, proper elegant trousers and slipping on his finest boots he clipped the cuffs of his shirt before Taehyung had handed him a blazer to slip over his shoulders along with a long, fluttering cap that draped over his right shoulder only. The white cape was clean of all spots and hit the back of his calves on his legs.

The two men walked down the corridor as Taehyung informed Jimin on the type of person this Dove was supposed to be.  They were a woman, a freshly trained Dove from Yaieh and even Sherea’s top pick as a Goddess in training.  Jimin was impressed and almost confused as to why Sherea would cast off her Goddess contender to a kingdom so far from her own.  Perhaps it was simply for learning.  One cannot call themselves a God or Goddess if they know not the world in which they should soon rule.

However, it was with a small gentle roll of wind, a sound caught Jimin’s ear.  It made him stop in his tracks as he willed the wind to do as it did before and blow just enough to send the same noise to him.  It was only heard by him; the sound of silver.  Though, his silver was so different from the ones he is surrounded by every day.  This sound was familiar and warm and as he stopped walking, Taehyung did too, pondering why his God was delaying himself an audience with the Dove any further.  

“Taehyung,” Jimin queried.  “Where did you say this Dove was from?  She found a new home in Yaieh, but her origins?” Jimin’s voice was uneasy.

“Story has it that she came from Kiah originally.”  Jimin heard no more as he took off in a dead sprint down the corridors, open and closed walls at his sides as he zipped left and right to the Moonstone Gardens.  His favorite gardens that held the most beautiful flowers that only bloomed at night and their pollen can create the finest of spices believe it or not.  Moonstone tea is a particular favorite of his.  It’s a taste best described simply as bittersweet.  

He heard the silver rattling into his ears again as his silver eyes gleamed in a brilliant white before he came to a halt at the entrance to the Gardens, a woman’s back in his vision. His cape on his shoulder flicking forward at his sudden, screeching halt as he dug his boots into the grey, shining tile.

She was holding the bud of a Moonflower delicately in her hands as her clothes were much too foreign to be Eden’s.  She was most definitely from Yaieh, that is if Sherea hadn’t changed her style in clothing since decades past- he doubted it. That Goddess absolutely loathed change.  

A slit open-back gown to show the blessed tattoo of Sherea’s Goddess candidate on display. The gown itself was formal as the skirt of the dress cut off into two slits at the thighs.  Two pieces of fabric, one at the front and one at the back with the sides open. The top was an off the shoulder ruffle with open sleeves that cuffed around the wrist with silk.  Her hair was up off her neck showing a small, thick chain encircling her throat, and even a few oddly shaped scars along the base of her neck- almost like small fingerprints.  

Jimin felt himself shudder as Taehyung finally caught up with his God.  He was quite literally as fast as the raging wind.  Jimin’s eyes were locked onto the woman’s ankle as Taehyung touched Jimin’s shoulder.  

The woman, hearing Taehyung call for his God, gently dropped the flower bud that waited for the moonlight to allow it to bloom and turned to face the God of the kingdom in which she would be living for some time.  He let his breath catch in his throat as he staggered slightly on his feet.  

Jimin was in shock as he let his eyes leave the ankle of the woman and look into her eyes.  They were even more captivating than the silver anklet tied around her skin, one that most certainly belonged to Jimin.

“Y/n?”  Jimin called out towards you as Taehyung looked back and forth between you both.

“It’s been a long time I hope you haven’t forgotten me, I have a lot of questions about Eden. So, how many questions may I be allowed to ask you, God Ventus?”  You asked with a smile.

Jimin choked as he stepped into the garden, toe to toe with you as he wasted no time in throwing his arms over your shoulders and crushing you to him.  Taehyung rolled his eyes, as he turned his back- ignoring the improper gesture just this one time. You just gasped as the sudden action.  

“You get three questions, metal worker.”

“That’s Goddess in training to you, Jimin.”

a/n: REVAMPED AND BETTER THAN EVER BABy (pls I took 3 days editing this I wanna cry oof) 

[forallyourikemensengokuneeds]

Cold days of spring

She had survived her first winter in the Sengoku. It was cold and snowy at times, but it felt like an actual accomplishment for her. She had loaded her room with blankets and had a few heaters, but she had been content to spend it for the most part bundled up and warm. It was now spring as she awaited the fresh flowers and possibilities the new season would hold.

However, as mother nature often does, it teased them all into thinking that the new season was indeed upon them as the day grew slightly warmer and then another unthought-of of deep freeze happened one clear night and with it brought the artic freezing frigid air. When the air turned cold and wet, they all knew except for her, that is that another storm was on the horizon. She was thinking of pristine flowers and the vibrant colors of spring when they were preparing for the last real snowfall of the season. It seemed like it was entirely against her to not see the reality, but she was blind to the idea.

She carried on as loads of goods were brought to the castle for storage on the off chance that it was a good one. Some of the older staff had told the warlords they felt it was a good one coming as they could feel it in their weary bones. It was unlike the Princess to have her head in the clouds as willful ignorance to the situation had taken over. At the mention of a said storm coming she would change the subject then carry on with whatever task she was doing at the time. To the warlords, her blindness was becoming concerning.

The day came after a week of blistering cold that shocked everyone. The day was overcast as it began but the sunrise was a vibrant red and orange. Everyone hurried to do the tasks that needed the attention outside for this would be the day the storm would arrive. The slight princess again ignored the warnings and went into town to get her supplies from the cloth merchant. She was there when even he noticed she did not want to talk about the incoming storm; she tried to completely ignore the fact as she went about her time in town passing this stall or stopping at that one. All the warlords minus Nobunaga who was at the castle ordering for the preparations for it were also in the marketplace. They all noticed her as she moved swiftly but generally through the stalls as if was another other day.

Masamune was ordering the product for the different households of the leading vassals. He was picking out and tasting the various things as he made sure each of his allies would not go hungry during the storm. He had been watching her but very into his task that he didn't see her disappear from sight until he had placed the last order. He hoped that one of the others who were also in town would pick up where he had left off.

Hideyoshi and Mitsunari were both looking at some latest items that had been brought over from Europe. They were both keeping an eye out on her as they asked questions and listened to the different pieces. They were both intrigued but couldn't keep their minds on the answers as they both took turns watching her out of the corner of the eyes. That was until she disappeared from their sight which neither could comprehend.

Ieyasu was also buying different supplies as the first trader who had many of the herbs he needed for different thing had arrived. He was stocking up on them as soon as he could which is what lead him to the marketplace on that very frigid day. He was also in the process of giving orders to have everything brought back to his manor when he noticed the princess had disappeared from sight. He figured she very much had her head in the clouds the past few days she was off to the castle to hideaway. He was far to busy to think too much on her at the moment and hoped one of the others would keep an eye on her.

Mitsuhide had just come from one of his meetings at the dark and somewhat secluded teahouse further back in the town. He spotted the princess as she looked back and forth to his allies as to see which one was watching her at that moment. She had learned since his birthday he thought to himself as to track and be tracked and how to disappear. He noticed with very much amusement that he was the only one who was in the position to actually see her abilities as she would withdraw from the sight of one into the view of another. He hung in the shadows as no to alert her of his presence and have his theory tested to see if she could elude him as well.

When she had made her way through the stalls and had seen most of her friends she decided they could see her and then she would move into the view of another and repeat the process. She had the supplies she needed and would make her way to the cottage to see if it was still there. She didn't need the idea of another storm to happen even though she knew it was a possibility. It would damper her latest project. She hadn't seen Mitsuhide and hoped he hadn't seen her as she was sure he would be the one she couldn't throw off so quickly. She needed to go before the snow hit.

As she made her way out of the walls of the castle, he wondered where exactly she was going. She wasn't supposed to go this far without a guard. He wondered at the thought she was meeting someone in the forest beyond the walls and as he quickened his pace, he grew stern. She couldn't have met someone while they were all busy, could she? His heart gave a little extra push, and he had a feeling of regret that he didn't understand at the thoughts his mind was leading him too.

She reached a cottage that was rundown, and as she looked around, he felt that pull yet again. It did seem like she would be meeting someone here. He didn't know how he wanted to deal with these as different emotions he had long ignored like hatred and sorrow were at the forefront of his mind. He moved closer and heard her voice talking within the cabin. He was right in his anger she wasn't alone. He tried to steady himself before reaching the door but he uncharacteristically couldn't he was upset something he was never.

The door opened slowly as he pushed it open. He wasn't sure of what exactly he would find as he heard her voice soft and sweet in the corner. As he took two steps in she turned and told him to shut the door with a humph. What he saw clouded his mind, she was on the floor sitting facing the corner. The only two humans were in the cottage her and him. She was meeting some unknown thing as he couldn't see what she was blocking from his view, but she had been talking to something, correct? He thought to himself.

She should have known he was watching her. She hadn't felt his presence like she had the others and was able to move through the crowd to avoid them. It wasn't a surprise that he evaded her notice, it was his job after all, and she was still new to the fact of hiding something from her friends. She didn't like the idea of hiding anything from them, but she knew they would begin to ask questions of the how and why of it. She didn't want to answer those.

"Princess, it seems you have a secret.", he said softly.

"One I was really trying to keep, Mitsuhide. Why did you follow me?", she asked.

"Because Good girls don't have secrets, my dear.", he replied.

"Well then, I guess I am not one of those then.", she countered.

"I highly doubt whatever you are doing here is really all that bad, Princess.", He said softly. He knew it wasn't in her nature to be bad. He just really like to tease her at times. Since he was still recovering from his wave of emotion, it was the only defense he had at the moment.

"I found them on a walk.", She said as he slowly crept up to her. As he stood behind her, he could see the two wrapped bundles that she had placed some food in front of.

"And you thought to keep them?", he asked.

"Their mother was killed by something. I wanted to try. However, I can't have them at the castle, and with the storm, they will surely die.", She said with a sigh. Her face fell with a look of slight anger, but a more profound sadness was also there. He couldn't stand to see that sight.

"Why can't you have them at the castle?", he asked, knowing Nobunaga would probably grant her anything she wished.

"Hideyoshi.", she said the one-word answer as if it was a curse. "He would take over, and they are mine."

They way she said mine rocked him to the core. She really wanted them; he could see that. "They are not normal pets, Princess."

"I know, but I still wanted them. I have taken care of them now for three weeks. I am sort of attached.", she said over her shoulder.

"I see.", he thought on this for a few moments. "What if I knew of a place you could keep them close to the castle and they could also receive care if you could not be there, such as with this storm?"

"You know a place I could keep them?", she asked with hope in her eyes.

"Yes, I do.", He said as he bent over her and picked one of the small foxes up and even pet it as he pulled her to a standing position. She also picked up the other fox who made a sound of fox contentment being close to her. She then gathered the supplies including their blankets and everything else she had gathered for their care.

"Where?", she asked.

"You will see.", he replied now back to himself.

"Well, at least it will be closer.", she said to herself.

As the two walked she noticed his way of carrying the little fox. The fox was wiggling and squirming, but he didn't seem to mind. He was holding on in his long fingers, and he stroked the creature gently. She didn't know if she had ever seen him like that. They came out on a path that would not take them through the center of the castle town but around it to the houses of all the warlords. She wondered to which one they were headed to. As the got closer, she knew they had already passed two and only had two left. Ieyasu's and his own. She wondered if Ieyasu would take on the foxes, but soon they passed that palace as well. She was now confused but stayed silent as he rounded the walkway for his own palace.

He liked the look of confusion on her face. It was a look he knew well as she was now trying to read him and his plan. He had no idea why he was willing to take on the two fox kits, but he was, for her, he was. The thought passed his mind, and he wondered why he would do that for her, and only her. He would think about that later when he was alone and didn't have to wonder or worry about letting his thoughts show. As he showed her to a room that was currently unused, he placed the kit he had been holding down. "This should be enough for them currently.", he said.

"Your manor?", She asked not even trying to hide her surprised. His smile grew at the fact she was so open like that.

"And why not? The others all have their hands full with their own pets and in Hideyoshi's case Mitsunari too.", he chuckled at the statement.

"Why are you doing this Mitsuhide?", she asked doubting him.

"You needed a place closer that would have someone to watch over your foxes, correct?", As he said that she nodded, "I have this huge manor and just me here. The staff can assist me in their care, and I get to try out if a pet is a good thing. You also are now within a short walking distance from them instead of breaking your rules about staying within towns walls. I know my manor is not ideal for you however it was the only other alternative."

"Thank you, Mitsuhide.", She said as she sat and started to unpack the toys and gear for the two. One of the kits had made his way to his foot and plopped down next to it. "I think that one likes you better."

"Wonderful.", He muttered nearly under his breath. He looked out the window and saw the snow falling hard, as the two had been inside for nearly an hour now he could see the way back to the castle was impassible for her tiny legs. "Princess we have another issue to deal with first.", He said as he looked down at her. As she looked up at him with huge eyes and a questioning gaze he forgot what the issue was exactly. "Never mind.", He said once again as he also joined her on the floor.

It wasn't until a few hours later when the two had full been snowed in that she even noticed the snow outside. It must be up to her waist at the moment, and she had no idea of how to get back to the castle. He smiled as he said, "Oh yes it started snowing."

"Really?", she asked. "I couldn't see that. How am I supposed to get back to the castle now?"

"You're not. I will apparently be your host for a few days.", he said.

"The castle staff will worry.", she said.

"No, they won't they will assume you are here. I had sent a page to the castle after our arrival, on other business. He will mention that he saw you here and everyone will assume you are here.", he said as he shrugged his shoulder slightly.

"probably wondering doing what.", she said softly.

"As to that Princess, that is on them.", he said.

She sank back down to the floor to pet the sleeping kit, wondering what kind of torture this would turn out to be for her. He had a real smile of joy on his face as she looked up at him as he stood before her. She wondered at why he was smiling like that; he also dropped to the floor forgetting all his work he had piled up to stay with her and the two foxes between them.

He woke to a horrid noise a few doors down as one of the kits was making a fuss. He could hear the princess trying to get the animal to stop with no luck. She was surprised as he entered the room still tying his robe together as he looked down at her who was wearing one of his cast-off robes and he chuckled to himself at the sight. She looked adorable and frustrated. He picked up the offending animal and noticed it was cold and figured that was the problem. He motioned for the princess to follow him with the other kit otherwise it soon would start crying out as well. As they went into his room which was warmer then the other both kits began to settle down. He placed it on the floor and it by itself made its way to his futon, along with its sibling. They both curled up at the bottom of the futon. She was looking at him with amazement. "How did you know?", she asked.

"It was cold. Much like you are as well.", He said as she shivered a bit. He walked over and gently put his arms around her. She snuggled closer because he was warm, not because of the kindness he was showing her she thought to herself.

Her eyelids were growing heavy as she stood there and without thought, he picked her up and placed her on the futon as well. She was so tired and cold that she didn't fight him as his warmth and the two foxes at her feet lulled her into a deep sleep. He looked at her as her eyes shut and wondered how this day could ever happen, he must have done something very right to be rewarded like this.

The next morning was also grey, and the snow was still falling slowly now. She opened her eyes to find him asleep next to her. His fox-like features in contrast to the actual fox laying near his head were at ease. The two kits had made there way up the futon, and one was next to her head, and the other was next to him. He blinked his eyes open to find her looking at him and the fox with a soft smile. As soon as he made a noise, the little kit pounced on his head, and she giggled. Her fox in contrast just curled up closer to her. "I think I prefer your fox.", he said.

"I think yours suits you better.", she giggled.

"I thought they both were yours, my dear.", he said, voice still low and raspy from sleep.

"I think I will share.", She said with a smile as he pulled her closer, so she could get pounced on too. They both laughed and didn't move for some time as they had no need to that day.

[morsparadisium]

Instead of a specific plot to work around, here’s a list of settings that all feature a melancholy, moody, or creepy atmosphere. Simply send me a symbol for a setting you want to RP in, and I’ll either make a starter or approach you to plot!

Original post was done by horrificmemes. This is an edit made by me to fit better for the plague tormented town of my blog and its surroundings.

🌕 A full moon night with wind whistling over the steppe

🌊 The river shore late at night, with smoke and (house)fire in the distance

🏤 Stepping into a house that gives off all the wrong vibes

🍁 A cold day in late autumn, which is silent and deeply lonely

🎹 Nighttime in an house/manor, with the tinkling of piano keys from the next room

💧 Rain in the early morning, so dark that there’s hardly a sunrise

⛪ A church right after a funeral, a small handful of people dressed in black hanging their heads in silence

🌳 A maze-like streets at dusk, with a sense of anxiety as the sun disappears

⛵ On the street before dawn as the remnants of a burned house collapse

🍂 A chilly, overcast autumn afternoon

🌃 Midnight in town with a mob hunting for someone

🚘 Sitting with a popped tire on the side of a long stretch of road, waiting

⚡ Distant gunfire from a firing squad

🥀 An overgrown garden of nothing but poisonous (or dead, dry) plants

🌾 An eerie misty steppe with seemingly no one around for miles

🐊 Murky swamp with the carriage stuck and sinking slowly

🔥 A roaring bonfire in the distance on a pitch black night, with dark silhouettes crowded or dancing around it

🚧 Standing near the train tracks outside of the town

🐟 Taking a swim in a river outside the town

🌿 Herbalist shop run out of the medicine you need

💀A theatre filled with corpses covered with blankets waiting to be buried or burned

🚇 A dingy old station while waiting for a supply train that never arrived

🌈 The sad silence after a violent riot, debris and wreckage everywhere

👗 An attic full of musty clothes and antiques belonging to someone dead

❄ A storm locking everyone in their homes, with electricity flickering

🍄 Edge of the town or a stream, whispers cutting the silence

🌑 Recently made mass grave, trying to find something useful by digging it

☔ Taking a long walk with an umbrella, struggling with a low, low mood

☕ At a quiet shop / cafe, but unfamiliar folk are whispering and staring

🌵 An endless steppe with only one yurt in sight

💤 Dreaming of sounds of hearing someone pick the lock, and waking to still hear it

🐕 A day with a herd of yak roaming outside the town

[rallis-fatalis]

The Fremennik Trials

Back when Rallis wasn't a big shot or a name known kingdoms over, she was just a simple explorer who wanted to see every corner of Gielinor. The world was big and she was small and she was determined to see it all. When Rallis travels north for the first time, she gets the opportunity to become part of a town and explore even more! This Relleka sure is an interesting place! Hopefully the entry trials aren't too difficult.

It was very cold this grey and gloomy day. The sky threatened to rain, but it never carried through with it. A lizard shaped splotch of blue in the form of Rallis was scrambling over the grey basalt rocks cloaked against a dreary grey sky, a bright stain of paint against an otherwise monochrome canvas. Even the waters were a similar depressing shade and the seaweed almost seemed drained of color. A grey spined head poked through the waves to investigate the cheerful giggling and chirping blue dragon from above, but ultimately resigned itself back to its depressing life under the waters.

Rallis came upon a decrepit old lighthouse perched atop dark slick rocks and stared at the structure in awe. Once she had enough, she bounced over crumbling bridges and dying shrubs and soon found the earth turning to softer dirt and crunchy undergrowth as opposed to the hard dark stone of the basalt lined barricade in the ocean. Sad workers hammered away at a broken bridge, glumly going about their day. Shadow black unicorns stomped around, angry and depressed, warning away anyone who drew near. Wolves prowled in the underbrush for food, but this blue dragon was too cheerful for their tastes. Such exuberant happiness would just give them indigestion.

The happy small dragon chirped in surprise as a fortress of fencing came into view, menacingly sharpened spears of wood jammed into the ground and pointed outward to warn away intruders. Structures loomed inside, obscured by pale grey fog and further cementing the depressing atmosphere of it all. She smiled and bounced inside. It was overcast and dark, fog and shadowed skies dyeing everything in black and white. Nothing seemed to be alive here, just dirt and stone and quiet houses drenched with condensation from the fog and sea breeze.

Despite how dead the entire world seemed to be, a noise broke through the emptiness. It was a lilting sound, like that of music, seemingly coming from nowhere. The dragon followed the sound, blindly staggering into the foggy town as if entranced. The world grew warmer, the colors brighter, and before her twirled the magic of story and song. The grey melted away into the color of fire, a sunrise on a quiet grassy hill. The cold and dreary fog faded into the warmth of sunlight and company. The quiet melancholy made way for the strings and song dedicated to weaving the tale of a better place and a better time. It was magical. What was once a depressing bland landscape turned into a picturesque storybook. The dragon smiled and closed her eyes, enjoying it all.

A low chuckle broke her trance. "It appears we have a guest."

With that, Rallis snapped back to reality and looked around. She was no longer standing in a warm field at sunrise, but rather in plain sight right smack in the middle of a very large room filled with dozens of people, and every single one of them were staring at her.

"Huh...? WHAT?!?!" She jumped back in shock. 'When?! How?!'

Someone muttered about the bouncer not doing their job, others looked her up and down in disdain, others in fear. The words 'outlander' and 'monster' echoed throughout the room. This place was not welcoming. Rallis spun around looking for a way out only to find two burly men blocking what she presumed was the only entrance. Her ears pinned back in fear as she faced down all the angry untrusting glares.

A large bearded man with an eyepatch and tankard howled from his seat in the audience. Rallis stepped back as he rose and walked nearer. "Welcome, stranger!" he boomed. "Oh no need to look so nervous, come! Sit down! Join us!"

Rallis timidly obeyed, not wanting to cause any more trouble, and slowly tiptoed over to the man. She had been insulted and shooed away by humans before, but this room wide feel of disdain and distrust was a whole new experience. It made her scales crawl. She had a seat across from the big man and at once the stares began to turn away. The people near her scooted away and the rest of the room went about their quiet murmuring.

"Don't mind them," the man started after taking a swig of his drink. "We don't get many visitors. And you're by far the most interesting to stop by! I don't think I've ever heard of a talking monster outside of the bard's tales. What brings you to Relleka? Not here to do anything untoward I hope." It was as if the room collectively had a hand on a weapon at the word.

"I don't know what that word means..." she started quietly. "But I heard music. I wanted to listen more..." She was shocked at herself at how timid and quiet she was being. She shook her head and steeled herself. This wasn't like her! She was smiley and loud and bouncy and it was time to get back to it!

"Oh and is that all? Well I'm sorry to say Olaf is done for the day. Perhaps if you had come earlier." He took another drink. "Where are you from?"

"Taverley. South east of here, long walk. Over the white mountain with all the wolves!"

"Hmm, that is far! Certainly you didn't come all this way for a bit of music! What brings a creature of your kind so far from home?"

"Exploring!" Rallis exclaimed, once again turning cheerful over the topic. "I want to see everything and everywhere and I found this place. It's so cold up here and so different!"

The man laughed. "I suppose it is cold if you're not used to it. And it is Fall. It will be terribly cold for an unprepared outlander soon so I suggest you leave before dark."

It was already starting to grow dark outside but Rallis couldn't tell if it was because of night beginning to fall or just the general grey and gloomy atmosphere of the place. Either way, it was cold outside and she wasn't prepared for it. The smidgen of wind chill was much more dangerous for a dragon than it was for a human,

"Is it okay if I stay here? Just for tonight? I don't do cold so well..."

The man frowned thoughtfully. "Unfortunately outlanders may not stay here. Traditions and rules and what have you. Only if you are Fremennik or known by one may you stay, and you are neither."

Rallis' ears drooped and a hint of fear and sadness flashed across her face before being replaced by a curious smile. "Then can I be one? A Fremmer-Nick?"

The man snorted into his cup. "You're an interesting one. Outlanders don't normally even give us the time of day, and now here one is asking to join us! And an inhuman one at that! Let me tell you, when I woke up today the last thing I was expecting was for a talking monster from mountains over to ask about becoming a Fremennik."

Some of the people nearby were listening in on the conversation and scowled at the idea. They didn't want this talking... thing in their home. It was an abomination and its demand went against their way of life.

"I want to explore," Rallis said. "And if I gotta be a Fremmer... Fremennik to do so, then I'll do it! And I wanna hear the music again!"

The man was a bit disappointed at her reasoning but hid it well. "I suppose I could let you try the trials to become a Fremennik. But be warned I will only allow it once." Rallis nodded. That was fair she supposed. "The trials weed out those who do not belong," he said quietly. "Should you want to be one of us for the wrong reasons, should you not put your best foot forward, you will find yourself unable to pass. Your determination and ideals will be tested and judged."

His words had weight, and Rallis would keep them in mind.

"It won't be easy," he continued. "And most everyone will likely be working against you. I'm sure even you can feel it."

She could, the hatred and uncertainty in the room. But that wouldn't stop her! It hadn't yet and it wouldn't now and she told him as much.

The man rose with a groan. "Well, I suppose I need to get everyone ready for tomorrow then! This should be quite the affair! You're welcome to stay in here for the night but expect to be up early tomorrow for your trials."

Rallis nodded. "Okay. Thank you, big eyepatch man!"

He chuckled and held out a hand. "I suppose we didn't introduce ourselves. Chieftain Brundt. Welcome to my village."

Rallis took it with a smile. "Rallis."

He walked off and with him went half the bystanders, giving her odd glares and stares, muttering curses. The others left in the room stayed far away from her, never making direct eye contact and keeping a considerable distance away. She was offered no food, drink, or company, and once night fell things to sleep on or with were added to the list. Not that she minded. She usually slept on the ground anyway, though she frowned at the lack of grass and leaves present.

Every patron shot her a glare as they left, as if wary and uncomfortable of a stranger staying in their town throughout the night. Rallis curled on the floor by the dwindling fire and buried her face in her arms, watching the angry people as they left. Many people she had met in her travels hated her for no other reason than because of what she was, and sadly it seemed no different here. Perhaps trying to join them wouldn't be such a good idea after all. She could always leave in the morning and fail the trials, though she doubted she would ever be welcomed back.

'How frustrating humans are sometimes...'

Eventually the room was empty save for a man nursing his drink and two other men asleep in their seats, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Rallis began to shiver by the now ash pile of a fire. Venturing north without a cloak was a bad idea, a mistake she would be sure to rectify for future exploration. But that didn't stop her from being cold now. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on falling asleep.

'Think warm thoughts. The bed at home, the beach in Catherby, that fantastic sunning rock by Ardougne, blankets... I want a blanket...'

As if hearing her silent prayer, a blanket fell over her. Her ears shot up in surprise and opened her eyes to find a tall bearded man with a long brown almost auburn ponytail and long white cape standing before her. He had another blanket in his hands which he handed over. Rallis excitedly buried her face in it with a purr and curled up in it. She chirped a quiet thank you and hid under the blankets, only her face peeking out. The man sat down next to her.

"You've certainly sparked some discussion, you know," he told her. "When was the last time I met a monster that could speak? My trip to Morytania perhaps? Where the wolves speak and wear the skin of men. I never thought I would find such a rarity in my own home."

"All of us can speak," Rallis said. "You just can't understand us."

"Maybe so! This is definitely the first time I've been able to understand the speech of a lizard."

Rallis growled at the comment but she didn't believe he meant it in the derogatory way others had before. "I'm a dragon, not a lizard!"

"My apologies if I offended you," he said sincerely. "What brings such a noble beast as a dragon to our stagnant fishing town, hm?"

Rallis shrugged. "I just wanted to see everything. I want to go everywhere!"

The man smiled. He could understand the sentiment well, wanting to see everything the world had to offer as well. "Well I hope our little town isn't a disappointment."

"No way! This place has music! That means it can't be bad!"

"Oh? Liked it, did you?"

Rallis nodded. "Yeah! It was really pretty! Reminded me of my mom. She makes pretty music too."

The man smiled. "Well I'm glad my music finally made someone happy. They don't much appreciate my work anymore." He rose and brushed the dirt off his pants. "Perhaps I'll play more if you finish your trials tomorrow."

"You got it! ... Um, what's your name?"

"Olaf the bard," he said with a bow. "And yours?"

"I'm Rallis! Rallis... the dragon, I guess."

"Beautiful name. I shall see you tomorrow, Rallis the dragon. Good night."

Olaf walked off, cape swishing behind him, and Rallis got comfortable under the blankets. 'I like him! Maybe not everyone here is an angry scowly grump!'

She fell asleep dreaming of music.

The sun wasn't even up when Rallis was awoken. Something hard and wooden slammed into the ground inches from her snout. She woke with a start and yelped as she jolted back, tangling herself in the blankets. Standing above her was a shadow of a man, hidden in a forest green hooded cloak, calculating eyes hidden in the darkness. His golden beard was braided with what appeared to be leaves, and upon closer inspection his cloak had a mantle of matching foliage, making him seem almost like some kind of nature spirit. The object he had slammed down to wake her was a bow, carved with intricate inscriptions for who knows what. He said nothing, only nodded for her to follow and slithered off into the gray morning sky like a shadow. Rallis folded the blankets on a nearby bench and clumsily ran after him.

It was just as dark and grey as yesterday, though perhaps this time because it was hardly even morning. Rallis yawned as she followed the cloaked man to the entrance of town, trying to force herself awake. The awful chill made her want to fall back asleep immediately. A few feet down the path out the gate, the man stopped, watching the fog ahead of him like a hawk.

Rallis hummed in confusion. "Wha--?"

The man snapped her snout shut with one hand and pointed into the fog with the other. Rallis growled, unappreciative of the gesture, but watched where he pointed. Vaguely in the fog was a flicker of light in the shape of a human. She squinted but couldn't make out any details. It shuffled along and wailed angrily, high pitched and distraught. The dragon flinched from the sound and saw the figure wasn't walking, but floating. It was a spirit! She shivered and looked to her companion for answers. The man began to rummage through a pouch and speak.

"To become one of us, you must do seven tasks," he whispered, voice quiet and stealthy like him. "Only twelve of us may give them to you, the twelve of Chieftain Brundt's council. Some will oblige, some won't, you need to convince them." He pulled out an oddly shaped wooden figure, much like the design of a rune talisman. "If you do the task successfully, you receive a vote. You need seven. Seven tasks for seven votes." He handed her the talisman. "This is my task. Unlike the rest of the village, I don't care what you are, what you look like, where you come from. I only care if you can pull your weight. Show me you can do just that. Catch me a draugen."

Rallis tilted her head in confusion and looked around. She turned back to him and pointed to herself. "Okay, I did it! I'm a dragon and I caught myself!"

Rallis swore she heard something like a choked laugh under the man's hood but he quickly quieted himself. He was definitely smiling now though. "Draugen, not dragon. That spirit you just saw, that's a draugen. It will disappear soon so I suggest you get going. They stay near water and in the fog. Once the sun comes out, the fog will vanish and so will it. Prove to me you can be a huntsman and catch it and you'll have my vote." He pointed to the talisman in her hands. "That will help you find and catch it."

She expected a net or something to help catch it but received nothing more. "What am I supposed to catch it with? My hands?"

"Part of the hunt is figuring things out at the most crucial moment. You will have to figure it out yourself." He nodded toward the fog. "Now get going."

Rallis pouted at the lack of direction but she wasn't about to fail! Talisman in hand, she sprinted into the fog and vanished.

Everything was muffled and distorted in the fog. Animals scurrying in the undergrowth sounded like rattling bones, their howls like the wails of demons. It was unnerving not being able to see anything. The talisman in Rallis' hands glowed brighter in certain directions and softer in others. 'It must be leading me to the spirit!' She slithered under the fog hot on the trail of the Draugen.

Running water could be heard next to her. She must have reached the river to the south, she figured. 'And that hunter said this thing stays near water. Oh, I didn't catch his name either. What is with these people and not telling me their names? They just start conversations without greetings!' Rallis shook the conversation out of her head. She had to focus. The farther along the river she trekked, the brighter the talisman glowed.

'Getting close!'

Suddenly a loud angry moan cut through the cold silence, filling Rallis with dread. It was the same moan from before, only this time much closer. It rattled her bones and made her halt in fear. It took all her willpower to take cover under a shrub. The fog was beginning to fade away, one wisp at a time, and there far in a clearing was the draugen. It was wailing to the river, as if angry it would not listen to its woes. Otherwise, it didn't seem to move on, content to scream at the water. Rallis began to think.

'Alright, so the hunter wants me to catch it and bring it back. It looks like a human. Maybe I can just grab it and drag it back?' The draugen howled, cutting off her train of thought. Rallis shook her head and shivered. That howl was horrifying, freezing the core of anyone who would hear. 'Think quick. How to catch it. I don't think he wants me to just tie it up and bring it back. Can you even tie a spirit up?' The draugen moaned again, Rallis pressed her hands over her ears and head to the dirt. 'Shut up you whiny ghost! What do I do then?! All he gave me was this glowing stick! Maybe I have to use it on the spirit in some way? The spirit I helped in Lumbridge was pretty nice once he had someone to talk to. Maybe this one just needs to talk. Oh but I didn't bring that amulet... Well maybe--'

Rallis stopped her thoughts. The world was quiet. Too quiet. The draugen wasn't moaning and groaning anymore. She peeked over the shrub and across the way to the clearing and sure enough, the spirit was gone. 'Uh-oh.' A chill ran up her spine, completely different from the cold of the morning northern air. Low moaning echoed from right behind her, an eerie saddened whisper on the wind. Turning around was the last thing she wanted to do, but she had to. The dragon slowly turned around to find a blackened blue skeletal corpse standing right behind her, ethereal glow forcing the fog away. It screeched like a banshee and scared the dragon into submission. Before she could curl up and hide, the draugen grabbed her by the throat and brought her struggling form to its face.

She wanted to move, she wanted to run, she wanted to do anything, but she couldn't move an inch. The soul piercing scream, the bony fingers wrapped around her throat, the dark rotting skeletal face staring into her eyes... This was a nightmare she wanted to wake up from! The draugen opened its mouth, disgusting rotting breath hitting her in the face, and if that wasn't a wake up call, nothing was. Right as the spirit was about to scream once more, Rallis grabbed the talisman tight and bopped the spirit on its head.

"LEMME GO LEMME GO LEMME GO LEMME GO LEMME GO!!!!!"

Each syllable was punctuated with a smack to its skull, wooden talisman making the draugen's hollow head ring. It dropped her with a growl and rubbed its head. Its precious skull had a dent! That was unforgivable! The spirit reached for the dragon again, but stopped when it noticed the talisman in her claws. It was pretty and the spirit wanted it. It reached for the talisman and Rallis pulled away. "No way! You can't have that! It's mine!"

The draugen howled again and reached for it, but instead of the wooden treasure, the spirit received another bop on the head. Now it was angry. The spirit's eyes grew red and it growled demonically. Rallis yelped and ran off, angry screaming spirit in tow.

The angry howls and silent footsteps chased her throughout the foggy forest, growing closer and closer by the second. It was impossible to see where she was going, stumbling over roots and rocks every other step. After her third nasty fall, she couldn't catch herself in time. Rallis rolled into the dirt and straight into a briar patch, snaking thorny branches grabbing hold of her like clawed hands. The talisman was sent flying, skittering to another equally thorny bush nearby. The moaning of the draugen was right beside her now, it's glowing figure breaking through the fog. Rallis ripped out of the thorns and grabbed the talisman, shredding her gloves to pieces. It was then that she noticed the talisman was still glowing, and not in the direction of the draugen.

'Is there something else?' She didn't have time to think as the skeletal glowing figure came into view. Rallis sprinted on the path the talisman was taking her.

The fog was starting to dissipate, rays of sun cutting through like a hot knife. It made the tiring run easier, but no less stressful. She was running out of time. She couldn't hear the spirit anymore, only the chirps of birds greeted her now. The talisman grew brighter and brighter until it began to flash and even heat in her hands. Rallis dropped it as she tripped over a mound of dirt by the riverbank and tumbled into the waters. She grabbed onto the crumbling earth before the currents could take her away and crawled out of the freezing water coughing and gasping. She didn't have the talisman anymore.

'Where is it? Where is it?!'

She began to panic but breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted it sitting nearby the mound she tripped over. She crawled over to grab it when a heavy weight slammed itself on the hand reaching for it. Rallis yelped and whined, in pain then fear. The draugen stepped on her hand, hard, and smushed it into the dirt. The dragon whined with tears springing to her eyes as the spirit crushed her hand, bending down to pick up the talisman without any more interruptions. It kicked her away, nearly back into the river, and stared at the wooden figure in wonder. It was flashing like crazy, as if upset someone else had a hold of it.

Rallis sniffled and cradled her crushed bleeding hand and glared at the spirit. The sun was almost fully over the mountains now, its rays piercing the draugen and beginning to make him vanish. The dragon snarled with ears pinned back in rage. 'You're not beating me you stupid ghost!' With a screech and claws out, Rallis leapt at the fading spirit and bit and clawed into it. The draugen wailed in pain, flailing and trying to throw her off. Rallis snapped and snapped like a rabid dog, grabbing the arm holding onto the talisman and chewing its hand clean off at the wrist. The talisman fell to the dirt as the sunlight dissolved the severed hand.

The draugen howled as Rallis dove for the talisman, growling as the spirit grabbed after her with one hand. The talisman flashed frantically, practically pulling itself toward the center of the dirt mound. The spirit grew panicked as if just realizing what the wooden icon was. Its skeletal face distorted in fear as it frantically tried to pull Rallis back, but the dragon wasn't having any of it. With a final shriek, she slammed the talisman so deep into the mound only the top poked out, and at once it and the draugen exploded into a shower of light. Sparkles rained down with the sun as the spirit disappeared. All was quiet, all was calm, as if nothing had ever happened.

Rallis slowly scoped the area from her spot on the dirt, panting harshly and breaking the still silence. The last wisps of fog were fading away. The birds were singing and the rabbits came out to say hello. Even the black unicorns seemed particularly happy today. The draugen was gone. Timidly, Rallis pulled the talisman out of the dirt. The spirit didn't suddenly spring out, thank Guthix. The wooden icon glowed with a different color, the shade of anger and malevolence.

'I guess this means... I caught the draugen.'

At the realization, she sighed and flopped onto the dirt and stared at the sky. She did it. But perhaps catching her breath for a moment longer wouldn't be such a bad idea.

Rallis trudged back into town with two missing gloves, two bleeding hands, clothing covered in dirt and soaked and dripping with water, and the promise of a vote. The hunter was impressed, Sigli she finally learned his name was, and was almost sure she wouldn't be able to do it. He had purposefully given her something hard to see if an outlander could even hold a candle to a Fremennik, and he was pleasantly surprised. She was sure to have his vote. Rallis wondered what he was going to do with the captured draugen, and he muttered something about a ritual and walked off. She didn't pursue.

'If all seven trials are going to be like this, maybe I'll just drop out now,' Rallis lamented. 'Or die. That's an option too.'

The sun was out, as were the people, and she had already been up for hours and was beyond exhausted. She shuffled into the building she began this whole charade in, which she learned was called the Longhall, and practically sat in the fire she was so cold. She wrung out as much water as she could and sat down to dry off. Heavy footsteps stomped up behind her and a voice as booming as thunder grabbed her attention.

"Rallis! I was looking for you!"

The dragon turned around to see Chieftain Brundt standing before her. He was shocked to see the state she was in.

"Oh my. What happened to you?"

"Sigli," was all she muttered.

Brundt nodded in understanding. "I see you've already begun then. He always did like to start early. Sigli is a man of few words. Did he explain everything well enough for you?"

Rallis nodded. "Seven tasks, seven votes, twelve possible people." A smile cracked through her glum facade. "Now six votes to go."

"Ah so you got his! Good!" He leaned down to whisper in her ear. "If I'm honest with you, Sigli's trial I find to be one of the hardest. Don't lose hope yet!"

Rallis smiled. She liked Brundt. He was like a big happy dad.

He stood back up straight. "Well, the day is still young! You should have some food and get back to work! Why don't you go see Yrsa about some clothes after you eat? You'll get sick if you keep wearing that." He motioned to her sopping wet attire. "And if she says otherwise, you can tell her I told her to help." He pointed her in the right direction and she ran off with a thank you, snagging a leg of chicken from the fire as she left.

The Yrsa lady ran a clothing store and even made shoes from scratch! She was very talented. Yrsa let Rallis have whatever she needed surprisingly, and the dragon left with a warm blue long sleeve shirt and a gray long skirt which she quickly pinned up to make it short. The woman gave her a look when she declined shoes, but when the dragon waggled three long clawed toes at her, she realized it probably wasn't the best idea to wear them. The woman was even kind enough to let Rallis leave her wet clothing there to dry by the fire. She thanked the woman profusely. It was always nice when a stranger didn't treat her like a monster, and she wasn't expecting that in this town if she was honest. Rallis would have to be sure to bring some platinum back with her to repay her kindness.

With new clothing, Rallis felt like a new dragon. She ran off at lightning speed, bouncing up to anyone and everyone to see if they had a task she could do to earn their vote. She found two other council members rather quickly and she had much more of a fun time doing those than tracking down a monster for Sigli. One man named Swensen had her do a maze. Supposedly it was difficult for most, maze having been built with magic and making anyone who stayed inside too long sick to their stomach, but Rallis was a mage herself. A little teleportation never hurt her! Another man named Peer had a test for her in the form of riddles, some spoken, some written, some even interactive. Rallis may have found her time learning human language with Reldo beyond boring, but he did teach her riddles and puzzles and those were super fun. But Peer took it a step further and had interactive riddles! Rallis was reluctant to admit she spent more time doing the riddles than she needed simply because it was so fun to mess around with all the stuff.

'Three out of three votes so far! This will be easy!'

The sun was high in the sky now, noon shining down below. The town was more bright and vibrant than yesterday, though it may have had to do with the bouncy blue dragon running around as much as it did the change in weather. Olaf was hiding a snicker as he watched the dragon bounce around the market square running errands for Sigmund.

'Ah Sigmund you crafty asshole, you're just getting the poor thing to do your work for you.'

He watched a bit longer and was about to leave when he saw the dragon run his way. She stopped in front of him, panting. "Hi! I need music!" she said between breaths.

"Good day to you too, Rallis the dragon. I thought I told you after you finished your trials."

Rallis shook her head. "No not for me! Fooorrr..." She spun around, finger pointed to the market trying to find someone particular. "Him!" she shouted victoriously as she spotted the fisherman she spoke to earlier. "He needs music!"

"As in he wants me to sing to him?" As good as Olaf thought his music was, he didn't quite think Sortur of all people would want to be regaled by his song and charm.

"No he needs a written song! For this lady he likes!"

Ah. That made sense. Wait, no it didn't! Sortur hated everyone! He only enjoyed killing monsters, fishing, and killing monsters he fished. Olaf was curious, but he'd pry later. "I can do that," Olaf told her. The dragon smiled and jumped happily. "But it'll take a little while to think of what to write. I don't suppose you can do an errand for me while I write it, could you?"

Rallis shrugged. "Sure. What do you need?"

"I was on my way to Yrsa's to pick up some new shoes when I got... sidetracked. If you could get them for me while I think of what to write, that would be great."

"Okay!" Rallis chirped. She was about to run off when Olaf stopped her.

"My apologies," he started. "But I'm simply too nosy for my own good. How have your trials been going?"

"Fine I guess. I have found seven people who can give me votes, I've gotten three, and I'm working on one! So I could have four soon!"

"That is fine! Beyond fine! Well done! Who have you spoken to?"

"First I did Sigli's trial," she started and poked her hands out of the overly long blue sleeves. The cuts weren't bleeding anymore but they were still red and angry. Olaf flinched. Sigli's trials could always be a bit brutal, though not as brutal as...

He shook his head. Hopefully she wouldn't have to do that one. Thorvald's was the worst trial of them all, or maybe second alongside Sortur's. And at the rate she was going with four out of seven votes she might not have to do his. "A tough trial to be sure. Who else?"

She was excited to talk about the other two. "Peer's and Swensen's I got! Those were fun!" Her excitement was contagious, Olaf found himself smiling too. "I tried three more but they all made fun of me," she pouted. She pointed back to the fisherman. "That guy was one of them. What was his name? Sortur? He told me I could get his vote if I made the sky turn red, the water turn pink, the rocks turn yellow, and the sun turn black. So I did!" Rallis pulled out a now slightly crumpled drawing from under her shirt to keep it out of the water by the dock and sure enough the drawing detailed just those four things, drawn as if a child had done it. Olaf choked on a snort. Sortur would surely take her answer as a slight but Olaf thought it was both creative and hilarious.

"He didn't want it though," Rallis said with drooped ears. "Now I don't know what to do with it."

"Well, I'd certainly love to take it if no one else will have it. It's charming." It was such an odd looking picture but it was really quite adorable. And if she wasn't going to get a vote from it, she might as well get some appreciation for her work. Rallis beamed and handed it over, happy someone liked it. "Honestly it might be a good thing Sortur won't give you his trial. It usually involves killing monsters." Rallis looked back at the fisherman with horror. "Who were the other two you tried?"

Rallis pointed to a woman laughing by Sortur. With the man's expressions, he was likely telling her about the picture Rallis tried to give him. "She said I was too gull-able. I don't know what sea birds have to do with it but she wouldn't talk to me after that."

Olaf rolled his eyes. 'Really Sassilik?' He watched the two laugh, probably making fun of other people throughout the day. 'Perhaps she's who he likes. Rude attracting rude.'

Rallis pointed to someone else. "And he said I could get his vote if I gave him like 100 times 100 billion coins! I may be a dragon but even I don't have that much!"

"Agnar is always looking for money to gamble with," Olaf said with a groan. "He probably thinks you're rich because you're a dragon."

Rallis snorted. "Anyway I gotta get back to work! I have to get Sigmund's vote!"

"Yes, alright, good luck! I'll be writing that ballad you need for Sortur in the Longhall." Rallis sprinted off with a thank you. "I certainly won't make it good however!" he muttered.

After much running back and forth and being a delivery dragon, Rallis got Sigmund's vote. She ran back to Olaf in the Longhall with a message from Sortur saying the bard was the worst in existence and he was a prideful fool if he thought the trash he handed over was anything but abysmal. Olaf laughed into his drink. Rallis waved goodbye and ran off to find other council members.

One other woman said no immediately and wouldn't hear anything more of the subject. Four of eight still wasn't too bad. She happened to find someone else who would help her while delivering the boots for the ballad in the Longhall for Sigmund's long chain of deliveries. Probably the happiest drunk she had ever met, Manni. It was barely past noon and the man had already downed at least six tankards of beer. He was singing and telling stories as he swung around a beer in each hand. Rallis wasn't surprised when the man said his trial would be a drinking contest. Unfortunately, that was something she could not do. Even the slightest bit of alcohol made her violently sick. She was sad to say she did in fact cheat to win his vote. She filled a keg with water beforehand and crumbled a smoke rune into the Longhall fire pit as a distraction to swap out the alcohol for water. When the smoke cleared, no one had suspected a thing, and Rallis came away with a fifth vote and a new happy drunk friend.

Rallis was told the names of the last three possible people she could get votes from, and the first of those three simply mocked her for even trying. That left the other two. She would have to get their votes if she wanted to finish the trials. There was no one else. She was surprised to hear one of the last two people was Olaf. Maybe that's why he had been watching her on and off all day, checking to see if she was even worth his time. Funnily enough, Rallis couldn't find him now. Off to the other person it was then! Thorvald.

Thorvald was huge, a giant warrior of a human. He could probably hold his sword up with just his pinky. He dwarfed Rallis and stared down at her scrawny small self with disdain. "You want to try and get my vote?"

"Yes!" Rallis shouted with an eager bounce. She wouldn't be deterred that easily.

"You're so small," Thorvald said as he held up his hand in mock measurement.

Rallis snapped at the air where his hand was. "No, you're all just too big!"

Thorvald's laughter boomed throughout the room they stood in, shaking the flimsy walls. They looked like they had been broken and shoddily put back together many times, like he kept breaking them. "You have guts! I like that! Hopefully I won't see them on the floor after this." He kicked up a rickety trapdoor beside him and pointed. "Down there is a demon in a man's skin. He is ruthless, he knows no fear, and he will never stop fighting. He has killed many, and can only be held back by valiant warriors. You will go down there and fight like your life depends on it, because it does. And you will do it unarmed."

Rallis put on a brave face but it did sound scary. She wouldn't be stopped though! She would fight that human demon and win! She carefully put her whip aside. "Please don't touch that," she warned, pointing to the weapon. "It likes to freeze people it doesn't like." Thorvald looked at it with horror. He hated magic and weapons imbued with it were even worse. Rallis gently placed her pouches and runes atop the whip and hopped down the trapdoor. She had fought unarmed plenty of times before and she wouldn't lose now!

"Remember, like your life depends on it!" Thorvald echoed after her followed by the slam of the door shutting.

The trapdoor hid a ladder that went a considerable distance underground. There were many underground and oceanic caverns in the area, and this seemed to be the former. Though this one was furnished, Rallis was surprised to see. Torches, carpets, tapestries on the rocky walls, even a bed and places to sit all much farther in. Where she stood at the end of the ladder was red paint. It traced along the rectangular stone stadium before the furnished area like a sacrificial altar. Old bloodstains dotted the stadium, trails reaching the red painted edges and disappearing. And there, stood at the opposite end, was a lone man, shirtless with what she assumed was blood drawn in a pattern across his chest, sword drawn and ready. He immediately put Rallis on guard. She figured Thorvald was playing up the drama to make her nervous by calling him a demon in human skin, but he was at least partially right. This man wasn't human, she could smell it, feel it in the air.

The man took a step forward. "My name is Koschei the Deathless," he whispered, sound bouncing off the wall to sound as if fifty of him spoke at once. "I would know your name before you die."

Rallis growled. "My name is Rallis. But it won't be me who dies today." She bared her fangs and flared her claws. "Fight me!" she roared.

Koschei was on her in the blink of an eye.

The fight couldn't even be seen by normal eyes, both of them were unnaturally fast. Every swipe Rallis gave, Koschei blocked with ease. Every swipe of his sword, Rallis dodged or blocked with her claws. She was normally the faster one in a fight, this was all new territory for her. She just had to keep up until she saw an opening. After one particularly bad miss, she saw one. He left his side open and she slashed hard with her claws. He didn't even flinch, retaliating back with a kick that sent her flying against the far wall.

Rallis fell to the ground with a thud, unable to breathe for a moment. Koschei was coming her way, taking his sweet time. His side was bleeding but he didn't even seem to feel the pain. Rallis didn't give him a chance to get any closer, rushing back into the fight with a snarl. A scratch to his arm, a nick to his cheek, a claw through his boot and into his foot, he didn't feel a thing. And every strike she landed left her open, a bash to the head, a slash to the leg, a dangerous near-hit as he stabbed at her side only to strike air. Rallis grew more tired as the fight continued. She wasn't used to things lasting this long. She usually killed or disarmed her enemy in seconds. But it didn't matter. She wasn't about to lose to this violent murderous demon!

Koschei lashed out with his sword again and Rallis bit down on his arm, straight through his arm guard. Before she could crunch down and shatter bone, he punched her square in the jaw and sent her flying. She groaned and spat the blood out of her mouth and froze. She gasped and stared at the man, horrified.

"Thorvald said you were a demon! A demon in human skin! But I've chewed through the throat of demon and human alike and I know the disgusting tastes well. You're not a demon! You're not human either but you're not a demon. I don't want to fight you anymore!"

Koschei wouldn't hear it and slammed down his sword, narrowly missing.

"Wait!" Rallis tried. "Can't we talk this out? I don't want to hurt you anymore!"

He continued to ignore her, slashing and fighting away.

'Well fine then! If that's how you want to play then I'll just take your sword from you!'

Rallis focused on his fighting style. Every time he swiped at her with his sword, she went for his hand or its hilt. First she tried to grab it and accidentally slashed his arm. Next try, she tried to bite the hilt and nearly took one of his fingers off. Then she tried grabbing again and nearly got the blade stuck in her hand! Every disarming attempt just hurt him more and she was growing frustrated.

"FOR THE LOVE OF GUTHIX, HOLD STILL!"

Rallis had had enough! She sunk a claw into his leg and brought him down. Koschei swung his sword up in defense and finally Rallis had a victory. She grabbed the sword in her jaws, teeth slicing through like a hot knife through butter, and wrenched it out of his grasp. That finally elicited an emotion from him, a blink of surprise. Rallis threw the mangled useless sword aside and helped him up. Pain might not have easily registered with him, but she messed up one of his legs pretty badly. Walking wasn't going to be easy.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't want to do that, BUT YOU WOULDN'T STOP! You need help!" Rallis slunk the silent man over to the ladder and set him down. She pounded on the trapdoor and shouted. "Thorvald! Thorvald, let me out! This is important!" No answer. "Thorvald I'm serious!"

Koschei hobbled to his feet and tugged on her tail, motioning for her to come down. "Thorvald..." he quietly muttered.

At once, the door swung open. Thorvald's shocked face greeted them. "Well this is highly unusual." He held a hand down for Koschei and helped him up, setting him down on a seat. Rallis followed after, panicked and upset.

"I know you said he was a demon," Rallis started. "But he's not! He's really not! When I found out, I didn't want to hurt him anymore because he might not be bad, but he kept attacking and I couldn't get him to stop! You're terrible at listening by the way Koschei! So I tried to get him to stop by breaking his weapon, and I did, but I hurt him a lot trying to do it and I didn't mean to I'm so sorry why do you even have this man in your basement anyway oh can you please help him!"

She gasped, having blurted all that out at once. The two men just blinked at her. "What in the holy name of V are you on about?" Thorvald said. Rallis opened her mouth to explain again but he waved a hand in her face. "You know what? No. Forget it." He turned to Koschei, currently pressing a nearby cloth to his bleeding side. "Koschei, how'd she do?"

The silent warrior simply held a thumbs up. Thorvald grinned.

"Good, good!" Rallis was so confused. "You fought for your life," Thorvald explained. "And then you fought for someone else's. I'm impressed! You definitely have my vote." The dragon was happy at the news but still lost. "Listen outlander, we play up the fight to be this ultimate scary thing. Fighting a monster that looks like a man with nothing but your fists. It's intimidating! This trial isn't a test on how good of a fighter you are, it's a test of bravery. Are you willing to go down unarmed into a pit you can't escape from and fight? That's what this is about, and you did it and then some."

"Oh," she managed to squeak out. "Are you okay though?" she asked Koschei.

He nodded. "I don't feel it."

Rallis was still upset. "If you're sure... I owe you now! I'll make it up to you! Whatever you want, an apology for kicking your butt!"

"You did not," he whispered.

"She totally did," Thorvald laughed. "I got him, you go run off and do whatever you have to do. You've got my vote, remember!"

Rallis nodded, bowed, took her things, and ran off. Just one to go.

The sun was finally beginning to fall. Rallis sighed. What a long day it had been. She shuffled back to Yrsa. Her clothes were dry and she wanted to get back into them. Her new Fremennik outfit was cut and bloodied. Rallis apologized profusely but Yrsa was more mad at Thorvald than her. She gave the dragon her clothes and shooed her out so she could fix them.

'The last one is Olaf. Where could he be?'

Not in the Longhall. Not watching the market. Not by the houses. So where?

As if on cue, he walked through the entrance of the town with a stretch and a yawn. Rallis walked over excitedly. Running wasn't easy with the cut she got from Koschei. "Olaf! Olaf! Olaf! I have six votes!"

"Excellent, Miss Dragon! I take it you now want to do my trial?"

Rallis nodded excitedly.

"Night is falling soon which means we will need entertainment for dinner." He took out something that was hooked to his belt, something small and wooden with golden strings. It was very simple but also very pretty. It almost seemed magical as well. "So my trial for you is simple. You'll need one of these."

"What is it?" she asked as she gave it a delicate poke.

"It's a lyre. It plays music."

Rallis was appalled. "Your instrument tells lies?"

Olaf laughed. "Not liar, lyre. It's a simple to make musical instrument that can play a lot for its size. You're going to make one of these and come back to me for the rest of your trial."

Make a lyre and come back. Sounded easy enough. Olaf ran through everything she'd need to make one and where to get it. With a determined nod, she hopped out the gate, forgetting the pain from the previous fight.

It was well into the evening when Rallis returned, lyre in hand. It wasn't as nice looking as Olaf's but in her defence it was her first time making one. It wasn't hard to make either, though sneaking passed that obnoxious troll to steal some golden wool was a pain. Hopefully the next part would be just as simple. Olaf met her by the entrance to town and walked and talked. "Good! Now you can finish the trial! All that's left is to go on stage and play!"

Rallis froze. "On... on stage?" She figured she'd have to play the instrument, he was a bard after all. But she thought maybe she would just have to play in front of a couple people, maybe sing at a table in the Longhall, not in front of ALL OF RELLEKA.

"Yes. There's a big stage at the end of the Hall. That's where I was playing when you stumbled by yesterday."

Rallis gripped her lyre tightly, claws scratching its back. "But I don't even know how to play it."

"That's what the enchantment is for. If you think it, it will play. Imagine what you want to hear and you'll find your hands simply know how to make it a reality."

Put that way, it did sound rather wondrous and magical. But she was still beyond nervous.

She didn't get a word of argument in as Olaf showed her to the back entrance of the stage. "I need to get everyone ready and inside. Give yourself a couple minutes to think and get in there!" With that, he ran off.

Rallis waited until he was gone and began to whine and pace. What was she going to do?! She couldn't just go up there and play in front of the entire town. That was horrifying! She'd rather fight Koschei again. And another draugen. At the same time! She began to panic. She didn't know how to sing. She didn't know how to play. What would they do when she went up there and realized she was awful? Would she only get the vote if she was good? Oh she did not want to do this!

She didn't even hear Olaf come back as she stood shaking by the back entrance, lost in her thoughts. She yelped and jumped with a fright as he put a hand on her shoulder. "You're keeping everyone waiting," he told her. "What's the matter?" Had it really been so long already? Hadn't he left a second ago? She heard the impatient groans from inside. Apparently not...

Rallis growled as she looked at the lyre she made. "I don't want to go up there!" she whined. "I don't even know how to play this stupid thing! It doesn't matter if it's enchanted, I'll still mess it up! And look, I have claws, I'm gonna tear the strings! And I can't sing!"

Olaf frowned. "Sad to see you give up so easily. You went to the trouble of making that lyre and yet you won't even try to play it. Considering you've done the rest of the trials, I will say I'm rather disappointed mine is the one you quit on."

Rallis' head drooped and she turned away. "I just... don't want to be laughed at... I don't want to be made fun of again." She had enough mockery today with the other council members teasing and making fun of her as they pulled her along. She could handle being made fun of for being gullible and not having the best drawing skills or even her appearance. But she didn't want to go up on stage in front of all these people and be laughed at because she didn't know what she was doing.

The bard's gaze softened a bit. "No one expects you to be a master up there tonight," he said. "It's you're first time and they're not going to make fun of you for it. And if they do, so what? You shouldn't care too much about what others think of you."

She looked at him like he just spoke backwards. "I shouldn't? But everyone else says I should."

"Probably to get something from you," he replied. "There are times you should care, sure, but playing and singing in a room full of happy drunk people is not one of those times. Don't get too hung up on other people's ideas." She still didn't seem convinced. "Rallis, do you know what the point of these trials are?"

"To see what you're good at?" she tried.

Olaf shook his head. "No. Each one shares a valuable ideal. Thorvald's trial is to be brave in the face of death. Sigli's trial is to realize there are many paths that reach a destination and it's up to you to figure out which to take. Do you know what mine is?'

Rallis shook her head.

"It's to be yourself, and be happy with who you are. I'll tell you a secret. I know my music isn't the best and I know a lot of people don't like it. I know the only time I get even a couple positive reactions is when I play music that isn't mine. But it doesn't matter because I enjoy doing it. I'm happy with what I do and who I am. That's all I want you to do. Go up there and play something you're happy to play."

"Okay," she whispered. That little pep talk made her feel a lot better. "I'm still gonna rip the strings though," she said as she held up her clawed hand for emphasis.

"Remember, it's enchanted. That little lyre is more sturdy than you think."

She ran a claw across the golden strings, ears perking up happily as it made a sound, albeit quiet. It didn't tear. She smiled. "Do I still have to sing?" she asked, trying to weasel her way out of it.

He smiled exasperatedly and shook his head. "Yes, yes you do. Just go play, have fun, and stop worrying."

He was damn near about to push her through the door and onto the stage, but she smiled and walked inside. Olaf waved and walked away. "I'll be watching from the audience! Get going, you're running late!"

Rallis ran in and hopped to the edge of the stage, peeking her head around the corner. There were a lot of people down below. The chieftain himself, the other six council members she already received votes from, and some others whose names she was still trying to remember all sat down below. Farther back were dozens of others. The room was filled to capacity. It really was the whole town inside. Rallis laughed as she saw more than half of them with a tankard of beer and more than past a little tipsy. Olaf was right. There was no reason to be nervous.

She stepped onto center stage, grabbing everyone's attention. Some lifted their mug to her, others frowned, one person yelled happily from the back. Rallis flashed a small smile then grew more serious as she looked down at lyre. There weren't many strings, so she didn't think it could make many sounds. But she knew what she wanted to play, she kept the tune in her mind, one of her favorites, and found her fingers bringing her thoughts to life, playing the strings in a pattern, over and over. Her foot tapped along, her tail swished along the floor back and forth. When the sounds came together, it sounded like rain. Beautiful, oddly mystical rain. The audience grew quiet, no more talking or laughing, and gave all their attention to the odd performer. Olaf was resting his head on his hands, watching curiously.

Shakily, Rallis started to sing, but it didn't sound like Common. It didn't even sound like words. It sounded like she was singing music from an instrument. Murmurs started to arise but she quickly shushed them by singing louder and clearer. The sound echoed off the walls, filling the whole Longhall with what sounded like a spirit singing in the rain.

Olaf slowly lifted his head from his hands, watching her move as she played and sang. Having traveled Gielinor learning music and song, there wasn't much that impressed him anymore in the world of music. But this, this was almost ethereal, like it was something mortals weren’t meant to hear.

It was as mystical as the starry skies above, endless and full of possibility. The roof made way, opening out to the night sky, and stars poured in to coat the world in magical shimmering powder. Raindrops of starlight dripped down, splashing into sparks of fire and sparkles. The world vanished and all that was left was a rain of magic against the night sky and the guide of an ethereal songstress' voice.

Rallis quietly finished her song, enchantment fading from the lyre, and timidly clutched it as she tried to appear small, shuffling away from the stage. Some of the audience looked shocked, almost unnerved even, as if trying to come down from the after effects of magic overexposure. Rallis started to droop from the silence, thinking she did something wrong.

'Fuck's sake,' Olaf thought as he stood and clapped.

That seemed to jolt some of them out of whatever stupor they were in and they timidly started to clap as well. Others nervously muttered under their breath, barely understandable. Rallis nervously smiled and exited the stage quickly, Olaf following after. He found her softly tapping at the now unenchanted strings of the lyre by the back entrance of the Longhall.

"Wow..." he said with breathless wistfulness. "That was beautiful! You are one of the greatest bards I have ever had the pleasure of watching performing!"

Rallis blushed at the compliment. "Really?"

Olaf nodded. "I have never heard anything like that before, never felt anything like that before. It was... well there are no words! Beyond magical."

"I'm glad," Rallis breathed a sigh of relief. "I know that's not what your kind sings but it's all I know. And it makes me happy."

"It was certainly different. They might not have understood it, but I thoroughly enjoyed your performance. You've earned my vote."

Rallis jumped up and down, smiling and thanking him. It was honestly rather cute.

"What language was that, by the way? The one you sang in?" Olaf asked.

"Wyvernic," she said with a toothy smile. "I like the way it sounds."

"Wyvernic? I've never heard of it. It's very pretty when you sing it, though. I'd love to hear more some time. Perhaps even a duet?"

The comment flew over her head. "Okay!" she said with a grin. "I don't think humans can speak it though. We'll talk later! Right now I gotta go see the Chieftain!"

With that, she galloped off to see Brundt and await his and the council's decision. The bard slowly trailed behind her, smiling to himself. 'She certainly is an interesting one,' he thought. 'I hope she stays a while. I'd love nothing more than to get to know her.'

As Rallis ran back into the Longhall, everyone gathered round the group of Brundt and his twelve council members. It was a short affair, those who voted for Rallis to stay raised their hand while those who disapproved stepped back. It was seven to five, just as she was promised. Rallis would stay, an honorary Fremennik of Relleka. The Hall shouted and cheered, even the unhappy and disapproving too drunk to do anything other than celebrate. Brundt gave her a name, Denkir, a name as honorable as every other Fremennik in the Hall tonight. The Hall cheered once more and drank to her name. They partied into the night until Rallis fell asleep atop a table and even then continued to drink for her. The poor dragon was tired, and she had a lot of exploring to do tomorrow. She couldn't help but smile before she fell asleep. Oh, the places she'd go...

[enzelffxiv]

(part 1|2|3|4|5)

He’d said he needed to take care of something. At least he knew Imry would rather let herself be run through then allow harm to come to Rielle. The latter had watched him go, a strange look in her eyes, but remained silent. She was a perceptive girl. Perhaps she guessed.

It was midday, yet the dim overcast one Coerthas was accustomed to, high winds whipping around any snow that wasn’t tightly packed by the passage of man or beast. But the moment he stepped out into the wilds, away from the mess of the city, he could sense it. He’d felt it before, but not known what it was. A presence. Or an absence of one, really. His path lead him through Camp Dragonhead, following that ache deep in his chest, north toward the ruins of the Steel Vigil. Few dragons lingered outside the walls any longer, and for that he was almost grateful. He had a feeling he might need to save his strength.

He’d have thought it a rocky outcropping through the wind-driven snow, if not for the tangible presence of something that must have been darkness and yet wasn’t. A figure standing very still, its back to him, regarding the shadowy outline of the city through the heavy air.

This time, he recognized the sword first. That explained why Imry no longer carried it. As he drew closer, he noted that the figure could be mistaken for a statue were it not for the wind picking at its hair and armor. It did not move in the way a living being did, did not breathe. He knew it sensed his approach.

When it finally turned to face him, he realized Tohnrune’s description hadn’t quite prepared him for how uncanny the sight was.

It was, in fact, Imry–her height, her face, the same nose, the same scar. But at the same time, it wasn’t–where her fiery red hair was usually carefully pinned up out of the way, there was a wave of ink black that tumbled down over its shoulders. The wind pulled at it, but it resisted unnaturally, as if it weren’t quite physically there.

It stared down at him with a curiously blank expression, as if not understanding what it was seeing. And its eyes…they were the color of a blood sunrise, the kind that warned sailors of an imminent storm. Not only that, but he could swear they gave off their own light, leaving streaks of afterimage in the air when it shifted.

“What do you want?”

The voice, too, was Imry’s, though he’d never heard that tone from her, hard and wary. He nearly didn't recognize it.

“You carry something that doesn’t belong to you.” It sprang to his lips suddenly–he hadn’t thought of what he was going to say. In some ways he hadn’t expected it to speak. “I’ve come come to take it back.”

No reply came. Instead the figure regarded him silently for a long moment, then turned away.

“You know exactly what I mean–” he began, and it reached for its sword, so he reached for his.

Their blades struck sparks, snow melted in a flash and froze over again. He soon saw they were fairly evenly matched–perhaps he had the edge in skill, but the sheer power in his opponent’s blows–And the darkness flowed around it like water, in flames and great jagged grasping teeth, tearing at him. He countered with his own, fighting to keep his balance, as the soft, newformed ice beneath their feet cracked and scattered.

“You’re the one,” it said, and though it didn’t seem to raise its voice, it was clearly heard over the clash of battle, his breathing– “You’re the one who thinks you can use her. And you’d be right–the gullible fool. Your mistake was thinking we’re the same!”

He raised an arm briefly to shield his face from an upheaval of snow and chips of ice, bracing his sword against the uneven ground. The creature struck, slamming bodily into him, sending them both tumbling. He felt a brief flash of pain as something hard scraped against the scales on the back of his neck, enough to tell him that if it were bare skin it would have been sliced through. He tried to land on his side in order to scramble upward, but it weighed far more than he did and landed with a knee on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. A painful vibration shook him as that sword sunk into the packed snow mere ilms from his left horn. He gritted his teeth, feeling around for the hilt of his own. It was nowhere close.

The creature regarded him with a strange expression, half contempt and half something else entirely. Whatever it was, it looked alien on Imry’s features.

“If I cut you down here–wouldn’t that be humiliating?”

“For you, perhaps–” he spat out, managing it with only a single gasp.

“Don’t test me–”

“Or what?”

It leaned down closer to his face, eyes blazing with cold fury. A familiar fury. Tohnrune’s words sprang to mind–something else filled in the gaps. The freezing air made clouds of his breath but not the other’s.

“Strength is pain. Strength is suffering.” He spoke the words his master had repeated to them over and over, to be sure they’d made their choice…

“Strength is sacrifice–” was its reply, in the wrong voice but familiar words in a familiar tone and with a familiar conviction. Eyes wide and a little wild.

“I never once spoke those words to her,” Sidurgu said, feeling lightheaded. He was almost grateful he was lying on the ground.

It stared at him.

Impulsively he reached up to grasp the thin chain barely visible around its neck, and pulled–the soul crystal fell free. He grasped it–

Barely felt the hand close over his wrist, as the crystal seared through his glove. He couldn’t tell if it was too hot or cold–perhaps both. A wave of fear and uncertainty washed over him, and it took him a moment to realize it wasn’t his own.

It–…she? He…? Had gone ashen. The grip on his arm was not nearly as strong as it should have been. For a moment the person above him was much smaller, wearing familiar armor–

He strained upward, pushing with his free arm and slamming his shoulder into his opponent’s chest; for what seemed like an age but was perhaps only a couple seconds, it didn’t move. It was heavier than it had any right to be. He managed to get a leg under himself for leverage and they both tumbled over back into the snow. Breathing hard, he twisted his hand, and the chain snapped, the soul crystal coming free in his hand.

Under his armor, his own soul crystal blazed white-hot against his skin. In such close proximity, linked by touch, the two stones resonated. He gritted his teeth, and the figure below him convulsed as if in pain, hands grasping uselessly at his chest, unable to find purchase on his breastplate. Darkness crept out around it like dense smoke through the gaps in its armor, wavering, and one hand finally found his wrist again, holding on desperately when he tried to jerk it back.

“I didn’t ask for this!”

The voice didn’t speak aloud. It resounded in his head in a way that was impossible for his horns to project, two voices as one. Desperation, fear, anger, confusion…loss. Frustration. He tried to push all those emotions away, but it was becoming difficult to tell which ones didn’t belong to him.

It’s trying to deceive you–fight it!

“She made me–she asked me to live for her–all I wanted was to be whole…”

You never will be. Just as we all lose pieces of ourselves.

He shook off its hand and stood, unsteady. Fray’s sword was still thrust into the ground, right within arm’s reach. He grasped the hilt.

“Consider this–a mercy.”

The creature laughed bitterly, curled up on its side. “Spoken just like an inquisitor. I’m impressed by your imitation.”

Sidurgu froze.

It shuddered a little, then rolled onto its back. Then simply lay there, waiting. Neither of them moved.

“…well? Get it over with.”

The voice was only Imry’s now, and tired. Resigned.

Wondering if he’d regret it–a familiar feeling when said Warrior of Light was involved–he spoke.

“You wish for death?”

The response took a moment to come.

“Does it matter? Everyone seems so eager to dole it out.” Heavy snowflakes, driven at an angle by the wind, caught on the ridges of its armor and gathered there. He looked down at the soul stone in his hand. It still burned to hold, and the bits of snow that landed against it sublimated instantly into tiny puffs of steam. And something else he’d missed, drowned out by his own adrenaline-elevated heartbeat–another heartbeat that pulsated from the stone itself. The figure sprawled in the snow with no blood and no breath, and this…

“You don’t remember anything,” he said, unsure of whether he wanted it to be true or not.

“I remember,” Imry’s voice was distant. It was still unsettling, hearing it speak like him, but mismatched with the face, the body… “I remember the trial. I remember–dying. I remember the sound of waves and the wind–” The voice stopped suddenly. The snow was falling thicker and heavier now. The figure shifted, climbed slowly to its feet. It stood with a hand pressed to the center of its chest, trembling, as if in pain. Could it even feel pain? “None of it is mine. Not the memories–not the sword–you can take it.”

“I have a sword of my own, I have no need for sentiment.” Sidurgu’s eyes narrowed.

The creature smiled at him, rather grimly. “Something tells me you have too much sentiment. Why hesitate now? You came here with resolve.” It flung out its arms, almost angrily. “You didn’t stop to think about what you’d do once you got here, did you? You let your own self-righteousness get the better of you! Typical.”

“A fair imitation of him, but it falls short a few paces.” He let go of the sword, took a step forward. “The dead are better left to rest.”

“As if I’m the one you should be lecturing about that!”

“Return what you took from her. The rest is this, isn’t it?” He held up the soul stone. “Just an echo.” Centuries of echoes carved upon it, shaped into some facsimile of a person…

He expected another attack, or denial–or even for it to flee. Instead it extended a hand, palm open, a gesture he’d done countless times as part of his training. The smile on Imry’s face was pained and wild, all at once. His stomach jolted.

“See for yourself,” it said softly.

[straycatreadsthat]

Part 5: Mellizos o gemelos.

We’ve managed to finish part 5 of this 7-day...*cough*...challenge! @haphazardlyparked SÍ SE PUEDE!

Once it was done, there were two of him.

His body, the living, breathing thing that housed him, lay prone in a recovery room, piped through with drugs and scattered dreams. The other one roamed free.

Gray steel in the sky gave way to a cloud-bright haze on the horizon as he watched from behind the glass. Its clarity belied its thickness: the viewing room walls were reinforced, layer after layer of super-transparent material made to mimic an ordinary window. Impact-resistant plastic prevented the patients from throwing themselves outside to escape.

Maintainers checked on him occasionally. He observed their comings and goings with a kind of focused detachment, letting his attention wander until he noticed, almost with surprise, when another person entered his periphery and began to fiddle with his body. Fluids dripped with frightening regularity––the IV being changed was his only way to sense how much time was passing, and even that occurred like so much clockwork that he struggled to count them after a while. But no. He knew exactly how many there were. He knew because the other one could keep better count and knew.

The sun was a flat disc, dull behind the lamina of dark smoke. Pollution or just an overcast day? He remembered dreaming of a sunrise but could not recall when or if the sun had ever set, or rose, since he had been here.

“I remember when a dream was just a dream,” he mumbled to no one in particular. “Do I believe in dreams…”

Ten IV bags. Did they change them on the hour? No, it must have been longer than that. He felt the wandering ache in his legs as the second version of him paced. What was he seeing?

“David,” came a soft voice.

“Yes?”

The Maintainer––no, the woman who had been a Maintainer and was now a patient––approached him.

“David,” she said again. “Are you all right?”

“Do you think the sky is always like that?” he asked.

She did not look out the window.

“You were gone for a long time, David.”

“I was dreaming…”

“What were you dreaming?”

“I dreamed that I was another man.”

The David in the bed tried to wake. He could not; in the recovery room he stayed, atrophying, his blood replaced with something that did not seem like blood and his mind replaced by someone else’s mind. It seemed like his mind, but it was alien to feel it from the outside. Was he David if the other one was David?

“Ten IV bags,” he told her.

“What?”

“I have a twin. He’s being embalmed for delivery. They’ve given him ten IV bags so far. I don’t know how many more before he’s ready.”

She opened her mouth in horror. “What are you talking about, David? Do you mean…the Dreamery is going to recycle someone? Who?”

“Me. Me. They’re going to recycle me.”

[whispersafterdusk]

Raven Among Wolves - ch 5

As he'd suspected they were hunting more Silver Hand -- specifically, they were hunting the stragglers that had escaped Gallows Rock.

These were men and women who saw the Companions as little more than mongrels to be put down and they'd never stopped to determine if a captured member actually carried the beast blood; Vilkas still remembered some younger members in the past that had been killed by the Silver Hand who had barely spent a month within Jorrvaskr.  He despised them and did agree with killing or running them off wherever possible, if only to protect those who were of innocent blood...but he couldn't help but feel a shred of anger still toward Aela as well -- if she and Skjor had just come back for help then maybe he wouldn't be beside her now to avenge him. ((Continued below cut))

It was clear that these survivors of Gallows Rock were not prepared for their immediate retaliation; Vilkas almost pitied them, but not enough to spare them.  They had set up camp about a half day's walk from Gallows Rock to the north in the shadow of a cliffside which amounted to little more than a fire pit and a few bedrolls.  There were only nine Silver Hand there and three were visibly injured -- none of them that tried running could avoid Aela's bow and even exhausted as he was Vilkas still had no trouble cutting down any that couldn't get out of his way.

"Was that all of them?"

Aela carefully scaled down the side of the cliff and stood at his side (she was clearly admiring his kills) and gave him a curt nod.  "That's all of them."

"Good," he muttered. The exhaustion was really setting in and he didn't think he would have been able to run anyone down; at least being this tired somewhat silenced the beast inside him and he was relatively unbothered by the scent of fresh blood or the rush of battle.  "Let us return to Jorrvaskr then.  Skjor's spirit has been avenged."

Aela nodded but he noticed her attention lingered on the dead longer than it should have, though there wasn't any real reason to scold her; he turned his back to the carnage and took a deep breath - all he wanted was to be home asleep but that was several days away.  They left without fanfare and about halfway back Aela cleared her throat.

"So who exactly is that woman again?"

"She is kin to Kodlak."

"But how?"

"His great grandfather courted a woman he did not know was already married, and sired a child on her.  He left to spare her and her husband's honor and never went back."

Aela made a thoughtful noise.  "She has been around often, I hear."

"Aye," Vilkas replied.  He thought to elaborate but then, with as tired as he felt, he decided not to unless pressed.

"Around you a lot, too."

He shot her a sharp look.  "What are you implying?"

Aela snorted and rolled her eyes at him.  "You're blind if you think no one else has noticed.  It was the first thing Athis and Torvar mentioned."

His mouth went dry but he fought to keep his expression steady.  "And?  She is a skilled mender, I have learned much from her-"

"-you're as far from a mender as I am the throne."

"Even still.  I enjoy her company, and the time spent listening to Kodlak's stories.  My not being a mender does not mean what I learn is useless, nor that it's impossible to be her friend."

"Vilkas.  You've never been the sort to just make friends.  It took years for you to warm up to Skjor and I. You keep a clear line between yourself and the rest of the new bloods with your temper, and you don't go out of your way to seek anyone's company but your brother's."  She looked over at him.   "Suddenly all that's changed?"

"Don't be foolish," he muttered.  He sped up his pace with an irritated grunt.  "You look for meaning that isn't there."

"It just seems out of character for you."

He stopped and spun on a heel to fix her with a glare.  "You are the last person who should be lecturing anyone on their actions, Aela.  Watch yourself, sister."

She stopped too; her expression was one of mild indifference but by the way she gripped the hilt of her dagger Vilkas could tell he'd made her angry.  "And just what does that mean?"

"You and Skjor were supposed to be scouting.  You should have come back for help but you didn't and now Skjor is dead.  You both knew better."

"We DID scout and it was within what we could handle!"

"Then how did Skjor die?  How did so many escape?"

Aela went silent, lips pressed together in a thin line; after a few tense minutes she blew out a sigh and turned her face from him.  "There was a hidden entrance we couldn't have possibly seen unless we were inside or directly on top of it.  It wasn't our fault."

Vilkas let out a noisy exhale that was half growl.  "Then how many were there?"

"We thought just fifteen.  It was closer to thirty when we actually got in there, and by the time we realized it it was too late to retreat."  She fixed Vilkas with an empty look.  "If we had known about the hidden entrance we could have used that to go in and it would have been easier to retreat through it after."

"It hardly matters now," Vilkas grunted.  He turned and started walking again; his head was pounding with that type of headache one got when they were on the brink of total exhaustion and his limbs felt like lead.  "Skjor is gone but avenged, and the Silver Hand's little establishment is wiped out."

"They won't be allowed to get that close again," he heard Aela mutter.

They walked until Vilkas couldn't stand it anymore then spent an uneasy night sitting in a copse of trees; he couldn't quite allow himself to fall asleep and only felt slightly better once he'd dozed a bit.  At the first sign of sunrise they started off again and did not stop until they'd reached Whiterun.  Vilkas tried to keep from stumbling as he climbed the stairs to Jorrvaskr and fell in through the door; he was met with a few concerned looks but those Companions sitting in the mead hall (perhaps wisely) didn't say anything as he and Aela headed down the stairs.

Farkas was on the other side of the door and stood aside to let them pass.

"You look awful."

Vilkas simply nodded at his twin's observation and staggered toward his room. Farkas followed along behind him and made certain he made it into his bed, then blew out the candle left burning on the dresser and shut the door behind him.  

After days of terrible (or no) sleep the quiet darkness was a blessing and Vilkas felt asleep quickly but tonight his dreams mocked and horrified him.

He dreamed of Tormlia and the Underforge; there was a flash of a blade as he drew it over the crook of his elbow and bled what seemed like an impossible amount into the basin that stood there in the middle of the claustrophobic space.  Tormlia drank it and they left together, forms rippling and changing as they leapt in unison over the walls of Whiterun and tore across the plains at a sprint.  They came upon an unfortunate elk and tore it to pieces, reveling in the meat and gore, then he'd flipped her to her stomach and taken her right there, rutting in the blood and the mud-

When he jerked awake he almost toppled from his bed -- he'd moved to the very edge in his sleep and managed to catch himself with his hands on the floor while his legs stayed on the bed.  His heart was hammering in his chest and he felt sick to his stomach, which was made worse when he realized he'd awakened aroused and...messy.

He would never, NEVER, think of letting Tormlia take the blood.  And the rutting...his mind had given it such a beastly, primal sound - he'd never heard anything like it before in his life and questioned where his mind could have dreamed up such a hideous noise. It was by far the worst nightmare he'd ever had and it took him an hour or two to calm down enough to drag himself out of his bed and clean himself up. When he left his room he could smell her nearby then heard Kodlak's voice and her gentle laugh; he immediately pressed himself back into the doorway of his room.  

While he was still horrified at the exact imagery of his nightmare the underlying tone of it was crystal clear, and it frightened him enough that he couldn't force himself to step out into the hallway where she could see him and he could see her; instead he retreated back into his room and shut the door, dropping into a chair at the table in the corner and first propping his elbows on the wood and then his head in his hands.

He was in love - it could be nothing else - and he couldn't bring himself to tell her -- who could possibly love a beast like him?

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

Vilkas was back to feeling nervous and uneasy around Tormlia; it had been over a week but the nightmare (THE nightmare - the worst one ever) was something he had yet to fully banish from his mind and each time he looked at her he could see the blood dribbling down her chin, the transformation, their shared hunt -- like some kind of perverse mating ritual.  He took a pair of jobs that took him away from Jorrvaskr for several days at a time but the distance didn't ease his soul any; no matter what he did it was still fresh on his mind, and he was gripped in a constant fear of what she would do or say if she found out about his werewolf curse.

The one thing that cut through his inner turmoil however was noticing that Aela had disappeared from Jorrvaskr - she had to have left sometime very soon after he had, or maybe right before he'd come back from the first job.  No one seemed to know where she'd gone and none seemed overly worried either...for some reason it worried Vilkas and he couldn't place why.

He still accompanied Tormlia outside of Whiterun's walls; they were starting to travel further out, especially out into the wooded areas to the south.

Today the sky was overcast, the day gloomy and the smell of a storm on the wind.  They were picking their way among the trees - she kept searching among the bases of trees, but not any tree in particular that Vilkas could determine.

"What do we search for?" he finally asked.

Tormlia stood up from where she'd dropped to her knees among the upraised roots of a pine.  "-it's a sort of...moss, or lichen.  I'm not sure which it actually is but it's a pale green that looks like this-" she scraped her nails over the growths on the tree bark and pulled a small strip of some kind of crusty looking plant free.  "Same coloration, sort of.  But the one I'm looking for has very tiny purple flower-looking things - they're kind of shaped like tiny hands."  She held up her free hand, fingers held together and her thumb sticking out over her palm.  "Petals like this, the little pollen part sticking up between the "thumb" and the fingers."

"I have not see anything purple."

She sighed heavily and tossed the peeled lichen to the ground.  "I know...it's irritating, but I guess not too surprising.  It can grow anywhere in Skyrim, on any tree, and it's highly valuable."

Vilkas scanned the trees around him and saw no hint of purple but plenty more of that washed out, pale green.  "What is it for?"

"The flowers sort of...bring out the potency in a lot of medicines and salves.  A small bit of them and you can even get away with using half the amount of the rest of the ingredients without losing strength, assuming you infuse it correctly.  I was hoping that I could find even just a little bit to see if it makes a difference..."  She trailed off, glancing at him then quickly looking elsewhere.

It had to be for whatever potions she'd been providing Kodlak; he wondered at what might afflict the elder -- Kodlak hadn't seemed sick, just...old.  Aging.  And while he knew there were potions to help with the various ailments that aging brought to the body he hadn't noticed or ever heard Kodlak voice problems with it.

"I understand now in the literal sense what it is used for," he said slowly, carefully picking his words.  "But, what is it for?"

For a long moment she remained still, then slowly turned her head to look back to him.  "It's not my business to say.  But, I swear I'm going to do what I can for the person it's for."

She said it with a determination and a steely gaze that wasn't so much looking at him as it was through him; Vilkas decided not to press the issue and continued to follow in her wake, keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings.  It was already dark when they finally returned to Whiterun and he knew she was highly disappointed that they'd returned empty handed.  As they passed through the market her steps turned toward the inn; before he could stop himself he'd reached out to grab her sleeve, stopping her.

She turned around to fix him with a questioning look; he floundered a bit under her gaze.  "You- come take your evening meal with us.  In Jorrvaskr.  There's no reason you should be wasting your coin here."

"I don't feel I really belong there among all you warriors," she replied, giving him a faint smile.

"You are kin to Kodlak and- and friend to me," he added, swallowing hard.  "No one will question your presence.  I promise you."

She was silent, considering it, then to his relief she nodded.  "All right.  I guess."

She walked behind him as they returned to Jorrvaskr; once inside the mead hall the smell of roast mutton hit them.  Most nights they fended for themselves but often Tilma was kind enough to cook them dinner -- it was usually something simple like a roast or stew.  There weren't two empty seats next to one another so Vilkas took his usual corner seat while Tormlia moved to the far side of the table across from him and slid into a chair beside Kodlak.

Something about the smell of the meat turned his stomach; he kept to bread and cheese and quietly watched Tormlia and Kodlak - he couldn't quite make out anything they were saying over the chatter of everyone else.  When she got up to leave later he nodded to her and she smiled to him before disappearing through the door.

With her gone he found his attention wandering and it occurred to him that Aela wasn't here again; as before something about it bothered him but he couldn't figure out what.  It shouldn't feel unusual to him for her to be absent (they all took jobs without much input from one another - it was a common thing) but considering the events of the last several weeks...

He tried to put it out of his mind but much like everything else it was something of a losing battle; later, while sitting listlessly at the table in his room he heard a thud at his door and turned to find Farkas in his doorway, leaning against the door frame.

"You haven't been acting like yourself," he said simply.  "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong."

Farkas snorted.  "Even I can tell you're lying."

Vilkas inhaled through his nose and out his mouth.  "Fine.  Yes.  I am bothered by many things.  I'd rather not speak of them at the moment."

His brother grunted but didn't move from the door.  Vilkas turned back to the table, hands clenched on top of it; he was very aware of his brother's gaze and he had the feeling that Farkas wasn't going to leave until he got something out of him.

He huffed out a sigh finally.  "Fine. Skjor's death weighs on me.  And Aela's absence has me worried."

His brother came in to drop into the empty chair on the other side of the table.  "She's been gone awhile.  Left not too long after you did."

Vilkas frowned, not at all pleased that his suspicions were partly correct.  "Did she say where she was going?"

"No."

"Of course not," Vilkas grunted.  "I hate that I am suspicious of what she may be doing."  They were both silent for a long time before Vilkas sighed again.  "Has there been word of the Silver Hand at all?"

"Not that I've heard.  Between Gallows Rock and the camp you and Aela cleared out we've killed a good number of them.  And if they try to get that close again we'll kill those too."

He could appreciate his twin's simple solutions to things at times.  "If they are smart they will stay far away."

"Yeah.  But they're not smart."

"I'm afraid that you may be right."

Farkas sat in silence with him for awhile; it was incredibly late when Vilkas decided to try sleep.  His brother left for his own room and then he laid there in the dark, alone, wondering what sort of nightmare his mind would present him with tonight.

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

"I work to avenge Skjor's death."

Aela's voice was sharp and loud - loud enough to wake Vilkas through his shut door.  He rolled over, feeling groggy and unnerved by a dream he (thankfully) couldn't clearly recall; Kodlak's voice was just as loud.

"His death was avenged long ago.  You have taken more lives than honor demanded. You know better."

"We cannot let these hunters establish another foothold."

"We both know that is not what you are doing. Do not mistake foolhardiness for bravery or you'll find yourself back with Skjor."

Vilkas stood from his bed and opened his door in time to see Aela pass by the hall's opening, then he heard the door shut and her footsteps heading up the stairs into the mead hall.  He stuck his head around the corner to see Kodlak staring after her, a deep disappointment evident on his face that disappeared as he noticed Vilkas.

"What has she done?"

"Gotten caught up in the hunt, and in her vengeance," came Kodlak's answer.

Vilkas briefly glanced to where she'd disappeared through the door.  "Was there any truth to her words?  Are the Silver Hand really so foolish as to try and get so close again, so soon after we've wiped out their last foothold?"

"It is possible but we've no way of knowing unless someone goes with her to see."  Kodlak sighed, rubbing at his beard and suddenly looking much older.  "She takes to the blood too readily."

Vilkas let out a sigh himself and returned to his room to get his armor back on; he met Tormlia on the stairs and got a kind smile that managed to slightly raise his mood, only for it to sour moments later. Feeling angry and disappointed with himself he went out to the training yard and took some of his frustrations out on a dummy and then later Njada with a sparring session.

He purposely avoided going back downstairs until late that evening when he knew Tormlia would be gone and climbed into his bed without any real desire to sleep...so he was awake when he heard a sudden surge of footsteps upstairs followed by a shout for help.

For once he was thankful that, more often than not, he fell into his bed fully armored; he was up in an instant and reaching for his weapon, then shoving his way through his door and out into the hall only to meet a rush of...people.  People he didn't recognize but were clearly not friendly as the large Nord male at the front of the rush swung a great sword at him; Vilkas ducked aside and by how the blade flashed in the candlelight he instantly knew it to be a silver blade.

'The Silver Hand?  Here?'

There was no time to consider how it was possible for the Silver Hand to have gotten into Whiterun in such numbers -- they were under attack and that was the only important thing right now.

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

The night air still stank of blood, even outside of Jorrvaskr.

Vilkas could see the guards that helped the others carry out the corpses; they were so much background movement and noise - something he saw and heard but didn't really register.  He was sick to his stomach and sick at heart, and...angry.  So, so angry.  That the Silver Hand had gotten brave enough to attack them here, in Jorrvaskr...

And they had taken so much.

He tilted his face to the sky and took a deep breath...then his heart stopped as he caught the scent of rain; he looked down and could see Tormlia hurrying up the stairs toward him.

"Tormlia-"

"What's happened?  Sinmir woke the entire inn up saying Jorrvaskr-"

Moving quickly Vilkas stepped into her path; she went to move around him and he moved with her, grabbing her by the arms.

"-was attacked," she finished, looking at him in surprise when he seized her.

"You need to stay here."

"What happened?  Is anyone injured?"  She squirmed in his grasp and her look of confusion was slowly turning into one of irritation - at him.

"Tormlia.  You need to stay out here," Vilkas said slowly, hardly able to keep his voice steady.

She stared into his face, eyes narrowing; her struggles against his grasp resumed.  "Let go, Vilkas."

She almost slipped free; in a sort of panic he grabbed at her again and snagged her around the waist, crushing her to him.  She immediately started beating at his arms and hands and kicking her heels into his shins but he kept hold as she struggled.  "Tormlia, please, listen-" He wasn't prepared for her to suddenly slap her hands to his arms and send that calming spell into him.  As he relaxed his grip loosened and she pulled free as he sank to his knees, drowsy and unable to stand -- the last thing he saw was Tormlia's angry expression as she buried him under that spell and put him fully to sleep.

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

"Who will start?"

"I'll do it.  Before the ancient flame...we grieve."

"We grieve."

"At this loss...we weep."

"We weep."

"For the fallen...we shout."

"We shout."

"And for ourselves...we take our leave."

"We take our leave."

At the front of the gathering Aela stood with a torch, and at the end of the prayer she stepped forward to thrust the torch into the stacked wood of Kodlak's pyre.  The flames caught and began to steadily burn; that the smell of burning meat and hair was someone he loved and respected cut deeply and he couldn't bring himself to watch as the pyre burned down.

Many in Whiterun had come to the funeral and when Vilkas turned around he saw that there was still a rather large gathering but that people were slowly staring to disperse...and, he felt a surge of alarm when he could not see Tormlia among them but could somehow still catch a whiff of her scent as the breeze shifted.  When finally most of the crowd had left he spotted her -- the Skyforge had a wide area paved with flat stones but it was edged with rough stone outcrops and she was perched on the edge of one of them sitting with her knees pulled to her chest and hunched over, pulled into as small a form as she could manage.

The outcrop wasn't large enough to sit by her; Vilkas stood behind her feeling his heart and stomach twisting but cleared his throat.   "Tormlia..."

Her shoulders were shaking and he heard a quiet sniffle.

"...I'm sorry," was all he said after.  He turned his back to her and sat down on the outcrop's back half.

The pyre had died down and fallen down into the forge -  he wasn't brave enough to look and see what may remain of Kodlak within it - when he heard the scuff of a boot on the stone and turned to find Tormlia standing right behind him.  Her eyes were red and she looked...empty, and defeated.

"May I ask you something?"

"Anything," he said quietly.  His armor scraped against the stone as he stood, turning to face her fully.

She stared over his shoulder at the dying fire then moved her empty gaze back to him.  "W-when I first came here I gave Kodlak a book with my family's bloodline and history in it... I'd like to retrieve it before I leave, but I don't want anyone to think I'm stealing."

"Leave?" he repeated, eyes widening.  In truth that was all that had really registered with him.  "You can't - you can't leave."

An anger cut through the emptiness and she narrowed her eyes at him.  "You can't hold me prisoner."

"That's- no, that's not-- I didn't mean it like that," he replied quickly.  "It's just - why?  Don't leave.  Not like this."

Her angry look softened but into something like suspicion.  "Kodlak was the only family I had left.  And now he's gone.  Nothing holds me here."

"Don't leave.  Please."

'Tell her,' came the thought.

"I'm no Companion.  I don't belong here.  I never have."

"Please do not leave."

'Tell her.  Tell her everything.'

"Why?  What reason should I stay?"

'Tell her.  Tell her right now.'

'She'll hate me.'

"Kodlak...he was our family too.  You are our family now."

She let out a bitter laugh.  "Please.  None but you and Kodlak cared I was here. I don't belong here, Vilkas."

"Please don't go."

In his mind he sounded desperate and pathetic, and the need to tell her everything -- how he felt, what afflicted him, everything -- warred with the fear of her scorn and judgement and the fear that she would leave and he'd never see her again.

She was staring at him with an expression he couldn't read, waiting for his reasoning...and the words wouldn't come.

'Tell her, now!'

'She will hate what I am.'

'Just tell her!'

'Why should she even look twice at me?  How could she care for a monster?'

'Tell her now or you'll lose her-'

'-I will lose her anyway if she knows.'

"No one will challenge you," he whispered, looking away.  "If they do, I will handle them."

As the words left him his heart sank, and disappointment crossed her features.  She nodded though and stepped around him; he could hear her soft footsteps going down the hill toward Jorrvaskr.  As the sun began to rise he remained standing there - he couldn't even be certain what he was feeling...so much was warring in his head right now.  Anger.  Loss.  Disappointment.  Fear.  Emptiness, and with a keen sense of failure that was a hard knot in his gut.

For a time there was just silence save for the final pops of the smoldering funeral pyre; finally he heard the sounds of Whiterun stirring -- he'd stood there all night, silent and still, and grieving for so many things.

But as the sun finally hit him he felt...a sudden stirring.  Something cutting through the grief and the fear: the need for truth.  Withholding the truth was the same as a lie and it pained him to keep lying to her, and if she was going to leave anyway...why should he fear telling her the truth of things?

No...  No.  He couldn't let her leave without telling her everything.  If anything...she at least deserved to know the truth of Kodlak, the family she had come looking for.  Let her learn the man he was, what he struggled with, and what his final wish had been that he'd never have now.

He hurried into Jorrvaskr but she was nowhere to be found; rushing out of the hall he then ran down to the market -- Ysolda was kind enough to confirm that yes, she'd seen Tormlia come this way and that she'd continued to the gate without stopping.  He'd thanked her and ran onward through the small residential area and out through the gates; when he reached the stables he stopped to catch his breath - her scent wasn't that strong here and he didn't see her near.   Movement to his left drew his eye; a Nord man with stringy dark hair and beard was moving in the stalls of the stables.

"You there-" Vilkas called out to the man.  He'd seen him countless times but had never asked the man's name.  "Did you see a black haired woman with blue eyes come this way?"

"I did - she was out here early this morning as Bjorlam was hitching his horse to the carriage.  Seemed in a hurry to leave."

Carriage...damn.  She would be moving faster than he could on foot and he doubted the stables would be willing to lend a horse.  At the very least the carriage would stick to the roads so he wouldn't be trying to find her in a forest or...or anywhere else.

Vilkas muttered a thanks and hurried down the road; the breeze had blown away any hint of her scent out here but if she was...actually, she hadn't said where she was going.  Would she return to Riften?  To the temple?  It was the only thing he could think of but he didn't want to find her there, he wanted to catch her before she got too far from Whiterun...

There was a place where the road out of Whiterun split, running to the east and west.  Riften was to the southeast, and-

For one reckless, stupid moment Vilkas nearly threw caution aside and went to change forms right there, to hell with whoever might see him; the carriage wasn't something he could hope to catch on foot - a horse could go for much longer than he could, as a man...but as a beast...

A sound stopped him; it was the sound of wagon wheels on the stone road, and in the far distance in the east Vilkas could spy the carriage...but, it was coming back toward Whiterun.  For a moment he felt his heart lift - was she coming back after all?  He rushed down the road to the carriage and darted to the side to avoid spooking the horse; the carriage driver yelled something at him but Vilkas ignored it and hurried to the rear, only to see the carriage was empty.

"Were you hired by a black haired, blue eyed woman?"

The carriage had come to a halt and the driver dropped down; he did not look pleased with him.  

"Aye, I did. And then she wanted off and to go the other direction.  Took forever to find a place to turn around without tossing a wheel."

Other direction?  West?  What was to the west?  Why would she go that way?  "Did she say why?"

"No.  'least she didn't demand her coin back. Now unless you need a ride yourself I want you clear of my carriage, understand?"

Vilkas muttered something that sounded like an acknowledgement and stood there in the road, confused, as the carriage moved off.  Riften was to the east...why would she go west?

And if she was going on foot...maybe he could catch her.  If he...

He could catch her if he changed into a beast, and he could hardly believe he was considering this again; the desperation to catch up with her won out over his hesitation to answer his blood but at least this time he had the sense to not change forms in the open.  His attention turned to the south and the thick woods that were at the base of the mountains there -- if he could get among the trees he could change without anyone seeing, and even if he was seen afterward he was incredibly fast as a wolf.

No one could hope to catch him.  No one could stop him.

He sprinted for the trees, not caring if the carriage man noticed him; within the safety of the forest he gave in to the blood and changed, lifting his head to sniff the air.  There was no hint of her scent but there was also no hint of danger either; it was good enough for him -- he took off at a maddened sprint through the trees, heading west.  He would pick up her scent as he grew closer.

Whiterun had disappeared behind him when he finally smelled her...but mingled with her scent was a metallic one he knew well.

Silver.

'Not here.  Not now.'

He pushed himself to run even faster -- he was slavering at the mouth and feeling ready to vomit when he skidded to a stop at the base of three pines that had grown together; he could hear jeering, and the sounds of struggle, and Tormlia's voice pleading with someone to go away.

Slowly, cautiously, Vilkas lifted his head to scent the air, then peered around the trio of pines -- he could see nothing from here but rustling bushes in the breeze - the road was not visible; he crept closer, keeping low to the ground and trying to get his panting under control.  Nearer to the road he found a fallen log he could slide beneath, laying there hidden among ivy and dead leaves, and the cramped quarters helped him rein in his sudden surge of anger and instinct when he finally spied the struggle he could hear.

Tormlia was standing in a ring of men and women - all were brandishing silver blades and nasty smiles as the circle tightened slowly.

"Leave me alone - I don't know what you want!"

"This is one of them, right?"

"Aye - I've seen her in and out of there on the daily."

Vilkas's control over himself slipped and he rammed his head on the underside of the log; the group of Silver Hand didn't hear the thump and rustling of leaves, or otherwise didn't care -- their attention was on Tormlia, and they moved in until they were all standing shoulder to shoulder, completely surrounding the woman.

"What do you want?" Tormlia asked desperately.

An orc broke free of the circle; he was a huge male, a head and a half taller than Tormlia and heavily muscled, and held a dagger with a strangely curved blade that glinted bright silver in the sunlight.

"One less monster in the world," the orc growled.  He advanced on Tormlia, blade lifted.

Inside his head he was screaming - he needed to get down there, to rescue her, but his beastly form's instincts were shouted down by his logical side; even if he were to rush in to save her right now there were too many for him to take on alone -- he counted thirteen from his vantage point and he couldn't rule out that there might be some in the trees or standing somewhere he couldn't see from here.

If he charged in now they'd just die together.  

It tore at him - he'd never felt so helpless.  Out of sheer frustration he threw his head back and howled.

Down on the road the orc flinched and spun around, staring into the trees.   The other Silver Hand likewise turned their attention outward at the howl, immediately tense and on the alert; Tormlia attempted to take advantage of their distraction and charged at an Imperial woman in lighter armor than the rest but the woman quickly recovered from Tormlia's shove and kicked out at her legs.  Tormlia hit the ground on her stomach and scrabbled to get to her feet only to collapse as the Imperial woman aimed a steel-toed kick into her ribs; the orc tore his attention from the forest and moved over to grab Tormlia by the hair, bodily lifting her from the ground.

"New plan - seems they're coming for their new pup."  He spun around and threw Tormlia into the waiting arms of two others, then once they'd wrestled with her and gotten her turned around to face the orc he slammed his fist first into her gut then into her temple; Vilkas almost darted out from under the log again at the sight of her falling limp in their grasp and he had to keep reminding himself to remain calm and remain in place.

'Recklessly charging in will get us both killed,' he told himself again and again, and watched helplessly as one of them threw Tormlia over their shoulder and together the group of Silver Hand moved down the road and then abruptly turned north and began to cross the plains.

And so began his hunt; for days he stalked them from the darkness, letting them walk freely in the day time and quickly tracking them and catching up once night fell.  Every time he approached their camp he prayed he would see an opening -- some moment, some weakness, that would allow him to either strike and kill them all or at least rescue Tormlia and flee...but each night a rotating group of eight of them stood guard, awake and alert, and they kept Tormlia bound and gagged in the middle of the camp well out of his reach.

For the first time in a long time Vilkas was relying entirely on his altered form; he hunted small game only if it was in his path, he stayed within the form when he rested during the day, and at night his dark fur made him indistinguishable from the shadows he prowled in.  It disgusted him that he'd taken to it so quickly again after not having transformed in months...but the disgust with himself could wait.  For now this was a tool - the only tool he had - to save Tormlia and he couldn't afford to hesitate or stop to consider what consequences he might personally encounter for this momentary embracing of the damned blood.

The further north they traveled the higher up the mountains they climbed; Vilkas's black fur stood out terribly against the white snow and he was having to fall further and further back during the day to avoid being seen.  It was maddening but he comforted himself with the thought that so long as he didn't lose the scent it didn't matter if it he was ten feet or ten miles behind them - he would find them.

At last, after a week's hard march, they came upon a squat, square stone building; there were three Silver Hand standing guard outside and they quickly opened the door for the returning group.

From where Vilkas crouched behind a wide tree trunk he heard the orc order the others to get the "bait" inside and secured, and to get the entire base on alert.  All but those three that had been standing guard outside quickly hurried through the door and disappeared inside.

Tormlia was now effectively out of his reach.

Finally he let his form slip away and knelt as a man in the snow; his throat was raw, his chest and legs aching in a way he'd never felt before, and he was sick with fear for her safety -- they had called her bait so he was...reasonably...certain they wouldn't kill her, but he would need to travel back to Jorrvaskr for help, and then return here.  It had taken a week to get here meaning she would be in their clutches for two weeks at minimum before he'd be able to get back here with help.

With his heart breaking he turned from the crumbling fort and let himself slip between forms again; he had to get back to Jorrvaskr, and quickly. As he sprinted down the mountain and tore through the trees he slowly loosened his hold on his anger and without it reined in the bestial side of him took over -- it didn't care for HOW he got to Jorrvaskr, only that he did, and at least the anger helped fuel his aching limbs as he cut a direct path back southwest to where he knew Whiterun to be.

When he came within sight of the city he changed back to a man; once he reached the gates he collapsed into the arms of a guard that had reached out to grab him as he'd started to fall, and as he'd slipped into unconsciousness he prayed he'd recover quickly.  He had to.

[brattywriters-anonymous]

A Rose In Harlem

OC x Erik Story

Based on Teyana Taylor’s VII & KTSE

Warnings: Language

@chaneajoyyy

Chapter IX: Rize

February 6, 2014

22 HOURS BEFORE SHOWTIME.REHEARSAL, NINE PM.

"Ladies, Gents! Find Seats! Sit in them!" All twenty-four models followed Yani's request. We just wrapped our rehearsal, everyone did phenomenal. I can only pray that we get it like this at 583 Park Ave. Yani and I have been thee dynamic duo for the past seventy-two hours. I've been steaming outfits, she's been bagging accessories. I've been designing roll-away walls, she's been contacting every contractor in her contacts to design the black and gold glitter floors.

Honestly, in the past month, Yani and I have been on our hustle. I finished my last shoot and have been on go since. Erik and I have basically been like two ships passing in the night. I usually would leave before him, and come home after he arrived. We never talked about my father's birthday, our kiss..well..kisses. None of it. I've been too busy. Yasin and I have been texting here and there, but I haven't seen him either. He's been understanding about it though. The only person I've been spending my time with is Yani.

We've collectively gotten maybe eight hours of sleep in three days. So now, we're just exhausted and over it. We're trying to get this rehearsal over and done with. The theater's silence is my queue to step on the stage, I do so, scanning my models faces. They're looking like kids on Christmas Eve. So excited for what the next day has to bring. Their faces make me grateful, my smile spreads and everyone breaks out in applause. I decipher a few, "Yeah Syd!" "You did it girl!" and "Woos" in the crowd, I yield my hands up and down, they lower their yells. "Hey everybody, We're down to the wire here. We're less than a day away. We've been working our asses off for a month and a half. I couldn't have ever gotten this done without any of you. I'm excited for everyone to see our hard work. I'm even more excited for you to see your hard work pay off."

I point to Iyo in the control center, He dims the lights and lower the projector screen. "I now present to you.. UPTXWN." Applause rings out as the projector displays a drone clip of High Bridge among the sunrise and Syd's voiceover, "Uptown, Home of the greats. From The Bronx, to Harlem. The place I know, the place I love." The six models she started with appear on the screen, daringly sitting on the railing, laughing with one another in their high end garments. "Our hustles.. It always had this special..thing about it. We always went a little harder. Thought a little smarter. Emerged to the top a bit faster." Photos of me and all of Uptown's finest begins scrolling through from right to left. From a photo of me and Dapper Dan when I was fresh out of college. Diddy and I when I was an intern at Chanel. With Kerry Washington a bit after Save the Last Dance came out when I was twelve. Sistah Souljah, Kid Capri, Bianca (aka Young B), Cam'ron, Juelz, and Jim Jones back when Rock-a-fella were still together, Kalis, and finally, A$AP Mob & me when they were fresh in the game back in 2011.

"And when we're on top, we set trends. We define eras. Their stamps will forever be evident in our culture. Here's mine. Here's UPTXWN." All of the photos scroll backwards and the screen goes black for a few seconds. Images of the Big L tribute wall outside of the Harlem Up Deli Market, in black and white appear, then the same original six models; Sam, Levi, Von, Jade, Deanna, and Cass kneeling at different levels, crowded around the wall. Making sure not to block his face or name. Then Pretty Flako instrumental bangs through the theater's speakers. The TV flake transition changes to the Bailey house shoot. The drone shot pans around the corner of the property, all twenty four models posing looking like royalty draped in over $80,000 worth of clothes collectively.  The visual pans over to a slowed down visual of Nina flashing her bottom grill, her thick frame vibing out to the up tempo beat. Then to Xierra kneeling beside her, giving face in her side profile. The screen shortly displays a wide pan of the property and models again, then switches to Levi. Iyo's suggested scene of displaying the details of his tattoos on his shirtless body-- while simultaneously showing the VVS necklace, the embroidery on the custom one of a kind jean jacket; came out perfectly.

The photos of each model in each of their looks scroll through at the right speed so each detail is fully displayed. Every model stands up, showing off as their photos went across the screen. As Gina's photoset emerges, I turn to the screen so I can roll my eyes. I instantly become reminded of how flirty she was with Erik before Yani had to snatch her up to take these.  Yani stands beside me, peeping the entire scene, "Girl, suck it up. She in it now. Let's get it over with." I shake it off, turning back to the models.  

The park Marcus Garvey Amphitheater scene pops up, it was a gloomy overcast. Which was perfect for the theme. As the looping instrumental repeats, each model was either sitting at the top of the folding seats, or crouched on the seat of the folding seats. The collective total of every look? $110,878. I'm lucky I got such great relationships with these clients and these models didn't fuck up any of they shit. The first visual was Von, on the center stage. His long hair hanging over his entire face. He rocked this black long open hooded jacket, shirtless. Displaying his massive musical themed chest piece. It gave me a grim reaper vibe that I was definitely looking for. The jacket was a piece I asked Chris Brown's people to create for their Black Pyramid line. They fucked with the vision and agreed to do it. Von flipped the bottom of the jacket back with force, the rest of the models appeared on stage, smoke filled the stage floor as the all black visual came to life. Gina and Cass rocked matching contrast dresses, Cass was the only model not in black that day. I put her in a white intricate lace Erdem Dress. Gina wore the matching Black dress.

Jade and Deanna were back to back. Jade was wearing a black deep v neck, with a leather ribbed comme des garcons jacket. With a cascading gold necklace reaching her stomach. Accompanied with black and gold aviator Louis Vuitton shades,  Black ripped Levis I thrifted on the East side, and Jefferey Campbell's Legion booties. Deanna was wearing my favorite outfit of that day. A black long sleeved Oscar De La Renta ruffled shirt with cut out shoulders, a Burberry black ruffled skirt, and black Averil Doc Martin boots. Her bamboos and three finger ring spelling out her name put a street edge on her look that was near and dear to my Harlem bred heart. GG beat every woman's face and gave them the same cohesive smokey eye with the black, In The Spirit MAC lipstick. The only difference makeup wise was Cass' white undereye liner.

Once again the photos of every model starts cascading slideshow style. Johan was my second favorite look for that shoot, He rocked a black high low long sleeved Alexander Wang shirt, black distressed Givenchy jeans, and his personal black on black Ralph Lauren Hi Boots. I was going to put him in some other shoes, but I saw the ones he had on and they looked way better with the fit. We accompanied that look with a black Cuban link necklace, the matching bracelet, and Dolce & Gabana retro flip up  round glasses.

Everyone's rave reactions trigger my tears of joy, it's all of our first times seeing the visual's final product and I couldn't be any more proud. This has really been my baby. I've nurtured it, I've put in the work for it. This moment was like its graduation. Everyone looks at me, "Awwwwww!" Yani gives me a big hug, "I'm proud of you, kid." I squeeze her, "I'm proud of us, kid." I push out a laugh.

The final shoot displayed the brownstones on Mount Morris Park, the street right outside of Marcus Garvey Park. Where my parents' old brownstone was. I only needed my original six for this one, since all twenty-four wouldn't fit on the stoop. That day, it was sunny. Not one cloud in sight. Perfect lighting for the intimate shoot. The theme was spring, specifically, pastel colors.

I dressed Jade in a pastel yellow Ted Baker maxi dress, I accessorized her outfit with vintage canary yellow teardrop earrings with a matching tennis bracelet. She wore some nude Christian Louboutin spiked peep toed heels. She stands up when she finds her face and yells while twerking, "Long Hair! Red Bottoms! Long Hair! Red Bottoms!" Everyone, including me burst out in laughter. She kept saying it so much during the shoot, I let her keep them. Paid the $1,500 tab too. Deanna was draped in a Monroe and Main white two piece suit with black accents on the collar and cuffs. We accompanied that with my personal pearls I got from my mom before she passed, some white Manolo Blahnic pumps, and some VVS diamond earrings while her hair popped in the sunlight. She wore her low cut with a rose gold tint. I put Cass in a pair of nude Emilio Pucci wide legged trousers, a White Alexander McQueen peplum top, and a matching nude blazer was draping over her shoulders. Her accessories was a silver double C Chanel choker, charm rings from Tiffany Co., and a vintage Chanel crossbody, gifted from Karl Lagerfeld himself. He said I needed something old for my collection.

The guys were matching my girls' fly. Von parallels Deanna with a Tom Ford cotton two piece suit,  I laced him with some white Versace loafers with the gold Medusa emblem on the center, with the Cuban link chain Johan wore at the Marcus Garvey shoot, and golden Panthere De Cartier  rounded sunglasses. Levi's parallel was for Jade's look. He wore a pastel yellow Calvin Klein. Accompanied with a large size canary ring on his index finger, and the Burberry vintage loafers. Sam paralleled Cass, in a nude ASOS suit with the matching vest. I kept it simple and just accessorized it with my dad's gold pocket watch and black Stacy Adams dress shoes.

I thought the presentation was over, but then the screen transitioned to me working behind the scenes. Me pointing and directing at the Bailey house, with the wind blowing like crazy, me filming on Highbridge at the crack of dawn, Iyo even snuck some footage of the meeting we had in Morningside Park. It looks like Yani snuck some footage of me putting the image board for the fashion show stage together as well. I'm just admiring the scene of watching the hard nights and amazing days I shared with an incredible team. The last shot was me sitting on my old stoop. I was just reminiscing, thinking of how my mom, dad, and I would eat ice cream in the spring in the same spot. I looked up, as I normally do when thinking of them, put my hands together and mumbled, 'allah , shkraan lak.' The camera was too far to catch my phrase. Afterward I bowed between my legs so I could have my emotional moment to myself.

Everyone hops on the stage to crowd around me and initiated a group hug. Once everyone slightly disbursed, I see Gina still sitting in the audience with Erik, I guess he just got here. I hear the doors open again and see Yasin, smiling at me.

--

By half past 10, everyone had gone home except for Yani, Nina, Gina, Erik, and Yasin. Nina is waiting on Rashad to pick her up, and I guess Gina is looking to Erik to take her home. She's literally been all up under him since his arrival.

"Tomorrow's gonna go great, babe. You got a great team behind you, you've been super focused. It can't go any other way." Yasin lands a kiss on my temple as I blush at his encouragement. I blink in Erik's direction, he's giving the same look he gave us at Rashad's party. He then grips Gina, pulling her closer to him, "Yeah. You got it Syd. We gon head out. See ya later." with that, Erik and Gina strut to the exit. Nina's phone dings, "Oh, bae is here! See ya tomorrow Syd! We gon kill it, boo!" She hugs me and Yani then jogs out the double doors, "Nice seeing you again Yasin!" he nods, "You too!"

--

"So tell me something about you, Sin! I've only talked about me when I see you. What was lil Yasin like?" We are strolling down Saint Nick Avenue after getting grilled jerk chicken from King Barka. We decide to sit on a park bench right outside Saint Nick Park to chat since I wasn't quite ready to go home. "Well, I was born and raised in Brooklyn. Flatbush. My moms is from Brooklyn as well. My dad's side of the family is from Harlem, the eastside, but they love uptown just as much." I grin as he continues, "I was a bad ass kid growing up. Always fighting, getting into trouble at school, I even got expelled in middle school." "Well damn! How did you go from that to--" I wave my hands around his silhouette, "This?" He takes a bite out of his chicken and flashes a sexy smile, "My mom sent me to live with my Uncle. The one that retired and gave me the maintenance business."

"Ahhhh, I see. He whipped you into shape?" He snorts, "Oh, he whipped me alright. A lot. He taught me what it is to be a man." "Where was your father?" He continues eating, pausing his story for a spell, "Uh.. He was in prison. He pushed weight for about ten years, he got caught up. He didn't snitch, so he got twenty. He got out after eight years for good behavior." "How's your relationship with him now?" He shugs, "We're cool. We had a little spat when he first got out. I had to be the man of the house for a while for my moms and sisters. I resented him for it." I take a hold of his free hand, "We patched things up recently." "So him and your mom still married?" He nods, "Yeah. Moms held him down. That lady.. She deserves the world." He finishes his dish as he glows at the mention of his mother.

"She had to get two jobs before I turned sixteen and worked with my Uncle. She held down our household for three years, alone, before I was able to step in and help her. After that, she went back to school. She finished the year before my pops got out, now she's a nurse. Doing what she loves to do." "That's great. That's what life is about, doing what you love." "Definitely." He throws away our empty plates and we keep walking down the avenue, "So what do you love to do Yasin?" "I love music." I stop in my tracks.

"Let me guess, you rap?" he sucks his teeth, "Nah, girl. I play instruments. Three; Acoustic guitar, piano, and snare drum." "Ah, okay! When did you discover your talent?" "I was... ten, I think?" "You make songs?" He pulls a slick move behind me, grabbing me by my waist. I roll my eyes as we continue to walk, "I haven't made a song in five years." "Why not?" I feel him shrug behind me, "I've been busy." I turn around to grab his hands, "You're never too busy to do what you love." He smiles at me, I sense the same glow about him that he had when he spoke of his mom. "Especially when it makes you this happy...just talking about it." Yasin closes the gap between us, "Maybe, you're right. Look at you. Doing what you love. You're inspiring Syeda. Beautiful, too." He strokes my left cheek with his palm. I freeze, much like I did a couple weeks back in my apartment with Erik.

Speaking of Erik, I wasn't sure what I wanted to do about what happened since my dad's birthday. I guess Erik knows what he wants, and that's Gina. So why am I freezing? What's stopping me? All of a sudden my inner thoughts are silenced when Yasin seals our distance, gently kissing me. My knees buckle and he hoists me up by my butt, cuffing the bottom of my cheeks. That makes me even weaker, he breaks off from me, "Damn girl. You good?" My eyes flutter as I respond, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm good." I pull him by his shirt to kiss him again.

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