#and slowly the prospect of wearing this dead man's face while his brother keeps insisting that you're him becomes more n more uncomfortable

[ardenigh]

last one for the night!

also under the cut for those who would rather only experience helmeted lucky: the man himself, or at the very least, his template

[ronsenburg]

This one is for @reinmeka~♥

The sun shone brightly the day Apollo first met the summoner. 

It’s a pointless detail to cling to—most days in Spira had been sunny, so far—but the state of the weather that day is ingrained into his memory all the same. Maybe it had something to do with the way the beams of light reflected off the surface of the ocean as their boat cut a path to Luca, throwing waves that glinted silver in their wake, looking more like rippled metal than water. Maybe it was the feel of the warm wooden deck, solid and steady under the palms of his hands. 

It had been a peaceful ride, until then. 

Until the spires of Luca’s stadium began to shift from a blur of color jutting from the darker tones of the surrounding cliffside into distinct details, until the wind that filled their sails began to carry the sounds of screaming across the water. Among those very human wails another sound arose, this cry piercing and bestial, the sorrow and pain expressed in that roar echoing down through Apollo and raising goosebumps along the skin of his arms. 

“Sounds like we’re missing the show,” Phoenix commented. With his arms crossed and one shoulder leaned against the mast, he sounded unperturbed by the sounds of chaos, but Apollo could see the tightness in his expression as he gazed on. It was the look that gave him away. 

“Is it—“

But Phoenix cut him off with a definitive shake of his head, his eyes never leaving the shoreline. “You’d know if it was. Doesn’t mean it isn’t bad though.”

Trucy appeared to his left, then, twisting the pompom antenna of the doll in her arms with an anxious energy that was nearly palatable. “The captain says it’ll take half an hour, at least, to get to the port. If they’ll still let us dock, that is.”

“It’ll be over by then,” Phoenix sighed. “For good or for bad. All we can do is hope the kid’s okay.” 

Apollo couldn’t bring himself to ask who exactly Phoenix was referring to, then. 

It took two hours, in actuality, for the authorities of Luca to clear their ship to dock. 

Phoenix paced the deck for the majority of it, patience waning as time visibly slipped past with the subtle movement of the still blazing sun. What was bothering him was hard to discern—the screaming had stopped nearly an hour ago, replaced by the sounds of uproarious applause and cheers. Whatever had happened here seemed to be resolved, and yet, Phoenix had continued to wear a line into the already worn wood of the ship's deck. 

Eventually, they were cleared to disembark; a gangway was lowered, swaying only slightly as Apollo took the tentative—and grateful—steps off the boat and onto the mosaic laden ground below. Only Trucy seemed to notice his discomfort; the deckhands were busy preparing to unload the cargo they carried and Phoenix was already occupied in conversation with an unfamiliar man who appeared to have been waiting for their arrival at the docks. 

And though he still bowed before speaking, Phoenix’s tone could only be described as brusque. “How’d they get past the barrier?”

If the man he was addressing was bothered by the manner of address, he didn’t show it. He only smiled pleasantly, inclining his head enough that the coil of pale-blond hair that was collected in a cuff  of embroidered fabric fell over the robes of his left shoulder. “Come now, Sir Wright. It’s been nearly seven years since the last time we met. Is that any way to greet an old friend?” 

Though it was nearly imperceptible, Apollo was certain he saw the muscles of Phoenix’s jaw constrict as he set his teeth. “There’s a time and a place, Maester. Right now I’m more concerned about the people of Luca.” 

The man gave a dismissive wave of his robed arm, indicating the general structure around them. “As you can see, everything is perfectly under control. The fiends have been dispatched with minimal casualties, the tournament will resume tomorrow. All without your assistance, might I add.” 

“And the summoner?” Phoenix pressed, apparently relentless. 

Something like displeasure flashed across the other man’s eyes, so quickly that Apollo could not be sure he hadn’t imagined it, before it was carefully smoothed back into the same affable smile from earlier. “Klavier is uninjured, but resting. If you wish to see him, I would ask that you wait until after this evening’s Sending.” And, as though sensing that Phoenix was still unconvinced, he added, “There’s no need to worry. Sir Edgeworth is with him. That should appease you, no?”

Oddly enough, it did. The hostility that had emerged in the lines of Phoenix’s jaw seemed to fade away, though it was only somewhat, carried off on the wings of a soft sigh released as he shrugged in apparent admission.

The other man simply nodded. 

“As I thought. Now that’s settled, I must insist you join me for refreshments; it’s been a trying morning for us all and—“ he paused, his mismatched eyes sliding from Phoenix’s face to meet Apollo’s eyes directly, “—we are so very curious to meet your newest companion.”

With that, he bowed deeply. 

“I am Maester Kristoph of Bevelle; I must say that I am delighted at the prospect of making your acquaintance.”

*

In a series of artfully levied whispers as the party made their way through the teeming streets, Trucy managed to outline the basics of what had occurred since they’d first set eyes on Luca’s shores that morning. 

They were as followed: 

The man who had introduced himself as Maester Kristoph was a priest of Yevon, in Luca with his brother, a summoner, to lend Bevelle’s support to the tournament. He and Phoenix had met years ago when serving as guardians for different summoners on their pilgrimage to defeat Sin. There should have been wards enacted within the walls of the stadium to keep fiends from entering, but they had been damaged in Sin’s last attack and, as a result, the monsters had gotten through. Though the Maester and his brother had promptly managed to dispatch the fiends, there had still been injuries and a handful of deaths within the stadium. A ceremony would be performed that evening for the dead. 

It was a lot to process, even more so when the information was volleyed in broken sentences and cut off words while they’d dodged groups of laughing teenagers and all sorts of chattering families. The atmosphere—joyous, possibly even celebratory—was difficult for Apollo to fathom. The animalistic roar that they had heard from the distance of their boat was still lodged in Apollo’s mind, repeatedly crying out its apparent agony. What kind of creature made a noise like that? Nothing that he had encountered back in Zanarkand, at any rate. And, more importantly, what kind of world was this where only hours after an event of death and pain, citizens could resume their gaiety as though nothing had happened? Street sweepers worked diligently astride the revelers, clearing large pieces of rubble and what looked like puddles of dried blood from the ground while the sound of laughter rose around them. It was completely discordant. 

The longer Apollo spent in Spira, the less it seemed to make sense. 

The less he liked it, too, though, by now, that seemed a given. 

*

It wasn’t until the sun had almost set behind the mountains to the west that the mysterious summoner was finally set to appear. 

They gathered on the south facing piers, along the stretch of road connecting the stadium to the city proper. Though Maester Kristoph had indicated only six citizens had been killed in the attack—their coffins of woven grass and brightly dyed fabric sat in waiting by the edge of the water—nearly half of the city seemed to join the party of mourners crowded along the water’s edge. 

“Should’ve used the stadium,” Phoenix mumbled, rolling his eyes at the people moving around them, each individual vying for what they perceived to be the best spot. 

Trucy elbowed him squarely in the stomach in response. “Daddy,” she hissed, “we talked about mocking Yevon in public!”

Phoenix may have cowed his head in apology, but it didn’t stop him from snorting when someone nearly shoved Apollo directly into the water as they tried to make their way past him and to the front. It was only the hand that reached out, gripping the fabric of Apollo’s hood long enough that he was able to regain his balance, that kept him from taking an untimely and unfortunate dive into the ocean below. That alone made it hard not to agree with any point Phoenix was attempting to make. 

The actual atmosphere of the sending was difficult for Apollo to pin down with words. At the head of the crowd, near the newly constructed coffins of the departed, a small group of people had assembled. The sound of their gentle sobbing rose above the murmur of the crowd, their obvious grief invoking an air of solemn ceremony over all those assembled. But it was difficult, despite that grief, not to feel the slowly building tremor of excitement that was passing through the rest of the group as they stood in waiting. The sound of indistinct whispering rose and fell in waves, as though everyone present was holding single, collective breath in barely restrained anticipation. Even Apollo felt it, a wrenching of expectancy from somewhere deep within his stomach. It was like the feeling was contagious and, though Apollo had no idea what exactly he was waiting for, he had somehow caught it too. 

“I don’t get it,” Apollo murmured a moment later, though his eyes were still casting about the crowd. “Is this a funeral or some kind of a performance?”

The chuckle that Phoenix offered in response was nothing if not cryptic. “A little bit of both, I’d say.”

“Summoners are kind of like celebrities in Spira,” Trucy elaborated. “There aren’t all that many, so most people don’t get a chance to see them unless something really bad happens. It makes them mysterious, I think.”

Apollo frowned, “So all these people are here just so they can say they saw the summoner? Isn’t that disrespectful?”

“No,” Phoenix corrected, not quite smiling, “they’re here to see him dance.”

Just as the final rays of the sun began to fade into the edges of the distant skyline, the whispers around them seemed to rise to something of a fever pitch. All along the water’s edge, torches seemed to spring into life seemingly out of nowhere, their orange and yellow flames dancing on a sudden gust of the ocean breeze. And along with it, almost as though they had converged into one single entity, every member of the crowd turned to their right to watch the procession that had begun filing toward them from the direction of the city. 

The group itself wasn’t anything ostentatious, just a handful of torchbearers and members of what Apollo could only assume were the church based on their robes, all styled similarly to those of Maester Kristoph. But at the end of it, set just slightly apart from the rest of the group, walked what could only be the summoner they had been waiting for. 

He looked enough like the Maester that, if Kristoph hadn’t been standing just beyond, Apollo might have mistaken them for the same person. But as the advancing procession passed, the summoner’s eyes meeting briefly with Apollo’s own slightly widened gaze, he realized just how wrong his initial assumption would have been. 

In the light of the dancing flames, the summoner looked like something ethereal, not simply bathed in the light of the fire, but composed of it completely, as though he were burning fiercely from within. Though his robes stylistically resembled that of his brother’s, they were both far lighter in fabric and bolder in color, dyed the shades of the sunset sky that were still clinging to the horizon behind him. His hair, also light in color and collected at one shoulder by a nondescript dark cord, shone like molten gold. 

The sight of him was so far from what Apollo had been expecting that it nearly stole his next breath directly from within his lungs.  

It seemed he was far from the only one; a hush seemed to fall over the entire assembly as the procession reached their final position, the quiet ebbing so suddenly that you could hear the sound of each Maesters’ individual footfalls echoing with each step against the ground. It felt as though a spell had been flung over everyone present, culling the latent anticipation and, instead, lulling them into a dream of soft tranquility. 

What followed then was a short ceremony, words mumbled over each of the coffins that Apollo could not clearly discern in the distance that separated them. When they finished with one, two of the torch bearers would step forward, lifting each side and stepping forward to slide the casket into the waves that lapped rhythmically against the pier. The water was dark and very clearly deep; each made little noise as they sunk below the surface, disappearing for a handful of moments before buoyancy took hold and they emerged above the waterline once again.

At the end of it, all six coffins bobbed just below the crests of the rolling ocean waves, drifting around each other in an invisible current as they moved beyond the pier and into the open sea.

No one was watching them any longer, though. Not when the summoner had moved forward to the edge of the pier, stepping deftly out of his shoes and handing the outer layer of his robes to an attendant who was waiting nearby. And, then, without any sort of hesitation or address to crowd, he stepped off the pier and into the ocean below. 

Apollo could not help the gasp that escaped his lips, then, so certain he was about to see the man disappear below the water like the caskets had each done a mere handful of moments ago. 

But the summoner didn’t sink. 

The soles of his feet settled against the surface of the water as though it were just as solid as the road he had stepped from. Tiny ripples expanded rapidly outward from each point of contact, a reminder to those assembled that the surface was, in fact, liquid and flowing gently beneath the place where he stood. 

By that time, the sun had set completely; aside from the torches that still flickered along the shore, the only other source of light came from the moon and stars in the twilight sky above. With each step that the summoner took away from the pier and toward the open water where the coffins gyred aimlessly, the fire slowly relinquished its hold. In the span of just a few feet, he became only visible as a dark silhouette against the far off sky. 

That was, however, until he paused in his steps, until he lifted the staff in his right hand far above his head. 

From the darkness, a host of tiny stars began to emerge all around him from beneath the surface of the ocean, each throwing their own soft, white light. It was though they were responding to a call; with each additional wave of the summoner’s staff, more appeared, until the air around him twinkled like he had pulled the sky down in a cloak settled firmly around his shoulders. 

“Pyreflies,” Trucy murmured to Apollo’s left, her tone nearly as awed as Apollo felt. He didn’t bother to ask what she meant, somehow he knew. 

It was only then, illuminated in both the glow of the distant stars and the spotlight cast by the pyreflies that surged through the air around him, that the summoner began to dance. 

[sssrha]

The Girl in the Kitchen

A-Li is five and she knows she should be dead, doesn’t understand why she’s alive—and tiny, too—but she decides to make the best of it, anyway.

Or: Jiang Yanli did not expect to get reincarnated as a street kid in Yunmeng. She definitely did not expect her younger brother—who is now a good three decades older than her—to take one look at her and declare “A-Li” his heir. She decides to roll with it.

[part two of The Lotus Cycle; part one (Tumblr, AO3)]

Read it below or on AO3.

-

A-Li would like to make it known that dying isn’t fun. She’s only five but she already knows that. Most people don’t, purely because most people haven’t died before, and that’s a good thing. After all, dying means a horrifying pain in your throat, tears in your eyes, words at the tip of your tongue that you’ll never get to utter. Dying means seeing horror in the eyes of those you love, and not being able to do a thing about it.

A-Li can say that, at the very least, her death was quick.

But none of that matters now because A-Li is finally alive again! She can wag her fingers and wiggle her toes, scrunch up her nose at the rotten fruit of Grandpa Wang’s stand, laugh in delight at the street performances that take place in Yumeng, and even run around with the other little kids!

Her clothes are old and tattered, and they’re not the deep purples or rich golds that she wore before she died, but they’re still nice and, more importantly, her mother made them for her.

She’s five but she knows that her mother and father are dead. She knows that her mother died on her own and her father died because he wanted to. Little girls like her aren’t supposed to know stuff like that, but she does. It makes her sad enough to cry sometimes because she really liked her second mother and father—guiltily, she admits to herself that she liked them more than her first set—and she really didn’t expect to be left alone so quickly.

The good thing is that the vendors of Yunmeng are really nice, so if she asks they’ll give her a little bit of food, or some cloaks, or even a few toys if she’s lucky. She keeps track of it all reverently and she promises every single one of them that, one day, she’ll pay them back. A lot of them tried to wave the promise away at first, but she insisted, and her first father always said that she was stubborn when she wanted to be, so they eventually relented. She intends on keeping her promise.

A-Li is five and she knows she should be dead, doesn’t understand why she’s alive—and tiny, too—but she decides to make the best of it, anyway.

***

The Man in Purple comes by a lot. It’s only been a month since her parents died and she has yet to figure out the way back to her house—she needs to clean it up because her first mother said that keeping things clean is important—but she’s taken notice to many other things.

The Man in Purple wears the same deep purples she’d worn before she died, and his face is sharp and severe like her first mother’s. When he converses with the vendors, she realizes he talks like her first mother, too, and he acts like her, and he plays with the ring on his finger the way her first mother once did. But he’s not her first mother—the set of his shoulders is different, the light waves in his hair are different, even the jerking of his gait is different. All of that is her first father’s.

There is someone else the Man in Purple reminds her of: A-Cheng. A cute little boy, who grew up into a cute little man, who became a sad man, who became an angry man. (And those eyes—they looked at her before she died. They were crying. They held more sorrow at the prospect of her death than she ever felt.)

A-Li decides that she really likes the Man in Purple. He is hers, now. No take-backs.

He comes by frequently and she always follows him when he does, staring at him with wide eyes. Everything he does reminds her of things: a little pond of lotuses, a wooden sword in small hands, lightning on a clear day. No matter what he does, she can’t help but smile.

He’s a little rough and mean, but she doesn’t care. Actually, most people don’t. Most people laugh away his snark and quips, and she can’t help but feel more and more delighted because this means that everyone else really likes him, too. Everyone else can see the warmth in the furrow of his brows, the affection in the tilt of his head, the kindness in the dips of his voice. She’s relieved that people can recognize it all. (Finally. It’s taken much too long. He’s misunderstood; he’s the softest, sweetest person on the planet and if people had ever cared enough to look then they would realize it, too.)

Her hands are grimy and her hair is matted, but her smile is still cute enough to get her what she wants: three little toy dogs. They’re not of high quality—carved out of wood, badly painted, splintering a bit here and there—but they’re exactly what she wants. If she had ink, she would scrawl each of their names onto their backs: Princess, Jasmine, and Little Love. They’re pretty names—and funny, too. She can’t remember why.

When she sees the Man in Purple again—he’s walking through the streets on his own, dressed more expensively than usual, returning after a visit to somewhere else—she runs up to him and tugs at his robes. Afterwards, she realizes that she got dirt on the pretty clothes so she pulls her hand back, frowning sadly. “I’m sorry,” she says.

The man stares down at her with wide eyes. “You…”

When she realizes that the Man in Purple isn’t going to keep going, she raises her other hand and presents the three little dogs to him. “For you,” she says solemnly.

“What?”

“You lost your dogs. I’m giving you more!” The man snatches the dogs out of her hands, staring down at them. His fingers tremble as he goes to stroke them, but A-Li immediately grabs his wrist to stop him. “No!” she says. “No, no, it hurts. It’ll hurt you. Don’t do that.” She doesn’t want him to get splinters!

The Man in Purple looks endlessly confused, put there’s something close to hope shining in his eyes. A-Li thinks it’s better than how he looked at her before she died, but still—she wants him to smile. So, she forces herself onto her tippy-toes and tries to reach his shoulder, to stroke it gently like how she used to.

She realizes too late that she’s very tiny, and the Man in Purple is very tall, and she barely passes his waist. However, the man just shoves the three dogs into a pouch and promptly scoops her up. She squeals in delight—when was the last time someone held her? Ah, her second mother and second father definitely held her a lot, but her first mother and first father…oh, well, she can’t quite remember if they ever did.

A-Li likes being held. She wishes she’d experienced it more often. She decides to be picked up as much as possible from now on.

No, focus, she has a mission! Finally upright, she strokes the Man in Purple’s shoulder. She says, “You did good. I’m happy for you.”

To her dismay, he doesn’t smile—instead his face crumples and tears streak down his cheeks as he clutches her close, letting her head rest on his shoulder. He rocks back and forth, and A-Li feels giddy at the motion. Oh, he’s crying, but the look on his face—this man is definitely her A-Cheng.

She hugs him closer, and she doesn’t let go.

***

A-Cheng takes her to her first home. It’s exactly the same as she remembers it—just older. She lets out a gasp of delight as she spies the lotus pond in the main courtyard. “Lotus!” she yells, immediately running to it. She would have fallen in, too, if A-Cheng hadn’t grabbed her as quickly as he did.

She whines and clutches at his robes. “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad.”

“I would never,” he promises, and she believes him.

“I just…they’re pretty.”

“I know.” He pauses. “What…what is your name?”

Her smile is back, and it’s dazzling. “A-Li!”

“And your parents?”

That’s weird. A-Cheng knows what happened to their parents. After a bit of confused silence, she realizes that he’s talking about her second parents. Yes, that makes much more sense. “Mother died in her sleep. Father wanted to be with Mother.”

A-Cheng’s grip on her wrist tightens. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s…” It’s not okay. It probably won’t be okay for a long time, because A-Li is still really sad about it. It hurts to know that, as much as her second father loved her—and he loved her a lot, always showered her with affection—he didn’t love her enough to stay. But the feeling isn’t new, and she knows she felt it back before she died, too.

A-Li is five and she feels an awful lot of emotions to keep in her little body, but she’s working on it. She knows that, one day, it will stop hurting as much.

So, she says, “I miss them.” She walks more cautiously toward the lotus pond, A-Cheng letting her when he realizes she won’t fall in this time. When she kneels and plays with the water, she continues, “I hope they’re happy.”

A-Cheng dithers around her while she splashes in the water, taking delight in the tiny ripples on the water’s surface. The lotuses that sprout out of the pond are too far in for her to reach and she remembers that she used to be able to wade in and grab them with ease, but now it’ll be a whole ordeal and she doesn’t want to put A-Cheng through all that stress. She settles for playing with the water.

Eventually, though, she realizes how long they’ve been here. A quick glance upward reveals conflict slashed across A-Cheng’s face, and it’s an ugly thing. She’s seen too much of it and she doesn’t want to see any more of it. “You…want to say something?”

A-Cheng flinches backward. He looks like he’s about to turn away, but A-Li puts on her best “you can talk to me” expression. It always worked before she died, and she delights in the fact that it still does. A-Cheng looks so confused and sad but he still says, “A-Li, do you know who you are?”

“I’m A-Li,” she says solemnly. He slowly starts to deflate right up until A-Li continues, “And you’re my A-Cheng.”

A-Cheng smiles. He says, “I am. I’m your A-Cheng.” He asks, “A-Li, can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to stay with me here? There’s warm clothes and food and a bed…whatever you want. Just like we used to?”

She remembers how it used to be. It was never perfect—her first mother and first father didn’t let it, at first, and then there was a lot of fighting, and then their brother was so sad, and then their brother ran away—but it was nice. It made her happy. And she liked it here much better than the tower of gold. There were only a few good things there—they were more than enough to make her stay happy—but now that they’re gone, she can’t see herself going back to the tower of gold.

So, she answers, “I’ll stay with you.”

There’s relief on his face. Then, a bit rushed, he asks, “Do you want to become Sect Leader Jiang one day? You could do it. I know you could. But only if you want.”

At this, she pauses. Sect Leader Jiang? She doesn’t remember ever thinking about it. That was always A-Cheng’s job. He’d grow up to be Sect Leader Jiang and she would grow up to be the lady of the tower of gold. She’d never questioned it, as far as she can remember.

Her becoming Sect Leader Jiang…the thought feels odd. Not bad. Just weird in a way that she doesn’t think she’s ever experienced before. “But that’s your job,” she disputes.

“It could be yours one day. I won’t be around forever.”

A-Li looks away. No one is going to be around forever, because everyone will die—unless they reach immortality. But won’t even the immortals pass, too, one day? Maybe so far in the future that they might as well live to the end of time…but time will end. A-Cheng will die. The thought immediately fills her with distress, and her face scrunches up. She turns and buries it into the cloth of his robes.

“Don’t say that,” she says. “It makes me sad.” Then, after considering, “It makes you sad.”

A-Cheng sighs. “You know me too well, A-Jie…”

A-Li looks up. “I’m younger than you.” Now, at least.

More emotions flicker over his face before he settles for, “A-Li.”

A-Li nods. That’s good. That’s her name. She likes it when he says her name—he never said “A-Li” before she died. It makes her feel warm and happy. She clutches onto him tighter and she realizes that she really, really wants him to be as happy as her all the time, and she’ll do whatever it takes, so she says, “I’ll do it.”

“You’ll…become my heir?”

“Yes!”

His face softens. “A-Li, you always manage to solve all my problems.”

A-Li smiles brightly. Solving her family’s problems is what she does best.

Now she just needs to find the rest of it.

***

A-Cheng wasn’t lying when he told her that she could have whatever she wanted. She wanted pork buns and she was given pork buns, she wanted the pretty purple robes and she was given pretty purple robes, and she wanted to spend the night curled up next to A-Cheng and he didn’t so much as hesitate before scooping her up and singing her the lullaby she taught him. It was different—she’d always pampered him and now she was being pampered by him. It’s…nice!

This morning, after waking up well before A-Cheng and scurrying out of his room, she hid behind a large pillar of wood before peeking out to observe the servants. They scurry along the hallways of her home, doing various tasks, too busy to notice her in her (very good) hiding spot.

Her eyes trail over them as they do their duties, until she latches onto something very specific: an entire line of servants with baskets full! Of! Food!

Obviously, she runs after them.

She’s quick as lightning, hiding in the robes of the servants until she’s safely deposited in the kitchen, and it’s different than she remembers. She feels completely upset. Her kitchen! It’s been changed! She immediately tugs on the robe of the nearest servant, and he turns to her with a small, “Oh!”

The left side of his face has a bark-brown scar that splays its way from under the collar of his robes to just over his eyebrow. A-Li couldn’t care less as she demands, “What happened here?”

The man stares. He turns. “Um, Madam, there’s a tiny child here.”

An older woman (oh! A-Li recognizes her!) ambles out of the depths of the kitchen and narrows her eyes at A-Li. “You’re the one Sect Leader Jiang dragged back with him.” She turns around and waves them away. “Let her do what she wants. She’ll be heir soon, anyway.”

“Oh. Okay.” The man turns back to A-Li. “Maiden Jiang, is there anything you need?”

A-Li stubbornly points at the far wall, where the herbs are stacked. “Coriander!” she exclaims. The man, confused but obedient, nods his head and fetches her some coriander. A-Li observes it with a critical eye and can find nothing wrong with it. Now a bit less concerned, she asks for ginger. Then cinnamon. Then basil. No matter what she asks for, the man retrieves it quickly, and it’s all in order.

It’s disconcerting. The kitchen was always her place; her first parents never came into it, and her brothers only entered when she asked for help. It was the one thing she had for herself, something she could share on her own terms. They’d even made an exception for her in the tower of gold! And now she’s tiny and her kitchen is no longer hers.

She promptly bursts into tears.

The man panics. “Maiden Jiang! What’s wrong? I’ll help! I’ll fix it!”

It’s not fair for her to make him panic, but A-Li is still five and something she really cares about has been taken away from her, so of course she’s upset. She shoves the herbs that she’s accumulated back into the man’s hands before dashing out of the kitchen, heading straight for A-Cheng’s room.

When she gets there, A-Cheng is midway through combing his hair, and a look of horror passes over his face when he spies her tears. “A-Li! What happened? Did someone do something? I’ll go—”

“My kitchen!” A-Li wails. “They—they took my kitchen, A-Cheng. What’s left now?” What’s left that’s hers? What does she have for herself?

A-Cheng blinks rapidly, confusion warring on his features right alongside incredulity. A-Li doesn’t like it. A-Cheng won’t understand—she’d tried so hard to make sure he’d never notice, after all. Because A-Cheng was her little brother—her tiny little brother—and he had other things to worry about. But now A-Li is the tiny one and she thinks she’s entitled to at least one tantrum.

She doesn’t remember ever throwing a tantrum. How should she do this? Throw a chair? She’s nowhere near big enough for that.

The image that it puts into her head is silly enough to stop her tears. A-Cheng is already by her side, scooping her up and whispering calming words into her ears as she hiccups. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. What did they do to your kitchen, A-Li?”

A-Li says, “They changed it.”

“Yes, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

A long time, she thinks. Long enough for her home to look more used and for only some of the servants to be familiar. And, of course, for A-Cheng to be so much older. Her fingers curl into A-Cheng’s hair and she gently tugs on him while asking, “How long?”

“Fifteen years since you…” he trails off. 

Wow. That really is a long time. She’s five right now, so she spent ten years dead. Dying is not fun, but what is it like to be dead? Boring, maybe. Just a lot of waiting before being shuffled into your next life. She waited for ten years, and all she really remembers about it is being really really sad. Maybe it’s good that she doesn’t remember that much of it.

A-Li just shakes her head. “I want my kitchen back now.”

“A-Li…you can go to the kitchen and ask for whatever you like,” he promises. “Just listen to them and stay away from anything dangerous—”

“No!” she protests. “I want my kitchen back!”

“The kitchen is yours,” A-Cheng says, perplexed. “You’re my heir. All of Lotus Pier is yours.”

“That’s not what I mean! I want my special place!” The one where she belongs, where no one will get angry about her presence, where she can help people by making food. It’s her thing. A-Li cooks and smiles and makes everything better for her family. “Give me back my kitchen.”

“It’s always been yours,” A-Cheng promises.

He doesn’t understand and A-Li, frustrated, (lightly) punches his shoulder. This is not going well. Not at all. “It’s not the kitchen!” It’s—what is it? A…a concept! The concept of the girl in the kitchen, always ready to help. That’s who she is! If she loses that, she’s just the useless daughter of the family! She can’t fight! She’s never been a scholar! What can she do? She makes lotus rib soup, and she hugs her family, and that’s that.

A-Li doesn’t realize she’s said it all out loud until words stop falling out of her mouth. A-Cheng stares at her with wide, horrified eyes. “A-Li,” he says, “no. You—you’re so much more than that. You’re my sister. You took care of me.”

“What else?”

“What?”

“I took care of you,” she agrees. “What else?”

“You made sure Wei Wuxian never felt left out,” he says. “You saw good in him. In Jin Zixuan, too. And you cared so much about A-Ling.”

“What else?”

For a second, A-Cheng looks at her. A-Li wonders if he really can’t think of anything else. She wants to have been more than that—more than a reassuring smile offering soup to others. Surely that’s not all. 

A-Cheng’s silence is telling. He sets her down onto the floor and then kneels until he’s eye-level with her. Swallowing, he says, “A-Li, I…”

“That’s all?” She can’t quite hold back the tears. She really likes making her brothers and parents and husband and son happy—no doubt about it! But her memory is so messy and foggy and she can’t remember anything else. There must be more. There has to be!

If not, then what is she now?

A-Cheng cups her cheek, lips trembling. “A-Li, I was a bad brother.”

“No,” she immediately denies. “You weren’t—I was just—”

“Please, don’t. I—how could I pay so little attention to you? I thought you were my world but…I never tried to know you at all. You were taking care of me as if you were my—my nanny! You’re so much more. I can’t believe I just ignored the rest of you.”

“Wasn’t your job,” she disputes. “I was your sister! I took care of you!”

“You shouldn’t have had to.”

A-Li can’t think of a way to deny that. She liked taking care of A-Cheng (honest!) but…when had anyone taken care of her? Her first parents didn’t—oh, they definitely liked her and protected her but, had they held her? She can’t remember. But she can remember her second parents doing it so clearly…

Probably because those memories are more recent. Hopefully.

Afterward, it was her taking care of A-Cheng because no one else did. And then it was her taking care of A-Xian, too. And then she got married and went to the tower of gold, and…and what? She can’t remember.

A-Li just turns away. She won’t be getting her kitchen any time soon, no matter how many chairs she throws, so the only thing she can do is find something else. And ignore the devastation on A-Cheng’s face.

***

“There was a man in the kitchen,” A-Li says. It’s the first time she’s said anything since her meltdown and she follows her words by shoving some more of her lunch into her mouth. She’s still chewing as she continues, “There was a burn on his face.”

A-Cheng frowns at her and reprimands, “Swallow before talking.” Then he pulls back, and A-Li glances down in shame. She never did that the first time around. But it’s just so hard. She does her best. “The man…he’s Zhu Feihong.”

“What happened?”

“He got hurt.”

A-Li lets out a little giggle. She remembers A-Cheng doing that before she died: talking in circles. “I know, but how?”

He puts a lot of thought into his words. “He was doing something bad,” he says. “He didn’t realize it was bad. It hurt him and gave him that scar. I helped him and told him what he was doing was bad. I brought him here to make sure he didn’t try to do it again.”

“Bad…” She thinks she knows what he’s talking about. No one really said things to her before she died—not in the way it mattered. But even she knew what her A-Xian was doing. “Demonic cultivation?”

A-Cheng sighs. “How much do you remember?”

She shrugs. “Not a lot.”

“Be more specific?”

A-Li doesn’t say anything because, even though a lot of the things she remembers are nice, a lot of them also aren’t. She doesn’t want to think about them, because they might make her cry again.

A-Cheng realizes it. “A-Li, you have to try.”

Try what? Try being a good little girl for A-Cheng? Or try being a good big sister? Or try to be a good mother even though she doesn’t know what a good mother should act like—

She gets a bad feeling in her stomach. No, no, no, there’s something important there. Even if it makes her stubby little fingers wrap too tightly around her chopsticks, she needs to remember it, because it feels so bad to not remember it. She just…just—

“A-Li?” He sounds scared.

Her head snaps up. “A-Cheng!” she shrieks. “A-Cheng, you’re mean! You didn’t tell me anything! Nothing!”

“What is it?”

“Where is A-Ling?” she demands. Where is the boy who was tinier than her that she held in her arms? The one that smiled up at her and chewed on her hair and made her feel so happy? Why hadn’t A-Cheng told her anything about him?

Something bad in her head says, ‘Everyone dies.’ But no, her A-Ling wouldn’t die! He’s a tiny baby! Why would he die? He wouldn’t…would he?

A-Cheng says a word that shouldn’t be said around five-year-olds, immediately jumping out of his seat. “I forgot,” he mutters. “I’m so, so sorry, A-Li. I have to go.”

“What?”

“A-Ling will be here by tomorrow morning.” He looks straight into her eyes. “I will make sure that you meet your son.”

A-Cheng really has grown up, hasn’t he? She can’t suppress her blinding smile. “Thank you!”

Maybe this way, she can start picking up the pieces.

[haledamage]

Pairing: Female Cousland/Nathaniel Howe

Story Summary: Cathain Cousland had been in love with Nathaniel Howe for as long as she can remember. It doesn’t take long after they reunite in Amaranthine to realize she still is.

Chapter Summary: They didn't get much farther than making it out of the hills and back to the comfort of woodland and solid ground.

They didn't get much farther than making it out of the hills and back to the comfort of woodland and solid ground. They found the same site they'd used two nights prior and Cait coaxed the extinguished campfire back to life.

She then laid out Anders’ bedroll and shoved him toward it. “Go to sleep.”

“What? No!” He planted his feet to stop their momentum, but Cait was stronger than he was and he was still way too skinny.

"Anders, you are swaying on your feet. You have done more work in the last day than the rest of us combined and you're going to kill yourself trying to keep us alive." She held his face in both of her hands, trying to appeal to him as a friend so she wouldn't have to make it an order from his commanding officer. "Sleep. I'll wake you when dinner's ready."

She sent Justice out to forage after giving him a brief description of a few plants that should be both edible and nearby. He looked excited at the prospect of putting his new knowledge to the test. Sigrun volunteered to patrol in case any darkspawn had also made their way back to the surface; Cait agreed, figuring it would also help her acclimate to being above ground, but sent Byron with her in case she got lost.

She sat down with a grunt and looked over Nathaniel and Oghren. Both of them were trying unsuccessfully to look hale enough to work. “How’s your leg?” she asked Oghren.

“Nothing a few drinks and a good night’s sleep can’t fix,” he grumbled. Cait raised an eyebrow at him and he added, “Really! The kid does good work. For a man in a dress.”

She studied him a little longer, but he wouldn’t give her more than that. “Fine. Can you gather firewood? We have some left from last time we were here, but it’s not enough for the night.”

“Yes, Commander,” Oghren said happily. He walked away slowly, but very conspicuously did not limp.

Cait turned her scrutiny to Nathaniel. “Can you hold a bow?”

He rolled his right shoulder and winced, then went back to holding his arm as still as possible. “I think even you’d be a better shot than I would right now.”

“I will be gracious and assume you weren’t trying to insult me.” She tried to laugh, but her ribs protested. “Help me set up camp. Between the two of us, we should be able to get it done.”

She reached for their tent to start setting it up, but Nate stopped her with a very light hand on her side. “How are you?”

Cait took as deep a breath as she was able and let it out in a slow sigh. “Bruised, but not broken. I owe Anders a lot.”

Nate smiled in the direction of the sleeping mage. "We all do. Can I see?"

"Later." She pushed his hand away gently. "When we go to bed, you can spend all the time you’d like admiring what I’m sure must be a hideous bruise."

It took twice as much time as normal, but between the two of them Cathain and Nathaniel manage to get the camp set up and sleepable by the time the others returned. Justice had found some wild parsnips, spring onions, and a rosemary bush, and combined with some of the dried meat they had in reserve, it made one of the better camp stews Cait had had in recent memory. Justice did a very bad job of hiding how pleased he was when she complimented him on the meal.

Sigrun looked around the camp, counting the tents on her fingers. “So where do I sleep? I can’t help but notice there are only four tents, but six of us.”

“Oh, you can have my tent.” Cait pointed at the tent in question. “And Justice doesn’t sleep, so he insists he doesn’t need one.”

“Then where do you sleep?”

“I share with Nathaniel,” she said carefully. She doubted the Legion of the Dead had much problem with fraternization, but Nate was technically still Cait’s subordinate and she wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.

She didn't get one. Instead Sigrun turned to look at Nate, sizing him up like a cow at a meat market. “Not bad. If you like ‘em grumpy. And human.”

"I’ve been told I have a type," Cait said dryly.

Sigrun winked at her. "Archers. I get it." Cait startled. That wasn't what people normally said, but… well, thinking about it, she wasn't wrong. Sigrun continued, low and conspiratory, "Good shoulders. They’re usually too self-controlled for my taste, but I can see the appeal." She sighed wistfully. She seemed much more relaxed above ground than Cait had expected. "Give me a tall girl with a big axe any day."

Cait laughed and it only barely hurt her ribs this time. "I’ll keep that in mind while I’m recruiting."

She volunteered for first watch, knowing if she laid down it would be a pain in the ass to try and sit back up. She wasn’t surprised when Nathaniel volunteered to watch with her - if he was asleep when she came to bed, he wouldn’t be able to properly fret over her injuries - but she was surprised when Justice asked not to.

“I would like to take a walk,” he said in the gentlest voice she’d ever heard from him. “Aura and Kristoff once spent time together in these woods. I would like to know them for myself and see how they match up to what I see of his memories.”

"Why didn’t you do that when we stopped here before?"

"I could not rest while there was justice to be done," he said simply, like that was just a thing people said.

"Take as long as you’d like," Cait said.

"I will be back in time for second watch," Justice nodded, a controlled and deliberate movement of his head, and then he disappeared into the trees.

"Does anyone else think it sounds like a bad pickup like when he says things like that?" Anders said with a tired grin. "Submit yourself to justice! There is justice to be done!"

"You are terrible."

"I know. It’s part of my charm. Well, I’m going back to bed. Wake me up when it’s my turn to watch." He pressed a loud kiss to the top of Cait's head. "Good night, Caitie."

She didn't correct him, but he didn't seem to notice. "Good night."

And then it was just Cait and Nate and Byron and the crickets in the deepening twilight. He sat across the fire from her instead of next to her like he normally did. She missed having him close, but her abused ribs were thankful for the distance.

"Why are you still carrying this around?" Nathaniel asked, holding up a familiar, green-gemmed ring.

Cait reached for her valuables pouch, but she knew the ring would be missing from it. "You thief! You dirty pickpocket!"

"I saw you eyeing it last time we stopped." He eyed her as he said that, curious and calculating in equal measure. "And you didn't answer my question."

"I… don't know," she said quietly, staring into the fire in contemplation. "It didn't seem right to get rid of it, but it seemed wrong to wear it too. It wasn't meant for me."

"Do you want one meant for you?"

"What?" Cait straightened up so quickly that her ribs creaked.

"Do you want to get married?" Nathaniel asked again.

He looked so sweet and sincere and Cait couldn't help but tease him a little. "Are you proposing? Because that's a bit sudden."

"No!" The panic in his voice made her feel a little better about her own racing heart. He cleared his throat and continued, "Not yet. I was just wondering. It's not something we ever really talked about. Before."

"I never really thought about it before." She paused and thought about it now. She smiled slyly. "Someday. Maybe. If the right person comes along."

They shared a look that left Cait feeling warm and then silence took the camp. She let her mind wander down the paths their discussion had opened up for her. Byron laid down next to her, wiggling and whining until she gave into his demands and rubbed his belly.

She didn't know how much time had passed when she spoke again. "It's been a long time since I've thought about the future."

Nate chuckled. "Sometimes in the Free Marches, all I had was thoughts of the future. Enough that I would lose track of the present."

Cait stared at the ring still glittering in Nathaniel's hand. "I expected I'd be dead by 25. Or in a political marriage, which is almost the same thing."

"Fergus married for love," he pointed out.

"Fergus eloped while campaigning in Antiva. Oriana was already with child by the time he came home with her." She ignored the pain in her chest that she always got when she thought of Oren and Oriana. She talked over it stubbornly until it went away. "I thought being a Grey Warden was a death sentence. More so after Ostagar. I've read the stories. The hero that ends the Blight never survives."

“But you did.” He was studying her again. He looked sad - or maybe she was just projecting.

“I cheated. Old magic and very loyal friends.”

He waited for her to say more, but she didn't know where to start. How do you say ‘my friends had sex to save my life’ and not make it sound like the craziest blighted thing ever?

Eventually, Nate let the subject drop and went back to the other one. “Did you have a lot of offers for political marriages?”

“A few.” Cait watched his face, but there was no trace of jealousy. “Bann Teagan, Bann Loren's son Dairren. Thomas.”

He recoiled from her words like they struck him, then cringed when it jostled his injured shoulder. “Thomas my brother? Are you serious?”

She giggled and nodded. “It was your father's idea. Thomas was as against it as I was, if it helps.”

“It does. A little.” He made a face like he’d bitten into a lemon. “Maker's blood, not even in my worst nightmares did I consider that I could come home to find you'd married my little brother.”

Cait looked around the camp, at the quiet woods that were barely an hour of travel away from the Deep Roads. It felt rather like a metaphor for her life. “I keep expecting the ground to open up and take this away from me,” she whispered. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling exposed.

Nathaniel finally walked around the fire and sat next to her. “We just spent two days in a hole where the ground literally opened up and swallowed us. I'm still here. We all are.”

She wished she had someone here she could ask advice from. Delilah, Leliana, Mother. Even Morrigan, though Cait knew her advice would be terrible. She’d spent nearly two years trying to shut this part of herself down, but it was a slipshod dam at best and Nathaniel knew better than anyone how to dismantle it. It felt like too much; she’d spent a decade in a drought and now it wouldn’t stop raining.

Nate found her hand and squeezed it. “I’m going to give you - give us the future we deserve,” he said, gentle but resolute. “It’ll be happy and safe and quiet if I have to personally kill every single darkspawn in Thedas to make it happen.”

“Romantic gestures were a lot less complicated when we were teenagers,” Cait said with a grin. She lifted his hand to her lips, the only bit of physical affection she knew she could manage at the moment without hurting one of them. It would do.

She untied her bag from her belt and placed it in his hand. “So did you find anything else interesting while you were rooting through my belongings?”

“I didn't--”

“You did,” she interrupted, but she smiled as she said it. “But it's okay. It's mostly sentimental nonsense, anyway.”

And it was. The necklace she'd been given after her Joining, another she'd gotten from the Gauntlet. Her father's signet ring. A dried sprig of Andraste's Grace. A delicate golden necklace that she'd found around her neck when she woke up after the archdemon's death. The friendship bracelet Delilah had made her when they were ten.

He pulled out a crown, simple and utilitarian in design and made of silverite. Cait covered her mouth to muffle her giggles at the sight of it. “Maker, I forgot I had that.”

“Why do you have a crown?” Nathaniel asked as he did what everyone always did when they found it: he put it on his head. It was a little too big on him, but he carried it well.

Cait considered for a moment before deciding honesty was the best policy. “Have you heard of the Dark Wolf?”

He shrugged his good shoulder. “Rumors and hearsay. It was a thief that plagued noble houses in Denerim for a few weeks. Disappeared without a trace after the Landsmeet.”

“That was me.”

“What? Caitie--”

“For the record,” she spoke over whatever he was going to follow that with, “I only took things from your father and Loghain. Well, and Bann Franderel, but he had it coming. That,” she pointed at the crown, “was supposed to be Loghain's. It was made for him to wear to the Landsmeet, since he was king-regent at the time. Very dramatic, I’m sure he hated it. I nicked it from his seneschal while he was drunk.”

“And you call me a pickpocket,” Nate said fondly.

“Takes one to know one.”

They didn’t talk much after that, just sat there in the dark, hands linked and knees pressed together and enjoying each others presence. By the time Justice returned to camp, a serene smile on his skeletal face, Cait was barely able to keep her eyes open. As soon as Sigrun stepped out of her tent to join the watch, she said her good nights and went straight to bed.

Nate helped her undress and she did the same for him. Her bruises were even worse than she'd imagined; her entire side was mottled red and purple and sickly yellow, and she was surprised it didn't hurt more than it did, that she was able to breathe at all under all of that.

Nathaniel's burn thankfully wasn't hand-shaped like she’d assumed it would be, but it still stretched from his collarbone to his upper arm and over his shoulder blade almost to his spine. Anders’ magic made it look a lot less like a fresh wound, but it was still pink and raw and would definitely scar.

She settled her hands over the hard planes of his abdomen, allowing herself that contact while keeping it far away from any injuries. His fingers threaded into her hair and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

It took a long time to find a position they could both sleep in comfortably, but fatigue from the last few days caught up to them and dragged them under as soon as settled down.

-------

The next day, Sigrun and Justice got their first experience with true Amaranthine rain. Warm and heavy and relentless, it drowned their campfire and soaked through their cloaks and armor before they'd even had breakfast. By mid-afternoon, it was enough to dampen even Cait's spirits, for all that she normally loved the rain.

The rain lasted the entire five days back to the Vigil. They traveled in the deeper woods to hide from the worst of it under the canopy, but it was still a long, miserable slog. They stacked their tents on top of each other and all huddled together under them to stay dry enough to sleep, and they ate mage-fire charred rabbits and birds since they couldn't maintain a campfire.

By the time they walked through the gates at Vigil's Keep, Cait never wanted to see another drop of rain again. She missed quiet, and privacy, and dry clothes. Even though every day was almost unseasonably warm, she was still shivering, and Anders' magic was likely the only reason she wasn't sick.

The main hall was full of people when they arrived. Cait worried at first that she'd stumbled into another unannounced meeting of the court - and wouldn't they just love that, with her doing her best drowned rat impression - but she realized quickly how many friendly and familiar faces there were.

She had a sudden face-full of silky red hair. It smelled like flowers. "You'll get your dress wet," Cait said and tried to push away, a superficial bit of protest, but the strong arms around her held steady.

"Oh, hush, and let me hug my friend," She could hear the smile in Leliana's voice. "I missed you."

Cait gave in and wrapped herself around the smaller woman. "It's good to see you."

"It is good to see you too. You look well, if perhaps a little damp." Leliana laughed musically.

A heavy, armored hand fell on her shoulder and Cait knew whose it was before she pulled out of Leliana’s arms. Loghain was very deliberately not smiling, but she could still see it in his eyes.

“Commander,” he said quietly.

“General,” she replied warmly. She had no qualms about smiling in public like he did. “I’m going to hug you now.”

“I suppose that would be amenable,” he grumbled, but he still reached for her first.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Cait whispered, and he squeezed her a little tighter. Her bruised ribs protested. She ignored them. “Keeping the Orlesians in line?”

Loghain chuckled, barely audible against her sodden armor. “As well as you’re keeping the darkspawn in line, if what I hear is correct.”

“Oh come on, they can’t be that bad,” she said, but she was laughing as she pulled away.

“I guess you’ll see for yourself,” he muttered in her ear as he stepped away and gestured at a man standing off to the side, waiting stone-faced for them to finish their reunions.

The man stepped forward and saluted crisply. He had a very impressive mustache and a very serious frown underneath it. “An honor to meet you, Warden-Commander. I am Jean-Marc Stroud. I have been serving as… intermediary at Soldier’s Peak, but I felt it was time I introduced myself to you formally.”

She wracked her brain for what she knew of Stroud. Marcher Warden, or possibly Orlesian but working primarily in the Free Marches. He was a scout, or maybe a recruiter, if she remembered correctly; she vaguely recalled reading his name and thinking he should be doing her job.

She returned his salute. “The honor is mine, Ser Stroud. I hope you enjoy your stay in Amaranthine.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Stroud said. He didn’t add anything else, just watched her blankly, so she turned away from him and back to her soggy companions.

“Go get dry and warm. You have the rest of the day to spend however you wish, I’ll see you at dinner. Varel,” she called and the seneschal appeared at her side as if coalescing from thin air. “Please find a room for Sigrun and prepare the Joining.”

“As you say, Commander,” Varel said, disappearing as suddenly and silently as he had appeared, Sigrun in tow. Stroud bowed and left as well.

The rest of them wandered off toward their own rooms, except Nathaniel. “Nate, at least go change clothes,” she murmured. “I don't want you getting sick.”

“I will when you do,” he growled.

“Stubborn. Hardheaded lout,” she said fondly.

“Flatterer.”

“So Caitie,” Leliana said, voice innocent and saccharine sweet.

Cait closed her eyes. "Blight it all, I'm not ready for this," she mumbled.

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?"

She took a deep breath, then grabbed Nate’s hand and tugged him forward. “Leliana, Loghain, meet Nathaniel Howe. Nathaniel, this is Loghain Mac Tir and Leliana.” She hoped she didn't sound overly hostile. She loved her friends, she did, she just really didn't want to do this particular introduction while she was dripping on the stone floor. Loghain gave her a commiserating look, but they both knew there was no stopping Leliana.

“Nice to meet you,” Nathaniel said, very properly. “Caitie speaks highly of you both.” He took Leliana’s offered hand and bowed over it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Cait rolled her eyes at the formality of it all.

Over his head, Leliana and Cait had a conversation entirely in pointed looks and raised eyebrows. Is this him? asked Leliana. Please don’t be weird, begged Cait.

“Oh, you are that Nathaniel,” Leliana said slyly. “Caitie speaks very highly of you too.”

“Maker preserve me,” Cait whispered.

Nate thankfully didn’t respond and turned instead to hold his hand out to Loghain, who shook it firmly.

“You’re Rendon’s oldest, aren’t you?” Loghain asked.

“I am.” Nathaniel’s face went immediately blank. He tensed like he was about to be hit.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Loghain said softly, “and for the part I played in his downfall.”

“He had it coming,” was all Nate said in response.

“That’s what I’m sorry for.” They studied each other for a quiet moment, but Cait couldn’t read what passed between them. “He talked about you a little. Mentioned he was thankful you were still in the Free Marches. He seemed to think if you were here, you’d side with ‘the Cousland girl’ over him.”

Nathaniel looked at Cait out of the corner of his eye and the serious look on his face washed away under a warm smile. “He was probably right.”

Yes,” Loghain said, one corner of his mouth shifting enough that it could be called a smile. “So I see.”

-------

By the time Cait got the chance to change, her clothes were mostly dry anyway. She still scrubbed at her skin with a soft cloth to get rid of the cold, stiff feeling left behind on her skin by the rain, then found something clean to wear.

She'd just finished getting dressed when someone knocked on her door. "It's open!"

Nathaniel stepped inside and leaned against the door. He watched her in silence as she moved about the room.

“Sigrun survived the Joining,” she said, her back to him as she unpacked her bags to let their contents dry out. “She’s resting now.”

She could hear the relief in his voice. “Good. She seemed ready to join her comrades in death, but I hope she doesn’t get the opportunity for a long time.”

Nate stayed at the door as Cait kept working. She piled all her soggy clothes on the floor at the end of the bed. “I wonder what my mother must think,” she mused, mostly to herself, “of her only daughter spending so much of her time wearing men’s clothes. I only own two dresses, you know. Leliana bought them for me when we were in Denerim. I expect she’ll try to rectify that while she’s here.”

“I don’t think she’d care." He walked slowly across the room to her as he spoke. "I think she’d be more concerned with how much time you have to spend in armor. How little sleep you get. The knife you keep under your pillow." He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. "The kind of men you let into your bed.”

Cait leaned back against his chest. "Mmm, and what kind is that?"

"Pickpockets," he growled against her neck, "Grey Wardens."

"Howes?"

He laughed, low and wicked. "That too. Do you have more work to do or are you just trying to look busy?"

"I really do need to finish unpacking before my stuff starts to mildew." Her travel gear took up over half the bed. It wouldn't be usable, for sleep or anything else, until she moved it. "Otherwise I’m free for the next few hours."

"Good." He spun her around and pressed her against the door.

She gripped his shirt and used it to pull him closer until he was all she could see. "Something on your mind?" she asked coyly.

"Two weeks," he growled, pressing closer still. "Two weeks of sleeping next to you and keeping my hands to myself. Another day away and I might have gone mad."

"Hey, it's your rule, not mine." She licked her lips just for the pleasure of watching him drop his eyes to follow the movement. "There's enough room in our tent that we could have made it work."

He threaded his fingers into her hair, tilting her head back. "I don't think you can keep quiet enough for that. Might as well get rid of the tent entirely, they'd know what we were doing anyway."

"These walls are not soundproof. They already know what we're doing." She tugged on his shirt, trying to drag him down to her, but he didn't budge. "I can be quiet when I need to."

"Prove it."

She stepped around him and pushed him against the door instead. She kissed him before he could protest.

They never made it to the bed. They barely made it out of their clothes, too desperate for each other to bother with finesse or to take it slow. Cait managed to keep quiet, if only barely, burying her face into Nate’s scarred shoulder to muffle any noises she couldn’t silence.

After, Nathaniel carried her to the bed and she threw all her half-sorted belongings to the floor and they laid there wrapped up together until their heartbeats slowed.

Cait giggled breathlessly. "Is this what I can expect every time we come home from traveling? Because a girl could get used to this."

"Probably." His hand traveled her side, tracing the still healing bruise. It no longer hurt, but it was still ugly and mottled. "Or we could just stay home and do this every night."

"You do make a very compelling argument." Cait sighed contentedly. "How long do you think we have until dinner?"

"Another hour, maybe."

"Good. Good." She pressed closer to him. "I just need a little more time away from it before I have to go be a hero again. And this is definitely better than hiding in a tree."

He only held her tighter. She knew he’d stay in this bed with her as long as she needed to. Quietly, he said, “Do you ever wish things were different?”

“Sometimes. Besides the obvious, like wishing my family wasn’t dead or that I didn’t have horrible nightmares caused by a poison in my blood that is slowly killing me.” Cait said it like it was a joke, but neither of them were laughing.

She propped her head up on her hand so she could see his face. “I almost ran away with you, you know. When you left. I don’t think I ever told you that. Thomas talked me out of it. He was convinced that your father sent you away when he did because of me.”

Nathaniel thought about it for a second. “Maybe there’s some truth to that. It was less than a month before your eighteenth birthday, wasn’t it?”

“Two and a half weeks,” she said with a nod. “He was worried that your father would… retaliate somehow. Sabotage us, or your squiredom, or use it to drive a wedge between our families. Looking back at it now, I’m pretty sure he was right.”

“It’s more insightful than I would have expected from Thomas.” His eyes were distant; thinking about his brother, most likely.

“He liked to be underestimated.” Cait thought about Thomas too. He had been an almost obscenely attractive man, the kind that turned heads everywhere he went, and he’d known how to leverage it from a very young age. He was a troublemaker, always willing to go along with whatever ridiculous scheme Cait could think up, and between the two of them they could always talk their way out of it. He was a bit of a drunken cad, but he saw everything that happened around him; he could have made a good bard if he’d been born in Orlais. “I miss him.”

“Me too.”

Thomas had died a hero, in the end, protecting civilians from darkspawn in the Pearl in Denerim. He wouldn’t want them lamenting him like this - especially not while they were naked and in bed. Cait took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, clearing his ghost from the room. “I thought I'd never see you again when I let you leave like that.”

“I knew we’d see each other again.” Nathaniel brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I was always going to come back to you. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“Nate, I--” she started, but the words caught in her throat and wouldn’t come out. Four blighted letters should not be so hard to say. She kissed him instead, soft and sweet, hoping that he heard them even if she couldn’t say them. He responded in kind and she knew that he did.

They were late to dinner. Anders grinned knowingly at Cait as she slid into the seat next to him. “Get lost, Caitie?”

“If you ask me what we were doing, I’m going to tell you in detail,” she threatened under her breath.

“Promises, promises,” he whispered back, but he dropped the subject.

“Can we just get down to business, please?” said Loghain over the din of conversation, taking the focus away from Cait and Nathaniel and reminding her why he was one of her favorite people in Thedas. “Your letters have been very vague. What’s this about a darkspawn civil war?”

[kpopfanfictrash]

Iron Crown

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jinyoung

Rating: R

Warning: Domestic abuse

Word Count: 5,900

Summary: As the Crown Princess of Vitus, your land has always been peaceful. When your power-hungry Uncle decides to stop paying the tithe though, things take a turn for the worse. The vampires who reside in the mountains are not happy and in retaliation - they set their sights on you. 

Stone is a cold, hard subject. It does not flinch in the face of adversity. The only thing to break it is the gentle wear of the world, the insistent scrape of elements. This is what I aspire to be. Stone. The problem is, I am not. I am human.

Breakfast this morning is silent, filled with quiet chewing as I avoid eye contact with the head of the table. Trying not to look at the man who’s there, but shouldn’t be. It’s been nearly a year since my parents died. Nearly a year since my mother and father fell ill and were taken, plunging our Kingdom into chaos. 

As the eldest born, I am next in line for the throne. I will be crowned Queen on my twenty-first birthday, leaving my younger brother, Youngjae to be Prince. While the Kingdom waits, my Uncle rules as Lord Protector of Vitus in my stead. Vitus - the land I call home and inherit in one month’s time. We’re an isolated nation, made of ice and snow, mountains and lakes. The land here is beautiful, even if the times are not.

Our table this morning is silent, just chewing and the gentle sounds of silverware. Youngjae keeps looking up, which makes me think our Uncle is also looking.  “Yes?” I ask, turning in his direction.

Back in childhood, my Uncle and I rarely spoke. Now things are different and I wish they’d remained the same. Now he speaks to me with a gentle caress to his voice, watching and waiting as though wanting me to slip. 

Stone. I am stone.

Smiling serenely back at me, my Uncle sets down his fork. “The coronation is soon,” he says, as though the prospect is exciting. “Have you thought about what you’ll wear?”

I offer him a false smile. “The dressmaker has been in preparations for weeks, Uncle.”

I know it irks him, hearing our connection voiced out loud. It’s why I say it. I know I’m playing with fire. Our Uncle is dangerous. Perhaps the only one who doesn’t know this is Youngjae, and that’s only because I work so hard to keep it that way.

“Good, good.” As he chews, his crown gleams in the golden light of the window. “The sooner the dress is completed, the better. Don’t want to risk anything happening on the big day.”

Rather than reply, I nod. I can only stomach looking at that crown on his head for so long. Barely a day passed before he put it on, prying it from the cold, dead hands of my father. Placing it on his brow and sighing, insisting we carry on.

Soon I’ll be crowned though, and this entire nightmare will come to an end. A new nightmare will begin, one I don’t know how I’ll stop. I don’t know what will happen once I ascend the throne. My Uncle is accustomed to ruling, accustomed to the power and influence. I could give him a side position, a post where he wouldn’t bother us but I know even this wouldn’t be enough. He’ll always be waiting and I don’t know how I’d beat him, should he choose to challenge me.

I could banish him. But for all I suspect, there’s no real evidence he conspired to kill my mother and father. Just a rock in my gut which tells me that he did. I notice Youngjae watching me from his side of the table, his brow furrowed as my stomach drops. I’ve tried so hard to shield him but it’s hard, especially when I can’t be around him for all hours of the day.

At least I’m certain our Uncle has never laid a hand on Youngjae. The same can’t be said of me. That memory burns in my mind, a constant reminder of what will happen should I step out of line. 

I stood up to my Uncle only once, telling him before Parliament he couldn’t raise taxes higher. I know our people, I visit them daily. I see firsthand the damage my Uncle’s taxes bring. 

Vitus is a modest land, mostly farmers and merchants. When my parents ruled there were taxes, but only so much as the land could bear. Only to provide our people with benefits they could not provide for themselves.

Over the past year, taxes have steadily increased. Costs rising until the people can bear no more. This with no increased outputs. My Uncle lies smoothly. Telling Parliament that our roads are decrepit, education system flawed. We need to increase trade, widen our army, further the development of our nation.

In order to do this, we need money. Thus, the tax increase. Now though, a year later - what is there to show? Nothing but the tightening of belt loops, the gold which gilds our castle. The sight is enough to make me queasy and finally one day I just snapped.

I stood up, demanding proof of our nation’s improvement if he wanted to raise taxes again. Parliament listened, much to my surprise. I suppose they also see my Uncle as a bully but are too cowardly to do anything about it. Despite this, they stood behind me and the tax increase did not pass.

My Uncle’s eyes burned that day. Smoldered while he sat and smiled - oh, smiled. Nodding that yes, he would provide proof. Of course, my concern was valid. He stared for the rest of the meeting though, and I could feel the hatred in his gaze.

Hatred which solidified as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom that night. He found me, struck me soundly across the face. That crack echoed through the hall and I stood stunned, as most people are when they first experience violence. I didn’t know where to look so I just stood, gasping while clutching my cheek. Looking at him through watering eyes as he smiled.

“Never do that again.” Then he left, golden crown shining as he strolled down the corridor.

Today he watches me, reminding me of this morning’s significance. Today is another Parliament session and today, I have run out of options. My Uncle is scheming, I know this. Several sources have confirmed it but for what, I don’t know. The memory of his hand still burns in my mind and I know the gesture for what it really was – a warning.

A threat, should I test him again. It’s why I know my Uncle won’t disappear after my coronation, won’t he poses a sure threat. Now that he’s tasted power he won’t ever give up, even if the crown doesn’t rest upon his head.

Across the table from me, Youngjae sets his glass down. “I want to attend today’s Parliament session.”

I shake my head. “No, Youngjae. No.”

“Why not?” Youngjae’s eyes narrow. “Why do you keep me from things, Y/N? As next in line for the throne, I should know about our government. Or will I just be a figurehead once you become Queen? Someone to cut ribbons and sit prettily?”

He’s right, I know that he is but I also don’t want him there. I can’t say the reason I push him away is for his own good. If I tell the truth, Youngjae wouldn’t even stop to think. He’d act and then our nation would be divided. There are those who are loyal to my Uncle, those who would fight on his behalf. The nation is barely held together as it is. Many know my Uncle only as the general who won us the Jaspian war, a notoriety makes him very difficult to frame.

Jaspar are our neighbors to the south, along with our main source of political tension. War broke out with them about ten years back and my Uncle was the one to deliver us from this danger. His military strength is sound and when my father was King, he led them. We won that war, and much of the army loves my Uncle for it.

If Youngjae pitted himself against him, it would not end well. I can’t say this though and so instead I say nothing, pushing things around my plate to avoid his gaze. “Youngjae,” I sigh, glancing up. “You won’t be a figurehead, I promise. I haven’t been crowned yet though, I’m still learning. Please,” I beg. “Please just trust me on this.”

Though he may not understand, Youngjae slowly nods. “I will not argue,” he agrees, sitting back in his chair. “For now.”

That’s all I can ask. “Thank you.”

Our Uncle looks between us with eyebrows raised. “That’s all?” he guffaws. “Why when your father and I were children, a fight wasn’t done until you saw blood!”

“I bet,” I mutter, unable to stop myself.

His head turns. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Someone knocks on the door, interrupting our conversation. A servant pokes her head in, glancing at first my Uncle before finding my face. “The Parliament has arrived, Princess.”

I nod, pushing myself to stand and from the corner of my eye, I see my Uncle do the same. “We’ll be right there,” I say to her, smiling gently. 

Without waiting to see if I’m followed, I sweep from the room. Youngjae’s eyes are on mine and I know I’ll have to tell him soon. Have tell him our Uncle’s cruelty and describe the role he played in our parents’ death because soon, I’ll need him by my side. That day isn’t today, though.

Parliament is already seated when we enter, the Lord Protector right behind me. “Good morning,” I intone, watching them rise. Most of Parliament is male. Male, with the exception of Matilda, the Lady of Vernigh. When her husband passed way two years ago, he left her his seat. Rather unusual, but I’m always grateful for another female presence in the room.

The Parliament greets us as we enter, Lord Protector nodding hello as he sits at the head of the table. His eyes narrow as I take my seat opposite, fluffing my skirts before sitting. Lords and Ladies follow, glancing back and forth between the two of us. 

“Let’s begin.” Though my Uncle smiles, the gesture doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll skip the usual formalities to address a topic which has been of growing concern to me these past few months.”

Multiple heads turn, including Julius, Lord of Taxus. “And what concern might that be,” he asks, sounding bored and more than a little skeptical.

As head of the Royal Treasury, Julius has no love lost for my Uncle. He sees the money come in and sees where it goes and, though he cannot object to my Uncle’s rule, he clearly doesn’t approve.

My Uncle smiles. “I would like to discuss the Volucri.”

Several people pale.

“What about them?” A man at the end leans forward – Martin, Lord of Tamber. Tamber is a town, close to the border of the Nocht Mountain range. If anyone has reason to be interested in this particular conversation, it’s Martin.

My Uncle’s eyes gleam. “I wish to discuss the tax and whether or not we should continue to pay it.”

Martin lets out a little laugh. “We pay it, end of discussion.”

Whispers start when people lean towards neighbors, their eyes continually drifting in the direction of my uncle. I allow these whispers to die down before holding up a hand. “We will hear my Uncle out,” I muse, purposefully not using his royal title.

Though his smile falters, he quickly regains himself. “The Volucri are monsters,” my Uncle says, looking around for confirmation. “They are demons of the night, devils in the worst way. They exist on our blood, sweat, money. It is heresy of the highest order to leave them be.”

Matilda straightens. “Heresy?”she asks, raising a brow. “What kind? The kind which keeps our children from slaughter in their beds?”

A smile crosses my Uncle’s lips, as though he wanted this to happen. “When Jasper tried to take our southern border,” he demands, staring round the table. “When they tried to take our people as slaves, did we send money? No. We sent men. Men to crush Jasper and take back our land. We ended their threat, and things have been peaceful since.” Over the table, my Uncle’s fist tightens. “We shouldn’t pay these creatures, but eradicate them. We have played their game for too long and our money should be spent elsewhere.”

Ah, so this is what my Uncle is after. Money. The Volucri Tithe, the tax sent monthly that keeps them at bay. It’s a hefty sum, to be sure. Ten percent of what our nation collects annually. All the same, it exists with one, very specific purpose: keep our citizens from being drained by hungry vampires.

I fold my hands on the table. “That money has protected our people,” I say, watching my Uncle carefully. “Many lives have been saved because of it.”

My Uncle’s jaw tightens and I wonder if he considers me out of turn. “Pitiful,” he sighs, turning away. “We are not a nation of cowards. We did not bow to Jasper – why should this be any different?”

There’s a slight murmuring around the table and I realize my Uncle has their attention. I didn’t realize so many despised this tax. Or the Volucri, in general. Many still appear unconvinced though – most notably Martin.

“What’s so different?” Martin asks, eyes wide. “This is different because the Volucri are not men, they’re vampires! They’re immortal, all-powerful and capable of destroying us in seconds. Their tithe is mercy and we would be fools to throw it back in their faces.”

Rather than be perturbed by this, my Uncle smiles. “I never took you for a coward, Martin.” His words are smooth. “A surprising development.”

There are titters around the table, though I can’t tell from whom. I clear my throat. “Martin brings up a good argument.” I say, despite the glares turned in my direction. “His land lies before the Volucri. If we refuse to pay their tax, his people will be first killed. How do you propose to protect them?”

“Easy,” my Uncle croons, words sweet. “We have reinforcements. A strong, ready army thanks to our increased taxes. We are ready to fight, Lords – ready to make Vitus strong again!” Agreement echoes and I stare around the table, alarmed. “Never before have we been more prepared. Just imagine.” My Uncle stares at each member in turn. “Imagine a future without the Volucri.”

“It is nice to imagine,” Julius admits, raising his chin. “But dreams are just dreams until there are plans to form them.”

“Indeed.” My Uncle’s smile tightens. “Which is why I propose to stop the tithe. We don’t pay the vampires. They will become angry, furious. They’ll attack the nearest village.” His gaze switches to Martin. “We evacuate the city beforehand, replace its inhabitants with criminals from the castle dungeons. In their veins will be lillith, the substance most deadly to vampires. When they feast on them, they will die. Those who are not killed will be picked off by our army, lying in wait at the pass.”

A murmur goes around the table. My stomach sinks when I realize his plan is sound. Horrible, but sound. Vitus has not held a death penalty for many years. Our criminals live in jail, kept alive until the ends of their sentence. To kill them all, just like that – slowly, I shake my head.

“We cannot kill our people.” All heads turn in my direction. “They are our people, despite their crimes.”

“Would you rather kill the innocent people of Tamber?” My Uncle smile, twisting my words. “Would you rather continue to bend to monsters? It’s odd, niece,” he sighs, sounding sorrowful. “I thought you understood who our true enemies are.”

My hands clutch the table. People are staring and more than a few have disgust in their eyes. The tide is turning, leaving myself, Matilda and Julius on the other side. My Uncle paints a convincing picture. Rid ourselves of the night, give back the money to the people. All at the low, low cost of criminal lives.

Michael, Lord of Klaro stands. “I support this mission,” he declares.

He’s followed by Kenneth, Lord of Castor. “I support as well.”

“I, too.”

“I support the motion.”

Slowly, more rise to their feet. My heart races, ears buzzing. This is wrong. I know it is, and yet remain powerless to stop it. More stand until it’s just myself and Julius left. Matilda glances apologetically before slowly rising from her seat.

Julius remains still, gaze calm. “Once this ten percent has been returned,” he muses, tilting his head. “What will it be used for?”

I don’t think my Uncle expected his question, but he lies quickly. “The betterment of our nation, of course.”

Against such an answer, Julius cannot continue to deny. Though it looks as though it pains him, he stands. “I will support the motion.”

Now it’s just me, left staring down the long table at my Uncle. “And you, niece?” he asks. “Will you start your reign as a coward, or the leader of free people?”

Backed into a corner with nowhere to go, I slowly stand. “I will support.”

“Excellent.” The Lord Protector bares his teeth. “We begin preparations immediately.”

I don’t bother to hide that night.

What’s the point, when I know he’ll find me wherever I go? I openly defied him today. Openly opposed and my Uncle will want me to know my wrongs. His bruises bloom across my arms and torso like wildflowers. I don’t want Youngjae to see, so I feign illness the next day. This way, I’ll avoid seeing him entirely.

On the second morning, Youngjae bursts into my room. “Enough,” he mutters, striding forward to collapse at the foot of my bed.

I look up, surprised by his sudden entrance. “Why are you here?” I ask, glad I was sensible enough to be lying down. If Youngjae discovers I’m faking, it will only bring more questions.

Youngjae scans my body, eyes narrowing at my expression. “What happened in that meeting?” His tone is cold.

I’ve never heard him sound like that. I wince, looking down at my lap. “Youngjae,” I breathe, my voice catching. “I – I failed them.”

Though I’m not looking at him, I feel his body stiffen. “What do you mean? Failed who?” When realization dawns Youngjae sighs, hand slowly reaching for mine. Our fingers entwine, my gaze lifting to his and I see his expression has softened. “If you’re talking about mom and dad,” he says, thumb brushing mine. “You haven’t failed anyone.”

It might be his tone, might be the situation but for the first time in a year, I crack. I am not stone, I am nothing but human and my voice catches, allowing Youngjae to see my pain. “He’s not a good man, Youngjae,” I blurt, voice wobbling. “He’s – “

Youngjae’s lips tighten and he pulls me into him. “I know.”

“You know?” I’m stunned.

He nods, arms wrapped around me. “I see more than you think, Y/N.”

I fall silent for a while. “Then you know he’s stealing from our people,” I whisper.

Youngjae nods, the gesture brushing the top of my head.

“You know he’s going to kill every criminal in a jail cell.”

Again, Youngjae nods.

“You know,” I sigh, forcing the words. “You know that he’s violent.”

Youngjae’s arms tighten, hand continuing to soothe the back of my head. “I know.”

Some of the breath leaves my body as I pull back to look at him. “Then, why –"

“I wanted you to tell me.” Youngjae’s expression remains hurt, distant. “But since you’re unable to, I’ll say it. We need to be together on this, Y/N. We have to be together.”

“I was trying to protect you,” I say, watching his brow furrow.

“I don’t need protection.” Youngjae waves this aside. “I just need my sister.”

Exhaling, I nod. “I need my brother.”

After a long moment, Youngjae pulls me into him again. His arms wrapping around me, pressed to his chest and for the first time in a year I let myself go. Soft, muffled sobs fall on the cloth of Youngjae’s tunic and I finally let myself cry.

“I’ll kill him,” Youngjae says, the words rough. “I’ll kill him for what he’s done to you. To our parents, our family.”

“Youngjae.” He must think I’m about to reprimand him because he stiffens. I don’t. Instead, I pull back to look at him. “Not if I kill him first.”

A smile crosses my brother’s lips. “We’ll fight over it when the time comes. Right now, we have to stop this war.”

“Agreed,” I nod. “Our first worry is our people.”

Though Youngjae and I try our best, it’s not enough. We manage to sway a large amount of Parliament but still lack the votes to stop our Uncle. I watch, helpless while the army marches to the Nocht Mountains. Helpless, as the cells of the prisons are carted away. Families stand in the streets, sobbing into hands while their loved ones are dragged away.

Not everyone in the jail is there for life. There are many with just a few years remaining, but my Uncle makes no distinction in his slaughter. He cares not for tragedy, because to him it’s all the same. To him, a necessary sacrifice for his greater good.

It’s this though, which lays the crack in his foundation. I watch his army disappear over the horizon, seeing that people are angry. There’s violence in their eyes and know once my Uncle returns, he will be hated. I am the voice of reason, the one to condemn the madness. When the people look at me, I see their gratitude.

Youngjae and I stay behind, putting our time to use. We visit every Lord who is not part of the army. We ensure support because in one month’s time it’s my coronation. I’m still unsure what will happen once my Uncle returns.

If he succeeds in this endeavor – if he manages to eradicate the Volucri – he will be a hero. Even greater than now. He’ll be very difficult to contend with in this scenario. I don’t have a plan for how I’ll stop him.

As it turns out, I needn’t have worried.

It’s two nights after my Uncle’s departure that I wake to screams. My eyes open and I lie in the dark, struggling to orient myself. Once I have and understand, I launch myself from my bed. Stumbling towards the window to stare, wide-eyed at chaos.

The Volucri did not attack Tamber. I realize then that my Uncle is a fool. He brought our army to an enemy who does not exist. Does not exist because they’re here, setting fire to the capital in the dead of night.

The Volucri have arrived.

I don’t think, throwing on my dressing gown and shoving open my door within seconds. There’s no one in my hall but I hear their screams in the distance. It implied the Volcuri are already within the castle.

My horror grows turning right. Stumbling, nearly falling as I run. My thoughts are of Youngjae – I must find him, ensure he’s safe. I’m not paying attention to where I’m going, my only thoughts sheer panic and confusion.

As I round the corner, glancing over my shoulder, I realize the screams are louder. A high-pitched keening, wailing rising from the stairwells. My feet quicken, heart pounding and when I turn front, a scream leaves my throat.

I am not alone. 

Before me stands a man. Tall, broad shoulders with jet-black hair. He seems to be clad in shadows, from the cloth of his trousers to his jacket edged in jade. His face becomes visible as I stumble to a halt and when I notice his eyes, I whimper.

They’re his only color, apart from moonlit skin. Bright red, flashing while considering my appearance. A small flicker of smile reveals two, sharp teeth. “Hello,” he purrs. 

In a flash he’s before me, faster than I would have thought possible. He surveys me, taking in the rich fabric of my nightgown. When his gaze reaches the thin, silver circlet on top of my head, his smile widens. 

“Princess,” he smiles, bowing. “An honor to make your acquaintance.”

There are two moles over the curve of his left eye and I stare at these instead of him, finding them more human than the rest. “Please,” I whimper, hating the fear in my voice. “Please just leave. Your quarrel is not with us.”

“That may be so.” He laughs, gaze sharp. “But orders are orders and I have mine. We will leave and go to him.”

That’s when I make my first mistake. I look up. Immediately wishing I hadn’t when the unnatural shade of his eyes sends another shiver through me. I can’t stop thinking about the thing which makes him him look this way. Blood. Human blood.

“Him?” I find it difficult to stay stoic in the presence of those eyes. “Who is he?”

Rather than answer, the vampire shakes his head. “Our leader likes to remain a secret.” Leaning forward, he scans my face. “Beautiful,” he exhales, seeming pleased. “I heard stories of the fair Princess of Vitus, but it’s delightful to see the rumors weren’t false. Call me Jaebum.”

“Jaebum.” I blink at him, all my fight suddenly disappearing. “Are you going to kill me, Jaebum?”

“An interesting question.” He considers. “No, not right now. Right now, we need to go.”

A sudden certainty sweeps through me at the fact that, should I leave here with Jaebum, I will not come back alive.  My gaze scrambles, searching for a weapon but there’s none. I should have grabbed the knife from my desk but I didn’t stop to think. Too foolish, too concerned with saving my brother to even think of saving myself.

“Just me?” My gaze lifts to his. Stomach sinking as I realize I could never kill a vampire, anyways. The only things which kill vampires are wooden stakes, fire or lillith and I have none.

Though his eyes flicker, Jaebum nods. “Yes. Just you.”

I nod. The Volucri are not after Youngjae, they’re after me. In order to protect him, I will give them what they want. “Alright.” Stone, I am stone. I lift my chin. “I will go with you.”

If Jaebum is surprised, he doesn’t show it. Before I can speak again he’s beneath me, placing me over his shoulder. “Sorry, Princess,” he grunts, adjusting my weight. “It will be faster this way.”

I don’t have time to rebuke. The castle blurs as we leave. Shadows and shapes, none recognizable. My stomach sinks with each passing second, realizing how powerful these creatures are. I’ve never met a vampire before this. I heard the tales of course, knew they existed. But because of the tithe, the Volucri never came to Vitus. We were always protected and as such, I have never met one.

My Uncle is a fool, I realize. He thought he could take on these creatures and win. This thought gives me no small pleasure and my one hope is that, should the Volucri destroy us all, at least they’ll take my Uncle with them. I laugh, not caring if I sound crazy.

The town blurs while we pass, laced with continued screams of the night. Flashes of fire and smoke engulf us, rubble and citizens darting round. Jaebum moves like water, disappearing through the crowd with barely a ripple. He’s not winded and every now and then, I catch a glimpse of the destruction around us. There are so many. My breath catches – I hadn’t realized the Volucri were so numerous.

At the gates of the city, Jaebum slows to a stop. Turning to face the castle with a blank expression, flames flickering over the panes of his face. “Mark,” he says, as though in the middle of a conversation. “Mark.”

A face appears to my right and I stifle the urge to gasp, not having seen him arrive. This must be Mark – he tilts his head in interest, gaze bright and burning. A vampire with lighter hair, styled purposefully away from his face. I see he’s dressed more elegantly than Jaebum is and consider the all-black outfit is perhaps not a part of the dress code.

The corner of Mark’s mouth lifts. “Yes?” he asks, answering while still looking at me.

“Gather the others,” Jaebum dictates, turning into the night. “Tell Jackson to join us and have the rest circle back to the mountain.”

Mark nods, immediately disappearing. When Jaebum starts to run again I wince, struggling against his grip. “Who is Jackson?”

Jaebum turns his head, but before he can speak another voice answers. 

“I’m Jackson.”

A third vampire runs beside us, more muscular than the rest. I didn’t hear him appear but then, why would I have? Nodding, I allow my head to loll against Jaebum’s back. I must be in shock, I reason. Nothing seems to surprise me right now. The three of us continue on and I watch over Jaebum’s back as the embers of my castle grow further and further away.

“Where are we going?” I ask, voice soft. “Where’s the mountain?”

“A long way away.” Jackson cocks his head as he runs. “You should probably sleep.”

He says this last word with emphasis and it alarms me as I feel my body respond. Heaviness dragged through veins while my eyelids flutter, his spoken command taking hold.

From somewhere off in the distance, Jaebum sighs. “Jackson, you shouldn’t have –"

The world goes black.

“Awaken.”

When my eye cracks open, I don’t recognize my surroundings. I’m in the mountains, I think. The land slopes up to our right, in the distance are spires of several snow-capped mountains. I sit before an entrance, seated in dirt of the forest. Entrance is a loose word - it’s really two, giant stones, pressed together in an arch. 

“Wh-“ I squint at the darkness, then cough. “Where am I?”

Jaebum crosses his arms. “This is Domum, city of the Volucri. But you must stand to enter.”

I stare at this in confusion, struggling to piece his words together. I can’t move my arms. “Hey,” I gasp, twisting on the ground. “My hands are tied.” Long, brown twine holds my wrists and I whirl back, indignant. “Untie me!”

From somewhere behind me, Jackson laughs. “She’s feisty. Jinyoung will like that.”

Jaebum very slowly closes his eyes.

“Jinyoung?” My gaze moves from one to the other. “Who’s Jinyoung? Is he the one I’m being brought to?”

When Jaebum opens both eyes, Jackson winces. “Sorry, boss.”

“No more questions,” Jaebum grunts, hand finding my elbow to pull me upwards. I’m surprised by how gentle he is. “We’ll take you to him now.”

“To Jinyoung?” I ask, walking towards the entrance. “Why does he want me?” When I look down I see that I’m still in my nightgown – the fabric of which is dirty with dust and travel. “I look awful.’

It’s hard to say, but it looks as though the vampire might be trying not to laugh. “You’ll have time to change,” Jaebum informs me, resuming normal stoicism. “The King is no cretin.”

“King?” My eyes widen as we reach the gate.

Jackson examines the space for a long moment before glancing at us over his shoulder. “It’s safe,” he declares.

Nodding, Jaebum walks forward. I don’t fight it when he pulls me with. Too overwhelmed to do much but walk beside him. The inside of the hall is black, shadows sweeping to bring back memories of the night. 

All those people, all my people – are they dead now? 

“Did you kill them all,” I ask, not caring how weak I sound.

Jaebum’s grip tightens on my arm. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

I feel my gaze harden. Then – because I realize now, that this scenario can only end in death – I exhale, voice steady for the first time tonight. “You are all monsters.”

Jaebum’s lip curls. “Ironic,” he mutters, nodding at Jackson. “Go and tell his Majesty that she’s arrived.”

Jackson nods and disappears, faster than my eyes can see. Hands still tied, Jaebum leads me through the cave. A cave which turns into hallways, though I’m not sure exactly when that happens. There are many twists and turns and I realize I’ll never be able to remember the way out. The hallways are smooth, floors marble and crystalline beneath my feet. Lights hang from the ceiling, each more intricately carved than the last.

We pass no other vampires, something for which I’m grateful.

After what seems like hours, Jaebum comes to a stop outside a door. He nods. “Go inside. Bathe. Change into the clothes laid out for you. I will wait here until you’re finished.”

I stare at the door. “My hands,” I remind him.

Jaebum steps behind me. My eyes widen when I feel the brush of his lips, a scrape of teeth as the bonds are quickly severed. “There you go,“ Jaebum smirks, red eyes dancing while stepping before me.

I glower back at him. “Ass,” I mutter, pushing open my door. As I step inside, I think I hear him laugh. It’s hard to be sure, since once the door is closed I’m in absolute silence.

It’s a lovely room, which is surprising. There’s a window on my right, hewn from the same, dark stone as the mountain. Domum, is what Jaebum called it. Looking over the snowy trees, I realize we’re higher up than I thought. This time of year, there shouldn’t be this much snow on the ground.

Turning away from the view, I survey my surroundings. The space is small but elegant, a four-poster bed pushed to a corner and a writing desk under the window. Low shelves rest on either side of the door and there’s a tall wardrobe in the corner. Everything is decorated in shades of white and red, varying hues of each. There’s a door opposite the main and my eyes widen when I behold the bathroom.

Steam rises from a tub and I stand staring before eventually the temptation wins out. I give in, stripping my clothes to lower myself into the tub. Eyelids fluttering shut as, for the first time tonight, my body relaxes. The water temperature is perfect and I wonder once more why I’m here.

The whole thing is strange. Why kidnap me, then give me this room? Why tell me I’m a prisoner, but give me space? Why drag me away, if only to let me rest? These vampires murdered my people but keep me alive and I don’t know why. It’s this that sends a shiver down my spine and very slowly, I stand from the tub.

I owe it to my people, my brother, my land to save them. I decide to meet this Vampire King, if only to determine what he wants. Dressing quickly, I put on the ruby dress laid out for me. Styling my hair as well, braiding it in a simple plait before re-draping my circlet atop my head. Satisfied with my appearance, I raise my chin in the mirror.

It is time for their King to meet a Princess.

[Master List]

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy! Part II is now up. 

[namjoonbby1]

Betrayal

Pairing - Hoseok x Reader

Genre - Murder AU

Word Count - 3k

Part 1/?

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Masterlist

A/n - Ohmygosh I don’t think I have ever been this excited about anything in a while. Prob said that about my last story. I might be making character profiles if it’s too many characters to keep up with. Anyways I hope you all enjoy this as much as I am!

Synopsis - When y/n’s husband is accused of murder she’s sure he’s innocent. But as detectives find clues that point to him as the perpetrator, will she stand for her husband or against him?

We vowed to never talk about it. That it was an horrible mistake driven by pure lust. It would never happen again and we would never bring it up. It had been three months since I had found out. Three months since I felt the wide range of emotions I felt when I discovered it.

The first was shock, I was in extreme disbelief. I didn’t want to believe it, I couldn’t acknowledge it as the truth because I knew that once I did it would become real. Once it became real the pain would sink in.

Once I had finally accepted the fact my world began to fall apart. I began to question myself and my self esteem took a great hit. Was I not beautiful enough? Thin enough? Had my performance in bed decreased since marriage?

Once I was convinced that it wasn’t my fault I could repair myself. He told me that I was the best wife a man could ever ask for and that it would never happen again. So I started to piece myself, my marriage, back together. He told me everything, every illicit moment of his affair that I needed to know to move on and for him to regain my trust again. Once I was able to trust him and we could move back on with our lives we made a vow. We knew that it would be best for the both of us to never bring it up again, under any circumstances.

But now as my husband escorts two detectives out of our home and locks the door behind us.  And as he slowly turns around to face me, my face a pale color from shock and uncertainty, we knew. We knew that as hard as we had tried to bury that dark part in our relationship and as good as we had done at doing that, it was time. And as a pain radiated from my chest while I looked into his eyes filled with concern, I was certain. I knew it was time to talk about it.

The Night Before

Charity work, event coordinating and socialite. I was a glamorized party planner, or as least that’s what I felt like. See technically I was unemployed, there was no need for me to work considering the fact that my husband was the CEO and founder of a billion dollar company. But as much of my time that I spent with executives, heirs and heiress. As much time as I spent planning and planning and sitting down in meetings with caterers and venue managers, I knew that I was far from unemployed.

As tiring as the work could be and as much as my husband told me I should hire someone to handle the logistics, I knew I couldn’t. I was the type of person who felt as if I wasn’t actively involved in something, then It wouldn’t be done properly. Now as I look at the smile on my husband Hoseok’s face as he looks at me from on stage I knew that I had pleased him. He was giving me the loving smile, the one that I was accustomed to. The one that was only for me as I reciprocated the smile, knowing what was coming next.

“And lastly I’d like to thank the most important, amazingly caring, beautiful and loving person in my life. My lovely wife.” Hoseok stated maintaining eye contact. The crowd erupted with clapping, diverting their attention towards me. Hoseok continued to grin at me as he waited for the claps to die down. “If it wasn’t for her none of this would be possible. The fact that we were able to give over 1500 children schools to attend all in this one year. The fact that we were able to supply all three of those schools that were built with computer labs and libraries full of books, well that’s something admirable. My wife and I, with the help of your very generous donations were able to do this. She has spent so much time organizing events like this and I’m sure we all can appreciate that.”

Hoseok continued by returning his gaze back to the audience and letting them know that for every dollar donated for the rest of the night,  he and his business partner would be matching. He said his last thank you’s before finally walking off of the stage, he sights set on me.

After a few interruptions, mostly business men congratulating him on his successes, he was finally headed my way. I couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked. Hair slicked back, finely tailored suit and absolutely adorable bow tie, which I had happened to pick out.

He finally reached me immediately wrapping his arms around my waist to pull me in closer to him and as onlookers watched,  he had no care in the world. “You look absolutely ravishing.” He said and then before releasing me from the hug bending down slightly to whisper “and I can’t wait to see how good you’ll look without that dress on under me tonight” and causing me to emit an uncontrollable giggle.

We stayed as long as we could at the event. Probably not long enough considering that this was our event, our charity. But we both were being called by the thought of spending an intimate night together, it had been far too long. Hoseok had been on a working trip for the weekend with his business partner and I had missed the feeling of his lips on my skin.

I laid in bed with him, absolutely delighted and refreshed after our exchange. He held me in his arms, kissing softly on my forehead. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time.” He said and I looked up at him immediately eyes wide in shock as I knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. We are established individuals we are madly in love and let’s face it, we aren’t getting any younger. The prospect of you carrying my child would make extremely happy. Do you want to do that for me?” He asked.

“Nothing in the world could bring me greater joy.” I said and he smiled before placing a shower of kisses on my lips.

As I closed my eyes that night, I thought deeply about my life. Conceiving a child with my husband was something I had only dreamed of from the day we met seven years ago, Hoseok had been adamant about his desire to not have kids and I had accepted that although secretly I desire to start a family.

His heart was changing and I felt like our marriage was the best that it had ever been. I felt like he was fully devoted to me and with him on my side I felt untouchable.

The Day Of

I had just gotten back from the doctor’s office, to get off of my birth control. I noticed a police car parked in the driveway of our mansion, and as I waited for my driver to open the car door for me, worry started to bubble forth in the pit of my stomach.

I walked into the house noticing that the officers quieted down when they saw me only giving me a soft “hello Ma'am” as I sat my purse down in the dining room. I then walked to where they were standing, positioning myself next to Hoseok as he looked at me sympathetically.

“What is going on?” I asked.

The officers look at me and then Hoseok as if they were uncertain as to weather or not they were allowed to tell me anything. “It’s okay officers, she knows about the affair.” He said causing me to immediately look up at him confusion and fear evident in my stare. He then escorted the police out of our home and turned around to face me.

“You’re worrying me. Is something wrong? I asked.

Hoseok sat down and motioned for me to join him by patting the seat next to him. I obliged, sitting next to him and then looking up at him still waiting for an answer.

“This is about Mina.” He finally said.

Mina. The women that he had an affair with. What could possible have happened to her that the police we’re showing up at our door to tell us about,  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know.

“What about her?” I asked finding myself unable to say that name. The name we vowed to never speak or think about ever again.

“She fell down two flights of stairs in her home last night, she’s dead y/n.” He said.

“Oh my goodness.” I said covering my mouth with my hand in shock. “That’s absolutely horrible.”

“I need to go see him.” Hoseok added as he rubbed my back.

“I know and I need to go with you.” I said.

“You don’t have to do that.” He replied moved by my gratitude.

“You know how close he and I are. We both need to be here for him right now.” I insisted.

“Yes you are right. Let me go cancel some of the meetings I had planned for today and I’ll be ready to go in about twenty minutes.” He said looking down at his watch.

I nodded in agreement and then walked up our winding staircase and made my way to our bedroom. I opened the door to our closet and for the first time in my life,  wished It wasn’t so huge. There was too many options. I felt like what I was wearing wasn’t necessarily appropriate for the situation at hand. But what do you wear to visit your grieving friend?

I guess friend wasn’t the right word to call Seokjin, he was more than that. We were both there for each other when we found out that our significant others were cheating on us, with one another.

In that time we were not only each other’s friends but psychiatrists. I could lean on him and he could do the same with me. We had built a bond so strong in that period of time that, friends, no it wasn’t enough to describe our relationship. He felt more like my family, my older brother and now I had to see him grieve over his wife, whom he had of course forgiven as well.

I finally decided on a dress and put it on, then walked into the bathroom and attempting to put on some light makeup. Finally Hoseok was ready to go and we sat in the backseat of our Rolls Royce as we were driven to his home.

The entire time I could only think about her, about Mina.

Mina

The girl who had momentarily taken my husband away from me even when she had her own. And although I was never close with her after I found out about her betrayal I couldn’t bring myself to hate her because he loved her.

Seokjin loved her so much. She was his everything. When he found out about the affair he was so hurt, maybe even more so than I. His college sweetheart had cheated on him with his business partner and best friend, but he still didn’t find fault in Mina.

Of course he was hurt and upset at first, but he was so in love with her that he blamed himself for her infidelity. Saying that he was too busy and that it was his fault for not being there for her fully. Yes, Seokjin was in love with her. And he spoke so highly of her it was impossible to hate her.

We finally arrived to their home. The gates were opened for us and we got out of the car and made our way up to his door. We rang the bell and were greeted by his housekeeper.

“He is not well, I have never seen him like this.” Were the words she stated in a slight whisper as we entered.

“Thank you for letting us know. Please have the chef prepare him something to eat.” Hoseok said.

“Of course Sir.” She said bowing to us as she took our jackets and hung them up.

Hoseok and I made our way up the stairs to find Seokjin. He was normally in his den when he was feeling down. At the bottom of the staircase we noticed the yellow warning tape and the chalk outline of where her body used to lay and my heart ached for him.

We finally found our way to to the den and Hoseok and I were greeted by Seokjin’s sobs as we walked into the room. He was sitting in his love-seat and the housekeeper was right. He was an absolute mess, not that I didn’t expect it, it was just hard to see.

He was still wearing the shirt he had worn under his suit last night, it was now unbuttoned and his tie was loosely around his neck. His hair was a disheveled mess and he was staring into a glass of what appeared to be whiskey as he cried.

“Hyung, we are here.” Hoseok said making our presence known.

Seokjin looked up at us and immediately placed the glass down rising from his seat.

“Oh thank god, I really need emotional support right now.” He said as he extended his arms to hug Hoseok and then finally turned his attention towards me.

“Y/n thank you so much for coming with him.” He said hugging me.

“Of course oppa, I am so sorry that this is happening to you.” I said.

“It just doesn’t feel real. I was the one to find her last night, after the event. She must have fallen because she was rushing trying to make it there. I feel horrible, If it wasn’t for me asking her to be there than none of this would have happened.” He said.

“You can not blame yourself for this horrible accident that happened.” Hoseok said.

“She was wearing the dress and the shoes that I had bought her to wear last night. I bought her!” He cried out.

I sat down next to Seokjin wrapping my arms around him and letting him cry on my shoulder. I looked up at Hoseok, he was not very good at comforting people at times like this, bless his heart.

“I’m going to go check on his food.” He mouthed and exited the room. Seokjin stayed in that position for a while longer before pulling away to look at me.

“You know when we walked in on the two of them, in my bed, I- I thought I could never forgive her. But I did, I forgave her and I loved her and I cared for her. She was my everything and now shes gone. I just hope she knew how much I loved her.” He said.

“Oh oppa, I’m certain that she knew.” I said taking a napkin and wiping away at Seokjin’s tear streaked face. It was hurting me to see him like this.

Moments later Hoseok returned with food for Seokjin. He sat the food on the table and sat in the chair across from us.

A little while later we heard the doorbell ring. We assumed it was one of Seokjin’s acquaintances. But as they entered the den none of us were familiar with them.

“Hello, my name is Kim Namjoon and this is my partner Kim Taehyung. We are the leading detectives that have been assigned to your wife’s death, I’m so sorry about your lost Mr. Kim.” He said.

Seokjin extended his hand out shaking the detective’s and then introduced the two of us. “This is my best friend and business partner Jung Hoseok and his wife y/n.”

“I’m glad to find you all three together as this case has gotten a bit more complicated.” Namjoon stated.

At this point we were all standing, concerned looks washed over our faces. “What’s going on detective?” He asked.

“Mr. Kim, I’m sorry to inform you but we just got the coroner’s report back and your wife was around three months pregnant when she died.”

“Oh god no.” Seokjin said falling back into the chair and crying once again.

“She was pregnant with my child? I had no idea. She didn’t even look any bigger.” He cried out.

“It is very possible that she didn’t know either, we are sorry you had to find out this way. But we want you to know that we are taking your wife’s murder investigation seriously and that we - ”

“M - murder? My wife wasn’t murdered. She fell down two flights of stairs last night.” Seokjin added.

“Based off of the autopsy there was clear evidence of blunt force trauma at the back of her skull. Mr. Kim this is now a murder investigation.”

With those words we were completely paralyzed with shock. Who would want to kill Mina? Who could have done it and why?

We didn’t have answers to any of those questions at the time but the three of us knew that once we found out the answers our lives would never be the same.