#and my cousin is reclaiming her chair tomorrow evening

[be-a-cute-scientist]

god why is moving so much fucking WORK

[generalluxun]

Fanfiction: Reciprocation Chapter 7

Author's note: welcome to act 2! In which, Felix turns his attention from the magical to the mundane, and finds it no less taxing.

As usual link to the AO3 where it's also posted in the bio, full text after the break.

“Sweetings, you are brooding.” His mother’s voice was a gentle invitation.

Felix looked up from his book. In a change, he’d chosen to study out in the living room tonight. He hadn’t spent enough time thinking about the ramifications, he was experimenting. His mother was ever observant, he should have known better.

“I am studying, Mother.” he lied.

She came fully into the living room, away from the stool perch in the kitchen she normally occupied. Held between her fingers were the glossy pages of a magazine. “You’ve been at that page for the last ten minutes, Goldflower. You don’t take that long with anything.”

Verbal sparring with his mother was a losing battle. “It is simply an off day, am I not allowed to be tired, Mother?”

She sat on the couch by his chair, snugged up against the end closest to him and leaning on the armrest to be closer. “Eight at night, my Sol? If you are tired, then you are not sleeping well, and that too is cause for concern.”

Losing, perhaps already lost. Felix tried silence, it might work, if she was herself tired.

She was not. Amilie folded the magazine in her lap as she spoke in sing-song. “You’ve reclaimed the peacock. Your life is your own. You have your cousin’s ring. His life is in your hands; good hands I know. We are free from my parents. We are free from the past. You may pursue anything you wish, and I have more than enough money to back you wherever you go. Tell me then, my Tomorrow, what has put those lines in your brow?”

Defeated, twice over now, or he would not have lost this round. Felix closed the book on Enology and held it in his lap as his mother held her magazine. He opened his mouth to speak and no words came out. He closed it again. They shared a concerned look. He began a new -nothing.

His mother smiled gently. “Does it have to do with cologne?”

Felix looked away, then dropped his gaze to his lap. “It does, but also no, Mother. I remain my own, that has not changed.”

“But something has, and it troubles you. My brother in law did not trouble you in this way. I may not have birthed you, my Joy, but I am still your mother. I don’t know as many things as you, but the things I do know may surprise you still.”

She was right, she was right and Felix hated that she was right. In the fullness of time, with room to consider, he had hardened against his weakness. He could not strangle the voice though, now that it had awakened. He could bury it under logic and reason but the muffled whispers would not be silenced.

Felix thought maybe he could put her as off balance as he felt. “It’s the Bourgeois woman, Mother.”

"Audrey?" Amilie's voice rose in shock.

Felix shot his mother a look. "The other one."

"Oh." Amilie raised a hand to cover her mouth, "Oh!"

Felix could feel the smile she was hiding. "No, Mother."

She dropped her hand, the smile remained. "Of course, Light."

Felix looked back down, speaking his thoughts out loud to save himself future probings, "She seems to have dropped her obsession with my cousin, and has been… not unpleasant. She was integral to my plan to recover my autonomy. There is… a connection."

Amilié's voice was gentle. "Of course there is."

Felix shot her another sharp look. "Mother!"

Amilie spread her hands, they very statue of maternal innocence. "You will make connections in life, and now is the perfect time to begin. Think of how you would view it happening to someone else."

Felix did. Connections made one stronger, as long as they were properly managed, but that did not sit right. Felix threw another stone in the pond. "She is a human."

"Is that the worst of her faults?"

"You don't even like the Bourgeois."

"I don't have to."

Felix was on the back foot. He had one last defense. He fixed his mother with a level gaze. "This will not result in what you want."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. But for her earnest desire, I would not exist. That his mother pinned her own forsaken hope on a next generation was no secret. He saw his words hit home, wounding her in the most intimate of ways. She pressed her hands together, wearing a face she had worn many times for his father. "What I want is my son to be happy."

Felix looked down again, wounded too in his own haste. "I'm sorry to be a disappointment."

"Never!" She was off the couch and holding him before she finished the word. Felix endured it as a form of punishment. His mother drew back just enough to look down into his eyes. "Never, my Son. You could never disappoint me. Understand?"

Her tone brooked no argument. "Yes, Mother."

She let him go and relief poured in. Amilie stooped to pick up her magazine. "Even with our worlds so far apart, I can offer you this much at least: experiment. Your world will grow, and rapidly now. You will not be in two years who you are now. Nor the same two more after that. Some parts will be constant, I have no doubt, but do not look solely to your past to face your future."

She turned back to him, curling the magazine in her hands. Those soft eyes turned sharp and Felix knew at this moment she was being mother and not mommie.

"Be free, Felix. Do not submit to what anyone expects of you, not even yourself."

Free. The peacock pricked under his vest where Felix had pinned it. "Yes, Mother."

-----------

Felix: I hope you are well.

Chloé: pfftt! 🤣🤣🤣🙄

Felix:What on earth?

Chloé: That was so corny! Okay okay, let me answer you: I. Am. Fine. beepboop

Felix: Insufferable woman! I spent time on that!

Felix had enough time to glower at his phone, wonder where her response was, and feel cheated. He set his phone down and mentally switched gears. He had a full course assessment coming up in one of his Pre-Law classes. His phone buzzed not five minutes into the review, but Felix purposefully and pointedly ignored it for the other twenty five. Sadly he finished the review realizing he had retained almost nothing from those twenty five.

Chloé: ugh. you really did, didn’t you? Alright, sorry, I’m fine. It’s boring here lately. Almost no Hawkmoth attacks in the last week.

Felix was gobsmacked.

Felix:Excuse me, what was that you said?

Chloé:What? No Hawkmoth? Is that wrong? He can’t still be Shadowmoth now, right?

Felix:Not that triviality. I do believe I have on record the first physical proof of Chloé Bourgeois saying she is sorry.

Chloé: Oh just leave it alone! God, it’s hard enough to type to some British guy hundreds of kilometers away when he’s not being an ass about it. If you make it a thing I won’t do it again!

Felix chuckled to himself.

Felix:Then, my apologies too. I acknowledge your effort. Boring sounds like it may be a blessing in this case. You can focus on your schoolwork and extracurriculars without Hawkmoth’s interference. 

It was another few minutes before an answer came, just long enough for Felix to dwell and wonder. He did not like the experience.

Chloé: I had to look up like two of those words. Why can’t you talk normal? Why would I want to focus on schoolwork? It’s going to be enough of a problem as it is. Sabrina’s gone, so no one is doing my work. I might be able to get Lila to do it, but she’s not around that often. If this keeps up we’ll have to hire someone!

She wasn’t making sense….

Felix: Hire someone? You mean a tutor? What subjects are you feeling behind on?

This was something Felix’s talents were well suited towards. That he might be able to help caused a strange ticklish warmth to flicker within.

Chloé:Tutor? I already have a teacher who talks at me for hours a day, why would I want another one? I meant someone to do the work my teacher assigns! There’s so much of it.

Felix: Group education does place an emphasis on repetition and regurgitation. Still, you should be able to manage it on your own, you haven’t entered anything truly challenging yet.

More minutes passed. Felix reread his text and words popped out at him as troublesome. He could just imagine Chloé’s face screwed up in concentration while she typed out the words in an online dictionary. It made the time pass faster.

Chloé: Whatever, smartypants. I’m sure I could do it if I wanted to, but I don’t! I shouldn’t have to. I’m rich! Poor people work!

There were many angles of attack to such a statement. He tried her main weak point: Ego.

Felix: Look at it as a chance to prove how much better you are. I’ve found it quite satisfying, myself.

Chloé: I shouldn’t have to prove anything! I’m rich! That’s proof enough.

Felix hummed, then blinked. He’d never emitted such an unguarded admission of indecision before.

Felix: I know plenty of very useless rich people. My uncle is rich and he’s the least of creatures to crawl upon this earth as far as I am concerned. Money doesn’t make you better. All it does is open opportunities for you to improve and demonstrate your worth.

He frowned, hesitated, then hit send. Something about this conversation was turning the warmth into unease. The images of the person he held in his head and the person who he was texting were diverging.

Chloé: Worth? Worth! Ridiculous! I’m worth more than all of them put together! I’ll show you I have worth, you stupid British gremlin! You’ll see!

That was… unexpected. Felix turned it over in his head and a very real fear struck him. Was she mad enough for the butterfly? Would she let herself be turned? He had an entire message written out before pausing then deleting it. Would asking if she was in trouble push her further?

He felt seconds ticking by as he considered new angles of attack. Was she sitting and stewing waiting on him? This form of communication left much to be desired. He tapped out a quick reply.

Felix: Chloé, you are not required to prove anything to me in particular.

More waiting, anticipation turning to dread.

Chloé: Apparently I am! And if stupid schoolwork is all you care about then I'll workschool it better than even nerdy Max! Now excuse me I need to go fix my makeup and then waste a bunch of time on an idiot!

It was as if she was speaking some peculiar dialect Felix couldn’t piece together. He itched to reply, but the phrase ‘now excuse me’ seemed to indicate she was done with the conversation. He let it go, it was past time for his workout in any event.

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

Today was plyometrics and cardio. The first portion went well. He was keenly focused on pushing his body to the limit. His drive had increased rather than ebbing in the wake of securing his freedom. One minor inconvenience: he had not yet found a comfortable way to wear the brooch on his person in exercise clothing. The little voice unhelpfully supplied, She probably knows jewelry, all about it. You could ask.

From that point on he was stuck, ruined for focus. At the end of every set his thoughts drifted to wondering when the next trip to Paris might be, seeking some excuse to make it sooner rather than later. By the time he was pulling himself from the complex’s indoor pool at the end of his cardio, his mind had betrayed him to the point there was some hallucinatory glee bubbling in his veins. I can just pop over tonight-

Reality asserted itself. No, he couldn’t. He didn’t have a reason to. Even if he did, she was in Paris. Even if she wasn’t, Why am I thinking about this?! Felix scrubbed his hair viciously with his towel then dropped it back on the pool chair, realizing as he did that his phone was vibrating under his robe.

Felix pulled it out and flipped it over just as it tripped over a missed call; 37 missed calls, all from her. He was already making his way into contacts when his phone lit up again. He stabbed pick up with his heart inexplicably in his throat.

“Hello?”

“H-H-hic-how do I do-do ma-aath?” She was sobbing.

Extreme annoyance bloomed, then thankfully, a self-correction. Felix answered in a neutral tone. “What?”

“Hic- Math! Stupid pointless, ugly, ridiculous math! s-s-sa-Sabrina always did it. It can’t be that hard, but it’s not working!”

Felix’s heart was still settling, and not from the workout. He picked up his towel and robe in one hand, exiting the pool area while still dripping. “Calm down. What math? What are you trying to do?”

“Math! What kinds are there? It’s numbers, and none of it makes sense! I’m smart, I should be able to do math! Don’t laugh at me!”

Felix hadn’t laughed, he hadn’t even thought to laugh, but her words were slurring together and flowing freely. The familiar layer of discomfort at such a display laid on him like a blanket, but this time nestled within was a nugget of a different sort. She was in pain, and he would do something.

“Chloé, calm down. I’m moving as quickly as I can.” Felix jabbed the elevator call, but seeing it on the eighth floor he pushed into the stairs and began the ascent on already burning legs.

The echoes of his feet must have carried over the phone. “Felix? Where are you? What’s going on?” At least it snapped her out of her frenzy.

“I’m moving somewhere more productive. Aquamathematics is not a field I expect to take off.” The explanation cost him a burning in his chest.

“Felix! Now is not the time for big words!” her voice was still thick, but at least it ended with a singular laugh.

"Hold on, Chloé, I'm coming."

It was ten more flights to the penthouse. There was a real possibility he would have made it faster if he had waited for the elevator. If nothing else he would not have staggered breathless into his room. But for the first time Felix was subject to the very thing he had mocked in others as foolishness. The need to be doing something. Efficiency didn't matter -unthinkable- effort did.

"Video…call…my laptop…" he panted as he dropped into a chair. A quick wipe took renewed sweat off his hands, face, and forearms before he booted it up.

The video call icon lit up almost immediately. Chloé's face started equal parts confused and pained, but rapidly morphed into surprise, followed by forced and obvious neutrality. "What is going on, Felix?"

Felix slowed his breathing, rested his elbows on his desk, and folded his hands. He set his chin atop them and said calmly. “Show me your problem.”

Chloé cycled between elation, hesitation, and renewed hope. She lifted a worksheet and turned it to face him, pointing at the problem, “It’s so stupid! They misspelled Cousin. What’s this seven doing down here? This isn’t even a number or a letter, and if the whole thing equals 3 what am I supposed to do? It’s already done!”

Felix squinted at the equation through the videofeed. “It’s a Trigonometry problem.”

Chloé flopped back in her seat. “You mean Ms. Bustier gave me the wrong work? It’s supposed to be math.”

“Chloé, it is math.”

She looked between him and the paper, something akin to fear creeping across her face. “What- no. Math doesn’t look like this. The other things didn’t look like this. See?” She jabbed another problem with a finger.

This time Felix took a moment to absorb. What was obvious was clearly not all there was. The sheet was effectively, if simply, laid out. Each problem fed into some part of the next. Felix’s eyes tracked upwards. “Chloé, number two, what are you doing there?”

She turned the sheet back to look at it. Then spoke in the sort of perfect enunciation people have when they are both very certain and worried they are suddenly very wrong. “It’s multiplying, Felix. That’s eleven times seven.”

She’d written out 11+11, added it, then 22+11, and repeat. Suspicion began to take root. Felix scanned some of her other -wrong- work. He grabbed a pen and paper and scribbled a quick basic equation. “Here, can you do this?”

She frowned at the paper. “That’s a fraction, Felix. Twenty Fourths.”

“Right, can you simplify it?”

“It’s one fraction. How much simpler can it be?”

“Chloé, you divide it out. Divide twenty by 4. You can do that, right?”

Chloé snatched her own sheet back to her chest. “Of course I can!” She turned and began scribbling on the back of the paper.

Felix could hear her penstrokes. He knew when it had begun to take far too long, even for showing work. She worked diligently though and when she turned the paper back to him she announced proudly, “Five!”

On the paper was the real story though. She had written it out:

4+4=8 II

8+4=12 I

12+4=16 |

16+4=20 |

IIIII 5

She wasn’t wrong, but… “Chloé- how- that’s how you learned to do division?”

She wilted under his disbelief. “Why was I ever going to need division anyway? Who wants to have less of something?”

Disbelief crumbled in the face of evidence. “Chloé, how long was Sabrina doing your homework?”

She wilted further, turning the page back to herself. “It’s right… it’s right, isn’t it? I did it right!” her voice rose to a panic. “I’m not stupid!”

Felix dropped his head into one hand. “The term is uneducated, and apparently so. Although a deficiency this egregious being overlooked is clearly not entirely your own fault. It is a failure on a shocking number of levels.”

“I did it!” her voice rose in sudden shriek. Felix heard the sound of paper tearing. “I did your stupid homework, and all you do is make fun of me with big words. If you want to call me stupid you should just say it! I can’t believe- I should have known better with your stupid Adrien game all the time!”

Felix looked up just in time to see the camera’s view swirl and bounce crazily. “No wait, Chloé don’t!”

The scream that came from the speakers made him fear for the worst, but one last swirl of motion before the camera showed a brief arc of the ceiling then the image almost blacked out. Almost-but not quite. Felix could make out the edge of a keyboard, a red patterned comforter. Wedged up under her pillows…

Felix could make out faint sounds. Distant and with a lousy built-in microphone. He still had a hunch what they were. He didn’t like them, for more than one reason now.  Felix picked up his phone. His call was answered surprisingly fast, but only blubbering greeted him on the other end. He waited for it to abate.

When it failed to, he said simply, “You are not stupid.”

A powerful unladylike sniffle, some coughing, and more horrid sounds were his answer.

“You’re foolish, naive, gullible, short-tempered, ignorant, unreasonably cruel at times, and apparently uneducated, but you are not stupid.”

That got a bitter laugh, “Fuck you, Felix. You suck at this.”

He returned the laugh. “I do. You are also surprising, observant, and unexpectedly loyal.” He hesitated. The voice had words, but he hadn’t parsed them and they were… alarming.  He spoke them anyway. “There is likely more to that list. I haven’t had time to study those aspects much. I- would like to.”

“Really? I mean-” A large sniffle and her affected tone returned, “Of course you would, after all I-” A sigh and it dropped, “No, I can’t do it right now. I- Really?”

“Apparently.”

The picture on his laptop shifted and spun again, opening up into a messy-faced Chloé, “You really suck at this.”

Felix hung up his phone and addressed the screen. “Let us be clear, I am not even sure what this is. My personal tastes…”

“Yeah, I know. I figured that part out, didn’t I?” She was still wiping at her makeup with her hands, not improving matters. “A girl can dream though, can’t she?”

There was too much built up. Felix had been running through the conversation without his usual buffer for emotions. He needed to unpack and analyze. He tried shifting to a different topic. “I could help you with your studies. I will not do your work, but I can organize some kind of a lesson plan you have clearly lacked.”

Chloé flopped on her bed on screen. A muffled, “Oh, so dreamy,” came back to him.

“Do you want my help or not?”

She raised up on her elbows and stared at him through the screen for a long moment, then looked back down at her comforter. “I’ll get sick of it and stop if I have to do it on my own.”

“Then I will see to it. I’ll have to come back to ask you more about what you have and haven’t actually learned. It will… probably not be pleasant for you.”

Her voice was desperately small when she asked, “Let me take you to dinner?”

A thousand warning bells went off. He tried to placate them. “Nothing… cozy.”

“It’s a deal.”

Felix felt like he had just made it through the narrows under the mansion for the first time, all over again. He sat back, glad her eyes were not on the screen. “Until then. I suppose we could start with multiplication and division.”

Her head came up fast. “Start with?”

“Memorization. Let’s see what you can do without paper and work from there. This is an assessment, not a test. We are here to stretch your mind. You take Ballet. Stretch your body at the same time if you like, combining mental and physical stimulation can aid in retention.”

She flopped back down again, but pulled herself up. “I’m going to hate this.”

“Probably.”

“If I’m going to stretch, can I use my phone?”

“Of course.”

The next two hours passed… uniquely. Running someone his age through basic math exercises was never something Felix expected to do. Chloé was dismal, there was no denying that. She was easily distracted, woefully unpracticed, and he could sense the simmering urge to shout her way through it all lurking just beneath the surface.

Somehow, that last observation took on a different meaning as time wore on.

She got better, slightly. Feiix caught her cheating when he shifted to things she couldn’t use her fingers to count on, but he didn’t bother to expose the subterfuge. He moved around his room, waved off his mother’s curious inquiry from his door, and ended up laying on his bed until a glance at the time reminded him just how long this had gone on.

“I need to be going.”

Chloé let out a small grunt of effort then a sigh of relaxation. “Good, I was running out of stretches.”

There was a curious hindbrain response to that statement. Something else for him to sort through. “You kept going longer than I expected.”

“Maybe I just never had a good teacher before.”

“I would not doubt that, but thank you.”

“So… mind turning the camera on for a minute before you go?”

Confusion was answered with ‘Seems harmless’ by the voice. Felix turned on the video call feature and held the phone at arm’s length while he lay on his back.

Chloé’s face appeared. She leaned in close to the camera, one large blue eye filling his screen. “I thought so.”

“Thought so?”

“Just a little reward to myself for being good.”

Felix raised a brow. “What are you talking about, woman?”

She held her phone further back and raised a hand to circle a finger at him. “Nothing, nothing, just… wear something different to dinner, okay? Good night Felix!”

With that the call ended, and Felix looked down at himself. Oh of all the-

He was still wearing only his swimming trunks from the pool.

[wiltf]

the house

ao3//

Älfrinn doesn’t like the old house. And it is old, spanning generations back to people the family didn’t know of, truly. But reclaiming Ziost meant doing more than dusting off holdings and property. They still hadn’t been able to take the cold out of the walls.

Up the steps, towards the study. Summoned, with such a directness that Älfrinn had been sure that branch families were not recognised with. Lord Marlavi had never been one to send such a specific note, and even her own mother recognised that. Troubling, in all the wrong ways.

“Darth Masrae summoned me.” 

Barely a look up from the person who sat beside the doors. Didn’t know they had invested in a receptionist either. Just the press of a button, and Älfrinn is in, rounding the corner once more to see an empty chair.

Had they been infiltrated? A dozen scenarios played out in her mind, that this was a trap, and someone was willing to even remove the branches. It would be flattering perhaps, if the snap of a book closing behind her didn’t have her wheel around, arm outstretched.

Finding instead N’ahtav, looking remarkably amused, placing the book back on the shelf. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Älfrinn.”

“Where is Lord Marlavi?”

The smile doesn’t go. Instead, N’ahtav sits herself where the head of the family might’ve once, hands spreading. “A pleasure to meet you.”

One, two. Slow breaths, before Älfrinn tilts her head, eyes narrowing. “You killed him.”

Looking almost annoyed by such a claim, N’ahtav shakes her head. “No, father has returned to Dromund Kaas to assist with overseeing the military operations as this… war begins to grow again.”

“So, you’re keeping his seat warm? I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Toothy grin, one that holds no warmth. Overstepping, Älfrinn’s mother always had a problem with her overstepping. But she does not want to take the opportunity to apologise, hand over her heart. Swear allegiance to the cousin before her. There are pieces in play, and Älfrinn had seen N’ahtav play even the most basic board games in her youth. She did not want to become one of them.

Perhaps the silence drags too long, or N’ahtav knows that Älfrinn will not bend knee. Undeterred, she draws up one of the screens. “You will be moving out to Korriban to complete your training. Tomorrow.”

Threading her fingers underneath her chin, N’ahtav looks over her, from head to toe. “Your time has come, acolyte. I know my father had refused your request, but I think you’re more than ready.”

Confusion fills Älfrinn as she bows. Low and respectfully, frowning at the ground. Smooth and clear face as she looks back up. “Thank you, my Lord. I will not fail you.”

“See to it that you don’t. I will join you on Korriban in a few weeks.”

“To find an apprentice?”

“That is the idea.” Something in her voice tells Älfrinn otherwise, but she doesn’t press. Just bows, once more, with thanks. Lets the silence grow, until N’ahtav returns to the work in front of her, one hand waved, towards the door.

Dismissed. Too much to tell her mother when she returned, to pack for. Needed to be ready. Hands shaking as she steps out of the house, doors closing behind her. Älfrinn does not look back, as she’s too focused. Trying to smother her smile with her hand, feeling the beating of her heart in her ears. Finally.

[missbrightsky]

On My Honor

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 3: Feyre

My father waited two heartbeats before opening the door. Dressed the same as they were the day before were two Imperial soldiers, blank-faced and sweaty.

“James Archeron, His Royal Highness has called upon your family to send one man to the front. In return, he has deemed ten gold marks as compensation for your family’s sacrifice.”

Behind me, Nesta scoffed at the word ‘sacrifice’ and muttered to Elain something I chose not to hear.

“I will be going to represent my family,” my father stood as tall as he could. Today he had forgone his crutch, mustering up the strength to stand on his own. I could almost see the strong man he used to me. Brave, fearless, the man my mother fell in love with during the war from so long ago. Her passing destroyed what was left of his spirit after he was injured in that final battle.

I swallowed hard to rein in the emotions I kept on a tight leash. It was pointless to dwell on the past when the future held such uncertainty.

The soldier who didn’t speak noted something on his paper and reached into a sack that clinked. He counted out ten coins and placed them in my father’s hand. Nesta stopped muttering at the flash of gold, probably thinking of ways to spend it.

“You are expected at the main encampment outside of Velaris in one week. Be there or you and your family will be held responsible for abandonment. It is treason and punishable by death.” I paled at the words. I didn’t want to know what the punishment would be for the plan I had formed.

My father gave a short bow, testing the limits of his strength and balance. “One week.”

The soldiers deemed the response appropriate and retreated down the pathway back to the road. My father shut the door and slumped against it, the end of his ability to stand on his own. Elain rushed forward, cooing her concern and helped him to a nearby chair.

Tears shone in her eyes and she begged, “Father, please don’t go. You’ll be killed. You fought in the last war and nearly gave your life for Prythian. I’ll go fetch back the soldiers and I’m sure they’ll understand.”

He looked down into Elain’s face, taking in her distress. “I hear you, my love, but I must serve my country. In any way I can.” He looked away, fearing that his resolve would crumble under Elain’s doe-eyed gaze.

Father’s brushoff broke whatever dam Elain was using as the tears began to flow down her face. He made no move to reach for her or comfort her, only continuing to stare into the distance with a vaguely pained look.

 Dinner was a quiet affair. Our cottage had few places to hide but Elain managed to find one to disappear into the moment her plate was clear. Nesta stayed at the table, wanting to comfort her but knowing she was helpless to do so.

I collected the plates, bringing them to the basin that acted as our sink. We were lucky enough to have a small water pump in the house, useful until it froze in the winter. Suppressing a sigh, I started to wash the dishes, letting myself get lost in the simple task.

Behind me, my father released an accompanying sigh, probably subconsciously. He stood from the table, limping over to the chest that was tucked into the corner. There would have been dust on the top had not for Elain’s random dusting.

I continued to wash the dishes and listened to the sounds of old hinges creaking open and fabric rustling. Even though the chest was seldom opened, we all knew what was in it. Mother’s wedding dress and father’s armor from the war.

With no more dishes to distract me, I turned around. The leather and old metal gleamed dully in the fading light of the sun coming through the windows. A crossed sickle and sword were stamped into the breastplate, the sigil of the old Emperor, now dead and gone, his cousin in his place.

Nesta stiffened at the sight of the armor, leaning back in her seat to put distance between herself and it. My father had reclaimed his chair and was now running his hands over the leather, feeling the cracks and nicks in them from battles past.

I said nothing, quietly observing as he lost himself in his memories. The glory he won on the battlefield and the costs of it.

On the far side of the table, the hilt of a sword peeked over the flat surface. My fingers itched to go to it, to test the steel that would soon be mine. The steel that I would soon entrust my life to.

Minutes ticked by until Nesta was finally too disgusted to stay at the table. She may have wished to have nothing to do with him, but he was important to Elain. And whatever was important to Elain was something she would fight for. This, however, was pushing the limits.

“I leave tomorrow,” my father said, not looking at me. With him sitting down and facing away from me, he almost looked the part of a soldier. The deeply etched lines on his face hidden and his ruined knee tucked under the table.

The wound had been brutal, my mother told me on her death bed. Her final words were trying to explain how my father was brought so low instead of ones of love.

It was the final battle against a force that had been erased from our spoken history. A harsh winter storm had hit in the middle of the battle, visibility brought down to where you could only see the man in front of you. For hours he had swung that sword over and over again, felling man after man, staining the fresh snow red before it became muddy with trampling feet. His strength faltered when an enemy blindly swung and cut a deep wound in his thigh. Another one then landed the crippling blow to his knee. He fell onto the piled bodies, more landing on top of him, nearly burying him alive. That was the only thing that kept him alive, despite adding more pressure to the shattered knee. His cries for help were drowned out until the battle was over. His surviving comrades pulled him from beneath the dead, himself almost one of them.

My mother was a healer in the army, they had met after an earlier brutal battle. She was the one who healed him and loved him despite the permanent blow to his soul. They married after the war, Nesta appearing soon after. He tried his best for years, or what was left of his best. Both of them taking work where they could, until her parents left them this small cottage and a few animals.

Her death was the undoing of him. Whatever strength he had left failed him. Now only his pride and Elain kept him alive.

And I have worked every day to keep them all alive. I would keep them all alive. I would make the sacrifice to keep my father from going to war again. To ensure that Elain kept her father.

I left the room without replying to him, fearing that anything I say would give away my plan. After stripping out of my clothes and into a shift, I crawled into bed with my sisters, savoring what might be the last time I lay beside them.

For in a few hours, I would be leaving this house a changed woman. Or man, depending on how you looked at it.

Next Chapter

[kittensjonsa]

A Raven Came

For Feb 1 Valentine’s Day: First Kiss. For @jonxsansafanfiction 😊 Not sure if this ties in with the theme of the day but what the hell *grabs this from inside the trash can* so here goes. This is show verse, what happens after S6x10. Maybe S6x13 or something. Well, a girl can dream, right…. ********

Sansa stared long and hard at the scroll, so hard till the words became a blur – it could not be. Was he protecting him? Even from Mother? Why did Father keep it a secret?

There were questions even Sansa’s keen mind could not comprehend. She didn’t know what to believe now, that Bran was alive and well or that Jon wasn’t whom everyone thought he was.

And she wondered what would happen if one day, everyone knew about Jon’s real heritage, what would she do then? What would be of Winterfell then? Both Jon and Sansa fought hard to reclaim their beloved home; Jon almost died and many had fallen in aiding their quest. Little did they know, they were pledging their allegiance to a King that didn’t belong in the North, by his birthright. He belonged on the Iron Throne.

Sansa leaned back on her chair and let out a deep sigh that made her body tremble slightly. She looked around her in the Lord’s chambers and noticed it was almost dusk. Sansa remembered that Jon would be returning soon from his hunt. Winter had already made its presence felt, after the deluge of snow that greeted Winterfell’s grounds that morning. Food was running scarce and there were people, wildfolk and commoners, Knights and squires; men, women and children to feed and look after. Jon and the Lords of the Northern Houses have agreed to a pact to share their resources so no one in the North would go cold and hungry. If Lord Cerywn words rang true, it would be a fierce and long winter they would have to endure.

Sansa had to give the message to Jon. After all, it was meant for him. Sansa didn’t trust anyone enough to hold on to the scroll when it was handed to her from Ser Davos. Jon may have his unyielding trust in him but Sansa didn’t. Nothing wrong with the old man, in fact he was a pleasant man, Sansa just needed some semblance of control in her life lately. She was indeed Lady of Winterfell, she decided it was time to act like one.

“Brienne.” Sansa called out for Brienne to enter.

“My Lady,” Brienne stepped in from her post at the door and nodded. Sansa smiled at the lady knight, her knight in shining armour. If it wasn’t for Brienne, Sansa would have been food for Ramsay’s wretched hounds. Sansa had no desire to further burden her sworn guard and sword, deciding that Brienne deserved some rest and respite tonight and the day after. Besides, Jon would keep her company. They would need to have a long talk tonight. There was much to discuss.

“Please let Jon know to come meet me here when he returns from his hunt. I need to have a word with him.” Brienne nodded at Sansa’s instruction.

“Would he be required to know what it is about, my Lady? If he asks.” Sansa glanced again at the broken seal of the scroll that laid on her desk.

“Tell him, a raven came. From Castle Black. It’s.. A family matter,” Sansa paused to find the words without sounding too strange for Brienne to notice. She had astute powers of observation and Sansa didn’t want to cause unnecessary worry or unwanted attention.

“Yes, my Lady.” Sansa watched the door close behind Brienne and called out to her again, Sansa had almost forgotten.

“Oh and Brienne, why don’t you and Podrick take a rest tonight and tomorrow. Jon will be here with me. I trust him to look after me while you rest,” Sansa smiled as Brienne paused at the door. With a nod of approval, Brienne went out in search of Jon. It would be good to get some rest, perhaps run a hot bath to soothe her aching muscles. Brienne was sure Podrick would appreciate an evening on his own as well. The battle took place almost two moons past, since then it had been nothing but rebuilding and restoring the deteriorating castle and its grounds. Hard work she had been accustomed to but she was after all, human.

The sound of hooves and neighs Sansa heard from a distance signalled Jon’s return. Sansa felt her heart skip a beat and butterflies in her stomach. It was strange that she felt that. Sansa shook off her nerves before it got the better of her. She waited for Jon to come to her and in her mind, prepared her heart in telling Jon of the news she had for him. The hard knock on her door came sooner than expected, perhaps Brienne had been at the gates the moment he arrived.

“Sansa, you wanted to speak with me?” Jon peered in as he opened the door slightly. Sansa nodded for him to step in. She noticed the snowflakes in his hair and his reddened cheeks. Must have been quite the hunt.

“Jon, come sit with me.” Sansa pointed to the armchairs facing the fireplace. She still needed time to reveal properly what she knew. Jon walked to one of them and leaned back on the chair he was sitting on. It felt a little strange stepping into Father’s room as Jon observed his surroundings. His eyes fell on Sansa who was seated opposite of him, looking solemn and holding a scroll. Sansa’s eyes were downcast, Jon was curious as to why she did, Sansa had always been quite forward and been usually herself with him. Something was different, something had happened. Whatever it was, it was in that scroll. Jon inhaled deeply and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands tightly clenched in anticipation.

“Jon… A raven came. From Castle Black. I saw the seal. I don’t know how else to tell you but before you read it, please remember Father. And his words to you. And again I am so sorry for whatever I’ve said or done to you in the past. I know you’ll forgive me but it means even more to me now.”

Jon’s hands clenched even tighter, and took the scroll from Sansa as she handed it to him.

Sansa watched Jon as he read it, trying to decipher what was going through Jon’s mind as his eyes moved to read the words, line by line. He stopped and stared at it. Jon’s eyes were wide as he glanced at Sansa, probably looking for answers. He was in disbelief. Shock couldn’t even describe what he felt. Sansa felt sorry as Jon dropped his head into his hands.

“Jon.. Jon! Talk to me please… I’m sorry you had to find out like this. But like Bran said… There isn’t much time…”

“Bran’s alive? Sansa we have to get him back, to come home. Do you know what this means? And about..” Jon couldn’t bring himself to say it. Sansa’s bright blue eyes were now intently on him, as if waiting for him to say it.

“Jon, Father protected you. He didn’t want others to know who you were… Who your mother was. And that means.. You’re not a bastard. We’re family. We’re cousins, Jon..” Sansa stopped as she watched Jon leap to his feet. He was pacing back and forth now, the scroll still clutched in his hands.

“No, no! I am the blood of Ned Stark! He was our father! I am no Targaryen! Those murderers are not part of me… No Sansa! It can’t be..” Jon’s distraught voice bellowed through the chambers and almost shook Sansa to her core. Sansa wasn’t prepared for this, much like Jon. Jon dropped to his knees and keeled over, his body heaving and wracked with sobs. After all they had been through, Jon and Sansa could not stand another blow. Jon went silent as he looked up and faced Sansa. Sansa’s heart almost broke as she saw his tears and the agony that overtook him. She felt her own tears forming and delicately rolled down her cheek.

“Sansa, please tell me, that this is not true. That this was just an impostor. Why did you have to give me this? Sansa, please I can’t…” Jon’s quivering voice gave way to crying. Jon cried on Sansa’s lap, the only comfort she could give him. Sansa stroked his curls gently as she wiped away her own tears.

“But Jon.. You needed to know. I’m so happy that Bran is alive, we can take relief in that at least. Jon, please look at me.. We need to stay strong together. Please don’t give up now, Jon.. Please Jon. I-I need you… I don’t have anyone else but you,” Sansa pleaded with Jon as he slowly looked up at her with teary red eyes, her hands cupping his bearded face. Sansa was crying with him. It pained him to see her cry. Jon closed his eyes for a second and inhaled deeply. He was still King in the North. And he was still family after all. Sansa gave Jon a soft smile as she tucked away a stray curl from his face. Jon took whatever that was left in him to calm himself. Sansa wished she could do more for him. There were so many feelings that went through her very being, but one thing she knew she had to do was be there for him and hold him. After all, she was the one who gave him the scroll. Sansa’s arms went around him in a tight embrace that almost immediately soothed his nerves. Her skin smelled of lavender and lemon, so familiar and comforting. True enough there were only them now. Jon held on to Sansa for as long as he could. She was a balm to the sting that pierced through his core.

Sansa never felt relief like the one that washed over her as she embraced Jon. The truth was a painful one but liberating. At least for her. Father was still an honourable man, there was no blemish upon the Stark name like it had been before. Sansa couldn’t help but feel proud of Father and Jon. She felt happy for Jon too, now that he had finally known who his mother was. There were so many things that raced through her mind.

Jon pulled away and looked into Sansa’s calm blue eyes. She was right, they only had each other for that moment, for now. And he had to make the best of it.

“Am I still your King?” Jon quietly wondered out loud. Sansa wasn’t sure what came over her, overwhelmed by affections and emotions, or perhaps it was a reciprocating gesture on her part – that she bowed her head slightly and kissed Jon on his lips. Her lips lingered even though she felt Jon slightly jerk away, no doubt that he was taken aback by her actions. Sansa didn’t know why she didn’t let go, she had never felt like that with anyone. It was a first for her. But a second later, she felt Jon lean into her kiss, his lips were soft and smooth and Sansa’s lips parted slightly as she took in a breath. It came out as a whimper. Jon pulled away, confused as his eyes questioned hers. Jon couldn’t deny a slight stirring rising up within him.

Sansa covered her mouth and looked away, embarrassed by what she had done.

“Sansa.. I’m sorry… I don’t.. I don’t understand,” Jon stammered as he tried to make sense of what had just occurred. It was becoming a very confusing evening for him. Sansa’s eyes didn’t dare to look upon him as he questioned her. All she could do was shrug.

“I’m sorry Jon.. I just felt so happy for you, for Father now that we know the truth. I just… I was just glad that you’re here safe with me, that we’re together,” Sansa tried her best to explain. It was true, she was extremely relieved that they were together, both of them rebuilding Winterfell together and hoping that one day Bran and Arya, wherever she was, would return to.

Jon didn’t say a word as he gazed into her eyes, he understood completely what she had meant. He understood when she said she was overcome by her emotions, Jon felt the same, overwhelmed like she was. Although the touch of her lips on his, set off something in him that exploded within. He had a hunger, a need he didn’t think would ever surface again. Jon was overcome by something else entirely as he crashed his lips onto a surprised Sansa, fiercely parting her lips with his tongue in search of hers. May the gods forgive him or banish him to hell, but all he craved was a woman’s touch.

And Sansa tasted perfect in every way, in ways he never thought possible.