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oh-for-fic-sake-library · 3 years ago

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Thicker than water

Masterlist

Summary: Sherlock is drawn to his new cleaner, his fangs ache for her, he craves her in every way a vampire could crave his own little heart. But his coven comes first.

Warnings: Vampire au, mates, slow burn,

A/n: so I wanted to try and make a dark fluff fic? And vampire Sherlock seemed the way to go. This is loosely based on old notes I had about a true blood fanfiction I was going to write but never did. Anyway I do hope you enjoy this chapter, these will be short sharp chapters and only about 4/5 chapters in total, this is me practicing shorter fic's.

The water ran red. Always red, you knew soon it would fade to a strange russet, then pink. And finally the water would return to clear, pristine and pure. Untainted by the devils wine, the life blood that pumped in you veins. At first it had frightened you, the colour always reminding you of your employers. Of the world. The revelation. It had terrified you to know just what it was you wiped of walls, scrubbed off baths and soaked from sheets. An odd feeling would wash over you when your reality was so blaringly obvious. You were food, a tall glass of the red stuff, a feast for the fang. But it was normal now. You got by at first by pretending it was dye. Hair dye. Paint. Ink anything you could think of that would ease your nerves when cleaning the huge matte black home.

Not many people would take the job, but it wasn’t for the size of home, or reality of scrubbing toilets. It was the client that scared them away. Vampires. The villains of the night. All fangs and cold skin and deathly allergic to uv. The apex predator. They came forth from the night in the most spectacular and almost sweet of ways?

Five years ago one fanged beast was said to have fallen for a mortal. A human who had danced with the devil unscathed. But the mortal was just that a mortal. The woman received news that made all humans blood run cold. Terminal. She became riddled with cancer and refused the offer of becoming a bride of the night.

Her vampire lover was high ranking, old and powerful. He refused to watch his love perish and so he invested time and money into research. Vampires did what scientists and doctors could not. They found a cure in their blood. Separated the cells, finding the venom particles that can irradiate disease, dissolve tumours and melt away toxins and remarkably it worked without turning the human patient. And the side effect was short term anaemia. The only cost put forth by the vampires was access to the donation blood supply. The government couldn’t refuse such a small price for the miracle cure.

It was a revelation that took the world by storm. Media praised the mysterious discovery. It was when people praised god and thanked him for his miracle that the vampires revealed themselves as the creators of such a cure. They were accepted quickly by some. Hailed as hero’s, yet others were sore over the big reveal. Medicine was big money and this new 'product' was the end of big pharma and the handouts that went with it. And no one wanted to take on the vampires. They were old, wise and very very rich.

Many flocked to the newly revealed masters of the night, curious and thrill seeking. But there were some who ran scared, hoarding crucifixes and garlic. Neither of which worked on the godly creatures, if their little publication was to be believed. Uv light, silver and starvation are their weaknesses. wooden stakes do not work even in the heart.

But the big announcement opened an entirely new job market! Day men and women, blood services, 24hour amenities, uv protective travel, uv tight houses everything!

And it was in that job market you found this little earner. Three times a week you come out of the city to the huge secluded monolith of a home and cleaned it. Not many would take it, fearful of what they would be cleaning up in a vampire lair.

You'd had the job for a few weeks. The coven were peculiar. All males and each distinguished in their own way. You new them by name and there cleanliness only. The head of the household was Sherlock. A male who’d made his name in Victorian England as a detective. But was in fact older. Much older, thousands of years older.

He was the one who first sought you out. The older the vampire the earlier they rose, therefore you interacted with him on occasion. Quiet polite conversation, you’d almost call you friends? Nothing more. But that’s not to say you didn’t wish for more. He was attractive, patient and kind. There was no initial cockiness or scare tactics that vampire enjoyed. The first time you met him he was very sweet.

"Good afternoon" the two polite words almost made you piss yourself.

"Fuck Jesus!" you swore as you spun to face the newcomer, mop poised to give the man a nasty thump. You froze and took in the sight. The man was well dressed in a classic expensive looking navy button up and some well fitting grey pants, snug but not overly tight. And surprisingly the right length, none of this silly fashion ankle swingers or baggy cuffs, he was someone who clearly knew his way around a tailors.

His angular clean shaven face was stunning, even more so when he chuckled at you. His lips curling into a smile as he shook his head finding your fright amusing. It was when his hand moved to sweep away the loose curls on his brow you noticed. Ruby. His eyes were a deep red, glistening like all seeing rubies. He was a vampire.

Your heart jumped. Vampire. Predator. Dangerous. Gorgeous your entire demeanour drop to one of anxiety. You’d not spoken with vampires much. You were told they were temperamental and finicky.

"g-good afternoon" you uttered lowering you mop quickly placing it back into the bucket and forced yourself to look away from his mouth. Your human curiosity trying to seek out the fabled teeth of a monster.

"My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you. I have been away for some time. But I wanted to properly introduce myself. I am Sherlock Holmes a vampire Ki-oven, coven leader" you sniggered childishly at the name and grinned thinking it was a joke, but Sherlock didn’t laugh. So you assumption was wrong. He waited patiently and tilted his head giving a small hum. The sound made you shake your head and quickly reply in a hectic muddle of fumbling words

"Ana. Well Pandora but everyone calls me Ana, I'm the new cleaner? Well not new I mean I’ve been cleaning for a week. But I am new I suppose because we haven’t met so to you I’m. New." Sherlock, tipped his head in confirmation committing the name to memory, letting the syllables echo in his mind. It suited you, you parents had a unique understanding of names and how important they were. He had dreaded you would be called strawberry, dollar or some other ridiculous name people used for their children

"Its nice to meet you. I do hope the others have behaved in my absence?" Sherlock announced gliding closer slowly, and eased himself around your side so he could look at you without the glare of the afternoon sun hindering his view.

You pivoted cautiously keeping him in your sight at all times. Not that it'd do much good. If a vampire attacked there was nothing you could do especially to him. You were told before taking the job that this nest had an ancient vampire leading the coven. Thousands of years old, all the time in the world to hone his hunting and develop gifts. And that was before you understood the physical strength three millennia had granted him. All you could take comfort in was the fact if he wanted to kill you he would have done so before now.

"Err yes they have. I haven’t really seen any of them. They are always... not here?" You spoke, taking a few calming breaths as you realised he wasn’t a threat. Well he was but he wasn’t an immediate threat, he seemed curious of you? Baffled.

His eyes ran lengths of you, an odd glint in his eye, like a child with a puzzle. He seemed to be trying to figure you out. Find answers or clues to some secret question. You wasn’t sure why but it made you feel good? Special in a way, his gaze was suggestive and very flattering. Usually you would feel violated being stared at like this. But for some reason it excited you, your heart fluttering and tummy flipping.

"Well they probably are. Just not in the rooms I clean- sometimes Mr solo is about the halls so he must be hiding somewhere but that’s; sorry I’m babbling" you hushed your self looking away from him feeling foolish and tiny. He was a huge scary ancient, he didn’t need to put up with your human stupidity and silly rambling.

"No need to apologise young one. You are nervous, its understandable. You do not converse with my kind often?" Sherlock added putting you at ease and digging for some information. You’d never know it but he wanted to know everything about you. And by dawn he would know all there was to know.

You huffed blushing slightly embarrassed. You must have given it away, been so obvious about never speaking with a vampire before. Shame flooded you, you thought you’d be able to be calm and cool interacting with your employers, it seems that you had given yourself too much credit.

"No. Until this job id not met any of your kind, at least not that i know of" you uttered tucking your hands into your tabard twisting the small cloth you hand in the pocket, feeling the need to do something with your hands.

"Well do not fret, we are surprisingly normal" Sherlock said cheerfully and wandered further into the living room ducking down to the fireplace flicking it on by the convenient switch tucked below the dark stone.

"As for the others they reside in our secure chambers below ground. There aren’t many who trust the uv protection windows. Centuries of avoiding the sun is a hard habit to break" he explained calmly, letting you have a tiny snippet of information so you would be more relaxed. Throughout his long life... Afterlife Sherlock had learned knowledge was a useful tool, not only was it powerful but also a bargaining chip. Letting little pieces slip by could calm humans. They were always curious things even in the dark ages. They always felt more relaxed knowing things.

"Ah, yes that makes sense. It must be tough on the eyes" he grinned and spun before taking a seat on the sofa facing you with a soft grunt, melting into the soft leather.

"Yes, it takes some adjusting" Watching you, observing you to find out what was so different about you. And motioned for you to inch closer, making sure to sit casually and not make any sudden movements. You were ever so skittish still, he actually liked it, for some reason your caution out him at ease. He'd rather you be cautious and aware of the danger he’d rather then throw yourself at him like a blood whore. He paused... why did he care for your safety? Unless... oh. Oh god.

"You are safe. Fear not, my coven are old. Our control is impeccable." He added quickly noticing you slow your tiny steps to a halt and gulp. He'd put you off. Shit.

"I never thought- not for a second" you quickly gasped hoping you hadn’t offended him. You wasn’t sure about vampires and feelings, but you didn’t want to upset him. And moved closer slightly panicked. You couldn’t help your reaction, he was staring so intently, and then his face? It lit up as if he'd had some great revelation or made a decision. It was unnerving.

"Fear is something we can smell. Its sharp, you are frightened. The fear and rabbit heart beat are enough to let me know you are frightened." His answer both excited and frightened you, he could hear it, the beats of your heart. If his eyes focused he would see the life blood running through your veins, he could smell it, feel every breath your released, count the lashes framing your eyes. Your mind raced, it was incredible, to think from over there he could learn so much about you then any human ever could. And he could do it with a single glance.

You trembled, shivering at the thought of what he was truly capable of. What you’d let him do if he decided to persuade you. Just what would the powerful creature make you do if he used that frightful gift ancients had, planting suggestions so deep in your mind it was almost impossible to disobey. Your mind wandered down the dark road of lust and filth, it didn’t help his voice was like silk and honey, thick and sweet with a decadent rasp that made you weak at the knees. Handsome and perfect, a true devil in the flesh. If the vampire were Lucifer himself you wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.

"No harm will ever befall you." Sherlock said a small frown on his face. Lips thin and firm, jaw tight and eyes intense. You couldn’t help but draw a deep breath, not quite a gasp but close enough. The weight of his words sounded heavier then they should have considering you’d met him less then ten minuets ago.

"Here?" You asked feeling the need to speak up, but quickly cursed yourself as a high squeaky voice escaped you. He smirked and for a second you saw the fang of legend. The point not as long as your thought it would be but still long enough to make your hand rise to your neck, trying to Rub out the phantom pain that ignited. Sherlock quickly schooled his features as you reacted to the sight of your first fang.

"In my domain you will always be safe. You have my word" Sherlock spoke with clarity. An oath not only to you, but himself. If only you realised just how far his domain reached. He was not an ordinary vampire. One of the few first true vampires. An upires experiment gone wrong birthing his kind in a strange ritualistic blood sharing ceremony.

You hovered for a moment opening your mouth, wanting to ask why he was awake. All the media said no vampires rose after sun set. It was unnerving, if they lied about that what else was untrue? Did they farm humans? Were they really trying to coexist? Did they hate your kind and want to rule!?

"Ask" you snapped your head to him with a frown and made to reply but he held up a huge hand silencing you before speaking himself calmly.

"You wanted to ask a question. Ask away, id rather answer curiosity then have you wonder and worry" he explained politely, if not with a slight quirk to his lips. He motioned for you, beckoned you closer. And you found yourself shuffling across the space towards him. He cooed at you quietly as you made your way to him before twisting your hands in your pocket before you found yourself sitting down beside him at his insistence. found you amusing, but amusing was better then tasty so you didn’t really mind.

"I just erm... how are you up? This early? I mean your up... before sunset... none of the others are? The news says that you cant but.." you stuttered trying to be respectful, you were being careful. But couldn’t help it. You just had to know now you’d seen it. You finished with a small shrug and motioned to him, drawing a huge grin from him.

"My age. Like humans as you age you need less sleep. There for I rise a few hours before sunset." He quickly replied, quenching your curiosity. You nodded slowly to him soaking up the new information like a sponge. So the older more deadly vampires were out and about before sunset. Good to know. But you understood, there would be a panic if it became well known.

"I am much older than my tales in London" Sherlock added with a small chuckle to himself, making you giggle along with him.

"Oh my god? You really are that Sherlock?" You slipped out without thinking. There was a jolt of fear, ice running through you. But it was quickly waved off by Sherlock who smiled kindly, his stunning strong features pulling into a smooth amused yet gentle expression.

"My wisdom and perceptive nature did inspire novels yes. But they are just stories child, written by men. I am not a detective, I merely sniffed out a few clever lies in some high circles" he conceded with a smirk, head tilting at you playfully, pupils dilating quickly and constricting in an oddly arousing gesture.

You held a breath, a silent gasp as your thighs clench as your tummy flipped. You felt your lust hanging by a thread, teetering on a knifes edge. The teasing beauty and otherworldly aura around him cloaked with a danger made you feel something utterly filthy. A devious sort of lust, the need raw and powerful.

You watched him as he groaned quietly, a mere rumble in his chest that echoed around you making your heart jump. He swallowed closing his eyes almost hissing his breaths before rising to his full height abandoning you on the sofa. You followed suit worried you’d offended him. But he began speaking before you could even ask what was wrong.

"Now why don’t you run along. Leave the rest, its all clean anyway" he uttered in a deep gravely tone, his shoulders tense and hand trembling before clenching.

"What? I cant do that;"

"No, no, I wont hear of it. you look dead on your feet, and I would know~" he spoke with a quirk to his lip trying to put you at ease, but failed. You blinked at him for a second, taking in his tense huge frame, the way he held your gaze unblinking. The red irises burning into you. You quickly shook your head and stepped back uttering a quick 'yes Mr Holmes' and spun collecting your small cleaning caddy and bucket.

"Thank you little one. Now rest up. And I shall see you on Wednesday" Sherlock could feel the fear, the disappointment and worry rolling off of you in waves. He cursed at himself under his breath. He hadn’t wanted you to feel unwanted or for you to leave. It wasn’t about want but need. He couldn’t risk you being here alone with him, aroused and sweet. Your own body tempting him with ambrosia and blood. He wanted to tear into you, to feed and fuck you until he had taken his fill. Needed to hold you close and make you his. Bind you, steal and keep you.

He couldn’t keep you here when he felt so? Predatory? And he was. He wanted to hunt you, you were the prey he'd sought out for almost three millennia. You needed to go for now, at least by Wednesday he could feed and know he wouldn’t cause any harm prematurely. He wouldn’t jump you and claim you as a beast.

#henry cavill #cavillry #sherlock holmes x you #henry sherlock #sherlock x reader #vampire au #vampire!sherlock x reader #fic: Thicker then water

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lubdubsworld · 3 years ago

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Blackberry Winters.

PART 1 🌸 PART 2

Namjoon Werewolf Au!!

Pack Head Alpha Namjoon and mate OC!

Arranged marriage sort of?

Pack dynamics / strangers to lovers.

Part 3

“You did not think to tell him no? To demand that you had every right to stay there?” Her mother in law looked disappointed , eyes trained on her as Jiah carefully pulled the blouse of the tunic down over her tummy, frowning when she realized that it didn’t do a thing for her figure.

She felt self conscious, the grey cotton of the tunic making her feel drab and lifeless. Why did she always choose clothes in colors like this? Why did none of them fit her right? Why did she never make an effort to look at least a little good. Her hair was limp, a mousy brown and while it was thick, it had no luster… Why didn’t she use one of the hundred powdered mixtures the village healer liked to give the younger women?

“Jiah, are you listening to me?” Namjoon’s mother said sharply and Jiah jumped a bit, guilty.

“I didn’t want to be a bother..” She said nervously, not sure how to handle her mother in law. On the one hand she seemed to be understanding of her many hang ups, but she also looked impatient and upset, anytime Jiah failed to stand up for herself.

Lady Kim drew herself up to her impressive height and Jiah cowered. She’d hung around enough pack bonfires to recognize that stance and that gaze. The woman was about to give her a piece of her mind.

Sure enough, her voice thundered when she addressed her.

“If you keep viewing yourself as a bother, I’m not sure how others will begin seeing you as anything else. You’re the head alpha’s mate. Your place is by his side, helping him with the crown on his head. It’s not a choice. Your duties are not mine and I am tired of doing them for you.” She snapped.

It stung. Guilt churned and Jiah could feel the beginnings of one of her episodes. The ones that always left her shaking and breathless. Much to her surprise, Lady Kim’s gaze softened at that and the next second she was being drawn into a warm embrace.

“Good lord child, why are you so terrified? Has my family not been kind enough to take away this stark terror out of your veins?” She sighed deeply. “You must not let your fears dictate your life. I want you to live your life, pleasing the person you’re bound to .”

Jiah felt her shoulders sag. Please the person she was bound to. Of course. Namjoon. It all came down to the alpha wolf. And how was she supposed to please him, if he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as her?

“Yourself.” Lady Kim’s voice, laced with amusement made her jump.

Jiah frowned, pulling back to look at the older woman in confusion.

“You’re bound only to yourself , Jiah. You need to please yourself. To do and be the person you want to be. And then everything else will fall into place.”

Jiah watched as the woman went back to the door, calling for and directing a few more workers as they finished setting up the outer courtyard of her living quarters. Still a little chilled, she grabbed a thick coat from the small cupboard by the door, draping it over herself and tying it together with the sash. She moved quickly to the door, watching her mother in law talk to the workers, looking them straight in the eye , firm and clear in her instructions.

It was fascinating.

Lady Kim’s stance fairly vibrated with power and her voice brooked no disobedience. People looked at her and listened. They saw someone who knew what she was talking about and many a time, Jiah had felt it herself, the comfort of someone reliable. Someone who wished no ill on anyone.

Namjoon’s mother had lost her husband at a young age. Namjoon had scarcely been a babe of two when it had happened and the entire pack had expected the young wolf to lose his birthright as the heir. It was unheard of for a mate to take over the head alpha’s duties but Lady Kim had risen to the occasion with an elegance that had stunned everyone. The woman had met pack leaders and settled disputes, had negotiated boundary conflicts and made elaborate plans for new buildings , all while carrying around a babe that was still fed at her breast.

What was more, she had defended her position against the men who had wanted to usurp it. Mnhyuk and Jaejoon were two of her husband’s cousins, eager to sink their fangs into the woman to mate her, just to be able to get their hands on the pack. They were terrible men , even worse wolves. Their ideas on how the pack ought to be run dripping with archaic ideals and oppression of women.

But Lady Kim had humiliated them, told the whole pack in no uncertain terms that the next pack alpha would be Kim Namjoon. Her son would be raised to rule the pack with kindness and understanding and she would make sure of it.

The tales were told with hushed tones of disbelief and admiration and Jiah had listened to them with hunger and aching. Had felt such a huge surge of affection for the matron , had wanted to hug her and tell her she had done a great job.

And standing here as her daughter in law, she realized that she would be a fool not to listen to her. Not to learn from her. Especially when it was obvious that in the entire pack, the only one who didn’t seem to hold Kim Namjoon on a pedestal, was ironically his own mother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ They’re going to challenge you again. I can feel it.” Taehyung said gruffly, dropping the bundle of scrolls on the table and Namjoon flinched, head throbbing.

“That bad?” He asked hesitantly and Taehyung nodded.

“They want you to re-negotiate that treaty about courtesans owning property. Think it would make them quit the profession… if you let them own stuff” Seokjin said quietly and Namjoon bristled.

“They are no different from any of us. They work for their pay too. Why shouldn’t they be allowed to do what they wish with money that they’ve earned?” He demanded angrily.

“You’re a good man Namjoon. A fair one. And you’re striving to build a pack that treats all it members as equals . Obviously people who thrive on abusing their power aren’t going to like that. Especially Minhyuk and Jaejoon’s pups. Those two are terrible.”

“You should accept their challenge and just rip their throats out someday.” Taehyung said firmly AND Namjoon gave him a glare.

“I’m not going to shed blood without cause, Taehyung. Don’t suggest that. Even in passing.” He said firmly and the younger beta bowed politely in apology.

“Where is Jiah?” Seokjin asked casually.

Namjoon glanced at him, brows raised.

“Since when are you so familiar with my mate, hyung?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes.

“She used to come sit with me, when I watched over the herds on the outer pastures. Sweet little thing really. Very funny too.”

That made Namjoon pause.

“Funny?” He asked, completely confused.

“Witty. She would make these clever little riddles and jokes that would always leave me in stitches. We made a game of it. I would give her one of my funny jokes and she would give me a riddle. Is she feeling better now?”

Namjoon who was still kind of struck dumb by the idea of his cowering, reticent mate doing something as…. Normal and friendly as laughing and being witty….. could only stare at Seokjin in confusion.

“I…. Yes. She’s well. We’re expecting a pup.” He said softly.

Both Taehyung and Seokjin went still.

“What?!!! Why didn’t you say that first?!!” Taehyung exclaimed, offended.

“It’s not that important…” Namjoon waved it off, reaching for the scrolls , “ what about the treaties, then? You did tell Jungkook we aren’t changing anything right?”

Seokjin scoffed.

“ Only you would say that these treaties are more important than your own pup.” He snapped.

Namjoon sighed a bit at that.

“I don’t mean that. I’m just saying, what she needs now is to rest and take care of herself and the baby. I’m not what she needs . I’ve arranged for her to stay in some private quarters with the other women.”

Seokjin sighed deeply. After years of being one of Namjoon’s trusted friends, he could feel his heart ache for the younger and all that he hid from the people around him. He reached out and gently placed a palm on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“ Namjoon, you don’t have to do all of this by yourself. Tae and I , we can take over duties a couple of days a week… You can relax… Maybe spend some time with your new wife….”

“She hates me.” Namjoon said softly. “ I spent a whole month trying to talk to her, all she did was tremble and shake. Even when we…” Namjoon exhaled sharply, “ Even in bed , she made me feel like I was some kind of…. Predator.”

Taehyung bit his lips, looking worried.

“You’re not… You’re not going to break the bond are you?” He asked nervously.

Namjoon sighed.

“I’m not. I may have considered it, before . But now… She’s with pup. I can’t do that to her. I don’t want to either.”

“Why did you pick her?”

Namjoon stayed quiet.

“Because you wanted a wife who wouldn’t ask or demand or complain.” Taehyung said distastefully.

“That’s not… You make it sound so terrible. I’m supposed to be taking over pack duties, supposed to renegotiate every single treaty we’ve drawn in the past twenty years, not to mention get the entire pack ready for the winter…. Of course I wanted a wife who would adjust. Have you seen the omegas in our clan? The ones I could court ? They want to leave on trips… They want to visit the neighbouring packs…. They want me to arrange festivities and feasts for every damn thing…. You think I can marry someone like that??” Namjoon snapped angrily. “none of them understand a damn thing about helping me out. They’re shallow and vain. Jiah… I chose her because she didn’t seem like one of them. She seemed like she could understand what it means to be my wife. But I was wrong. I thought she understood my responsibilities and was giving me my space…. Turns out she just thinks I’m some kind of monster she needs to run and hide from.”

Seokjin reached out, patting his back soothingly.

“Namjoon I understand… It’s been hard on you, and you’ve been doing all of it by yourself. Its bound to take a toll. And that’s why I think you should take a few days off, a week. Give us all the instructions. We’ll carry it all out. You can relax.”

“That’s exactly what my uncles want. For me to slack off. They’ll summon the council and want to challenge me again. I can’t afford it. “ Namjoon shook his head.” Not until the babe is born and my position as pack alpha is solidified. I can’t let them use this against me.”

Seokjin and Taehyung exchanged looks.

“Joon-ah….”

Namjoon gave both of them a tired smile.

“I’ll be fine hyung. It’s going to be okay.” He said reassuringly. “ The council’s meeting tomorrow right? I’ll try to go over these tonight.”

“Its already past sundown.” Taehyung said worriedly.

“Then I better ask the maids to keep enough oil for the lamp to last.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing here?” Namjoon blinked, staring at her like she was out of her mind and Jiah flinched. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. But the sight of him made something curl in the pit of her stomach. He looked exhausted. Like he had been up all night. She wondered if perhaps she ought to retreat. Go back to the private quarters he’d arranged for her.

No. No , you will not chicken out of this.

“ You have a council meeting, this evening. Could I come with you?.” She said softly, watching his face carefully. She tried to read his emotions, tried to look for traces of irritation or anger but all she found was a sort of hopeless resignment. Like he had stopped trying to fight whatever was bringing him down.

“Come with me….?? ” Namjoon stared at her like he wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about.

She inhaled sharply.

“Your mother told me I could go. As your mate, I’m allowed to sit in on council meetings. She told me it’s a new provision. That you were the one who had it written in. So perhaps, you should… let me come with you.”

“My mother-“ He paused, sighing. “ You don’t have to do everything my mother asks you to.”

She blinked, the words throwing her off. The truth was, she had been the one, tailing the older woman all day, trying to see what she did and how she did it. Lady Kim had merely offered to help her do her duties. She had mentioned in passing, that for centuries , mates hadn’t been granted many rights of their own. Namjoon had spent the past couple of years making a lot of amendments to pack laws and the council hadn’t taken to kindly to all of them.

“ Of course. I just thought that, as I am your mate , perhaps I should accompany you. ” It was a miracle, the way her voice came out, steady . Not at all betraying the nervousness coursing through her veins.

“Jiah…. I’m not sure.” His voice dripped with hesitation and she flinched. Oh, well, no one could blame her for not trying.

“If you don’t want me there, that’s fine.” She said quickly.” I’ll go…”

She turned around, feeling her face burn red as she quickly descended the stairs to the courtyard.

“Jiah wait!!” His voice made her still.

She turned around swiftly.

“I didn’t mean to imply that I did not want you there. I just….Council meetings aren’t short. They tend to go on for hours. Will you be alright?” He asked gently, gaze dropping surreptitiously to her middle.

It took her a minute to understand what he was even talking about.

“I… Oh.” She quickly pressed her palms to her stomach, confused. “ I mean… I may have to be excused a couple of times to relieve myself. I’ve been doing that way more often than usual.” She laughed.

Namjoon’s lips quirked in a hint of a smile and she flushed. Surely, her stern mate didn’t want to hear about her body functions? What was she even doing…

“But, yes. I wouldn’t mind sitting with you. Truly.” She said quickly.

Namjoon nodded.

“Well, then. You can come with me. It’s an hour before sundown… I’ll come fetch you myself.”

“Yes , alpha.” She said brightly, curtsying lightly and immediately feeling like a fool.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They’re called red feathers …” The healer, a middle aged woman called Selma, opened a small earthenware jar to show her the contents. Jiah peered into the jar, catching sight of a bundle of dried flowers and roots.

“These can help me…?” She asked dubiously and Selma gave a quiet chuckle.

“They help you sleep better and also help you relax. They’re good for you. You won’t feel this anxious if you take them regularly.” She said calmly.

“Oh… alright.” Jiah nodded, glancing carefully at her mother in law who was standing elsewhere, looking through an assortment of salves and tinctures. “ Can I…. is this safe for Namjoon?”

Lady Kim stilled, turning around to glance at her sharply and Jiah stiffened. God, her impulsive mouth. She wasn’t even sure why she said it. Just the whole , helps sleep better , had immediately reminded her of how tired Namjoon had looked.

“I’ve already tried to get him to drink some of it. He refuses.” Lady Kim said tiredly. “ He feels that it may affect his mental faculties”

“Auntie Selma?” A high, soft voice rang through the hut and Jiah glanced up. She went still, catching sight of Jisoo, dressed in red velvet and all of her ornate jewelry.

“Ah… Jisoo…you’re back.” Selma said cheerfully. “ How can I help you child?”

Jisoo stared at her, eyes steady and unreadable.

“I need some wild carrot seeds and ginger roots.” She said softly and Lady Kim scoffed.

“I hope the man you’re taking into your bed is not who I think it is , Jisoo.” She growled. The younger woman merely bowed.

“I’m but a courtesan, my lady. I go where I am asked to.” She said softly.

Lady Kim sighed.

“Then perhaps you should go back home. Now.” She said sharply and jisoo flushed and ugly red.

“Your son wants me to visit him for tea , this evening. I was hoping to meet my lovely lady there…but I hear you no longer stay in his hut.” Jisoo turned to her, tone dripping with acid and Jiah swallowed nervously.

“I… I’m…” She couldn’t quite talk, much less think of something to say.

“Because she is with child.” Lady Kim said sharply, a hint of triumph in her tone. “ Namjoon’s child.”

Jisoo had gone paper white, her face pale and bloodless.

“What?” She whispered.

“It’s true. She carries my son’s heir. You know what that means, Jisoo. It means they are bound, for life. I like you. I respect your courage and admire your talents. You are beautiful and you deserve a mate of your own. Do not pursue my son.” Lady Kim said firmly.

Jisoo didn’t respond for a few seconds.

And then she bowed again .

“Like I said, my lady. I only go where I am called.” She said quietly.

She turned on her heels, stalking away and Jiah could only stare after her, heart pounding a bit at what had just happened. She wasn’t sure why she felt so much disquiet. She’d never had high hopes of fidelity from Namjoon. The entire village knew that Jisoo had been his paramour. But now that she had seen how dismissive the younger girl was of her, she felt the unaccountable urge to fight back. To stake her claim.

“You look pretty upset. Don’t let her bother you. Namjoon will not break his vows.” Lady Kim said quietly and Jiah gave her a soft smile, although her heart still raced. She remembered how pretty the girl had looked in all her brocades and velvets. She stared down at her own murky yellow dress. She couldn’t go to the council meeting, dressed worse than a courtesan. Couldn’t embarrass Namjoon like that.

“ My Lady….” She turned to her mother in law. The older woman hummed, returning to examining the shelves.

“What is it, child?”

“Can we stop at the seamstress’ hut on our way back?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whatever Namjoon had been expecting, as he knocked on his wife’s private quarters, it hadn’t been this.

He stared , or to be more accurate, gaped at his wife, completely thrown by her appearance.

She looked…. Cheerful.

That was the only word he could think of, taking in the warm yellow and green fabric of her gown, all with an abundance of ribbons and lace. She had also clearly made some effort to tame her hair.

Not a very successfully attempt, considering the dozen strands sticking out of her bun and curling over her bare neck and shoulders …..but an attempt nonetheless.

Which reminded him.

Why was her neck bare?

“I…. have you forgotten… part of your dress…?” He asked awkwardly, gaze trained on the pale, blemish less expanse of skin in front of him. Too much of it was on display he felt.

“Oh?” Jiah twirled about for a second, glancing at herself. “ Not at all, my alpha. This is how it is.”

Namjoon blinked.

“Right… the night is getting colder. Perhaps a shawl?” He suggested tactfully.

Jiah frowned, sticking a hand out of the door as though to the gauge the night air.

“Really? Feels quite warm to me.” She said thoughtfully.

“It may be cold for the baby.” He said quickly and that made her pause. She glanced back down at her tummy and he wondered what she expected to see, every time she did that.

“Perhaps you’re right alpha….let me be back.” She floated back into the hut and he sighed in relief when she reappeared with a white fleece shawl over her shoulders.

“Shall we go ?” She asked quietly and he hesitated before slowly offering her his arm. She gripped it lightly, and they began the short walk to the main village square where the council usually convened.

“You… You’re better adjusted to this place now?” He asked carefully, trying to find the girl he had taken to his bed. The terrified, nervous , trembling young girl.

Jiah didn’t respond at once.

“I… I’ve been drinking some of Selma’s potions. They help.” She said quietly and he frowned.

“Potions? Potions for what?”

“They help with my nerves. I get scared easily…imagine things ….” She trailed off nervously.” I’m very anxious by nature and it gets worse in a new place. With new people.”

Namjoon considered that carefully. That made sense. Perhaps, that was why she had been so odd.

“The potions help?” He asked carefully and she nodded.

“Yes…that and your mother.”

“My mother?”

“She’s very kind to me.”

Namjoon laughed a bit at that. In all the years he has had people talking to him about his mother, the word ‘kind ‘ had never come up.

“ I’m being honest….she has helped me adapt to this place. To see how things are run. I… I don’t want to be a bother. I want to pull my weight. In the pack. To help in any way I can…”

Namjoon felt a sudden unaccountable fondness bloom in his chest at the innocent words.

“ That’s very virtuous of you.” He said seriously and she flushed.

They didn’t say anything else, continuing the rest of the path in companionable silence Namjoon spotted the seven council members gathered around a blazing fire and lightly stepped closer to her.

“You can stay close to me. You don’t have to answer them. If they try to draw you into any controversial topic, just ignore them. I’ll handle it.” He said quickly.

Jiah gave him a wide eyed, nervous look but nodded quickly, fingers moving from his forearm to his palm , linking with his own and gripping tight.

“I’m here. You’re not alone.” She said quickly and it was ridiculous, how the words actually helped him relax just a little.

Taking a deep breath, he led her on to the meeting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : i thinks its about time i accepted that this is a full blown fic and not just a drabble. fuck my life.

Note : Red feathers are actually herbal medicines used as anti depressants. So this is just werewolf au equivalent of therapy.

#namjoon au #namjoon werewolf au #bts werewolf au #alpha namjoon #namjoon smut #bts smut #bts au #bts fics #bts fanfics

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duskandstarlight · 4 years ago

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 26)

Notes: Enjoy! And let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list...

Chapter 26 Nesta

Solstice approached with terrifying speed. Somehow, Azriel managed to carve out time in what Nesta imagined to be a busy schedule to oversee her training when she was in Windhaven. Nesta did not know if that was simply because Rhysand did not want to hold true to his promise to train her himself, or if the Shadowsinger was doing them all a favour by keeping the two of them separate for a little longer.

Nesta could not say that she was disappointed. Whilst there had been a slight shift in the air between them, Nesta was not deluded enough to think that her sister’s arrogant mate had found it in himself to let go of the grudge he so obviously held against her. From the moment they had met in the Human Realm, Nesta had sensed his disdain and simmering anger towards her. Had dissected what he thought was a flawless exterior as something too careful, too polite. It had not quite been as if he was treading on eggshells, but as if he was having to use all of his power to reign in his own temper.

Yet, to Elain... that resentment and hatred had faded into acceptance and forgiveness over time. The same could not be said for he and Nesta. Even though it had been she who had fought and sacrificed her life in the war. Even though she had saved Cassian from the Cauldron’s blast. And even though it had been she who had killed the King, tracked the Cauldron and acted as Emissary, Feyre’s mate had been unable to hide the anger that Nesta had allowed her sister to provide for them when they were young.

So, Nesta had made it worse, testing the waters of that night eternal power to see how far she could go until he snapped completely. If their High Lord wasn’t going to bother to try and see the effort Nesta had made, then she would make life hell for him when she started to drown. She spent his coffers, banished her sisters and wrapped her words in thorns of steel. For some, it was not unlike the work of a petulant child desperate for a reaction. For Nesta, it was a method of slow, numbing destruction until she became nothing but a husk. It had been far more dangerous and much deadlier then any of them had imagined, and now Nesta was out of the other side, she understood why Cassian had look so ravaged when he had searched her face and assaulted her with words that should have been like spears to the heart but never hit home.

Even so, Rhys’s hatred of Nesta was a punishment she believed was deserved. Nesta knew that. And she would not take job offerings which were given out of loving duty and obligation to one’s mate. Nesta would only work for a court she did not view as hers if it was because she had worth and use. If she was needed rather than an irritant one wanted to banish.

This time had been different. The Illyrian cause was greater than the shattered pride Nesta would endure by assisting someone she did not want to be around. And Nesta had vowed to step out of the past and into the present. Had decided she would try with her sisters and start to rebuild who she wanted to be. Nesta did not want to be someone who selfishly stood on the sidelines whilst others suffered. It was true that she had been a victim and made others a victim of her trauma, but she was done weighing up old grievances and her many errors. She would bite her tongue and step forward into the present. And if that meant learning to be civil then Nesta would do it for the females and for Cassian, who she could not bear to make life harder for.

To think that Nesta might cause him to ache made it hard to breathe. So, should the situation demand it, Nesta had decided she would rise above it. She was strong. She was resilient. She was powerful.

She would protect and heal.

Nesta supposed her goals were the same as the rest of the Inner Circle, after all.

When it came to mastering her ability to read others emotions, Nesta found the power now came to her as easy as breathing. With the acceptance of her magic - the understanding that it was part of who she was and who she wanted to be - Nesta found it far easier to lower her walls.

Identifying and concentrating on one target was where she had difficulty, but in the end, even Azriel gave more and more praise in that solemn, cold way of his rather than constructive criticism.

“It’s all down to practice now,” the Shadowsinger had told Nesta after their last training session, as they walked through the camp back to the bungalow. “You know how to do it. It’s just a matter of tuning out the unwanted emotions of others and focussing on those that matter.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Nesta had replied, biting back a grimace. Sometimes she found the background ‘noise’ so overwhelming she wanted to vomit.

“It’s nothing you can’t master,” Azriel replied dismissively, in the way that Nesta had learnt to be a compliment. “As long as you hold on to something as a tether - something to ground you that will always pull you back and stop you from becoming overwhelmed - you will be fine.”

Nesta had glanced sideways at the Shadowsinger as they stepped up to the backdoor of the bungalow. Azriel often stayed for dinner after their training sessions, and Nesta found that she did not mind him joining she and Cassian’s shared space, mainly because it gave her the opportunity to witness the brothers relationship up close.

Whilst Cassian and Azriel might not have been related by blood, their interactions were bound in a way that melded them by flesh and bone regardless. And to Nesta’s surprise, she found that in a smaller group the Shadowsinger was not so quiet. He had a dry wit about him that often had Nesta biting back a smirk, especially as it was usually directed at Cassian, who would either gape in surprise or let out an unabashed bark of laughter that was so lovely it made Nesta want to both stare and look away.

“Do you have a tether?” Nesta asked Azriel curiously as she held her palm to the door. It was a blunt question that she only dared ask because she had no doubt that Azriel would swiftly cut her down if he did not want to answer.

“Of course,” Azriel replied as they stepped into the kitchen.

Cassian was by the sink, the sleeves of his tunic pushed up to his elbows as he washed some grains under the tap. He dared to wink at her as she entered, but he didn’t offer any other formal greeting.

Her blood heated and she ducked down to untie the laces on her boots.

“What is it?” She demanded.

Ariel had already made quick work of his boots, but he flung his wings out of the door to rid them of melted snowflakes. “What’s yours?” he had countered in that chilled way of his, knowing that she would not dare tell him. Would not tell anyone.

So, she had merely snorted in response, quickly disappearing in search of a hot shower before either of them could guess what she was thinking, dare her mask slip and render her readable.

On Solstice morning, Nesta found herself naturally rising with the dawn, even though Cassian had told her that it was the one day of the year that Illyrian’s did not train. Crawling out of bed to open the curtains, Nesta had sat in the window seat to stare out at the ethereal, low mists that shrouded the mountain pass and horizon in moving fog. Not for the first time, she wished she were already halfway up the mountainside; a part of the natural scenery rather than separated by glass, so she could see unhindered, the dusky streaks of colour painted across the sky and the yellow strip of light that signalled the sun was ready to start the day.

Nesta was first to breakfast. Cassian had been in Velaris the evening before and Nesta had not been awake to see him arrive back in Windhaven. He smelt distinctly of stale alcohol as he joined her in the kitchen, dressed in a pair of low slung pants and nothing else but wild hair and endless tan skin licked with ink that made her skin itch.

Sleepily, Cassian batted Nesta away from the stove as if she were an irritating fly, but she only hissed at him with such malice that he barked a hoarse laugh. When she thumped a mug of coffee by his side moments later, she did it with much more force than she usually mustered so early in the morning, and she caught his features soften for a fraction of a second, before he made himself busy at the stove.

They ate eggs and smoked salmon on toasted rye in relative silence, and Nesta watched Cassian proceed to eat two ginormous portions with a mixture of disgust and awe.

When Nesta loftily gave in to the temptation and asked Cassian whether he had considered saving himself for the Solstice feast, he had just snorted and told her that he was stretching his stomach. After that, Nesta was certain that he ate a third portion just to spite her, but even she couldn’t help but slide another piece of smoked salmon onto her plate, much to her chagrin when Cassian’s eyes glinted triumphant.

It was an hour later when a knock sounded at her bedroom door. Nesta was in the process of pinning her hair with the golden leaf pin Elain had sent her all those weeks ago, and she answered the door with one hand whilst the other held her hair in place.

“Are you ready?” Cassian asked as soon as the door opened.

For once, he was not leaning against the doorframe, but standing upright in a wide stance which highlighted just how broad and tell he was.

There was a look of impatience on his face, but Nesta paid it no heed and took a moment to survey how different he looked from usual. Today’s festivities had turned him out in dark pants and a shirt, the collar of which sat just below ink which whorled up the right side of his neck, stopping a few inches below his ear. The clothing made him appear the most human Nesta had ever seen him, if it had not been for the apex of his huge wings which he was holding high behind him.

As if they sensed her attention, his wings flexed in a movement that usually told Nesta that Cassian was either uncomfortable or nervous. They spread wide enough for Nesta to notice how magnificently they shone, as if they had been thoroughly scrubbed and cleaned for the occasion. Even Cassian’s hair gleamed, as if he had run a brush through it before it had scraped it back into a loose bun.

He looked unforgivably, heart-stoppingly handsome, not that Nesta would ever admit it out loud.

Ignoring the unusually apprehensive expression on his face, Nesta frowned and secured the pin at the back of her head. “Am I late?”

She had thought she had given herself plenty of time to get ready, but her half coronet had taken longer than usual. It appeared that three months of only wearing a simple plait had her out of practice. At least she had worn a loose braid overnight, which meant that her hair already hung in soft waves down her back. She knew that the Night Court dressed up on Solstice, and Nesta liked Lorrian and Frawley enough that she did not want to offend them.

Nesta had stayed with them twice since the kerit attack at Windhaven, where she had spent her days learning the art of the bow with Lorrian and practicing her healing powers with Frawley.

And the bow… Nesta loved it. It felt right in her hands, the way her muscles strained and trembled as she pulled back the string. Cassian and Lorrian had her working hard on her upper arm strength to the point that they felt constantly sore, but she did not care. Lorrian and Frawley had even taught her how to fly on Caerleon, with Lorrian insisting that when she was more able, they could practice shooting a moving target. Nesta had the sneaking suspicion that both of them had quickly realised that she hungered for the skies, but she did not mind that they had read her so easily. Being on the back of Caerleon, her fingers buried deep in the mane at his neck, was the most liberated Nesta had ever felt, to the point that she had laughed when the manticore had sent her into a nose dive and the wind had howled so fast around them that Nesta and Caer had become a part of the element rather than separate from it.

When Nesta had not been training with Lorrian, Frawley was teaching her how to harness her healing power. The witch had Nesta look inwards to her two strands of her magic, until Nesta could pick them apart with ease, summoning either silver or white at her palms. When she had mastered that, Frawley had plucked flower after flower from the forest floor, had them wither in her open palm and ordered Nesta to bring them back to life.

It wasn’t so much bringing things back from the brink of death that Nesta struggled with, rather it was knowing when to stop. The key, Frawley had told Nesta, was to constantly observe the patient as she healed. To understand what injuries were fresh and required immediate life-saving attention and what was old enough to be left well alone. The former always shone with a pressing light when Nesta’s magic passed over it, whereas the latter took on a dull, shadowy quality. There was also the matter that Nesta’s power reserves could swell to unprecedented levels, of which the bottom was determined by the energy she had sequestered.

The solution, Frawley had told Nesta, was to know what her reserves felt like, so that when her magic started to give out Nesta would know to stop.

That had been easier said than done, and it had taken Nesta hours to reach into herself and travel down, down, down to scrape the bottom of her own power.

“You will know when you reach it,” Frawley had only told Nesta with an infuriatingly mysterious air that had Nesta wanting to snarl.

But she had. It tasted like the last, bitter dregs of tea and metallic blood. It felt wrong and life threatening, enough for Nesta to pull away so sharply that Frawley had patted a shaking Nesta on the shoulder and passed her a steaming mug of energising tea.

But what Nesta hadn’t told Frawley was that she didn’t just sense white and silver when she looked within herself, but something else. Something hidden behind a veiled curtain which she couldn’t quite touch. A terrified part of Nesta wondered if it was the chunk of the Cauldron she had taken. The piece of inky black which sung of darkness and terror. Nesta had not found the words to ask Frawley about it. Was too scared about what it meant. That perhaps there was something rotting inside of her that would taint her soul and those around her.

It sung to her, the veil. It whispered reverently when she brushed against it. Her name over and over: Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

She had stayed well away from it, after that, but sometimes she heard it whisper softly, the sensation like her power turning over in her veins.

Like now, as Cassian stared at her rather than reply, his hazel eyes darkening as his pupils widened and pressed against his irises.

Nesta tried and failed not to feel self-conscious. She smoothed down her midnight blue dress and walked past him, her back straight.

“You’ll need to shield my hair,” Nesta clipped, as she headed to the hooks by the door and slipped on her coat.

When she turned, Cassian was still staring at her with something that Nesta almost wished was longing.

She wanted to bite her lip, but she wouldn’t allow herself to do it. “Aren’t we going to be late?” she clipped.

Slowly, Cassian blinked. Then, his gaze dropped to her feet. “Are you going to wear those shoes?”

Nesta scowled. “Yes.”

“They’re not practical for flying.”

“I’m not flying, I’m being carried. And is it not custom to dress nicely for Solstice?”

She stiffened as those sharp eyes dragged over her body with such intensity Nesta felt as if her skin were entirely bare.

“It is custom,” Cassian agreed eventually, his voice so impossibly low she felt it rumble through her bones. Even as there was a bite to his words that suggested he was holding something back.

Perhaps how she had not bothered the year prior.

Nesta nodded as if to indicate that the matter was settled and wound a scarf around her neck. “Don’t set me down in any mud or snow and I won’t find it in myself to set you on fire.”

A derisive snort but no jab or jest as he opened the front door. Cassian stepped onto the concrete step just beyond the threshold and with a flare of his siphons, light-weight armour clicked into place scale by scale over his dark clothes, the action like a ripple of water.

He held out his hand to her. Nesta glared at him but squeezed onto the step beside him. His hands wrapped around her, gathering her to his impossibly warm body and the steady, reliable beating of his heart. He smelt wonderful — of woodland and bracing blue sky which sung Illyria. Begrudgingly, Nesta held on to him, absorbing herself even more in his scent as he shot them into the sky.

They travelled in silence for a long while, Cassian unnervingly quiet. Usually it was he who struck up conversation and Nesta found it disconcerting to be yearning to speak with him rather than the other way around.

She twisted her head up to look at him: the dark eyebrows that always made his hazel eyes stand out so brilliantly; the tan, freshly shaved face which took the ruggedness out of his features; the ebony hair pulled back into a casual bun that she had come to favour on him.

To his credit, Cassian had listened to her about her own hair, casting a shield that was void of the gentle breeze he usually allowed to filter through. Instead, Nesta was warm, the

gentle pulse of his siphons indicating that he was expelling his magic to alter the temperature for them both.

“You look clean,” Nesta observed, when she knew she had studied him for too long. He was deliberately not acknowledging her blatant staring. “Is this your first and only bath this year?”

Cassian snickered. “Very good, sweetheart. It’s good to see that the festivities haven’t smoothed over your sharp edges.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you,” Nesta remarked drily, watching the craggy terrain; the snow capped mountains and the stretch of pine ahead of them. “Consider it a Solstice present.”

A laugh then, soft and throaty. More like himself. “You’ll have to save that fire for the lords tomorrow, sweetheart. It is no way to speak to your beloved.”

Sharply, Nesta craned her neck up to find him smiling down at her. It was a wicked smile that Nesta suspected he had willed into existence solely to stoke her fire.

“What,” she spat. Demanded.

Cassian’s canines flashed. “Consider me your Solstice present. I’d have wrapped myself in a bow, but we were in a rush.”

Nesta glared at him with such ferocity she imagined him burning into cinders. “And when were you planning to tell me that I have to pretend that we’re...” She trailed off, suddenly at a loss to carry on.

“Dating? Courting? Fucking?” Cassian said the last word with a grin that turned feral.

Nesta snarled at him with such savagery that Cassian choked on a laugh. His hazel eyes flared amber.

“If you start smoking I’ll have to drop you,” he warned, as silver sparked from her fingertips. “And I planned on telling you now,” he admitted. There was no apology in his voice, if anything it only carried amusement and a faint layer of… something else. “I thought it best to tell you when we were suspended in midair for my safety.”

“Insufferable,” Nesta muttered under her breath, irritated that she could not let go of him and cross her arms over her chest. “Not only am I to be stuck in a room full of Illyrians, but I have to pretend to be bedding the most irritating of them all.”

“Feel free to boast about my technique to those assholes at any point,” Cassian snickered wryly, but then his playfulness dropped at his next words. Nesta suspected he’d glanced down and seen her solemn expression, “Think of it as an unpleasant few hours for the sake of finding out more information.”

“Who do you usually take?”

A beat of silence followed her demand. Then, “Nobody.”

A disbelieving frown pinched between her eyebrows. “Ever? Not even your friends?”

She craned her neck to look up at him.

“It’s partners only,” Cassian explained, but he was looking ahead of them with an intensity that told Nesta he was deliberately not meeting her eye. “I very rarely have one and never one who I think could hold their own amongst the vultures.”

Some tension bled out of Nesta. She would have thought that Mor might have accompanied him at some point. Those lines were so blurred Nesta had no idea what to make of them other than that she hated it. Would never not hate it.

The amusement had faded from Cassian’s features and a muscle ticked in his jaw. He suddenly seemed angry and Nesta didn’t know whether it was her reaction or another memory. And perhaps her reaction to pretending to court had wounded him, especially given their turbulent past. Sometimes Nesta did not know where they stood with the other. The bond strung between them made everything so complicated, so much more difficult than other narratives. To understand what was fact and fiction. Lust and love.

The thought of pretending they were together, even for two days made it difficult to breathe. It was another twist in their storyline - another complicated strand, which warped what was honest and true.

“Don’t worry, Illyrians aren’t big on public displays of affection,” Cassian assured her, breaking her out of her worrisome thoughts. His dark eyes found hers again, and they looked a little sad, as he admitted, “The males here don’t cherish females the way they should.”

It took everything in Nesta to suppress the shiver that wanted to crash over her body and remain silent. They were tiptoeing around today, using banter and sharp words to cover up what had happened last year. How she had dismissed him so brutally… so effectively. How she had heard the water splash and ripple as he threw her gift in the river. How he had followed her anyway until she lit a light in her apartment, his wings a steady beat as she sunk to the rickety, splintered floorboards utterly numb.

It was not Cassian’s cruel words from that evening that haunted her — not even hers did — but it was oddly the vulnerability in his expression as he finally let her leave that repeatedly churned in the forefront of her mind. That made her think that perhaps Cassian had been genuine. That he wasn’t embarrassed of her, even if his actions — the way he ignored her when his friends were around — insinuated that he did. That he truly had wanted her, enough to swallow his pride and follow her. To continue to flirt and fight for her, even now.

But when Nesta remembered how he had laughed as he held up the satin undershorts from Mor, red slid over her vision.

Cassian seemed to sense that displeasure, remaining silent for the duration of the journey.

Caer trotted out to meet them as soon as they landed outside Lorrian and Frawley’s, his tufted tail dancing in the shape of a question mark. Smoke billowed from the crooked chimney of the cottage and the smells that wafted towards them on the soft breeze were so divine Nesta’s stomach grumbled.

Frawley met them at the open stable door, and to Nesta’s surprise, she bent to place a swift kiss on each of Nesta’s cheeks. She was wearing another dark dress the colour of smoke, the underskirts laced with a misty tulle that shimmered beautifully in the light.

“Happy Solstice, Nesta,” Frawley said brusquely. “We’re being thrown to the wolves tomorrow so we’ll have to make today a pleasant one.”

Cassian’s laugh was low in Nesta’s ear. “If past experience is anything to go by, I’d predict that Nesta will be the wolf and they the sheep,” he corrected, as they both stepped into the warmth of the cottage.

Lorrian appeared behind Frawley as he stepped into the hallway from the living room. His chuckle was deep and delighted. “I’m looking forward to witnessing that.”

Frawley’s grin was terrifying as she levelled her gaze with Nesta’s. “Surely they do not still think you’re a witch after the kerit attack?”

“No,” Nesta said slowly, thinking of Devlon’s begrudging acceptance of her. How the Illyrians no longer looked as if they might spit at her. At the distance the males gave her, as if she were finally a threat rather than a pawn in their game. “They don’t know what I am.”

“That probably terrifies them more,” Cassian told Nesta with a devilish grin as they followed Lorrian and Frawley into the living room.

Like the rest of the house, fresh greenery had been wound into garlands around the room. Beautifully arranged teardrop swags hung beneath the faelights on the white-washed walls: bundles of pine, cones, holly and its ruby berries, ivy and honeysuckle vines.

“Mulled wine,” Frawley told Nesta, thrusting a large mug into her hand. “I’ve magicked it to remove the alcohol. It practically tastes the same. Lorrian likes it, anyway.”

“It’s the closest I’ve had to the real thing,” Lorrian told Nesta with an easy grin as he finally moved forward to greet her. He bent to kiss both of her cheeks in an air of heat laced with sandalwood, the close cut of his stubble rough against her skin. “You look beautiful, as usual,” he told her.

Nesta’s snort was a soft dismissal, but she was secretly pleased. The dress she was wearing had hung off her months ago. She’d still had Mas take it in a little, but she saw her outfit as a symbolic triumph, having finally gained back the majority of the weight she had lost so dangerously after months and months of denying herself sustenance.

“Come,” Frawley beckoned to Nesta, “I’ve put your armchair close to the fire. You’re as bad as Caerleon. Sometimes I think he’d sit on top of the hearth if he could.”

Nesta’s lips twitched but she didn’t comment. It was true that now Nesta could light fires of her own, she could enjoy sitting by the hearth without fearing that it might send her into a downward spiral. Not that Frawley hadn’t taken care of that herself the two times she had visited, and as expected, the fire was already silently eating the glowing wood that had been stacked into the grate.

At the mention of his name, Caerleon padded towards Nesta just as she took a seat in the armchair and pressed his large head into Nesta’s lap. Burying her fingers into the beast’s soft, shaggy mane with her spare hand, Nesta huffed a laugh as the manticore let out a low whine in greeting.

“How do you usually celebrate Solstice, Nesta?” Lorrian asked conversationally, as he seated himself in the twin armchair opposite her and stretched out his long legs.

Nesta didn’t have to glance at Cassian from where he had settled on the low-back couch to know that his expression had turned tight. She felt the trepidation in her stomach. The more and more she dropped her emotional guard, the more keenly she felt him, even through the shield of fire he had resurrected around himself.

“Solstice isn't celebrated in the Human Realm,” Nesta replied in a way that she hoped came across as unaffected.

“Of course it isn’t,” Frawley interjected, glaring at her husband with an intensity Nesta was glad she was not on the receiving end of.

“Well, the good thing about Solstice is the food,” Lorrian told Nesta with an easy grin. “If you need a motivation to start celebrating it.”

Nesta harrumphed in the back of her throat. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“Speaking of food...” Cassian started hopefully.

Frawley rolled her eyes but dumped a plate of pastries unceremoniously into the warrior’s lap. “Lorrian made these solely to tide you over until dinner.” She tutted as Cassian began to tuck in with gusto. “I’ve never witnessed anybody eat so much and I live with an Illyrian. Did you train this morning?”

“No,” Cassian said around a mouthful of pie. His voice was incredulous — offended, even. “It’s Solstice, witch, or have you forgotten in your old age?”

“I would not put it past you to train three hundred and sixty-five days of the year,” Frawley snapped in retort, “for fear that one day off would have those muscles of yours shrinking.”

When Frawley’s ice blue eye rested on Nesta, it was not sparking with anger but amusement, even as her face remained impassive. She and Cassian often bantered like this; with Frawley seemingly infuriated and Cassian prodding insults. “Am I wrong, Nesta?”

Nesta did not try to fight the slight curve of her lips, she was too amused by Cassian’s mouth which had gone slack. Thankfully, it wasn’t full of food. “No, he preens and puffs like a rooster.”

Lorrian threw his head back and laughed. Frawley snorted with delight. Grinning, Cassian stood to offer Nesta a mince pie with twinkling eyes.

Surprised, Nesta cocked a challenging eyebrow at him.

What she had said wasn’t true. Cassian’s physique was all to do with being a cut above the rest. He trained with an intensity that sung of a determination to prove that he was worthy. He allowed his body to become battered and bloody, his knuckles bruised and his hands calloused. He wore scars as if they were armour… as if they were akin to the black tattoos that licked up his body. Symbols of luck and glory and proof that he would endure, above all else.

So much of Cassian was worn on the surface if you chose to look.

And she certainly wasn’t complaining about his figure. Even if just staring at the corded muscles of his body made her fill with a liquid heat that both embarrassed and thrilled her… She had wondered on more than one occasion what it might feel like to straddle the vast width of him… to allow her fingernails to bite into his sizeable shoulders as she sank down onto him. The way he’d groan, the sound guttural in the depths of his throat. She had dreamt about it more times than she’d like to admit. She knew what it felt like to have his phantom lips bruise her skin and his teeth scrape at her pulse point. Knew what it felt like for that relentless drive to hound her blood, each throb of her veins pulling her towards him.

But if her blood was desire, her mind was logic and she knew why she felt like that. Why he felt like it too, sometimes.

So she kept her ribcage close around her heart. It was a shield rendered with gaps but it worked just fine if she fortified it with ice.

Those glowing amber eyes did not leave hers as she took a sweet pastry dusted with sugar from the plate. For a terrified moment, Nesta thought that he knew what she had been thinking, but then he turned to Frawley and said with such casualness it took her a moment for the words to sink in, “Not all of us can look as effortlessly devastating as Nesta.”

Cassian didn’t look at her for a while, after that.

The day was not like the previous Solstice: full of gifts and banter that she was not a part of. Nesta did not spend her time shying away in the corner for fear that the fire would make her power finally roar.

There was food. Lots of variety without being excessive. Roast meat, potatoes and steamed vegetables. Battered savoury pudding, gravy and pigs in blankets. Nesta ate more than she usually would, each dish so delicious she could not help what she piled onto her plate until she was practically bursting at the seams.

Afterwards, Nesta helped Frawley to carry the dirty dishes back to the kitchen. Lorrian had done the majority of the cooking and Frawley had woefully admitted that meant it was her job to clean up. Nesta had risen without thinking and in a blink of an eye she had her hands submerged in water and bubbles.

Frawley was telling Nesta that it was she and Lorrian’s anniversary the day before Solstice. That they had decided to become chroi on that day many years ago, and had the magic seal their intents a few hours later.

Despite Frawley’s fierce edges, the witch softened when she spoke of her husband in a way that told Nesta that the love ran deep. Not that Nesta couldn’t see that plainly before her whenever the two were in a room. They had a way of moving together that was completely at ease: respectful and kind and pure and accepting.

It made Nesta hungry for the love she had read about in her books. But she knew better than to believe she was deserving of it.

“How did you know Lorrian was the one?” Nesta asked curiously, as Frawley detailed how they had decided to intertwine their lives the same day in front of the other witches.

Taking a plate from Nesta, Frawley began to dry it with a seriousness that told Nesta that she was thinking hard. “I’ve lived a long life,” Frawley said eventually. “After a while, night and day become repetitive. Boring. I didn’t realise I’d fallen into a rut until I met Lorrian. He made me feel alive again.” She shrugged, the action unlike Frawley as she pinned Nesta with both her eyes. “And Caer liked him. Caer has always been an extension of me in some ways, so I knew that Lorrian was right. We fit like two puzzle pieces. We didn’t try to change who we were for the other, but our love made us happier, more content, even in the face of great challenges.”

Nesta wondered if Frawley was referring to their lost witchlings as well as Lorrian’s arm. She could not imagine losing something so precious. The thought made her heart ache with such intensity she wanted to run away for a moment, before she reminded herself that emotion was part of life. It was better than being numb.

Nesta wanted to see the world in colour, not in black and white. Training with Azriel had taught her that.

“It must be nice,” Nesta observed after a moment, “to know you both chose one another. That you had a choice.”

Both eyes swivelled to rest on Nesta’s face. The effect was alarming. Nesta was used to them moving independently rather than together. “Everyone has a choice in love, Nesta.”

Nesta opened her mouth to speak but then Lorrian and Cassian entered the kitchen laden with more dirty dishes. Lorrian mentioned a dessert he needed to take out of the larder and Frawley turned to help him.

Whilst Nesta’s stomach was full in a way that was uncomfortable, her ears perked up at the thought of something sweet, as if it would cut through her savoury food coma.

“I have something I’d like to show you,” Cassian said into Nesta’s ear, as Frawley batted away her husband with a tea towel. He was trying to take the pudding she was carrying from her. “Will you come with me?”

Nesta cast a look at Lorrian and Frawley, but they were still both fussing over the Christmas pudding to notice them. So she nodded and followed him out the back door and into the crisp night air. Already a layer of frost dusted the greenery on the forest floor and pine needles, but Cassian quickly cast a bubble of warmth around them. It had not snowed, a rarity for this time of year Cassian had told her earlier, especially in Illyria which was usually deep in blankets of snow by now.

Gesturing to the outbuilding to the left of the cottage, Cassian walked ahead of her, his large wings bobbing behind him as he moved. They flared slightly as he slid open the huge wooden door, before quickly tucking themselves back in, no doubt to protect them from the bitter cold wind which was doing its best to cut through his shield.

It took Nesta’s eyes a fraction of a second to adjust to the darkness, her Fae eyes gifting her with far better sight than her human body ever had.

She stared around the barn — the bails of hay, the wooden rafters…

She twisted to look up at Cassian, a frown on her face. “What am I looking at?

“There," Cassian said with a jut of his chin. Nesta followed the direction he had pointed in and then her eyes went wide.

There, on a makeshift bed of hay was a manticore. It was not like Caer. There was no orange mane, only beautiful sandy fur and a handsome, elegant head, large ears and huge, almond eyes. Her leathery wings were smaller than Caer’s but in proportion to her body and tucked in tight.

Her amber eyes glowed in the dark, that regal head cocking as her gaze clicked into place with Nesta’s. That one look had Nesta’s heart thumping in her chest. It was not from fear, but utter awe.

“Do you know the associations surrounding manticores?” Cassian asked. His voice was low in her ear. Intimate.

Frowning, Nesta dragged her eyes away from the manticore with regret. “They are an apex predator known to devour their prey whole,” Nesta said, reciting what she had been told since she was young. “They are vicious and deadly and cannot be overcome by man.”

But even as she said the words, Nesta knew them not to be true, because she knew Caer. Knew his empathetic heart and the way he had comforted her when she was sad. “Obviously, that’s another human myth that holds no truth,” she finished with a lift to her chin, daring him to laugh.

But Cassian did not mock her, he only nodded. “Yes. Manticores are ruthless creatures and because of their ability to kill with such ease they have been labelled as bringing strife and suffering to the world. But that is not true. Manticores are rare and hard to come by because they are born from the blood of true sacrifice.”

Nesta wondered what Frawley had done to earn Caer’s loyalty. For him to serve her above all others. From what Cassian had told her, Caerleon had been with Frawley for so long even history could not pinpoint an exact date.

“Rhys found this manticore in the spot where you healed Mas.”

A long, long silence. “Frawley took her back to The Steppes to raise her. Manticores grow incredibly quickly, as you can see, but are incredibly vulnerable when they are young, largely because their wings are not fully developed. Fae and humans alike also have a nasty habit of trying to kill young manticores as it is when they are at their weakest. They try to damage their tails so they cannot take life from range and injure their wings so they never develop.

The thought made Nesta’s stomach roll. To harm something so beautiful and pure.

“Sala is only two weeks but she has already taken adult form. Only a fool would try to take her down now.”

“If manticores are so deadly, why isn’t she trying to kill us?” Nesta breathed, her gaze again connecting with the beast’s.

“Because we believe that she is yours, if you want her.”

“She’s mine?” Nesta asked sharply, too surprised to arrange her expression into one of indifference. “How do you know?”

At the words, the manticore raised her beautiful, beautiful head. Golden eyes settled on Nesta as leathery wings unfurled from the beast’s back — stretching — as if she had woken from a long sleep. She rose until she was on her haunches and then her four huge paws.

The beast padded towards them, her hips slinking, her head low and assessing. Yet none of it was threatening. Instead, Nesta only felt a rush of calm as the manticore moved towards them. She stopped in front of Nesta, so close that Nesta could feel the warmth of her breath on her skin, could see that close up the shimmer of gold in Sala’s eyes, the dotted muzzle and the long, pointed incisors.

And then, the beast hopped up onto her haunches, her impossibly large paws coming to rest on Nesta’s shoulders. Despite the enormity of the animal, Nesta remained grounded without having to brace herself. Mesmerising gold filled her vision. It was an ancient, omniscient stare that sung of wisdom and knowledge, of years lived and lived and lived.

And then Nesta saw herself: a reflection of silver-grey; of elegantly pointed ears; of pale skin and pink lips; as if she had become a part of the beast, their lives entangled. Bowing her large head, the manticore closed the distance between them and rubbed her forehead against Nesta’s.

The action was gentle — a familial caress — and when the beast was done, she kept her head against Nesta’s, the gesture solicitous and binding. They breathed together, their chests moving at the same time, and Nesta revelled in the softness of Sala’s fur and the affection that laced the movement. The implication behind it.

“A manticore chooses an owner it deems worthy. Someone pure of heart.”

Cassian’s voice was a low rumble as Sala dropped to all fours. When Nesta twisted around to look at him she found him leaning against the barn, as if he had stepped away to give she and Sala space. His smile was crooked and so beautiful Nesta wanted to touch it; to trace the lines of his mouth where it curved upwards. But most of all, to draw the lines that creased around his eyes that softened the wildness of his features.

“The tuft of her tail is made of silver fire, which is also a giveaway,” Cassian mused, his hazel eyes glowing with what Nesta dissected as amusement. Had she been staring at him a little too long? “Manticores take on elements of their partner.”

Nesta hadn’t even noticed Sala’s tail, but now she could see the trail of silver flame as the tip flicked slowly from side to side in the dark.

The ice that protected everything creaked and cracked at the sight.

Nesta let it. She wanted to refute it — to tell Cassian that he was wrong and Sala wasn’t hers — but the moment Sala had rested her heads on hers, she knew that they were bound together. The manticore made her blood sing, as if their paths were irrevocably entangled in such a beautiful way that Nesta daren’t question it. It was a similar feeling she had encountered when Cassian had delivered the letter in the Human Realm; that compelling pull of destiny.

After the war, Nesta had thought they were done. That she and Cassian had made history and were now travelling on parallel paths of a forked road. But now she was not so sure. She had not been sure for a while now.

“And what if I were of bad intention?” Nesta asked, smoothing her palm over the manticore’s head. The fur was as soft as the finest silk; the touch so divine that Nesta wanted to bury her face in the beast’s ruff and breathe her in again.

A frown worried itself onto Cassian’s expression. Nesta pushed it to the periphery, keeping her attention focussed on Sala.

Nesta had thought revenge would be sweet. Thought that killing the King would have rendered her new and swept away all of the regrets and the pain of the past, but it had only set a deep fear within her. What if her palms only sung death and destruction? What if she was evil and cruel and a thorn in the side of everyone she met? What if she was bloodthirsty and she would not stop until she had quenched that thirst?

But when she had dropped to her knees in front of Mas, Nesta had felt a different hum of power; a magic that had been pushed down and quieted but was wholly good. And as Nesta had forged herself anew, she realised that her magic had presented her with a choice. She could be death if she wished. She could cause destruction and wreak havoc but she could also protect and heal. And whilst Nesta had decided who she was, the knowledge that she had the ability to take away life as she pleased still terrified her. The kerits were different. They were not Fae or human. They did not look like her, did not think like her, did not have conscious thought. Their heads did not tumble right, and whilst life disappeared from the depth of their eyes, it was not akin to the way her father’s eyes had faded, his very being sputtering out until there was only vacant emptiness.

Nesta did not want to take life. Not unless she had to.

She was not a killer.

Scar-flecked fingers tilted her chin and urged her to look upwards. Nesta had not heard him move, but she registered his warmth and saw his earnest expression as she stared up into Cassian’s tan face.

“You are not of bad intention,” Cassian said, as if he somehow could sense her self-deprecating thoughts. His voice had dropped; the tone soft, like a brush stroking tenderly against a canvas.

“What would happen?” Nesta insisted. She needed to know. Needed to understand as surely as she needed to understand that she would wake tomorrow and he would still be there; her steady presence.

“Then Sala would disappear into the ether, as it were. An allegiance can be changed, after all. Manticores are highly intelligent creatures.”

Nesta did not know what to say. Yet, whilst she had no words, she knew with a fierce conviction that she would not allow herself to lose Sala. This beast… she was a gift. Sala was the first true blessing that Nesta had been granted in a life that had only been bleak and cruel.

Sala was hers just as she would be the beast’s. A companion in the grey of her life. Another flicker of light in the dark.

“I thought she would give you more freedom around the camps.”

Nesta blinked. Cassian had dropped his hand but remained close to her. His warmth seeped through her clothing, the sensation welcome in the shadows of the barn. Sometimes Nesta felt as if his warmth was directed solely to heat her limbs.

“I know you must feel limited in where you can go,” Cassian elaborated, stretching his wings slightly. He kept the one closest to her outstretched; a barrier against the cold.

To Nesta’s surprise, Cassian’s cheeks stained a faint pink and he looked away. “I can’t imagine being in Windhaven and not being able to fly,” he confessed. “Sala can carry you about if you want to taste the wind. She can also fight alongside you should you ever need it, both on ground and in the skies.” Another crooked smile as those dark eyes rested back on her, as if he were making himself do it. It nearly knocked the breath from her lungs, the vulnerability in his expression. “She’s not a steed, but perhaps she will become a close second.”

Nesta didn’t know what to do with her body. She felt self-conscious beyond belief, thrown completely by the repeated offering — of freedom. Cassian knew of her growing love of flying. He had truly listened when she confessed that the air rushing around her made her feel alive. That she hungered for it — desperate to gobble up the adrenaline that for the short time, made her feel awake. The rush was akin to an orgasm; the sensation of hot, silky skin sliding against hers as the wave crested and shattered on the shore. Better in some ways. Healthier. More attainable.

Even though words flashed through her mind, Nesta only asked, “Sala?”

Cassian’s lips turned up at the corners as if he were accessing a memory. “It means fire in Illyrian. A temporary name should you wish to call her something else. Although she is rather attached to it, as you can see.”

Indeed, the manticore’s round honey-coloured ears had pricked forward at the sound of her name. She tilted her head slightly at Cassian, as if she were waiting for him to give her a command.

Nesta bent to scratch behind Sala’s ears.

“But where will she stay?”

It seemed a stupid question to ask, but the words blurted forth anyway.

Cassian shrugged but the gesture appeared relieved. Had he thought she would turn Sala away? He must have asked Frawley to keep the manticore secret so he could show her the beast himself. “She can come into the bungalow if she likes. Manticores are needy creatures who bond fast to their chosen companion. She’ll like to exercise and hunt, but she’ll always want to come home to you. It is in her instincts to protect and serve.”

Silence fell. Nesta brushed her knuckles across the beast’s muzzle, just as she’d seen Frawley do with Caer. Sala’s purr was loud and she dropped to the ground as if she were in heaven, rolling onto her back and stretching her legs out.

Nesta mouth widened into an unstoppable smile at the sight — of the open display of trust and affection which Nesta found so difficult — and squatted down beside the manticore to ruffle her ears.

“Do you like her?”

Cassian’s words caught her, reminding her that he was watching her. His eyes were soft and wide when she twisted to look up at him. The faint ghost of a smile was still hovering on her lips.

“Yes,” she said, in a way that she hoped didn’t come out stiffly. “Very much.” Then she frowned. “What if I’m made to go back to Velaris.”

It was a possibility Nesta couldn’t cast from her mind. Even though Feyre had insisted Nesta could leave Illyria should she want to, Nesta could not help but fear that some event would call her back to their City of Starlight before she chose it herself. That her involvement in court matters would demand her presence.

Cassian’s expression hardened, showing a hint of the warrior she had been privy to earlier. “I promise you don’t have to go back there if you don’t want to.”

“But what if—"

“I don’t care if it’s demanded of you, Nesta. You never have to go back if you don’t want to.”

The way Cassian spoke was short and dark… and troubled. He truly meant it.

Another creak reverberated in Nesta’s ears as ice tumbled from a glacier. Cassian’s words had reminded her of what she needed to do — what Nesta had known for a while but did not want to admit. It was another path that had been cleared of vines and brambles, but remained laced with thorns. It was not an easy route, but it was what she had chosen. “I do want to go back.”

Everything stilled. The air went taut around them and Cassian’s angry expression shifted into something else entirely.

Nesta watched him open and close his mouth, the movement small but enough to indicate that she had stunned him. Eventually he said, “Ok.”

Another long, long pause. She watched him swallow, the column of his throat moving up and then down as he looked away. “We can move you back, if that’s what you want.”

Arrows formed between her brows as she frowned. Did he think…?

Stupid bat.

“I have no intention of moving back there permanently,” she clipped. “I have things I need to take care of. I’ll go back with you. You said you were going for New Year’s Eve.”

Again, Cassian’s lips parted. “You want to visit?” he asked with a disbelieving frown. “I’m going for a few days. I’ll return New Year’s Day.”

Dread twisted inside of her but Nesta did not let it show. Determination won out. She would not stray from her path. Her intention was bigger then her fear to return back to Velaris, to undoubtedly have to face member’s of the Inner Circle in their home — their territory. Where she had been broken and lost and so numb she could not remember the year that had slid by in a roll of bare flesh and the burn of alcohol.

“Yes, for a visit,” she confirmed. Then, she added, “As long as I don’t have to stay in that wretched new house.”

Cassian looked away from her. “Your apartment is still there.”

Worrying her lip between her teeth, Nesta thought of that cold and dirty apartment with its four locks on the door. She had never felt safe there. And it was not a place for her now. A different Nesta had lived there … and Nesta was not that Fae any longer.

“Where will you stay?” she asked.

“I usually stay with Rhys and Feyre or at the House of Wind.”

“Why don’t you have your own place.”

Cassian laugh was rough and throaty and it made the hairs on her arm stand on end. “Why, would you want to stay there?”

Nesta scowled, even as she asked, “How insufferable would you be if I said yes.”

“Very insufferable,” Cassian assured her, his eyes twinkling.

“No, then,” Nesta replied … and Cassian laughed. The sound was bright and so, so delighted that she couldn’t help the twitch of her lips.

“Shall I send word ahead that you’re coming?”

Nesta shrugged. “If you like.”

A pause.

“Elain will be pleased.”

“Yes,” Nesta said tightly. Already she was starting to backtrack, the thought of heading back to Velaris too much. But then she thought about her purpose and the courage it gave her made her stand that little bit taller. Stiffer… but taller.

“How about this,” Cassian offered, as if he sensed her trepidation. “We won’t send word ahead until the night before. Then you have the night to sleep on it. If you decide you don’t want to go back, nobody is any the wiser and it means you won’t overthink things.” His expression was carefully neutral. “You could even have Sala come to meet you,” he added. “The journey would help to strengthen her wings.”

Armour. He was offering her armour amongst her fire.

Nesta loosed a slow breath and played with Sala’s soft ears. “Ok.”

Then she looked up at him, those stormy eyes suddenly clearing to blue as a small smile crept onto her face — she was still in too much disbelief to control it. “She’s really for me?”

Cassian reached a hand downwards. It hesitated in midair, but when she did not move away his thumb brushed the dimple in her cheek with such reverence something inside of her glowed hot.

“She’s all yours,” Cassian assured her, his expression so soft he looked as young as her. “We can bring her inside now if you like. We’ll have to watch Caer, he’s taken a shine to her.”

Nesta woke the next morning in the small bedroom she had been allocated at the cottage with Sala spread out on the bed beside her. The manticore’s body was deliciously warm and Nesta raised a hand to scratch behind the animal’s ears.

Already the beast was Nesta’s steadfast companion.

Sala let out a deep rumbling purr that continued to vibrate as she knocked her head gently against Nesta’s in greeting, and Nesta allowed herself a moment to rest her forehead against Sala’s, holding her close and breathing her in.

The night of festivities had bled into the early hours, and Nesta had only dragged herself to bed when her eyelids had become so heavy she could barely keep them open.

Blearily, Nesta dragged herself to join her friends for breakfast before heading back upstairs to get ready to fly to Ironcrest. She was just finishing weaving her hair into a coronet, when a knock sounded at the door.

Cassian was wearing elaborate leathers that she had not seen before. He had scraped half of his hair back into a top knot tied tightly with leather and red cloth. The rest hung to his shoulders in gleaming ebony, as if he had deigned to run a brush through his hair yet again.

Nesta considered making a comment about how he had brushed his hair two days in a row but stopped herself at the last minute. There was a tense set to his shoulders that she had not expected to see given yesterday’s festivities. She doubted it was because he was hungover. Nesta had noticed that he had not gorged himself on wine like he had the year prior, only enjoying a few glasses over the course of the day, as if he knew he needed his wits about him for the luncheon. And, she imagined, so as not to drink excessively around her. Not that she hungered for a drink, any longer. She hadn’t for a long time.

The solidity to Cassian’s frame was the sort that he used to wear when she first arrived in Velaris. It was a stance prepared for barbed words and insults, even as he feigned casual joviality. A stance ready for a fight he did not want to participate in.

Perhaps he was worried about today… That was a possibility. She had heard him tell Rhys ‘no’ when he asked them to stay the night at Ironcrest. There had been no contemplation, just fierce, adamant refusal…

Nesta had a feeling it had nothing to do with his safety but her own. And even though Nesta had her silver flames and her beginner’s training in combat, she was still the female who craved four locks on a door before she could go to sleep. The bungalow was different, it had a magical protection that Nesta had cause to doubt, but in a camp where the General and their High Lord were out of favour…

Even as her power moved restlessly beneath her skin, Nesta hoped she and Cassian were sharing a room. She would gladly pretend to be seen as a couple if it meant she would not sleep alone in a strange place. Just the thought of it made her fire want to roar, even as the thought of sleeping beside him made her want to self-combust.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Cassian bent to scratch behind Sala’s ears with a large hand. “Ready to go?”

Nesta’s eyes snagged on the chain dangling from his other hand and her magic gushed through her veins as if it were a flood.

“What’s that?” Nesta asked with a scowl.

For a moment, Nesta actually thought Cassian was going to turn on his heel and leave. A muscle feathered in his jaw, but in the end, he only stepped so close to her she almost had to take a step back to steady herself.

Sala came to sit by Nesta’s side. The manticore stared up at them with her beautiful, almond eyes that shone gold as Cassian thrust a hand out. “Here.”

Nesta stared at the silver chain that dangled from his fist and the pendant that hung from it. It was so odd to see an impossibly broad warrior holding something so delicate that Nesta wanted to laugh — the first time the sound wanted to desperately bubble out of her in his presence— but she knew to do so would be a fatal move; a wound that could not be healed. So she swallowed down the sensation and tilted her head to study the necklace instead.

She hoped that he couldn’t hear how fast her heart was beating in her chest.

When she opened her mouth to speak, Cassian swiftly changed tactic, steering her around so her back was to him. The movement was abrupt and uncontrolled, designed to stop her speaking and laced with something that Nesta thought she detected as panic.

The firm touch of his hands on her skin made everything hiss, like steam as water hit a hot pan on the stove. And once she had her back to him and the room stopped spinning, everything slowed. Hyper-aware, Nesta felt the movement of air against the arch of her neck; felt the way her body betrayed her and covered her in goosebumps as his calloused fingers brushed her neck. The pleasure at being touched coursed through her and she stiffened, suppressing the shiver that wanted to sweep her away.

She hadn’t been touched intimately in months. Hadn’t been touched tenderly ever and she found she craved for it.

The comprehension made her both sad and angry: a double-edged sword plunged into the gut.

“What do you think—” she started to snap, but she broke off as a light weight nestled on her sternum, a few inches below her clavicle.

For a moment, the stone was cool, but then it pulsed against her skin, as if it were a heart and it had been kicked into life for the first time. The pendant was a colour Nesta had never seen before - not quite gold and not quite silver. Understated but undoubtedly beautiful.

Nesta snapped her gaze up to Cassian as all seven siphons on his ornate armour glowed softly.

He was staring at her with apprehension… and he looked strangely vulnerable, as if he were ready to take a step back. As if he were about to take a hit.

Despite that, Nesta couldn’t help to stamp out the intimacy of the moment, even as her mind chanted for more. His head was bowed slightly towards her and she was so consumed by his scent that too much derision flooded her voice, “You’re giving me jewellery? I’m touched.”

“Very good,” Cassian snickered. His wary expression was suddenly replaced with determination, the shadows shifting on his dark, untameable features.

“I know you don’t usually wear jewellery,” Cassian said with forced lightness, “but I thought you might make an exception. The stone is made of pyrite. Pyrite is revered in Illyria for its protective properties—it’s very rare. It provides a level of protection over the wearer.”

Nesta fingered the beautiful pendant, the stone which was still warm against her skin. It reminded her of safety: of being curled up by a silent fire with a storm raging outside; of a hot meal settling in a stomach carved out hollow from weeks of barely having enough to survive.

She should accept the necklace and get him to leave, Nesta knew that, but her curiosity had been piqued even as something warned her to remain quiet, “When did you have time to hunt down a rare protective charm?”

A muscle feathered in Cassian’s jaw. Suddenly he was not looking at her again but past her, as if something had captivated his attention on the wall. “A while ago.”

And somehow she knew from those three words exactly what this was: the Solstice gift he had tried to give her.

All the fight bled out of her, because somehow Nesta knew that he had found this for her so she would feel safe. So when she closed the door to her apartment at night with the four locks or walked home well after dark in an inebriated state, that it would offer her protection. That even though she had rejected him and he knew that she was fucking male after male, that no harm would come to her.

At the time she would have been furious at the gift — at the audacity that he thought he should protect her. But that wasn’t it at all. It was because deep down, despite all her sharp words and his confusing actions, he had cared. And whilst post-war Nesta would have been so blinded by rage and numbing grief that she would have been unable to see the gift for what it was… the Nesta here and now - the female who was slowly emerging out of the dark - felt as if dawn was peeking on the horizon.

A lump formed in her throat. Had Cassian dived into the Sidra to retrieve it? When she had been so cruel to him and he so cruel to her? When she had lashed out because he would not listen. Because he had ignored her and flirted with Mor in front of her face as she felt discarded in the corner.

“It will provide you with an added layer of security during our trip,” Cassian told her.

Even now, Nesta did not want to discuss what they had been. What they could have been. So she said, “You think I need it today?”

“I think that I don’t trust Illyrian males, especially Illyrian males from Ironcrest. I think that you are stronger and more powerful than any of them, but I would rather die than have something happen to you on the off-chance that they got closer than you’d like or if they teamed up on you.” His words were a low vigorous rumble that shook her bones.

Then he hesitated. “And Illyrian males give a piece of jewellery to females they are promised to — it’s a symbolic gesture. For the sake of today’s pretence, it would be good if you wore it.”

A long, long silence where Nesta could feel Cassian’s pulse thumping against the skin of his neck. For one true beat, their eyes locked. His eyes were so dark and intense that Nesta couldn’t bare it.

She was thankful when they shifted slightly to stare right past her rather than tunnel far inside of her.

“It’s beautiful,” she conceded, unable to voice what she wanted to say. There was too much churning around in her mind, so she stared down at the teardrop pendant that glimmered against her pale skin.

“Good,” Cassian said, moving away from her with such abruptness it was almost military with intent. “Put it on and come downstairs.”

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775

#embersandlightfic #embers and light #acotar #acowar #acomaf #acosf #acofas #nessian #nessianfic #nessianangst #nesta x cassian #cassian #fanfiction #acotar fanfiction

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imaginingmultifandom · 4 years ago

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Ugly Sweaters (12 Days of Christmas)

Fred Weasley x Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Fred Weasley questions how hard it can possibly be to knit Christmas sweaters like his mother does. A playful competition between him and you ensues, and neither of you want to lose this bet.

A/N: This is the Second Day of 12 Days of Christmas

Prompt → Ugly sweaters

It was quite early this morning at the Burrow, and you still felt rather sleepy as you sat at the table having breakfast with your boyfriend Fred. It was the day before Christmas, and it certainly wasn't time for any gifts yet. Still, Molly came over to you with a neatly wrapped gift in her hands as soon as she spotted you.

"Oh Y/N, I'm glad you're both awake already. I thought it would be good to give this to you early so you could wear it in this cold," She handed you the package with a smile, and you opened it gratefully.

"Thank you, Molly," You grinned whole-heartedly at the woman in front of you as soon as you had opened it, holding up the knitted sweater with your initial on it that she had just gifted you, "It's so beautiful. But you really shouldn't have-"

"You're welcome, dear." Molly interrupted you gently, "You're part of the family now, of course I made you one too."

"Thanks so much," You had only been in a relationship with Fred since the beginning of the year, so the fact that she already welcomed you into the family meant a lot to you, "I'm sure it must have been a lot of effort."

"It's really not, Mum uses a charm to knit most of these sweaters-" Fred interrupted your conversation rudely, munching on his breakfast in between words.

"I'm sure it's still a lot of work," You interjected, and Molly backed you up in front of her son.

"Fred Weasley- I don't think I've taught you to be this rude to your mother," She scolded him, but Fred only grinned at her, "If you think it's that easy, why don't you try and make them next Christmas? For the whole family, of course-"

"Why wait till next year?" Fred prompted, seemingly enjoying to scolding looks you were both giving him and wanting to tease you further, "I can make one today and still have a relaxing Christmas,"

"I'd like to see you try." Molly huffed at her son, and you grinned at his cockiness.

"I'm sure Y/N could, too." He added, "We could even make it a competition."

"Don't try and pull me into this," You rebutted, even though you were quite sure that it was already too late for your refusal. Fred always managed to pull you into his pranks and ideas, which was part of why you liked him so much.

"Come on darling, are you that scared to lose?" Fred smirked at you, knowing that he could count on your competitive streak.

"What would the competition even be?" You questioned, your curiosity taking over.

"We'll both try and knit a sweater, with or without magic," Your boyfriend explained, "And whoever's sweater looks better by this evening, that person wins. The loser has to do the dishes over the Christmas days."

"That's a huge bet," You figured, knowing how many dishes would pile up just today with how many people were here, especially with the holiday feast would prepare.

"That's why it's fun," Fred shrugged his shoulders, "I already know you can't resist a competition like this, darling,"

"Fine, I'm in." You grinned at him, "Let's do this."

"You two really are quite a match," Molly said after having observed this interaction, and walked towards the kitchen with a laugh, "Knitting needles and wool are in the cupboard over there," She pointed out, before returning to the stove and continuing to cook.

Both Fred and you got up at the same time, rushing over to the cupboard to be the first to start on their sweater.

"I've got no time to lose," Fred playfully lifted you up just as you opened the cupboard, turning you away from it and letting you down on the ground again just so he could be the first to grab some utensils.

"You're an arse," You teased him, but your loving tone made it clear you didn't mean that. You grabbed some needles and wool after him and made your way over to the couch so you could figure this all out. You had heard Hermione use a charm to knit some hats for house-elves once before and you tried your best to remember it.

Meanwhile, Fred sat down at the dinner table again. He had seen his mother knit these sweaters lots of times before, surely it couldn't be that hard?

Both of you took your time to try to remember the exact charm, all while making sure the other didn't eavesdrop on you to get a clue.

You quietly muttered what you thought were the right words to your knitting needles, but they didn't move at all.

"How's it going over there?" Fred's voice called over to you.

"Perfectly," You lied, sounding as self-assured as possible, "I'll be finished in no time, I'm sure."

"Same over here," Fred returned your words, all while his needles weren't moving either.

It took both of you a bit more time until you finally remembered the charm, and even then things didn't go smoothly.

Almost an hour later, as most of the others had begun to wake up too, you had at least managed to get the knitting needles to start the sweater. You wondered how it was going for Fred, but you didn't have to question that for long.

"What are you trying to do there?" George had woken up as well and you could hear his deep morning voice coming from where Fred was, even as you sat on the couch.

"I'm competing with Y/N. We're trying to each make a sweater by tonight and have the best one win," You could hear Fred explaining, and you tell from his tone of voice that he was concentrating intently.

"That doesn't look anything like a sweater," George commented, and you couldn't contain a quiet laugh, "In fact, that doesn't look like anything at all, Fred."

"I'm working on it," You could hear Fred answer, "Watch and learn, George."

You laughed again and then decided it would be best to go back to concentrating on your own work.

By the time Molly called everyone together for lunch, you had only managed to knit one arm. Nevertheless, as you sat down next to Fred to eat, you were making sure to sound triumphant.

"You were right, this really is easier than I thought," You teased him, and Fred simply smiled at you.

"Exactly," He rebutted, "I feel the same." You didn't believe him at all, you were sure he hadn't managed to get further than you with his sweater.

After lunch, you immediately went back to your spot to knit. The others only laughed and shook their heads at both of your competitiveness, finding your contest rather amusing.

George, Ron and Harry even volunteered to be judges on your sweaters this evening, and you happily accepted them.

As the evening arrived, and you had finally finished your work. You had only been interrupted by some snack breaks, and eventually by Fred who had sneaked up to you to steal some kisses. You had hurriedly hidden your sweater then and hoped he hadn't caught a glimpse of your progress.

After dinner, it was time for the judging. The Weasley Family and Harry all gathered in the living room, which was already beautifully decorated for the upcoming holiday.

You went out of the room and quickly pulled over your self-made sweater. It was falling apart at some seams and looked way messier than any knitted fabric you had ever seen. But, it was a completed sweater. Somehow, at least.

As you stepped into the living room, and the others made a point of cheering for you loudly. Fred stepped into the room after you, and you saw what he had made for the first time.

His sweater was only holding together very loosely, and there was only a huge hole on the right side where an arm should have been. Fred had simply shoved his arm through the hole, with no fabric covering it up.

On his chest, there seemed to be some embroidered letters, but you couldn't tell what they said even as you squinted your eyes at it. It was even messier than his usual handwriting.

"What in the bloody hell have you tried to write on there?" Ron asked his brother, while Harry and George were still laughing at the missing arm.

"Isn't it obvious?" Fred grinned, and swung his uncovered arm around your shoulders to pull you close, "It says: Y/N+Fred."

"God, that's so cheesy," You teased him, trying to cover how touched you were by his sweet gesture.

"Oh, I know you like it, darling." He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before letting go of you, turning around to reveal a drawn on heart on the back of his sweater that no one had noticed yet, "Even the judges have to admit that this is true fashion,"

Everyone laughed out loudly, and you felt your heart flutter at Fred's suaveness

"You don't even have a whole sweater," Harry laughed, "The embroidery's lovely, I suppose. But Y/N has my vote,"

"Good decision," You gave him a thumbs-up, and Fred mockingly huffed.

"I have to agree," Ron said, and George nodded as well, "Nice try, mate. But Y/N at least managed to make something that's wearable. She wins,"

"Thank you, thank you," You bowed down jokingly, "I'm honoured to win this contest,"

"Oh, come on," Fred remarked sarcastically, "You guys just don't have any taste. At least I showed my love with this sweater,"

"And it was very sweet," You turned to Fred, wrapping your arms around his torso, "But still, that doesn't change the fact that you'll be on dish duty all Christmas," You stuck your tongue out at him, and he rolled his eyes. He couldn't pretend to be mad for long though, and a grin quickly appeared on his face again.

You all shared another laugh at Fred's awful sweater and he joined in with some jokes about the practicality of a sweater with an armhole.

After the others had scattered around the house again, only Fred and you were left in the living room. You sat down on the couch and your boyfriend joined you, swinging his arms around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest.

"Just so you know, your sweater would have gotten my vote," You remarked gently, "The embroidery was a nice touch, I have to admit. It was quite romantic actually,"

"Only for you, love," Fred whispered and leaned down to kiss you softly.

Just as you wanted to kiss him back, he pulled away slightly so his lips were hovering over yours.

"You'll help me with the dishes, right?" He murmured against your mouth.

"Never." You teased and quickly closed the distance between your lips again to kiss him before he could have the chance to complain.

Of course, you ended up helping him, proudly wearing the sweater he had made. Turns out, a missing armhole really comes in handy when washing up.

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #imagine fred weasley #12 days of christmas #harry potter imagine #imagine harry potter #fred weasley

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justfandomwritings · 5 years ago

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United in Fear (Part Four - Soulmate!Robb)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU

Word count: 9.1k

Warnings: This chapter depicts a ‘bedding ceremony’. Which is a ceremony in the GoT universe that involves a group of men stripping a woman naked on her wedding night and shouting obscene things at her. The reader’s character is disturbed by said ceremony in the story, though it is not described in what I would deem a disturbingly graphic manner for readers, nor is the practice glorified in any way.

There is also a separate scene involving nudity and a sexual situation (sexual situation, not sex) which is fully and unambiguously consensual.

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Notes: So, this chapter does have warnings. If you choose to read it, please read it informed of what is coming. If you’re looking for a ‘rating’ of how extreme or graphic I would class this, then my answer would be “if you watched these scenes in Game of Thrones, none of them come close to how disturbing the show could get at times”

Oh also... Um note before you read.... I’m not a huge fan of Bran’s character at any point in the series soooo.... yeah.

Start From the Beginning… Part One

Previously On... Part Three

“Son.”

Robb looked up to see his father standing in the door. His appearance was a sign of what was to come.

In Winterfell, the Starks had very little use for fine, Southern clothes. Such garments were impractical for daily use, and what was impractical for daily use was never bothered with when meeting Northern Lords. Even the King, for all the pomp of his arrival, had only seen the Starks clean up their usual appearance. Sansa had worn one of her nicer dresses in hopes of meeting the princes, but none of the others had actually dressed up for the occasion.

The fine leather tunic, embossed with a running direwolf across the chest, which graced Ned Stark now was a piece Robb had never seen his father wear. Perhaps, he had never worn it before at all. Robb had certainly never worn the fine fur cloak around his shoulders nor the polished boots covering his feet.

“Are you ready?” Ned looked Robb over once.

“I wish Sansa could go in my stead,” Robb confessed. His head hung as he left his rooms.

Ned hummed in agreement, “I know. I wish you did not have to witness this.”

“You did not marry your mate either.” Robb pointed out.

Ned nodded confirmation, “Yes, that is true.”

“But you moved on?” Robb’s tone was questioning, hopeful.

From a young age, Robb knew his parents were not soulmates. His father had been the one to explain the name on his arm to him, and Ned had to tell Robb, rather frankly, that there was a chance he would never meet her and would almost certainly never have her. Ned Stark had been right on one of those counts, and Robb would have to accept it just as his parents had.

“I will not pretend moving on was something I did willingly.” Ned gave a heavy sigh, “It is hard to give up on the idea of a perfect life, a perfect love; but for most of us life is not meant to be that easy. You have been given a particularly hard life to lead, but the gods have given you this life for a reason. They have shown you her for a reason, and they have taken her for a reason. Finding happiness, after meeting her, will be difficult, but it is not impossible.”

Robb paused in his step, and Ned carried on another pace before he stopped and turned back to his son. “You,” Robb hesitated, “You speak from experience.” Robb never knew his father had met his mate. The name, not that Robb had ever read it, was still on his father’s arm.

Ned seemed to think for a long moment before he spoke, “I was once where you are now. I stood in a sept and watched my soulmate marry another man.”

“Where is she now?” Robb asked.

Ned didn’t answer. He turned away and waited for Robb to come back to his side before the pair walked on without another word.

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The Sept of Winterfell was a small one. It had been built by Ned Stark for his new wife, Catelyn, as a gift, and had rarely been used by anyone but the Lady of Winterfell. Shoulder to shoulder, it comfortably held only sixteen, fifteen if one of those was Robert Baratheon.

The King’s only joy in being slighted by the Lannister’s had been in Tywin’s rush to marry off his daughter. Lady (Y/n), a Lannister bride as worthy of the Sept of Baelor as Princess Myrcella herself, would be forced to marry in the miniscule stone hut of a sept that heard the praises of only one woman and saw none of the splendor accustomed to (Y/n)’s station. Robert had revelled in the thought.

While even the Great Lion could not build a newer, more worthy sept in time, Tywin Lannister never truly lost. Even this small ceremony, this disadvantage, this insult to their wealth and grandeur, had proven to be to the Lannister’s benefit.

In all of Westeros, only fifteen people would be permitted to witness what Robb knew would be the wedding of the century. If the Lannisters could not display their wealth, then they would at least flaunt their superiority. The countless lords and ladies of the King’s party practically tripped over themselves to reach Tywin’s chambers first; they desperately argued and debated who was deserving to see the ceremony. Even Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen had not made the guest list with their parents and the crown prince.

Robb had hoped he would be similarly forgotten.

Tywin Lannister himself had dashed that dream with a personal invitation extended immediately after the public announcement.

Tywin’s invitation positioned Robb between his father and Tyrion Lannister at the front of the floor, right where (Y/n) would come to stand. He was in full view of every lord and lady in the Sept and had an unobstructed eye on the woman that should have been his.

That was what Tywin wanted, and Robb knew it. He wanted Robb to know (Y/n) was not and would never be his. He wanted Robb to watch her hands join with another man, wanted Robb to hear to her swear vows to an insignificant knight. He wanted to remind Robb, and thereby his father and the King, who was really in charge.

As such, Robb was forced to watch the lumbering Harwyn Plumm march to the front of the Sept, standing in front of King Robert and Queen Cersei.

Harwyn was accompanied by Jaime Lannister, taking the place of Harwyn’s elder brothers and father as the bearer of (Y/n)’s marriage cloak.

Robb glared at the offending fabric, brought North from Casterly Rock by a soldier who had joined Mace Tyrell’s march to Winterfell. It was folded neatly under the Kingslayer’s arm, and Robb could not make out it’s texture or color. He didn’t need to see it to know what it represented, though.

It was the end, the end of any hope, not that there had ever been much.

“Rise.” The Septon was from the Riverlands, the Twins if Robb remembered correctly. There was no formal Septon at Winterfell to lead the ceremony, so Tywin had sent orders for Mace Tyrell to procure and bring a suitable man when he passed through House Frey.

Strictly speaking, the King, being above all but the gods, was not required to stand, but Robert Baratheon rose like all the rest as heads turned for (Y/n)’s entrance.

Robb’s eyes turned, and the moment he caught sight of her he desperately wished he hadn’t.

She was gorgeous, even more so than usual.

Robb had wondered, on occasion, if his attraction to her was real or if it was simply the gods’ way of drawing him to her, but even the gods, old and new, couldn’t fake such a beauty.

Her dress was a simple sheer white silk, draped more than fitted over her body. The straps were without sleeves and slipped over her shoulders as if they supported none of the weight of the fabric. Only a trail of ruching up the center between her breasts provided any support or structure for the slippery material.

The dress was topped with the only break from the immaculate white. A large piece of twisting golden metal hung from (Y/n)’s neck. Extending out over her shoulders, the vine-like twists framed her width and wove down her frame to finish in the top of the folds between her breasts. The neck piece gave a severe, serious armor, to an otherwise innocent appearance; and the polished gold of which it was made reminded the room her name.

Beautiful but Lannister.

Robb looked away.

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Prayer.

Seven blessings.

Song.

Seven promises.

Song.

Seven vows.

Prayer.

Lighting the candle.

Prayer.

Robb had only been to one wedding in a sept, and he recalled it had been a similarly tedious, albeit less emotionally painful, affair.

As a child, he had gone to a wedding in White Harbor the year before Arya was born. House Manderly were the only house in the North to worship the new gods, Lord Manderly’s sister had invited the entirety of the North to their Sept to bare witness to her wedding some minor southern lord.

The lords and ladies of the North descended on White Harbour, but most respectfully declined to enter the Sept to honor gods they did not believe, instead partaking only in the feast and celebrations of the couples’ marriage.

Robb’s mother had made a point that, while her children would worship the gods of their father, they would at least understand the gods of herself and the other kingdoms. As such, Robb had sat at the front of the Sept with his mother for the entirety of the dull affair. She explained it all to him, every moment of the ceremony whispered in his young ears.

In his heart, Robb knew he would never need to know. He would not be married in a Sept. He would be married in front of the weirwood tree, alone with his wife and the gods. He would not be made to attend any Southern court or play at diplomacy in a feasting hall. All he needed to know of the Seven was their names and their purpose.

Right now, that was all Robb wished he knew. He tried desperately to forget everything his mother had taught him, to forget what came next.

Tywin Lannister stepped forward behind his daughter and reached around the front of her neck, undoing the tie holding her Lannister cloak to the metal collar of her dress.

Gently, with all the reverence the old man was capable of, he touched he folded the cloak over his arm and retreated to his place.

Harwyn Plumm raised an hand and Jaime Lannister stepped forward, draping the marriage cloak over his outstretched arm.

The cloak, in itself, was surely enough to convince most that Tywin had indeed been planning this wedding long before he sprung the news on the King.

The face was hidden, covered in the folds of the material, but the lining alone was a work of art.

Marriage cloaks were the most treasured possession of any bride. Usually far finer than her dress and equally as expensive as the entire feast.

In the South, they were works of art to be marveled. Made from the finest silks and softest satins, they only touched the earth or saw the sun for the grandest occasions. Houses used the open display of their banners to showcase their importance in any way they saw fit. A cloak’s craftsmanship testified the wealth and love her husband held for her in what he willingly invested in showing her importance.

In the North, they were pretty enough, certainly more magnificent than everyday cloaks, but they always served a function. Silks and satins were uselessly discarded for furs and wools. Worn constantly in the cold, the sigils born by the cloak spoke for themselves, the names that accompanied them carrying far greater weight than any display of prowess. Wealth and love were proven through the deed of a man keeping his wife warm, not by showing off his gold to others.

(Y/n)’s marriage cloak was a feat that North and South alike could not deny.

The lining, displayed as it fell across Harwyn’s arm, was the golden hide of a lion, many lions by its length; yet there was no seam. Tireless work had gone into creating an unbroken chain of fur. An unending field made from the skin of their sigil. Lions and gold, a golden lion, the only thing worthy of touching Lannister skin.

Harwyn took the cloak in his hands and presented its interior for the world to see.

Robb had held some amount of pride that, at the least, Harwyn would present his soulmate with an unworthy rag. Some frilly Southern thing that was not to (Y/n)’s taste or at least not to Robb’s own. The presentation of its lining removed Robb of that notion. The hide lining was a majestic thing more than fitting of the South, but more than enough to cut the chill.

With an artful flourish, surely practiced for no man of Harwyn’s size could be so graceful without help, he swung it around (Y/n)’s shoulders. (Y/n), in a small moment of defiance that Robb would cherish to his dying day, batted Harwyn’s hands away to secure the cloak in place herself.

“With this kiss,” Harwyn took (Y/n)’s hands in his and leaned into her, “I pledge my love.”

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” (Y/n) parroted back, and their lips met. A brush so soft and swift that even Robb did not have time to feel any anger over it.

It wasn’t until the wedded pair turned to lead their guests from the Sept that everyone else present realized what Robb already knew.

The cloak around (Y/n)’s shoulders was not Harwyn Plumm’s.

Topping the fur lining of (Y/n)’s marriage cloak was a field of brilliantly crimson satin, hemmed in by a black, fur border. Stitched into the center were not the unintimidating, three purple fruits of House Plumm as it should have been, nor even the roaring lion of House Lannister.

Woven into the center of the fabric, so seemlessly it looked as though it was painted, was a proud lionness in golden thread. She leapt off her hind legs, facing out of the sigil towards the wedding guests with a vicious snarl at her teeth. A lioness on the hunt, the personal arms of Lady (Y/n) Lannister.

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“How much gold do you think the Lannisters paid Plumm’s father to allow that travesty?”

To say Robert was enraged might have been an understatement of the King’s actions at the feast.

The Lannister girl’s cloak didn’t really mean much. In truth, it was far more a slight to her husband than the king, but the fact that Harwyn Plumm was entirely unphased seemed to cause Robert further distress. Like he knew, by the knights inaction, that there was something more to the crest, something meant not for the knight but for the king.

Ned, sitting at the King’s side, simply could not conceive of such a thing. “You think the Plumm’s knew this was being planned? Surely not. The cloak is a symbol of his protection. What man would willingly have his honor questioned for a few pieces of gold?”

It was true that many had begun to whisper about the cloak, but the harsh words against Harwyn came mostly from Northmen, those with a far different sense of duty to their family. Harwyn’s peers, those knights and lords of the South, whispered as well, but with a far deeper understanding of what such a sign might mean.

“You Starks,” Robert grumbled, “you’ll never understand the South.”

“I don’t understand,” Ned agreed. “And yet you’d have me as your Hand.”

Robert turned to his old friend with a smile meant more for reminiscing than anything. “Yes, I know that well enough, Ned. It’s for that reason I want you as my Hand. I need a man removed of all of this, someone I can trust to remain above the fray.”

“By staying above the fray,” Ned deduced, “you mean someone who can’t be bought by Lannisters.”

“That does help your cause.” Robert and Ned laughed quietly together as though it were old times, and they were alone in the halls of the Eyrie avoiding Jon Arryn’s watchful eyes.

For a moment, Ned could almost forget his friend had changed.

Not in appearance, he didn’t need to forget that. Despite his heavier, darker physique, Robert Baratheon was still strong and harsh as ever. His body had aged more poorly than Ned’s own, but it didn’t detract from his friend at all.

Ned had almost forgotten his friend’s rage. Forgotten the cruel look in Robert’s eyes as he relished in the death of the Targaryen dynasty. Forgotten the stench of drink and sex that seemed to permeate Winterfell from the moment Robert arrived. Forgotten the thunk of his son’s soulmate hitting the floor. Forgotten the plotting and scheming against his enemies like a man bereft of sanity.

Almost.

It was impossible to forget when the living reminder sat two places away from Robert’s other side.

(Y/n) had taken a break from dancing with her husband and perched on the edge of her seat, chin high, shoulders back, high and mighty as only a Lannister could be.

Looking at her family, Ned could see Robert’s longing to cut them down to size, of reminding them that their place was the Rock, not the Throne. He could see Tywin marching into the throne room and demanding more respect than the King; Jaime Lannister prancing about the Red Keep like the arrogant fool who’d killed its previous owner; the Queen spitting on the name of her husband every time his back was turned; Tyrion blathering drunk and still thinking he knew more than all.

Ned knew, not only from (Y/n)’s last name but from his every encounter with the girl, that she was as dangerous as their lord father, proud as the knight, defiant as the queen, and smart as the imp. And yet, Ned could not, would not, envisage anyone cutting down (Y/n). Perhaps it was Ashara in her, or perhaps it was his son, but Ned could not stand to forget or forgive for what Robert had done.

In brief moments such as this, joking over Ned’s ignorance or reminiscing about times before the rebellion, Ned could almost see the valiant young lord who fought by Ned’s side to avenge his family and save his sister.

Now, Robert struck women he once would have protected and groped serving maids for the sheer joy of being unfaithful to his wife.

Ned fumed beneath his skin imagining Lyanna where Cersei now stood, being shamed and defied by a man who swore to love her alone, and Ned broke picturing Ashara, bedecked in her final Lannister red and gold, sitting next to a man who threw her to the floor. Ned’s imagination but Robb’s reality.

Robb looked ready to become the second man in the room to slay a king.

Ned turned his head away from Robert and leaned in so only Robb could hear. “He, and the rest of the party, will soon be gone. Do nothing to incur their wrath in these final hours.”

“I will not,” Robb huffed, “assuming you are done ingratiating the man who attacked one of our own.” Robb turned his harsh gaze on his father. “Or did you forget she wears our name now.”

“Our name, but not our colors.” Ned flitted his gaze over the raucous hall. “None know what she is to us.”

“You know.”

Robb pushed to his feet and moved several seats down to ask Sansa to dance, if for nothing more than an excuse to be away from his father and the King.

This day had been a trial of his will, and thus far it had held. He refused to allow it to be broken by the laughter of old men.

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Unsurprisingly, no one had seen when Tyrion Lannister rose to his feet.

Despite being heir to the Rock, the Imp had not received the same place of honor at the table as had the heir of Winterfell. Tyrion was, instead, sat on his sister’s side of the high table, far at the end, next to a snivelling Mace Tyrell and the irritating Lord Banefort. Both men spoke over the head of the shorter man, and neither seemed to notice or care that their companion had abandoned them.

Tyrion was perfectly fine with that arrangement. Neither provided the prospect of particularly scintillating conversation. He would have preferred, ideally, to be sat on the husband’s far end of the table beside his brother or in his rightful seat beside his favored sister, but being ignored by two unworthy men was far preferable to being bored talking to them.

Tyrion pushed to his feet only moments after the eldest Stark boy had abandoned his chair. He’d been told by his father to wait till the heir of Winterfell had full view, and while his timing was certainly more obvious than if he had waited a few moments, Tyrion simply didn’t think he could stand the room for another minute. This was his excuse to leave, and he hoped to seize the opportunity immediately.

With short, swift paces, Tyrion rounded the high table and dropped down two stone steps in height before he continued along its length towards the center of the room.

Seeing his youngest son approach, Tywin rose to his feet.

No one had seen, heard, or bothered with Tyrion standing, but the entire room stilled and fell quiet for his father.

“Father,” Tyrion fell to one knee, though he rested it on the step above where he stood to avoid losing any more height on the rest of the room. He spoke as loudly as he dared, “I have come before this hall to beg forgiveness.”

“For what, my son?” Tywin spoke what was meant to be a question but came without the tone.

“Forgiveness from the burden of bearing your name and my inability to do so. My Lord Father,” With a deep breath Tyrion recited the words. “May the Crone deem me wise. May the Father deem me just. May the Smith deem me strong. May the Mother deem me merciful. May the Warriror deem me brave. I ask the Maiden to pass my burden onto one of her own, and the Stranger to claim me swiftly if I prove wrong.”

“Tyrion Lannister, you would pass on your inheritance as Lord of Casterly Rock.” Tywin confirmed for his youngest son.

“I would.”

In a booming voice, for all to hear, Tywin announced, “Tyrion of House Lannister, born successor to the Lord of Casterly Rock, I pass you on as heir and hand the title my daughter, Lady (Y/N) Lannister. May she prove fit to bear the name.”

She would. Robb knew that much.

And as the celebrations resumed their levity, Robert Baratheon began to laugh.

Robb knew why. Tywin had seemingly given his House away to the Plumm’s.

Robert jeered his rival with a confidence the larger man would never have had on a sober morning, and Tywin met the rebukes with a cool smirk. Leaning over several seats, Tywin whispered to the King a single sentence that made the Baratheon’s face fall in an instance.

A sentence Robb, again, already knew. “My daughter is cloaked under her own protection and bares her own name; her children will be Lannister to their core.”

Lannister heirs. Something Robb, much as he wanted (Y/n), could never give.

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“The bedding!”

Robert’s voice roared and echoed across the stones.

Only Ned or the King could call for the end of the feast, and Robert seemed rather eager to do so quickly after Tyrion’s show and Tywin’s explanation.

The King should have married Tywin’s daughter to a Stark but was thwarted by the girl’s rejection. The King should have forced the betrothal but was thwarted by Tywin’s arrival. The King should have undone Harwyn Plumm but was thwarted by the sudden wedding.

Tywin should have cloaked his daughter in purple and yellow but instead managed to slight the Plumms and his guests by draping her in red. Tywin should have been robbed of his heir after Tyrion’s deferment but instead passed it to his daughter. Tywin should have lost his name to the Plumms but instead preserved his reign for years to come.

Robert was no longer in the mood for anything, even drinking. The greatest whore in King’s Landing could not satisfy the King’s mind, and the whore of Winterfell were far from the greatest in King’s Landing.

Robert wanted to watch the unruly Northmen shove the girl out of his sight so they might degrade her as she walked naked through the frigid halls of Winterfell. It was ceremony, a ceremony the King greatly enjoyed, and with his daughter left naked, it was one Tywin Lannister could not dare to stop.

The men, on any other occasion, would have rushed the bride. Drunkeningly tearing away her dignity for the whole kingdom to see without any care for whether they were still in the company of the feasting hall. Then, most women resisted or cowered at their fate.

“The bedding!”

Harwyn, still dancing with an older southern lady, was the first to be ushered away by the giggling maidens in his midst. He smiled, amused by the prospect, and put up little resistance as the women dragged him along towards the entrance hall. Shrill laughing and squeals of amusement following in their wake.

(Y/n) rose without emotion or hesitation as Robert called for it to begin.

The two dozen or so men, unknighted Northern soldiers mostly, assembled in the entryway. They laughed and shoved each other at the edge of the hall, waiting for the seemingly compliant woman to join their midst.

(Y/n) had to join them.

Usually the men would carry the bride. Usually, they would strip her naked in their arms, touch and feel her body as they pleased, and say whatever horrific obscenity came to their mind to humiliate the bride before they dropped her, crying usually, in bed with her husband as they laughed at the man for what they had seen of her or done to her before her husband could.

Tradition stated she must accompany them to her room, and that she should not resist their ‘preparations’ for her night, an elegant description for an inelegant deed.

(Y/n) walked straight through the group for the entrance hall, and the men rushed after her quick unfaltering pace.

“Leaving so soon?” One man called as the stumbling group tried to catch up with her.

“I knew she was just another Southern whore.”

Another voice joined in over the chorus of laughter. “Come back here; we want to see if your cunt is really made of gold!”

(Y/n) said nothing. She didn’t want this. She wanted to break into a run for her rooms. She wanted to call her guards and have Jaime or the Mountain cut them down. She wanted turn and slap the ones who spoke and show them to their proper place, far beneath her feet.

She couldn’t though. She wouldn’t. They were under her skin, but she wouldn’t allow them the pleasure of knowing it.

(Y/n) weaved her way through the halls at an unrelenting pace, always one step short of bolting for her door. If they caught her, it would not be in the entry halls, traversed by many where all could see her shame. If they caught her, it wouldn’t be for her lack of trying.

As she turned the corner towards the stairwell, one soldier, less drunk than his comrades presumably, kept better on his feet and matched (Y/n)’s pace as the raucous group came down the empty hall.

“Not so fast, my lady,” his voice growled. With thick, pudgy fingers, he caught the hem of her cloak and jerked.

(Y/n) was wrenched back by her neck into the crowd of pawing hands who all cheered their friend’s achievement.

With a crack of the clasp, her beautiful cloak fluttered to the floor beneath their feet as muddy boots trod over it in the men’s haste to get a better grip on the Lady of the Rock.

The men were intended to lift her on their shoulders and strip her as they traveled, but their walk after her had made them impatient and indulgent in their reward.

(Y/n) snapped her eyes tightly shut and balled her hands at her hands. Her teeth bit back the tip of her tongue as one voice shouted.

“Come on then! Show the rest of us! Is it gold?”

Hands trailed over (Y/n)’s curves, slipping over and under the thin material of her dress. They fought for what they deemed the best spaces and elbowed each other to make room for a better grip on her flesh.

A hand fisted in the folds at the front of her dress, and (Y/n) felt herself being dragged forward, pressed tight against the offending man’s chest. He and the nearest man behind her rubbed themselves against her, pressing and squeezing into her body with groans of pleasure.

“Savor it. We all need to have a turn!” One man snarked, ripping away the man at her front to try to replace him.

Bodies closed in around her; hands touched her chest and thighs in more places and ways than she could count.

(Y/n) was sure every man had their piece, but the voices made it seem some did not or were at least unsatisfied with the contact. They shouted at each other to make room. They shouted grotesque comments to her. They shouted what they would do when they had her.

She tried. She really, truly tried to keep herself hidden. She didn’t open her eyes or unclench her hands. She said nothing to the men and tried, in turn, to ignore what was said to her.

But when a pair of them lifted her arms above her head to get better access to her breasts, a lone tear finally broke and slid down her cheek.

“Leave us.” A voice, as cold and dark as the night outside the walls, broke the daze which had consumed the men.

A few maintained their rhythms, touching, groping and rubbing against the disturbed woman in their midst, but most hands, most bodies jerked away from her skin as if the voice cast some magic which burned their touch.

“My lord, we simply…” It was the same voice that told the others to savor it.

“I said leave us.” Darker, colder than the night this time.

(Y/n) dared not look as she heard the men retreating behind her; some willingly, others too drunk to know better had to be dragged away by their friends.

It took what (Y/n) thought must have been at least five minutes before the hall was completely quiet of the mobs crude noises and harsh words.

“They should be ashamed.” The words were spat with as much disgust as (Y/n) had ever heard.

“In the morning, they will say the same of you.” (Y/n) replied quietly, staying rooted to her spot in the middle of the hall.

Footsteps paced cautiously up behind her. They approached with all the hesitation and care the previous men had lacked. They came at her slowly, each step testing if it was one step too far before the next was made.

(Y/n) did not bother to open her eyes. She could hear quite clearly the path the feet took around in front of her, and when they finally settled, she felt the body heat pulsing out at her chest, drawing her in with its comforting warmth.

“I should have come sooner.” A gentle hand touched her cheek, wiping alone the lone tear clinging to her skin.

“I wish you had,” (Y/n) confessed in a voice meant for only their ears to hear.

A sigh blew across her face, “I’m not expected to join the bedding, or I would have sent them away at once. Robert tried to keep me in the hall; he insisted you were no longer my concern.”

(Y/n) let her eyelids flutter open to meet the dazzling blue eyes meer inches from her own. “In a way, I suppose he’s right.”

A small, sad smile tugged the corner of Robb’s lips. “I don’t suppose you would have a Septon set aside your marriage, turn your back on your father and your husband, give up becoming the most powerful woman in Westeros, force Tyrion to become heir to the Rock, leave your gold and all your other lavish Southern possessions and join me in the cold, barren North for the boring life of an incredibly traditional lady.”

(Y/n) laughed and let her face fall into Robb’s chest, dragging him into her with her arms around his waist.

Robb returned the gesture with a tight grip around her shoulders, holding her into him for what he worried might be the last time.

“I don’t suppose,” she teased in return, “if I set aside my marriage, you would be willing to forsake your inheritance, remove your sigil, leave your family, and follow me to Casterly Rock where you and your children will be known as Lannisters and never be allowed to bear the name Stark?”

They let the sad joke that was their lives hang in the air between them, and for a moment, though admittedly just a moment, Robb considered saying yes, he would.

“What do the old gods say happen to soulmates who cannot have each other this life?” (Y/n) suddenly asked, burrowing herself deeper into Robb’s embrace.

“Not much,” Robb confessed. “We have no afterlife. I like to believe we simply do not know of it, or that there is some kind of peace with those we love.”

(Y/n) turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek to Robb, so she could speak more clearly. “The new gods have seven heavens and seven hells. I like to think the pain of living in this world without your soulmate is enough suffering to warrant a place in at least the lowest heaven, or the highest hell, at the side of the soulmate we missed.”

Robb touched his lips to the top of her hair. He couldn’t bare to kiss (Y/n)’s skin. He worried the action might addict him to it. “Whatever fate befalls us,” Robb whispered into her quietly, “I promise you we will have our day.”

“We will have our day.” (Y/n) echoed Robb’s words with a far deeper emotion than she echoed Harwyn’s pledge of love earlier that day.

Robb unhappily pulled himself away and walked back several feet down the hall, stooping to salvage (Y/n)’s marriage cloak from the stones. “It’s a cold night. You should not be traveling through the halls without this.” Brushing the dirt and mud of the men from the cloth, Robb presented it to her.

(Y/n) turned her back to him, and Robb laid the cloak softly over her shoulders, wrapping her in warmth. She hadn’t realized it was so cold surrounded by the men, and when they’d left Robb had more than filled the void of heat. In fact, Robb was right, without the fires or bodies filling the feast, the air in the empty halls was heavy with the chill.

“Thank you,” She held the cloak tightly around herself.

“You’re welcome, my Lady.” Robb chuckled, “Now,” He didn’t want to break apart their moment, but he would rather end it himself, his way, than have it rudely interrupted by a passerby or search party. “I believe my fellow soldiers diverted tradition.”

“In what way?” (Y/n) looked back over her shoulder just in time.

Robb bent down, and with one arm on the small of her back and one behind her knees, swept his mate off her feet. “They were meant, my lady, to carry you.”

(Y/n) laughed, a loud, open sound not at all curved by her strong sense of propriety. It bounced off the stone and echoed down the halls with a joyous noise not at all befitting the moment, but certainly the first glint of amusement or happiness she or Robb had seen since their last fireside talk seemingly a lifetime ago.

Robb’s smile matched her own as he held her close for the journey up the stairs, and she rested her head on his shoulder with a natural comfort.

Despite their situation, they talked with ease.

(Y/n) groaned over how tediously long her maid had spent doing her hair in three different styles before her sister finally settled on the one that best framed her face. Robb lamented the snowy evening keeping the party crowded indoors. (Y/n) countered that he should join her at the Rock where space was never an issue, and Robb reminded her that the North was a far larger kingdom than the Westerlands.

(Y/n), having never been to the North before, asked its future lord just how large his domain would be. Robb recounted a tale where he, Theon, and Jon rode to House Manderly and ended up accompanying a convoy of supplies from Ramsgate to the Stony Shore, not even the full width of the North and still a ride achievable in no less than three weeks, though usually a month. (Y/n) asked if it was made longer by winter weather, to which Robb conceded that sometimes was the case, though not in the story he told. He added that even at the height of summer, a ride from Last Hearth to Greywater took a month and a week.

(Y/n) gushed over having so much room to breath and groaned how a ride from Casterly Rock to Lannisport could sometimes take two days, not for distance but for the sheer number of carts on the roads. Robb wondered allowed how long the distance was and how large the Westerlands were, as even studying countless maps never gave anyone a true idea of space. (Y/n) told him a ride from Banefort to Crakehall usually took two weeks, but time could be cut if a traveler was willing to avoid roads through the Rock, not that many were for fear of thieves.

Robb asked the width of her lands, and she agreed that, without burgeoning trade, Silver Hall to Lannisport would be easily traversed in a week, no more. Though she liked to mention the mountains made it a far rougher ride than the flat ice plains of the North.

And then they were at her door. And Robb was setting her back on her feet.

“My lady,” Robb bowed before (Y/n), “I believe this is where I leave you.”

They stood together silently for a moment. Robb, waiting for her facade of passive indifference to return as she sent him away; (Y/n), waiting for she knew not what.

She didn’t want it to end this way. Chatting mildly about kingdoms and weather. It had been so lovely as it happened, but now knowing that was all there would be, it felt like time thoroughly wasted.

“Robb Stark,” (Y/n) curtsied in return to him, “I dare say you will never truly leave me.”

She was right, and they both knew it was so.

Robb turned away, not to leave her, for she was right that he never would, but to walk away. (Y/n) caught his hand. “Wait.”

“Yes, my lady,” Robb paused but couldn’t bring himself to look back at her.

“I,” (Y/n), for once in her life, had nothing to say. “I don’t believe this is how I’m intended to be delivered to my husband,” She said the first thing that came to her mind.

Robb shifted his palm so her hand slipped into his, and he laced her fingers between his own. “I won’t be like those men who defiled you.”

(Y/n) pressed her chest into Robb’s back, squeezing his fingers between her own for encouragement. “I believe, to defile me, would require I not be a willing participant in the act.”

What restraint Robb held, seemed to gradually melt away as (Y/n)’s free hand caressed over his shoulder and ran down his spine. (Y/n)’s breath fanned faintly over the back of Robb’s neck as she whispered, “Robb, he is nothing to me; I don’t want a stranger to be the first to see me.”

Robb whipped around, pulling himself free from (Y/n) as he faced her. “This is what you want?” His voice was stern, controlled. He had to be. To give her this, he had to be on guard to going too far. Not on guard to going beyond what she allowed, he needn’t worry about that. If she felt even half of what he did, Robb could claim her for his own right now against the door of her husband’s bedchambers. He worried more about going beyond his place, their places.

Her husband was on the other side of the door. Their fathers were downstairs on either side of the King. They had duties and responsibilities that even being soulmates would not allow them, namely her, to forsake, and he feared how much beyond those duties she would willingly give and he would gladly take.

“I want it to be you in there,” She motioned to the thick wooden door in the wall right beside them. “Barring that, I want you here, or at least I want what you’re allowed to have.”

Robb closed the step he had put between them, looking on her for the first time with completely unbridled emotion. He didn’t love her yet, nor did she love him. But by the old gods and the new, Robb knew he would love her one day. It was simply a matter of where and when, and looking on her in her wedding dress, it felt like the answer to both of those questions was the same. Close. Soon.

They moved together, lazily, drawing out the moment for all it was worth.

(Y/n) lifted her arms and rested them across the top of her head, giving Robb an obstructed view.

The pure white dress was stained with dirt and grime from the men she was longing for Robb to make her forget, but her survival, her defiance, only made her all the more beautiful. Even surrounded by a mob, she would not break or cave.

Robb’s hands rested at her waist. They were calloused over years of sword fighting and hunting, but for her, and her alone, they moved as delicately as an artist. Tracing up her shape with languid movements that sent a welcome shiver down her back.

He reached the underside of her shoulders and followed up her forearms. A subtle pressure of his fingers bent back her elbows and brought her arms straight above her head. Crossed at the wrist, he made no move to hold them in place, leaving it to her to stay willingly at his mercy.

His attention dropped to the metal encircling her neck. She had tucked the edges of her cloak, where the clasp had been broken, under the metal to keep it from slipping from her shoulders. The memory of her husband tossing it over her back long replaced by Robb folding her caringly in its depths.

Robb took the warmth from her, a flick of his wrist pulling the cloak free and pooling the lioness at their feet.

She shook again, though not from the cold.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Robb sighed a desperate noise, pained by the realization that this moment would be the best he ever lived.

(Y/n) smiled up at him equally pained. “I would say the same of you, but let this moment be only us, something to cherish in our dying breaths.”

Standing close, Robb could see small hooks in the metal attached it to loops in the top of (Y/n)’s dress, and he began to free them as he spoke, “I do believe that every moment with you will be one I cherish in my dying breaths.”

(Y/n)’s hands dropped to hold her hair out of the way as Robb lifted the glorified necklace over her head. “Robb, please,” she begged, “try not to love me. I believe it will prove near impossible for me not to love you, but it is better for us both that, save these often visited memories, we fade away.”

Robb moved closer as his hands slid behind her back. His chest pushed into (Y/n)’s, forcing the hands above her head to fall around his neck.

“I don’t want to fade away.” Robb confessed.

Silk ties corseting her dress were hidden by a panel of silk that Robb deftly slipped beneath. Clutching the ends of the string, Robb pulled the knot loose and with it the last barrier from his mate. The fabric of her dress went slack around her body, held up only by the pressure of Robb tight against her. Along the seam of her back, the dress fell open entirely, exposing a huge expanse of her longing form to Robb’s yearning gaze.

His fingers glided down beneath the soft silk and rested flat against her backside, holding her to him, not that she ever wanted to leave.

“I want every other man to fade away. I want to wipe them from your memory, remove them from this place. I want to ruin you for your husband before he ever gets to claim you.”

With a squeeze, Robb elicited a groan from his mate, and while Harwyn Plumm was the last person he should be thinking of, Robb prayed that inside his room the knight had heard the noise.

“We have a duty,” Robb conceded, delicately drawing the tips of his fingers over every inch of (Y/n) exposed to his touch. He trailed up and down the length of her spine, feeling every bone of her back and tracing the shape of each with care as (Y/n) quaked from the sensation.

“And I promise you.” His palms, rough from work felt the breadth of her shoulders with a relieving pressure that brought (Y/n)’s head rolling back in his grasp.

Robb worked his fingers up into her hair as her head lulled to the side, gently massaging over her scalp, peppered with a tug here and there to draw a pleased sigh from her lips. “I won’t forsake that.”

(Y/n) could barely register Robb’s words. She knew what he was saying, but she was sure that, until his fingers ceased toying with pulling down the neckline of her dress, she wouldn’t actually know what they meant.

“But make no mistake. I will not forget you, and you will not forget me.”

Perhaps, it was only that Robb was so clearly more handsome than her husband. Perhaps, she was only consumed by a moment’s gratitude to Robb for freeing her from the men who grabbed her. Perhaps, Robb knew his way around a woman with more skill than she initially believed. Perhaps, for once in her life, (Y/n) was enjoying indulging in something rebellious. Perhaps, this was all only a trick of the gods.

Or perhaps, it was the affectionate bond they formed in their early days by the light of the fire. Perhaps, it was how easily they enjoyed talking to one another. Perhaps, it was the tender care with which he always treated her. Perhaps, she was drawn to a man so visibly consumed with her. Perhaps, she was, truly, made for him.

Whatever the cause, (Y/n) had no words for what she felt as Robb took a step away from her and let her dress crumble to the floor. No words she could speak, anyway.

He looked at her as if she was the only woman in the world, and she looked on him wishing he was the only man.

With her naked before him, Robb no longer raised a hand. His arms stayed firmly at his sides. His eyes moved enough for the rest of him.

She felt his gaze caressing every inch of her skin, touching her, holding her everywhere he wanted to but didn’t dare.

(Y/n) turned in her spot, moving as slowly as she was willing to risk. If she never got to see him, and he could only see her once, then he would see all she had to offer him.

They had traveled, till now, under the guise of the bedding, and much as she wished, their mask provided no excuse for her to see him in the state he saw her now. She lived, vicariously, through her mate, consuming his expressions and his eyes as those she would return if their positions were reversed.

(Y/n) reached out a hand to take Robb’s own, and the two stayed joined for a long moment, enjoying what they could of each other for the last time.

“I believe,” Robb’s voice was gruff, deeper with desire than it had ever been before. “It is custom to take you to your bed.”

(Y/n) bit back a smile. “I believe you are right.”

Robb was careful with what he touched as he lifted (Y/n), naked as her birth, against his chest.

(Y/n) waited patiently in his arms as Robb closed his eyes to memorize this moment. He felt every curve and plane of her body pressing against him from her breasts to her thighs. He inhaled her scent, unadulterated by oil or perfume. He listened to the sound of her heartbeat, hammering so hard in her chest that he could count the thuds in time with his own.

Robb opened his eyes and stepped to the door.

(Y/n), taking cue, reached down and opened it for her mate.

“You’re finally here. I was worried something had…”

Harwyn was tucked into their marriage bed, bare as his wife and shocked speechless by her presence.

Robb marched with sure steps around to the empty side of the bed, laying (Y/n) down atop the soft furs. Lowering his head, Robb took one last liberty for himself, kissing the flat bone between (Y/n)’s naked breasts before he rose.

“I hope your night brings all the pleasure you deserve,” Robb brushed a hair from (Y/n)’s eyes as he smiled painfully down at her.

It was, Robb thought as he made for the door, the last time he would ever touch her, the last words he would ever say to her.

His knuckles went white to restrain himself as he turned back to see Harwyn sat up, leaning protectively over his wife as he glared after Robb. Jealous of Robb, as if there was anything for Harwyn to be jealous of. The most beautiful woman in the world was lying at his side, and all Robb had of her were fleeting memories and a family name on his arm.

Robb was the one, rightly, jealous of Harwyn Plumm, a man so unworthy of the prize he’d claimed.

Perhaps, Robb hoped fleetingly, he could give the man’s jealousy cause.

Robb looked over Harwyn’s heavy set shoulders to see (Y/n) had moved up onto her knees to watch him leave. “If he doesn’t satisfy your pleasures, my lady,” Robb turned his eyes on Harwyn with a cruel smirk, “you know where to find me.”

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That night, upset by the actions of her husband, the queen left the festivities early, long before the bedding.

Her twin accompanied her, attempting to conceal the very real emotion projecting on the queen’s usually passive face.

That night, upset that himself, his youngest sister, and younger brother were not allowed into the feast, a young Stark took to climbing the towers around the keep to get a peak in the high windows.

He was alone, climbing slick, icy stones facing strong winds. It was no wonder to any but his family why the boy fell. It was no wonder to any, including his family, that the howls of his wolf went unnoticed in the clatter of celebration.

The next morning as he prepared for his ride to the Wall, a bastard found the boy’s body, blue with cold.

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“Tyrek!”

The squire rushed into Tywin’s quarters.

Kevan, Tywin, and (Y/n) sat huddled around his desk, preparing their route to leave Winterfell.

The regrettable fall of Bran had already delayed the party’s departure by a week and was set to delay the King by at least one more.

Ned Stark, despairing of what happened to his son, couldn’t bare the sight of his own home and couldn’t bare the thought of letting his daughters out of his sight, let alone allowing them to travel to King’s Landing.

The King, ingratiating himself to the Stark who now agreed to be his hand, ordered a week of mourning, no travel, no planning, no celebrating.

Robert only lifted the ban for fear that, should the entirety of the court remain any longer, Winterfell would again be facing a shortfall of food. This time, without a flush of Tyrell travelers to provide relief.

A group of lesser courtiers, those deemed nonessential to the King, were to leave in two days time, and Tywin hoped he and his daughter would be among them, along with all but one of his men.

“Tyrek, bar the door.”

The young squire did as instructed and closed the door, latching it in place. Clanging of armor just beyond the wood, assured the Mountain was stationed outside. They would not be overheard or interrupted.

“I have a task for you which will require you do not return with us to Casterly Rock.” Tywin addressed his nephew.

(Y/n) rose to her feet and motioned for Tyrek to take her place. For once, (Y/n) found she didn’t know what her father had called Tyrek in to discuss. It was not often that she was left out of his plans, and it usually only occurred for the lack of convenience brought by her distance.

On this occasion, the reasoning was entirely different, and one she wished to be on her feet and braced to hear.

Tyrek took the empty chair between Kevan and Tywin, nervously looking between his uncles. “Anything you ask, my lord.”

Tywin withdrew from his desk a piece of paper. “By order of the King, you are to join Lancel as his squire.”

Tyrek took the paper and unfolded it, reading the words with his own eyes. “By what reason, may I ask?”

“By reason that I have asked it.” Tywin dismissed the question promptly.

“What would you have me do?”

Tywin lifted a bag from beneath his desk and and dumped its contents.

A small vial fell out of the leather and rolled across the table, stopping only where it hit Tyrek’s outstretched hand. “What is this?” Tyrek lifted the vial and examined the thick brown liquid as it oozed slowly across the surface of its container.

“Thickened manticore venom.”

“Father!” (Y/n)’s tone wasn’t rebuking, but it was certainly shocked. Poison was not her father’s weapon, nor a common item in the Westerlands.

Tywin rose from his chair, assuming his full height as he rounded the table to face his daughter with hard, cold eyes. “You disapprove?”

She didn’t, of course. She was surprised, of course; caught off guard, but not at all against the thought. “I’m told,” she hedged, “it’s a slow and painful death.”

“Precisely as he deserves.” Tywin turned to his nephew who stared up on the pair with wide eyed fascination. “Tyrek, I have a job for you. Should you succeed, you will be rewarded far beyond your dreams.”

“What would you have me do?” Tyrek clutched the poison in his fist.

“I would have you murder the King.”

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

Next Time on… Part Five (Coming soon)

Taglist:

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse /

Game of Thrones Taglist:

@crimson-knuckles

United in Fear Taglist:

@wonderboygenius / @bluestaratsunrise / @lost-my-sanity / @megzdoodle / @redroomassassin / @trickstersteve / @loveofshows / @htariq / @savingprivatecass / @sharktooothfairy / @emotionallysalty / @hi-there-x / @iamaferitale / @stylesamour / @kaylathekittykat225 / @kai-by / @brittanymcsharry / @supernaturalonice / @balbigalum / @purrfectowl / @santa-feigh / @cassiopeia-barrow / @fallfrxmgrace / @quickies-with-quicksilver / @v0idbella / @the-soulless-spider / @batmansbanana / @frozenhuntress67 / @brynthebulldozer / @scarhades / @cluelessathena / @crysxtal / @peachyblinderss / @capsheadquaters / @crazyfreaker / @crushedcomets / @tuliptx / @thorins-queen-of-erebor / @adelaidehale3 / @hufflepuff-always-and-forever / @deathcutie20101 / @mortifiedmoon / @swiftiegabi / @aaliyahhastings / @pinkleopardss / @jessyballet / @yoheyyosup / @hvnkymadden / @aspiring-fangirls-world / @starkbelova / @fluidfandoms / @kingniazx / @mixedupsammy / @harrygotstuckinthetardisagain / @rosie-s-song-covers / @littlelunaticfringe / @staplerrrr /

I think I tagged everyone. If I didn’t, please reply to this post to correct me. If you’d like to be on a different taglist, please reply to this post to lemme know. If I mistagged you instead of someone else, inform me and I will happily fix my mistake.

Thank you all for your patience. I apologize for how long this has taken and for going completely MIA for a period there. I hope this makes up for it.

#robb stark fanfiction #robb stark fanfic #robb stark au #robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark x y/n #game of thrones au #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #robb stark #soulmate au #robb stark soulmate au #ROBB STARK SOULMATE #got fanfiction #got fanfic #got imagine #robb stark angst

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emiwrites3reads · 5 years ago

Text

His Mate Pt.2

In a world where werewolves has mates, klaus never believed he had had, and if he did that are long gone and wouldn’t want him. That is until he runs from his father and runs in a a young werewolf at the Salvatore house.

Note: there won’t be any smut in this, I don’t write smut nor do I know how to sorry.

Part one: https://emiwrites3reads.tumblr.com/post/189673458016/his-mate-pt1

His mate masterlist; https://emiwrites3reads.tumblr.com/post/190164847716/his-mate-masterlist

Warning: none

_______________________

The worst thing about being trapped in a house with two originals? Everything. The taunting every thing you do, staring at you like your steak, and just being annoying.

“I’m suprised Elena still loves you Stephen, oooh and Damon, still single? What a shame, although it makes sense” Klaus says in a sing song voice. Y/n wolf feels on edge, when he’s near, when he’s away, when he speaks, yet his scent is somewhat soothing, which she will never admit to.

“Now tell me little wolf, what about you? Any secret love affairs? Oooh maybe you like Stephen? Damon?” It takes everything for y/n to not turn around and snap is neck. She simply rolls her eyes and doesn’t respond.

“Single then, that’s surprising” he says. The four, including Elijah turn to look at him. Klaus made a compliment, in his odd way. That never happens.

“Oooh someone jealous? Let me guess, Damon here likes little wolf and little wolf doesn’t like him back? Well Damon, looks like you need look for other girlfriends, you don’t seem tk have much like with them” Klaus says catching Damon’s glance to Y/n.

“It’s true isn’t it, little wolf?” No words. Y/n looks to her watch. It’s not even 4:00 pm. She sighs and lays back into the couch. Only to get a call from her Beta.

“Ooh it’s a boy, answer it!” Klaus says. Y/n dare gives him an annoyed look. She answers the phone and quickly, very quickly makes her way to the bathroom and turns the sink on.

“Where are you? It’s a full moon tonight”

“It is?! Crap! Sorry, kinda got kidnapped at the Salvatore house”

“Tell then you need to go cause of the moon, they’ll understand”

“Klaus isn’t the understanding type, neither is his stupid oak tree up his butt brother”

“The originals are there? Need me to send someone?”

“No! I’m fine, plus I got to go, I can’t have them jumping to conclusions and starting wars and killing each other or whatever” she quickly hangs up and leaves just as fast as she entered.

“Ooh what’s the news? Boyfriend? Ohhh even better! Girlfriend?” The hybrid remarks.

“Just a werewolf friend wondering were I am”

“Right cause of the moon, yet you don’t seemed bothered by it” crap. Klaus really knows how to start things and escalate things. Stephen and Damon look her way, waiting for her to answer.

“Werewolves can have rings too, like vampires” she says, although that’s not the reason. Having powerful and mighty witches as friends can help, especially when they know spells that don’t exist.

“A ring? Like the daylight ring?” Stephen replies. Y/n awkwardly nods.

“Look it doesn’t matter, I’m leaving” she says. As she turns Klaus grabs her arm. She tries to pull away but his grib is too strong. Something flashes in his eyes and he lets go.

“Fine, but be back tomorrow morning or you won’t be leaving at all”

“Yes daaad” she replies rolling her eyes. He stops himself from turning around and throwing her into the wall. Y/n leaves the house, surprisingly unharmed.

———

The crisp leaves crackle underneath her footing. With each paw stop, her huge black paw comes into eye sight. Knowing her pack, they are already turned.

She scents the air for them. The refreshing air of autum being taken over by sharp wintery cold air enters her nasal cavity. Winter is just over the horizon. Tall pines and maples stretch over head, the golden feathers soon to fall to the harsh coldness of Mystic Falls.

The forestry scent of her pack fills the air. Canine shapes drift just on the horizon ahead, coming to her. They dancing and race, the figures rough housing or pasing around the hill above.

Coming to view, her Beta greets her with a lick on the muzzle, his grey and white wolf making its way to her side. The yellow and brown eyes of her pack turn to her. With a sharp angle pointing to the sky, she lets out a shrieking howl into the wind. Cries sounding of sorrow yet powerful follow behind. The pack takes off into the wild of the night.

As morning comes around, tiredness swells in their forelegs and hind legs. The pack rest inside that of a meadow trapped in spring. Dragging what kill they have, the wolves feast before morning light, lunging under the sky before dawn.

With the sun reaching the horizon and more light flooding it’s way across the sky. Y/n gives her goodbyes to the pack. Finding her clothes in a wooden container by the small lake, she slips her clothes on in an small abandoned building, that the size of a shed.

Stepping into the breach of light, the sharpness kf the cool and crisp air stinks her skin after the sudden barrnesss of her exposed skin.

“Today is not a good day to wear short sleeves” she mutters to herself, taking in the camp in front of her. It’s not special by any means. One of two of the small camps, besides the main residence, which is not all together. Every wolf lives in their own house. While they may be a pack, everyone needs some away time.

This camp is the smaller of the two, but a prettier destination. There are 3 cabins, small but not shed sized. There are two sheds, one for females and one for males. It’s not set though as some wolves could care less. The other camp has five cabins and 3 sheds. For a pack of 15, it helps having a little more space.

“Hey” her beta, tall brawny, and darker complexion, called Romi walks up to her. He too, watches the pack with an careful eye.

“I’ll have to go here, can I borrow your jeep for the day?” Y/n looks over to the bulky, neon green, heavy duty Jeep on a dirt trail. Splashes of mud paint the doors of the vehicle.

“Sure” she hands him over some gas money for thanks and runs to the car after getting the keys from him. Climbing into the seat of the Jeep, and turning on the car, she drives off, hoping to get their in time.

—-

Y/n steps into the house. Shock covers her face as she sees blood spattered on the wall. She turns and more shock floods through her. All of the vampires, even klaus and his brother and injured in some way. Stephen and Damon lay on the floor unconscious and Elijah leans against the wall, holding his hand to a stab wound. Klaus sits on the couch just staring off into the distance. Pain hidden in his eyes, marked by the tear stained lids.

“Is everyone okay? What happened?” She rushes to Damon and Stephen, almost stoping at Klaus, for reasons she doesn’t understand.

“Mikael came, Rebekah distracted him and lored him away just in time” Damon says, coughing up blood. She bites into her wrists and force feeds the two vampires. Part of her wants to go over to klaus, but she doesn’t trust neither if the originals.

“No, don’t...” Damon tries to say, Stephen too but she continues. Pulling away, she helps the two stand. She runs down to where the blood bags are, following her nose for the most part. She grabs two, then two more. She carries them to the originals and gives them to the two vampires. At first that don’t accept, especially klaus, but soon they agree.

“I can’t believe that stupid... err when I find him I will rip him organ by organ” klaus announces to the group.

Y/n walks over to Damon while Klaus walks over to them. “Thank you” she looks to him, suprised.

“For what?”

“Well, you go those blood bags didn’t you?” She swallow. Feelings bubble inside of her, something about how he speaks, walks, she loves it, but his actions.... repulses her.

A knock comes to the door, “Y/n, a young man named Romi is asking for you” her Beta runs in, wearily watching the vampires.

“Julia is hurt, so are some others like August and Sarah” some of the younger pack members, Julia in high school and the twins Augeat and Sarah in college with her.

“I’m coming”

Tag list

- @chloe-skywalker

#klaus mikaelson #klaus #klaus x werewolf reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #salvatore #vampire diaries #the originals #mikeal mikaelson #werewolf #vampire #emi3ffics

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darkcolinodonorgasm · 5 years ago

Text

but if you let me I can make another world for us (1/1)

A/N: this is all because of @shardminds and y’all don’t know the half of it. We basically yelled at each other over vampires and vampire!Killian and basically, at first, there was only Ems’ piece, the one you must read!, wild animal (livin’ like a fine young cannibal).

Ems, thank you so so so much for being such an amazing cheerleader and friend and this ‘verse is abso-fucking-lutely amazing. The world needs more vampire!Killian and you rock for bringing him back into the fandom again! Thank you so much.

Summary: Accepting to accompany her vampire boyfriend to a gathering of clans is probably the craziest thing Emma ever did - and she knows a lot about crazy stuff. On top of that, tonight she'll meet her boyfriend's family. It isn't scaring the shit out of her. It. Is. Not.

→ read on ao3

She can't breathe. Literally. The corset is too tight, even if she's tried it on last week and it was perfect.

She's under no illusion that it's just metaphorical: the whalebones are digging into her skin, leaving marks. At least her ribs aren't cracked. Yet.

She has to do this. For Killian, for herself, for them.

After tonight, there's no going back. Tonight she officially enters a world that's not her own, but could very easily be. It scares the shit out of her how not scared she at the thought of belonging to Killian for eternity. But it's too soon for both of them. For tonight, she'll be his mate, not a blood bag, not someone high on being fed from. She belongs to and with him, and if someone even dares to joke about their bond, she's gonna stick a sharp piece of wood through their chest, clan relationships and consequences be damned.

She still can't breathe.

The midnight black dress makes her feel like a princess, the huge skirt flaring from her lips to pool on the floor, not even the sky high heels she's wearing are going to save the hem from brushing around her wherever she goes.

Admittedly, it's the knowledge that vampires are extremely good at knowing what goes through another person's mind with just one sniff at them that she's bothered with underwear. Then again, bothered is not the word: if she has to go through hell, so does Killian. The knowledge of her wearing a corset, lace and stockings beneath all that silk and lace, along with the plunging neckline baring Killian's marks for all to see, will probably make the vampire come in his pants. Again.

Emma breathes in. Tries to, there's no way to breathe deeply in that corset, and there's no way she's gonna wear the gown without it, not when it hoists her breasts so high they might as well reach her ears. Looking down, she can see the mark of Killian's teeth and pure desire flickers through her. She wants him, every goddamn moment.

He'll be here soon, picking her up in a fancy limousine - nothing less is expected from the brother of the leader of New York's clan, especially when said brother is as much of a leader as Liam is.

Fuck, Liam.

Not only she'll be thrown at the wolves - uh - but she'll officially meet Liam and his mate tonight as well, along with the other members of the clan.

Okay, now she might puke.

A cape - yes, a cape - is the last touch she adds to her attire, her neck bare of any jewelry, her make-up already done - smoky eyes she has spent way too much over and lips as red as blood because she knows how that sends Killian mad with lust every time - and hair in simple loose curls, perfect for tying the lace mask underneath.

Her heart jumps in her throat when the doorbell rings, and Emma knows he can hear it.

Shaking her head, she tightens the cape beneath her chin, grabs her purse and makes her way to the door.

Her heart stops.

And Killian looks really concerned.

Hot, he looks hot.

There’s a part of her, located very much south of her brain, that wants to say “fuck the ball”, drag her vampire inside and spend all night feasting on what’s hidden beneath the tuxedo he’s wearing.

He never wore something like that before. Which, admittedly, is a blessing, because she might as well have lost what little sanity she’s left.

«Love?»

Killian’s voice breaks her from her reverie and she stops her hand halfway to her mouth to check if she’s drooling or not, opting to place it over his cheek. His black mask hides nothing to her, the hunger concealed by worry clear in his bright blue eyes.

And you’ve yet to see the dress completely.

Yes, she’ll like it very much when he’ll take her cape off and see the whole effect, his mind wondering what there might be underneath.

She licks her lips, thanking whatever god up there for waterproof make-up.

«You look...»

«I know,» Emma snickers, thumb brushing his stubbled cheek. God, he’s beautiful, but he doesn’t need her to stroke his already huge ego. «You cleaned up nicely yourself.»

He grins, flashing his fangs, and for a moment she fears her knees won’t sustain her.

Bastard. Mine.

Before she can tug at the lapels of his tux - fuck formal dress code for not letting him wear a goddamn tie - and greet him as she desires, Killian offers her his arm, cocking his head on the side.

Bastard.

He winks. «Shall we?»

Still mine.

-/-

She can’t breathe.

This time, however, it’s for a very good reason, one that leaves her boneless against the limousine’s seat, legs spread and her skirt moving as her vampire boyfriend takes her down from her high, wicked tongue lapping at the mark he’s just left on her inner thigh, three fingers buried deep inside her.

There won’t be any mistaking her for another’s: every inch of her body oozes Killian’s scent, one even she can smell, something that should make her run for the hills when instead all she wants to do is curling up in it as if it were a blanket.

Panties back in place - the ripping will be for later, that she knows - Killian resurfaces from the black sea, hair ruffled and mask intact. As he looks at her with hunger and lust, Emma can’t help the shiver of desire from shaking her. Insatiable, that’s what they are. Neither of them minds.

There’s a drop of blood darkening his lower lip. Keeping eye contact, he slowly drags his tongue over the precious nectar, smirking slightly so his fangs are exposed. He licks his teeth, slowly, sensually, making her quiver, and she could almost orgasm again when he polishes off his fangs.

«Satisfied, now?»

His eyes darken. «Not even remotely,» he growls, letting her know he's not had his fill of her, not for tonight, and surely not for ever.

When he sits back next to her, Emma reaches out, adjusting the papillon. She doesn't, however, comb his hair with her fingers: as much as he claimed her with his bites, she's claiming him as well with her scent on him and coursing through his veins and the disheveled look he sports.

«We're here.»

Actually, they've been here for almost five minutes, parked in front what she knows is a huge mansion, perfect for this kind of events.

A tap against the window has the door open immediately and Killian climbs out, offering her his hand.

She doesn't think twice, placing her own over his.

The mansion isn't huge, it's more than that. It's almost as big as the entire Louvre, just as luxuriously adorned and surely containing just as important and inestimable pieces of art.

They ascend the grand staircase together, and out of the corners of her eyes she can see vampires mingling around, each one turning to Killian and nodding their respect at him. Her man being powerful makes her feel so. She's bursting with pride and doesn't care about them all smelling it.

When the reach the top she’s not surprised at all when Killian offers her to take her cloak, but damn, doesn’t that make her heart flutter. Her blood goes to her cheeks, but she maintains a straight face as she allows him to take the cape, making it slip from her shoulders.

The sound of his breath catching is clear and she can’t help the smug smile from ticking the corners of her lips up.

The bodice is covered in lace decorations, reaching up to the almost transparent fabric of the off-the-shoulders sleeves that reach her forearms where more lace is, tight enough to make it look like as if there are black flowers and feathers directly inked on her skin.

The expanse of creamy skin the back of the dress isn’t much, especially when her curls tumble back into place, but she knows Killian won’t be able to stop himself from trailing his fingers up and down her spine, right between her shoulder blades and up until he chan place his palm against the nape of her neck and guide her in for a kiss.

Then his breath is in her ear and something warm and heavy settles between her breasts.

Her breath stops, because what she’s looking at is a huge diamond hanging from a string of more, smaller diamonds designing what looks like vines.

«May I?»

She must’ve nodded, because he does quick work of the clasp and secures the necklace, the rock nestled just above her breasts, drawing everyone’s attention to her bosom and the marks there, somehow highlighted by the jewel.

If she thought he needed only his marks and scent to stake a claim on her, she was wrong. He might as well proposed there and now.

Her pulse quickens at the thought and yet again she finds herself scared at how nice that would be.

«It’s… I have no words, Killian. I love it. Thank you.»

He drops a kiss on her bare shoulder. «You’re welcome. It belonged to my mum, she would’ve loved seeing it on you.»

She can’t breathe, and is about to say something but he beats her, gently tugging her hand. Killian leads inside, and though she should be blinded by the lights and the wonderful gowns and décor there, all Emma can think about is the magnitude of his gesture and the importance the pendant holds.

She might very much be on the verge of tears.

It doesn’t last long, it can’t, because the next thing she knows is that she’s being led towards the far end of the room, passing among several vampires who nod their head and quickly glance at her in curiosity before wisely turning around: they don't want a blood bath. This time.

The memory makes her shiver in unexpected pleasure.

As they enter a vast ballroom full of dancing couples, Emma’s eyes fall on what looks like a throne at the very end of the room. Two thrones, to be exact, but only one is occupied by two people: a man with curly dark hair and, on his lap, a woman with hair as black as night and a dress as red as blood.

Emma immediately knows who they are, even though she’s never met them.

Her heart begins to beat faster and that’s not lost on the other vampires, who turn their head. The ones with a bit of more brain in them avert their gaze immediately, the other do that only when Killian’s low growl reaches their ears.

He squeezes her hand, and she squeezes back. She can do it. She has to.

Curious blue eyes fall on her as they approach, followed by green ones, malicious and sparkling instead. The woman lifts herself graciously from the man’s lap, the long skirt of her mermaid dress pooling around her feet like a pool of blood. Long dark tresses are styled carefully to rest on her right shoulder, long diamond earrings brushing the curve of her neck.

«Emma! It’s so nice to finally meet you!»

The woman’s - Ruby’s - voice is like silk, low and smooth, so sensual Emma immediately feels attracted to it. It must be her vampire nature, because whatever attraction she feels disappears in a blink, as if a switch was turned off.

The brunette takes her hands and kisses her on the cheeks, inhaling deeply. «My, my, little brother, you didn’t hold back.» Is that pride in her voice?

«Ruby,» Killian warns her, but it’s not menacing, more flustered instead. Emma would laugh were it not for the fact that she’s not sure what to do. How does one react to that show of affection from a total stranger who happens to be a vampire?

Just like a lifesaver, the man sitting on the opulent throne rises and walks towards them.

Liam Jones is a bit taller than Killian, his shoulders broader but he’s as handsome as Killian. Blue eyes, just like his brother’s shine behind the mask, and a soft smile plays on his lips. Emma is not fooled, she knows the tales by now, and she knows he’s as much as charming as he is deadly, much like Killian.

She’s not surprised or breathless when he takes her hand and kisses it. «It’s nice to finally meet you, Emma. Welcome to our home.»

The British accent is not as thick as Killian’s, though she doesn’t actually want to know how deep it can get, because that would mean him being aroused and- Fuck. Now is not the time to remember Killian telling her he has to fly the house some nights when his brother and Ruby are fucking like rabbits because they are so fucking loud and it’s like having them in the same bed and- Fuck.

From the smile on the three vampires’ lips, her thoughts must be loud and cause some mysterious scent to ooze off her because they know, they fucking know.

Then something dawns on her.

«I recognize you!» It doesn’t want to be accusatory, it really doesn’t, but it sure as hell sounds so. «I mean,» Emma hurries to explain, tumbling over her own words, «I’ve seen you two around.»

Ruby laughs, whilst Liam raises his hand and scratches behind his neck in a move that’s so Killian.

From his part, Killian sighs and drops his head. «Really?»

It’s Ruby who shrugs. «You can’t blame us, Killy, we wanted to know who the lady who captured you was.» She purses her blood red lips, dark eyebrows rising on her forehead as if telling him she didn’t end the sentence the way she truly wanted in the name of mercy.

«So you two followed me?» Emma asks, eyes wide.

Liam tilts his head. «We were careful not to make ourselves seen.»

At that, Emma snorts inelegantly. «I’m sorry, but I’m a bail bondsperson, it’s my job to see what others can’t, and there are only so many times seeing you can be called a coincidence.»

The man nods with a low chuckle, and Emma feels proud of herself. Killian’s squeeze of her hand tells her he is, too.

Ruby smiles widely as well, eyes narrowing imperceptibly when they fall on the jewel at Emma’s neck, rapidly locking with Killian’s. «We needed to see who’s made you come in your pants.»

She can’t breathe.

And then, she laughs.

She’s not thought about their first time together in so long, the memory actually takes her by surprise.

Next to her, Killian curses, cheeks aflame.

It was so hilarious, really. He’d just gone down on her and her juices mixed with her blood singing to him of arousal and ecstasy sent him over the edge whilst he still was wearing his pants.

Even after her fifth orgasm Emma, even after he’d demonstrated thoroughly that his stamina was nothing to laugh about, she kept laughing at him. It was only because Ruby caught him doing laundry that he confessed what happened to her, not exactly thinking she would - obviously - tell his brother. Truth to be told, they didn’t joke about it. Much.

«Alright, alright, now that you’ve been properly introduced-»

«No, you’ve not properly introduced us!»

«Ruby, Emma. Emma, Ruby-»

«That includes me, little brother.»

A desperate sigh. «Liam, Emma. Emma, Liam-»

«Nice to meet you two. Properly, this time.»

A strangled groan. «Now, if you allow me, I would like a dance. What do you say, love?»

Her pulse does something crazy at the pet name he uses, then she catches the music, maybe for the first time during the evening, definitely different from the one they danced to at that rave, and looks at him, shocked. «You know how to do… this?»

The smile on his lips has never been more disarming. «It’s called a waltz, love,» Killian tells her, holding her hand up as he brings her at the very center of the dancefloor. His other hand settles at the base of her spine, fingers spread, drawing her closer so her chest and his meet and she has to tilt her head to watch into his eyes, even with the impressive heels she’s wearing. «And there’s only one rule: pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.»

And with those words, they are off to a whole new world.

She feels like flying, and it’s ridiculous, because her feet are connected to the floor, or at least they are enough for her to make another step and fly higher and higher, her skirts sweeping the floor.

It’s like a dream, a dream she forgot about, the dream of a lost girl who still had hope. If this is a dream, she never wants to wake up.

Killian makes her twirl so much her head spin, leading her higher song after song.

On the last note of the current waltz, he stops and dips her, her hair almost touching the floor but not. His breath is hot against the tender skin of her throat, his nose nuzzling that sweet spot just below her jaw.

She can’t breathe, and it’s all because of this man.

«Turn your head,» he whispers lowly in her ear.

Emma obeys, and her heart, once again, stops.

In front of her eyes is a floor-to-ceiling mirror serving as part of the wall, but that’s not what makes her eyes widen in shock, no, it’s the fact that the only reflection in the mirror is her own.

Slowly, Killian pulls her up, twirling her around so her back is pressed against his chest and he can lower his mouth to her ear.

«Right now, you are looking at the world the way I see it.» His voice his low, with a trace of… fear, maybe?

«W-what do you mean?»

«Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you. Not the vampires, not the rivalry between clans, not the thirst for blood or the inexhaustible lust. It’s you, Emma. You are my world. Nothing else matters, it doesn’t since I first laid my eyes upon you. From that moment on, you became mine and everything else disappeared.»

Her heart is wild in her chest, wanting to break free so it can truly be held in Killian’s palms. Incapable of looking at him in the mirror, she turns around in his arms, hands placed over his chest, over the place where his heart should be beating but is not. And yet, it is beating, even if she might be the only one able to hear it.

Emma’s green eyes are filled with tears as she gazes up at him, the feeling she can’t put into words but aches to, so she uses the same words he did, letting him know her world tilted on its axis as well, and all because of him.

«It’s you, too.» She almost sobs, miraculously managing to keep her voice steady. «For me, it’s you, Killian.»

Eyes shining as well, Killian bends his neck and captures her lips with his in a searing kiss, teeth clashing and tongue tracing the fangs he never hides from her, the one so loves to feel tugging at her lower lip and pierce her skin.

She can't breathe, and yet, she's never found it to be easier than it is now.

#cs fanfic #captain swan #cs fic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs au #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #my fic #vampire!killian

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

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Packless Monsters

TITLE: Packless Monsters CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 77/? AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you’re a werewolf who ends up in the company of Loki in the Avenger’s tower after saving Pepper’s life RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: Also on AO3 click here

After months of work and planning, you finally made it to the night before your wedding. Your Asgardian wedding to be precise. After you got married on Asgard, you would be returning to Midgard to have a mating ceremony for the wolves.

There were a few wolves on Asgard with you as welcome guests. Wolves were cherished by the Asgardians, even by Odin. And Odin usually hated Midgardians in his realm. You’d respected that enough to only invite the four wolves you absolutely had to: your brother, Fenrir, and after much deliberation and still very reluctantly, you’d invited your mother as well.

Your mom wasn’t necessarily someone you’d had to invite, but you had your reasons for it. And Lady Sif was under strict orders from Loki and Thor to remove her from the realm if she so much as upset you. Part of the reason you’d invited her was the duty you felt toward family and pack. Much as you didn’t like her most of the time, she was still your mother and she had raised you. Even if she’d wanted to sell you off to an abusive asshole. Despite everything, you had to give her this one last chance to be a decent human being.

The other reason you’d wanted to invite her was much more selfish. You wanted to show her, to prove to her in terms that she could understand, how much better off you were now. How much better you were out of her control, away from the toxic pack and toxic alpha. You’d gotten your own life living on your own terms and you were thriving. You had everything she wanted and more. And she wasn’t going to get to benefit from a single penny of what you had now.

You knew she wouldn’t really understand, but it made you feel better, if a bit petty, to show off to her.

She had wanted you to marry Jareth, to wed the abusive asshole, just because he was going to be the next Alpha. Now you were marrying a prince who treated you like a queen, who also happened to be an alpha in his own right. You are part of Fenrir’s pack and that made you a princess among the wolves.

And she got absolutely nothing out of it, no status, no power, no prestige, because she’d been such a bitch to you.

Karma worked wonders.

But that night? That night you were drinking with your friends and family. Well, drinking with Dan. Ethan was a child by Asgardian standards as well as Midgardian, so he wasn’t drinking Asgardian booze.

And poor Dan hadn’t realized that he could actually get drunk on Asgardian booze. So he was actually shitfaced by the end of the night. You took it more easily, knowing what you were getting into. This gathering wasn’t as huge as the feast would be tomorrow night. You were gathered in one of the smaller dining halls, your brothers, mother, Fenrir, Loki, Thor, Sif, the warriors three, and the entire team of Avengers. Most of the Avengers were allowed to have a drink or two, they had high enough metabolisms to deal with the Asgardian alcohol, except poor Tony who so desperately wanted to try the booze, but wasn’t allowed since he was just human.

You told stories all night, staying up late and drinking together. You felt like this was a much better way to celebrate your upcoming wedding than a traditional bachelorette party. You didn’t need to see more naked men. You were going to have Loki for eternity. Enjoying an evening feasting and drinking with your friends and family was more than enough.

The next morning was a blur. You were woken early in Loki’s consort’s suite. Tradition demanded that you sleep in separate rooms and you wouldn’t get to see him until the actual wedding. Sleeping alone and waking alone hadn’t been difficult, but it would be the last night you had to do so.

You didn’t have time to think about it the second Frigga, Sif, and Nat came to wake you. Nat and Sif had ended up as your bridesmaids. You all had hair and makeup that morning, a light meal, hours getting ready and final dress fittings with magic. Frigga reminded you all of your parts. She wanted this day to go off without a hitch.

All too soon, you were standing before the double-doors to the throne room with Fenrir at your side. With your father dead, it was up to either your alpha or Dan to give you away. As the father of all wolves, Fenrir took that duty upon himself. Dan didn’t mind at all and gave way to his Alpha. “Are you ready, daughter?” Fenrir asked you while Sif and Nat took their positions, ready for the procession.

You nodded and beamed up at Fenrir. “I’ve never wanted anything more,” you reassured him. Loki was your choice. Was your wolf’s choice. Fenrir gave you a warm smile in return.

The procession music started and Nat and Sif left you to make their way down the long aisle to stand in their places as your bridesmaids. Once they were in place, the music changed and the double doors opened again and you slowly made your way down the long aisle full of nobles up to the throne where Loki waited for you. Your hand was on Fenrir’s arm as you walked together. You didn’t have to worry about falling on your face. Fenrir wouldn’t let you.

Loki was dressed in his formal finery, including his golden horned helmet. You had a very indecent thought of riding him while he was wearing nothing BUT that golden horned helmet, but that was definitely a thought for later. Right now you had to survive the ceremony.

At least Frigga had promised the ceremony would be short. The hand fasting was a simple ceremony.

You felt everyone’s eyes on you as they stood to watch you walk down the aisle and kept reminding yourself not to trip, to stand tall, to not drop your flowers. Your grip was tight on Fenrir’s arm. All of your thoughts left your head when Loki’s eyes caught yours, when you saw the love and adoration in his eyes, when it took every ounce of his self control to not let his mouth drop open when he saw you in your wedding dress. You took his open amazement for the compliment it was.

You made your way to him and handed your bouquet to Sif to hold. It was her job after all. Even if she had complained loudly about having to wear a dress. Loki had Thor and one of Thor’s warrior friends as his groomsmen and you weren’t at all surprised. Thor stood by Loki in everything, especially this, but Loki didn’t have many other friends.

You took Loki’s hands in yours and Frigga stepped up to you. She was the goddess of marriages, so she performed all weddings, especially noble weddings. “Today we come together to seal the bond of Prince Loki and Lady Y/N of Midgard in matrimony,” she looked at Loki. “Do you still wish to take Lady Y/N as your wife, my son?” She asked him warmly. This was a formality, of course Loki wanted to marry you.

He inclined his head. “I do,” he said with a bright honest smile. You loved seeing him so happy.

Freya turned to you next. “And do you still wish to take Prince Loki as your husband?” She asked just as warmly, just as formally.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of your Loki. “I do,” you replied, staring up at him. You couldn’t believe this was happening. It seemed like forever ago that you’d met him. It seemed like you knew him your entire life, though it also felt like no time at all had passed.

Frigga drew her golden cord from wherever she had hidden it and wrapped it gently around yours and Loki’s joined hands. “As your hands are bound together now, so your lives and spirits are joined in the commitment of love and trust. For always you hold in your own hands the fate of this union. Above you are stars and below you is earth. Like stars your love should be a constant source of light, and like the earth, a firm foundation from which to grow. May these hands be blessed this day. May they always hold each other. May they have the strength to hang on during the storms of stress and the dark of disillusionment. May they remain tender and gentle as they nurture each other in their wondrous love. May they build a relationship founded in love, and rich in caring. May these hands be healer, protector, shelter, and guide for each other,” it was the traditional hand fasting ceremony on Asgard. She unbound your hands and handed you each a ring. “As you cannot be bound together physically for the rest of your lives, may these rings be a symbol of your eternal connection,” Frigga told you both. Loki lifted your left hand and slipped the slim ring onto your ring finger. It matched your engagement ring perfectly. You did the same, slipping his wedding band onto his left hand as well. Both rings were gold, as you couldn’t wear silver.

“May I present to you for the first time, Prince Loki and his wife, Princess Y/N. Loki, you may kiss your bride,” she announced. Loki dipped you backwards and kissed you well to roars of applause from the gathered nobles and dignitaries, plus your friends and family.

Once the kiss was over, the pair of you led the procession to the feast. You had a table to yourselves, but only got to eat when Thor and your friends held the well-wishers at bay long enough for you to get some food. The night was wonderful and full of dancing, plenty of drinks, and an occasional bite of something to eat. Mostly, you accepted your well-wishes from your friends and family, and of course the thousand.

Loki growled at Thor when his brother approached carrying Mjolnir. “It’s tradition, brother!” Thor replied innocently, then laid Mjolnir on your lap to the cheers of the crowd. You looked at Loki confused. This seemed an odd thing to be cheering.

“It is tradition for Mjolnir or a replica of it to be placed in the lap of the bride as a prayer to Thor for offspring,” he explained. You were still confused so he continued. “My idiot brother is the god of Thunder. He’s also the god of fertility,” Loki explained. You could infer from there that the hammer was a symbol of fertility. A blush colored your cheeks at that information, which just had the crowd cheering harder.

That was more information than you really wanted to know about your brother-in-law.

At the end of the evening, Thor’s idiot friends, Fenrir, your Asgardian friends, and Thor himself lifted the pair of you on their shoulders to carry you to Loki’s suite. You found out later that it was tradition to escort the newlyweds to the marriage bed to ensure the marriage was consummated. At least you didn’t have to do that in front of them. Because that wouldn’t happen. Ever.

Though Fenrir would be able to verify by scent if he really wanted to. You knew he was polite enough not to. Besides, tomorrow was your mating ceremony on Midgard.

Your lips met Loki’s the second you were alone and you weren’t sure who initiated the kisses, which of you initiated more than kisses, or where your clothes disappeared off to. That wasn’t important at the moment. All that mattered was that you and Loki were finally married and you were taking each other to your marriage bed.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #packless monsters #chapter 77 #nekoamamori

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centuryofdean · 5 years ago

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When Lightning Strikes - Chapter 9

Author Disclaimer:: The Hobbit, Middle Earth and its characters are not mine. I take no credit. The story line and even some dialogue–also not mine. Instead I claim my Original Character Laurel and the adjustments to the story line.

Summary:: From when Laurel Took was small she dreamed of a man. Every time she dreamed of him, he could not see or hear her. Over time they are able to communicate–but he’s been dreaming about her too. Finally after years of anticipation Laurel takes the leap and kisses him. Only for her to wake up and dread the real world. Then lightning strikes and she finds herself in a familiar place, with a familiar face.

Rated:: M for Mature. Please do not read this story unless you are 18+ At this point in the story there isn’t much, but later on the M rating will come into effect.

Warnings:: Language and Violence

Pairing:: Kili x OC (Laurel)

Laurel

How was I supposed to tell him I was scared to love him? If something happened to him I would waste away like my mother. The ache in my chest was replaced with something more when he was kissing my neck. If it hasn't been for the fact that everyone was mere feet away I would have probably turned around and jumped on top of him, only to regret it later. No matter how much I tell myself I can't put myself in that position, I know deep down I am already there.

Once he finally fell asleep I threw the blanket he gave to me cover him and myself, curling into him. Almost as if he sensed my movement, he turned onto his side, letting me fit in the crook of his neck. He threw an arm over me and pulled me closer, sniffing my hair. A sigh of contentment filled me, this is where I was meant to be.

Suddenly he grasped my bottom and gave it a squeeze.

Oh Kili.

I was woken by someone kicking my leg. It wasn't a light kick either. With a rub to my eyes, I squinted against the rising sun to find Thorin standing above me. It was difficult to try and untangle myself from his nephew. Kili's leg was wrapped around me along with his arm. Surprisingly the prince was a heavy sleeper, as he did not wake when I pulled his arms and leg off of me to get up.

Thorin was still standing before me, watching intently.

"Did you need something," I asked somewhat bitterly.

"A word with you," he muttered with distaste.

I rose, stretching as I followed Thorin a little ways out away from everyone. We came upon the stream, where he bent down and splash water on his face and drink lightly. When he rose and wiped his hands on his pants I stood a little straighter. Even if I didn't care for him he was still a king, right?

"You are not of this world," he started as if it were a rehearsed speech. "You will come with us to the Lonely Mountain, so we can return you to your world. If it fails and you cannot be returned, you are to go stay with the Hobbit in the Shire. He has agreed it would be the best for you."

"Okay," I sighed.

"You are not to get close to Kili."

A harsh laugh left me, "It's already too late for that. He knows me better than anyone in my world, and now your's."

"I have seen how he looks upon you," Thorin spat. "He is infatuated. He is heir to be king if something happens to Fili. Dwarf kings do not mate with Halflings."

That jab didn't hurt at all. Halfling. If it weren't true I would have been insulted.

"Alright," I muttered, "anything else?"

"This journey will be long and hard. If something happens to you I will not lift a finger for your aide. I will not be stopped by some mere girl that cannot take care of herself."

A scoff left me as my arms crossed over my chest.

"King or not Thorin Oakenshield," I spat out, "I won't stand here and let you insult me just because you don't like that I'm not a dwarf. I can take care of myself plenty out in the woods. It seems you have forgotten, so let me refresh your memory. I saved your ass and everyone else's from three damn trolls just a few days ago. "

A look of disgust passed his face. "If it not for Kili I would leave you here," he muttered, "for if I left you, he would stay as well. Your words run wild and you speak of things you do not know. You have no place among us."

Did he seriously forget already? It was at least a day ago that I shot the trolls with arrows. At least a day ago I put out a fire lit under a spit of dwarves and cut half of them out of potato sacks. Things I did not know? What I knew is that he was a pretentious--

"Whatever. I didn't plan on trying to pursue Kili anyway, so don't get your trousers in a twist," I muttered.

Someone cleared their throat, making my attention flip over to see Gandalf standing. He gestured to his left, revealing the rest of the dwarves. It appeared everyone came to listen in on the thrashing I was receiving. Kili looked more furious than myself. None the less I passed by each of them and back to where my things were. I wasn't going to stay where I wasn't welcomed.

After all my things were gathered I went back to the castle of sorts that the elves lived in. I was welcomed politely, even offered food. As I sat at the small table eating fruit everyone else came in to start eating as well. The mood was very somber, no one really speaking. At least all the food was fresh and plentiful.

Elrond joined the hall at the larger table with Gandalf. "Morning guests," he stated. "Tonight the moon will be perfect for reading the map you have brought. This time tomorrow you will be able to continue on with your journey with new knowledge and purpose."

Most of the dwarves cheered, starting new conversation soon after.

"Tell me Laurel," Elrond continued lightly, "why do you feast on the flesh of nature?"

I wiped at my lips, ridding myself from the juices of an apple. "Animals? Well because it is food," I stated confused.

"Elves value all life," Kili offered, "they will not maim animals unless their lives are in danger. Eating creatures is absurd to the elves."

"In my world it is very common for us to eat meat. There are farms dedicated just for it. I don't make a lot of money, so I hunt for food mostly, even have a small vegetable garden," I replied.

"Do you like it," Elrond asked interested.

"Yes, especially deer. Very clean and healthy meat."

Throughout the day I practiced using my newly acquired bow. It was beautiful. The string was very flexible, but easy to pull. I could not really test the distance it could shoot, but it did pack quiet a wallop. Though I did not hit my target every time, I was able to come pretty close. As long as my target in the future was big enough I would be able to strike fatally until I could make my aim more acute.

Kili didn't speak to me at all, instead he just watched me and followed wherever I went. It was sort of annoying, but I did not say anything to him about it.

Occasionally another dwarf, usually Bofur or Nori, would sit with me in the clearing and tell me stories of other adventures they had gone on. I told them of different things in my world.

"They are called airplanes. Huge machines that travel people or things from far distances. They travel in the air like birds," I explained.

"Amazin'," Bofur seemed dumb founded.

As night started to fall, the dwarves gathered back to where they first had a fire the night before. I was contemplating on if I should ask if there was a room inside I could stay in. Obviously Kili wasn't in a good mood, so trying to sleep next to him again probably wasn't in my best interest. Food was brought out here this time. I don't know how much longer I could just eat bread, fruit, and vegetables. This night I did not share wine, instead I drank water and ate my food in silence. Thorin and Gandalf both were missing from the group once more.

After finishing my food I read from my book of herbs again. It was marvelous, holding drawings of the plants and a description of what they can help with. Only a fourth of it I already knew from my grandmother, the rest was new to me. Maybe my mom was an elf and so was grandmother, she did look quite young.

Kili whom sat next to me elbowed me lightly, offering me something that he had just bitten off of.

"What is it," I asked before accepting it.

"Dried meat, go ahead," he nodded, "you can have the rest."

The meat was spiced like jerky, but tasted good either way. I thanked him quietly and continued to read from my book.

"What is that," he asked, pointing to the writing I made out of wet charcoal.

"This is English writing."

"It looks confusing."

"The elvish writing was confusing," I stated, "this way I can study from it. This here is what we call California Poppy in my time. 'Infuse it with water and it will make the drinker fall asleep.'"

He leaned in closely to watch what I was pointing to. For a while we sat by the firelight reading from my book, his arm draped around me lightly. Slowly I found myself curling into him like it was story time. We went through all the pages together, coming to the end where blank pages were for me to add things if I wanted.

"Show me how you write your name," his voice was soft in my ear. I printed my name clearly so that he could see. "Write my name."

I did the same for his not really knowing how it was spelled. So I simply wrote Kili out for him to see. The conversation around us grew into a mess that I stopped paying attention too, just background noise. My face rose so that I could look up at him. I felt his hand raise and play with my braid. "I am sorry about what Thorin did this morning. It was not right," he stated.

"It's fine," I murmured letting my head fall back against his shoulder as I shut the book. "I understand what he's saying."

Kili didn't respond, instead he wrapped me up in his arms and gave a soft squeeze. We rose together and moved to where we slept the night before. Without question I settled down next to him and did not fight it when his arm was thrown over me and pulling me to his chest.

"I do not know why you fight me Laurel," he sighed into my hair, "but for now I will allow you to fight me. Soon I will grow tired and not allow it."

Without our horses we were due to walk the rest of the journey the next morning. I made it a habit to stick to the back of the troop so that I didn't have to be anywhere near Thorin. Bilbo tended to float back and forth between the front and back to talk to me. If what he said earlier was true, then he was probably a distant cousin of some sort. It was odd to think that this world I was in was actually the past. There was nothing of this written in any books that I knew of.

By time we stopped for our first break I had to sigh in contentment. Never have I walked that much before in my life. It was very tiring.

Placed between Kili and Fili I did more work going through my book and checking the herbs that were packed in my bag. Most of them were dried and folded into cloth and tied. Some of the more rare things were placed in small glass vials of water, wrapped in cloth so they would not break.

Kili rose to disappear into the woods for a while. Once he was out of sight Fili elbowed me, glancing around at everyone and their positions.

"Tell me Lady Laurel, what do you see in my brother," he asked quietly, blue eyes alive with wonder.

It was one of the first times I actually looked at Fili. It was odd how the brothers were like complete opposites. Here is Fili the older brother with his long blonde hair, and braided mustache and beard. Bright blue eyes that would make women weak at the knees. From what I have seen Fili was usually the more serious of the two.

Then there was Kili, the younger brother with long black hair and lack of actual beard. His light brown eyes were full of mirth and fun. His nose was formed perfectly with his cheeks to scream perfection. Just thinking of his scruff against my skin had me closing my knees as they quivered.

"I see a lot of things in him. Though he is usually in a light mood of fun and laughs, he can be serious. I always find he is kind and selfless," I thought aloud, "he is strong and fights well I've seen. He talks fondly of family and friends. Kili does have a way of charming me, and I do find him quite attractive."

Fili laughed, throwing an arm around my shoulder to pat my back. "Do not let him hear you say these things! He already thinks too highly of himself, you would only make it worse."

"Why doesn't he have a beard and mustache like you," I wondered.

"Ah, he was never fond of the longer hair. He is still young for a dwarf, as he grows older he will become accustomed to it and start his braiding."

I eyed the clasps that kept the braids of his mustache together, "I've seen men braid beards in my world, but never mustaches. Your clasps looks like the one Kili put in my hair."

"He braided your hair? Put one of his beads in it did he?"

My brows furrowed, I did know that braiding was very important to them. Braiding the hair of a dwarf woman surely meant something to them I figured. "Yes," I trailed off, fingering it once more.

In turn he pulled me closer, leaning in and whispering in my ear. It sent shivers down my spine unwillingly. It was just because of the fact that it was hot breathe on my ear, but startled me none the less.

"I'm sure you understand that braiding the hair of a dwarf maiden is meaningful," he started softly, "it shows that he is interested in you as a mate. Putting our family bead in the braid says he is very interested. It is bold considering Thorin forbade the relationship. You do look very lovely none the less."

A soft giggle left my lips, charming woman must run in the family. I looked up to see that Kili returned, he was standing next to Bilbo talking, starring daggers in my direction. Why on Earth would he be in a foul mood now? He was just fine this morning. The feeling of Fili retreating from my proximity sent off alarms in my head.

He thought Fili and I were probably flirting together. Shit.

Just as I was thinking of throwing off Fili's arm, he removed it himself, coughing and looking away awkwardly. Kili didn't return to us for the rest of our break and left for the front of the troop while we continued on towards what they called the Misty Mountains.

"Well," I sighed kicking a rock while Fili and I brought up the rear, "seems we've pissed him off."

"Nonsense," Fili waved away, playing with yet another knife I haven't seen on his person before, "he is just jealous at the moment. By the end of day he will be talking to you again."

"I hope so," I sighed, "he's one of the greater friends I have. Especially here. There is nothing to be jealous of."

The dwarf next to me nudged me with his elbow once more, pointing ahead of us, "I don't know about that. I find your company likable, Ori, I think has taken a small liking to you as well.

"If I hadn't known about your attachment with my brother I would find an attachment to you I think. Do not worry about Kili, he usually has always been the jealous type. Though it is only the second time I have been the one he was jealous of."

Previous Chapter << Chapter 8: Sweet Apple and Wine Dances

Next Chapter >> Chapter 10: Pruned Gardens Bring Curious Deer

#the hobbit #kili x oc #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #kili x reader #kili durin #fanfic #fanfiction #when lightning strikes

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missjosie27 · 5 years ago

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Year 2 Part 6- Bill Weasley

Hey, guys! Sorry about the late chapter. Being in self quarantine has actually caused a degree of 'apathy' so to speak and it's tough trying not to let that infest your creativity.

But in any case I am back with a new installment and I'd like to say a few words beforehand.

For the first three years of this series, Slytherin isn't going to look good. But there's a reason for that (not the least of which includes shipping my MC with Merula xD) and it will reveal itself in good time. To all my Slytherin readers, portraying your house as the 'bad guy' is not my endgame. Not even close.

Anyway on the with the story!

The party following the triumphant victory over Slytherin could only be described as pandemonium. In one fell swoop the Gryffindors had opened up a huge lead in the standings and were already being favored to win the entirety of the Quidditch season. Hufflepuff was no serious obstacle and only the Ravenclaws stood as the last major threat to their title chances. It was also the first time in three years the lions had beaten the snakes in a major match such as this and dancing on their misery tasted almost as sweet as the butterbeer.

David and company could hardly keep track of anything during the celebration, but they didn’t care. He had never seen such a spectacle and though listening to Quidditch was always a popular pastime, to actually witness it in person in addition to crushing your biggest rival went far beyond expectations. Though he didn’t say it openly, he privately imagined Merula and the rest of the Slytherins sulking in their cold, black dungeon.

Let them. It’s no less than they deserve

He made his way through the crowd in search of Charlie, seeing as he was the hero of the day (seekers usually were) and also a roommate in need of basic congratulations. Along the way he passed Adolphus Blishwick and Henry McLaggen who were engaged in a chugging contest of sorts though the substance did not look like butterbeer. In addition, he encountered the fearless chaser herself, Skye Parkin.

“Great game, Skye!” he yelled out to her.

Looking around, she spotted her admirer and gave a cool thumbs up before resuming conversation with a crowd of Gryffindor boys and girls who sought her attention.

She’s going to be the talk of the whole school for a week after this. Let her have the moment.

Resuming his search, it didn’t take long to spot Charlie. The second eldest Weasley brother was being hoisted up in the air by several older Gryffindors, broom still in hand, chanting his name repeatedly.

“CHARLIE! CHARLIE! CHARLIE!”

“Come on, mates! I’m going to get bloody sick!” he laughed, clutching his stomach.

David could only watch in amusement as the crowd finally let him down onto his feet, breathing heavily from the day’s excitement.

“Butterbeer for the rookie of the day?” he offered.

“Ha, no thanks, Dave. If I have another one of those things, I think I might actually vomit.”

“Mate, you didn’t just win today. You crushed Slytherin into the dirt. No one will let you buy another drink again.”

Charlie laughed good naturedly.

“Wasn’t just me, Dave. Team effort won the day. In case you haven’t noticed, we have a pretty good chaser over there,” he said, indicating Skye.

“She’s as confident as they come,” David observed. “Didn’t seem to know who I was, though or anyone else besides her Quidditch mates.”

“She has to be,” Charlie shrugged. “With the family she hails from nothing less than winning is acceptable. As for the second part, don’t take it personally, she keeps to her own crowd. Likes the attention but not really a people’s person if you catch my drift.”

A glance back and David saw Skye flick the blue colored braid back almost as if it were an act of God himself. Several of her ogling fans ate it up, whilst the Parkin girl gave a small smirk but no audible reply.

“Yeah, you don’t say.”

The second born Weasley chuckled before turning serious for a split second.

“Listen,” he said in a low voice which was just audible above the noise of the ongoing party. “I heard about what happened on Halloween.”

David’s eyebrows became sharp.

“What did you hear?”

“Relax, Dave,” Charlie reassured him. “No one told me anything, just rumors. But from what I gathered you and Rowan are still searching for that cursed vault? The one with the cursed ice that’s been entrapping people.”

“And if I were to say ‘yes’?”

“Mate, it’s not exactly a well-kept secret. There was no sign of you or Rowan at the feast. Many people around here still remember when your brother was chasing the vaults, they expect the same from you.”

Memories and headlines flooded David’s brain, ones he did not want to think about at the moment.

‘Aw, but Jacob why won’t you tell me?’

The older boy shuffled a vast assortment of papers into his drawer, his appearance slightly disheveled.

‘Pip, what I’m working on is top secret and cannot be revealed to anyone. You have to trust me on that.’

‘But-’

‘You’ll understand someday when you’re older.’

“I’m not my brother,” David responded quietly. He did not want to discuss the matter further as he pushed the guilt ridden feelings into the darkest recesses of his mind.

“I know you’re not, that’s why I want to help. Or make a suggestion rather,” Charlie responded, no malice or ulterior motive in his hazel eyes. It was then that David realized he may have spoken too harshly.

“Fire away,” he said, the light, jovial tone returning. “Better be good or I’ll have those blokes lift you up and down in the air again.”

“If you want some assistance in your search, talk to my brother.”

That gave David some pause.

“Bill? Why would he want anything to do with this?”

“Are you kidding? He’s almost as obsessed with breaking curses as I am with dragons…well maybe not quite that obsessed but it’s a goal of his and make no mistake,” Charlie explained.

“You’re sure? I can’t exactly go around telling everyone what I’m doing, lest I get expelled,” David spoke candidly.

“He’d never rat on you, that’s one thing I am certain of. I’ve known him my whole life. He’s caught me doing loads of things I shouldn’t have, and he’s always had my back. Believe me, there’s no one better.”

“Well I’ll consider it. Thanks, Charlie.”

“Anytime.”

The new star Gryffindor seeker was led back over to the center of the party leaving David to ponder in the middle of the celebration. He did not want to risk trying to bust down that door again at least not without help. Two second years weren’t strong enough but adding Bill to the team might prove to be the deciding factor.

He would have to ask Rowan what he thought of the idea.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Are you kidding? That’s a great idea!” Rowan exclaimed at lunch the following Monday. “Why didn’t I think of it?”

“A good question considering you talk about him more than you do about your tree farm.”

Rowan lightly swiped at him with his book (and missed) before continuing.

“In all seriousness, think of the possibilities. He’s older, he knows more spells than we do, not to mention he has an interest in what we’re doing according to Charlie. What’s there to lose?”

In truth, not much. But that didn’t mean it was a sure thing.

“I plan on asking him today,” David shrugged. “Just don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

“Why not? He likes you, already. He taught you a few spells last year.”

The twelve year old Gryffindor took a massive bite of shepherd’s pie.

“Dat was ifferent,” he said before swallowing. “Merula was terrorizing the entire first year class. This is ten times as risky.”

“Since when has that ever stopped, you?”

“It never does, and it never will,” David proclaimed. “That also doesn’t mean I go looking for trouble. It just happens to find me most of the time.”

“Well we could save a lot of trouble if we could get him on board. I can read an entire book about potential curses in this school but if we don’t have the know how or power, then this ice could spread even further by year’s end.”

Rowan was never short on logic and he couldn’t fault him this particular time either. The worst Bill could do was say ‘no’ and that would be the end of it. As if to confirm his own intentions, Charlie suddenly came up behind him.

“Hey, David. Bill is waiting for you at the training grounds. Says he has an hour before his next class if you want to talk.”

“Wait, he’s already waiting for me?”

“I put in a good word for you,” Charlie said with a sly grin. “I think you’ll find he’ll be very interested in what you have to say.”

Rowan gave him a look as if to shout ‘what are you waiting for?’ before returning to his grilled cheese sandwich.

“Suppose now is as good a time as any,” he muttered getting up from the table. “Make sure Charlie doesn’t steal my pie, Rowan.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the red head called back, digging his fork into the pie and shoving it into his mouth.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The route to the training grounds was simple enough, one simply had to traverse two stories and past the dungeons to reach the outside door that led to the cold, autumn outdoors. David was hardly giving much attention to his surroundings as he adjusted his hat and scarf, very eager to see what Bill had to say.

Suddenly, he stopped in the middle of the dungeon corridor, instincts going haywire. Though this part of Hogwarts was always dark and gloomy, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.

“Hello?” he called out into the empty nothingness.

His natural reflexes kicked in as he just barely ducked a sickly-looking purple jet of light that created sparks on the stone walls.

“Goddamn it, what the hell?!”

Out of the shadows stepped a pale, black haired girl, one eye shrouded by the perpetual greasy mass of mop that never seemed to move. David immediately recognized her as Ismelda Murk, the same girl who had given him that creepy smile the previous week.

“So, you are going to see that blood traitor, Bill Weasley,” she said in a quiet, but deadly tone. “No doubt to discuss the cursed vaults.”

Her wand was trained on him, but David did not reach for his. At least, not yet. Any sudden movement would likely trigger another curse being sent his way.

“And how did you know that?” he stalled.

Ismelda rolled her visible eye.

“Please, your voice is loud enough. It’s not hard to overhear you.”

She took a step forward wand still pointed directly at his chest.

“But it makes no difference. You Gryffindors are all the same- cocky, arrogant, always hogging the spotlight for yourself.”

“Hey, Izzy, if this is about kicking your ass in Quidditch don’t take it out on me. I’m sure there’s a small, defenseless animal somewhere around here you can torture.”

Another jet of purple light barely missed his head.

“I didn’t have to miss,” Ismelda spoke with quiet fury. “Now here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me everything you know about the vaults and I won’t have to hurt you…much.”

At this point, David had had enough. It was already irritating to constantly deal with one crazy Slytherin girl, two went beyond his patience.

“Yeah, okay let me tell you what’s actually going to happen. I’m going to hex you and I’m going to walk out that door.”

Without another second’s hesitation he whipped out his wand and fired the same spell Merula had used on him last year.

‘ Petrificus Totalus! ’

He caught her square in the chest, sending her toppling over like a four by four to the ground. However, she managed to fire off one more curse before it did, and this time he wasn’t quick enough to avoid it.

“GAH!” he winced as he felt his shoulder catch part of the blast. Still, he didn’t waste any more time waiting for Ismelda to regain use of her limbs and ran as fast he could out into the nippy, November air.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

So fast did he run that he barely noticed that after a minute or so, Bill Weasley was right in front of him. When he finally did, the older boy was already looking down on him with an eyebrow raised.

“Whoa, there David Grant. You look out of breath. What happened?”

Still panting from his recent escapade, it took a moment for the 12 year old Gryffindor to form sentences.

“Slytherin girl attacked me. Threatened me over the vaults. Managed to get away though.”

Bill leaned and took a glance at David’s shoulder.

“Not completely. Let me take a look at that wound.”

David saw for the first time the extent of the damage Ismelda had wrought. The top of his robes were cut open to reveal a nasty looking purple and black bruise which had the look of something that had festered for days.

“Ew,” he remarked dryly.

“Let me see if this helps,” Bill said as he pointed his wand at the injury. “ Episkey. ”

Much of the swelling went down and the size was reduced though there remained a remnant of the blackish/blue color in the center.

“Madam Pomfrey probably could have gotten rid of that in an instant. But I’m pretty rubbish when it comes to medicine, that’s the only healing spell I know.”

“It’s fine,” David shrugged. “No lasting damage. What was that curse anyway?”

“Only seen it a few times but it’s a nasty one, especially if a powerful dark wizard uses it. Bone bruise curse. Can cause severe internal bleeding in the hands of a real psycho. Sometimes kids at Hogwarts will use them in duels, but it’s generally taboo.”

“That explains a lot,” he muttered.

“It sounds like you were waylaid on your way down here,” Bill surmised. “Who was it?”

“Ismelda Murk. She’s my year. Makes Merula Snyde look like a flower girl by comparison.”

“I’ve heard of her,” Bill said darkly. “She apparently attacked Charlie on the train this year simply for bumping into her by accident. You were there for that if I recall correctly.”

“Indeed, I was.”

“Well in any case this might be the perfect opening into what you really came down here for. Charlie told me you needed some help with these cursed vaults.”

David nodded in the affirmative.

“I do. Rowan and I actually found the entrance, but there was some sort of enchantment on it. I don’t think we can break it, just the two of us. Charlie said you might be interested.”

“Interested? Hell, David I wish you had come to me sooner. I’m in.”

David didn’t know what to expect, but the fact that Bill accepted his request so readily was a tad surprising.

“Huh, well that didn’t take much persuasion.”

“You didn’t need to,” Bill said seriously. “This ice is becoming more and more dangerous by the week and doesn’t appear to be dissipating any time soon. If we can get through that door you spoke of earlier there’s a strong chance we can break this curse.”

His face broke into a reluctant smile.

“I’d also be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit excited too. This is my first curse breaking adventure and I’m honored to be a part of it.”

“The honor is all mine,” David grinned. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” the eldest Weasley warned. “It’s going to take a lot of preparation and even a little pain to break into a cursed vault. We’ll need to do a lot of research and spellwork if this is going to be successful. It’ll also give us the opportunity to learn a few more jinxes for dueling, especially considering you were just attacked.”

“Rowan will eagerly take care of the research. He’ll also be pretty happy to know you’re in on this little quest of ours.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” Bill laughed. “Come on, let’s get started.”

And so they did. For the next few weeks, the trio met once a week to either study in the library or go to the training grounds to learn new spells and practice them on the wooden target dummies. This became steadily more difficult as time went on as the weather became colder the first snowfall hit but it was still good practice and it also provided an opportunity for Rowan to progress in his own dueling prowess, which steadily improved over time. Now and then they were also joined by Penny and Ben, who were eager to help in any way they could. For Penny that meant assistance in brewing certain potions that they would need in a tight spot- fire breathing and pepperup potions came to mind. For Ben, it meant assistance in some of the research and moral support…and the occasional training session.

“Remind me why I have to learn the fire making spell again?” he asked one cold December morning between the crunch of white powder on the ground.

The snow was also a good outlet to begin practicing a spell that would be quite useful in keeping warm and potentially knocking down the giant snowflake that fired concentrated freezing spells at those who tried to enter its domain (Bill did a double take when he was told that story). Incendio would create large blasts of red and blue fire, though it was still somewhat difficult to control, especially for second years, and so Bill supervised their progress.

“A freezing day in December is almost as bad as the sensation you’ll feel inside the vault,” David told him as he shifted his scarf to reveal his pink, rosy nose, clearly whipped by the slight wind. “What better way to practice?”

“No offense, David, but I’m not sure I’m the right person to go inside the vault with you,” Ben said glumly.

“We will cross that bridge when we get to it,” Bill interjected. “For now, being prepared to break the protective enchantments is the best way to go. We’ll need a full arsenal to do so.”

Penny beamed underneath her hat, coat, and mittens.

“I’m just glad we’re finally learning something that could be considered proper defense. This year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is complete rubbish.”

“Yeah, well I’d be lying if that also didn’t factor into it,” the red head muttered. “I also figured the fire making spell would be a top priority based off what Dave and Rowan told me about this vault.”

“Speaking of curse breaking, I actually brought you something,” David said, remembering suddenly his gift. “I bought this through mail order a week ago.”

He stuck his mittens into the bag and presented it to his friend.

“ Patricia Rakepick: A Guide to Cursebreaking,” Bill read aloud his eyes lighting up. “Wow, David this is amazing. You didn’t have to get me this. Madam Rakepick is one of the best in the world.”

“Good practice for when you become a cursebreaker yourself,” he replied with a wink. “Not to mention it’ll be good for all of us when we enter the vault. Rakepick has been around the globe and back again. Seen and done it all.”

“We’ll pour through it once we get back inside. In the meantime, let me see your fire one more time.”

David point his wand in the air.

“ Incendio! ”

A large stream of flames issued forth, crackling the air before ceasing altogether.

“You really have a talent for this stuff, don’t you?” Bill chuckled. “Took me a lot longer to learn that spell. Penny, you next.”

The blonde obliged, sending a lesser but still decent amount of flames into the frigid December day.

“Not bad. You need a little bit more power but otherwise you’re coming along fine,” Bill encouraged.

“I know,” Penny said a bit sheepishly. “I’m just afraid I’ll burn one of you guys.”

“You can burn me any time you want. Feels like my ass is about to freeze off,” David quipped.

“Well we certainly wouldn’t want that,” Bill responded dryly but with a cheeky grin. “One more from Ben and then we’ll grab some hot cocoa.”

Shaking heavily from the cold, Ben nevertheless loudly proclaimed the incantation.

“ I-Incendio !”

The amount of fire that issued from his wand was so vast that David actually had to grab Penny and duck to avoid minor injury. Even Bill took a step back, a look of shock plastered on his face.

“Well that’s one way to do it,” he offered in his gentlest tone. “Maybe say it a little less loudly next time.”

David began laughing as he picked himself up from the frost bitten ground, putting an arm around his friend.

“That could have melted the entire door down. And you say you’re not worthy of going into the vault,” he ribbed him.

Ben only offered a weak grin.

“Heh.”

The rest of the month continued like this, with spell learning sessions occurring inside rather than the increasingly frigid outdoors of Scotland. As they continued to meet together outside of class, at lunch, and in the library the group also took extra pains to ensure the Slytherins were not following or attempting to sabotage them. After the embarrassing loss to their rival, Merula and her ilk were becoming more vocal again and more than a few times, David caught her messing with his potions again. She constantly whispered about how she was closing in on key information on the vaults to distract him, which he did his best to ignore. Merula loved to exaggerate her own achievements so it wasn’t particularly concerning. Nevertheless, he made a point to keep an eye on her and her prime lacky, Ismelda Murk.

As December wore on and the holidays grew closer, David grew more anxious to revisit the vault, especially with all the planning and preparation they were doing. Bill, however, aired on the side of caution. He too was eager to visit the first cursed vault but opined it would be more prudent to wait until after they returned from Christmas break. It gave them all time to practice their spellwork and would throw off the scent of anyone on their trail, namely Filch, who was always scouring the 13th corridor at night with Mrs. Norris. In the end, the group largely concurred with such thinking.

It wasn’t until the last day before the holidays that the pressure to enter the vault ramped up a notch. The three boys were on their way back from their final class of the day, a potions extravaganza that featured pre-Christmas goodwill from the Gryffindors and Slytherins tossing acid pops into each other’s cauldrons, until they noticed a crowd stood outside the 9th corridor. Though no one was panicking as of yet the murmuring became louder as David, Rowan, and Ben approached.

“What’s going on?” David asked aloud. “It’s not supposed to be this busy. Not until the train leaves Hogsmeade station anyway.”

“No idea,” Rowan shrugged.

“Can we find out what this is later?” Ben said nervously. “Ismelda threw an acid pop in my cauldron and I think some of it burned through my robes.”

But curiosity overrode the other two Gryffindor boys as they slowly weaved their way through the crowd and towards the front.

“You guys! It happened again!” Tonks said to them. But there was no need to expound further. Reaching the front, they witnessed a fourth year Ravenclaw covered nearly head to toe in the cursed ice, face dangerously blue, eyes barely open. It was quite a revelation and also quite disturbing. No student, not even Ben had been entrapped so thoroughly. The only part of his body that remained free was his head and neck, everything else remained submerged.

It didn’t take long for the whispering to turn to proclamations.

“The ice won’t stop until it gets us all!” a random girl shouted.

Thankfully, any mass hysteria was quelled by the sudden arrival of Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape.

“Students, remain calm!” the deputy Headmistress shouted over the low hum of gossip. “Please be on your way to prepare for the train. Those who are staying at Hogwarts over Christmas break, return to your dormitories until further notice. Prefects, see that everyone is accounted for.”

“You heard her!” Snape barked. “Away with you!”

The intimidating leer of Severus Snape was more than enough to disperse the crowd, but not before David overheard the professors commenting on the situation.

“The ice has never spread this far before,” Flitwick said with a note of anxiety in his voice. “Should we not alert the Headmaster to return?”

“Dumbledore has enough on his plate,” Snape replied. “He will not come back to Hogwarts until after Christmas. We can handle things until then. If the ice is getting stronger, we should not allow that information to spread beyond these walls.”

“I will letter Albus. But for now, let us focus on unfreezing Mr. Isaacs. Madam Pomfrey will need to attend to him for quite a while,” Professor McGonagall spoke, taking out her wand.

David, Rowan, and Ben looked at each other as Tonks and the Hufflepuffs headed towards the kitchen. All of a sudden, containing the ice was looking more and more impossible. If all of Hogwarts was threatened to be consumed by it, they had less time than originally thought.

“Happy Christmas, everyone,” David said ironically as they approached the Fat Lady to pack.

Though most holidays were spent opening presents, eating pie, and retelling school stories, this was once incident he planned to keep away from the ears of his mother and father, knowing both of them would panic if they found out he was attempting to break into the vaults himself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, David couldn’t help but wish for a quick end to December.

There was much more work to be done, yet.

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm fanfiction #fanfiction #david grant #rowan khanna #charlie weasley #bill weasley #penny haywood #ben copper #nymphadora tonks #ismelda murk #gryffindor #slytherin #hufflepuff #minerva mcgonagall

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 5 years ago

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The Eagle of Unasta and The Dragon of Zarcade Part 1

So guess who had the most mindblowing dream and IMMEDIATELY had to write about it? Me. Tagging @waiting4inspiration because you’ll enjoy this, that and this has STRONG Witcher vibes and it features the same DRAGONS and dragoners as Keep Your Eyes On Me but like- midieval. it’s glorious.

Anyway, enjoy.

The Eagle of Unasta and The Dragon of Zarcade

Part 1

“You called for me grandmother?” Zaq asked as he came into the room where his great grandmother was reclining in her bed as his grandmother and mother attended to her.

“Yes, I have one last prophecy for you before you leave.” She informed him, her old hoarse voice cracking with her advanced age as Zaq came and kneeled next to the bed respectfully as he grasped her withered hands and eagerly awaited her words as her daughter and granddaughter eagerly and anxiously awaited this prophecy as well.

“This weekend your betrothed will reveal herself to you, your Golden Eagle. Do you have her gifts ready?” Lena prodded her great grandson Zaq.

“Yes, I just finished polishing the enchanted lapis in her dagger and her cloak just got finished this morning and the rest of her gifts are being put together as we speak.” Zaq nodded as she nodded in agreement.

His great grandmother had announced at his birth that he was betrothed to someone who she simply referred to as “the Eagle” but would not tell anyone who exactly it was but even then, she made sure that the betrothal gifts would begin to be worked on so that they would be perfectly crafted by the time his betrothed would make herself known to them.

“Good, your Eagle prefers blue, you will know her by the color shifting dress she will wear, royal blue in one light, majestic purple in an another- yet pink as the sunrise and blood red in another. She will be the most magnificent woman besides the bride to be- at the feast in everyone’s eyes, especially yours and to you- she will have no equal, but she will only have eyes for you once she really sees you for you. You will flatter her, and she will try to use your words as weapons against you because she will be naturally defensive as all eagles are. The other Zarcadians will surround her like a pack of wolves, you must be the dragon you are and rescue her and she will still think you are a wolf until you prove yourself to be a dragon. She has been taught to hold destiny in one hand and fate in the other and reject both so she can carve out her own of each with her own hands. But you are her fate and destiny and there will be no other than you for her so you will help her embrace both. You will be her friend first, love of her life second and marriage mate last for the rest of your days as she will be those things for you in turn and your love will burn brighter than dragonfire and will be the envy of all. You will break chains for her and she in turn will break your chains before you break hers so that both of you will fly free together and your nests and roosts will be each other. Beware though, she will come here and hold our downfall in one hand and our salvation in the other because her mind is sharper than her eyes, so you must help her choose the later. Leave her and our house will fall to rubble. Love her, be honest with her, remain loyal to her and prove true and she will build the foundations anew herself so that even if all the others were to fall, ours will stand to times indefinite and she will bring in a new era of dragons and dragoners and be the best dragoner the world has yet to see. Cast your pride and ego aside and humble yourself before her and she will build you up and make you stronger than all of us. You will be the first to achieve the impossible, but you will not be the last, pave the way for others to follow.” She prophcied, channelling her dragon’s magic to do so as it laid over her the way a beloved pet would as she used her free hand to stroke the old dragon’s face scales affectionately.

“Let it be as you’ve said.” Zaq agreed before his mother and grandmother mirrored his words.

Your name was Anya Unasta, you were the granddaughter of Eli Unasta, a great military commander and general in the kingdom of Suter. Your grandfather had married the love of his life- your grandmother- Sitka who came from a family of very humble birth but large and loving who accepted him with open arms. Because of your grandfather’s conquests for the Empire of Suter, your family was given nobility as Lords and Ladies and modest lands that were befitting of that title along with a yearly earning that would take care of them for the rest of their days and a small handful of slaves which your family immediately freed who stayed to be their loyal servants.

Upon them moving into the lands, they proved to be as fertile as the days in the summer were long. Vivid green pastures made their flocks abundant and your family and their servants never went hungry because of the super rich soils which in turn gave you over abundant crops in addition to a surplus of meats, milks, butters and cheeses and wools from the flocks which you traded for fine silks and satins before mastering even those and created textiles that had no equal. Pure rivers, springs and lakes were abundant in your family’s property that watered all the lands well and even in times of drought, they were able to pull water from the deep wells and natural springs with surprising ease.

Your grandfather encouraged his many, many children to pursue what they wanted to since the lands provided so well. So that your uncles and aunts were all artists and artisans in addition to being merchants, vintners, engineers and farmers and barrons of the flocks. Your large extended family unlocked the secrets to beef so marbled it practically melted in your mouth. Horses so fine- they could pull the war chariots of kings or carriages of any elite or run races with prestige. Pigs so huge they could feed a small tribe, sheep and goats with wool so fine and soft- it rivaled silk. They even made tea, wine and cheeses so delicious that they had no equal.

The designers, inventors and engineers in your family could design bridges and houses alike- that would stand for centuries without repair or much upkeep, houses that could have earthquakes right under their foundations or hurricanes or tornados right over them and yet the stones would never crack and the houses would never fall and to invent and embrace new technology in your homes and lives in addition to designing clothes that set the fashion standards of the times.

They could even got into metals- both precious and common that rivaled the best foundries in the world so that the family’s weapons were on par with any other if not surpassing so that Suter's military carried Unasta steel swords that were second only to dragon tooth swords in Zarcade. And in the precious metal business you soon had gold, silver, pearls and jewels flowing into the family like a mighty river so that every member of the family had an overabundance of jewelry of all kinds, even other kings and queens and empresses and emperors, czars and czarinas and sultans and sultanas were draped in Unasta jewelry because it was considered the best and finest and was without equal.

Some of the Unastas got into pottery and glass and made it so magnificent that every wealthy family from all over the world felt they needed at least one piece among their treasures and collections which increased your family’s wealth so that you now could buy even more lands and build great mansions instead of houses and soon your lands were so vast, it became its own district with all of your extended family within it and your own family became famed so that whatever they touched became amazing and whatever they choose to do, they found success and notoriety.

But yet there were a few that followed in your grandfather’s footsteps and became military strategists and were more victorious than your grandfather ever could be so that your family was even more elevated to Dauphins and Dauphines within the Empire of Suter so that you were among equals at the Emperor’s inner court. Some Unastas even went into politics and advisors to the Emperor himself after their military careers.

You were all taught from infancy to be humble, to learn everything you could and to keep your curiosity, to pursue your passions yet treat those around you with respect and dignity and to free every slave you purchased, in addition to paying your workers and servants fair and thriving wages for their labor so that you practically had an army of servants and workers at your fingertips.

Your grandfather forbade any of his children from orchestrating their children’s marriages and he wanted all of his descendants to marry for love like he did and how all of his children did as well- and to marry who they wanted except for Zarcadians, who were forbidden from entering the family by marriage and that any Unasta would be forbidden from leaving the family to join a Zarcadian one- which to you was puzzling and your parents and grandparents refused to tell you or any in your generation why but still, you were very grateful for this commandment since all of your peers had to bow to their parent’s will and arranged marriages were the norm, often a generation in advance upon a child’s birth and no nation was more famous for this custom than Zarcade, which clung to customs and traditions that seemed to be as old as time itself.

This evening you found yourself at an engagement party for one of the “lesser” princesses, one of your best friends actually, Ester, a grand duchess of Suter, a younger sister to the crown princess- to Xander of the family Ceda, one of the noble families of Zarcade and everyone came from all over to celebrate with them, Your came the day before and watched from Ester’s balcony as all the Zarcadians flew in, landing their dragons in front of the palace since you came ahead of your family since you were involved in some of the wedding planning and finalizing the details and had spent the night with Ester in her room, laughing and giggling half the night.

You spent all day getting pampered and prepared for the feast side by side with Ester for this evening and even was her escort to the feast tonight, both of you being introduced in grand style before you spent most of it at her side at her table since you were going to be her maid of honor. A great honor indeed as you feasted with her and stole looks at the groom’s table that was full of his friends and family, not a single Unasta among them while Ester had dozens of Unastas at hers- both tables eagerly stealing looks at the other since this was as close as the unmarried Unastas were allowed to be to Zarcadians.

Zarcade was one of the oldest kingdoms of the world. It was situated on top of a high mountain, surrounded by even more high mountains and had never fallen to another kingdom. Zarcade was unique in that in the “old kingdom” which was the original city walls when the city was founded, stood over a dozen gigantic houses, all of them having super high towers so that they looked like they scraped the skies themselves and bases so large that it was only these houses could fit inside the old kingdom’s walls.

However your grandfather and patriarch of the family hated Zarcade with a passion, something he tried to share with his family but it seemed that this hatred missed you completely. If anything, it made you curious about it. So much so that you fired a barrage of questions at Ester about her stay in Zarcade and about the family she was marrying into while you were with her. Your own appetite for it unquenchable as Ester happily and excitedly shared her answers with you, herself intrigued as to why there was this commandment in your family and even the Zarcadians were curious as to why one of the richest and most notable and successful families outside of Zarcade would keep politely declining their offers of marriage, no matter how much business they did with them or how friendly they tried to be or how handsome the offer.

Unastas always seemed to have a protective invisible wall around them that the Zarcadians could not penetrate. It was like magic but none that they could understand or break no matter how hard they tried, to the point that even they secretly began to covet the possibility of having an Unasta, no matter how distant or lowly- in their family tree one day if it was the last thing they did, it was something that soon consumed almost all of them.

Zarcade as a whole did their best to never an enemy of anyone, always doing trade and business with everyone all over the world and since your family were mostly merchants, your family did quite a bit of business with them, although you yourself weren’t personally involved in it. Your grandfather however demanded that everyone in the family demand top dollar for products sold to Zarcade- and the Zarcadians, seemed to have limitless wealth and paid those prices happily. The more expensive the better to the point that Zarcadian gold and silver boulin was the standard currency world wide. But if you ever tried to cheat them or sell them lesser quality items since they demanded the best in everything, suddenly you went out of business and no one would do business with you. A lesson you all learned by watching other merchants do business with them. So you all found you had to walk a fine line with Zarcadians.

At the feast, there were young men from the noble families of Vaci, Boder, Silini and Ceda of Zarcade there who took one look at you at the bride’s right hand as you entered the feast with her and instantly became smitten and soon the Empress herself had the mothers of these young men asking her who you were and what family you were from and tried to get all the information they could get about you before they reported this information to their families, especially their sons who were betrothed to lesser ladies as you in turn asked Ester about the families in question as she told you all she knew that she was able to find out by talking with her fiance.

When Ester’s attention was pulled elsewhere by the Empress, you went to the punch bowl to get more punch and a macaron from the dessert table before you found yourself instantly surrounded by hopeful Zarcadian suitors and you couldn’t help but feel like a sheep surrounded by a pack of wolves.

“My Lady, your jewels are magnificent.” One complimented with a flattering smile with a glint in his eyes that you recognized in the eyes of wolves from watching them try to hunt your flocks and herds.

“My Lady you are a great beauty.” Another added who looked at you like you were a fine pearl he was appraising that he was looking to put in his crown.

“My Lady, your dress is exquisite,” A third chimed in who stared at your cleavage like a hungry nursing babe.

“Would you like to dance?” A fourth, seemed to come to your rescue as he offered his hand with kindness in his eyes before you quickly put your hand in his, giving the others a polite smile as he pulled you out of kill circle and led you to the dancefloor.

You however were still on the defensive as you tried to politely study your new dance partner.

“What?” He asked, his amusement practically glittering in his eyes and dancing on his features.

“Is there something on my face?” He asked and for some reason, you blushed as you couldn’t help but smile because he was rather ridiculously handsome. You recognized him. He was the younger brother of Ester’s groom Xander. Surely he could be dancing with any other woman here at the feast. But yet he chose to ask you. Odd.

“Nothing more than the usual features.” You answered dismissively.

“That’s because you’re hogging all the extraordinary ones.” He grinned and your eyebrows rose in surprise as your smile grew as you quickly tried to think of a way to turn his words against him. You would know he was Zarcadian even if you didn’t recognize him by the way he dressed in dragon silk, something dragoners dressed exclusively in and was twenty times as expensive as the finest silk but yet it was died and spun in such a way that it mirrored your own dress, like he had somehow knew what you were going to be wearing and dressed himself to match. You mused you looked like a couple to the common observer. Coincidence surely.

“Isn’t ‘extraordinary features’ a term polite company uses to flatter the ugly?” You returned and he laughed, showing off his bright white teeth and genuine if not charming smile.

“Only the beautiful swans who still think they’re ugly ducklings would think such things.” He replied and you had to admit he was at least quick and as witty as he was handsome as you playfully narrowed your eyes but you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face no matter how hard you tried as your cheeks blushed harder.

“Swans and hens eat the same to wolves and foxes alike.” You bantered and he looked like he could kiss you as he simply beamed proudly at you.

“But do not the eagles feast on the wolves and hunt the foxes?” He pointed out.

“They do, only because they can fly faster than the persistent wolves can run and outsmart the cunning foxes, otherwise even they could fall prey to such hunters if they’re outnumbered.” You agreed.

“So what can a wolf do to prove that he’s not out to hunt the eagle?” He asked metephorically.

“I’m not sure. Wolves have insatiable appetites and we are at a feast after all.” You noted as you nodded out to the former young men who were now trying to pray on your sisters and your cousins who quickly ducked behind their parents and aunts and uncles who readily told the potential dance partners to look for another dance partner before they left and tried to “hunt” among any and all other young women there. Others gladly becoming their pray for the evening.

“Then let this wolf differentiate himself. My name is Zaq, from the family of Ceda of Zarcade.” He introduced himself as he continued to dance with you undeterred, his hold on you respectful but not possessive in the slightest which surprised you considering the others did the opposite as he confidently took the lead and moved you all around the dancefloor with masterful precision and you found yourself easily following his lead.

“And this eagle is Anya of the family Unasta of Suter.” You returned.

“A golden eagle at that.” He appraised and you were instantly flattered and could do nothing but agree to that sentiment. “Your mother is Jezya of the family Sudi, one of the greatest horse breeders of the last century and your father is Leo Unasta, a horse trainer but yet that is not what you want for yourself.” He deduced.

“Oh? And what would that be?” You asked curiously before he leaned forward, looking like he wanted to share a great secret which urged you to lean in too, turning your head to the side and tilting your ear towards his mouth so that he could whisper what he wanted into your ear.

“You want to be a dragoner.” He whispered as you felt every hair on your body stand on end and now that he was so close- you could smell the smoke from dragon’s fire on him in addition to his cologne and his personal scent which you found intoxicating and could appreciate the dragon scales sewn into this dragon silk and the way they shifted beautifully in the light in the fabric on his shoulder.

What made Zarcade- well- Zarcade- was that they had dragons and were dragoners and possessed the same magic their dragon’s possessed who lived at the top of all the mountains surrounding Zarcade, where massive dragon’s nesting sites were. Dragons loved to nest in the caves and hang out on the tops of the great houses and eventually over time- all the noble and royal families tamed and now bred the dragons the way your family did to other livestock. But only Zarcadians however could own dragons. They bought all the livestock from all over to feed themselves and their dragons who in turn defended the nation for them and why Zarcade had never been defeated or sieged.

“What makes you an eagle, is that you want to be free to fly. Which is a sentiment I wholly understand because I am no wolf, I’m a dragon myself.” He continued to whisper in your ear his face gently nuzzled with yours so that your eyes fluttered closed, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back as he gently held you closer, your arm reached up and laid over his shoulder, your hand resting over the base of his neck so that your chest practically pressed up against his so that your hearts practically beat next to each other and you felt your heart leap for joy in your chest and go out to his before the song ended and he pulled away and damn your body, you found yourself leaning towards him like there was a giant magnet inside yourself being attracted to him, wanting to reestablish the closeness as you looked up at him in awed wonder. And for the first time, you didn’t see a Zarcadian- you saw him. You saw Zaq and when you looked in his eyes it was like you could see his soul as he could see yours. And he was beautiful inside and out and suddenly you were the one instantly smitten.

“Who told you such a thing?” You whispered curiously, afraid to even breathe such words too loud for fear anyone else would hear you.

“No one had to, your whole life, you try to pet every dragon you see, which they all seem to let you do- especially the ones who are lucky enough to land at your estate to pick up whatever the other Zarcadiens buy from you, they let you pet their faces and put your forehead to theirs and you feel connected to them, like you are destined to have them yourself some day. Plus you keep staring at our dragon silk and scales and you watched as all of us arrive on our dragons and watched us like the eagle you are before you went to the dragon’s stables and pet even those, recognizing the dragons before you recognized the riders.” He smiled proudly before he took the dragon tooth dagger from his waist and presented it to you- in it’s dragon leather sheath.

“A gift- from one soarer to another, may the winds be kind to you and lead you to where you need to go.” He smiled before you took it from him and looked at him, wondering what he was going to ask from you for you to keep it but all he did was kiss your hand as he bowed respectfully which prompted you to bow in turn before he righted himself, smiled adoringly at you again before he turned away, leaving you to walk a few steps after him before you stopped yourself from following him further before you just stood there- dumbfounded, your cheeks and your ears burning and your soul on fire and your heart yearning and the hand that he had kissed felt like it had just gotten blessed as you were holding this oh so precious possession before you clutched it to your chest possessively before you turned to walk back to your family since Ester was now talking with her fiance and the Empress about the wedding details, before you casted a curious look over your shoulder at Zaq who was now talking with other members of his own family, in particular his grandmother and mother and holding a young niece in his arms as she rested her head on his shoulder as he was swaying in place to try to get her to sleep despite all the noise of the feasters, who was already half asleep as he rubbed soothing circles into her back and had his back to you as you walked back to your mother who had watched the scene unfold curiously.

“What just happened?” You whispered to her.

“You just got given a gift,” she mused an amused smile on her face.

“No, like, I know dragoners are...different, their culture is different than ours, what does this mean?” You asked as you held up the dagger for emphasis.

“I don’t think it means anything,” she shook her head before you put the dagger away into your dress.

You didn’t believe her, you felt in your bones that this was something special and you couldn’t not touch it the rest of the night as you just stared at him from across the hall, watching as he sat down and held his now sleeping niece in his arms and you could not stop yourself from thinking what a wonderful father he would be some day and not being able to take your eyes off of him, for fear if you did, you’d lose him in the crowd for the rest of the evening as he simply smiled at you as you smiled back at him and watched him like the eagle he referred to you as, fingering the handle of the dagger he gave you like it was your own worry stone, the lapis stone of the handle pressing into your palm and fitting your hand like it had been made for you rather than him.

After the feast your family went to their rooms that were being shared with them at the palace, and you were surprised when you were given your own room, right next to Ester’s, expecting to share one with your sisters and cousins now that they were here, but all of your things were now in here and you weren’t going to argue about the arrangements.

It was a grand room though and it came with a private balcony and once you changed out of your dress into your nightgown and robe, taking your hair down from it’s special arrangement so that it fell like a waterfall down your back and taking off your makeup and jewelry and put it away- you walked out onto the balcony, you saw the people of Zarcade flying their dragons in the moonlight, doing flips and turns and corkscrews and you had never been so jealous in your life!

Suddenly a dragon swooped down in front of you from it’s perch on the roof of the palace directly above you which made you gasp and fall back onto the balcony as you stared at the magnificent dragon flying in place in front of you and on it’s back was none other Zaq wearing an outfit that was clearly more dragon scale armor over more dragon’s wool and if he had been looking handsome before, his looks could kill now as your body betrayed you and you suddenly felt even more heated than if you were standing in front of a furnace yet cold in that you wanted him to warm you up.

“Sorry to scare you. I didn’t mean to, but I was starting to wonder if and when you’d come out here.” He smiled apologetically as his dragon landed delicately on your balcony and helped you up to your feet by nuzzling it’s head to you and letting you grab it’s horns so it could lift you up. “Wanna go for a ride?” He offered hopefully.

“I’m clearly not dressed for it.” You gestured to your robe over your nightgown before you self consciously crossed your arms over your bosom so he wouldn’t see your nipples try to poke their way through both garments since you could sense they were hard enough to cut through glass right now.

“Then put this on.” He gently tossed a dragon’s wool cloak at you from it’s spot tied behind him as you caught it and inspected it in the bright moonlight and it was the most amazing beautiful cloak you had ever seen in your life. God damn it.

“Damn it.” you cursed yourself under your breath before you put it on and noticed it fit you like it was made for you and you were instantly comfortable before you pet the dragon he was on, happily petting the delicate scales on its face as it closed its eyes in serenity before you pressed your forehead to it’s forehead happily before the dragon turned and laid down, so you could get in the dragon’s saddle as you got behind Zaq and held onto him as you put your slippered feet into the stirrups before there was a belt attached to the back of the saddle that he had you put on that clipped into the saddle and his own special harness he was wearing so it would keep you in the saddle no matter at what angle the dragon would fly at.

“Ready?” Zaq asked once you got settled as you were amazed that this saddle was practically made for your bountiful behind and was ridiculously comfortable.

“As I’ll ever be.” You nodded as you felt your excitement rise before the dragon leaped from the balcony and flew away and it was better than any horseback ride you had ever had in your life and watching the ground below you shrink but yet the sky grow larger so that you felt like the world around you was 90% sky. Not even in your dreams where you flew was it this amazing and magnificent.

“Wow,” you breathed in awe as you looked around, feeling like at any moment you were going to run into the moon before Zaq did a dive, which made you squeal and laugh in delight as you held him tighter as the other dragoners laughed and giggled before you peeked out and saw Ester riding next to you behind her groom as she waived and smiled at you which made you smile and nod back, not trusting that you wouldn’t fall right off if you let Zaq go.

You lost track of how long you flew with Zaq for - but soon your sleepiness won out and when that happened, you didn’t even need to say anything- Zaq flew you back to your room, the dragon delicately maneuvering to land gently on your balcony again before Zaq unclipped himself and you from the saddle and carried you back into your room, since your limbs were exhausted from holding onto him and the dragon all night before he tucked you into bed.

“Here,” you tried to sit up and take the cloak off but couldn’t even get that far, your hands blindly reaching for the waist of the cloak.

“No, keep it. Another gift.” He insisted as he stilled your hands but held them, his hands surprisingly warm, a perfect mix of calloused from work but yet soft as his thumbs gently if not reverently stroked the back of your hands.

“Why?” You asked sleepily.

“Because I want you to have it.” He answered simply.

“Oh,” you nodded, your eyelids growing heavier and heavier now that you were in bed but your soul felt weightless as your heart soared with happiness. “Thank you for everything, I had so much fun...flying free.” You managed to say with a broad dreamy if not sleepy smile.

“My pleasure Eagle, get some sleep.” Zaq urged before you did as you were told, your eyes closing and not opening again as your breathing slowed down before Zaq leaned down and kissed your forehead before he tucked you in with even more care and practically skipped out of the room and got back on his dragon, flying victory loops before going to his own room.

His own mind, heart and soul were still soaring cloud high as he laid in bed, staring up at the ceilings as his hands fidgeted with the blanket over him. His great grandmother had been right on all accounts! You were The Eagle, The Eagle of Unasta! The family that appeared to be impossible for any Zarcadian to join for a reason that escaped them all, but if that wasn’t enough you were His Golden Eagle, he knew it in every fiber in his being and there was no mistaking it, your hair and a golden eagle’s feathers were the same exact colors. Your bright eagle eyes that saw and caught everything, missing nothing and that impressed him. You had a natural affinity for dragons. You instinctively tried to bond with every single one you met and you didn’t even know it and the fact that you said the exact words- fly free- meant everything. And once you had entered the feast, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you if he tried and after his dance with you- you didn’t take your eyes off each other and he could feel through his own enchanted lapis handled dagger that you were trying to figure him out, trying to figure everything out because your mind was sharper than any eagle’s beak or talons and it had pleased him so well that you looked at him with his niece and saw the kind of father he hoped to be someday. To dance with you was a rare honor, and you fit against him like your bodies were made for each other and he couldn’t get over your hourglass like curves and you were already so strong from riding horses all your life, you were a natural and to feel your body pressed up against his was sweet torture. That and his dragon loved and adored you, that in itself should have been all the vetting and approval he needed and you had set up such a strong connection to her too, so that when you felt sleepy, she sensed it and gave that sense to him so that you didn’t have to say a word. It would be nearly impossible for him to keep his distance from you now. He was so beyond smitten, he was falling head over heels in love with you already, heaven help him.

#The Eagle of Unasta and The Dragon of Zarcade #The Eagle of Unasta #The eagle #fantasy #reverse romeo and juliet

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detective-redstar · 5 years ago

Text

Journal Entry N.02 || Chapter 1

|| This journal will act as a recap for everything that has happened during Chapter 1. This means there will be information that Airi would not realistically know. This is only for the sake of the recap. If you’re confused on who’s who, here’s a link to the roster page. ||

@despot-despair

It’s been some time, hasn’t it? A lot has happened since I last wrote in this journal. This may take a while and my wrist will probably hurt from writing this much, but I’ll survive~

I was able to get around and mingle with lots of people after we escaped that wretched dungeon! I have a sneaking suspicion not many of them like me. It’s a bit upsetting, to be honest :’(

However! I’m not the most hated person here, since Yuu decided to stir the pot even more. During our first conversation, which got rather heated, he threatened to rip my nails off. My beautiful nails! Thankfully, I escaped with all my nails in tact.

Apparently, he also got into huge shit with Hitomi and Ivy too. Yuu grabbed the rabbit girl by the ankle and started dragging her across the courtyard so he could dunk her into one of the ponds. Hitomi was there and, in an attempt to stop the local blue menace, hit him right in the neck with his gas tank. Ivy was freed, but I guess that encounter scared her pretty bad. Hitomi must’ve felt guilty too, ‘cause he stormed off the second Yuu was knocked to the ground.

That isn’t all. He also bullied Tsuguyo, the small origami artist, by giving her the same treatment of grabbing her to drag her along the grass. Apparently he was trying to throw her into the nearby pond. Only after Tsuguyo bit and threw rocks at him did he let go, due to being knocked half-unconscious.

Yuu’s honestly such an annoyance, and that means something coming from me.

A day or so passed and Raiouji announced that he prepared a feast for everyone. Some sort of welcoming party, maybe? Either way, it was far from welcoming, as the dinner quickly took a turn for the worst when the dead body of Sujaku was discovered underneath one of the serving domes. He told us that we needed to investigate what happened to the phoenix or face punishment, aka mass execution.

Safe to say, not many were pleased with that. But we had no choice, so everyone split up to investigate.

I had paired up with Kliment Holloway, the Clarinet Boy. All was going smoothly, when, in one of the stalls in the restroom, we found some graffiti that said “Airi x Koko best ship.” I still have no idea who wrote it. Kliment had absolutely no idea what it meant. At the time, I was disgusted. Funny how much my feelings have changed since then. I’ll... get to that later.

z̵̬̩̳̾͛̏@̸̫͉̠̼̭̪̇̐̉͊Ȇ̷̮̠̠̥̰ͅ@̷̡̼̝̫͍̔̏̀͗͑̉͗̇͘̚C̷̛̙̦̓̅̍͂̆̀̍:̴̬̜͓́̽̆̉̈́͐̎͗̈̈́͠͝]̷̢̢͔̲͎̻͍̩̲̱̝̘͆͗̽͊̌͐́]̵͔̬̦̑͂̂͛̾̒̃̋̒͘]̷̬̦̈́́̈́̏͛̊̇̑

In any case! We were going to have a trial. A trial for a robotic bird. It was a joke, so I treated it like one. To add onto the stupidity of this mock trial, Klim entered the graffiti we found as actual evidence. I wanted to die of embarrassment. Explaining what a ship was took forever, and I still don’t think he gets it.

The trial ended pretty quick - faster than any trial I had been to. Turns out Yunime stomped Sujaku to death because Sujaku had spoken ill of Raiouji. As stupid as it sounds, it was written in the rules that it’s forbidden to insult him. No one was killed for it, as Raiouji deemed Yunime’s actions as acceptable punishment.

In the end, we avoided execution and were to resume our lives in captivity. Mukuro, Sujaku’s mate, was pretty upset about the whole thing. Not sure why she’d stay loyal to Raiouji after that.

Raiouji, however, wasn’t going to sit around and just wait for a body to appear. So he prepared a motive - an incentive to kill. After gathering everyone in the foyer, what could only be described as the screams of the damned started blasting throughout the castle. Mukuro confirmed that it was Sujaku’s mixtape. Yes, his mixtape. It sounded awful.

Remembering what happened after that... really annoys me.

I made a joke. One simple little offhand comment about how Koko should die first. Then those witches decided to swarm me while pretending to uphold some bullshit justice. Sakura and Mari especially. Sakura hit me twice, yet she pretends to be some righteous hero who opposes violence. What a bunch of hypocrites.

x̶̢̡̰̻̜̪͇̝̠͇̥͇͖̓̍̇͊͘͝ͅ ̵̢̨̛͕̬̼̘͈̯͍̜̩̏̆̔͊́̑̋͜9̵̧̧̜̱͇͍͍̲̩͔͔͎̗̿̂̍̽̄͑͗̋͋̋͜2̴̛̦̫͗͂̆̾͛̉Ę̶̼͔͇̰̮͗̽̍̿̾̈́̿̈́̍͗͝6̵̩̭̱̻̈́ ̵̢͈͚̥͎̰͎́̐̈̂͑̓͒̆͗͜E̷͖̭̱̯̞̥̼̠̞̬͔̘̍̓̉͋̍̾̏̾̉̎̈͆͘̚͠9̶̡̙̪̘̺̯̙̯̪̰̱̏̕͘͘6̶̡̞͖̭̱̖͕̈́͊̋͆́̀̇͌͝͠>̶͙̩̯͉͍̹̜͍͉̺̟͊ͅ]̶̧̛͎͈̗̩͇̼̤̦͙̐̔̃̅̉͜ͅͅ

I was so mad and I had to get out there before I did anything reckless. So I left to the dining room, where I found Ivy looking downcast. She tried to comfort me, in a way. Ricky Boy was there too, but I’m sure he was only wanting to hear some gossip. He isn’t sincere in the slightest.

I cracked. I freaked out and told them about how I was going to make their lives miserable. I even snapped one of my nails off. Writing about it like this reminds me of how crazy I must’ve looked. Ricardo and Ivy panicked and took me to the bathroom to wash the blood off. Though Ricardo only came after I promised to give him what he wanted: that scalding hot tea. (I hate myself for writing that.)

Ivy retrieved a ribbon from her room and used that as a makeshift bandage. Honestly, I’m really grateful for it. I wouldn’t be able to stand having some ugly wound ruining my perfect appearance. Ricky left after we subtly threatened each other and that was the end of it.

I still haven’t forgotten though. Of the unfair treatment I received simply because I’m deemed the villain. Oh no, this was only the beginning.

Once the motive was dropped, there was tension hanging everywhere in the castle over whether or not someone would truly kill over this. Hitomi, %̷̨̢̍̔̅̃̕9̴̲͙̹͓̑6̵̭͇̯̊͐̈́ ̸̨̭̗̥̈͑3̷̛̻̘̘̬̋̎̓͜@̵̞͂̃͌̾͝@̴͔̼͕̞̙̓Ě̵̥̜͠ ̷̻͝=̴̛͈̀̇̿̕͝:̵̢̧̜̞̉͋̅͛4̵̭̻̻͇̯̱̍̅̌<̴͓͓̽͐͊̉6̴̟̜̰͈̣̄̏̂͘̚͝C̷̡͙͎̯̊ Sakura and %̴̩̥̖̌̈̀̾̚ͅ9̸̧̛̿̌͗6̴̩͙̘̣̈ ̶̠̐3̸̛̥̓:̸̢̺͔͙͎̓͜E̵̛̦̱̗̣͓͉͗͋̑̑̕4̶̤͖͙̳̗̼̊9̵͛͌̃̏ Mari tried to brainstorm some way of preventing such a killing from taking place. They created some rules to enforce - rules they never bothered to tell anyone else. Quite the oversight I must say~

Their plan failed.

But that’s enough about them! Time to talk more about me ★ And Koko. She’s pretty important to this equation.

If I could trace back a specific point in time which was the trigger for everything, it would be that fortune telling session Koko hosted for all who stopped by. I, of course, don’t believe in any of her garbage spirit talk, but I was interested in what she would say. I went second, after Gam, and I was given a rather positive reading. The reading itself wasn’t the start, but a simple comment meant to tease me. Koko joked that she was 0.1% attracted to me. I’m not sure why it bothered me as much as it did, but I was quite distressed over it.

Later on, I went to her room, Room 7, to confront her about it. Call it petty, but I needed to clear the air. We were supposed to be rivals! Everything changed with that single visit to her room.

Koko confessed to me. Koko had feelings for me. That Koko, who berated me and I insulted in turn. She liked me, for some reason I couldn’t comprehend. I kissed her, after she dared me to. I don’t think she expected me to go for it, since her face turned bright red. I’m sure mine was just as red, too.

We talked for a while. She gave me a name, her real name. Kotori, she said. Told me that she and I were quite similar. It opened my eyes. For the first time, I found someone who knew what it was like. Though it was slightly different, she knew. She understood. I had an ally and I couldn’t let her go.

The following event was one I honestly wasn’t expecting, even though I was the instigator. After getting into a slight argument with Cai Collins in the group chat, he challenged me to a fight out in the courtyard. Of course, I wasn’t going to back down. We met outside, with a few others watching.

I taunted him quite a bit, as he seemed hesitant to hit me. I know how to take a punch, so I wasn’t afraid of him. He did hit me, though it was only in the gut. That was when I decided to turn up the heat. I took a nearby rock and smashed it into my head, throwing it to Cai’s feet in an attempt to frame him. I passed out shortly after, so I’m not sure what happened between then and when I woke up. Kotori and Liya were by my side in my room, having patched me up. They told me my plan failed, as everyone believed Cai’s side of the story. I was really disappointed. Although, I took some satisfaction in knowing that I traumatized Cai-chan just a little bit. It was worth the concussion I gave myself. Does that make me a horrible person? Hahaha~

One night, I found a tarot card taped to my door. It was The Lovers, with some drawings on it. An apple and a star. Not a difficult riddle. I went out side and found Koko waiting for me. She said we were to stargaze for a bit. I didn’t quite understand, but I agreed. So we laid next to each other, looking up at the sky and talking about lots of different things. We kissed a second time. I believe that was the trigger for my own feelings to start bubbling to the surface, though I wouldn’t realize it until the next morning.

When I did, I needed to tell her. It was so early in the morning and no one was awake, but I needed to tell her. She didn’t seem surprised. Was it so obvious to everyone but me? I’m honestly a little embarrassed, but I’ve never had these feelings before, so how could I know what they meant!? In any case, we were now an official couple.

If only I knew that I would soon lose her.

The next day, we were met with quite the horrid sight. Ami Mochizuki, the SHSL Librarian, was found dead atop the chandelier. The killing game had started and we were to have a real trial after some investigation. I have to admit that, as a detective, I was a bit excited to expose the mystery behind this murder.

I did my investigation with Ivy, who was rationally upset and scared by the killing. She didn’t like to approach anything relating to blood or the body, which was fine by me. More investigation work for me~ I got to jump onto the chandelier, so that was fun! Ami was clearly stabbed with a knife, but the question was who did it and how the body got onto the chandelier.

The evidence we found wasn’t much, but it was all we had as we went into our first official trial with a real trial grounds. Though this one was different from those I was used to. We were all standing in a circle. I guess it was so we could see one another as we accuse each other.

The trial went on for some time as new evidence came to light. Ricardo had the room key to Ami’s room, and Yuu’s Primpod was missing. Both were suspicious, so they were two major suspects in the case. I even accused Ricky Boy. Hopefully he didn’t take it to heart~

The damning evidence was a piece of cheap gold found in the Treasure Room. I immediately knew who it belonged to and my heart had sunk into my gut. I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t believe it!

Kokoro-koro was voted to be the killer. And it turned out she was. She killed Ami by stabbing her in the Treasure Room. Ami had apparently threw herself onto the chandelier. I have no idea why, but I didn’t care. Kotori was the killer.

And she was to be executed for failing to get away with her murder.

Before that, she had approached my podium. She gave me her final words, as well one to remember her by. I... I need to figure it out what it meant. It wasn’t a Japanese word. Kotori kissed me one last time, before knocking me out with a punch to the jaw... so that I wouldn’t have to see her execution.

Apparently it was rather horrible and depraved, one that humiliated her before she died. I’m glad I didn’t have to see it. I know I wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

When I woke up, she was gone. Kotori, the girl I liked and wanted to be with, was dead. I still struggle to accept the fact that she’s never coming back. I could never hear her voice or hold her in my arms.

I lost it. Consumed by my grief, I went off the deep end. To be honest, I don’t remember much of what I said. I know that I made a promise. A promise to bring everyone else here to their knees with despair. They took my happiness away and I wasn’t going to let them get away with it.

I will see it through. Until my heart stops, I will assure that I destroy everyone here, no matter the cost.

Signed, Airi Akahoshi

#journal #chapter recap #despot despair #chapter 1 #shsl detective

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raven-black102 · 6 years ago

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Our little game (Emmett Cullen X deaf! Reader)

Requested by @rockis4ever: can you do a Emmett X deaf reader and she loves sports and reading about legends and when they first meet they are on different teams and she beats him and when they start to talk she automatically knows that he is a vampires but she accepts him.

Sorry if it's a little short and poorly written. My brain wasn't having it when I wrote this one. I hope you still like it.

(Y/n)'s POV

'The cold one vampire are very different from other kind. These vampires can feast on either human or Animal blood. They way you can tell what type of blood there drink it there eyes chamge color. If it gold then its animal blood or black if they haven't hunted in awhile. Red is if they drink human blood.' I read as I couldn't help but feel exited.

'The cold one vampires description is that there extremely unhumanly beautiful. There skin is as pure as snow and sparkles when hit by direct sunlight. And most of all there whole skin is as cold as ice. There common enemy is a wolf also known as the children of the moon.' I read as I looked at the drawing my brother did.

My brother was a supernatural hunter amd he would write every thing his fought, killed, or meet in person. The only thing that kept my brother from being the same like the other hunters is that he wanted to see if they ment any harm to the humans. And if they didn't he would risk his life to protect them from other hunters.

Sadly he was murder last year after he saved a couple name Carlisle and Esme from a group of Hunters. 'There are more then one kind of cold ones. There is another group called the Volturi in Italy and the Newborns. At less to my knowledge so far.' I continued to read then saw someone walk in my room.

'(Y/n) it's time to go to school.' My sister-in-law signed causing me to smile at her. "Okay thanks." I said making her grin. 'You've been using your voice a lot. I'm sure (B/n) would be proud of you.' She sign with a sad smile.

Time Skip

A small smile appeared on my lips as the couch started to pick out the teams. 'Do you want to play?' The interpreter signed as the couch looks at him then to me. "Yeah sure." I said causing the couch to grin at me.

'Alright lets play some dodge ball!' The interpreter signed what the couch side as I went to one side. 'I'll be keeping an eye one you.' The interpreter sign causing me to nod my head.

I looked at the couch and read his lips as he said "Ready?! Go!" He yelled as I stood behind. I watch as this huge guy from the Cullen family grabbed the ball and started knocking people in my team out. 'His being to cocky time to burst his ego back to earth.' I thought as grabbed the ball and dodge them. Once I saw the huge dude wasn't paying attention to me I though the ball and got him out.

"What?!" I saw him yelled as I saw a ball coming my way. I quickly grabbed it knocking a person out and bring in my teammates.

3rd Person POV

Emmett couldn't belive a human can knock him out at dodge ball. "You weren't paying attention Emmett. She saw that opportunity and strikes at you." Jasper told his brother. "Yeah what ever I let her win." Emmett huffed as he watched the girl very close.

Then he felt something towards her. A small pulled and the need to talk and protect her. "Emmett found his mate.~" Alice sang causing everyone to look at Emmett see that he couldn't look away from (Y/n) as she caught yet another ball.

"She's really good for a human." Rosalie said as she leans agent Edward. "She read a lot about our kind." Edward said then frown. "She just shut me out of her mind!" Edward yelled slightly in shocked. "What?" Emmett asked along with everyone else.

They all watch as (Y/n) caught the last ball letting her team win the game. "That was awesome (Y/n)!" A group of student told her. She frown a bit trying to read there lips. "Yeah why haven't we seen you play more often?" One of them asked as Emmett and Jasper tensed up.

"She's getting scared." Jasper said causing Emmett to stand up and walked towards her. "Hey guys don't crowd around her!" The Interpreter yelled scolding the students. "You okay?" Emmett asked (Y/n) as she look up at him. "Yeah. Yeah I'm fine." She said with a soft smile.

"I'm Emmett Cullen." Emmett greeted as (Y/n) shook his hand. "(Y/n) (L/n)." She smiled feeling how could his hand is. 'His a cold one vampire.' She thought causing Edwards eyes to widen. "She knows about us." Edward said as they watch Emmett and (Y/n) talk to each other.

"How does she know about us?" Rosalie asked surprised. "Her brother was a hunter." Edward started then smile softly. "His the one that Carlisle and Esme told us about. That saved there life from other Hunters." Edward looking at his Sibling.

"She can come over!" Alice squeal in joy as Jasper chuckled and wrapped an arm over her shoulder. "First let see how this plays out." Jasper joked as they watch Emmett and (Y/n) laughed and smiled at each other.

#twilight #twilight saga imagine #twilight imagines #twilight imagine #twilight saga #twilight saga x reader #twilight saga imagines #twilight x reader #emmett cullen imagines #emmett cullen imagine #emmett cullen #emmett cullen x reader #emmett x reader

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drtanstravels · 5 years ago

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We recently stayed in Tel Aviv, Israel for four days so Anna could attend a teaching seminar for the International Retinal Panel. During our stay we would take a tour of Jerusalem, travel along the West Bank while venturing into Palestine, visit the ancient village of Masada, and then float and get all muddy in the Dead Sea. All of the main events happened in the final two days of the trip so this will just be a relatively short post in comparison, covering the initial two days of our journey, both spent in Tel Aviv.

Friday, November 1, 2019 We had left Singapore at 11:30pm the previous night, took an 11.5-hour flight to Turkey, had a 90-minute layover in Istanbul Airport, and then took another two-hour flight to Tel Aviv. When we were in Seoul, South Korea recently we got chatting to some friends of mine who had traveled to Israel in the past and the nightmares they had faced going through immigration once they had reached Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv. One of them even told us about how he got cavity-searched, so we were both prepared for the worst. Once we were off the plane and inside the airport I cringed a bit when the first security guard snapped on a pair of disposable gloves, but it turned out to be just for him to search through our hand luggage. After that the line at the passport counter was taking forever, but it turned out that the reason the queue was taking so long to move was because we just had a really talkative guy checking our passports and when he first saw my Australian document, he looked up, gave me a curious look, and asked, “Do you watch Home and Away?” I smiled and mentioned that my sister used to have it on every night back in the day and that was it. We had to ask for entry border crossing cards, a separate slip of paper to be put into our passports instead of a stamp, because having an Israeli passport stamp can cause quite a bit of trouble when traveling overseas. There are currently eight countries that won’t accept passports containing Israeli visas, the most notable one being Saudi Arabia, a country to which we may need to travel one day. There are also quite a few countries whose passport holders are forbidden entrance to Israel without official confirmation from the Israeli government, Malaysia being on that list, so one of Anna’s colleagues was unable to attend. In fact, if Anna hadn’t taken Singaporean citizenship after we got married, this journey would never have happened.

As has been a pattern over recent trips, we arrived in Tel Aviv early in the morning, well before our hotel room was available so we dumped our bags with the concierge and decided to have a look around town. We were staying at the Crowne Plaza, which had an attached shopping mall so that was our first stop, mainly for a much-needed coffee and a couple of pastries, and then we discovered that there was a park and shopping district nearby called Sarona, a place with an interesting history:

Sarona was a German Templer colony established in Ottoman Palestine in 1871. Sarona is now a neighbourhood of Tel Aviv, Israel. It was one of the earliest modern villages established by Europeans in Ottoman Palestine. In July 1941, the British Mandate authorities deported 188 residents of Sarona, who were considered hard-core Nazi sympathisers. By the 2000s, the area had fallen into disrepair and was a haven for drug addicts. However, since 2003, the area has undergone massive renovation, which involved moving and relocating historical buildings before their restoration. The area is now a popular shopping district, as well as housing museums, cultural artefacts centring on its history, and IDF complexes.

Walking around Sarona was really cool with its mix of shops, bars, and cafes, as well as the Sarona Market. When Anna was purchasing a ring in one of the stores she asked for some recommendations in the area and the first one immediately given was Anita, a boutique ice-cream store. We initially thought this was a one-off, but we ended up finding incredible ice-cream shops all over the city. Anyway, we ordered a cup with two flavours, Pavlova & Mix Berries and Salted Pretzel, before we continued walking around, visiting among other shops a handmade dreidel store called Draydel House, a place with some unique takes on the spinning tops, and then it was on to Sarona Market. The market had some great looking food and there were plenty of free samples, but as you will find out over the course of this post and the next, it wasn’t an accurate representation of kosher food. We walked around sampling different cheeses, pickles, and halva, possibly the driest substance on earth. Seriously, dust is more mouth-watering than halva. Another thing that Israel is known for is pomegranate juice, generally used for detoxing, so we ordered a large one each, a decision we would later deeply regret and one that would also put the pair of us off pomegranates for the foreseeable future, despite how nice it tasted. Once we were done with the market and walking around the gardens in Sarona, we were able to check into our room at the Crowne Plaza at around 2:00pm and take a nap for a bit. Our day up until that point (besides the awesome pickle store in the market that wouldn’t let me take photos):

Anna near the entrance of Sarona

The way Sarona is set up is really cool

Looking down a row of stores

A map of Sarona in Hebrew

Anna’s dreidel

The dreidel Anna would probably get for me

Some of the ice-cream flavours available at Anita

A few more

They also had a custom soft-serve yoghurt bar

Anna about to buy ours

Our sweet and salty combination was definitely a good mix

Halva inside the market

One of the food stall rows

There is a huge variety available in this market

Unfortunately, not all Israeli food is as good as this looks

Anna in the garden

Now in our room

After sleeping for a bit we caught a cab to the waterfront, which is split into two parts; Alma Beach, a modern seaside area, and the Old City area of Jaffa. Most modern beach areas are similar, whereas ancient cities are always fascinating so Jaffa was the obvious choice to spend some time exploring first. It would be nigh on impossible to summarise the history of a 3,800-year-old port city in the Middle East, but here’s the general background:

Jaffa, in Hebrew Yafo and also called Japho or Joppa, the southern and oldest part of Tel Aviv–Yafo, is an ancient port city in Israel. Jaffa is famous for its association with the biblical stories of Jonah, Solomon and Saint Peter as well as the mythological story of Andromeda and Perseus, and later for its oranges. The city as such was established at the latest around 1800 BCE.

Modern Jaffa has a heterogeneous population of Jews, Christians, and Muslims. Jaffa currently has 46,000 residents, of whom 30,000 are Jews and 16,000 are Arabs. The 2010 film Port of Memory explores these themes. Tabeetha School in Jaffa was founded in 1863. It is owned by the Church of Scotland. The school provides education in English to children from Christian, Jewish and Muslim backgrounds.

Our taxi driver was an elderly man who kept explaining to us along the way that Tel Aviv was a party city, that around 69% of people there were aged between 30-40, and that we’d be among the older people out that night. I wasn’t expecting that, but another thing we weren’t expecting was the fact that the sun sets in Tel Aviv before 5:00pm, it’s almost as if the city is in the entirely wrong timezone and is something that would throw our body clocks off for the duration of this trip. When it had been dark there for a few hours, you’d be led to think it was getting kind of late when in reality it was only about eight o’clock in the evening. So, despite the fact that we arrived at Jaffa at 4:30pm, the sun was already setting, but this just made the place that much more beautiful. We spent the evening wandering through the narrow streets and laneways of Jaffa, taking in all of the ancient buildings, towers, and structures, plus the major landmarks in the area such as Jaffa Lighthouse, Clock Square, and the coastal canons, all while the sun set over the ocean.

After all of that walking we were beginning to get hungry and the waterside restaurants at Alma Beach were supposed to be pretty decent so we chose one called Manta Ray for dinner where we sat outdoors with some drinks and feasted on some selections from their great meze platter, as well as a grilled fish. We were to meet the organisers and other attendees of Anna’s course at 9:30pm after everyone had arrived in town, but it was barely 7:30pm by the time we finished dinner so we found a nearby shisha bar for a few more drinks and a pipe. After a while we both began to bloat up, neither of us could stop farting, and I was burping constantly, feeling the need to vomit. It was too soon after dinner to be from the fish or the meze dishes we chose, I had already checked that the water was safe to drink so that wasn’t it, coffee, pastries, and ice-cream don’t have this effect on me, and nothing else we had tried had been a large enough sample to make us sick. Except for the pomegranate juice, that is. We had drunk about a litre (33.8 fl. oz.) each several hours ago and it now seemed like we were paying for it, however, we couldn’t be 100% certain. Whatever it was, we both wanted to go back to the hotel and let it all out, resulting in me violently throwing up for a few minutes once inside, but then we felt reasonably fine as soon as we were both empty.

We met up with Anna’s course-mates in the lobby of our hotel and we walked down to a pub in another nearby part of town where everyone chatted over some beers, while those who hadn’t eaten had dinner. It was a really fun night and Anna decided to ask one of the local organisers, Tamir, if it could’ve been the pomegranate juice that bloated us. He said it’s good for you, most people just take a small glass and share it. When she told him that we’d had a litre each he was gobsmacked. “That’s not detox, that’s just tox!” was the response. Here are a whole bunch of photos from around Jaffa that evening, plus a couple of our dinner and the shisha bar before we bloated up like a couple of non-embalmed corpses:

Hashan Square

Anna and and I on the peninsula

Part of Jaffa from a distance

Looking over the ocean

People washing their hands

One of the coastal canons, imported by the Ottoman government in the 18th century to protect Jaffa from Bedouin raids

Overlooking a mosque

You can even find cool bars in towns dating back to the bronze age

Walking down a wide thoroughfare

The sun setting over the ocean

A museum surrounded by shops

Walking down an avenue

Anna posing in an alley

One of many interesting sculptures in Jaffa

The view of Clock Square from a very narrow stairway

We were both wondering if this was the Jewish equivalent of leaving your tie on the door handle so your roommate knows you have a girl inside

Etzel House

Dinner is served

We chose a few dishes from this platter

Baked blue bream with Jerusalem artichokes

Smoking a shisha while we both rapidly expand

Saturday, November 2, 2019 Anna was going to her course so I was free to do my own thing for the bulk of the day, but there was one small problem — Saturday is the sabbath, also known as Shabbat in Judaism, and this would severely limit what I was able to do due to many actions being classed as melakhah and thus being prohibited on this day of rest or historically punishable by death! Here’s a better description of melakhah:

Jewish law (halakha) prohibits doing any form of melakhah (מְלָאכָה, plural melakhoth) on Shabbat, unless an urgent human or medical need is life-threatening. Though melakhah is commonly translated as “work” in English, a better definition is “deliberate activity” or “skill and craftmanship”. There are 39 categories of prohibited activities (melakhoth) listed in Mishnah Tractate Shabbat 7:2.

Some acts forbidden on Shabbat include:

Threshing/Extraction Definition: Removal of an undesirable outer from a desirable inner.

Dissection Definition: Reducing an earth-borne thing’s size for a productive purpose.

Kneading/Amalgamation Definition: Combining particles into a semi-solid or solid mass via liquid.

Cooking/Baking Definition for solids: Changing the properties of something via heat. Definition for liquids: Bringing a liquid’s temperature to the heat threshold. This threshold is known as yad soledet (lit. “A hand reflexively recoils [due to such heat]”). According to Igrot Moshe this temperature is 43 °C (110 °F).

Extinguishing a Fire Definition: Extinguishing a fire/flame, or diminishing its intensity.

Ignition: Definition: Igniting, fuelling or spreading a fire/flame.

Transferring Between Domains Definition: Transferring something from one domain type to another domain type, or transferring within a public thoroughfare.

Now, some of you reading this are probably thinking, “Why would you care, you’re not Jewish.” This is true, however, despite me seeing fewer Orthodox Jews in Israel than I did on any given day in New York City, prohibition of melakhah on Shabbat is enforced by law, although not to an extreme. Although no shops would be open, these restrictions would severely limit my food purchasing options. Because it had been powered down for Shabbat, I pushed my way through the revolving door to exit the hotel and hit the street. I was quite hungry due to the fact that I had vomited everything I had eaten the previous evening so I figured I might get lucky finding somewhere open to eat at Sarona. I saw a cafe with people all around it so that’s where I went and I ordered the egg white omelette on the menu, which came with some bread and a side salad. I guess the hotplate must’ve been kept burning from the previous day and eggs aren’t really a solid or liquid so changing their properties via heat would be fine. Salad was also okay because the form of the lettuce doesn’t change, only the size, and it was cut quite large so it wasn’t done to make it into a more usable, productive state. The bread had obviously been made the previous day and when it came to dissection of the food in order to eat, that was all on me, not the cafe. Juice wasn’t an option due to threshing/extraction, but it was when I ordered a latte that things got weird. The waiter told me that he could only offer me a “very weak coffee” which was the result of the water and milk only being heated to about 40°C in keeping with the law, a temperature that also isn’t really hot enough for the coffee to properly infuse the water, thus making it not very strong. It actually turned out to be infinitely easier to get a beer anywhere in town that morning than coffee. My order at the cafe was able to be brought from the kitchen to my table, and also to diners who were seated outside, without transferring between domains due to the installation of an eruv, described as:

An urban area enclosed by a wire boundary which symbolically extends the private domain of Jewish households into public areas, permitting activities within it that are normally forbidden in public on the Sabbath.

Although the Jewish community must strictly adhere to laws of prohibition on Shabbat, going to the effort of building eruvs and heating liquids to a slightly cooler temperature than normal seem like ways of pranking an almighty deity who is easily fooled by the loopholes in the rules he wrote. Then I remembered this scene from the documentary Religulous:

youtube

After eating I decided to have a look around the beach area, making my way there via the main shopping district en route, but obviously everything was closed except for bars, restaurants, and cafes and wouldn’t be opening again until late in the evening or within the next few days. I was also having trouble getting cash out of an ATM again and this time I wasn’t sure whether the machines weren’t accepting my card or were just unable to function in general. I arrived at the beach and it was quite nice with a bunch more seaside bars and restaurants, as well as plenty of entertainment, some of which was unintentionally funny. There was Israeli folk dancing that happens at Gordon Beach every Saturday, as well as a big outdoor gym area where meatheads could work out like in Venice Beach, California, all just grunting, flexing, and slapping butts. Instead, I walked out along the pier to a lighthouse, just taking in the sights. It was a nice walk, but I could feel myself getting sunburnt so I went back to a shaded area along the shore to sit down with a bunch of senior citizens for a bit and that’s where I got the biggest laugh of the day. There were three guys working out there, one was absolutely ripped and doing chin-ups and some other impressive feats on horizontal bars directly in front of us, another was doing push ups, all the while giving the third guy tips on capoeira moves. If you are unaware of what capoeira is, it’s a Brazilian martial art that combines acrobatics, dancing, and complex moves involving hand plants, kicks, and flips (that link is a video that will give you a decent idea). The only problem was that the guy trying to do it wasn’t particularly good at capoeira so I found myself sitting there with a bunch of confused older people who were innocently trying to figure out why a muscly dude was doing cartwheels in the sand in front of several other muscly guys. It was a hot day, a dry heat compared to the insane humidity of Singapore, but I had no cash for a drink so I had a sip out of the drinking fountain where people also washed the sand off their feet, and walked for forty minutes back to the hotel, passing a cheese shop that you could smell before you could see, despite it being closed, along the way. Once back I killed two birds with one stone, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water from the minibar and making an instant coffee in the room, which turned into mud when I added water, but it still gave me the caffeine fix I had been lacking. I also managed to get cash out of an ATM next our hotel and Anna was still going to be a while so I planted myself in a bar back in Sarona for a few hours until she was done.

My kosher Shabbat breakfast with very weak coffee

Walking into town

At the beach

Looking down the boardwalk and across the road

Some huts near the ocean

Now walking down the promenade

Was Banksy in town?

More art, this time honouring the older community

Israeli folk-dancing

Beanbags on the beach

One of many cafes along the promenade

Coming over a little cloudy

That’s better

Waves crashing along the pier

A lighthouse at the end

I’m still trying to figure out if this building had caught fire or was just art-deco

The cheese shop on the way home. I wish it was open

The bottom of my instant mud coffee

Anna was soon back from her teaching and we had a dinner that night with everyone else involved in the course. This meant taking a minibus with the International Retinal Panel crew back to a restaurant at the beach, Anna’s first venture into that area of Tel Aviv, so we had a look around the boardwalk and took a few photos first. It was nice to hang out with everyone while we were feeling 100%, they were really cool people and an interesting mix of nationalities, some local, others coming from Columbia, Italy, India, France, Argentina, China, and a multitude of other other countries. The restaurant we went to looked good, but the entire group, myself included, consisted of about 30 people, taking up two massive tables, and the platters we received, two per table, were to be shared. The problem with this system was that Anna, myself, and a few others were tucked away in a corner on the back table and our food and drinks kept failing to appear. Everyone else received a meze platter except us, we waited about 20 minutes and then had to ask for it, as well as remind the staff that we had also ordered drinks. When it finally arrived, the other areas of both tables were receiving a grilled fish that looked delicious, but when we finished our platter the fish never arrived, nor did the second drink I ordered. We asked about the fish and when it finally came ours was just what seemed like fish offcuts including several heads, all of which was deep-fried to the point that it was so crunchy it was pretty much inedible. We didn’t bother eating much of it, that second beer never came, and everyone that was there for the course had homework to do so we got back in the bus, the interior blue light making my Rick and Morty “Pickle Rick” shirt appear as if it were covered in turds, and we went back to the hotel, them to do group work and me to have a couple of drinks at the hotel bar until it closed.

Anna’s first stroll along this area of the beach

The boardwalk at night

All of the people involved in Anna’s course

A merry-go-round

Some of the food has arrived, but it also looks like others are asking for stuff that hasn’t

If our fish were pork, it would’ve been the parts that go into a sausage roll

Definitely looks like faeces

Tel Aviv is such a cool city and nothing like we expected, yet a completely hidden gem when it comes to traveling, but this was just the beginning! Stay tuned for the next instalment when we do all the cool stuff you would expect one to do while in Israel that in no way would fit into this post, like visiting Jerusalem and floating in the Dead Sea.

The first two days of our four-night trip to Israel We recently stayed in Tel Aviv, Israel for four days so Anna could attend a teaching seminar for the International Retinal Panel.

#beach #Jaffa #sabbath #Sarona #Shabbat #Tel Aviv

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