#and so he rolls up to their castle and meets his welcoming party like Horror and Cross and he's kinda like... chill. they're good guys

[spotaus]

YOU!!! YOU UNDERSTAND!!!! I have been grinning about this since I read it omg...

I'm thinking the dynamics here are that: Night and Dream grew up as twin princes. They always knew one of them would hold the mantle of this great prophecy on their shoulders (eating the apple instead of protecting the tree). Parent situation... probably Nim? Maybe the prophecy required her death to form the apple. Yeah we'll go w/ that. But anyways, Dream and Night were super close, but Dream was always off training with the nights and visiting the village while Night was studying and learning the politics in the castle. Dream would be the hero, the King of Prophecy, and Nightmare was to be his advisor. Dream would take the spotlight and Night would be the brain helping to guide him with the menial tasks. And... they were fine with that! Some people thought Night was jealous or secretly an evil twin, but they adored the idea of ruling like that.

But... Nightmare was reading up one day, studying the prophecy, and... things just didn't line up. The words seemed to imply a sacrifice, one beyond the body of their mother, and death. Lots of it. Hidden beneath flowery language that any commoner wouldn't blink twice at. And Night realized that the only one who could stop this tragedy was the one who ate the apple. Someone not blinded by the falsehoods. And when he went to his mother, the Queen, she pretty much told him he was being crazy and to hush up. It was treason to talk like that.

So he didn't tell Dream. He didn't tell *anyone*. At least, not until later. Not until years later, a month before Dream's coronation and when he'd accept the apple. He was having night terrors and made regular trips to the kitchen for snacks. Ccino was always the one working late, feeding the night-guards coming in from their rounds. He was there when Nightmare whispered his ideas to him in the quiet kitchen, scrolls and books in his arms filled with all the reasons and signs and hints in their past. And it was Ccino who stared at him in a way that Night *knew* he made sense. That he was right.

It was when Night told Dream the next morning, that Dream told him that he had to eat the apple. Their mother had told him that if Night ate it, he'd turn evil. He couldn't be king, because Dream didn't want to lose him. So... Nightmare swore to Dream he wouldn't speak of it again.

On the day of Dream's ceremony, Nightmare was stood beside him as their mother gave her blessing. The prince to eat the apple she created was rightful heir and would hold the power in the prophecy. Her power extended into it as she handed it off to Dream's awaiting hands. ...And when it was formed? When Dream turned towards the crowd for his speech before he bit into it? Nightmare snatched it and took a huge bite. It echoed in the silent hall, and everyone watched in shock as Nightmare was enveloped in the magic. A dark, sloppy, mass of black magic that radiated hatred and fury and fear. All the anxieties Nightmare had had up until this moment washed over everyone. And he announced he, by the law of the land, was now King.

He didn't banish Dream on the spot, no, it was later that day, when Nightmare tried to talk to him in private, when he explained himself again. Dream had been so overwhelmed with fury and betrayal that he'd slammed a nearby candelabra over Nightmare's head. He didn't think it was his brother in there anymore. He was too tall, too well-spoken, too... unfamiliar. The bad energy he radiated made Dream act rashly. And Nightmare, now injured and emotionally drained, realized Dream wouldn't understand. He didn't want his twin to think of him as the villain, but he would, so he left, and declared it that Dream was banished from the kingdom. The act that solidified for everyone that the darker twin was corrupt. Whether he always had been or if his jealous fit had doomed him, he was not the little prince they knew.

And just... idk. His paranoia kicks in once Dream leaves, Ccino helping him, it all piles up after that point! Long enough that Dream has time to grow up and become a man himself!

Night totally just picks his guys in a similar way a kid picks theur favorite superhero or smth, you're so right lol! He sees these people and is like, 'okay, I know they're mean and scary but I think they're cool sooooo.' And then his adult magic justifies it more thoroughly, but God honestly he's putting in blind faith here most of the time. (Plus as Scary Night he has enough power to defend himself so he has some leeway-)

And Dream w/ him like... they were all fine and dandy until a month before his coronation, so he's 100% convinced someone managed to get the ideas into his head during his studies or while he was alone. Night replaces most of the council and servants though, and a lot of nobility is straight up removed, so he keeps trying to narrow down who it was. But then Night hires on violent people to do his work and is sure by then that Night's magic has plans all its own, like a Demon. That he's gathering like, 4 horsemen or smth.

It also hurts Dream a lot when Cross changes sides. There's no word from him, just one day he doesn't come back from his scouting, and Dream is sure Night killed him. Then the next time they get news, Cross is just as loyally by Night's side as he was at Ink's or Dream's. Brainwashing or just loose loyalties he can't tell, but it disheartens him a lot.

And fir the silly bits: YES- Error definitely has that moment of 'Dude, the King is really really cool and- ohhhh wait. Ohh noooo.' And then has like, a very short-lived crisis before deciding it's all or nothing until the confession that I think happens after they get Night back from Dream. Then Night doesn't realize it until even after the confession. Like, one of those, "Now is NOT the time, can we PLEASE go home???" Moments and he is unaware that's usually a rejection. He talks it over with Ccino and Ccino is like, 'M'lord, no disrespect, but Error is probably avoiding you because you basically rejected him.' And Night like. Rips out of the lounge they're in and straight towards Error's tower in a flustered mess because !!! they were overwhelmed !!! of course he likes Error!!! Abd so he clears it up after the fact lmao-

And the Geno and Fresh stuff!! Geno definitely bonds w/ Reaper over the treaty attempts, because Reaper would notice a steep decline in Geno's work and general wellbeing after he gets the letters from people saying Error is missing. He can't abandon his work, of course, but Reaper would confront him and Geno would spill that his hazard of a little brother ran away. Reaper would sympathize and offer to search like u said. And just. Geno decides he likes Reaper a bit more when he does actually start handling business, and Reaper though Geno was stunning and very enjoyable to be around the moment he met him so like... slow burn while having other stuff going on.

And exactly! Fresh was supposed to watch Error, but Error was living at the academy when Geno left so Fresh was on a trip for his own stuff. Completely unaware that Error got expelled, and completely unaware he left the house empty for him to cone back to. Geno is 100% furious with him and Fresh is also regularly looking for Error or word of him while he's out, but he loses the trail in one city and doesn't hear anything again. (City where the hiring of the Wizard went on.) So Fresh thinks Error is dead, and feels guilty af all the time, but has to roll with the punches.

And... hmm. Yeah. Ccino is definitely like the guardian of pretty much everyone in the castle at this point, but especially Night. (He's also a big part of Nightmare's recovery from Dream too, because Dream doesn't remember the faces of any servants (spoiled kid raised that way) so Ccino is like... a perfect operative to help sneak around and gather info.) Ccino would die for his little friend, and I do think it's an insanely sweet friendship between them. Ccino is also in charge of all the cats that live across the castle grounds. He doesn't own them, but they keep out mice and he gives them treats so they tend to end up flocking to him ����

Bad wip of that au I was talking about 🙏

(It's MY au so I get to put Error in a stupid wizard fit!!!)

[hiccstrxd]

Kisses from the moon

Hello! I wanted to write shameless fluff with lots of kisses and this is exactly what it is. I’d like to believe that for a first timer in the kissing department, I did it okay lmao

It's rated t btw. You can find it in ao3 as well. Enjoy!

Summary: She didn’t know how it happened, the only thing she recalls is that they had meant to depart with one chaste kiss on the lips and somehow it had quickly escalated to unknown territory, though for sure not quite an unpleasant one.

It hasn’t been that long since the battle of the Storm Spire and relationships among the neighboring kingdoms couldn’t be any more restrained — the shifting alliances have been slightly worrisome but the newly pledge between the Dragon Queen and the young King of Katolis compensate all the arising uncertainties, if just a little.

Rayla doesn’t know that much about politics but she supposes that last bit gave enough solace to the kingdom. A bright occurrence amidst the cataclysmic disputes and deadly wars.

And since this was now her home away from home, she was very well informed — rather unwillingly — in its state of affairs.

Both Callum and Ezran (and Bait too, apparently) had firmly made her know that if she was one hundred percent sure and at ease with the idea overall, she was more than welcome to stay in Katolis, no matter if it was merely a temporary arrangement. It took quite a lot of arguments and counterarguments from both parties and even further persuasion from the two brothers (and frog) for her to concede to the proposition with an underlying hesitation.

She was fairly certain that her residency in the kingdom — and in the castle no less — will not be as gladly received. She’ll have to withstand many scornful looks and insensitive judgments left and right, her presence won’t do any good there. Plus, she would feel so out of place and a little bit too conscience-stricken for her liking. But then again she didn’t have anywhere else to go, nowhere to call home.

It was all very confusing and frustrating, rightfully so.

Later that night, with the moonlight casting shadows over the two lovers that were basking in the company of one another and with no impending death hanging in the air, a five-fingered hand was tenderly holding her four-fingered one, a warm smile on each of their faces. Lazy strokes were traced on her wrist, going up to her palm and finally detouring to each of her fingers, making careless doodles with the tip of his forefinger. She let out a sigh of contempt.

A murmured ‘I love you’ was softly said to the wind followed by an imaginary heart being drawn on her palm.

She looked over at him. His eyes had softened a great deal and he now sported the gentlest of grins, he redrew the heart for emphasis. Rayla intertwined their fingers together and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.

She’ll never get tired of hearing it.

“I love you, too.”

And maybe that was the little push that she needed to make up her mind.

That’s how she got here. In Katolis, she meant. Definitely not with her back pressed slightly against the wall and a pair of gentle hands that held onto her with urgency, if just a little shyly.

She didn’t know how it happened, the only thing she recalls is that they had meant to depart with one chaste kiss on the lips and somehow it had quickly escalated to unknown territory, though for sure not quite an unpleasant one.

They were both expected somewhere else, the kiss was just a farewell gesture, something to get them through the day until they could be close with each other again — which was most likely to be late at night or early morning for how tight their schedule was today.

Rayla needs to break it off. They need to get going. She doesn’t.

She felt his hands that were once placed safely on her waist, slowly trail down to rest on her hips with a lose grip. Hers started their journey upwards, tracing his neck with feather-light touches to finally cup each side of his jaw. Their lips moved against one another at a deliberately slow pace, their noses brushing every so often with each gentle pull.

They have kissed before, of course, but nothing like this.

A loving peck on the lips, a quick kiss on the forehead, even a small brush of lips against each knuckle. They had definitely had some kisses that had lasted more than they should have but even those seemed to be cut short. No, this is new.

The gap between them came to be nonexistent, their breaths mingling together in their shared space. She felt warmth blossom in her chest as he pulled her even closer, his thumb slowly drawing small circles on her hip and when she felt him smile against her lips she couldn’t help but let a small smile out too.

Kissing him has always felt quite exhilarating, a rush of feeling that made her heart soar and her mind numb. A tingling sensation that extended from the tip of her fingers up to her very lips, a warmth that consumed her and spread like a wildfire within. Rayla has never kissed anyone before — she hadn’t felt the need to, having little interest in that sort of matter before— but she had seen Runaan and Ethari display little shows of affections every so often, and as a kid, her inherent curiosity had led her to wonder how loving someone felt like.

Ethari had said that it was like holding your whole heart in between your hands, so delicate and precious that the rest of the world blurs and fades away having no point of comparison with its beauty. Runaan, ever the pragmatic, said that it was a matter of sentiment — you feel everything more intensely.

She reckons that both are quite true, to some extent. Though, she might add her own contribution to the mix: it felt like a typhoon of emotions all at once; you feel weak yet strong, confused yet never more certain in your life, vulnerable yet empowered. It’s warm-hearted, a tender gesture. But then again, it’s something that she cannot fully put into words because the concept is so abstract and the action is so blissful that no notion will ever do justice to what she feels.

Soft kisses soon became frenzied presses of lips and their hands seemed to have a mind of their own, moving on their own accord and trying to frantically touch every patch of skin, clinging to the fabric of clothes in an attempt to be closer. His breath faintly tickled the skin beneath her nose, their heartbeats rhythmically pounding against their chests, and the almost inaudible sighs of delight, whenever their lips brushed against each other, was all she could hear in the secluded corner of the castle. Her senses were overflowed with his presence.

She couldn’t help the soft gasp she let out when he gently bit her bottom lip and pulled it in between his own. It was definitely something they haven’t done before and the action's intimacy promptly took her off guard.

And then he was frantically pulling away, eyes wide with horror and with eyebrows that seemed to reach his hairline, his lips the tiniest bit swollen from their whole encounter. His hands were still on her hips but if he was desperately trying to bring her forward before, he was now doing his best to hold her at arm’s length.

He was quite a sight and she would find it in herself to poke fun at his ridiculous countenance if she didn’t think he was on the verge of a mental collapse.

“I-I’m so sorry, that was not— and I just— I got carried away... Not that that excuses it! I — oh Gods,” Callum stumbled over his words, hand clasped over his eyes, and shifting uneasily on both feet. Rayla had trouble deciphering the inarticulate unfinished sentences that were being stuttered past his mouth but his body language could clue her in.

She raised a single eyebrow whilst fighting an amusing smile from breaking out.

With tentative fingers, she reached forward to lace their fingers together with the hand that was covering his face, his momentary flinch didn’t go unnoticed as she did so.

“Hey,” she softly said with a small smile on her face because leave it to him to straight-up freak out during one of the most intoxicating kisses they have shared so far in their relatively new courtship. She gently rubbed her thumb on the side of his hand as a silent way to reassure him that it was all good. He visibly relaxed a tiny bit, though still showing a little apprehension for his actions done in the spur of the moment. “I liked it.” She shrugged, not quite meeting his eyes and she wanted to smack herself for the uncharacteristic demeanor.

She felt a coy smirk tug at the corners of her mouth, “I really liked it.” Rayla relished the way his face went from rueful to downright embarrassed, a deep flush spreading all over his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. She couldn’t stop the heartening laugh this time.

“O-oh?” She heard him mumble. He rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that was not holding hers, and she playfully rolled her eyes at her dorky human prince’s antics.

“In fact, I wouldn’t mind tryin’ it out again.” She said while mindlessly arranging the scarf on his neck that has become rumpled by her own doing. She looked at him solemnly, this being a little unfamiliar to both of them and the uncertainty of how to approach was slowly killing her. With a clear of his throat and his forest green eyes thoroughly searching hers to silently confirm what she had put into words, he shifted forward.

“Well, in that case,” He brought one hand to pull her closer while he raised the other one to caress her cheek lovingly. His eyes stared earnestly at her as if he could find all the wonders in the world by solely looking at her. It was wistful thinking, but she’d rather not dwell into that right now. Not when the only thing that matters was the blitheness from her heart and the prince that was the cause of it all.

He drew her toward him as the space between them once again diminished and with half-closed eyes, slightly pursed lips, and with the erratic thumps of the heart filling the air, they slowly leaned in again.

He nudged his nose against hers and placed a small kiss in the corner of her lips. Callum smiled, he went to do the same on the other side but she’d have none of it. She looped her forearms loosely at the back of his neck and lunged forward — she took delight in the muffled hum of surprise.

Their lips glided lazily but surely against each other, and this time — with the self-consciousness fading away and the overwhelming feelings of adoration rising in its place — the kiss quickly took a passionate turn. Fervent lips searched hers and she returned the gesture in equal measure.

When they came to this corner almost hidden from any prying eyes to share a light kiss, one which swiftly became so much more, Rayla had been concerned they would get caught. They never seemed to get any privacy in the heavily guarded walls of the castle and sneaking around resulted in their last resort, something that both thrilled her and troubled her; there was always a crown guard just around the corner, a handmaid that not so subtly eyed them from afar, or worse, the High Cleric that without fail appeared around inopportune instances.

The number of times she had wished the earth to open up and swallow her whole were unimaginable.

But now, as she now pulled his bottom lip in between her own, that thought was dismayed and stored in the back of her mind because kissing Callum made all of those seem as insignificant worries as every kiss felt like the very first one — she was sure there wasn’t a greater feeling than being in his arms. She could stay here forever.

That was until a nervous cough could be heard behind them, a few paces away from the darkened corner. They jumped apart.

“Prince Callum,” Corvus gave a slight bow, eyes not quite looking directly at the couple, “your presence is required in the throne room.” He cleared his throat, posture uptight as always but shifting from one leg to another rather uneasily.

Oh, sweet primals.

Rayla could already feel the burning sensation on her face and ears and quickly disentangled herself from his embrace in an attempt to put some proper distance between them. He was not expecting her briskly move and promptly stumbled over his own two feet, arms flailing to catch his balance before he fell somewhat unceremoniously on the ground below.

“Corvus, hi! Yeah, I was just on my way. I was just telling Rayla about the... uh,” He trailed off, unsure of what to say that would be credible enough to somehow cover up their real deed. Rayla was sure she was just about to die from embarrassment.

Corvus placed both his arms behind himself and with a deadpan expression affirmed, “I assure you, your highness, I do not need an explanation. It is all good. Nevertheless, let’s not keep the High Council and the King waiting, shall we?” Rayla could have guaranteed the corners of his mouth lifted in the slightest — almost imperceptible — in what she could only assume was amusement. “And Rayla, Soren is waiting in the courtyard for your daily training session.”

With that last bit, she nodded in acknowledgment and went straight to where she was initially supposed to be nearly fifteen minutes ago. And she almost gave Soren the triumph of his life since the only thing on her mind was how much she had enjoyed their little rendezvous and the excitement of its reprise was as annoying as it was enthralling.

[forever-rogue]

Of Princes & Berries - Part 2

A/N: Thank you guys for all the support on part 1, I’m so glad you guys liked it! Oberyn has my heart, always.  As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know! xx

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: depictions of violence, overall :( (don’t hate me)

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Your room was small. Sparsely decorated with the few items you had, and a bed pushed into the corner near the small window you had in order to soak up as much sun as possible. You always liked the sun, how it warmed up your face and seemed to set your whole on fire. Growing up as a young girl in the Reach, you'd spent many afternoons lazing about in the sun, soaking it all up. Now, as a woman grown, it was hard to find any light in the cold, stone walls of the Red Keep. Now it seemed like an endless monotony of gray and beige.

But ever since Oberyn and his Dornish envoy had arrived, everything has seemed lighter, happier, more sunny. You vowed to try and soak up as much of the sun as possible, even if it was only temporary. Sitting down on your bed, you kicked off your shoes and let out a long sigh as you stretched your tired limbs. You had been kept busy all afternoon, fulfilling all sorts of menial tasks that been found for you, no doubt due to Cersei. For some reason tending to the sows and roosters and sheep had suddenly become your duty. You had no doubt it was to keep you away from the main part of the castle, and hide you away from your new friend, the prince.

You’d decided that you’d try and steal a quick bath before changing into your other set of clothes and heading down to grab some dinner from the kitchens. By then it would be nightfall and if you were lucky, you’d be left alone and have some time to yourself. You’d acquired a new book recently, and were eager to crack into it. When you’d spotted the beautiful leather bound book abandoned in a quiet section of the castle, you’d taken it, hiding it under your skirts. You were one of the few servants that could read, a gift bestowed upon you from Elia Martell herself. She’d always treated you with such warmth and generosity; it was such a far cry from Cersei and how the Lannisters ran things. 

As you reached for your clean clothes and a makeshift towel to dry yourself off with, a loud knock came at your door. It was so loud, it startled you, causing the clothes to tumble to the floor. Groaning you picked them up, and set them on your bed, rushing to open the door before the person on the other side grew more agitated. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” you squeaked as you pulled open the door, eyes widening in surprise when you realized who it was. Cersei stood on the other side with a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you spied the large, ornate bowl she was carrying in her arms. It looked to be filled with...berries. You gave her a curtsy before meeting her eyes; they always seemed angry and hateful, and whatever expression she tried to convey never quite reached them, “y-your Grace. What can I do for you?”

“Oh no,” her voice was pitched an octave and you could see she was refraining from expressing her true feelings, “it appears I am here to do something for you. Can you believe that? The Queen doing the bidding of a pauper prince and delivering something to a servant girl.”

“I-I don’t understand, your Grace,” you shook your head and took a step back, hoping she wouldn’t reach out and strike you. She’d had a period where she had been prone to that, slapping anyone who dared to question so much as a word she said. Luckily, it had been a while since you had personally faced her wrath. Something deep within you told that your time of smooth sailing was quickly coming to an end. 

“These,” she displayed the ornately carved bowl towards you and you could tell that it was teeming with all of Oberyn’s beloved berries, “are for you. From the Prince himself. He asked me, personally, to ensure that you receive them.”

“I had no clue he would do that,” you stuttered, backing further into your room, Cersei following you inside, “I-I’m sorry, your Grace. He must not be thinking clearly. I-I didn’t ask-”

“Hmm,” she reached a few hand up and trailed it along your jaw before touching a lock of your beautiful hair. You gnawed on your bottom lip as you tried to stop yourself from crying, feeling the familiar sting welling up at the back of your eyes, “I’m sure you didn’t, you filthy little whore.”

Her words cut you almost as much as her hand as she slapped you across the face with fury. You clutched the spot, already sore, and surely red as she pushed past you and leaned against your window. Wiping away the few tears that had rolled down your cheeks, you almost whimpered, “your Grace, I’ve done nothing...I don’t why-”

“Such a shame,” she said softly as she took the bowl and dumped the fresh fruit out of the window, letting them land on the ground outside. You made a small, pathetic sound as you watched a wicked smile cross her face, “all that exquisite fruit wasted. You should be more careful next time. If the prince were to find out I’m sure his spirits would be crushed. He had these brought in, just for you.”

“Your Grace-”

“And this lovely bowl,” she traced her long fingers over the carvings, “all the way from Dorne. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You weren’t sure how to answer her. Whatever answer you provided her with would be the wrong one. On the one hand you could agree with her, after which she'd accuse you of being nothing more than a whore and confirming her suspicions. If you disagreed, she'd just call you a liar and somehow still make you the guilty party.

You remained silent as you looked at her wide eyes, cheek still stinging and burning. It would surely leave a mark for everyone to see in the coming days.

"No answer?" she mocked you, her voice a cruel sneer, "what a pity. I think it's quite beautiful despite being made by Dornish savages. But I suppose none of that matters."

Before you could open your mouth to speak again, Cersei took the bowl and smashed it on the floor. You watched in horror as the it shattered into a million tiny pieces, scattering all over the floor.

"Oh dear," she pretended to be shocked as you sank to your knees and tried to grab at the pieces, trying in vain to gather each little bit, "you should be more careful, silly girl. I wonder how the prince will feel when I tell him not only did you refuse his gift, you destroyed it all."

You looked up at her with teary eyes, still trying to scrounge up the pieces, feeling them leave little cuts in all over your fingers. You wanted to scream at her, to tell her she was a horrible person, but you refrained. Either you held your tongue or faced life locked away, or if she was feeling particularly cruel, death.

"Clean this mess up," she hissed through gritted teeth, "and then yourself, you smell like shit. And no supper for tonight."

You didn't even bother to say anything as she swept past you, her long skirts dispersing the mess further. Your warm tears mixed in with the little bits of brilliant red blood that had bubbled up on your fingers.

"If I ever see you near Oberyn Martell again," she said softly, "I will have you hanged. Remember your place - you're just a servant, you are no one."

Without another word she walked out and slammed the door loudly behind her. Listening to her treating footsteps for a moment, only when you were sure it was all clear did you allow yourself to fully collapse on the cold, stone floor, openly weeping by now.

But you kept at it, picking up each tiny shard until you had them all on the blanket of your bed. It was long dark now, only the glittering of the lamps outside casting a small glow in your room. People were still outside, even at this hour, feasting and drinking, and having a joyous time. And here you were, alone, hungry, and crying. All because you had a few conversations with someone that didn't treat you like the kitchen scraps. All because someone treated you with kindness.

You wondered where he was now. You hoped he was happy. You hoped he was having a good time with his friends. You hoped he would somehow know what happened and that you would never have acted in such a horrible manner.

By the time you were finished, it was late and there was nothing to keep you company except the inky blue sky, littered with glittering stars, casting the ghost of light throughout the Red Keep. You stood up, finally, and grabbed the your change of clothing, quietly heading out of the room to go to the washroom designated for servants. 

You were fortunate that you going yourself alone, letting yourself cry, deciding that you were going to allow yourself to wallow and feel sorry for this evening and this evening only. Tomorrow you would be steel; cold, quiet, emotionless.

Heating up water, you made it as scalding as possible, slowly stripping off your clothes and allowing yourself a peek at your reflection in the aging looking glass. Once you studied your face, eyes red and swollen with tears, and a large red welt across your cheek, you grew annoyed and covered up your reflection with your dirtied dress. Stepping into the scalding water, you hissed when it burned your skin, especially that of the cut flesh of your hands, but pushed through, telling yourself that it didn't matter, nothing matter. But you still found it around to remind yourself of that. It was hard to feel like no one when he had made you feel like someone.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next couple of days, you were, once again, resigned to the dirty jobs throughout the castle. Jobs normally left for the men or the stable boys. You knew Cersei was waiting for you to come or make some sort of remark, but you remained silent and went about your duties without a single word. You didn't even appear at meals; at the end of each day you returned to your room, sitting there silently as the sun went down, and slumber took over. The welt on your face has turned into brilliant shades of blues and purples, but no bothered to ask what happened. No one had to.

By the third day, you had gotten into a rhythm and finished your daily tasks early, just as the sun was setting. Instead of going in search of dinner or retiring to your room, you decided to head to the seaside. If nothing else, it would serve to hopefully instill a bit of peace within you. Plopping down on the soft ground, you kicked off your shoes and sat your feet in the sand, raking your fingers through it, as a long tired sigh escaped your lips. The sound of the soft waves was soothing to your ears, along with the chirp of the birds flying overhead. For the first time in days, you felt somewhat normal, as you watched the sun sink over the horizon.

"It's quiet out here," the warm, velvety voice surprised you, but despite never having much of a conversation with her, you immediately realized who it was, "such a welcome change from the mess of King's Landing."

"Lady Ellaria," you turned and gave the stunning woman a small smile as she sat down next to you. It was hard not to stare at her; she was like a goddess incarnate. You could see why Oberyn was so taken with her.

"I am no lady," she insisted with a small smile as she picked up a handful of sand and let it run through her fingers, " unlike you, Y/N Hunziker."

You stiffened at the sound of your familial name, the one you had disowned all those years ago when you had left to find for yourself in King's Landing.

"I don't use that name," you said quietly, pointedly looking anywhere but her face, "and I'd prefer it if you didn't either. I don't know how you found out who I am and I don't care, but I go by Flowers now."

"Why do you choose to go by a name reserved for a bastard when you are not one?"

"I am no one," you shrugged lightly, looking away and studying the ebb and flow of the low tide.

"You've been absent for a few days," she pointed out as you stood up and brushed off your skirt. You were about to reach for your shoes, but she was faster, taking them and clutching them to her chest, "I've noticed. So has Oberyn. He has grown concerned."

"He has no reason to worry," you lied as you tried to keep from crying and breaking down in front of her. Your heart ached at the thought that he not only noticed your absence, but mourned it. You reached for your shoes but she refused to hand them over.

"Where have you been, sweet girl?" she asked gently as she handed your shoes over. You had inadvertently brushed your hair back, exposing your face to her. Her dark eyes immediately raked over the mark on your face, widening in surprise. Realizing your mistake, you quickly grabbed your shoes, covering your face with hair again. The angry red marks littering your hands and wrists were not lost on her, "Y/N?"

"I've been nowhere," you said quietly, as you started to walk away, "being no one."

»»————-　♡　————-««

You'd promised yourself you wouldn't cry anymore. That you wouldn't allow yourself to be weak and vulnerable. But once you found yourself back in your quarters you flopped face down in your bed and let the tears flow freely. You'd made one friend, two if you counted Ellaria, but you were destined to be kept apart all because of birth, because of a name, a family. And he cared about you; at least enough to express concern to his lover. Who had sought you out in return.

And so you wept. And wept. And wept. Until your tears had run dry, until your throat was sore and you had a headache. But before you could try and get some relief through sleep, another loud knock came at your door. Your anxiety only increased as came to the conclusion that it could only be Cersei coming to berate you further. Practically dashing to the door you pulled it open without hesitation, dropping it into a deep curtsy, "your Grace."

"Stand up, sweet girl, there is no need for the formality," but it wasn't Cersei's voice that met your ears. No, this one was much more inviting and pleasant - musical. You quickly stood up to your full height, scanning over Oberyn and quickly meeting his dark eyes; they were filled with concern.

He gently reached up to touch your face, but you flinched out of his touch. When he tried to stop you, he had reached for your hands, but tensed up at the feeling of your marred skin. Letting out a small sound of surprise, he took your hands in his much larger ones and examined delicately, a look of anger crossing his handsome features. You didn’t even know how he had managed to find you, to find your quarters hidden deep within the hallowed halls. Ellaria had no doubt told him what she had witnessed, which caused to break and pursue you. 

Pulling your hands out of his, you took a step back and studied your feet; you wanted nothing more than to tell him the truth, to tell him what had happened. But you refrained, afraid of what would happen to yourself, and Oberyn, if he was seen speaking to you.

“What happened to you? Who did this?” there was a dangerous edge to his voice, his heart plummeting to his stomach at your recoil.

“I-it’s nothing,” you lied quickly, “you should go. You can’t be seen here.”

“And why not?”

“Because it is improper,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “a prince should not be consorting with a servant.”

“Oh my sweet girl,” his voice softened and was enough to make you want to throw yourself into his arms, “who told you this? What happened?”

“I’m only telling you what’s right...what’s proper,” you allowed yourself to meet his gaze, but regretted your decision as he scanned your face, intently studying the painful looking welt, “I must remember my place. I am no one, and you are...a prince of Dorne.”

“Did Cersei do this to you?” of course it didn’t take long for him to put two and two together. He remembered how Cersei had acted when she had seen the two of you in the gardens. A bout of rage soared through every fiber of beginning as he imagined her inflicted this sort of pain upon you, “did that vile, wretched woman touch you?”

You didn’t confirm or deny anything, opting instead for silence, which served as an answer to his question anyway. He let out a long sigh, his gaze never leaving yours as tried your best not to cry anymore, “you need to leave, Oberyn. Please.”

“Did she...” he trailed off, running a hand over his face in exasperation, “did she bring you my gift?”

You didn’t know why you decided to lie, but you weren’t just honest with him. Letting out a shaky breath, your voice shooting up an octave, “yes...and I disposed of it. It’s not proper for you to be giving me anything. The Queen kindly reminded me of that.”

His nostrils flared as his eyes flicked across the room as he spotted the shards from the bowl you had collected. He knew you would never, ever do something like that. This was all Cersei’s doing, that much was evident. Oberyn put his large hands on either side of your face, gently as possible to prevent hurting you further, and forced you to look at him, “Cersei did this, didn’t she?”

You remained silent, unable to stop a few tears from rolling down your cheeks. Oberyn swiped them away, his heart breaking at the sight, “please, Oberyn, you need to leave.”

“Tell me,” he insisted firmly, “tell me exactly what happened. Please, my sweet girl, just tell me.”

“Nothing happened,” you lied directly to him, finding it both harder, and easier, than you thought, “the queen brought your gift to me and I refused it, at her suggestion.”

“Y/N-”

“I got rid of the berries,” your voice shook a little, “and I broke the bowl.”

“You did all this?”

“Yes,” your lip trembled as you hoped he would realize you were lying, able to red between the lines. You knew he would; he already knew the truth without even hearing it from your lips, “I did this.”

He hesitated slightly, how own hands shaking slightly before he pulled close to him, gently pressing a kiss to your forehead. How you wished you could give into him, to let yourself be completely free with him, but you knew, deep inside that it wasn’t an option. It would never be an option.

“You really want me to believe you did all of that,” Oberyn was quiet and gentle as he tried to convey to you that it would be okay. He silently vowed that he would protect, no matter what that meant. He was the Red Viper for a reason after all. He gestured to your hands and face, “and that you did that to yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Are you scared?” his voice dropped to a low whisper so the question was barely audible, even to you.

“Yes.”

He nodded as he pulled back from you, a torn look on his face as he tried to decided what to do. He could have easily found Cersei and extracted his revenge, but he decided that was too rash. But he would do something, anything, to keep you safe and sound. That much he already knew.

“Oh, my sweet girl...”

“You need to leave, your highness,” you pulled back and turned around so you were no longer facing him, “and make sure you aren’t seen. You can’t come back here...we can’t see each other anymore, while you are here.”

“Why?” he asked softly, and you wished you could get him to see why this was a bad idea in so many aspects, “tell me one good reason.”

“Because I am no one.”

“And you do not want to see me again?”

“Yes, your highness,” you lied, as you stared out the window, at the sky which seemed to contain no stars on this horrible evening. You covered your face as you wept, Oberyn watching slightly as your shoulders shake with your tears, “that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[foursideharmony]

The Cat, the Prince, and the Doorway to Imagination (Chapter 9)

Summary: It's time to end this...

Pairings: Platonic/familial LAMP/CALM, Platonic/familial DLAMPR

Content Warnings: Swordfighting, a wee bit of blood, swearing, total exhaustion

Word Count: 2,738

Read on AO3: here

There was no obvious way to cross. Roman stopped with his toes nearly brushing the surface of the water. “JADIS!” he called across the distance. “Usurper! I, Prince Roman, do hereby challenge you!”

For the briefest instant, a paper-white face appeared in one of the high windows of the castle, displaying a subtle but unmistakable expression of pure disdain before its owner moved out of view again.

Roman was crestfallen, but Virgil moved up alongside him, saying “Pfft, rude.”

“I would have thought she'd be thrilled to take out her vengeance on me.”

“I'm sure she is...but she wants to do it on her terms. Why answer an open challenge when she can wait a while and then ambush you when you least expect it?”

“Well, she's getting an open challenge whether she wants one or not. I just have to figure out how I'm getting to her.”

Logan tossed a pebble out into the water. It made a very satisfying plunk, with rows of even ripples. “The water is at least a few feet deep. I recommend against swimming or wading—immersion in liquid that supports a large quantity of floating ice is almost certain to cause hypothermia.”

“Maybe we can somehow get the ice chunks to line up and form a bridge...?” Roman suggested, but he didn't sound confident.

“Can't you just make a bridge? Or a boat or something?” said Patton. “Now that you're back to being the Creativity we know and love?”

Roman made an exhalation that was halfway to being a sob and said, in a voice with a hairline crack, “I suppose it can't hurt to try...”

He closed his eyes, cupped one hand beside the other as though sheltering a tiny flame, and focused all his power on making something, anything, that would enable them to cross the water. Please...I'll accept anything...a raft...a rope...come on, please!...

He couldn't even say who or what he was begging, but whatever it was...it answered. Roman knew his attempt had worked—more or less—when he heard Patton snicker behind him. He opened his eyes and turned around.

Roman hadn't known what to expect, but he definitely had not expected a buff-colored mushroom the size of a dinner table for eight, with Logan examining it curiously and Remus poking the spongy substance and giggling. Roman blinked at it several times before the irony hit him, at which point he abruptly doubled over with guffaws, bracing his hands on his knees in order to keep from falling over.

“Roman? You...good?” asked Virgil.

“I finally made a mushroom!” Roman wheezed. “After all that angst back there...”

“Roman, what are you talking about?” said Logan.

“I'll tell you guys later,” Roman said, straightening up and rubbing fresh tears from his eyes. “For now...” He unsheathed his sword and severed the mushroom's cap from its stalk almost effortlessly. It landed at the water's edge, floating high. “All aboard who's coming aboard!”

They all fit easily enough, though they had to crowd together to keep their feet from getting wet. Roman took up a perch at the side of the mushroom facing the bank, braced his boot against the earth, and shoved, casting them off. Their peculiar vessel spun gently as it drifted toward the White Witch's castle. Now and again an ice chunk would approach, and whoever was closest to it would kick it away, altering both the spin and the drift in little ways. It took several minutes before the mushroom grounded itself in the far side of the lake.

The portcullis was closed, its iron lattice too tight to admit anything larger than a loaf of bread. But Roman was unfazed. He had made a mushroom. He whipped his sword through the air a few times, and a man-sized section of the bars simply collapsed. He led the other Sides through the courtyard—now empty of statues, as though Aslan's spring had freed the petrified creatures without his direct involvement—and down the corridor to the White Witch's throne room.

They were expected.

Jadis sat enthroned, flanked along the dais by the captains and lieutenants of her armies, a fair sampling of the horror monsters Roman had brought to the Stone Table only that very morning. Many of them carried spears, axes, and clubs. Maugrim paced along the floor in front of the dais in an oddly catlike fashion, his eyes never leaving the party as they entered.

“And here he is!” the Witch declared as though Roman had been the topic of conversation in the room. “I knew you would not be long in returning to me, Prince Roman. And you've brought your fellows with you! Tribute, perhaps? They will look lovely in the courtyard.”

Roman marched to the middle of the hall and leveled an accusing finger at her, eliciting gasps from the assembled creatures. “Usurper! Pretender to the throne of Narnia! Why do you still sit there? You have lost—Aslan has returned, your endless winter has given way to spring, and I...” He swallowed. “...I have purged myself of your malign influence.”

“An influence you welcomed,” Jadis said smoothly. There was the faintest hitch of breath behind him, and her smile broadened. “Why, Roman. Did you not tell them how you came to be the White Warlock?”

“Not yet,” Roman said, trying to sound casual about it. “Don't change the subject. The jig is up, Jadis, and you will quit this castle, take your followers, and leave Narnia forever.”

“Or?” she prompted. Her voice was like a shower of slender icicles pattering down from a shaken branch.

“Or face me in single combat. Me, Jadis. The one who stole your power, stole your very being, into myself, when you were on the brink of victory. Duel me for the right to say what will become of you and your armies.”

Something unprecedented happened.

Jadis laughed.

It was nothing hearty or prolonged, just a quick scoffing exhalation, but it was a laugh. “Or perhaps I shall simply ignore your demand, kill you all, and carry on as I have. Aslan's return means nothing with no candidates to place on the thrones of Cair Paravel.”

“You may find that difficult,” Roman said through gritted teeth, “if I drop the scenario right now and all this vanishes.”

“Oh shit, he's going meta!” Remus stage-whispered.

“Watch your language!” Patton scolded.

“Is that an extreme measure?” Logan asked.

“Are you kidding, Five-Eyes? It's the last resort for a creative type! He's talking about scrapping the story before he gets to the ending!”

“Bollocks!” shouted one of the lieutenants, a goblin-esque creature. “If he has that kind of power, why even offer a duel?”

“My reasons are my own,” said Roman. “The point, Jadis, is that you are being offered a chance. You're a proud woman, but suicidally proud? I don't think so.”

All Narnia held its breath as the Witch considered. After a moment that seemed longer than it was, she rose to her feet. “I accept. We shall duel here, and at once. It begins as soon as I descend to the floor.” She began to walk down the steps of the dais, directly toward Roman.

“Weapons only! No magic from either of us!” Roman said hastily.

“Agreed,” said the Witch with the confidence of someone who is stronger and has longer reach than their opponent. She drew her long stone knife from the sash at her waist.

“No one is to interfere!” Roman added, fighting the urge to back away.

“Agreed.”

Jadis's foot hit the floor, and she charged.

Roman launched into motion himself, and met the charge.

That first blow, stone blade meeting steel, threw up a shower of sparks too bright to look at. The Witch pressed Roman until his boots skidded on the frozen floor, and only by reacting immediately, breaking the blade lock and flinging himself to the side, did he avoid being stabbed then and there.

He rolled onto his back—and she was on him, forcing him to block again, one hand grasping the hilt of his sword, the other awkwardly pincering the blunt edge of the blade. He managed to get his knee up and threw her off, over his head, while ruthless physics sent him slipping in the opposite direction. He scrambled to rise and got as far as a sitting position just in time to see the Witch roll, turning her tumble into a graceful slide, one leg bent under her and the other extended off to the side, her arms counterbalancing.

Elapsed time of the duel so far: perhaps six seconds.

Lewis really undersold her, Roman found himself thinking lightheadedly.

And now the spectators were finding their voices. The prince's spirits lifted when he first heard Patton crow “You can do it, Roman!”...but in the next instant, it was drowned out by the gibbering howls of the Witch's followers from every side of the room. That was all he was able to register before she came at him again, her knife lashing the air in a pattern almost too complex for him to follow.

Almost...Somehow, he managed to parry every strike and even offer a few ripostes. The very end of the sequence gave him an opening to lunge and swipe—she dodged the blow handily, but his sword sheared off a lock of her coal-colored hair. She shrieked with rage.

“Yeah! Shave her bald!” Remus cackled.

“Not helping!” Roman barked.

But it hadn't really hurt either. The prince was getting the hang of fighting on the slick surface; his footing became surer, his movements more confident, his strikes more forceful. The Witch was taller and stronger and had the home-field advantage, but Roman had the superior weapon—two feet of folded steel compared to eight inches of carved stone—and with his insecurities about the arena ironed out, it began to make a real difference. She could lunge at him with inhuman speed and grace, but if he brought up his blade in time, she had to pull her blow lest the knife break on the sword's edge...and that instant of hesitation would give him an opening. The tide of battle turned, and Jadis began to be driven back within her own throne room. The shouts of alarm from her followers were nearly deafening.

(It was at this point that Maugrim, who was nothing if not loyal, began to slink around behind the rows of spectators, looking for a chance to rush to his queen's aid. He thought he found one and tensed to make his move—only to find himself physically stopped by an arc of steel wrapped around his neck exactly as though he were a wayward sheep. He turned to snarl at the interloper and was greeted by a slit-pupilled eye as frightening as any in the White Witch's armies.

“None of that, naughty puppy,” Janus said in silken tones. “No interference, remember? I'm sure your mistress would much rather you strive to keep her honor intact.”

Maugrim's hackles went up and he prepared to overpower Janus through sheer bulk and muscle, but then...)

A gasp went up from Jadis's followers, followed by an immediate hush that blanketed the entire hall. Roman had disarmed her, sending the stone knife tumbling end-over-end across the chamber. She desperately ducked his sword and scrambled to retrieve her weapon, but it struck the wall point-on, digging deep into the frozen surface and sending out cracks that spread rapidly until a section of ice the size of a mattress was sheared off. It barely missed her as it crashed to the floor and shattered, the impact throwing her off her feet.

She looked up into the tip of a blade. “Yield,” Roman said coolly. “You are defeated.”

“You mean to let me live?” Jadis said with a bitter smile. “You know I would not do you the same courtesy.”

Roman winced almost imperceptibly. “I have caused enough death in Narnia. Yield...quit this land forever, and take your creatures with you.” When he got no response, he thrust his sword at her face, drawing a single drop of blood from her chalk-colored cheek.

“I-I yield,” she said, wide-eyed.

Roman half-turned to address the room, keeping his sword trained on his downed opponent. “You have all witnessed her surrender!” he declared. “This regime is at an end!”

One of the monsters raised a keening wail, an acknowledgment of defeat, and was soon joined by others. Those who bore weapons threw them down, and a few made florid obeisances in Roman's direction.

For the first time in days—since he had first begun to feel that he was being steered toward the role of Edmund—Roman felt the tension begin to bleed out of his shoulders. With the wails of the Witch's followers blending into a sort of white noise in his head, he let his eyes slide closed and his sword arm droop, and took a moment just to breathe—

“Roman! Look out!”

—and his eyes snapped back open just in time to see Jadis springing at him with her wand raised (where had she gotten it from?) and there was no time, no time to do anything but drop his sword and bring up his hands to grab—

There was a flash of light, as bright as lightning at the same distance, and a horrible cracking, crunching sound. When it subsided, Roman and the White Witch stood perfectly still, holding her golden wand aloft between them, her face frozen in a snarl of fury, his in understated alarm that hadn't had time to gel...neither one blinking.

Utter silence reigned in the throne room for a long moment. When sound returned, it was in the form of a whimper. “Both of them...both...” Patton muttered, before he broke the stillness and ran up to the twin statues. He lifted a hesitant, trembling hand to touch Roman's shoulder...

Roman blinked, and sighed, and his posture sagged...not stone after all. He let go of the wand as if prying his fingers free of some powerful glue, and as Patton seized one of his hands in a desperately relieved gesture and the other Sides jogged over to the two of them, his knees began to buckle in slow motion. He wound up in a sprawled kneeling position, his legs bent out to the sides, gazing up at the petrified form of his enemy. Her marble complexion was now literal, her hair sculpted waves of obsidian, her lips a scarlet flaw in the surface of the stone, parted to show more white marble behind.

“I did it...” he said in a tiny voice.

“You did do it!” Patton agreed. “Roman, you were amazing!”

“Indeed, I never realized before just how adroit you are at swordsmanship. Well done,” Logan added.

“I defeated the White Warlock...” Roman continued.

“You mean the White Witch,” said Virgil.

“Yes...her too.” Roman closed his eyes again. He was exhausted. “It's time to go home,” he whispered, or maybe just thought. A proper denouement would have been nice, but his energy well had finally run dry. The throne room slowly faded to white around them.

“Uh...” Virgil observed.

“S'all right,” Roman murmured. “Remus, can you...”

“Brilliant idea, giving Remus an open-ended question,” Janus remarked dryly. Curiously enough, however, the other Creative Side was already drawing lines in mid-air in a hurried fashion. Color and texture filled them in, making the image of a miniature door, about half the size of a normal one.

“Whoops, drew it too far away,” said Remus. “Well, come on, it's not going to pound itself until it bursts open!” He set out at a brisk walk.

Virgil and Patton helped Roman to his feet, one arm over each of their shoulders, and more-or-less carried him the short walk to the door.

“Remus, while we have your attention,” said Logan, begging a rather important question, “I have a more defined question for you. Specifically: five eyes?”

“Yep!” Remus replied, arriving at the door and rapping on it in an uneven pattern that had to be a code of some kind. “The two in your eyesockets, your glasses, and the one on the end of your—”

Fortunately, the door opened before he could end the sentence.

[raevenlywrites]

The Ties That Bind 3 of ???

“My lady wake up!”

I was shaken awake by my lady in waiting, Elanor. I clutched at her shoulders, in a move utterly out of character for me, but she returned my embrace nonetheless. Elanor, along with Rei, had been my closest companions since the loss of my alastair. Though neither could ever take Vasili’s place, they did their best to fill his roles: Rei as my protector, and Elanor as my rock.

“The dreams again, my lady?”

I nodded and burrowed into Elanor’s chest, taking in the clean, crisp smells of open air and clean laundry, trying to drown out the lingering sense memories of the bloodied fields of my dreams. Elanor smelled like the wind, bright and bitter cold, and suddenly I longed for a flight myself.

Sensing the shift in my mood, Elanor pulled back, giving me the space to compose myself. I was allowed a few moments of weakness upon waking, but every morning when Elanor did up my amour of fine hair and clothes, I put my face together in a deeper way.

“What time is it?” I asked, trying to ground myself.

“Nearly nightfall, my lady. I came to fetch you for dinner, but...”

She trailed off, and neither of us had to say aloud that such dreams rarely left me with any kind of appetite. Elanor would see to it that something simple and cold was made available to me, on nights I missed formal meals, and would often keep me quite company through sleepness nights, taking advantage of my rights to the frivolous use of candles at all hours to work on her embroidery.

Her talent for cloth was what had brought her into my service; Elanor’s entire family had been collected to the Keep like many other artisans, brought into the shelter of our tower walls to fill our market. Pretty as it was to think of my family preserving art for art’s sake, the reality of our market and court was that our artisans provided us with an essential resource. Throughout the long and costly war, precious time and materials had been devoted to silversmiths and gem workers and seamstresses and silk painters, because the rulers of the falcon nation loved beauty, and our people were as intimately familiar with crafting around the challenge of demi-wings as they.

The shm’Ahnmik were one of the few nations that made trade with our people, along with the enterprising Desmodians, the people of the bats. Our Keep was heavily fortified in favor of those with wings. The Desmodians brought goods sold at a premium, as the only merchants truly available to us. The falcons...

For generations, the falcons had offered every Tuuli Thea the same proposition as a coronation gift: accept their aide, and join the falcon empire. Every queen down to my mother had refused, and I intended to do the same. Our refusal did not stop the falcons’ delivery of am’haj, the deadly poison with which we tipped our arrows, nor did it stop their occasional visitors from coming to make trade. The precision and prowess with which their warriors defended their merchants was truly spectacular, and surely dearly tempted every queen who witnessed their efforts to accept their aid. I don’t know why my mother refused them, nor her mother before that. Perhaps there was some element of the bargain I had yet to understand. Perhaps, very soon, I would be tempted with such a bargain. I did not know which direction I would choose.

As I thought these far away thoughts, my fingers turned over and over and bit of hard metal. I realized my absent behavior only when the flash of a jewel caught my attention.

In my hands was an elegantly woven signet ring, slender and crafted for a woman’s hands.

For a Cobriana hand.

I dropped the ring in shock, the twisted metal glinting on the way down. It rolled under the bed--and to my utter shock, Elanor dove after it.

I watched my lady’s maid and childhood friend scramble after the Cobriana ring and thought surely I must still be dreaming.

Elanor would not look at me as she emerged from under the bed, treacherous ring clutched to her chest.

“Elanor?”

Her eyes darted up and away, an air of something desperate in them as they flashed.

I realized suddenly where I’d recognized that unfamiliar voice from in my dream.

My dream that hadn’t been a dream.

“Elanor. Stand before your Tuuli Thea and explain yourself. How did Zane Cobriana come to be in my bedroom while I was sleeping?”

I did my best to remain calm, and also to play back the entire “conversation” before it faded. He’d said the ring had been his sister’s. He’d wished he had something less bloodied to offer me.

He’d said he could learn to love me.

Avians almost never fainted. Our kind are built for the mountains, for the thin, chilled air of flight and high altitudes. But as I replayed the “dream” in my mind, I felt the world start to go grey around the edges.

“My lady!”

Elanor sprang from the floor, attempting to catch me as I swayed on my feet. I managed to sink back to the bed, but my mind was whirling.

“What... could you possibly... have been thinking?”

I panted the words around a thundering heart, the shock and the fear warring with my desire for control. I was Danica Shardae, heir to the Tuuli Thea; I would not faint, I would not vomit, I would not scream. I had witness far worse horrors than this. Zane had come to my room in the Mistari camps to talk. Was this more of the same?

But Elanor...

“You are the only one who dreams of peace.”

Her voice was tight with emotion, too high and trembling. But the thread of steel that ran through it, the absolute conviction that gave her the power to speak thusly to her Tuuli Thea--

Or maybe, she was just speaking to a friend.

“A lot of us out on the edges, we don’t see this war the way the soldiers do.”

“Soldiers” was nearly spat, a harsh bitterness that made the word nearly a swear.

“They trample fields and commandeer beds and rations, not a care for who it puts out in the cold.” She held her chin high as she spoke, hard eyes fixed firmly ahead. Like this story was a bit of shrapnel to be removed. And the only anesthesia she had to dull it with was her resolve, and tight avian reserve.

“We know they’re meant to keep us safe, but when we see the shadows of the flights overhead... The ravens are the worst. They mean someone important is on the battlefield--oh no offense to you, my lady!”

She finally did look at me now, because those important somebodies had all been my kin. She held a hand out like she might offer comfort. But her other hand still held the ring clutched in her lap. It was my turn to stare straight ahead, to gird myself up in my reserve.

“Continue,” was all I could manage. It came out perfectly level.

Elanor swallowed hard.

“We trade with who we can out there. Serpents love pretty things too, did you know that my lady?” When I made no offer of an answer, she continued. “Scarves, mostly, at least from my household. They give them as gifts to their beloveds--oh, but you don’t really care about why I did what I did, do you? You want your peace, but do you even know what it would look like?”

Of course not. None of us did. We’d been locked in this war for generation upon generation--or, at least, those of us of the Keep. I was beginning to suspect that my castle walls were built just a little too high. Or that I’d not tried hard enough to peer over them. Elanor was my friend, had been my comfort since the loss of Vasili and my eldest sister--but what comfort had I offered her? A warm bed, some extra hours of candlelight for her needlework? I didn’t even know her family, beyond the mother, father, and sister than had been taken to the Keep. Did she leave cousins out there on the edges? Childhood friends? An alastair? I’d assumed if she’d had one, he’d have been brought to the Keep with her. But what of his family, and so on? They couldn’t al live in the Keep. There was only so much space.

Elanor continued when I didn’t speak, as if she’d never interrupted herself at all.

“They trade in meat, furs, food. The serpiente land is more arable than our toehold in the mountain. Good for keeping safe, but not so good for growing things.”

I finally snapped. “We have fields on the lee of the mountain! Everyone is welcome to them--”

“And we don’t all live on the lee of the mountain. Your majesty.”

She added that last as an addition, though whether it was to placate or underscore I couldn’t say. She’d never cut me off before. Neither of us seemed to quite know what to do with it now.

Overwhelmed and frustrated, my gaze fell to her clutched hand again. I could almost see the ring burning within, the onyx ring seemingly overlaid with the burning red of Cobriana eyes.

“What does all of this have to do with Zane, Elanor? Why is his sister’s ring in your hands?”

I deliberately did not think about how I knew it was his sisters, or what Zane’s intent in leaving a woman’s ring for me might be. Elanor opened her hand, offering the ring up to my view. Her gaze stayed fixed on it in her lap.

“I was out visiting my aunts while you were away. You were supposed to be gone for days, at least, and you’d said the Mistari had limited your party size--“

“I’m aware of why I didn’t ask you to come with me, Elanor. Please, just explain.” I pinched the side of my nose, rubbing a small circle over my temple with my thumb, trying to relieve the headache. “I... I’m too overwhelmed to be mad. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“He wants to meet with you, my lady.”

I stared at her, at her steady, earnest gaze. My eyes were too wide, I could feel it around their edges. It took too many tries for me to say,

“So you brought him to my rooms?”

She dropped her eyes again, bashful.

“He... is very charismatic, my lady. Very passionate. He came riding up on the biggest black horse I’d ever seen, and he promised it and all that was in his saddle bags if he’d just find a way to get a message to you...”

I could see that, actually. What little interaction I’d had with Zane, I could at least understand why Elanor would find herself doing things she’d normally never dream of, when faced with the heat of that flashing garnet gaze. Zane had a way of making the astounding seem perfectly plausible, of the daring to be his absolute right, and would you like to come along and seize it with him? I felt creeping up my face just thinking about it. I was glad Elanor’s eyes were downcast.

“And he just so happened,” I ventured, “to find the house of my lady in waiting?”

“He said it was Fate.” Her voice carried the edge of a hysterical giggle, as if the spectacle of it all, even just in memory, was enough to make her feel faint. It wasn’t like Elanor to be so emotional--but then again, it wasn’t like any of us. At least not on the outside.

“He said, 'A’le-Ahnleh. By my will and the will of Fate, we have been brought together to build this impossible dream'. Oh, my lady, if you could have seen him---“

She stopped then, with a little startled sound. I jumped, the surprise of it making me flinch.

“What?”

“Oh you will see him, my lady. You must. He and his guardswoman are waiting at my aunts’ house for you this very night.”

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove

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[imaginexmeintheuniverse]

5 times you infuriated me and 1 time you made it okay

A/N: okay so the 5 times concept is something i enjoy writing very much, however i am aware that in this piece in particular, a lot of the ideas are underdeveloped and probably especially dont make sense with the ending when you look at the relationship, but please keep in mind that this ‘5 times’ theme i chose focuses on those kinds of incidents so there are a lot of other times in between (and i dont have the time or energy to turn this into a super long fic but perhaps one day.. ) so this is what happened!

Warnings: mentions of torture (like in the 7th when Bellatrix takes to Hermione)

Tags: @expellimarvelous and for some reason my hp taglist got lost so let me know if you’d like to be added!

↠↠↠↠↠↠

I. Bad Start to the Sixth Year

Your sixth year at Hogwarts seems to be off to a good start as you laugh and snack on sweets with two of your three your best friends on Hogwarts Express. Or at least it seemed like it was off to a good start until the train arrives at the station, and Harry is nowhere to be found.

Waving off Ron and Hermione with a promise to catch up, you insist on going to look for him by yourself. Your search leads you all the way to the other side of the strain where the blinds are conveniently drawn. You can hear a voice muffled through the closed door, and you become filled with dread when you identify who it belongs to.

Sliding the door open a crack, you see a familiar head of slicked-back platinum hair. You aren’t able to make out what he says, but you do see him bring down a foot to meet Harry’s nose.

“Malfoy, what the fuck?!” you burst out, causing the Slytherin boy to jump in surprise.

“Y-Y/N- I-I—”

“I don’t know what the bloody hell you think you’re getting away with, but you better get the fuck off this train before I curse you,” you snarl, shoving him aside to get to Harry. Seeing that he’s been petrified, you take your wand out of your jacket pocket and mutter, “finite,” to which your friend thankfully wakes up, blinking a few times. He doesn’t move much, as he tries to regain control of his muscles, and you insist he takes a moment to do so.

Throughout this, Draco has gone so quiet you think he might have actually left, but when you turn your head to meet his stormy eyes, you’re filled with rage, once again.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?! Get out!”

“But Y/N, I-I'm—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you say in a lower tone as you tend to your friend, not even sparing him another glance.

Why is it that just when you think there might be a redeemable quality buried deep in Draco Malfoy, he always does something that proves otherwise?

II. Welcome to the Slugclub

“Okay, okay! I was gate-crashing! Happy?” He admits, trying to shake off Filch’s grasp on his jacket.

His eyes that used to be sharp and bright, have recently become sullen. They lock with yours for a solid moment before he’s ushered out by Snape.

Your eyes linger on his figure as he’s led away from the party— probably longer than they should have, but you can’t help noticing how thin he’s become. You’ve barely seen him all year, despite having a few classes together. He was never that hefty to begin with, but it looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in ages. Other than his usual perfectly tailored wardrobe, he now wears dark circles under his eyes, and it’s impossible not to notice how the contours of his face have become that much sharper and his already pale skin has adopted a sickly pigmentation.

You and Harry follow the pair out, but for different reasons. You know that Harry wouldn’t be happy about yours because of his suspicions, but Draco looks like he’s crumbling under stress.

Eavesdropping only proves Harry’s doubts about Malfoy, and he then decides to rejoin the party as to not get caught by Snape, but you hang back, telling him you need to go to the loo.

You wait in the shadows until you hear Snape’s steps scurry away before approaching Malfoy who stays behind, sitting on a ledge. A half-smirk appears on his face upon noticing you like he’s been gathering an arsenal of insults to shoot at you, but really, under the snide mask, he marvels at how lovely you look tonight.

“Straying from your date with Potter?” he spits out Harry’s name like it’s revolting to have on his tongue. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think Potter’s lady is ditching him in favour of a more refined pureblood—”

“He’s one of my best friends!” You roll your eyes and flail your hands up in exasperation. “And how is the nature of our relationship any of your business?!”

He snorts, leaning his back on the walk behind him and crosses his arms over his chest nonchalantly.

“You know, I came out here to check and make sure you were okay!” You shout at him hands coming up to furiously push your hair back. “I can’t believe that for a second I thought that— no- but you—”

“You thought what?” His voice has become softer, hard exterior starting to peel away in your presence. He stands from his seat, mild concern washing over his features.

You shake your head, looking anywhere but at him. “N-Nothing—”

“Tell me,” his hands place themselves on your biceps, long fingers curling around your arms gently.

You fall victim to his intense gaze, getting lost in the grey seas of his irises. His features aren’t as hard as they usually are and the grasp he has on you is delicate; like he’s afraid to hurt you and you almost feel like you can let your guard down. Almost.

“Is it true?” you ask him, diverging from the subject and he raises an eyebrow in response. “Did you hex Katie Bell?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it without a word when he realizes he has nothing to answer to that and you’re the only person he can’t lie to. That’s enough of a confirmation for you. You let out a breath of disbelief and he starts to panic, because contrary to the backwards dynamic the two of you share, part of him does care what you think. “Y/N- p-please listen—”

All emotion leaves your voice as you tell him, “Just leave me alone, Malfoy.”

You shrug him off, and spin on your heel, breaking the eye contact. Walking down the hall, you leave him there to bask in the silence and his dark thoughts.

III. Hair Like You

You’re already teeming with rage as you scour the castle for Ron, who slipped you one of Fred and George’s prank snacks that ended up changing your hair color. Running into Draco Malfoy, of all people, really puts the cherry on top of the shit sundae.

To make things worse, it looks as though he’s going out of his way to get to you when he spots you from across the courtyard. At first he squints, not fully sure if it’s you with the new physical change, and then tails you down two hallways, not giving a single damn how creepy he may look.

“What do you want, Malfoy—”

“It seems like you’re more obsessed with me than I had originally thought,” he snickers, catching up with your quickened pace.

That’s when it hits you, and you instantly halt, causing him to smack into your back. Spinning around to face him, your eyes widen in horror as you take in the familiar platinum blonde hair— the same shade you saw in the mirror earlier.

“That’s just great!” You throw your hands up dramatically. “Now I look like you!”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself—”

“Oh, sod off, Malfoy!”

“You know, it really doesn’t look that bad. Maybe you’re starting to have better taste.”

Despite knowing full well that that was Malfoy speak for a compliment, you’re in no mood for it. “Oh, well I’m so glad that the Slytherin prince thinks me, a lowly commoner, 'doesn’t look that bad’ just fu—”

“No! No! No! Y/N! I didn’t mean—”

“—ck off! Because on top of looking like the most insufferable git in the entire school what I really wanted was to receive a backhanded compliment—” And just then, you spot the familiar redhead with bad influences for older brothers from across the hall who you’re even more pissed off at than Malfoy.

“I don’t have time for this,” is all you say as you bolt down the hall towards Ron, screaming, “YOU’RE DEAD, WEASLEY!”

IV. Held Hostage

Hermione’s screams are enough to make you feel like you’re being gutted, and when Bellatrix takes her knife to your arm, you’re absolutely terrified. At least this means your best friend has a break from her torture. In the meantime, you nearly bite through your cheek to hold in your own screams whilst the saddistic woman spells out the hateful term that’s been thrown at you your whole life, carving it into your flesh.

After what feels like hours, the death eater sits back up, admiring the her work with a sickening grin on her face, and you want nothing more than to smack it off. Or at least you would if you didn’t feel like you’ve been drained. What you do feel is defiled; like your own skin is no longer yours, and the blood that runs through your veins doesn’t belong to you.

And Draco Malfoy has been standing on the other end of the room this whole time whilst his barbaric aunt tries to get information out of you.

The rest of what happens is experienced through the blur of hopeless tears your eyes are clouded with, until Harry picks you up off the floor after Bellatrix had pushed you and Hermione to save herself from the falling chandelier. A certain fire surges through you as you regain full consciousness.

You see Harry and Draco fight over his wand, and instinct kicks in as you lunge forward, efficiently tackling the latter to the ground. Snatching the wand out of his hand, you throw it to Harry. The blonde boy’s struggles are weak under your weight, almost half-assed as you feel the tension start to leave his muscles.

“Why?!” you shout in his face, grabbing him by the collar to keep him down. Tears well your eyes, but your gaze pierces through him nonetheless. The feelings of helplessness and emptiness are long gone as angry tracks burn down your cheeks. “Why—”

“Y/N!” Harry scoops you off him in one swift motion, pulling you to where your allies have regrouped. “This isn’t the time- w-we have to get out of here!”

You don’t say another word, and your infuriated eyes target the conflict and fear that resides in Draco’s. He’s left with the image of your anguish and fury engrained in his mind long after you disapparate.

V. Crossing Over

The Dark Lord himself beckoned him, and for a second you thought he might resist, but then his mother called him, extending her hand for him to come to her, and you saw him break.

“No!” You cry out as he starts to take hesitant steps towards the death eaters. “Draco, don’t do this!” His already shaky demeanor falters for a moment at the sound of his first name falling from your lips. “You have a choice.”

Steeling his nerves, he doesn’t allow himself to look back, because he would surely crumble under the weight of your gaze and the pain etched into your features. He continues forward, into the arms of a proud tyrant, and you swear your heart drops out of your chest.

Then, the whole scene with Neville’s heroic spirit ensues and you feel the fire within you flare up again when Harry tumbles out of Hagrid’s arms. Death Eaters that have been backing Voldemort start to disappear, leaving an unevenly distributed cloud of darkness.

Everyone else starts to retreat to the castle to regroup and fight as one, but you chase after the fleeing Malfoy family. It’s as though you have no control as your legs move under you on autopilot and as fast as they can go.

You’ve almost caught up to the trio on the bridge and can no longer help yourself.

“Coward!” You yell, trying your best not to let your voice crack, with no avail. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from spilling freely. Draco meets your eyes with his own that portray a boy who is terrified out of his mind, but you’re relentless. The truth isn’t always easy. “You’re a bloody coward, Malfoy!”

Avoiding your fiery gaze, he turns into his mother’s comfort. Not once do his eyes meet yours again before he disappears in a whisp of black smoke.

What you feel is rage, but with that rage comes with an added indescribable pain and disappointment.

+ Midsummer Night’s Dream

The next time you see the infamous Draco Malfoy is just over a year since he disapparated in a whisp of black smoke. Little do you know, immediately after apparating, the boy fell to his knees in the arms of his mother. He broke that day, and hasn’t been able to put himself back together since, contrary to the proud Malfoy mask he wears out in public. He hides behind crisp suits and perfectly-coiffed platinum locks. It’s enough to have anyone who reads the Daily Prophet fooled about how the heir carries onto a successful path despite everything that has happened.

But not you. He never could fool you of anything, really. So when you and your friends spot him taking a seat alone at the Three Broomsticks you know something’s up, because a refined Malfoy doesn’t just hang out amongst mere commoners like that.

“What is he doing here?” Ron spits out, red fury already starting at the tips of his ears and seething from his narrowed eyes.

As if on cue, Draco’s eyes lift from his glass to meet yours.

Hermione sends you a sympathetic smile before mumbling calming words to her boyfriend. The Malfoys and Weasleys always did get each other riled up.

Harry, who sits beside you, gives you a gentle nudge with his shoulder to get your attention and you can immediately read his expression. He can read yours just as easily and can see that you’re starting to get anxious. “Y/N…”

“Harry, it’s okay,” you simper, standing slowly from your seat. “I’ve got this.”

He casts a glance towards the blond across the room before his eyes come back meet yours, sending you a look as though to ask if you’re sure. You give him a nod and he sends you off with a comforting squeeze of your hand.

As you make your way to the table for one, you’re so focused on slowing your heart rate that you’ve arrived at your destination before you know it, seeing the shiny black dress shoes in contrast to the uneven wood panels of the pub’s floor. When you lift your gaze, it’s then that you realize he’s been staring at you the whole time.

“Malfoy.”

“Y/N.”

The sound of your first name rolling off his tongue lights something inside you— and it’s not pretty.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice is steady, but with a strong undertone of something darker. Like the calm before a storm.

“Can’t a man enjoy a butterbeer on his own?” Despite him being absolutely terrified of you, he somehow manages to exude a certain lightness. You look at his untouched pint and raise an eyebrow and he knows you aren’t in the mood for small talk.

“Cut the shit, Malfoy.”

Recognizing the beginnings of anger in your tone, he stands as smoothly as he can manage and gestures towards the door. The last thing he wants is for you to snap because he knows very well what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your fury.

He follows closely behind as you lead him out into the dim lighting of Hogsmead. The summer air doesn’t feel as heavy as it has for the last week, and the sky proudly shows off the twinkling stars. It would be a perfect night if not for your circumstances.

You stop in your tracks and spin to face him so briskly, your forehead almost hits his chin. “You have one minute to talk before I hex you where you stand.”

“You always did excel in hexes and jinxes—”

“Fifty-five seconds, Malfoy.”

“Uh- erm- o-okay—”

You have about zero patience left. The anger thats been quietly bubbling for the last year has been on the brim of overflowing the second he walked in tonight, but so has all the pain and sadness you’ve kept locked up all this time. “You’re wasting my time.” You prepare to stalk off, but a firm hand pulls you back by your elbow, and for the the first time since the war, your face with Draco Malfoy. It’s the first time tonight that you can really see him. He looks worse than ever.

The silver pools that once resided in his irises look like shells of what they once were. And he sure felt that way, until he saw you. That’s when he realizes how empty he always is until he’s around you. My, how he took that for granted all these years.

Trying your very best, you fight against the urge to give into the part of you who still cares for him and wants to know the last time he had a good night’s sleep. You also try to fight against the water accumulation behind your eyelids, but it only makes it worse.

“What?! What do you want, Draco?!”

The use of his first name is the only sign he needs to be brave for once. Without further hesitation, he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. Once over the initial shock, you give in for only a half second before you come to your senses and push him back, both hands planted firmly on his chest.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?!”

“I-I- Y/N, I-I’m so—” Right then, is one of the few times you see what he’s really feeling on the inside be expressed on the outside. “I-I just-I thought—”

“You- you thought what?! We’d ride off into the sunset on the back of a unicorn and live happily ever after?!” You don’t care how frantic you look right now. You don’t care that the midsummer night wind is whipping your hair into complete and utter chaos. And you definitely don’t give a single fuck about how the drunk people stumbling by you giggle uncontrollably. You pause for a moment as you wait for them to be out of earshot, and once they are, you let out a frustrated breath and resume. “Did you honestly believe that you could kiss me, and then everything— all of the absolute shite of a mess would just go away?!”

His gaze drops to the ground that his shiny dress shoes stand on, with a few platinum strands that fall from their place. Those are the only visible signs of something amiss with the well-dressed man. But you see something else cloud his features: shame. The last time you saw that, which was also the last time you saw him, he left. He always left you while you were angry, enraged, and never stuck around to face the truth.

Draco Malfoy decides that this time is going to be different.

He has felt as empty as his eyes appeared for months, but when his gaze rolls back up to meet yours, you see the grey storms you saw when you first met him. Sure, they were masked by an outer shell that was brimming with entitlement, but they have now what they had then. Purpose.

“Y/N,” His hands twitch as he fights the urge to reach out for yours, deciding against it in favour of using two words you’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m sorry.” You soften, releasing the tension you didn’t realize you carried in your shoulders. The angry tears that stung the backs of your eyes melt to something peaceful as they escape their ducts. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I know I don���t deserve another chance, or any of the chances you’ve given me, but if you’ll give me one more I promise I’ll be better. Everything you’ve ever said about me is true; I am a coward, but I’m not leaving this time.”

“And what if I want you to leave?” You ask, testing the waters, more than anything else.

“If you tell me to leave— if that is what you truly want, then I will. Tell me to leave, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Okay, then leave.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Y-Yes—” You stammer out a complete lie. Every cell on your body knows it’s a lie, and apparently so does he.

“I don’t believe you.”

More than anything, you want to fling yourself into his arms but you feel like your feet have been colashoo-ed to the ground. A corner of his mouth quirks up into a soft lopsided smile as his hands raise to thread fingers through the top of your hairline, smoothing wild strands away from your face. His touch is so careful and delicate than you could have ever imagined. He leans down slowly and stops just as his lips have brushed over yours, asking for permission, “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Syllables get caught in your throat, and channel themselves through you body as you move to slate your mouth over his. The sensation is so delicately mind-blowing, and it leaves you absolutely breathless when you pull away to lean your forehead against his.

All you can manage to breathe out is, “stay”.

The way your breath fans over his lips is intoxicating, and he’s certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful, no work of art finer, than the way you’re looking at him.

“I’m not leaving this time. Never again.”

His grasp tightens as he pulls you back to his lips and your fingers curl around the light fabric of his shirt. Every emotion and feeling accumulated over lost time is poured into this kiss.

This time, what you feel for him is something stronger and far different than anger.

[dingledorcas]

❤ five times my muse says they don’t love yours, and the one time they admit it.

“admit it.”

groomed locks reminiscent of raven’s feather and curious, bright eyes that lurked behind equally dark lashes appeared suddenly from behind the obsidian black of the baby grand piano. “admit what?” dorcas replied. she did her best not to lose the rhythm of the melody lest her grandmother come to berate her playing. each calculated press of the ivory resonating through the parlor room.

“admit that you love me.” sirius said, the pearly white toothy grin that spread across his face plainly visible now. that was the smile of a mischievous little trickster. dorcas laughed. she missed a key and winced. her head turned quickly in the direction of the sitting room.

“and risk your mother running in here howling at me for even existing as a halfblood too closely to her little perfect prince? I think not. you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

---   ---   ---

“I’m very handsome.”

“you’re very annoying.”

a christmas party hosted by one of the elite. they weren’t allowed at the same table. luckily, the organizers had not thought chairs back to back too much an affront. neither family seemed to notice them talking the whole night either way. they were all too wrapped up in their own agendas.

“what if I were to tell you that I have a surprise for you?” without even seeing his face, dorcas could hear the smug expression that he wore. she couldn’t help but smile in return.

thank god he couldn’t see her. “I’d call you liar.” the sentence was barely out her mouth by the time the cold metal of an ancient skeleton key was being pressing into her hand. if she had to venture a guess, this particular key could open just about any lock in this dusty manor of polished marble.

“third floor, there’s a door that leads right out to a balcony where there are some very strong ivy vines that grow all the way up to the shingles and no one is allowed out there.”

admittedly, he’d done a decent job at reconnaissance. “I’ll meet you up there in five.” she pushed out of her seat.

“hey wait. don’t you have something to say to me?” for the first time the whole night, he took the risk of looking back at her. “I-” he started for her.

“you took long enough. I was bored out of my mind.”

---   ---   ---

the landscape passed in a blur of viridescence as the scarlet express train bounded away from king’s cross station and toward the hidden halls of hogwarts castle. the excited noise of first years bounced from compartment to compartment. dorcas leaned against the doorframe.

“I can’t believe you’ve already managed to get in a fight, black.”

“what can I say? it’s a talent.” the veneer of arrogance only just hiding what might have been nerves in his tone. she smiled. sirius had never been one to rest firmly on his family name to get by. she was glad that wasn’t changing now.

a chubby looking kid with a somewhat rodent-like expression perked up from the corner of the small compartment. “what? you want to be in slytherin too?” the voice was derisive. so that must have been what he’d gotten in such a scuffle about.

“no.”

they both answered simultaneously, eyes cutting sideways to meet each other. the same, familiar glint of rebellion shining in each. kindred spirits, at least that’s what her grandmother had always ranted at her. needless to say, alanis selwyn had never been a fan of the combustive combination.

“meadowes here is much too interesting to be kept in a dungeon with a bunch of snakes. I would pay to watch it though.” sirius said with conviction that could only be mustered by someone in the black family. “besides, she would look horrible in green.”

“that’s rich coming from you.”

the sorting ceremony had several surprises. it always did. that hat had a flare for the dramatics. perhaps that should be expected from a piece of clothing that only got a couple hours of attention every year. the largest of which was heir to the most ancient and noble house in pureblooded history earning a gilded lion pinned to his robes.

the hearth of the gryffindor common rooms was smoldering coals by the time all the excited first years had finally crawled into their four poster beds. sirius was seated on the plush crimson, velvet sofa with dorcas sprawled across his lap. they were both laughing still in as hushed tones as they could manage.

the shift was palpable. the weight they’d always shared was now being lifted if only for a night, by the solidarity of a new den. “you know I didn’t mean it, right?“ sirius asked, absent-mindedly attempting to braid the mess of hair that took up residence atop dorcas’s head .

“I have no idea what we’re talking about, but I am positive you meant it.” she brushed his hands away from her hair. it didn’t take.

“the green thing.” he explained. “you look fine in green.”

“the highest praise-”

“hush. as I was saying, you look fine in green, but you look spectacular in red, I think.” sirius said and tossed one of the blankets of the same color that was draped over the arm of the couch onto her face. dorcas pulled it off and sat up in one fluid motion.

she smiled in spite of herself. “you don’t look so bad in it yourself.”

“does that mean-”

“we should go to bed? probably. I expect howlers will be coming in the morning. we should rest up, puppy.”

---   ---   ---

two brooms collided well above the quidditch pitch.

“watch it!”

a pickup game between gryffindors and a handful of hufflepuffs started after lunch and had been going for just about two hours now. dorcas was already sporting a bandage over her nose from a previous collision. no one should ever let her play seeker. she was a born chaser.

“you watch it! you’re flying all over the place.” sirius called up to her, brandishing his own beater’s bat. a bludger came straight at them and he knocked it away. “you’re welcome!”

“oh yes, thank you for doing your one job.” the blur of gold was now completely lost to her. “I’m the seeker, flying all over place is sort of the only way to catch a snitch.”

the whir of another bludger was ripping through the air. “just catch it already!” sirius turned to bat it away as well. dorcas’s gaze spread across the pitch, catching the glint of the most elusive winged ball a few feet away.

as she turned her broom, however, a flier hit her. hard. the broom broke in half beneath her, the magic escaping from the old wood dissipated in the air. dorcas only managed to grab one piece in her hand. it didn’t do much to slow her fall. at the last moment, she threw out her arms and managed to arrest her momentum just enough that only one wrist made a sick snapping noise.

it felt like she’d only lost consciousness for a brief second, but when dorcas finally came to, most of the people they’d been playing with or watching had landed around her and were looking on in a grim fascination. does it hurt? does anyone know a healing spell? should we call a professor?

“move.”

sirius elbowed his way through the majority of their peers. the jovial smile and mischievous twinkle all but gone from his face. he knelt down beside her.

“I’ll take her to the hospital wing. quit staring.”

dorcas let sirius help her up, still a bit in a daze. maybe she had a concussion too. sirius’s support and direction was actually a comfort to her. if nothing else, she knew that he’d make sure not to leave until pomfrey had given her the all clear. he was reliable like that. “thanks puppy.”

---   ---   ---

“which one is that?” the steam slipped out of dorcas’s lips and curled intricately against the canvas of the night sky. she pointed up at a star that looked like it was a part of a constellation.

sirius shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“aren’t you supposed to know all of these?” she asked, looking over at him. the night was cold as they laid out on the roof. another party entirely going on downstairs, but they’d gotten much better at slipping away from those over the years. at this point, no one even bothered looking for the missing pair. most didn’t think them very redeemable.

sirius rolled his eyes. “it’s a hobby. I’m not a textbook.”

“what about that one?”

“that one is sirius!” the indignation in his tone impossible to ignore.

dorcas nodded solemnly, as if contemplating their very existence. “it did look familiar. alright. now which is the dorcas star?”

“there’s no dorcas star.”

“there’s no dorcas star?!” at that moment a streak of light cut through the veil.

sirius pointed. “that’s the dorcas star.”

her eyes trailed it as it fell. “well, that does seem appropriate.” she giggled. despite the frigid air, dorcas was warm with comfort. this tradition of theirs was the perfect place to hide away from the horror of the outside world. it had been a thirty minute session this morning. her grandmother had her claws out. ‘disappointment’ was not a new phrase used, but ‘culmination of a family’s mistakes’ had hit in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

the black family heir had caught her teary-eyed and hiding in the greenhouse. he hadn’t stopped answering questions about stars since. “hey sirius.”

“hm?”

“thanks.”

---   ---   ---

flasks were always dangerous in the hands of one dorcas meadowes. especially when she didn’t have any classes to focus on the next morning and no homework to tackle that night. “where are we going?” her voice mumbled into the back of a leather jacket.

“back to the dorms, meadowes.” sirius readjusted to that dorcas sat a bit more easily on his back. they’d made it all the way up the stairs by some miracle. with some cajoling, the fat lady finally opened up for them as well. sirius collapsed the girl onto the nearest sofa and then sat down next to her. he let out a big sigh.

dorcas wiggled around to that she could lay her head on his lap. the room had started spinning at some point, and she needed to close her eyes to steady herself. “you know I love you, right?” she asked, her voice even softer than when they were children.

a chuckled escaped sirius as he took a blanket and laid it over her shoulders. he rested a hand on the top of her head. “yeah, I know.”

[snowdragon4]

Hungry Moon.

Chapter 1: Even a man....

So this is my first multi chapter Fic in the Frozen Fandom. I’m so excited to get this started and if you like this, feel free to leave a comment. If you want, you can also find this on FF.Net under the same name by author bearhow. Big thanks to @snowqueenofmyheart for beta reading and the other members of the fandom like @bigfrozenfan @lvy0 and that have been so welcoming. Enjoy.

Queen Elsa considered herself a very compassionate and caring person. Once the gates had been opened a year and a half ago she made it her mission to get to know each individual of her kingdom. Man, woman and child. This of course led to her sister instating an “open door policy” for the castle where her citizens would come to air their grievances, or just say “Hi”.

And it worked for a while... sort of… not really….

It was a total nightmare!

Granted there were some instances that Elsa and her sister, Princess Anna, were able to help. Fixing homes, helping out with farming, herding, and of course ice delivery with Kristoff. Even the snowman, Olaf, was helping out searching for lost pets. Although these were the issues that Elsa didn’t mind, every other complaint sent a shiver down her spine. Not in a good way.

“I found a sandwich in the town square and I want to know why it didn’t have mayonnaise on it!”

“The ocean is too blue.”

“The cuts from the butchers aren’t shaped like butterflies.”

“Someone needs to check under my bed for monsters.” And that one was from a grown man.

She sighed with a heavy roll of her eyes at herself in the mirror. “Yup. Exciting.” After fixing her makeup it was time for her to think wardrobe. Standing before herself in her light blue underthings she decided something a bit professional. With a wave of her hand’s, icy crystals formed over her body creating her typical teal blue sweetheart dress, with black turtleneck undershirt. Sure she wasn’t crazy about this outfit, but sometimes these early morning meetings called for it.

She began to put her hair up when there came a series of knocks at her chamber doors. She shook her head with a smile. Judging by the knocking it was no mystery as to who it was.

“Come on in—“

Her sister Anna had already burst through the door, in a same style outfit as her sister, excitedly bouncing around Elsa’s chambers with a stack of papers in her hands.

“Monday!” She exclaimed. “Are you excited?”

Elsa finished tying her hair off before turning around to face her sister with a modest, yet fake, smile. “Of course. Any opportunity I can get to serve my people.” Wow that was so natural.

“Well we’ve got some good stuff today?” Anna jumped onto the nearby couch and started going through the papers. “Mister Thompson is here to talk about a leaky roof. Mister and misses Olson’s neighbors are back to complain about the cats. Mister Sorensen is also back to tell us that the stuff on his roof tastes bitter, and misses Winny says the ocean waves are too loud.”

Elsa died a little inside with each word her sister spoke. “Doesn’t she live on the other side of the fjord?”

“Yup!” Anna jumped off the bed and handed the papers to Elsa. “And that’s just the repeat customers.”

Elsa”s fake smile began to waver, but not enough that her sister noticed. “Alright then.”

She turned for the doors until Anna stopped her. “Ah, Ah, Ah, aren’t you forgetting something?” Elsa let out a large groan causing Anna to playfully pat her on her shoulder. “Come on we do this every Monday.”

“No, YOU do this every Monday, I just humor you.”

“Well humor me one more time.” Elsa rolled her eyes, but relented by two taking stacks of papers in her hands. Seeing that she was going along with it, Anna excitedly asked as if addressing a large crowd, “WHO’S GOT THE BEST KINGDOM IN THE WORLD?”

Elsa shook the papers over her head and dryly responded, “We do. We do.”

“ALRIGHT!” With a fist pump Anna led her sister to the meeting hall.

—:0:—

“...all night long with his stupid trumpet playing! I’m about ready to smash it against a rock!”

“...I don’t think that park should be for children.”

“...their out there. In the trees. I’ve seen them. First they’ll come for our sheep, then our children. Then our woman. Then our precious metals.”

“...I know I’m not supposed to drink the sea water, but I did and now I have an infection. So what do you plan on doing about it.”

“...I have a friend who thinks your very attractive...okay that friend is me.”

“...if you don’t do anything about those cats, I will!”

With half hearted smiles, the sisters waved as their latest appointments disappeared through the large double doors. Alone they both breathed a sigh of relief, slumping back into their chairs. Anna began fiddling with the papers on the table in front of her.

“I think that went really--”

“Anna I love you, but this whole ‘open door’ policy is not a very good idea, and if I have to hear another complaint, or something about cats, I’m going to freeze Arendelle again.” She regretted the words as soon as she said them. Instantly her hands slapped over her mouth as Anna looked at her with complete shock.

“Wh-what?”

Elsa started sputtering. “I-I-I didn’t--”

“You don’t like our people coming to us with their issues?”

Elsa could feel the usual feeling of guilt begin to rear its ugly head. “Oh gods. No Anna. I--”

“PHEW!” Anna leaned back in her chair and threw up the remaining papers in her hands. “I thought I was the only one who couldn’t stand these things.”

Guilt melted away into confusion. “Wait? What?”

Anna started laughing excitedly. “I thought you actually LIKED doing these things, and I remember thinking ‘I can’t believe she can sit here with a smile on her face while they go on, and on, and on, and on, about stuff, and a few guys actually flirting with her’--”

“Anna?! Slow down! You hate these meetings?”

Anna turned in her chair to face her sister. “Are you kidding? At first it was a good idea, and I thought we were doing good, then all the sudden we get anti-trumpet people, and murderous cat people, and I started to hate it. I only kept it going, because I thought you liked it.”

Elsa suddenly burst into laughter. Not just any laughter, but laughter that included snorting. “And I thought you loved these things!” Soon both sisters were laughing hysterically. “I mean, what exactly did she want us to do about the Olson’s cats? Their like the sweetest, oldest people in the kingdom?”

Anna slowed her laughter for a moment. “Well we do live near the ocean, and I’m sure there's a bag around her somewhere.”

Elsa gaped at her sister, giving her a playful tap on her shoulder. “Anna!” They both continued laughing until they were interrupted by someone knocking at the doors.

“Your majesty’s?” Their servant, Gerda watched the singlings curiously. “Is everything alright?”

The two composed themselves. “Of course.” Elsa managed to say between giggles. “Is that all for the day?”

“Please say yes.” Elsa hushed her sister, but both started laughing again as if they were school children.

Gerda however had a warm smile on her face, allowing the sight before her to sink in. “As a matter of fact, you have one more appointment. Mister Joseph Thomas.”

“Oh, the shepherd's boy. Well send him in.” Gerda gave a small bow, and disappeared from the meeting hall. Elsa fought to maintain herself, but out of the corner of her eye, noticed that Anna was lost in thought. “What is it?”

“Ya know. Lil Joey Thomas isn’t so Lil anymore.”

Elsa, no longer amused, rolled her eyes at her sister. “Now, now. None of that.”

“But why not?” Anna whined. “Come on Elsa, let me--”

Elsa fixed her sister with a firm stare. “Anna. No. I know you mean well, but no.”

Anna was a bit taken aback. “I-I’m sorry.”

Seeing her mistake, Elsa softened her tone. “I know, I know, but Anna I,” before she could finish her thought a young man with shaggy brown hair, hair that looked like he tried to run his hands through it, a weathered tunic, and dirt stained arms and face, shuffled nervously into the meeting hall. “We’ll talk about this later.” She whispered before turning to him. “Hello Mister Thomas, what can we do for you.”

Joseph Thomas held a hat gripped tightly in his hands and started wringing it nervously. “I don’t mean to intrude, your majesty’s, if this is a bad time--”

“Nonsense.” Anna waved off his concerns. “We always have time for old friends.” Beneath the table, Anna tapped her sisters leg with her foot, which earned her a harder tap from her sister, and continued back and forth until Joseph began to look concerned.

“What can we do for you? Mister Thomas.” Elsa repeated after one more kick into her sisters shin.

“Um. You can call me Joey,” he said with an awkward smile. “But, um, I’m here cuz, I think someone has been stealing our sheep.”

Elsa leaned forward on the large table. “That’s a pretty serious accusation Joey. Do you have any proof?”

He withdrew into himself as if he was in trouble for something. “Well… we just didn’t think much of it at first. Ya know, wolves get in, take a few sheep, that’s just kinda how it goes. But no matter how tough we make our fences, or how we try to scare them off, they just keep coming. Over the last few months more and more of our sheep are going missing.”

The sisters watched him as he grew more quiet, now digging into one of his trouser pockets. “Last night a friend of ours went out into the woods to make sure them wolves didn’t attack again.” He removed from his pockets a tattered and bloody hat, similar to the one in his hands. “When he didn’t come back I went looking, and I found this.”

They stood from their chairs, looking at the hat with horror and anxiety. “Your sure it’s his?” Elsa asked.

He nodded. “I gave it to him.”

Anna looked from the hat back to her sister. “Elsa? What do you think?”

Elas examined the hat closely, but really she had no idea what she was looking for, she just had to appear like she knew what she was doing. She cleared her throat. “Give the hat to me. I’ll give to our royal guards and send out a search party for your friend.”

He did as he was asked. “If I may, can I join them. I mean, I know those woods pretty well after all.”

Elsa thought for a moment. “Sure. In fact, we have our own expert on those mountains that should be able to help as well.” She dismissed him, promising she would fetch him before her guards would leave, and once he had left she turned to Anna who was just as worried and anxious as she was.

“Wh-What’s happened? We’ve never had something like this happen before.”

Elsa looked down at the bloody hat in her hands. “I don’t know. First things first we need to find his friend. Once he’s found, we’ll go from there.”

Anna nodded. “By the way. Who’s our expert?”

--:0:--

Kristoff tossed another of the more “lifeless” flowers aside, finally becoming satisfied with the bouquet of bright yellow flowers in his hands.

“What do ya think Sven? Will Anna love these?”

The reindeer pulling the sled, rolled his eyes with a snort. “I know this is the eighth time I’ve asked you. I just want it to be perfect and you know how much she loves yellow flowers. We have been in the mountains for a few days and I haven’t seen her in awhile.” He continued fiddling with the flowers until Sven started grunting with impatience. “Okay, okay fine, I’ll set them down.” True to his word he set them aside.

He leaned back in his seat, clasping his hands over his chest. “Are we there yet?” Thankfully he wasn’t close enough that Sven could hit him with his antlers, otherwise he would have. “Well Can you blame me?” Sven grunted again. “What? You think distance would do us some good.” The reindeer gave a small shrug with a short nod. “Yeah you're probably right. Distance does make the heart—“. The sled suddenly stopped accompanied by Sven bucking and thrashing.

“Sven!” Kristoff jumped from the sled, grabbed onto the reins and attempted to calm his friend. “Woah, woah! What’s gotten into you?”

As if understanding him perfectly, Sven settled down and motioned in the direction of some bushes off to the side of the trails. Following his line of sight, Kristoff moved his attention towards the bushes.

Gasping, falling backwards into Sven, he felt intense fear and disgust grip his insides bringing him close to vomiting.

Gagging He hopped back into the sled and kicked at the reins, “Come on! We have to tell Elsa, er, someone!” Sven breighed in acknowledgement and took off for the castle, leaving the bloody and rotted corpse behind.

[farklesdarling]

Royally Engaged - Chapter 2

Summary: Riley is the princess of the Matthews kingdom, and the first-in-line heir to the throne. However, like every ruler before her, she must marry a prince to help ruling the kingdom and to reproduce. Enter Prince Lucas, her betrothed. They are quite taken with each other, but Lucas finds himself also falling for Riley’s best friend, Maya Hart. Riley finds herself in a similar situation, and realizes that her heart also yearns for Prince Farkle, the son of King Stuart in the nearby kingdom. If only her father taught her lessons in love in her classes.

Word Count: 1656

Status: Unedited

Published 9.18.17

Author’s Note: Hello hello! Guess who’s back! I apologize for the long wait (at least one year has passed since the first chapter was published!) but here it is! I hope the wait was worth it. As always, enjoy! [ Feedback would be very much appreciated <3 ]

Chapters: One

Also Found On: Quotev Wattpad

—–

C H A P T E R  T W O

"Your what?!"

"Maya! Please be quiet!"

"I apologize, Your Highness."

Riley sighed and gave Maya a small smile. "It's alright, Peaches." She turned her attention to the window, her eyes desperately searching for something to keep her mind off of the fact that she was to meet her fiancé - and a complete stranger! - in only a week. And on her 16th birthday, too! The princess would be lying if she said she wasn't scared. She said her thoughts aloud to her friend, who listened with rapt attention.

Maya frowned. "Your Highness, your parents would never choose a dangerous man, much less a man who would be decades older than you are!"

Riley suddenly looked at her friend, her eyes wide with horror. "Maya, what if they give me to a man who is as old as my father? Or older?"

Maya could barely resist from rolling her eyes, but she knew that doing so would be disrespectful. Even though the princess was her closet friend, she still had to be respectful. "Riley." She took the brunette's hands and firmly held them. "Listen to me. Your parents love you very much and have always taken you into consideration when they make every big decision. I can assure you, your Highness, that this is no exception. I promise you that you will marry a young man that would be worthy enough in yours and your parents' eyes."

Riley blinked, surprised at the wise words her friend told her. She supposed that living in a less luxurious environment somehow made someone wiser. She was glad Maya was so, for she wouldn't know what she would have done today if Maya was not there. She told Maya what was on her mind.

Maya smiled. "I'm glad to be here as well, Your Highness. I'm thankful to call you my friend."

Riley beamed and hugged Maya tightly, feeling herself getting calmer in her friend's arms. "Likewise, Maya. Thank you for helping me." She pulled back slightly and looked up at the blonde. "Maya, we'll always be friends even after all this, right? I don't think I could bear to live without your presence."

"Of course I'll still be here, honey." Maya gave Riley a reassuring smile. "If it helps, I will gladly assign myself to a job here in the castle to stay longer, if that is what you wish."

Riley nodded and hugged her friend once again, thankful to have someone like her in her life.

-

"No, it's too long."

"No, that one's a bit too short."

"Too frilly."

"Too casual."

"No, Maya, that one is too bright!"

Maya couldn't help but let out a groan. "Your Highness, your party is tonight! You must pick a dress to wear for the occasion, and it doesn't help when you say no to almost every single dress you own."

Riley crossed her arms and pouted. "I'm sorry, Maya, but I- I suppose I'm scared, that's all. I don't know what to expect when - if - he arrives."

Maya carefully set the dress down on Riley's bed and walked over to her friend. She took her hands and squeezed them gently, "Riles, look at me." She waited patiently until she did so, and smiled. "Now, listen to me. Everything will go smoothly, honey. You will meet the prince, and he will meet you, and I can assure you that he most certainly will not be a dangerous or suspicious looking young man."

She smirked, "And who knows? Maybe the prince will be so handsome that you go speechless."

"I'll take that as a challenge, Maya Hart." Without realizing it, Riley Matthews felt much better after listening to her friend reassure her and looked back at her friend with a smirk on her lips.

Maya grinned and gave Riley a quick hug. "Now, please, cooperate with me this time, Your Highness. This party is for you, and today you enter a new world. So you must look the part."

-

The ballroom, of course, was alive and full of people, lights, and food. Everywhere you looked, it seemed the fairies had blessed the room with magic - the people glittered, the lights shimmered, and the food took you to another land.

But the most magical sight was, of course, the princess herself.

The guests slowly quieted down when the main doors opened and were enthralled at the sight before them. For at the very top of the stairs, was Princess Riley Matthews.

Like every part of her, the princess's appearance was breathtakingly beautiful.

For the dress, the silver, crystal encrusted backless bodice hugged the princess's upper half perfectly, accentuating the young woman's curves, and its high halter neckline flattering her body type. And the full, satin skirt was painted in a lovely cerulean, making the princess feel like she was floating on a cloud. A matching satin waistband topped the floor-length dress, completing the most eye-catching part of her outfit.

Her hair was intricately twisted into an elegant bun, the brunette strands decorated with small, glittering diamonds, and her ears showed off a simple, similar pair of diamond earrings. This topped off the look that outshined the others.

After all, it was her party, and she deserved the spotlight.

Riley, with a wide smile on her face, gracefully curtsied, and held her head high as she slowly made her way down the grand staircase, her wide brown eyes taking in every detail of the party her parents had prepared for her.

Among the packed crowd, she spotted her parents, her brother, Maya, and Katy, all of them watching the birthday girl with grins on their faces. Her mind refused to seek out and possibly recognize her betrothed, for she feared that if she did, she might freeze up, or worse - tumble down the stairs in an obvious ungraceful manner.

Once Riley made it down the stairs, the crowd snapped out of their trances, and immediately made their way to the princess, their eyes happy and their mouths smiling as they continuously greeted her a happy birthday. She returned their greetings in a similar manner, her voice bright and polite as she thanked them in return.

As soon as the guests had scattered away, Riley immediately looked around for Maya, or perhaps her parents. Despite the warm welcome, she still felt quite nervous about meeting her betrothed. But this time, the feeling was different.

She knew with her heart that what Maya was telling her was true; the man she was to marry was a good man with a good heart, and her heart warmed at the thought of being treated well - and most importantly, feeling loved - like her parents did with each other.

But would he see her in a good light as well?

The thoughts flew away as the young princess spotted Maya, a small, relieved smile gracing her lips.

"Maya!"

The blonde turned her head at her name and grinned. "Your Highness!" She gave Riley a small curtsy. "Are you enjoying the ball so far? Everything is so lovely!"

Riley couldn't help but grin at the sparkle she saw in Maya's eyes. She was practically radiating happiness! "Yes, the party is indeed lovely, but..." She sighed. "I'm still quite nervous."

Maya frowned at the statement. "Nervous about what, Your Highness?"

"The Prince. I know that he must be a good man, but what if he doesn't see me as a good person as well? What if, when we know each other better, his interest in me fades? And then the engagement will be off! Maya, I can't disappoint my parents or the kingdom."

Maya simply gave her friend a reassuring smile. "You are an absolute sunshine, Riley Matthews. Don't fret; he'll come to love you. Everyone does."

Riley smiled at her friend, though her eyes still held doubt. "I trust you, Maya."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

As her friend hurried off to her mother, Riley turned to the crowd. With wide, glittering eyes, she watched with rapt attention as the guests chattered and laughed and admired the way the skirts glittered and flowed as the women danced in the middle of the ballroom with their partners.

"Everyone here truly looks magnificent, wouldn't you say, Your Highness?"

Startled, Riley gasped and turned. She stepped back to avoid bumping into whoever spoke, but her foot caught the end of her dress. Her breath hitched as she began to fall when a pair of hands took hold of her waist.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?"

There was that voice again. Riley looked up to see the most beautiful pair of soft brown eyes she had ever set her sight upon.

"Oh, I'm- I'm alright. Thank you."

The young man in front of her smiled good-naturedly, and Riley's heart fluttered.

"I apologize for startling you, Your Highness," he began to speak again, "I did not expect you to react in such a way." He paused. "Although, your reaction was quite endearing, if I may say so."

Riley blushed and looked down at the floor. "On the contrary, in my opinion. My almost fall was quite embarrassing, especially since I'm a princess."

"Perhaps, but I hope I get to see more of these genuine, unprincesslike behavior. Some authenticity would be wonderful in our typical, embellished lives."

Something in his words made Riley realize something. "You... Are you Prince Lucas?"

Lucas smiled and gave a small bow. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Your Highness."

"You're much more handsome than I thought you would be." Riley widened her eyes in shock, not believing that she had dared to say that out loud.

Lucas laughed, the skin by his eyes crinkling from how wide he was smiling. "I'm quite flattered, Your Highness."

Riley let out a breathless laugh. "Well, I'm glad you think so." She curtsied in return to his greeting. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you as well."

[vhyral]

Blooded Hands, Bleeding Hearts

How do I do this?

Pairings: Anna Hawke x Fenris, Reyna Hawke x Orsino, Garrett Hawke x Anders, Vatriel Mahariel x Zevran Arainai

Worldstate: Vatriel Mahariel is the Hero of Ferelden and Warden Commander, Garrett, Reyna and Anna Hawke are the three older siblings of Carver and Bethany Hawke with Reyna being the Champion of Kirkwall

Setting: Garrett and Anna Hawke have accompanied the Inquisitor to the siege of Adamant Fortress. This ficlet follows the party’s last moments in the Fade and the aftermath of the battle. Fenris and Anders arrive in Skyhold, seeking their respective Hawkes.

Words:  4775

Her hands are slick with red, her daggers slowly sliding out of her tightly clenched grip. The ghouls- no, the demons- whatever the corpses with the milky eyes and the black teeth are, they melt into nothing once slashed open and leave scars on her as farewell gifts. The Fade-air is thick and liquid when she breathes between strikes, clinging on the rogue’s clothes and dumping her hair.

It is not made to be breathed by creatures of flesh and blood, Anna Hawke thinks. It feels like she’s choking on honey.

“We cannot delay!” Cassandra’s voice echoes, after the last of the demons has been reduced to dust. “It knows we’re here.”

The Inquisitor scrambles closer, the little elf’s features drawn as she speaks with the warrior, casting worried stares towards the kneeling Warden ahead. She whispers and motions and the Seeker grunts. Two minutes, she issues and joins Blackwall at his rounds, circling their perimeter, their boots sloshing through the muddy, ankle-deep waters. Meanwhile, the bald mage walks to the Inquisitor and leans closer to her as if to share a thought. The wild boy with the hat- Cole- trips right behind him, tagging at his robes. Solas’ eyes have been sparkling with awe non-stop, even when they meet with the Fade horrors. Anna frowns and turns to her brother.

Garrett is at her side like always, his armor glinting under the dim green fade-light. He has been there since they fell into this pit of magic and uncertainty, guarding her back, and for a second, between the smoke and the smell of his thunderbolts scorching the stones near her feet, it feels the faintest like Kirkwall, like the life they had built with blood and sweat before being forced to flee again.

“I never thought I’d miss the smell of Darktown’s sewers yet here we are.” She gives him a tired smile and Garrett shines her one of his own, crooked and soul warming.

"Don't let Varric hear you say that." he laughs.

“I’m literally right over here, Hawke.” The dwarf rolls his eyes at them from where he had perched himself during the fight, on top a nearby rock. A fade-rock. It would not surprise Anna if it sprouted legs and began crawling around with the dwarf riding it like a mighty stead carrying him into battle.

"We will be fine.” Garrett promises, scratching at the remnants of a demon’s claws on the dark metal around his neck. “But we have to move. Soon.”

Further down the narrow path, the Warden Commander is on her knees, her elven lover’s arms around her, holding her close, holding her stable. Her own hands squeeze over her lower abdomen, paperwhite and trembling as she heaves.

"Visiting." Fenris says to the guard that stopped them underneath the Inquisition flags, right before they crossed the huge wooden doors. Behind him, a man is yelling to another guard, trying to gain access to the castle for his goat while a gilded wagon attempts to drive through the doors only to be stopped by flailing Inquisition soldiers.

Morning had already passed when he and Anders had caught the first glimpse of Skyhold from across the rocky mountain landscape, the snow on its tallest towers thick and glistening to the evening sun. The Grand Gates of the stronghold were still wide open when they reached them, letting the colorful, loud crowd of soldiers, merchants and refugees come and go under the watchful eyes of the guards.

"We were invited by Varric Tethras. Here."

The letter comes out neatly folded if not a bit worn out from use- a pretty stellar condition after having travelled half of Thedas in the chest pocket of his cloak. The other man's eyes flutter quickly over the few written lines, straight to the signature at the bottom of the page. There isn't much for him to skip and after weeks of reading it by the campfire, Fenris knows each word by heart.

Broody, it reads, I tried to convey your words to our dearest Hawke. I truly did, once. I'm sorry but for all my charms, Stabby seems to be having none of it- the answer is still no. The hiss I received must have been the shortest conversation I've have had since the Seeker ceased attempting to communicate with me with grunts. The Inquisitor says any friends of mine are welcome in Skyhold- Chipper's a good kid but unless you want your head shaved by an angry redhaired, I'd advise you against accepting any kind of invitations for this part of Thedas.

Then a scratched up line, like someone had snatched the parchment up and managed to scribble a few words before the letter was retrieved. Fenris, the big cursive letters almost screamed with her voice, you over worrying fool! We’ve talked about this. Extensively. I am a grown ass woman and I PROMISE I will roast you with red peppers if I see one lock of fucking white hair around-

These words he read every night before going to sleep. She had not written to him after reaching Skyhold. Too dangerous, too easy to get stolen and Anna never had enough patience to slap down a code instead of her bare thoughts. There was a huge smudge of inked fingertips after her scribbles and above Varric’s signature and the guard’s eyebrow raises noticeably when he reaches the part.

“Master Tethras is usually in the Main Hall this time of the day.” Fenris accepts the letter back with a nod and folds it carefully, slipping it back over his heart.

“He’s not here.”

The elf is stomping around in circles in front of the table one of the kitchen servants guided them to when they asked for Master Tethras. It is small and round, made of well polished pine wood and placed strategically in front of one of the Hall’s many fireplaces. Varric isn’t there but his papers are- stashed parchments, books, ink bottles and more pens than one single dwarf could possibly use neatly organized in one corner.

Anders, strangely, has claimed for himself the seat closer to the fireplace. He is now deftly swirling a pen between his fingers, making its short, black feather jolt and shed a little. His hood has been thrown back- leaving it on would attract more eyes than taking it off, he scoffed when Fenris grimaced. True, with the poor excuse of a beard he has grown around his chin, comically resembling Garrett’s- Fenris had tried not to snort the first time he had seen it-, his golden hair cut short and greying, the mage looks roughly ten years older and is hardly resembling the man that once set Kirkwall- and perhaps the whole of Thedas- on fire.

“You’re… feigning calmness.” Fenris side eyes him. Anders had been restless during their ride through Ferelden, pushing his horse forward to lengths he usually wouldn’t try to reach, spending nights awake and staring at the fire flakes as they rose towards the night sky. Now, he sits idly back on the chair, seemingly relaxed. Yet, after a second, more careful glance, it is obvious that he’s doing a shitty job at concealing it- the mage’s shoulders are visibly stiff and his features drawn, lips pressed together as he keeps his eyes squarely on the pen.

“It’s called keeping a low profile.” he murmurs, stealing a glance around the main hall. People had stared for a bit when they had first entered but visitors are nothing new for Skyhold and after an hour, they now are as good as another piece of decoration. “They’re in an emergency meeting and since you didn’t want to give your name and we can’t quite give mine, we weren’t even announced. No one's going to come running out of there to meet us any time soon.”

Fenris lets out a groan. They are so close, this waiting is killing him. The rumours have been bad but the uncertainty they carried is the worst of it all and the elf can feel himself almost vibrating where he stands, his hands flexing from and into fists at his sides.

The Champion of Kirkwall has fallen. Hawke is dead.

Both Anders and him had walked the long way to the Inquisition’s stronghold with one thought tormenting them every passing hour.

Which Hawke?

The ‘Champion of Kirkwall’ had been left as an open term on purpose, for safety, and they had all agreed to it. It was once the title Reyna Hawke carried, her legacy from almost being impaled on the Arishok’s spear during what now was one of the most widely known duels in Thedas. Yet even in the very city of Kirkwall, the title had been changing hands from one day to the other- after all, there were three Hawkes with exceptional abilities and where Reyna would clean a street in Hightown from thieves, Anna would locate someone’s lost kid the next day and both deeds would be deemed as done by the Champion. When they fled, rumor mingled with gossip and the Tale of the Champion, expertly written as to not give out much about the Champion’s family, had obscured the fact that there were more Hawkes running around Thedas than anyone could ever handle.

But Reyna never set foot in Skyhold, both of them are sure about that. The last letter that had arrived with her sand colored hawk barely a month ago spoke of Antiva and a small, sunny room rented near the Port. It spoke of the sudden decline of Orsino’s health and her reluctant- yeah, right, Anna had laughed- decision to aid the elder mage until he overcame his illness. Thus, only two Hawkes had ever arrived at Skyhold, no matter how strongly Fenris had opposed to the idea when Anna had come to him to talk. And now, someone is supposedly dead and he can feel his chest hurt every time he catches himself wishing that it isn’t her.

He scans the grand hall around him. Dust is dancing in the sunlight pouring in from the huge glass windows, swirling over the lit torches lining its walls. An elf in scout armor is walking their way and he takes a step to the side, placing himself in her path.

“Serah.” he calls. She blinks his way, one of her ears twitching over short, red hair. He gives her a second for the usual quick scan of his face. Her eyes widen the slightest to his tattoos and Fenris asks.

“Where to the Ambassador’s room?”

“What are you planning to do?” Anders is on his feet and following him closely as Fenris walks with long, sure strides across the Hall.

“I’m going to announce myself.”

“It’s impossible to outrun that!”

There’s blood running down Cassandra’s forehead as she yells, her eyes stuck up and glinting dangerously under the green Fade fires. The smell of sulfur is on the air, burning their noses, the hissing of raw Fade energy hissing at the edges of their hair, remains of the recent battle against the Nightmare.

“Go!” comes a hoarse order from behind their backs, “I’ll keep it busy.”

“Have you gone insane?!” Anna has never heard Zevran’s voice ring as thickly and ominously as right now. He grabs the Warden Commander’s arm when she swirls around, his fingers closing in what looks like a death grip. “We’re going.” he growls at her.

“Since when are you making my decisions for me, Zevran?” she hisses back, trying to shake his hand off but the muscles on the Crow’s arm flex and he tags her closer instead, her boots splashing through the murky waters. She glares daggers at him and he shakes his head.

“Since you, my dear Warden, seem to have lost your good judgement.”

“This is NOT the time for this!” Cassandra howls at the same time as a bellow crashes into their ears- the demon is recovering and it will soon be coming for them.

“Knives and fire and steel that cuts, too real, too solid, permanent, burning! Gut them, burn them, chain them up and drink them dry!” Cole wails and then doubles down and holds his head, grunting in pain. The Inquisitor rubs a comforting hand down his back.

“I can give you at least five.” Mahariel insists. “Run and you’ll make it. I have fought uglier things that this in the past.”

“Andraste’s flaming underpants, Vatriel-”

Thunder booms behind them and Anna jumps.

“If you could hurry it up a bit, thank you very much.” Garrett huffs from their rear guard. He raises his arms above his head and lets lightning rain down upon the few demons that have found the courage to slither through the scorched battleground from before and come after them. “I mean it’s not like we have a giant spider coming for our sorry asses here or anything. I can handle this, sure.”

Anna turns around, teeth tearing at her lips as she adjusts the grip on her carved knives. Her muscles still feel sore from their recent fights as she steps towards the demons, melting into the shadows. All she wants is warm food and cold beer and to put her feet up in front of a fireplace without something being out for her neck.

“Go back. To being. Fucking mist.” she hisses as she plunges a dagger deep enough into a ghoul’s eye, it sinks to the hilt. An arrow zooms by her ear as Varric falls into work alongside them.

“I can put up a shield.” she hears the Inquisitor’s voice. “It can hold for a while until you all get out of here and I’m a fast runner-”

“Not open for discussion.” the Seeker cuts her and Lavellan groans.

“Cassandra-”

“A barrier could indeed be held for longer than usual here in the Fade.” Solas offers. “But to risk sacrificing you would be ill adviced if not mindless.”

“This is the Wardens’ fault, all of it.” The Commander’s voice sounds adamant. “No, Zevran. This is MY responsibility.

“It is not even just YOU that would have to stay back anymore!” the Antivan snaps. Anna throws her dagger to a nearby crawling spiderling. It hits it square between its open jaws and it evaporates with a screech. “Good riddance, you freaky nug.” Garrett laughs. “Good one, kid.”

“Sir? Sir, please! You cannot go in there!”

Josephine finds herself at a loss when the strangers first storm right through her doors. She has no meeting arranged for the next three hours and the Council is not yet done. She had briefly returned to her desk to fetch a couple of official documents when the door had swung open, smooth on well oiled hinges. It hits the wall behind it with a bang, making her jump and sending several of the parchments she had been carrying to the floor.

“This area is off limits!” she states now, sharpening her tone and stepping forward to quickly slip her body in between the unknown pair of men that rushes inside and the inner door that leads to the War Room. A flutter of her eyes and the scout that had arrived seconds earlier to deliver a report quietly excuses himself back to the Hall. Hopefully the guards will be here soon enough. “You can’t just barge in here like this, gentlemen, please. We can talk this out.”

“Apologies, Serah,” the elf at the front stops a few steps away from her and speaks, looking her square in the eyes, “but we have come to see the Hawke siblings.”

His pupils are big, expressive and brightly green, mesmerizing as he firmly holds her gaze, and Josephine gives him a quick appraisal now that he is finally standing still instead of marching towards her.

“I’m afraid the Council is private-” she begins.

And then she sees them, where they’re poking from his scarf, around his neck and up his chin, the white tattoos with the faint blue iridescence that curl against dark skin. The ambassador knows better than to let her surprise show- she lets the initial rush of adrenaline of having this very elf right in front of her, here in Skyhold, pass. The man behind him shifts on his feet and Josephine eyes him carefully. He is wearing a hood that partially hid his face but she can make out the tiniest hint of blonde. She inhales sharply- if that is who she thinks he is, Cassandra won’t be happy at all.

Then comes dread- they are here for a reason. They are here for Hawke.

“Serah Fenris. Serah.” she motions towards the chairs of her office. “If you have a minute.”

“Go!”

Varric’s face is a mess of pain, loss and bitter understanding. “Garrett.” he croaks.

“The woman is with child, Varric.” The tall man rolls his staff in his hands before looking up, clear blue eyes meeting with the deep green of the Warden Commander. “And who’s better suited to fight in the Fade than a mage?”

“My brother,” he says loudly for her to hear, “he’s a Warden. If you meet Carver Hawke, let him know that his brother was very proud of him. Tell him his brother loved him, dearly, deeply, always.”

“That should embarrass him out of his grief pretty quickly.” he chuckles.

“No! Garrett!” Anna lunges herself at him, a hand grasping his wrist, the other one closing into a fist around the fabric of his garments. “This is bullshit!” she roars. “You’re not staying here! I’m not leaving you in this hell!”

She glares at him and Garrett gives her a small, weary smile- his free hand finds its way to her cheek and cups it softly- he smells of blood and sweat and ash but so does she and it’s a familiar smell.

“There’s no other way.” His voice is soft. “We will never outrun the Nightmare.”

She can feel a lump forming in her throat, the familiar pressure behind her eyes. She grits her teeth instead and shakes her head violently, scanning the area around them. They can hide, they can split up and try to confuse it, she can knife the demon in its blasted, cursed eyes-

His hand, still warm on her cheek, tags gently, guiding her eyes back on his face, keeping them there. Garrett’s cheeks and forehead are smeared with black and his lower lip sports a blood red cut- his breathing is hitched but he’s smiling softly at her and the rogue feels her chest constrict.

“There’s no other way, Anna.” he breathes. His forehead comes to meet with hers and her hands let go of everything to come cup his temples, her fingers hooking into his hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it came to this. You’ll have to explain to Reyna, Bethany… to Anders-”

“I’m staying.” Her voice is ragged, her lips dry. “If you’re staying, I’ll be with you to the end.”

“Anna…”

“No, no!” she hisses. “You get to throw your life away but I can’t do the same for you? I’m staying, Garrett. You are my- I’m not going, I’m not losing you.”

Varric’s voice is hoarse behind her. “Kid…”

“Varric.” Her heart is fluttering like a caged bird now- her body trembles in the thought of what’s to come and then steels, warms up and tightens as she turns to face the dwarf. She didn’t come seeking death but leaving Garrett behind feels like a death in its own and she won’t have it. In a corner of her mind, somewhere, a small voice whispers- maybe with the two of us, we can win, we can make it, the two of us, together.

“You have to write to him.” she tells the dwarf. “Fenris. Tell him I’m sorry. Tell him I love him, now and forever.”

Varric’s face twists into a mass of pain to her words, his knuckles turning white where he holds Bianca. “Kid,” he shakes his head, “not like this.”

Something explodes in the distant and the ground underneath their feet shakes, the rumbling that echoes through the air growing louder instead of dying down. Anna unsheathes her knives as Blackwall lets out a war cry.

“We don’t have any more time!” he yells. “We have to leave. NOW!”

“And so, we’re out of time.” Garrett huffs.

“Wha-”

She turns- and then her limbs suddenly feel heavy, getting glued into place with every muscle that she tries to move.

“Garrett!’ she croaks bewildered. “Garrett, what-”

His hand is pointing towards her, lit with arcane energy and deep lines form on his forehead as she stares at him. Light pillars flicker around her and that’s when she realises the spell being cast on her.

“Spirit Cage?” she shouts. “Spirit Cage, on ME? Garrett! Let me go! Let me go right now!”

“Varric!” her brother yells instead. “Blackwall! Get her out of here, NOW!”

“No! NO!” The men’s hands are on her shoulders then, around her waist, pulling her, dragging her with them and Anna struggles against the invisible ropes that keep her arms from pushing them away, her legs from kicking. She’s being carried away and for every second passing, Garrett’s getting further away as he flexes his arms and firmly grabs his staff.

“Garrett!” she screams. People are yelling around her as they run. Blackwall is grunting under her weight and Zevran’s voice is encouraging his wife forwards from somewhere at the head of the line but all Anna can see is the tall man they’re leaving behind, the glinting of the ice blue gem of his staff, like a beacon in a sea of green.

“GARRETT, NO! NOT LIKE THIS! GARRETT!” Her throat feels like being teared up from the inside out. “GARRETT!”

At the distance, her brother looks back one last time and his voice carries over the ominous rumble when he yells.

“I love you.”

The words reach her just as the monstrous demon breaks through the hill hiding them from its view all this time. It comes with its million legs thrashing and an explosion of flying rocks and fire and Garrett turns to face it, small in the distance and with his armor shining with swirling mana.

She doesn’t feel remorse when the spell loosens and she beats against Blackwall’s helmet with all the strength she can find in her, when she kicks Varric in the shoulder while trying to break free. She doesn’t see the rift’s edges when they jump through it and crash against hard stone, knees and elbows bleeding as they scrape against the floor.

She only keeps on screaming as she’s held back from jumping back in, someone’s arms around her own, Varric’s hands against her chest as the Inquisitor stands and waits for a heartbeat and then for some more and when no one comes through, she finally raises her hand and blinding green flashes.

She screams harder than ever when he can’t hear her anymore.

“… Kid?”

Anna jumps, knocking down one of the flags the Inquisition advisors use to pinpoint missions on their map.

“Shit.” she mutters and reaches down. The damned thing has rolled further down the war table and she gets on her knees to get it. “Fuck.” she repeats. “Sorry.”

She straightens back up and catches the Inquisitor stealing a glance at her. Lavellan’s eyes are clouded but she averts them fast when Anna stares back and turns to where Leliana and Cullen are bickering.

“You ok?”

Varric usually doesn’t participate in Council meetings- a case has come up deeply connected to Kirkwall though and his presence has been requested. He has not taken the task with joy but he has come nonetheless. Anna knows he is here mostly for her. He has been trying to be in her immediate perimeter ever since they returned from Adamant Fortress.

She wishes he didn’t.

“Are you?” she rumbles.

Pain flashes across the dwarf’s face and the rogue feels the sting of her words coming right back at her.

“Damn it, Varric.” she sighs. “Sorry. I… don’t- this… it’s difficult.”

“I know.” He scratches his chin, absentmindedly staring at the advisors and the Inquisitor trying to find some middle ground over a mission. “Believe me, Kid, I know.”

“Did you write? To everyone.”

He shakes his head.

“The words won’t come.”

How do you write about something that doesn’t feel real? Several days have passed and still, whenever she manages to make herself faint, late at night, she wakes up the next morning with a few blissful seconds where everything feel like just another dream. Where Garrett bangs on her door with plates full of pancakes. Where Dog and her are a warm mess on her bed, the mabari drooling on her hair. And then, Garrett never comes and Dog is old and a world away from her, with the other half of her heart, and she has to truly wake up and keep on going, living, in a world with muted colors.

She has to write to Fenris, to let him know that she is alive, that she is ok. She knows but her fingers refuse to ink the words and the parchment is waiting half empty on her desk.

“What is taking Josephine so long?” Leliana wonders from the other side of the table. “It has been ten minutes already.”

“I should go check.” the Inquisitor turns. “Maybe she needs some help.”

There it is, a window out of this room, away from talks for future expeditions- all she wants at the moment and so Anna sets the little flag back on the table. “Let me. I could use some fresh air.”

“Ask her to bring all recent correspondence with Duke Dumont, yes?”

“No, not you, Varric.” Cullen calls when the dwarf motions to follow her to the door. “We just got to the requests from Kirkwall, we need your assistance.”

Varric shrugs, gives her a strained look and drags himself back to the war table, looking not pleased at all. Anna on the other hand rather prefers this turn of events- he is so stricken with grief and she can’t deal with this right now. She needs space.

“Later, Varric.” she waves, letting the doors close behind her.

She is glad no one has fixed the hole in the wall between the war room and Josephine’s office. She gives herself a second to stand before it, letting the setting sunlight blind her eyes and the breeze caress her face. It almost feels like a touch across her cheek.

“Josephine?” she calls, pushing down the handle to the dark door leading to the ambassador’s office. “Leliana is looking for you- oh, visitors. Excuse me-”

One of the men standing over Josephine’s desk is covered from head to toes, a dark cloak around thin shoulders and his head hidden underneath a hood. He is hunched over the various papers and talking to the ambassador with a low voice- tension is radiating from where his hands have clutched the rim of her desk, bony fingers white from his tight grip.

It feels fishy and she discreetly moves one hand to the dagger at her waist. The man standing next to him, clothed in similar travelling clothes and with white hair caught into a tight ponytail, turns sharply the moment her voice rings across the room.

Anna takes it all in at once, in a moment- the green of his wide eyes, the arch of his nose. The red ribbon keeping his hair in place. The glint of sharp teeth when he opens his mouth.

“Fenris?” she manages before going airborne, strong arms closing around her waist and burning hot lips crashing onto her own and he breathes his next word right into their kiss.

“Anna!” he growls. “Anna, Anna, Anna!”

Her own hands find his back instinctively, nails digging in and holding on to him desperately- the kiss is long and fiery, an explosion of colors and rapid hearbeats and for a glorious moment, she forgets everything that isn’t him. It leaves her heaving for air when he finally puts some space between their faces, both of them breathing hard into each other’s arms.

“You’re here.” Fenris whispers feverently, one hand reaching up to smooth her hair, guiding her head to rest against his neck. “You’re here, you’re safe.”

The rogue nods, her throat blocked for a moment. She can smell the road on him, the dust and the horse hair and underneath all that, his aroma that reminds her of nights under the sheets and warm arms around her back. Her eyes burn and she pushes against his chest a bit- she wants to see his eyes again, his face, him.

“How?” she croaks once words finally seem to return as an option of response. “What are you doing here?”

Fenris’ expression clouds to her question and his eyebrows lower menacingly over his eyes, a hint of anger finding its way to his now tightly pursed lips, to the sharp line of his jaw. His hand finds the side of her neck and squeezes firmly.

“What was I doing away from here is the right question. We heard the rumours, Anna. I thought you were dead!”

“I’m not dead.” she shakes her head. “I’m not…”

We?

“Anna?”

She freezes. It is the voice she dreaded to hear. Not here, not yet. She is not ready for this.

She looks behind Fenris, where the cloaked stranger has let his hood fall back over his shoulders. Golden hair shine under the last sun rays and she spots the red scarf around his neck.

“Where is Garrett?” asks Anders.

@forthelifeofoneburglar, @notyourinquisitormate, it’s been a while so here it is again. I’m almost done with the second part so I thought I should remind you you should reread it before the next assault of angst.

[detectiveofhades]

Marie’s Mystery - 2: The De Luc Party

Nico glanced at Erik as the carriage rolled down the streets of Paris. “What?”

“You’ve been mulling over the conversation with Madame Roget since we left her house,” he stated.

“Well yes, it was rather . . .” “Odd, shall we say?”

“Yes, rather odd.”

“What is your conclusion?”

“She must have heard something, she mentioned that her ears are working just fine.”

“That she did. I wonder if the good Doctor also caught on that.”

“He might have, but if not . . . well, that was why I asked about what would happen if Camille were to die.”

“Which suggests that Madame Roget heard Estelle say something.”

“Which also means that Estelle has an accomplice, and both have been in the house. Perhaps that was also the reason behind Marie’s disappearance? The accomplice could actually be someone that has become quite close to the family, thanks to Estelle, and Marie had her suspicions but had no way to prove them. So she leaves mysteriously, no one knows where she’s gone or why, and suddenly reappears also without explanation. Perhaps to find out more about said accomplice which has now put her in more danger than ever before? Though, if Estelle really is after the money, then she would have to take out Marie either way.”

“And they have to act fast before Marie can say anything.”

“Which begs the question, why hasn’t she said anything as of yet? She’s been back for almost a week!”

“Perhaps she is still looking for definite proof, she could have had nothing but stories about the accomplice, but no real, definitive proof.”

“Yes, I just hope she’s not taking bets with her own life.” Nico paused as the carriage came to a stop. They had arrived back at the Roget’s house where Dupin, Gobelin, and the two women were waiting.

“Ah, perfect timing, we just walked out of the house,” stated Dupin as he opened the carriage door for the women. “And thank you for handling the costs of the carriage.”

“It’s my pleasure,” replied Nico with a smile. His eyes locked with Marie Roget, and that same odd look came over her face, but only for a second as Camille and the gentlemen entered the carriage not long after her. The carriage ride to the De Luc’s consisted of the adults talking about French pastimes, especially the opera as both Erik and Marie had a particular fondness for it. Nico noticed that Marie seemed to prefer Erik’s opinion over the others, and often turned to him for support if she was ever in a playful dispute with the others over something. Was she falling for Erik? Impossible! They had really only just met. But, there was such a thing as love at first sight, Hades had spoken of it often when referring to Nico’s mother. Could it be the case here? And why was he uncomfortable with it? Was it because he was afraid of Marie taking Erik away from him, the one person he had come to depend upon so much? He blinked back tears as he pushed those thoughts back, Erik wouldn’t leave him, not now, not ever. The di Angelo estate was the only place he could call home, where he felt welcomed. Besides, there was the issue of Erik’s condition, no one besides Nico had ever looked upon his unmasked face without horror. No, Erik wouldn’t leave him, and if Marie did in fact come to terms with both of their secrets, she could move in with them. They would not mind one bit. Nico snapped out of his musings as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the De Luc’s house. Dupin and Gobelin got out first and helped the young ladies out, leaving Nico and Erik to emerge from the carriage last. Upon entering the house, they found that Estelle had already arrived and nearly threw herself upon the sisters upon seeing them.

“My dear cousins! Whatever took you so long? I’ve been here for what felt like ages!”

“Oh, we’re sorry, Estelle, we ran into some traffic on the way over here,” explained Camille as she returned the hug.

“Oh of course, everyone is rushing home from work, and I’ve only been able to miss that crowd since I had promised Mrs. De Luc to help set up for the party.”

“For which I am very grateful. Oh, Doctor Dupin, I would like you to meet Marie and Camille’s cousin, Estelle Roget. This fine gentleman is Monsieur Beauvais, our administrator of naval affairs. This is Doctor Dupin, of course Prefect Gobelin, and the visiting Seigneur di Angelo and his butler Erik.”  

“How do you do?” said Estelle as she bowed, though Nico noticed she seemed a bit on edge. The men echoed the greeting. “Say, Camille, where is Marcel?”

“Right here. Good evening everyone,” said a young man as he came in behind the group. “Apparently my being detained at work helped me to get here just at the same time as you, traffic and all.” He grinned at Camille.

Camille chuckled, “So it would seem.”

“Have you met the famous Doctor Dupin and the young Seigneur di Angelo?”

Marcel glanced at them with a slight surprise. “Well no, but I have heard a great deal about both of your work in the Rue Morgue incident. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” He glanced at Estelle. “Estelle, may I have this dance?”

“Of course!” The two left the group and joined the other dancers out on the floor. Dupin and Camille soon joined them, followed by Marie and Erik. Gobelin went around the room, interacting with some of the other guests, leaving Nico all to himself, with which he was perfectly fine. He slowly backed himself into a corner, mainly to keep an eye on Estelle and Marcel, they seemed to be in a deep conversation, likely about Camille as they kept glancing at her and Dupin. Was Marcel the accomplice? Nico wished he could hear what they were saying, and passing by the dancers on the way to the banquet table would provide him with an adequate excuse, but the dance floor was too packed for him to get by unnoticed. That’s when he noticed that Erik and Marie were twirling closer towards Estelle and Marcel. Would they be able to catch anything? He could tell from the looks on their faces that they were unanimous in catching whatever snippets they could, if they could get close enough. They were certainly trying, and at the moment, had a better chance of catching anything than Nico, who really did not want to squeeze through the dancers. That was too much contact. He grimaced and shuddered, no, he’d just have to let Erik and Marie do their best. He did not want to touch anyone. Contact always made him squeamish. So instead, he turned his attention to watching their movements. What did their expressions, their body language, say? He paused as his heart thumped wildly. If he was reading their body language correctly, it practically shouted ‘plotting to kill’. He glanced at Dupin and Camille, dancing away, oblivious to the scheme, before glancing at Erik and Marie, their focus on the plotting duo as intent as Nico had been. Nico began to wonder, did Marie stick close to Erik because she knew the four gentlemen were supposed to be protecting them? And since Camille seemed to have chosen Dupin, or at least, he chose her, while the Prefect would have made it too obvious she was in danger and Nico was rather young . . . was she pretending a romance with Erik for show? Nico shook his head, snapping out of it as the dance came to an end. He couldn’t think of that, at all. They were on a mission, he needed to stick to that. He opened his eyes to glance at the dancers dispersing and was startled to see Marie join Erik as he was heading straight for him.

“Where you blinking to keep yourself awake? Is the party really that boring?” asked Marie with a smile.

“I’m not much of a person for parties,” Nico stated.

“Then how do you have fun?” asked Marie incredulously.

“I like a good book,” stated Nico, thinking of The Hunchback of Notre Dame he had received from Monsieur Valdemar.

“Ah, the quiet type, I see. But you really should get out at least every now and then. You’re too young not to have any friends.”

“It’s better that I don’t,” muttered Nico.

Marie glanced at him oddly. “Why’s that?”

“It’s . . . it’s complicated,” muttered Nico nervously, realizing that saying any more could lead to a complicated scene.

“You’ll have to excuse my young master. He lives on a little island kingdom, practically all by himself, with me and a few servants to handle the house. His father is a very secretive person, but unfortunately, who has made enemies. Those enemies destroyed Master Nico’s mother and sister, so you’ll excuse Lord di Angelo’s desire to protect his only son. Master Nico is only let out of the castle for a certain amount of time because of it,” stated Erik.

Marie turned to Nico, wide-eyed. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“It, it’s fine, you didn’t know,” muttered Nico. Marie gave him a tight hug. Nico grimaced. “Um, uh, thank . . . thank you.” Nico squirmed, it was already getting uncomfortable. “Um, could you, uh, let go please?” pleaded Nico. Erik came forward and helped peel her off. Nico let out a shaky breath as it felt like a heavy stone had been lifted off his chest. She had been hugging him tighter than he thought, or liked. Well, he didn’t want the hug at all. He grimaced as he shook off the feeling of the contact.

“You’ll have to excuse him, he’s not comfortable with physical contact,” Erik told Marie.

“I’m sorry, I really am, for all of it,” she said, glancing at Nico with the hint of a tear in her eyes. “It’s not easy losing family.” Nico nodded, she was right about that, but he was concerned that she might become another Bianca, and do whatever she could to protect her little sister, even to the point of death.

“Are you up for another dance, madam?” asked Erik.

“Oh yes! Would you care to dance, Nico?” asked Marie. Nico blinked, what was with the familiarity?

“No thank you,” he mumbled. Marie glanced at Erik.

“I’m still working on it. Kind of hard to do so when there are few girls his age,” he replied as he led Marie back to the dance floor. The two struck up a conversation as they began to dance again. Nico let out a sigh, he could trust Erik to come up with a good excuse for everything. He was good at that, probably the main reason why Hades hired him to be Nico’s butler. He glanced at the couple on the dance floor, a soft smile playing on his face. Perhaps adding Marie to the family wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

[la-prima-ballerina]

Persona 5 origins: Kimika Hayashi chp 7

Some of  the phantom thief gang walked  along the  bridge after school. They were planning their next heist.   Ryuji had to do something for his mother, Yosuke was finishing a project at  school and Makoto had a student council meeting . this lest Ann, Akira and Morgana to themselves.the other day After a small mission in momentos, theyre last target said something about a woman at  cappella industry ruined her life. She takes till theres nothing left.

“cappella huh? That’s the place I get my some of my modeling gigs” ann piped “come to think of it there have been a few lay offs”

“think its worth a look?”  Akira queationed

“it has to be. If some big corporate is abusing their power  then we should at least look into it” Morgana replied walking along the edge

“haven’t had  a big target in awhile may be a good chance to-waaaaaahh!!!”

Morgana had too a misstep and fell off the edge of the bridge railing

“Morgana!!!” Akira and Ann exclaimed

Morgana was sure he would hit the ground but.. it never came. Instead he landed what felt like soft arms, cradling him. Opening his eyes he looked up at a woman with terra-cotta skin, long bluish hair and gentle grey eyes

~is this an angel…??~ he thought

Above Akira and Ann sigh in relief before making their way down the steps

“Ah! You scared me! Where did you comefrom little one?”  Kimika asked started to pet him. Immediately morgana started to purr making her smile

“heh, youre so cute. Too bad my stepmother hates animals otherwise id take you home with me” she cooed

Soon the  the pair came to her. Morgana jumped back into Akira’s arms “sorry about that. Are you ok?”

 This  must be their owner. She recognized them  he was the transfer student and  the girl  was the one everyone talked about. A hafu like herself. Kimika nodded “the cat suddenly came out of the sky I thought it might have been an angel!” she giggled then suddenly blushed at her words

“hey your Kimika Hayashi from class 4 right?” ann asked, Kimika once again nodded “I remember you your one of the models my father recruited. I remember you from the portfolio files. You do great work” the blue haired girl compliments

That’s right. Kimika’s father own Cappella industries

Kimika glanced at her clock and frowned “that late already?? Im sorry I gotta go!” waving them off the girl ran in the other direction

“who was that?” Morgana asked with interest

“that was Hayashi-san she’s in  class 4.dont really know her but I hear she’s really nice. Runs the  school dance club. Kimika gets talked about too, mostly about how she looks”

Ann looked at the distant figure of the blue haired girl.

Kimika ran  down the block as fast as she could. She needed to get home, her stepmother was having another one of her expensive parties. If she cut thru the back yard she could get inside without Natsumi noticing her. As she approached  back gate her phone gave a ping

“what now?” she sighed pulling it out. It wasn’t a text message from natsumi . “again? I thought I deleted this” this morning she got this strange app that appeared on her phone. It kind of creeped her out so she deleted. Or so she thought.

“what even is this?” she asked herself pressing it as she walked into the yard. It seem to do nothing. Kimika rolled her eyes “just what I need another useless..” she stepped dead in her tracks when she looked up to see not her house but a large hedge maze. Just ahead a grand chateau

“…app”

She looked behind her. Did she walk into the wrong yard? No… right?  Maybe she should turn back or at least cut thru the front. In the distant Kimika could hear music.  Getting closer she stepped up on one of the statues. Inside she could see a large party going on guests were dressed in finery and wearing masks. In the center of the room she saw.. her stepmother natsumi but dress in a large green and black ball gown. She looked like a baroque queen.

“what the…? This cant be my house! Who are all those people?”

“you there! Intruder!!” a gruff voice said. This scared her causing Kimika to loose her balance and fall back, hitting the grass with a thud.

“ouch..dammit” looking up Kimika gasped at  the ones who yelled at her. There were two strange beings that looked human but not quite. They had black skin with  strange faces. They were dressed in what reminded her of  17th century French gaurds.  Before she could react  the guards grabbed her , hoisting her to her feet

“hey! Ease up a bit! What with the gaudy costumes?”

“this areas is prohibited to peasants! State your business here”

“this is my house!”

“we should take her to the queen! She’ll know how to deal with this scum.

Kimika struggled but with no avail, they dragged her into the extravagant chateau, down the long halls into a the grand ball room. There were people  dressed in finery and wearing masks bit they didn’t really seem like people more like something else. They laughed and pointed as she was brought in.

Natsumi turned around  looking quite dislpleased. She looked at the guard

“how dare you interrupted my party?” she exasperated . the two guard gave a small bow

“our apologies your majesty!” one said

“we found this intruder lurking the grounds” the other proclaimed throwing Kimika to the queens feet. The queen looked down at her coldly. It was strange. She looked liked her stepmother but had pure yellow eyes that shook her to the core.

“well it seems we have a rat problem” she scoffed coldly,  making  Kimika look up at her

“stepmother? What is all this? And why are you dressed like that??”  Kimka blurted out

“silence peasent. Trash like you should never be seen or heart. The thought of someone like you wandering in to a extravagant place like this disgust me!” she sneered

“fortunately ive got just the tool to rid of you. For  interrupting sucj a marvelous gathering you shall be sacrificed for entertainment!  Bring her to the guillotine!! ” she called. The masked guests cheered wit delight. The guard grabbed her again bringing her further  to the  center of the ballroom. There was a large guillotine

“behold! Your beautiful and gracious queen has brought you entertainment  once again! Tonight we will be  executing a little rat!”

They cheered louder. Were they really gonna..?

“no! let me go! Your all insane!!” Kimika screamed. She struggled managing to get her arm out of one of the guards grip. Pushing them away she ran thru the croud away from Natsumi

“imbeciles!! after her!! Don’t let her get away!!” Queen Natsumi screamed. Gaurds  flooded out of the grand chateau. Kimika ran as if her life depended on it. Down the stairs and into the garden she fled. She could hear them behind her.  Seeing the gate in the distance she picked up the pace, panting to keep head of those behind her.  She gripped the  door knob desperately turning it. With a hard push she  went thru the gate.

She suddenly collapsed unto the sidewalk.  Looking around fretfully she realized she was in the back street. Cars drove by as well as civilians walked about. She was… back here. Wait what just..?

“you have returned to the real world. Welcome back” a monotone voice chirped from her pocket. Pulling her phone out she looked at it in horror and confusion

~returned? But.. where did I go?~

Looking at her phone again her eyes widened at the time. She should have been home hours ago! Dread filled her  ran out of the back street around to the front

What the hell  was going on? What was that place? That castle? Her stepmother..

Walking up the path to her house the light illuminated indicating there were was a full house. As she approached to door. It flew open , her stepmother appeared, slamming the door behind her , so not to be overheard by her guests, pure rage in her eyes.

 “where have you been?? Your two hours late!!” she  shouted

“what ??” Kimika exclaimed “but.. but..  I just saw you..  I was inside this chateau and-

SLAP

Kimika held her cheek, looking at Natsumi with a pained expression

“I don’t want to hear your stupid half-brained excuses. Get in uniform and get to work” she hissed venomously “ honestly the embarrassment of serving guest at my OWN PARTY!!” she mutter walking inside

The blue haired girl choked back a sob as she entered her home. So many questions flew thru her head.