#are they happy about this circumstance? do they truly enjoy being a servant?

[bimbosupreme]

Your undying loyal servant

[italoniponic]

Long Live the Brother | Kingscholar brothers

Synopsis: Since Cheka was born, Falena became more aware of the fact that he wouldn’t live forever. Whenever he falls asleep in his most stressful days, he has this strange nightmare about a gorge and a stampede. As years pass by, the dream has gained more details to its story. Cheka is in danger and Leona is close to Falena, but he can’t help him — because he doesn’t want to.

Falena needs to do something about this premonition. As little as it seems to be.

kingscholar brothers / angst with hopeful ending / Lion King references / minor tamashina mina setting / ft. mention of ocs / 4,5k words / Masterlist

Notes: It’s been a while since I last talked about doing this fic but it’s finally here, folks. *sighs in tiredness* well, I asked people to vote for a type of ending so it took me a long time to write it all and come to a conclusion that felt… proper. Like, there’s room for good things to come, certainly. Hope you enjoy it!

Long Live the Brother

Falena knows he won’t live forever. It seems kind of obvious, especially when it comes to Afterglow Savannah’s oldest teaching: “we are part of the cycle of life.” It’s part of the birth-to-death cycle. Helping others in life and giving life to nature itself when one dies. To become grass, to be a spirit in the stars.

Falena thought about this a lot, especially on some extraordinary occasions in his life: the birth of Leona, the strong illness of their father and, even more strongly, on the birth of Cheka.

The kingdom’s people — among servants, guards and subjects — got used to the charismatic image of Falena. To them, the then-young king was brave and imposing, his strong smile shining brighter than the sunlight on the golden savannah. And it wasn’t a lie at all.

But there were things that troubled Falena’s mind many times. Shadows that have haunted him since the crown was placed on his head.

He was so young at the time and the books he had read during his education weren’t enough to guide his journey in the real world, where brilliant theories could fail at the first unpredictable element of nature. His father was also too debilitated to give any advice. Sometimes he barely recognized where he was in his own room.

Falena could only thank Heavens for having Maisha by his side, she being his most precious support all these years.

The couple had ruled together since they got married. They hit and missed all the obstacles in life together. Maisha was the only confidant that Falena could truly let go of his saddest thoughts and worries. She didn’t demand from him any perfection of his royalty. Maisha would let him just talk to her and it was those moments that made him happiest.

That had been their dynamic since they met at a diplomatic ball a long time ago. The then-prince purposely hid himself from Kifaji just to show the stars to the princess who befriended him.

And it was a mutual, strong feeling. Maisha wouldn’t trade Falena for anyone. Her love was true, overcoming any circumstances and problems they encountered along the way. Proof of this was the birth of Cheka. 

It was an unforgettable day. The kingdom celebrated it as if it were the sunrise after a long period of darkness, the rain after a long period of drought. Both of them were so happy with their little cub. Falena thought of Cheka as the light in his difficult life as king. Unfortunately, with the King’s health worsening, Falena found himself again thinking about life and death.

The shadows gained strength and that’s when the nightmares began.

It wasn’t constant dreams. They appeared mainly after a long and stressful day. When everything seemed about to fall apart, when the difficulties of the kingdom weighed on Falena’s shoulders.

It started simply with him lost in a crowd. People were running over each other, everyone was confused and frightened — and he was being slaughtered by all of them, trampled underfoot.

Then it switched to something else. Falena heard Cheka’s screams and desperately ran to save him. Sometimes he managed to get the little boy to a safe place on the rocks. Other times, they didn’t survive. But in either scenario, Falena would lose his life.

No matter what he did or how hard he tried, everything or only his life slipped through his hands. His son’s screams would turn to tears as Falena collapsed into his own unconscious sleep. It was tortuous. He wanted to answer his little one, to say that everything would be fine — but in what voice? With what kind of force?

As time passed, a new character came to his dreams: Leona. 

He almost always stood aside, just watching the scene unfold in front of him. But sometimes it was he who first warned him of the danger that Cheka was in, and with this, Falena ended up finding himself in the midst of that frightened crowd.

Whenever he woke up from these nightmares, Falena usually took a deep breath and tried to comfort himself in the fact that if something happened to him, Leona could take care of Cheka and Maisha in his place. Without a doubt, he would leave the kingdom safely in the hands of his younger brother. 

There was no other person Falena wouldn’t trust with his own life and that of the people he loved most.

Then, at a certain point, that nightmare repeated itself.

Falena had managed to lead Cheka to the rocks, away from the tumultuous crowd where he could be safer. But he himself fell among the stampede again. In a last effort, Falena jumped up and clung to a high rock.

Relief washed over his face when he saw Leona on top of that very stone, safe enough to pull him away from danger.

“Leona...! Brother! Help me!,” Falena pleaded.

But Leona only gave a contemptuous smile in response. With all the calmness in the world, he crouched down and dug his nails into the knuckles of Falena’s hands, making him scream in pain. 

  “Long live the king,” then Leona gave a long and dangerous smile like he had never given before, looking deep into his older brother’s eyes.

Falena felt afraid of the shade of green in Leona’s eyes. Green in the shade of poison, pure burning sulfur. He wasn’t his brother. Leona wasn’t like that! In front of him was just the picture others painted of him.

Falena heard so many times from the servants that this was who his brother was going to become. A corrupt, envious boy who would bring drought and disgrace to the kingdom. It couldn’t be! Leona wasn’t like that. He would never hurt Cheka, nor anyone. 

Or would he? 

Suddenly the pain in his hands had stopped. The distance between them increased. Was Falena falling? Leona no longer held him. He was watching his fall with a dark, victorious look. A scream was heard in the distance. Falena has never heard the word “no” pronounced so painfully before.

He wasn’t sure if it was coming out of his own mouth because the voice he was hearing was from Cheka. But Falena kept falling until he finally hit the ground and thousands of feet passed over him. The pain of being trampled on was nothing compared to his heart being shattered inside.

Falena didn’t want the crown if it meant leaving his son and wife alone. He never wanted to. 

Before he knew it, he had already left his brother once. He didn’t want to leave him again. 

His voice grew faint before the noise of the stampede above him. Both when he was young and when observing his kingdom, it was the only time when the people’s voice surpassed his light. What began with the servants losing patience with the young second prince, turned into real complaints and fear with his magic.

Falena didn’t know what to say to them. His brother was young, that was all. But as Leona seemed to worsen in behavior, Falena lost the basis to defend him. And with the accumulation of royal responsibilities, he lost sense of time.

One day, Leona was already a full-fledged teenager who didn’t have the slightest motivation to do anything. The chess that Falena taught him with great joy became a game that his brother played alone — because he had no one by his side and no one wanted to be near him. Leona acted as if he were a stranger in the palace, a being who didn’t belong there.

But he was part of the cycle, he was a vital member of the family. Falena still held that truth in his heart. At the end of the day, he didn’t have more time to bring him back? Was their bond already broken beyond repair?

What would be left of all this would be for Leona to let him fall over the abyss of death, more than content to see the color of his eyes shine for one last time? 

“Dad!”

Then Falena woke up. He was alive after all. His heart was pounding hard enough to be sure of it. The sun shone brighter than ever through the office window. He should have fallen asleep unintentionally. His rest time has been getting worse lately. Everywhere he went he had a problem to solve, and if he ever stopped to rest, he felt guilty for it.

But there was Cheka holding his arm tightly, jumping endlessly with excitement. His eyes let out sparks of joy. It was almost nostalgic — at one point, in a room full of books, another boy called his brother to take a break from his studies and talk to him a little bit.

“Dad! Uncle Leona arrived with friends!,” the little prince announced happily. “Can Naru and I play with them? Can we?”

Seeing Cheka smiling gave some cheer to Falena’s poor suffering heart, though the mention of his brother couldn’t have come at a worse time.

“Go with Monti and Zakki to talk to your uncle. I... I’m going soon.” 

“Okay!”

“Ah! Cheka!”

The boy stopped in his tracks when his father called his name, his orange hair with yellow edges swirling like rays of midday sun. He was the perfect blend of his parents, a gift from Heavens to them. Falena took him in his lap and kissed his forehead.

“I love you, son. Be careful, okay?,” he asked. His voice was a little hoarse.

“I love you too, dad!,” Cheka kissed his father’s cheek. “And don't worry! I’ll be with uncle Leona.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of...”

Maisha entered at the right moment when Cheka ran out of the office. She had overheard part of the conversation. And her worry only worsened when she saw her husband’s forlorn countenance. 

Falena held his face in his hands, trying to catch his breath. He couldn’t believe what he’d just thought about his own brother. His stomach felt heavy and empty at the same time. He was feeling bad in so many different ways that he didn’t even know where to start. His thoughts collided like an onslaught of hyenas, tearing at his flesh and gnawing at his bones.

“It was that nightmare again?” 

The desolate king felt his wife’s hand massaging his shoulder, conveying comfort and solace. Falena raised his eyes to Maisha, her presence always welcomed on any occasion.

She went around the chair where her husband sat to be closer to him, and he held her waist, resting his head on her belly as he did at the time when she was pregnant with their precious son. His hair of a strong and intense orange cascaded down, confusing itself with the dress of the finest fabric that his queen wore. 

Maisha caressed Falena’s head, patiently waiting for him to find words to express himself.

She never rushed or pressured him. She knew it wouldn’t do any good. Few queens in the world could say that they loved their husband so much that they wouldn’t mind supporting them unconditionally as Maisha had done for a long time.

They never changed, they just got stronger together. Maisha had the same long, naturally slightly grayish-beige hair with strong yellow tips and the kind, wise caramel-colored eyes she had when she was young. The eyes Falena most wanted to face at the moment.

The time that passed wasn’t as long as it felt. For Falena, it seemed like an eternity before he told Maisha every single thing that happened in his nightmare. When the story came to an end, husband and wife stared at each other in deep silence. 

“I failed Leona... terribly,” Falena sighed. “I’d let them say what they wanted of him…”

“Falena, dear. You always defended him the best you could, I know that. Leona... actually, you two are very complicated. All this palace’s life is. What they subjected to a fifteen year old and a five year old boy is unforgivable,” Maisha said.

“But there’s nothing else we can do.”

The woman bit her lip. She understood the feeling well, those shadows that haunted her husband. That’s what she was most afraid of, too. She had known Leona for a long time and, luckily, he came to respect her more than anyone in his life. 

However, respect was still too little to meet him in the desert and drive him back home. Maisha didn’t just want to be Leona’s sister-in-law. She wanted to be his older sister. But he despised his own brother by blood, so what would she — as the family’s outsider — needed to do wrong to fall into the same bad graces?

“What can you offer a man who has everything but wants nothing?,” Maisha suddenly thought out loud. 

And Falena grasped this thought as if it were dry leaves that the wind brought in the afternoon. The royal spiritual adviser, Chinaza, once said that those said leaves were messages from the Kings of the Past — and in reality, the old baboon wasn’t so far from the truth.

With the words of his wife in mind, the king began to think calmly about everything. Over the years, he offered Leona various kinds of gifts. Books, chess boards, expensive items of clothing, dinners with his favorite meats and everything else he had at his disposal to give to his precious brother. It wasn’t just charity. He knew Leona deserved it all.

But it must have looked fake in the young man’s eyes. Deep down — and the nightmare didn’t help this feeling — Leona should despise all these gestures. 

It felt like Falena was patching up the past, as if all they had been through was an old tapestry that just needed extra thread.

“What is the one thing that a man who despises all things, because he feels himself to be despised, most wants?,” Falena asked back as he got up and looked out the window.

They were at the highest point of the palace, from where they could see the whole kingdom and everything that the light could touch. Maisha rested her head on Falena’s shoulder and he leaned on her equally, both with their gaze lost in the horizon.

“I have no idea, my love,” the wife replied.

“I think I know what to do... well, I think” Falena swallowed hard. “It’s not much and I honestly don’t know how much Leona will like or understand it…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Our father used to say that diplomatic apologies require more than an emotional and well-crafted text. That’s not what touches people. It’s the process, the small steps you take along the way. If you never cross the desert, you will never come home.”

“Alas, you ramble a lot sometimes,” Maisha said but began to smile as she saw her husband’s face recover its grace. “Will you start with the small steps then?”

Falena took a deep breath, filling himself with courage. He would. 

Better late than never.

If anything, Leona’s patience could be more succinctly described as a worn-out tapestry. 

It had interesting embroidered drawings, making smooth lines on thick thread and had the colors of the sunset. In the old days, it had impressive strength. But he couldn’t say the same in the present though. A lion cub had snatched the edge and began to tear it apart, leaving bristles exposed and easy to fray.

Which settled Jack to be the only one — by their side at the moment — who was actually concerned about the dorm leader wanting to rip apart his own nephew running around him in a fit of pure childish energy. 

Meanwhile, Kalim was distracted by all the beautiful landscapes around them in the huge palace. Naru, the lioness-friend of the little prince, was explaining everything to him — and on certain occasions, she would take a look at her best friend and smile at him having fun. 

But, perhaps, what was doing more harm to Leona’s nerves was the indescribable delight in which Lilia and Vil were watching them near the balcony. They both had different kinds of smiles but seemed equally amused by his look of distress.

Was that Leona’s penance for being himself in the NRC? Or were they joining life’s queue to piss him off?

“Cheka!,” suddenly a powerful voice made its entrance. 

“Dad!” 

Leona had his chair turned away from the entrance, but as he turned around, he was for a very brief moment happy with his brother’s arrival. All to get Cheka away from him, especially. 

He then took a look at the colleagues he brought along and observed their reactions of respect and admiration at the arrival of the king. He wasn’t particularly impressed himself. 

Falena might be the most imposing “Lion King” in all of Afterglow Savannah’s history but Leona would always see him as his annoyingly enthusiastic older brother.

“Dear friends!,” Falena greeted the boys with a smile. “Could you let me steal Leona for a moment?”

This was such a surprise that the second prince turned his head back.

“Oh, we don’t mind, Your Majesty,” Vil spoke for the group, smiling politely.

Leona rolled his eyes. It was like he was being handed over like a pesky stray cat off someone’s backyard. 

Jack was thinking of a form to add any type of positive comments — to at least take that very impression out of the room — but he remained silent as the dorm leader assured him in a simple hand gesture that it wasn’t necessary. 

Falena noticed this as his brother stood up. Every one of them had their own opinions on Leona. Well, mixed opinions it seemed. Personally, he would like to know how his little brother was doing at Night Raven College — but he would have to wait a bit longer to hear about Leona’s school adventures. 

Falena waved a goodbye to Cheka and Naru, leaving them in the hands of their caretakers, the meerkat-man chamberlain Monti and the warthog-man cook — who also acted as the little prince’s personal aide — Zakki, and the remaining boys. 

Then the brothers left the balcony and walked through the halls in complete silence. No one dared disturb their course. Even a falling leaf could be heard in the distance.

After a few minutes of walking beside his brother without facing him, Leona eventually realized that they were walking through more and more empty corridors inside the palace. Places he almost forgot existed. It seemed that they had crossed the entire construction when Falena opened for him a door hidden behind a large dark red wall-tapestry.

Behind the secret passage, there was a large field that was part of the royal estate but remained in the shadow of the towers and higher floors. Further away, Leona recognized a part of the field with a large tree as the marking for the Cemetery of the Kings of the Past. 

“Why did you bring me here?,” he finally spoke to his brother, although he had a confused frown on his brows.

“It's a quiet, peaceful place,” Falena said. “Because it’s the Royal Cemetery, anyone who does not consider here an inhospitable place certainly knows that it is sacred so even servants and guards would never think of looking for a secret passage or opening the door.” 

“So what?” 

“I wish you could find rest here.”

Because Leona had a tremendously surprised expression, Falena added quickly:

“N-no! I’m not talking to you to rest forever here! No way! Please don’t even think...!,” then he took a deep breath to recompose himself. “What I mean, Leona, is that here it will be much easier to hide from the palace than in your room. Cheka is terribly afraid of those hallways, even if he won’t admit it.”

It was Leona’s turn to take a deep breath and facepalm, bewildered by that whole situation. He had not confused Falena’s words — though, come to think of it, it would indeed be a strange thing to say normally — and remained in the dark as to why he was being introduced to that place.

“Are you letting me stay here? Is that it?,” Leona questioned.

“Yes. Consider it my holiday gift.”

“Have you... gone insane? Is the crown so heavy that you hit your head on the floor one of these days?”

Falena bit his tongue, trying not to be discouraged in his convictions, nor to let himself be contaminated by the acidity of his brother’s words.

Leona could be an excellent diplomat when he wanted. Emphasis on “when he wanted”. But what was occurring at the present moment was no disaster of etiquette. It was how Leona usually talked to his older brother. 

Sarcasm and irony were always at their peak. Boredom dictated the harmony of his voice. And, above all, resentment oozed through the thorniest sentences like burning sulfur. 

Falena could feel it more than ever. They weren’t just brothers who couldn’t get along like normal families had. There was a large scar between them, completely exposed and fragile. 

There was no point in pressing mere band-aids there, hoping to disappear with the cut. Something needed to be done to improve the healing process and not allow inflammations. It would be painful and difficult. However, wasting time was no longer on Falena’s mind. If he were going to stop the blood, he should do it now.

It was then Leona felt something different when Falena looked up at him. 

Anyone who might have had the chance to observe them — however deserted the place was — might have seen the reflection of the king’s normally radiant countenance. However, only his young brother was close enough to understand that it wasn’t his usual glow.

“I gave you many gifts and allowed you to do whatever you wanted in a clumsy and vain hope that... “Falena sighed but kept going. “...things could be arranged. But it’s not that simple. In fact, by trying to please you, I was making the situation worse. But Leona...!”

His voice grew stronger, pouring out all its honesty like good rain in the midst of drought and desolation.

“I don’t know what to do, that’s the truth! Maybe I’ll never know. If our father was still well, I could try to take his advice... but all this damage is already done. You walk in and out of here with your head held high but with a terrible feeling in your heart. Like this it’s not even your home.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You don’t know how I feel,” Leona looked away, annoyed.

“Of course I don’t know! You don’t tell me!”

So Leona turned to Falena again, torn between putting the matter aside or contesting it in the adrenaline rush that awoke in his heart. Actually, he wasn’t sure what to answer. And as if Falena could finally after all those years read his little brother’s thoughts, he smiled softly.

“Talk about it when you feel the time has come. It doesn’t even have to be with me, if you don’t want to. For now, a place of silence and comfort is all I can indicate to you.”

“Indicate?”

“Yeah. Because you are still the Prince of the Savannah. You have rights like any of our bloodline,” Falena touched Leona’s shoulder and looked deep into his brother’s green eyes. “You can come here whenever you want. You always could.”

A strong breeze passed by the brothers but they didn’t move even a flinch. Small leaves of various colors, dust and the familiar smell of the savannah continued on its way, as if it were a ghost of one of the Kings of the Past who wanted to spy on the strange scene unfolding there on sacred territory.

Gently, Falena’s hand left Leona and joined his other hand. He wasn’t feeling cowed at least. On the contrary, he was satisfied for the first time with an action he did. His smile didn’t waver.

“Well, if you want to take a break, I’ll let your friends know and…”

“Falena,” Leona called.

He mirrored his older brother’s expression with his words. For a moment, Leona felt like a child again. Not in the sense of feeling small and powerless. But, as it was in the old days. The good times when things were in their place and Falena still had time to afford to teach him to play chess.

“Thanks. Or something like that.”

Leona stared at a distant spot in the landscape, not looking directly into Falena’s eyes. 

He didn’t feel ready yet for that type of situation and had doubts about his brother’s intentions. He never thought he would say that, but hanging out with his classmates and holding his own patience seemed much easier than dealing with the scars of the past.

But something inside him knew that Falena understood what he was doing. It could be a part that Leona hid from his own peripheral vision on purpose, almost always to the point of completely forgetting its existence. Yet it was still there inside him.

“But I’ll have to leave it for another time. I have to lead a pack of warthogs’ backsides to a festival, remember?,” Leona retorted, going back to the exit. “Later. Who knows.”

Falena let out a laugh that made his brother stop for a moment. He looked like he was going to comment on something but then gave up.

“Well, always feel welcome. And I’ll be watching it all from somewhere. Above all: have fun, Leona!”

And then, Falena gave the biggest smile Leona had ever seen before. Perhaps it wasn't just an impression that his aura of majesty was different. It wasn’t like it got any worse, though. 

It was as if an immense weight had left Falena’s shoulders and he rejuvenated like the dawn sun as he reached for his little brother’s step. They continued without saying anything on the way back, following the path in a very rare and comfortable silence. 

It was the first step towards a new ending.

Falena also felt a different energy coming from Leona and his gaze accompanied him throughout the visit, questioning within himself how people couldn’t even see the resplendent light coming from Leona. Or maybe they did — it was his final conclusion — and they didn’t know what to make of it.

But Falena knew. And he felt a deep joy to have a younger brother like Leona. Smart and strategic, able to stand on his own two feet, courageous. Even friendly — although the boy didn’t like to admit it. 

  For the first time in a long time, Falena could have a peaceful night of starry dreams. He never had that nightmare again. He was dreaming of a bright future ahead. Some moment in time when Leona could feel happy doing whatever he wanted. Where Cheka would be a wonderful king and Maisha would still be there by his side.

And Falena would live long to see all this.

Special notes: Uh, I haven’t actually watched anything from the Tamashina Mina event so I don’t even know if they acknowledge Falena’s presence at some point. But this is what I think happened. And I feel particularly relieved about writing this story bc I love Falena due to my memories of Mufasa. I don’t think canon will ever prove me wrong but even so, this is the version of good ol’ Falena that I love the most <3 Thank you for the attention!

[alliluyevas]

(deeply disturbing) mormon primary source adventures continue...I have been reading the 1843 diary of William Clayton, Joseph Smith’s official church secretary and close personal friend, which is a really invaluable source for contemporary details regarding when Smith married various women (he did not record anything about his own marriages in his journal, but Clayton did).

What I was specifically tracking in Clayton’s journal was the (much more extensive) documentation of Clayton’s own plural marriage, to his first wife Ruth’s younger sister, 23-year-old Margaret Moon. I have bolded a few lines for emphasis.

27 April 1843, Thursday

At the Temple A.M. went to prests. [Church President Joseph Smith’s] who rode with me to bro. H.C. Kimballs where sister Margt. Moon was sealed up [married] by the priesthood, by the president--and M to me.

11 June 1843, Sunday

Margaret received a letter from Aaron [Farr, her fiance, who had left on a mission trip before she married Clayton] which  made her feel bad. It also gave me unaccountable sorrow.

13 June 1843, Tuesday 

I have had some conversation  with M. she promised she would not marry A if she can possibly avoid  it. And if she ever feels disposed to marry she will tell me as soon as she thinks of it. She will seek my Council & says she will abide it.

8 July 1843, Saturday 

Margt. wrote a letter to Aaron which I dictated informing him that she should not marry.

22 July 1843, Saturday

Mt. and A [Aaron Farr, now returned from his mission] had a long conversation together. She has stood true to her covenant with CW. [William Clayton’s initials backwards] I also  had some talk with him & although the shock is severe he endures it patiently. And I pray the Great Eloheem to make up the loss to him an  hundred fold and enable him to rejoice in all things. My heart aches with grief on his & M's account and could almost say O that I had never known her. But Thou O God knowest the integrity of thy servant. Thou knowest that I have done that which I have understood to be thy will & am still determined to do so and I ask thee in the name of  Jesus Christ either to absolutely wean my affections from M. or give me hers entire and then I am content. But to live in this state of feeling I cannot.

If I have done wrong in this thing, show it me that thy servant may repent of it and obtain forgiveness. But O Lord have mercy on me and by some means release me from this grievous bondage of  feeling & thy servant will praise thee. Prest. Joseph came to see me &  pronounced a sealing blessing upon Ruth [Clayton’s first and legal wife] and me. And we mutually entered into an everlasting covenant with each other.

23 July 1843, Sunday

M. appears dissatisfied with her situation & is miserable O that the Lord will bless my house and deliver us from every evil principle & feeling that we may be saved. For I desire to do right. O Lord make my heart and my affections right and pure as it shall please thee that I may enjoy the blessing of peace and happiness even so Amen. Hyrum preached A.M and Joseph P.M. Evening I had some more talk with M. & find she is miserable which makes me doubly so. I offered to her to try to have her covenant released if she desired it  but she said she was not willing. [Margaret was pregnant by this time, which is probably why she did not feel she could be released from her marriage to Clayton.]

24 July 1843, Monday

M. is still miserable and unhappy and it does seem that  my heart must burst. What shall I do? How shall I recompense? And how long must I thus suffer worse than death for that which I have always  regarded as being the will of the Lord. By the help of the Lord I will  do right. I have repeatedly offered to M. to try to get a release from  the covenant and I have done all I know to make things comfortable but  to no effect. She appears almost to hate me and cannot bear to come near me.

O God if thou wilt give me M's affections, and cause things  to be pleasant and happy between us, If thou will bless her & comfort  her by thy spirit & cause her to rejoice in what she has done, and  bring it to pass that I may secure her truly with all her affections  for time & for eternity. I feel to covenant to try to serve thee with  more diligence if possible and to do all that thou shalt require at  mine hands, wilt thou not grant me this blessing, and relieve my  aching heart from this worst of all troubles which ever befel me in  the course of my life? O God plead my cause and give me thine  everlasting blessing, and do remember M. for good that she may be  comforted even so amen amen and amen

25 July 1843, Tuesday.

M. much as usual.

26 July 1843, Wednesday

M. seems quite embittered against me in consequence  of which I called her to me and asked her if she desired the covenant  to be revoked if it were possible To this she would not give me a  satisfactory answer only saying if it had not been done it should not  be. (meaning our union) I then asked if she would consent if A would take her under all circumstances; but she would not consent to have it  revoked--saying she did it not for her sake but for the sake of the  peace of my family.

Under these circumstances I could not rest until I  had ascertained wether the c[ovenant] could be revoked & although contrary to  her wish I went to see Prest. J. I took A to talk with him & asked him  some questions whereby I ascertained that he would be willing to take  her under all circumstances, I reasoned considerable with him to prove  that I had done right in all these matters so far as I knew it, I called the Prest. out and briefly stated the situation of things and  then asked him if the C. could be revoked. He shook his head and  answered no. At this conclusion my mind seemed for the moment to get relief for the two fold reason that I had done all I could and I did not want the C. revoked.

I came back & M & A. were together in Farrs garden. I told them the answer I had got & advised them to take the  best measures to make all things right between them. I cannot help thinking that M. has treated me not only unkindly but meanly & cruelly, but I forgive her before the Lord for I sympathize with her  in her grief, but cant console her for she will not speak to me. My  earnest prayer to God is that all things may soon become right & pleasant & that the Lord may bless her & save her from sinning against  him. And if I have done wrong in asking if the C. could be revoked &  seeking to have it done O Lord forgive me for I desire to do right in  all things that I may he saved, I feel that I have done right in the  sight of God and that he has abundantly blessed me for which I thank  him and something tells me that the time will come when M. will love those whom she ought & when she will feel perfectly satisfied with her situation & rejoice that things remain as they are. And now O God  bless thy servant and handmaid & stamp the peace upon us and fill us  with the spirit of truth for Jesus Christs sake Amen--

11 August 1843, Friday

J. told me to day that ``Walker'' had been speaking to him concerning my having taken M away from A. & intimated that I had done wrong. I told him to be quiet and say no more about it. He also told me Emma  was considerably displeased with it but says he she will soon get over  it. In the agony of mind which I have endured on this subject I said I  was sorry I had done it, at which J told me not to say so. I finally  asked him if I had done wrong in what I had done he answered no you have a right to get all you can.

The little snippets of Margaret’s feelings and the way they are sort of bracketed by Clayton’s commentary are really telling and disturbing. Poor Margaret :( Also the way that Joseph Smith is encouraging Clayton not to feel guilty about any of this and justifying it to him. Woof.

[usergreenpixel]

Frev writing prompts, Part 5! Seriously, I have no idea how I keep coming up with these. 😅

36. The protagonist was born and raised by a troupe of traveling performers. For as long as they can remember, they have been traveling from place to place, never staying anywhere for a few days at most.

The protagonist’s father is the troupe’s flutist and singer while their mother is a puppeteer so the youth has always had a passion for the performing arts and dreams of traveling all over Europe with their big happy family.

Nicknamed “L’œillet rouge” (The Red Carnation) by the troupe as an homage to their father’s favorite flower, the protagonist enjoys playing the flute and singing with their father, as well as putting on puppet shows with their mother.

With a song in their heart, a smile on their face and their father’s precious flute in their hands, the protagonist travels all over the country with their family, entertaining the people of France but never settling down and they like it that way.

But one day, while the troupe is staying in Paris and putting on a rather satirical puppet show which mocks the current regime, the protagonist’s parents are suddenly arrested by the police. Apparently, the father is a dangerous rebel while the mother is guilty of having sheltered said rebel years ago.

The protagonist is convinced that there must be a mistake and decides to rescue their parents with the help of all the other troupe members, including the protagonist’s older maternal half-brother and their maternal grandparents, all of whom are eager to help.

The time is limited and the rescue will be far from easy, but the protagonist will be damned if they don’t at least try to succeed. So, with that in mind, the young flutist and their family start to concoct the rescue plan...

37. Rumors have it that people who have been murdered tend to become vengeful ghosts and haunt their killers to exact revenge.

This is certainly true for Robespierre and his supporters. Unable to find peace, their souls are brought back to the realm of the living, seeking revenge on the Thermidorians.

This particular circumstance is quite convenient for the protagonist, a spirit medium who summons these ghosts and intends to use them as tools in their plan to torment the Thermidorians and avenge their family that got massacred in Lyon, skillfully using the revolutionaries’ restlessness and anger to achieve their goal.

However, soon certain events make the protagonist question the morality of using these spirits. Perhaps the protagonist is no better than their enemies if they are not above manipulating others. Perhaps there’s another way… Nonsense! It’s not manipulation if the other people also want revenge and are dead anyway...right?

38. The heroine of the story, like many other girls of the noble class, grew up and got her education in a convent in her hometown of Caen, France.

As a result of this upbringing, the young woman is rather used to a sheltered life, her idealism is through the roof and she is rather nostalgic about her life in the convent and her friendship with another noble girl, Charlotte Corday, who is the heroine’s closest friend and confidant.

At first the noblewoman wants to stay out of the events of the revolution, dreaming of taking her vows as a nun and living a quiet life in the convent, but those plans are abruptly thwarted by Corday, whose influence slowly gets the naïve heroine deeper and deeper into the mess that is the French Revolution.

Being idealistic, easily trusting, quiet, pacifistic and devoutly Catholic, the heroine initially follows her best friend’s lead and trusts her judgement since Corday is the closest thing to a big sister that the young woman has.

However, when Corday tries to convince her to kill Jean-Paul Marat and end the revolution, the heroine starts having mixed feelings about her friend’s decisions, despite being angry with Marat for her own personal reasons. After all, her faith teaches to forgive, not to judge and take revenge, so now the heroine must make a choice.

Will she betray her best friend and ruin the plan or will she cast aside her morals to help Corday and, presumably, the rest of the country? Is Marat really the bloodthirsty monster that Corday says he is? Is there another way to deal with the situation at hand without any casualties? And what consequences will the main character face for the choice she makes?

39. The main character is an illegitimate son of a Russian noble and a serf (yes, serfs were still a thing in Russia) who got taken in by his father as a “ward” and sent to France to get a good education, as everything French was very fashionable in the Russian Empire at the time.

There, in Paris of 1789, the young man absorbs all the knowledge he can, learning languages, reading the prominent books written in the Enlightenment era and even befriends a man by the name of Maximilien de Robespierre, a lawyer from Arras and the representative of Artois.

Considering that Robespierre was almost born illegitimate, he is the first person in a long time who doesn’t judge the protagonist for the circumstances of his birth and accepts him for him. Excited to be accepted at long last, the young man begins to look up to Robespierre as a mentor and an older brother of sorts, quickly absorbing his ideas and supporting him.

So, naturally, when the revolution begins and the young man finds himself trapped in Paris, he joins the revolutionaries to fight alongside his mentor.

Thus begin his adventures.

40. The protagonist is a child of criminals forced to survive on the streets after losing their parents until they’re eventually taken in by a seemingly sympathetic Jacobin, given a new name, a home and a fresh start in life. The protagonist essentially becomes the revolutionary’s ward and their guardian even takes them to the Convention so the youth can observe the meetings.

All seems good for the protagonist...almost too good to be true. But eventually certain events force the protagonist to wonder if their new guardian truly cares about them.

Could it be that their Jacobin guardian has some sinister motives? And will the protagonist be able to move away from their “bad” heritage and live an honest life at last?

41. Barras is in love. Again.

Head over heels over a pretty servant he recently hired and she even seems to like her employer back. Even her suspiciously strong resemblance to a certain Jacobin who got executed in 1794 isn’t a dealbreaker for Barras and the smitten man writes said resemblance off as a coincidence.

The other Thermidorians, especially Fouché, are not that blind and they fear that a relative of that particular executed man is here to seek revenge. Fouché decides to investigate this seemingly ordinary and harmless young servant, suspecting that she has quite a few skeletons in her closet.

Are these suspicions going to be confirmed or is Fouché simply being paranoid?

42. Thermidor has just taken place. The Jacobins are imprisoned and it seems like the traitors are going to win. All hope is lost for the Jacobins and their enemies rejoice.

But little do the Thermidorians know that by betraying and imprisoning all the men who stand in their way, they have just acquired new enemies - women.

Revolutionary women.

Wives, daughters, sisters, nieces, goddaughters, lovers, wards, friends and sympathizers of the captured Jacobins who are not going to sit back and give up.

Seeing how bleak things are, these women, led by a mysterious woman who conceals her face behind a mask and calls herself “Citoyenne Liberté” (Citizen Liberty), decide to rescue their imprisoned loved ones from the clutches of the Thermidorians.

They’re running out of time, they’re outnumbered and not equipped with proper weapons, but that is hardly a problem they can’t solve and they’re willing to fight against the odds regardless of the obstacles.

After all, Heaven hath no fury like a woman scorned, which is what the Thermidorians are about to learn the hard way.

43. A singer and actress who used to perform in Venice flees to France after a scandal demolishes her reputation. Having only her voice and her acting to make ends meet, for a while she tries to find work in Paris but barely makes enough money for her and her son to survive.

Her only friend and confidant in this bleak situation is a future revolutionary who happens to admire the heroine’s singing and strongly believes that she deserves better. He even bonds with the actress’s toddler son and is willing to step up and become a proper father figure for the child.

Thanks to said revolutionary, the heroine’s life begins to change for the better and she decides to settle down in Paris. Even when she learns about the approaching revolution, she chooses to stay in the only place where she feels like she can belong.

What’s more, the actress finally finds her new purpose in life. She too can fight for the cause of her new partner and his friends, in her own way.

How is a woman whose main talents are acting and singing supposed to be able fight, you may ask? Why, by becoming a spy for the Jacobins and the singing voice of the revolution of course!

And she might just be able to prove that anyone can be a revolutionary and one doesn’t need to be a fighter nor an orator to help a noble cause.

44. A female servant working for Georges Danton has to practically flee the house of her employer after the latter crosses all the possible boundaries while drunk.

Fearing for her safety and profoundly traumatized by the event, the servant is found and taken in by a seemingly sympathetic man who sees Danton as a sworn enemy for his own reasons. Considering that both have a grudge against Danton and the man is a journalist, he and the servant team up to bring Danton down.

Will they succeed? Why does the journalist hate Danton? And is his desire to aid the heroine genuine?

45. Paris, France. The revolution is in full swing.

The Committee of Public Safety has to deal with multiple issues, the ongoing war is depleting France’s resources and the situation seems dire.

What’s more, a new newspaper, “La Voix de la Justice” (The Voice of Justice), began to circulate in the city. While this particular fact isn’t that surprising by itself, the thing that sets this newspaper apart from the rest is the fact that its author is anonymous.

Nobody knows who writes this newspaper but the articles are quite good and this mysterious person has already exposed several people who were using the Reign of Terror as an excuse for their atrocities.

Naturally, all these details catch the attention of Jean-Paul Marat and Camille Desmoulins, two of the most prominent journalists of that time. Intrigued by this new newspaper and its author, the two revolutionaries team up to track that person down, if only to find out who they are and thank them for helping their cause.

46. The protagonist grew up believing that Robespierre is single handedly responsible for the execution of their beloved aunt and uncle and, as a result, believes that the man deserved to be executed for that betrayal.

However, the protagonist is soon forced to question their judgment when their older cousin, Horace Desmoulins, reaches out to them in a letter, inviting them to Paris and claiming that he found evidence proving that in actuality Robespierre attempted to save Camille and Lucile Desmoulins, Horace’s parents.

Although the protagonist is skeptical at first, since Horace has always defended his godfather, they are still intrigued by their cousin’s invitation and leaves Guise to join Horace in his investigation.

Together, the two cousins are both determined to clear the names of Horace’s parents and figure out what role Robespierre actually played in the family tragedy.

47. The five protagonists are all members of a heavy metal band whose name and songs are an homage to the French Revolution.

Previously little more than a quintet of college misfits determined to rehabilitate this particular event and tell the real story through music, the band finally starts gaining popularity after a successful concert at a music festival in Marseille.

And then things take a turn for the unexpected when the band gets into an accident on their way home, only to wake up in Revolutionary France. Naturally, they now must survive and return home but this adventure might just become the inspiration they needed so much...

48. After the protagonist’s father leaves them and their blind mother behind to move to Paris, the protagonist is naturally upset. Year after year, they wait for their father to return but he never does.

In 1789, after losing their mother to an illness, the protagonist decides that enough is enough and travels to Paris to confront their father. To their disgust, they soon find out that their father is now remarried, with a new family and quite rich while the protagonist is basically a pauper. Moreover, the father seems to have joined the revolutionaries, which is something that the protagonist cannot approve of either.

Now the protagonist wants to make sure that their father faces the music for his betrayal so they contact a journalist who is about to expose said father in an article.

A story of one of his enemies leaving behind his first family will be a nice addition to the already existing accusations of corruption, but the protagonist and the journalist soon realize that they are not immune to the consequences of their actions either and this article might cause more damage than they think it will.

49. (A reimagining of Aladdin) After their flute is broken beyond repair, the protagonist goes to a pawn shop to find a replacement for their practice.

It is there that an old ivory flute catches their attention so the protagonist purchases it, has it professionally restored and decides to keep it, ignoring the warning of the shopkeeper that it’s cursed and the suspiciously low price.

The protagonist is a skeptic and never believed in magic, curses and other occult things.

That is until they play the flute for the first time and a man poofs into existence like a genie from a lamp. Introducing himself as Louis Antoine de Saint-Just, he informs the protagonist that he used to be the owner of the flute but is now trapped in it because of black magic.

Despite their skepticism, the protagonist cannot logically explain anything that’s going on but wants to help so they strike a deal with Saint-Just - he is going to help the protagonist win over their love interest in exchange for freedom.

As for how the spell is supposed to be broken, the protagonist is completely clueless but their mysterious neighbor with a knack for alchemy and the occult might be able to help…

50. Lyon, France.

The future Thermidorians mercilessly massacre innocent people and rule with an iron fist. Just today they massacred several prominent noble families of the city for defying them.

However, what the tyrants do not know is that they didn’t massacre everyone, for the daughters of the executed nobles are currently living at a convent to get education, as was common back then.

Upon receiving the tragic news and fearing that these young girls are going to end up on the death list, two nuns, the heroines of the story, come up with a plan to escort the girls out of the city and get them to a different location where they would be safe.

The plan is daring but the risk is too high to sit there and do nothing. Will the nuns be able to keep their students safe?

Let me know in the comments or DMs if any of my prompts interest you! I can help you with certain prompts if you want! 😊

[thgreatestblue]

false god [part III]

➜ pairing: kokushibou x fem!reader ➜ warnings: smut, fluff, manga spoilers, angst, no happy ending. ➜ words: 7.8k ➜ a/n: the third and final part of this fic is finally here! it brings me a lot of joy to know that there are people out there that like my work even when my english isn't perfect. thank you to everyone who waited and supported this fic, i really appreciate it. this chapter is looong but i hope you enjoy it! ➜ ao3

➜ false god [part I] / false god [part II]

summary: Then, you look at him, really look at him. Past those six eyes, beyond the black, the red and yellow; for who he once was. Maybe in another life you would be graced with the luck to meet him again, under different circumstances, being able to love him for the person he truly was. 

V.

After so many years of living in the dark, the idea of enjoying the night as much as you enjoyed the day was still foreign. As the day shifted, you looked forward to watch the curtains of the stage closing for the sun, so the moon would have its chance to perform another beautiful night; stars twinkling and dancing between clouds, glowing in the dark — it was now an endless battle for your favoritism. 

There was something about the moon; its form so intrinsic and majestic. You would watch from your window how bright and graceful the celestial body moved around the sky. How it would cast a dreamy gleam as the night went by. The quiet sounds of the animals; crickets and owls filling the silence with their everyday songs. 

It was a beautiful phenomenon on this side of the world. Or at least, on this side of life you were finally experiencing. Counting stars to sleep, the gentle but cold breeze of the night, the fragile silence that seems untouchable even with the nocturne activity. It was peaceful, and that’s what you’ve wanted for so long that everyday was a day to enjoy life by itself. 

Or maybe partially, because some nights the last thing you did was contemplating the moon in the sky. Instead, you would be contemplating another one; right on earth, at the touch of your fingers. At Kokushibou’s mercy, you would give him anything he wanted — and you were, oh, so willing to provide. Even though you had a job to do, now most of the time, you would find yourself making your way to his bedroom, only getting out of it hours later. 

Kokushibou fucked like he fought. It was raw and rough, borderline animalistic — which you suspect was just his nature acting under his lust, he was a Demon after all. You didn’t mind though, you actually really liked how carnal and real the act felt. And mostly, how everytime after sex you would lay down, feeling good and satisfied. Soon enough you were craving for his touch, counting the hours, the days so you could taste him again. 

After some time, you learned all his preferences, all his favorite spots. You liked to see the hunger on his face when you changed things in bed, trying something new; just the greed on his eyes was enough to get you aroused. You loved the way he devoured your mouth, how he imprinted his desire on your flesh; carving you with kisses and teeth. 

Not only were your neck and shoulders marked; but you could find purple and blue spots on your back, down to your breasts, inside your thighs and even on your ass — He clearly was making it difficult for you to cover up everything. At some point you stopped trying to hide the marks he left on your skin. 

The other servants probably knew about your activities with him anyway, so it wasn't a secret you needed to keep. And the way Kokushibou glanced at your exposed, and pretty much marked skin for the first time while you were working still gets you all worked up — He was, without a doubt, a possessive man.

Soon enough, you started to spend more time in his bedroom than anywhere else. And because you didn't know how to explain to the servants that you’ve been having sex with him for the past few months, you choose to not talk about it at all. Pretending that nothing was happening was easier than trying to explain something that didn't really have an explanation. 

Or maybe it did. And it was quite simple. You liked to be fucked by Kokushibou, and he liked to fuck you. That was all.

When it came to having sex, it was something you could do without thinking; your body moved on its own, knowing exactly what to do and what it wanted. How to pleasure both of you, something that Kokushibou seemed to like — A contrast to the old days, because he wanted you to feel good, wanted to make you come screaming his name. Which was something you were very pleased about because you couldn't take one sided relationships anymore. 

However, when it came to simple interactions; like talking about the day, about the weather, or even dancing with him — another thing Kokushibou seemed to take a liking other than having sex — You were a mess, never knowing what to do, where to look at. It would make you laugh at how much those basic things left you blushing more than having his cock down your throat.

The night was prettier by the lake; the water was almost still, saving from the small bubbles from the fishes that popped on the surface from time to time. It reflected the full moon on its surface, mirroring the beauty from the sky. The wind hits your exposed legs, and even though it isn't cold, you shiver slightly. 

You were wearing only a kimono and your undergarments. It wasn't an ideal way to dress when going out of the house; but sooner or later you were going to be naked, so why make it difficult to undress? When Kokushibou invited you to come see the lake that day, it was more than obvious that he didn't want to only show you the place. 

“May I ask you a bold question?” You shyly say, glancing at him from the corner of your eyes.

You pick one grape from the bunch you had brought and eat it to distract yourself from the nervousness on our stomach. Kokushibou didnt say it was a picnic, but you decided to make it one. The towel that you extend was soft under your skin, the food was inside a basquet and even though the man wasn't eating anything from it, you knew he would still have his meal before dawn.

“You may.” He’s sitting by your side, eyes lingering on your fingers. The warmth of the proximity was nice since you weren't wearing many clothes.

“How old are you really?” You ask hesitantly. You knew it wasn't your position to ask personal questions; yet, you couldn't help wanting to know more about the man, wanting to dwell on his deep waters; wanting to find treasures no one had the chance to see. 

“Why do you want to know that?” Kokushibou blinks, eyes opening and closing in a perfect rhythm. 

Although it was rude to stare, the movement would always catch your eyes, watching how even his blinks were perfectly synchronized. You once had the opportunity to watch him train, and you wanted to imprint every single minute of that day on your mind, forever carved on the brain. You had never seen someone moving so beautifully yet dangerous; how impeccable the katana cut through the air, every single muscle exposed as he shifted from a position to another — And heavens, the way he fucked you after that left you sore for the rest of the week. 

“Because I'm curious?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to sound casual. 

You were still working your nervousness around him when you two weren't having sex. It was a territory probably neither of you knew much about, Kokushibou taking too long to answer, and you hesitating to continue. You pick another grape, this time making sure to suck your finger in the process.

Kokushibou shifts his gaze to the lake. A beautiful swan floated around, alone in the big body of water. You watch the bird as well, the gleam from above making the white of his feathers shine under the moonlight. Silence fell between you two, but it wasn't uncomfortable. You wonder if Kokushibou was thinking about his past life, if he was trying to remember all those years he had lived. 

“485 years.” He finally says.

You gag on the grape, coughing a little bit in the process. You had a suspicion that he was old, but 458 years? You look at the lonely swan again. Time must be a different concept for someone like Kokushibou, to watch seasons changing the landscape from a year to another, from snow to summer rains. People borning then dying. Heroes rising then sinking. Wars, Marriages. Life, Death. It was such a heavy number that you couldn't even fathom the idea of living for so long. Alone.

“Isn't lonely? Living for that long by yourself?” You genuinely wanted to know.

Kokushibou turns his head to look at you, bringing his hand to your face. He touches tenderly your cheek and you immediately incline your head, seeking the warmth of his skin. It was moments like this you allowed yourself to dream, just a taste of what it could be if this was another reality. You briefly close your eyes, kissing the palm of his hand.

“Sometimes it is,” His eyes hover over your face, then over your almost exposed breasts. The only thing keeping your kimono together was a sash around your waist; which was poorly tied. “Sometimes it is not.”

Truth be told, he had become bolder with his actions in the past few weeks, not restraining his touches for only the bedroom. You had a hard time trying not blushing furiously while he fucked you on the kitchen counter one night; the fear of being caught turning you on more than it should — or when he kissed your hand in front of the servants the other night after inviting you to dance.

That’s why when you got ready you thought it wouldn't hurt being bold as well. And by the way he was looking at your legs, the hem of your kimono sliding over your thighs, it was working quite well. 

In a swift motion, he grabs your wrist, pulling you into his lap. You don’t fight against it, letting your legs straddle his thighs, gasping as your pussy rubs against his crotch, and you can feel he’s already hardening in his pants. You wrap your arms around his neck, throwing your head back to show off your neck — that it never has time to recover before having his mouth all over it again.

Kokushibou doesn't waste any more time; his hand is already tangled in your hair, yanking in sharp tugs while biting and sucking the tender but still bruised skin of your collar. The other hand is untying the knot of the sash in a quick motion. You arch against him, bucking your hips into the friction. 

As soon as the kimono falls open, his mouth moves from your bruised neck down to your chest, leaving a trail of electricity at each kiss, lighting up all your body and forming a hot pool on your lower belly. He sucks one of your nipples and you roll your hips harder against him, moaning softly at his touch. 

“I didn't know you liked to play with dolls, Kokushibou-dono.”

You literally jump on his lap as soon as your mind registers the voice, squealing as the embarrassment of being caught washes over you. Kokushibou is fast on his movements though, quickly grabbing the hem of the kimono to cover your breasts. You hold your arms in front of your body before taking a look at the owner of the voice.

“What are you doing here, Douma?” The cold and sharp tone of his voice is enough to cease all of the fire and lust that was still lingering on your body. 

The man was standing a few steps away — at least he didn't have the audacity to come so close — His hair was so pale that it seemed silver under the moonlight; almost as long as Kokushibou too. His skin was also pretty pale. But what caught your attention was his eyes;  An array of rainbow pastel tones coloring his iris; it is different from anything you’ve seen, and you'd find it pretty if it wasn't for one detail.

He was definitely a Demon. And you had to curse yourself for, more often than not, forgetting about the fact that you lived amongst them. It was so easy to forget about problems like that when all you did was house work and sex. When there was no one in sight and no real danger to remember you that the world was actually a cruel place.

You notice that Douma, as Kokushibou called, is looking at you. At this point you should’ve already been used to Demons studying you with their hunter eyes, but it’s impossible to get used when every glance was different, if Kokushibou glanced at you with desire, then Douma looked at you as his next prey, ready to rip your head off. 

“Oh, I’m sorry for interrupting, it wasn't my intention!” He looks almost apologetic, but there’s something about the way he moves his features, as if it’s all mechanical; rehearsed.

“What do you want?” Kokushibou's voice cuts the night like a knife, it makes your shoulders tense. You had never heard him this angry before. 

You quickly get off of him, tying up the sash of your kimono again. Your legs tremble over the stare you’re receiving. It’s cold and sadistic, the smile spreading on his face is creep, making you remember why you had to stay away from Demons in the first place. 

“Hmm, I was feeling sad for losing three of our friends in such a short period of time.” He dramatically sighs, wiping away fake tears from his eyes, “I came here seeking your comfort but it seems like you have already found someone else.”

He glances at you again, and this time you can taste the danger and perverse intentions exhaling from him. You quiver slightly under his gaze, fear feeling your veins. In some way, it reminds you of Muzan; even though he never hid his intentions, somehow, having a Demon that did that on purpose was even scarier. 

“If you look at her ever again I’ll cut your head off.” Kokushibou warns, getting up from the spot, his back muscles are tense, the hand around his katana is tight. 

“Oh, Kokushibou-dono, you’re no fun! I was just teasing!” He laughs, putting a hand over his chest, “She’s indeed a fine piece of human, it would be a waste if something happened to her.”

It’s a lie. And both you and Kokushibou know it. However, the Demon doesn't look at you anymore, showing how important Kokushivou's position was amongst the Demons, his status turned him into a God, old and powerful. You honestly don't know if it should calm you, or make you even more alarmed. 

“Y/N, wait for me in my bedroom.” He commands, walking towards the other Demon.

“Yes, Kokushibou-dono.” It’s the only thing you can say, turning around and almost running back to the house without looking back. 

VI.

As the minutes ticked by, you could hear your own steps padding across the wooden floor, never stopping moving. You’ve tried to occupy your mind reading one of the books that were by the table, but the words didn't seem to make any sense, all blurry and twisted, the anxiety growing on your chest didn't make it easy either. You bite your nails again, feeling the fear creeping into your mind. 

For how long have you been walking in circles? 

The still lingering feeling of Douma’s predatory eyes spreads goosebumps all over your skin. He represents a different type of danger, if Muzan was violence and Kokushibou was dominance, the blonde was something as cold as ice, the type that burns your lungs when you try to breathe. His smile was just a facade; you wonder if people even believe in it — they definitely did.

However, you knew that the Demons didn't walk in groups, and they were mostly too narcissistic to even have friends. To have one coming in Kokushibou’s house was definitely a bad sign. Well, a bad sign for them. You had caught the servants whispering a few humors around the house but never paid any attention to them. Maybe you should’ve. Because now the idea of leaving this place, leaving Kokushibou, it didn't sit right in your mind — nor in your heart.

The sound of the door opening brings you to the present, immediately making you come to a stop. You hold your hands on your back, still feeling anxious about the situation — your gut telling you that something was definitely off. Holding your breath as Kokushibou steps in the room, you notice his eyes are a shade darker, jaw clenched tightly. 

You anxiously wait for him to say something, however, Kokushibou doesn't even look at you. Instead, he makes his way to the table by the corner of the room, quickly pouring himself a glass of his favorite beverage. You press your lips together, feeling the tension that has spread through the room starting to suffocate you. Something was definitely wrong, but you suspect Kokushibou wasn’t going to tell you, so you don’t bother asking.

He swallows down the entire liquid in one single gulp, setting down the glass with so much force that it makes you jump by the violence of the act. Kokushibou was angry. Your mind, for the first time in months, turns on the sirens that had been long forgotten since you started being intimate with the man. They are loud in your head and you can’t ignore the way your body starts to shake slightly.

You hated the taste that it left in your mouth, hated the way your body stiffened when he moved to pour himself another drink. Hated to remember that no matter what, your life wasn't normal. It was moments like this that made you rethink everything that you’ve done up until this point — if you even had made the right decision. You take a glance from the corner of your eyes, Kokushibou is holding another empty glass staring at the wall, the muscles on his arms are tensed at a point of breaking the glass.

“I’ll leave you alone, Kokushibou-dono.” It comes out weak and hesitant, your body building up a tension that goes down to your nerves. 

Kokushibou dosen’t say anything, doesn't look. And somehow you feel small, betrayed. Pressing your lips together, you close your eyes for a moment. It wasn't unusual that neither of you knew how to have a conversation, but this was just too much. You could sense the pressure of his hostility, taste the blood in your mouth. Whatever Douma told him it wasn't good news. You just hoped he wouldn't lash that angriness on you.

The thought makes you shiver, memories flooding your mind as the sound of the glass against the wooden table makes you jump again. This is bad, this is so bad. You thought you were safe; that those men and their angry fists and mean words were left behind — that they couldn't reach you here. Your heart beats faster in your chest, breathing starting to come out unseasy. You can’t go through that, not again. As anxiety starts to take over, you walk towards the door in quick steps.

“Stay.”

You stop by the door, hand holding the handle. Sweat runs down your forehead and you can’t bring yourself to look at the man. There’s a tiny chance that if you do, you will want to run, to put as much distance as you can between you and the predator Kokushibou actually is. You hesitate for a moment before letting go of the handle — even though you wanted to leave, he was still your lord, and you had to do whatever he asked. 

In a blink of an eye he’s standing right behind you, hands resting on your waist. You stiffen even harder as you feel his hot breath on your neck. It was so easy to get lost in the moment, to look at his face and not find anything strange, to continue to live your life in peace when the outside world was dipped in chaos and cruelty; molded by the hands of the same man who touches you so intimately. 

Your breath is caught on your throat when he kisses your nape, but the shuddering that takes over your body isn't good; it leaves you feeling cold and weird, caged by his hands and the door. There’s nothing you can do but try to fight those sensations from rising — the last thing you want is to make Kokushibou even angrier. 

“Y/N,” Kokushibou calls your name, and you hate the way you flinch; the blatantly display of fear makes you even more tense. 

Kokushibou holds your elbow, motioning for you to turn around. As you shift your body, your eyes fall to his chest, locked in the pattern of his kimono. Staring at him right now isn't a good idea, the reminder of your situation written all over his face. He studies you for a moment before speaking. 

“I’m not angry with you,” He says gently, slowly raising his hand, “I don't think I could ever be angry with you.” His touch is tender, the back of his fingers caressing your cheek so gently you find yourself relaxing under his touch.

The coldness of the room melts away as the warmth of his words hits your heart. The sirens come to a stop, leaving your head in complete silence. You lift your eyes to stare at him, and even if Kokushibou was hard to read sometimes because of the amount of eyes instead of skin, the look on his face was definitely softer, and you could swear there was a hint of smile on his lips. Your heart throbs with the sight.

Kokushibou has never treated you like a whore. He wasn't like those men.

For your surprise, it’s you who move first. Wrapping your hands around his neck and bringing him closer. You brush your lips against his while inhaling his musk scent. Kokushibou pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and holds you in a tight grip; it’s almost suffocating the way his firm body presses on yours — almost as if he’s afraid that you’re going to leave. But you quickly discard the thought. 

Kokushibou is never afraid… Right?

You lean closer, forehead tenderly touching in between the first row of his eyes. You get lost in the heat of the moment; the act is so intimate you have to close your eyes. His breath dances around your face while your fingers rub gently his jaw, easing the tension that had settled there a few minutes ago. He hums with the touch, and if you didn't know any better, you would say you effectively calmed him down. But you don't have that kind of effect on him, do you?

The kiss is chaste, almost innocent. It was a first time for you, kissing someone this way, wearing your emotions on your sleeve without even noticing. And you decide that it feels good, taking your time to savour each part of him without worrying about the next step. 

And he lets you kiss him as much as you want, only tilting his head so you have better access to his mouth. You had never kissed Kokushibou so calmly before, without second intentions. It overflows you with feelings you didn't know that even existed, it was more than desire, more than lust. However, you push those thoughts for another time, now you were too focused on the flavour of his lips. 

He holds you tight, hands traveling down your back, slightly squeezing your ass in the process, and you breathlessly moan in his mouth, “May we continue what we started?” Kokushibou asks, leaving small trails of kisses along your jaw. 

And just like that, all the hesitation leaves your body. He was asking you, like the first time months ago. It’s a strange feeling, knowing that on some kind of level, he actually cared about you; about what you wanted. As you stop to think about, he never forced you to do anything you didn't want to. Sometimes you would hesitate, yes, but the final word was always yours. 

You nod, letting him guide you to the futon. And maybe the reason why you trusted him so blindly was because he cared enough to listen. Something that no one has ever done before. Althought it was terrible that you could excuse murder for just a tiny bit of Kokushibou affetion, you couldn't help but feel good in his arms, stability in his words. 

This time you decide to stay on top, straddling his thighs as soon as he sits on the futon. Kokushibou doesn't seem to mind, seeking your mouth instead of aiming for your neck. And you lose yourself in his taste, letting his tongue travel around your mouth, sliding against your own. You softly moan as he grinds against your pussy, his erection getting harder as you rock your hips forward. 

Kokushibou quickly unties the knot of the sash, and you let the kimono fall on to the floor. The heat on your lower belly starts to boil, building you up deliciously slow. Then, his mouth is on your left breast, biting and sucking gingerly while you grind on his crotch, pussy pulsing already. Your fingers curl on his hair, tugging harder as he pinches the other one.

“Aah, Kokushibou,” You throw your head back, intense hunger taking over you, “I need you, now.”

Kokushibou growls with your request, devouring your mouth like a man who hasn't eaten for days, and you take his carnal need with delight, sobbing when he bites down your lower lip. Suddenly, the tender atmosphere shifts, red fills your vision as he thrusts his hips upwards, grinding on your pussy, and it doesn't take long for you to become a mess of moans.

His clothes are quickly discarded, and you immediately wrap your hand around his cock, feeling each vein and muscle as you start to stroke him. You liked the weight and the build, the way it twists in your hand when you turn your wrist just right — only you could do this to him, and somehow it fills you with pride. 

You wanted to suck him off but right now you were taken by a need to have him inside you. It leaves you drunk with him; his scent clouds your head, and all you can do is feel every inch of his strong body against yours, rubbing on your hardened nipples. Sweat runs down your back and you’re so sensitive that even the brush of his finger on your clit makes you shudder, pulsing for something more.

You take the opportunity to kiss his neck while you run your hand down to his balls, he groans as you continue to stoke him, hands gripping your hips so tight it might leave marks; but you were already used to those — and strangely enough you want them more than ever. Positioning yourself above him, you hold one of his shoulders for balance while the other guides his cock to your entrance. 

Kokushibou holds your hips as you go down on him, groaning while watching you take all his length in one swift motion. You roll your eyes when his cock hits the deepest part of you, filling you up the way you most liked it. He stops you from moving though, taking his time to enjoy the feeling of your walls clenching around him.

“You’re so good,” He praises, “So perfect for me.”

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and you don’t know why you are so sensitive today. A realization sinks on your stomach as you watch him behind heavy lids, his mouth red and swollen from your kisses, his hair was a mess, the once perfect ponytail now was in a disarray; the sight makes something itch under your skin. 

You reach for his face, involving his neck with one hand while the other tugs free the piece that holds his hair together. Kokushibou doesn't protest, doesn't move. Rather, he watches in amusement as you take a good look at him for the first time with his hair down. Your breath gets caught up on your throat.

He was the one who was perfect. 

“You’re so beautiful, Kokushibou.” It leaves you speechless. It wasn’t fair how astonishing his beauty was, almost from another world. 

You could stay like this forever, staring at him like he was a God — worshiping him as if it was your only salvation. His hair falls on his back, and somehow he looks way younger like that, it frames his face flawlessly; and you have to suppress the desire to run your fingers through his hair for the rest of the night.

Then, you look at him, really look at him. Past those six eyes, beyond the black, the red and yellow; for who he once was. Maybe in another life you would be graced with the luck to meet him again, under different circumstances, being able to love him for the person he truly was. Love. Your mind freezes as the word appears from the deepest part of you.

Kokushibou smiles softly, leaning closer to kiss you. And you take his mouth like a gift from up above. You run your tongue over his lips, his teeth, drinking him up like the most delicious wine you could ever taste. For now, you were more than satisfied with what you got.

You can feel his cock throbbing inside you, but instead of moving, you pull back from his mouth. Right now you just wanted to give everything you could, wanted him to feel everything you would never be able to say. You hold his face, lifting just a little to reach the first eye. 

Softly, as if you were holding something fragile, you kiss his eyelid. And then the other, then the other. You make your way down his face, putting devotion on each touch, each kiss carrying a different type of emotion. It makes him sigh every time your lips meet his eyelids. It was still too soon to say anything, but if the words appeared in your mind, then maybe it wasn't impossible. 

After all his six eyes received their deserved attention, you leave another chaste kiss on his mouth. But Kokushibou doesn't let you go far away, pulling you for an open mouth kiss that leaves you breathless. He devours your mouth with such a hunger you think you might come just from that. He’s desperate on his touch, savoring you as if you were going to disappear. You do your best to match his rhythm, trying to tell him that you weren't going anywhere, that your place was here, by his side. 

His cock throbs inside you again, and you take that as a cue to finally start moving. It starts quite slowly, you move your hips lazily, riding him while breathing heavily through your nose, eyes rolling to the back of your head as each drag of his cock makes you see stars. Kokushibou holds your hips, guiding you to keep moving; he watches you so intensely it makes you blush furiously.

“You take me so exceptionally,” He bites down on your earlobe, “I could watch you ride me all day.”

You moan from his words, they were making you feel hotter than normal. Maybe you did like when he praised you, when he would let his guard down. It showed that he liked and trusted this arrangement as much as you did. Perhaps it wasn't impossible then, love. 

Kokushibou kisses you deeply between muffled moans, picking up the pace. He wraps his arms tightly around your waist and thrusts harder, pounding his cock inside you with enough force that you feel yourself hanging on your sanity by a thin thread.

“Oh—nnh, Kokushibou!” You cry out, “Bite me, mark me.”

You don’t know where that need came from, however it spreads through your body as quickly as fire spreads through a forest. Realization hits you as he moans on your neck, you wanted to be owned by him so badly — and you would have laughed about how head over heels you were for this man if you were lucid enough.

Kokushibou bites down on your shoulder. It breaks your skin but it doesn't sting. Rather, it sends shivers down the impossibly heated pool on your lower belly. Then he bites down again, and again. You desperately moan louder each time — Kokushibou wanted you to be his too, and it sinks down into your bones, down to your core. 

Your nails scratch viciously at his shoulder, slicing red marks into his skin. He sucks and lickes all the bites, and even though you can feel blood running down your back, you’re happy. Somehow you were his, and that’s all that matters.

“Come for me, Y/N.” Kokushibou whispers, hungrily kissing you.

Your whine on his mouth, and even though you didn't want the moment to end, you felt like you were going to explode if you didn't come. Feverishly, your pussy tightens around his cock, your mouth opens but no sounds come out of it. 

Your orgams runs trought your body like a lighting, igniting every single nerve just to come crashing into you in a wave of relief. Kokushibou follows right after, growling in your ear. He thrusts deeper, coming inside you hot and heavy. 

Kokushibou pulls you with him to lie on the futon, you whimper as he slowly pulls out of you with a wet sound; his come drips down your pussy. You try to catch your breath, the afterglow lingering in your body so deliciously you can’t bring yourself to move. He rubs your waist with his thumb while you nuzzle his neck with your nose, hands caressing his chest. 

It feels different this time, the way his fingers brush your skin, how tender and fragil the air around you two feel. It fills you with joy, having him touching you like that, taking care of you after sex. As if you were something more. As if he liked you. 

You kiss his neck, then his shoulder, spreading small pecks along his collarbone. Blame the afterglow, blame the bubbling feeling in your chest, blame whatever you want. Damn it, you were happy. Kokushibou hums, stroking your back affectionately; definitely content with your pampering. 

Something crosses your mind, and before you can stop the words from coming out of your mouth, they are already out.

"What did Douma want?” You suddenly ask, feeling him tense under your body. Well, maybe you shouldn't have said anything, what a nice way to mess up a perfect moment. 

“Go to sleep, Y/N.” Kokushibou dismisses, you feel guilty when he stops stroking your back.

“Is everything alright?” You try again, the need to have an affirmation that nothing was going to change takes over your soul. 

“I told you to go to sleep.”

You fall silent, biting down your lips to prevent from saying anything else. You knew you shouldn't mingle in his business. However, you couldn't just ignore the fact that he was on the verge of snapping when he entered the room. The excruciating feeling creeping in your guts wouldn't let you sleep, you needed to know.

You hear Kokushibou sighing before speaking, “Muzan-sama is summoning me, I'll be back in a few days, that's all.”

You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed but there's a hint of uneasiness in his features. Muzan was a tough person to deal with it, you knew that very well. However, you couldn’t stop thinking that there was something more between the lines. You would’ve to talk with the servants if you wanted to know because the man clearly wasn't going to tell you.

In a gentle motion, you cup his jaw with one hand, only two of his eyes open with the gesture, watching you behind long lashes. Kokushibou’s hair is spread in the sheets, a pool of dark hair surring him like a dark aura; with hints of red on the tips. You ran your hand through his long and beautiful hair, it’s silk and smooth to the touch; just like you expected. He goes back to stroke your back, and you don’t fight the tiny smile from forming on your lips.

You look at him, but nothing comes out of your mouth. It's on the tip of your tongue, begging to be freed from its cage. It’s an overflowing feeling that fills your chest, padding each hole that life had once torn it open. It’s delicate, like your chest is filled with an intense light that shines through every pore.

Rather than speaking, you lean closer, capturing Kokushibou’s lips once again and diving in for a kiss. His lips feel soft on yours, still wet from the previous activity. He kisses you with vigor and you’ve to heavily breathe through your nose to not break the kiss. You wanted this to last as long as it could. 

There’s no tongue, only your lips meeting his in a soft and very intimate act. It feels pure somehow, how your hand caresses his jaw as Kokushibou sucks slightly your bottom lips. And you decide that you should kiss him like this more often from now on.

You pull away, breathing heavily. If the smirk on his face was a signal that he understood what you wanted to say, then it was enough. Snuggling your nose on his neck, you close your eyes, getting lost on his scent as fatigue starts to take over your body. 

”Good night, Kokushibou."

"Good night, Y/N."

VII.

You should’ve known something was wrong when Kokushibou kissed you in front of everyone before leaving. His hands cupped your face, kissing you so tenderly that you sighed as soon as he retread, missing his touch already. The gasps and shocked looks from the rest of the servants didn't bother you; what did bother you was the dread feeling eating you from inside out. You watched him go, disappearing in the distance until you couldn't see his silhouette anymore. 

The moon shone bright in the night, the flowers swung with the wind. But the air was tense, carrying an intense trepidation that left you shivering on the spot. Your gut ached with apprehension.

You should’ve known something was wrong when that same night you weren't able to sleep, nor the other ones. Without his warmth, without his body, without him. You haven't realized until now how you had become dependent on the man. You also weren't eating, dark circles adorned your eyes, and even when the servants asked for you to at least drink some tea, you couldn't find the strength. Not even their voices you were able to register, caught in a dark void that inebriated all your senses. 

Not one, nor two, but three weeks passed and there was no sign of him. You would sit in the front of the house every night, waiting for his return. 

But Kokushibou never came back.

You knew something had gone wrong when you saw the banner of the Demon Slayer in the distance, moving so painfully slow that you could count your heartbeats in the fraction of time they took to make their way to the entrance of the house. Someone shouted, there was the sound of something crashing on the wooden floor, you sensed someone touching your shoulder, speaking enthusiastically, motioning to the group of people that were now crossing the yard with huge smiles on their faces.

Suddenly, it was winter. 

Your body starts to shake violently, the air that enters your lungs is suffocating, like sharp knives stabbing your body repeatedly. You shook your head, holding your hands together in a prayer. Please, let my gut be wrong just this time. For all those weeks you never allowed yourself to think about a scenario like this; never allowed the dread feeling to take over your mind, the trepidation ran in your veins but you didn't let it poison you. 

This couldn't be. No, it was impossible. Kokushibou wasn't… Although, deep down you already knew the answer. Denying it was what made you tolerate the way the moon and the sun change places in the sky; the cold nights, the tasteless food, the insufferably voices of the servants. It was what prevented you from collapsing completely — however, now there was nothing preventing you from finally stepping to the edge of the cliff.

Someone touches your hand, it takes a few minutes for you to process who it was. The old lady holds your hands in hers, her smile doesn't settle right in your stomach, it sickens you instead.

“You are free, honey. He will never use you like that anymore.” She says in a sweet tone but it’s too sugary, too much for your palate. 

“What...” Your frown, feeling your skin crawl underneath her touch.

“It’s okay, Y/N. We all knew what he was doing to you…”

“No, you’re wrong,” You shout, face twisting in a scowl. You retreat your hands as if she had burned them, the implication of that phrase cutting deep to your bone, “I wanted him, I loved him!”

You can’t process what you just said, you can’t process that it took this long to say something so simple. The old lady looks at you with pity, as if she understands how you were feeling better than yourself, as if she knew you. She tries to hold your hand again, saying something you can’t comprehend, her touch is sickening, it feels wrong. 

“Don’t touch me.” You warn, stepping back. Your heart is in your throat, it burns to speak, it burns to breathe. 

The other servants stop their chatting to stare at you, some of them look disgusted; as if you had become a Demon too. There’s a nauseating silence but you can read each one of their thoughts, you don’t notice when your hands start to clench on your sides. You can’t stand it anymore. Panicking, you run to the only place you knew they wouldn't follow; his bedroom.

You’re trembling, knees almost giving in when you arrived at his door. No air enters your lungs; they are on the verge of collapsing. It hurts, it hurts more than any punch you’ve ever received, it hurts more than all the wrong decisions you had made in your entire life. It cruelly crushes your heart — tore it apart as if it was just made of paper — it wasn't strong enough to endure another change.

Impulsively, you find yourself opening the drawer where he kept his clothes, grabbing the beautiful piece of purple kimono he was always wearing. You run your hand through the fabric, the simple pattern brings a sense of melancholy; the taste of memories is so bitter on your tongue that you can’t keep standing. Your knees hit the ground in a loud and painful thud.

You bury your face in the fabric, screaming to the world, to the universe. Screaming until your voice was gone, until you couldn't hear anything but your own agonizing sound, lost in a sea of excruciating pain. You were drowning again, but this time there was no one to save you — misery corrodes your foundation, making all that you’ve built up until this moment come crashing down on you.

Life was never going to give you an option, was it?

His scent was still strong in the bedroom, on the kimono. You take a deep breath, trying to hold into something, anything. However, it does the completely opposite. It fills you with memories, shooting through your mind like bullets. They hit you countless times, each one more painful than the other. A broken sob escapes your lips.

You remember his touch, his voice, his body. But mostly, you remember the feeling of being with Kokushibou. It has always been peaceful, it has always felt good. In only a few months you were able to finally begin to be yourself, to finally dream. You remember his tiny smile, the way his hair swung when he walked, the way he touched you, the way he looked at you. 

You loved him. You really loved him. And even if Kokushibou didn't feel the same, he still gave you everything you wanted, a house, a peaceful life you always fought for, and the most important thing; he gave you affection. He took care of you when you thought the entire world was against you. You were selfish for wanting him to live forever, for wanting a Demon to continue to live, you knew that, but your heart didn't; it screamed for him to come back.

Nothing lasts forever, so why did you think he was an exception? 

It was an illusion that this could go on until you died. Another broken sob comes ripping your insides until it escapes your lips. It was all false. The tears come in large drops, dripping down into his kimono as you continue to scream. They crash and burn, making your body quiver with the intensity. 

Kokushibou was gone. He wasn't coming back to sleep by your side, to take care of you. He wasn't coming back to run his finger through your hair, to kiss you when you needed it. He wasn't coming back to touch you and love you.

For days the sky felt dull, as if an eclipse had settled in front of the moon and the sun, leaving you in an eternal twilight; the long nights and the colorless days. It aches your soul, the deep cuts were torn open, and now were bleeding nonstop, and you feel like dying from those injuries. 

When the night comes, you’re still crying. Everything feels false, your hands, his scent, reality. You can feel your body, can’t feel your face. You try to walk over the window by the corridor, trying to find some form of comfort, anything to put the pain to a stop. But it breaks your heart all the same.

Tonight, there was no moon to gleam over the darkness of the night.

[grelleswife]

How about 3, 4,6, 7, 12, 13, 14, 17, 19, 20, 25,27,28, 29, and 30 foooor Sebagrelle ;3

Sure thing!

3. Most common argument?

Every few years, they'll have a dispute over getting a dog. Grelle would love a little white froo-froo dog to carry around in her purse; Sebastian will not allow a wretched cur in their house under any circumstances, thank you very much. D:< The demon and reaper also occasionally squabble over clothes if they both want to wear the same outfit or pair of heels on a particular day. And, of course, there's the decades-old argument over whether their meeting was mere coincidence (as Sebastian insists) or fate (as Grelle adamantly maintains).

4. Favorite non-sexual activity?

Dancing! In public, this appeals to their exhibitionist tendencies, since the graceful pair inevitably dominate the venue, whether it's a ballroom or a club. Grelle loves the romance and spectacle, while Sebastian views dancing as an opportunity to flaunt the fact that this incredible woman is his mate.

6. What is their favorite feature of their partner's?

(I'm assuming this means physical features?)

Grelle firmly maintains that Sebastian's eyes are his best feature. They're her favorite color, and burn with a hellfire that never grows dim. Her acceptance of his demonic nature made Sebastian fall even deeper in love with her when they were first courting. >w<

Sebastian utterly adores Miss Sutcliff's hair. Sensory demon cannot get enough of how lush and silky it is, and he'll often pamper Grelle by combing and styling her locks. He also considers her teeth extremely sexy, because they're a reflection of her wild, ferocious side. >:3

7. What's the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

Sebastian's instinct upon realizing (to his horror) that he's falling for Grelle is to deny, deny, deny. H-he has a crush on Sutcliff, of all people?! What insanity is this? The Phantomhive butler would never stoop to such things...even though Grelle is gorgeous and one of the most powerful reapers he's ever met and...oh, dammit...

Grelle is so accustomed to rejection that she tries not to put too much sincerity behind her flirtations; a lady's heart can only be trampled upon so many times. Therefore, when she realizes that her feelings for Sebastian go beyond a mere crush, she's caught off guard. Grelle's not stupid, and she's aware of how potentially dangerous demons are, not to mention the punishment she'd face for dallying with one in earnest. She needs to withdraw and do some serious soul-searching before deciding to see this relationship through. After all, the heart cannot be denied...

12. Who initiates kisses?

Sebastian! This may seem counterintuitive since Grelle is more impulsive, but initiating kisses is a tacit way for the demon to tell her "I want you, I choose you, I'm continuing to chase after you just as you chase after me." >w<

13. Who reaches for the other's hand first?

Grelle, by a slight margin. My headcanon is that Sebastian loves holding hands with his romantic partner(s), but Grelle tends to beat him to the punch; she's the type who will walk hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm with her s/o literally anywhere.

14. Who kisses the hardest?

Maybe Grelle? I feel like her legendary teef give her an advantage in this area. XD Sometimes she'll inadvertently (or accidentally-on-purpose) nick the demon's lips, but Sebastian doesn't mind. >:3

17. Who says I love you first?

Grelle. One night, she and Sebastian are sitting on the roof of the Phantomhive manor, hanging out after a playful sparring match. Grelle abruptly goes silent before quietly admitting that she loves him. "I'm afraid it's the genuine article, darling...though who's to say whether we're players in a comedy or a tragedy," she adds, glancing down.

The demon takes a moment to process this (sweet hell, she actually loves him!!!), but takes her hand and tenderly kisses it.

"Then let us see how it ends, rufina."

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

Technically, Sebastian doesn't tell the other Phantomhive servants about his courtship with Grelle (and for obvious reasons, he daren't give the young master cause for suspicion), but it doesn't take long for Bard and Mey Rin to realize the dork is in love. Bard notices how dreamy and flustered the butler is these days, as well as the long red hairs that occasionally cling to his tailcoat (Miss Grelle has a tendency to shed). Mey Rin could've sworn she caught a trace of woman's perfume the last couple times she walked past Mr. Sebastian, yes she did! Mey is initially crestfallen but later gets together with Paula, so all's well that ends well, while Bard mercilessly teases Sebastian about his "new gal."

"I don't know what on earth you are talking about," the trash demon mutters. Sebastian also ends up discretely discussing the relationship with Agni. When he and Grelle have their first big fight, he asks the khansama for advice on how to make up with her.

20. What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

For a long time, Ronald is the only reaper aware of Grelle's relationship with Sebastian. Knox disapproves because he's worried that the butler is using his senpai to obtain information or gain her support as another of the Phantomhive brat's pawns. However, he later develops a grudging respect for Sebastian when he realizes that the demon truly loves her.

The servants never learn exactly who Sebastian's lady love is, but they're very supportive!

25. Who needs more assurance?

Grelle. She's grown accustomed to being misunderstood and pushed away, so she needs affirmation that Sebastian is loyal and won't ever desert her. Of course, in happy fanon land, Sebastian is unequivocally devoted to his wife.

27. Who would sing their child back to sleep?

Both of them! Their kids have fond memories of their parents harmonizing together when they needed to be soothed after a nightmare.

28. What do they do when they're away from each other?

In the canon timeline, Grelle is focused on reaping during business hours. In addition to her beauty appointments (hair and nails must be maintained at all cost!), she also enjoys going out to cafes or hitting the pub with Ronald, Eric, and other people from her small group of work friends. Sebastian's butler duties keep him busy, and he tries to distract himself by playing with his cat or reading in his small amount of leisure time (he still ends up pining for Miss Sutcliff, though).

29. One headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart?

A constant terror that lurks in the back of Sebastian's mind is the fear that O!Ciel will learn of his relationship with Grelle and command the demon to harm or kill her.

30. One headcanon about this OTP that mends it?

I headcanon that Grelle is somewhat touch-starved, which is why she makes her little dollies to sleep with. After Sebastian finds out about this, he surprises her on their first Valentine's Day as a couple with a special Funtom rabbit in a red dress. When she has to go for long periods of time without seeing him (they have to exercise extreme caution when planning their trysts) Grelle will cuddle the bunny, which serves as a tangible reminder of Sebas's love for her.

[ibijau]

On AO3

After allowing Jin Guangyao to get away with so much, for so long, Lan Xichen cannot be trusted to lead his own sect anymore. Nie Huaisang comes up with a way to ensure Lan Xichen won't make a mess again.

inspired by @anxious-witch ‘s marriage AU!

Three weeks into Lan Xichen's seclusion, there is a knock on the door of the Hanshi, which he ignores. He is meditating. He should be meditating. He doesn't know how to meditate anymore. Intruders have been rare so far, but sometimes servants come with food. They have been instructed to leave it at the door in silence. Some do. Others feel the impulse to knock, especially if they find the remains of the last meal untouched. It is useless explaining to them that Lan Xichen can easily practice inedia, that it is a normal part of improving his cultivation. They worry. Lan Xichen ignores them. It is usually enough. 

It is not enough that day. The knocking persists, until the unwanted visitor tires of waiting for an answer and comes in. 

"We must talk," Lan Qiren announces, coming to kneel next to where his nephew is meditating. 

Trying to meditate. 

Lan Xichen ignores him. 

It is easy to ignore what disturbs him. 

His friendship with the late Jin Guangyao is proof of how good he's become at refusing to see what he doesn't want to see. 

"Your seclusion has caused great controversy in the cultivation world," Lan Qiren explains, undisturbed by the lack of answer. 

If Lan Xichen is used to willful blindness, Lan Qiren knows how to speak to those who won't listen. It comes from being a teacher. 

It comes from being the only sane man in an insane family. 

"People have been throwing serious accusations against you," Lan Qiren announces. "False, all of them, but that has never stopped them before. They have started saying you were Jin Guangyao’s lover, for some, his accomplice at least, for others."

If he still knew how, Lan Xichen would smile. 

The first accusation is ridiculous. He never felt desire for Jin Guangyao, though he wrongly believed they were each other's confidant which is far more intimate. Even if desire had existed, Jin Guangyao would never have betrayed his wife, knowing too well what would be said of him if he did.

As for the second accusation, it is right of course. Lan Xichen, unknowingly, was Jin Guangyao's accomplice. His friend would never have done what he did without Lan Xichen's help and support. He even gave him the weapon with which to kill Nie Mingjue. 

Intent matters little. Lan Xichen was part of the plot that killed his oldest friend, it is a fact. 

"Some people have been asking for your head, Xichen."

Lan Xichen closes his eyes. It matters little if he lives or dies. It won't change the evil he allowed to exist.

"The fact that you entered seclusion is taken as a sign of mourning," Lan Qiren insists. "A sign of guilt. So most of them asked for your blood. But Nie Huaisang has offered a… different solution to the problem you pose." 

At that name Lan Xichen opens his eyes, and lets his gaze fall on his uncle. However much he wants to shroud himself in indifference, on this matter he is curious. Nie Huaisang has shown to what extremes he will go for justice, for hatred. Lan Xichen can only wonder what fate awaits him, should his last surviving friend have the last word. 

"Nie Huaisang has suggested it would be wise for you to step down from leading Gusu Lan, since you cannot be trusted with politics, and given in marriage to whoever can guarantee they will keep you out of trouble. He offered himself as a possible spouse."

Lan Xichen nearly laughs. 

It is something Jin Guangyao suggested once, almost as a joke. A marriage between him and Nie Huaisang. One of them stepping down, unsuited for politics. 

If that had come to pass, Lan Xichen would have done everything in his power to ensure Nie Huaisang’s happiness. He knows better than to hope the same kindness might be extended to him. 

"I have talked with Nie Huaisang about this offer of his," Lan Qiren states. "He gave some serious guarantees on the subject of your safety. And considering the circumstances, if he is the one taking you under his protection, it is unlikely others will dare to attack you."

"Are you asking for my opinion," Lan Xichen asks, voice rough from disuse, "or announcing my punishment?" 

"You can refuse. You are still entitled to your choices, good or bad." 

It is clear that Lan Qiren knows what the right choice is. Lan Xichen lacks the energy to object. 

His decisions have so rarely been right, it is wiser to let others decide his fate. 

-

The wedding robes are heavy and cumbersome, but the nearly opaque veil is not unwelcome. Lan Xichen has no wish to see the Unclean Realm as he is led toward the place he will now call home until he dies. 

He is grateful for the veil. 

He is grateful Nie Huaisang is using a red silk ribbon rather than his own hand to guide him. 

He is grateful this joke of a wedding takes place in Qinghe rather than Gusu, and he is not forced to let Nie Huaisang touch another ribbon. 

They pause at a door, which Nie Huaisang opens without a word. He has been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. Lan Xichen is glad he cannot see his new husband's face. He hopes the veil will stay. 

They go in. Pause again. The door closes. 

"You can remove the veil now, Er-ge," Nie Huaisang offers. 

Lan Xichen does no such thing. Nie Huaisang does not insist. 

"You should not be disturbed here," he states, his voice devoid of emotion. "It is isolated from most other buildings. I thought you would prefer it that way." 

Nie Huaisang waits for an answer. None comes. 

"There is a garden for you to enjoy," Nie Huaisang continues, undisturbed. "You may also go wherever you please within the Unclean Realm. I advise you against leaving our walls. I can only guarantee your safety here." 

Perhaps Lan Xichen is supposed to thank him for that protection. For saving him from death. 

He does neither. 

And yet, he feels a crack through his carapace of indifference. It is the first time Nie Huaisang and him are in each other's presence since that fateful night when Lan Xichen's world crumbled around him. On this night, their wedding night, Lan Xichen would have expected the other man to talk about more important things than where he may or may not go.

"Why?" Lan Xichen asks at last. 

"Why what? Why can't I protect you outside?" 

"Why protect me at all?" 

A long pause.

Lan Xichen feels tempted to remove his veil after all. He does not. He cannot face the man Nie Huaisang really is. It is another hard truth he does not want to see. 

"Why indeed?" Nie Huaisang scoffs. "Even if I told you, would you believe me?" 

"Probably not," Lan Xichen admits. "Not after everything." 

"Then I won't even try. In fact, it's probably best if I stay away from you. I did not bring you here to intrude in your life, Er-ge. You won't see me here again unless you invite me."

Lan Xichen considers that statement, and cannot decide how he feels about it. 

"I doubt I will," he only says. 

"I doubt it as well," Nie Huaisang admits. "Goodnight, husband, and farewell I suppose." 

Nie Huaisang lingers a moment more before turning around and leaving the room. In a surprising gesture of temper, he slams the door behind him. 

Lan Xichen waits a while, to make sure the other man is truly gone, and finally removes his veil. 

His new prison is a house of decent size, not much smaller than the Hanshi he used to live in, and decorated in a similar style. Lan Xichen cannot decide if this is meant as a kindness or a taunt. 

Either way, he hates it. 

But it is home now, no matter how he feels. 

-

Lan Xichen spends his days inside his new home, trying to meditate. Although he has been told he is allowed to leave his house, he sees no point in it. He refuses to even look outside. That way, his life feels unchanged. He can nearly pretend he is still in the Cloud Recesses, reflecting on his crimes and improving his meditation. His wedding feels like nothing but a distant dream. 

Nie Huaisang, as promised, never visits again.

It feels almost like home. 

Almost. 

Not quite. 

In the Cloud Recesses, the servants knew to leave Lan Xichen alone. 

Here Bai Yun, the woman assigned to serve him, comes and goes as she pleases. She refuses to leave food at the door, no matter how many times Lan Xichen asks, and she scolds him when he skips meals, the way a mother might. At least, so Lan Xichen has heard. His own experience with motherhood is incomplete. 

It is annoying, the way she insists on chatting. Of course it is not unusual for servants of the Unclean Realm to take liberties, especially since Nie Huaisang’s ascension, but Bai Yun particularly irritates Lan Xichen. 

He thinks, at first, that she must have been sent to torture him. She is there to break his peace of mind, to interrupt his meditation, to pester him until his good will breaks. It makes sense. Nie Huaisang must still want revenge, and driving Lan Xichen crazy isn't a bad way to obtain it. 

As weeks pass, though, that idea vanishes. Bai Yun does not appear to be evil, only chatty. And Lan Xichen, so annoyed at first, comes to enjoy her visits. It has been a long time since anyone has spoken to him without expectations. It becomes oddly pleasant to hear her talk about her life as a servant, full of problems and joys different from those Lan Xichen encountered when he still had a life of his own, but no less intense to her. And Bai Yun seems happy when, almost without realising, Lan Xichen starts asking for details or follow-ups on some of her stories.

It is only what he was trained to do, he tells himself. It doesn’t make him kind or good. A lifetime of habits, of making small talk with anyone who feels they have a right to speak to him, is not a thing easily changed.

Still, Bai Yun’s conversation is not unpleasant.

And as it turns out, they’ve met before.

“During the Sunshot Campaign,” Bai Yun explains to a stunned Lan Xichen. “Ah, you wouldn’t remember I suppose, for you there must have been a lot happening. But I had been taking my daughter to the sect where she’d been accepted as an outer disciple, and we were captured alongside that sect by the Wens. But you saved us, and took all of us to Qinghe for safety. Now my daughter is a disciple here, and she’s going to marry someone of the Nie clan next summer. All thanks to you, Zewu-Jun!”

Faced with that gratitude, that radiant smile, Lan Xichen doesn’t know what to say. After weeks, months even, or ruminating on every thing he has done wrong, on every mistake, on every crime, it is odd to be reminded there was a time when he could do good.

Appeared to do good.

Back then he was already working closely with Jin Guangyao after all, using intelligence obtained from him to stir the course of the war. A lot of what Lan Xichen did was his own effort, but it seems small compared to what he accomplished thanks to Jin Guangyao. Lan Xichen saved a handful of people here and there, while Jin Guangyao won them the war.

And yet, in spite of this efforts to remind himself of his failures, Lan Xichen cannot help feeling some pride once more over what he did back then. There are people alive that might not be, had he not worked so hard on freeing prisoners and protecting those attacked by the Wen.

Pride is an odd thing to feel.

Odder still is the fact that Nie Huaisang gave him a servant who might have any gratitude towards him. It cannot be a coincidence.

Lan Xichen wonders what game the other man is playing.

-

Bai Jie is an energetic girl who looks and acts like she could have been born in the Nie clan. She is just as chatty as her mother, and just as determined to do as she pleases. After meeting her, it starts making sense to Lan Xichen why these two were welcomed into Qinghe Nie.

And Lan Xichen does meet Bai Jie, whether he likes it or not. After Bai Yun revealed this link between them, her daughter accompanies her one morning, eager to meet the man to whom she owes her life.

Unlike her mother, Bai Jie treats Lan Xichen with the respect he is more accustomed to, but only because she’s clearly more aware of who he is. Bai Jie sees him as a man who was once important and renowned, while Bai Yun only sees the spoiled child who refuses food and wastes away inside the walls of his own house.

They must have talked about that, these two women, because one of the very first things Bai Jie asks about is why he never leaves the house.

“I expect disciples of Qinghe Nie would find me an unpleasant sight,” Lan Xichen replies, surprised this even needs to be said, after he helped the murderer of their former sect leader.

“The esteemed Zewu-Jun judges us wrongly,” Bai Jie retorts. “We bear no dislike for Nie zongzhu’s husband. We know what happened, of course. Nie zongzhu told us, once it was over. We are all very sorry that Zewu-Jun was made to suffer so.”

Lan Xichen has to refrain from a grimace. He suffered much indeed, helping a murderer, helping an ambitious liar, having to be tricked into bringing justice to the unjust.

In spite of his efforts, his expression must change and reveal some of his thoughts. Lan Xichen is no longer as skilled as he was at controlling his features. He has not needed to in a long while, locked up inside with no company but Bai Yun.

Bai Jie notices, and sighs.

“Honourable Zewu-Jun, it is Nie zongzhu who told us that you suffered,” she insists. “Some of us were angry at first about the marriage, especially the older ones that knew Chifeng-Zun well. But Nie zongzhu told us the truth of what happened, he reminded us that many others fell for Liangfang-Zun’s lies, him first of all. And now, we understand and would not dare to gossip against Zewu-Jun, let alone speak ill of him to his face. If you left the house, you would find no enemies in the Unclean Realm.”

“I am comfortable here,” Lan Xichen assures her.

It’s not a lie. Not really. He is comfortable. He has grown to like the safety of his prison. Bai Yun’s daily visits make isolation more bearable.

Inside his house, he is merely Lan Xichen. Outside… outside lay expectations he does not want to face anymore.

“He hasn’t even looked at the garden, you know,” Bai Yun intervenes from another part of the house, where she is doing whatever it is servants do to keep a house clean and tidy. “I’m not saying gone there, I’m saying not so much as glanced outside.”

Bai Jie gasps in horror, as if it matters to her whether Lan Xichen knows what his garden looks like or not.

It does not matter to him.

Curtains stay closed all day long.

It makes the house darker than it needs to be, but that suits him better. It is a prison after all. It has no business being bright and pleasant.

But Bai Jie, for all of her respectful ways, is a determined young woman, worse so than her mother. Bai Yun has long ago given up on making Lan Xichen do anything. Bai Jie pesters him all morning and afternoon about that blasted garden until Lan Xichen gives in and agrees to check it, just so she’ll leave him alone.

For the first time since arriving in the Unclean Realm, Lan Xichen opens his front door and steps outside.

Fresh air feels odd, after so long. Lan Xichen must have missed it without realising. He has to close his eyes to enjoy the slight breeze on his skin, the warmth of sunlight.

When he opens them again, he understands why Bai Jie and Bai Yun so wanted him to see the garden around his house.

It looks like the Cloud Recesses.

With the difference in climate and soil, it must have taken untold amounts of money and labour to get such a result. But it really does look like a smaller version of the Cloud Recesses, and so does the house, built in the same style as Lan Xichen’s old Hanshi. It would stand out among the rest of the Unclean Realm, but the garden is arranged in such a manner that aside from the highest buildings and the defensive walls, nothing of the Unclean Realm is visible.

Lan Xichen, overwhelmed, quickly returns inside, and wonders once more what Nie Huaisang is trying to accomplish.

-

It was a mistake to have given in once and stepped outside, because Lan Xichen misses it now.

He gives in to his need for fresh air, and starts wandering in his garden, in between Bai Yun’s visits. It is a torture, sometimes, to be stuck in this copy of his home, knowing it to be a prison. Lan Xichen has to assume it is meant to feel that way. Nie Huaisang has to be mocking him, mocking his failure to be what he ought to have been.

A fake Cloud Recesses for the man who played at being its sect leader.

At least, meditating gets easier out there. For the first time since that dreadful night, Lan Xichen manages to find some peace again, however fleeting it might be. Encouraged by that success, he spends more and more time out in the garden until he knows it by heart, just like his house.

He is outside, meditating under a tree, when Nie Manqian finds him.

It is a shock to receive a visit from Qinghe Nie’s first disciple. Nie Manqian is a cousin to his sect leader, and used to be fairly close to Nie Mingjue, under whose rule he became first disciple. Lan Xichen and him never had any quarrel before, and even bonded somewhat after Nie Huaisang had to rise to power, both of them eager to help the young man settle in a position that he clearly struggled with.

Lan Xichen knows better than to expect any good feelings to remain between them, now that he has been revealed to have helped murder Nie Mingjue.

And yet, Nie Manqian is perfectly cordial to him, asking if he likes the garden, if Bai Yun is taking good care of the house, if Bai Jie (who still visits at least once a week) does not bother him too much.

“She’s my future sister-in-law,” Nie Manqian reveals. “I know how she can be.”

It shocks Lan Xichen to learn this.

The Nie clan has always been more relaxed about allowing marriage of love rather than politics than any of the other clans, so it is no surprise that a cousin to the sect leader might marry a nobody, an outer disciple who brings nothing but her loyalty and skill.

No, what Lan Xichen doesn’t understand is why Bai Yun was made to serve him if she is about to rise in society with her daughter. Surely the future in-law to a high ranking Nie disciple should not be forced to clean floors for the man who murdered the sect’s beloved leader. Has she been sent as a spy? Watching him all along, reporting his every movements to Nie Huaisang, just another person pretending to befriend him for her own purposes…

A fake friend, a fake Cloud Recesses, all to match Lan Xichen’s undeserved reputation.

It might justice of a sort.

“I was so relieved when Bai Jie told me that you’ve been leaving the house at last,” Nie Manqian continues, undisturbed by Lan Xichen’s lack of answer. “We were getting worried about you, Zewu-Jun. I hope you will not mind me saying this, but you’ve never stricken me as a man to enjoy inactivity.”

Lan Xichen smiles.

It might have been better for everyone if he had not been so active, if he had not involved himself so much in the business of others.

They both know this.

“Zewu-Jun, I understand that the situation is not easy for you,” Nie Manqian says with a sympathy that Lan Xichen would fall for, if he did not know any better. “But I came here to remind you that you are free to move as you please in the entirety of the Unclean Realm, not just this house and its garden. In fact, I would be honoured if you considered sparring with me someday.”

“You would be disappointed,” Lan Xichen replies, almost in spite of himself. “My skills have rusted from disuse.”

“I doubt Zewu-Jun could disappoint me,” Nie Manqian claims. Lan Xichen wonders when he learned to lie with such sincerity. He always took the Nies to be poor liars. But of course, Nie Huaisang already proved that idea wrong. “I will not push for it, but rest assured that my offer remains, whether you accept it now or in ten years.”

“I will consider it,” Lan Xichen promises, intending to do no such thing.

He does not know what the Nie sect is trying to accomplish, but he will not play along.

Besides, he has not unsheathed Shuoyue since that night. He knows his sword’s blade is still stained with blood he does not have the courage to clean.

His skill might not be the only thing to have rusted by now.

-

It takes over a month, but Lan Xichen eventually makes it to the training grounds.

Nie Manqian might not have pushed for it, but Bai Jie heard about the offer, of course, and she had no qualms pestering Lan Xichen. All of his excuses were pushed aside effortlessly. She even found him a sword to practice with, when he explained that Shuoyue was in no state to be used. So Lan Xichen gives in, and follows her to the training grounds one night, late enough that nobody should be around to see them.

It is exhausting to yield a weapon again, after so long.

After barely a incense stick’s time, Lan Xichen muscles are in agony, his lungs burning.

Everything hurts.

Lan Xichen hasn’t felt so alive in ages.

-

Against his better judgement, Lan Xichen starts visiting the training grounds more and more. Only once or twice a week at first, but the way it makes his blood run again is too pleasant, and soon enough it is a nearly daily occurrence.

Only at night when it starts, but Nie Manqian hears about it of course and invites him again to spar. This time, Lan Xichen agrees.

He has not rusted as much as he assumed he would have, and it is thrilling to go against such a skill adversary. Nie Manqian wins their fight, but demands that they try again another day, claiming he won’t be happy until he’s faced Lan Xichen when he’s back to his normal level.

Lan Xichen agrees to this as well.

He still doesn’t know what game the Nie sect is playing with him, but he will take what he can get until his true punishment befalls him.

It is good to be sparring with a man he respects. It is good to see the assembled disciples watching their match, to hear them commenting on it, to find that they enjoyed that fight as much as he did.

It is good to be alive, to be himself.

Lan Xichen had forgotten.

That joy is short lived.

As Lan Xichen leaves the training grounds with Nie Manqian, he has to pass through the main courtyard of the Unclean Realm on the way back to his house. As he walks there, he is spotted by the leader of a small sect, waiting with his retinue for an audience with Nie Huaisang.

Hatred is too weak a word to describe the way that man looks at Lan Xichen.

“What is that murderer doing here, walking free with a sword in hand?” Sect leader Peng rages, pointing an accusing finger. “Wasn’t it promised that he would be kept under control?”

Nie Manqian stiffens and throws Lan Xichen an apologetic look before stepping in front of him, as if trying to protect him from that attack.

“Peng zongzhu, please keep your voice down,” Nie Manqian demands. “Nothing is happening here that goes against what was promised, and…”

“Nothing, really? He let Jin Guangyao murder whoever he pleased, probably helped him even, and you let him go around, dressed in finery, looking like a happy young master! I knew it was going to end up like this. You big sects always look out for one another in the end! We should have kept asking for his head! He never minded when we were slaughtered or cheated, why should he get to be treated any better?”

Lan Xichen feels his blood freeze.

It is one thing to have been told by his uncle that many wanted him dead for his association with Jin Guangyao, and quite another to witness it in person.

Before he can figure out how to react, a voice rings behind him.

“Peng zongzhu, I believe it is my right to treat my husband however I please,” Nie Huaisang states, passing by Lan Xichen without sparing him a glance. “We all agreed he should not continue ruling Gusu Lan, it so he doesn’t. We also agreed that if he lived, he should be kept under close watch, and so he is. Beyond that, I made no promises, and so I refuse to be faulted for failing to meet whatever criteria you imagined for yourself.”

“You implied he would be punished!”

“Isn’t it punishment to be married to a man such as myself?” Nie Huaisang retorts. Lan Xichen can hear his smile, even if he cannot see it at the moment, the other man's back turned to him.

“That’s…”

“I am in no mood to discuss my marriage,” Nie Huaisang continues, ignoring the attempted interruption, his voice steadier than Lan Xichen has heard it in years. “If you only came here for that, you may go away already, the topic really doesn’t interest me in the least. But if you are here for something that’s worth my time, I will listen of course. It is your choice, Peng zongzhu.”

Lan Xichen stares at this man who doesn’t speak nor act like the Nie Huaisang he knows.

Thought he knew.

Sect Leader Peng stares as well, but he’s far less confused than Lan Xichen and quickly starts explaining why he’s there. Troubles with demons that his sect lacks the power to deal with. Nie Huaisang invites the other sect leader to follow him so they can discuss this in private.

The two men pass right by Lan Xichen. Sect Leader’s eyes are still burning with hate, but Nie Huaisang acts as if he cannot even see Lan Xichen. As if the man who was once his friend isn’t even worthy of his notice anymore.

Perhaps he never was worthy of either notice nor friendship.

Nie Huaisang, more than anyone else, has every right to hate Lan Xichen for his failures.

This incident should be a wake-up call for all of Qinghe Nie, a reminder of who Lan Xichen is, what he’s done, what they’ve lost by his fault.

But Nie Manqian apologises for what just happened, and promises to be more careful in the future, so Lan Xichen isn’t exposed again to unwanted visitors.

“Nie zongzhu is going to scold me for this,” Nie Manqian adds. “But I thought he would have found time for Peng zongzhu already, and I was careless. It will not happen again.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lan Xichen replies. “Peng zongzhu said nothing untrue.”

Nie Manqian gives him a long, hard look for that remark.

“It doesn’t matter how Zewu-Jun feels about it,” he announces at last. “We were given orders to protect Zewu-Jun, and we failed to follow them. In the future, we will ensure you are kept safe.”

This brings dozens of questions to Lan Xichen’s mind. He doesn’t ask a single one of them, unsure Nie Manqian would be willing, or even capable, of answering them. They are both silent as they walk to Lan Xichen’s house.

Once he is alone, Lan Xichen collapses on his bed, telling himself it is only because sparring tired him. It does not matter that the world hates him. It is justified, after he cooperated with a murderer, after he failed to take action at every turn, after his complacency cost so many lives.

He understands being despised.

He does not understand Nie Huaisang giving orders to shield him from it.

-

Perhaps this is how Lan Wangji was born, Lan Xichen wonders as he hands Bai Yun a letter for Nie Huaisang. With curiosity, and an invitation.

His own birth has never been a mystery. There needed to be a child to make the marriage secure, and so he came to be. But Lan Wangji’s existence always puzzled him, once he understood the odd nature of his parents’ match. They never met, never visited one another, his uncle told him, so how did Qingheng-Jun seduce his wife into having another child, one that wasn’t necessary to keep her alive? All too often, Lan Xichen has imagined the worst of his own father.

But here he is now, a prisoner inside a sect he doesn’t belong with, a sect that ought to hate him, ruled by a man who would have every right to execute him.

Lan Xichen always feared becoming his father. It never occurred to him that he is his mother’s son as well.

It surprises him when Bai Yun, the next day, brings an answer from Nie Huaisang. More shocking still, the other man is accepting his offer to dine together than night. The calligraphy on that letter is elegant and flawless. But of course, that at least is something Lan Xichen knew to expect.

Nie Huaisang comes a little before nightfall, followed by some servants carrying their dinner.

Lan Xichen feels like he is in front of a stranger. He doesn’t know what to think of this Nie Huaisang who stands straight and proud, who carries a fan but doesn’t hide behind it, who meets his eyes without hesitation.

“I hope the house and garden have been to your tastes,” Nie Huaisang comments while the servants finish setting the table.

The dishes are all, without exception, vegetarian. Lan Xichen doesn’t know what to think of that either, when Nie Huaisang has always been so vocal in his dislike of Gusu Lan’s cuisine.

“Your hospitality has been most generous, Nie zongzhu.”

Nie Huaisang smirks at him. “Hospitality? I am not sure that is quite the right word here, Er-ge. But a man must ensure his spouse lives comfortably. I am glad if I was able to provide adequately.”

Lan Xichen watches the servant leave, unsure what he can or should say in their presence. When they are gone, he turns to Nie Huaisang again.

“Why are you doing this?”

Nie Huaisang opens his fan as he sits down, though only to idly play with it.

“A good question, but ultimately a pointless one. As I’ve said before, would you believe me even if I answered?”

Lan Xichen joins him at the table, and pours tea for both of them. He isn’t sure he will manage to eat, but drinking is usually easy enough.

“Whether I believe you or not is up to me. Either way, I want to hear your answer.”

This time, Nie Huaisang finally does hide behind his fan. It is such a familiar gesture that Lan Xichen aches at the sight. 

“If Zewu-Jun wants to know, then I’ll try to explain,” Nie Huaisang sighs. “I’m doing this because I want to protect you. It’s that simple. Some people out there think that I did what I did for the sake of justice, and so I should want for you to be punished. Those people are wrong. Justice is for idiots.”

He fans himself slowly, careful to keep his face mostly hidden.

“I am not a good man, Zewu-Jun. I really don’t care about ideals. I don’t have the strength to stand for what’s right, like your brother and his husband. Like you. All that matters to me is the things and people I love. Someone killed my brother, so that person had to die. That person also hurt you, though you did not know it at the time, so he had to suffer as well. He manipulated the two people I love best and tried to lead them to their doom, so of course I had to do the same to him. It is really that simple.”

“The two people you love best… your brother, and who else?”

Nie Huaisang closes his fan with a sharp gesture, and gives Lan Xichen a pointed look that makes him blush.

“I find that hard to believe,” he says, looking down.

“Of course. Didn’t I say you wouldn't believe me?” Nie Huaisang asks, taking his chopsticks to toy with some of the food. “It’s fine. It took me a while to get there, but I don’t care about being believed or trusted anymore. It’s enough that I know the truth, and that I know where I stand.”

Lan Xichen falls silent, more puzzled than before.

He cannot say that the idea of Nie Huaisang holding him dear comes out of nowhere. There have been signs, here and there. Or at least, Lan Xichen had thought there had been signs. He doesn’t know anymore. Whether those signs were real or not, they never bothered him, his own sentiment on the matter fluctuating over the years. He used to be very fond of Nie Huaisang before Nie Mingjue died, before merely pitying him in the years that followed.

He doesn’t know how to feel about this anymore.

As Lan Xichen watches Nie Huaisang serve food for him, new questions arise. He almost doesn’t want to ask them. The answers he’s been getting, so far, have been anything but satisfying.

“If this is true…” he starts, only for Nie Huaisang to raise an eyebrow.

“If? So you really distrust me so much, Er-ge?”

“Does it matter? My trust does not reflect the value of anyone’s character,” Lan Xichen points out, making Nie Huaisang grimace. “So, if it is true that you feel that way, why did you never try to make our marriage more than what it has been so far?”

Nie Huaisang sips on some tea, clearly giving himself time to think how to answer that question. He was already like that as a youth. Or perhaps this too is an act, a way to comfort Lan Xichen, to make him feel like he still knows the other man.

“I know where I stand,” Nie Huaisang repeats, putting down his glass. “I think I know where you stand as well, perhaps better than you do at the moment. I have no illusions regarding the way you feel about me. You think me untrustworthy. You have clearly been expecting me to turn against you, to harm you. As for our values, much as I admire you, I also realise that we view the world too differently to be compatible. I am selfish, and I care only about what I consider to be mine, the rest can rot. You are a just man, trying to do good even to the undeserving. Of course, none of that needs matter, we could take each other to bed even with you despising me, but… ah, would you believe it, Er-ge?” he laughs, without warmth nor joy. “Even a man like me can want to be loved. And if I can’t have it all, I’d rather have nothing.”

Lan Xichen doesn’t know how to answer, and they both fall silent as they eat. 

He cannot say he likes the Nie Huaisang in front of him, bold and cutting, so unapologetic about his defects that he almost sounds proud of them.

He cannot say he dislikes him either.

After dealing with Jin Guangyao’s half truths, after years of Nie Huaisang’s crocodile tears, unpleasant truths can only be welcome.

-

It ought to have been a one time occurrence, that dinner together. Lan Xichen has obtained the answers he thought, no matter how hard to believe he finds them. That should have been the end of it, with the two of them living separate lives, never meeting.

A week later, Lan Xichen invites Nie Huaisang to dine with him again.

He cannot say why he does it. He is not at a loss for company. Bai Yun is there daily. Bai Jie comes by whenever she has time. Nie Manqian and him spar when they can. And still, it is with Nie Huaisang that Lan Xichen wishes to dine and talk.

He is surprised when Nie Huaisang accepts that second invitation, and more surprised still when that second dinner turns out much more pleasant than the first. They don’t talk about their marriage this time. Instead Nie Huaisang starts chatting about his youngest disciples who are just starting to go to class, and how difficult it is to handle them. Lan Xichen finds himself agreeing, and they spend the evening chatting about teaching, and comparing how their respective sects handle it.

Lan Xichen is not surprised when Nie Huaisang accepts his next invitation to dinner, or any of the following ones.

It isn’t that their discussions are always pleasant, as such. They get into intense debates sometimes, fierce arguments about how to handle certain problems. Nie Huaisang believes in letting people handle their own issues unless they threaten his interests. Lan Xichen advocates for early interventions so things do not degenerate. At the same time, Nie Huaisang claims he sees little use in mercy, while Lan Xichen follows his sect’s refusal to kill unless necessary and thinks second chances ought to be given.

It has been a long, long time since Lan Xichen has been able to have conversations like that.

He used to, of course. With Nie Mingjue, before Jin Guangyao joined them and upset their balance. With Nie Huaisang as well, back before he started hiding behind tears.

Because as they dine together, week after week, Lan Xichen starts remembering the boy Nie Huaisang used to be, and realises that maybe he should have expected the way things happened. Nie Huaisang was always clever, always a touch manipulative, always a little selfish. He was a boy who got people to do his homework for him, who always knew what people could help him with what problem, who knew exactly how to get his brother to let him do as he pleased. He couldn’t memorise family trees, but he would recite poetry from memory and paint such lovely things.

Lan Xichen had forgotten how much he used to like Nie Huaisang.

It occurs to him, of course, that Nie Huaisang might be lying again. That all of this might just be a scheme to get his trust by playing at being the version of himself that Lan Xichen likes best.

Lan Xichen mentions it one night.

Nie Huaisang laughs, loud and unrestrained, the way he used to do when joking with Nie Mingjue.

“Er-ge, why would I lie to you?” he points out. “To others, sure, but you… there’s nothing I’d want from you I could get through lying.”

Lan Xichen, immediately, thinks that perhaps all those cultivators who wanted him to step down were right because there he is, believing the most skilled liar he has ever met.

It is pleasant to believe Nie Huaisang again.

“And what is it you’d want from me, that you can only get by saying the truth?”

Nie Huaisang laughs again. It is more forced this time, and he opens his fan. He rarely does it these days.

“Er-ge, let’s not talk about that, it’d just spoil everything. Isn’t it nice being together like this, as friends? I’m very happy with it, I must say. I’m grateful you’re still willing to be my friends, after everything.”

That gratefulness goes both ways. Lan Xichen cannot believe that friendship with Nie Huaisang is something he can have. Something he can want.

And now, after everything, after finding that he trusts Nie Huaisang in spite of it all, friendship might not be the only thing Lan Xichen wants.

He should ask, perhaps.

He doesn’t, and just leans over the table.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t resist when Lan Xichen pushes away his fan, nor when their lips meet. The warmth of his mouth, the soft solidness of his lips, are intoxicating. Lan Xichen feels like he might never want to stop, now that he’s had a taste of it.

But of course, there’s no reason why they should stop.

Nie Huaisang is his husband now.

Having long discovered the worst of what they both are, it is more than time they get to enjoy the best as well.

[angelqueen04]

Hamliza Month, Day 25

@megpeggs @historysalt

Dusty Summary: Eliza and the children return to Philadelphia and to Alexander after spending the summer in Albany. Note: Three guesses as to which summer this is, and the first two don’t count. 

Eliza did her best to stem the tide of her impatience as the carriage rolled through the dry, choked streets of Philadelphia. Traveling was not something she particularly enjoyed under any circumstance, and it was even less pleasant when it was done with several rambunctious, excited children all in a small, enclosed space. Still, what truly had her attention was her eagerness to view the new home Alexander had acquired for them. He’d had it ever since July, and had sworn to follow her instructions for its furnishing and decoration, and now she was keen to see the result.[1]

Market Street was in a fine neighborhood, and the house, according to Alexander, was only a short distance from the Presidential Mansion, another aspect of it which made Eliza happy. It would make it easier for her to make her calls upon Mrs. Washington, and to attend the levies and other social gatherings that were held there. Eliza’s social responsibilities while she was in Philadelphia were extensive, a result of being the wife of the Secretary of the Treasury, so anything that aided her in those duties was always welcome.

When the carriage finally came to an abrupt stop, the children began to shift and shuffle, all of them eagerly looking out the window at their destination. More sensibly, Eliza moved to exit the carriage first. As she pushed the door open, Mr. Meyer, the young employee of the Treasury that Alexander had sent to meet her and the children in Elizabethtown, appeared at the step, holding out his hand to assist her down. “Thank you, Mr. Meyer,” she said as she stepped out.

“You’re most welcome, Mrs. Hamilton,” the young man said. Once she was safely on the ground, he turned back, ready to assist Angelica and Fanny, who had pushed ahead of the boys to be the first ones out of the carriage.

Eliza walked around the carriage so she could gain an unobstructed view of the house. It was lovely, was her first thought as she took it in. Constructed with fine red brick, and dark wood trim surrounding the doors and window, there was also a lovely iron fence in front along the street, completed with a hitching post for visitors. She couldn’t help but smile, pleased. Alexander had indeed chosen well.

“Oooh, it’s so pretty, Mama!” Fanny exclaimed as the young girl appeared at her side. Eliza looked down at her foster daughter and smiled upon seeing the child nearly gaping at the house, her bright, dark eyes wide.

“Yes, it is very pretty,” Eliza agreed. “Now, let’s get inside and see what we have waiting for us.”

Fanny nodded and hurried toward the gate, Angelica and Philip both at her heels. Eliza herself turned to see Mr. Meyer leading both James and Alex toward her. Their eyes too were on the house, though they were quick to take Eliza’s hands when she reached out to them. Eliza thanked Mr. Meyer again for his assistance with the children, and then asked him if he might oversee their trunks being unloaded. The young man agreed and hurried off to the task, and Eliza looked down at her two younger sons. “Shall we go see the new home Papa has found for us?” she asked them.

Alex nodded eagerly and James, who, though clearly tired from the journey, perked up. “Papa!” he said.

Eliza laughed. “Yes,” she said, “Papa.”

But the boy clearly meant more than that. He tugged on her hand and pointed toward the house. “Papa!” he repeated.

Eliza followed the direction of his finger toward one of the large windows on the front of the house. She saw no one there, but the curtains were swaying in the open window, and there was no breeze. This was a bit surprising. Alexander had written to her of the yearly complaint he suffered in his kidneys – it was why he had not come to meet her and the children in Elizabethtown and sent Mr. Meyer in his stead [2] – but if he was well enough to be out of bed, then surely wouldn’t he have been at the Treasury offices? There was always so much to do there, and he could hardly be convinced to leave the work to his hirelings there, always insisting that his oversight was needed.

She led the two boys toward the gate, following in the older children’s footsteps. As Eliza stepped through, the front door opened and out swept Alexander, full of verve as he hurried down the steps to meet them. “Here is my family!” he cried as he held his arms wide, inviting them to come to him. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me!”

All five of the children shrieked in delight and threw themselves at him, little Alex and James dropping Eliza’s hands in the process. Eliza laughed and followed, intending to get a closer look at her husband to ascertain the state of his health for herself.

He looked surprisingly healthy, she quickly saw as the children began to all but climb all over him. While his letter had assured her that the attack of his kidney complaint was a mild one, she knew from experience how even the most minor of attacks could often lay him out and exhaust him. But there was little sign of that at all, if his boundless energy as he swept the children up in hugs and tickling was anything to go by.

It was then that Alexander straightened again, and his attention landed on her. “Ah,” he said, his tone softening, “my dearest, loveliest, most wonderful Betsey.”

The children seemed to sense that they should make way for them, because they stepped aside, leaving Alexander and her a clear path to one another, one they took full advantage of. They met each other in a fierce embrace, and Eliza reveled in feeling her husband’s arms around her for the first time in months. All of the stresses she had been living under – the terror over James’ health when he had been sick, the constant worry for Alexander when he did not appear to be writing to her for weeks on end – began to melt away as Alexander tried to cover her entire face in kisses. “Oh, how I have missed you,” he murmured between each kiss.

Soon enough, Alexander pulled away just enough to gesture for the children to go inside, and then he accompanied Eliza arm-in-arm in bringing up the rear. As they stepped into the front hall, Eliza looked around. The house was a great deal larger than the previous home they had rented here in Philadelphia, which pleased her. The room to the immediate right of the front door had clearly been marked out as Alexander’s study – she could see his desk just through the door, covered in various papers, as always.

“Can we see our rooms, Mama?” Philip asked eagerly. Eliza turned her gaze on her eldest and saw him fidgeting near the staircase, clearly eager to run up and explore the second floor.

She smiled, and nodded, saying, “Go on, but be prepared to unpack. There’s much to do before supper.”

That was all Philip needed for him to take the stairs at a run. Alexander and James hurried after him, struggling to keep up on their shorter legs. Angelica and Fanny latched onto Alexander, tugging at him. “Come with us, Papa!” Angelica implored. “I want you to show us our room!”

Alexander gave Eliza a sheepish smile, to which she laughed softly and waved her hand, encouraging him to go along with their girls. As the three of them followed the boys, Eliza continued her initial survey of the ground floor. The house had been kitted out very well, she saw. The furniture, a mix of their own pieces and those owned by Mr. Stein, the man whom they were renting the house from.[3] He seemed to have excellent tastes, she noted with some pleasure.

The same, however, could not be said for Alexander’s housekeeping, Eliza thought as she looked closer. Running a single, gloved finger along a hall table, she looked at her fingertip and wrinkled her nose at the dust and stray hair. Clearly, he had not yet set out to hire new servants. She would have to see to that herself, and ensure the house was given a thorough cleaning before she began to entertain guests.

The quick tour of the rest of the ground floor confirmed what she had seen from the start. The kitchen at the back of the house was perhaps in the room that was in the best shape of all of them, save for a few breadcrumbs on the counter. Alexander knew to keep the kitchen clean, if only to prevent a rodent infestation.

There was no second staircase for the use of servants, so Eliza backtracked to the front of the house. The front door was open and their various traveling trunks were being stacked inside, waiting for a final destination. She did not see Mr. Meyer anywhere, and assumed he was either still outside or had already left the premises to return to his own home. She turned to the staircase and began making her way upstairs. She could hear the laughing voices of her children, and smiled. They seemed happy with what they had found up here.

When she reached the landing, Eliza peered in the first doorway on her left. The chamber was a bright, airy room with a large canopied bed dominating the space. Angelica and Fanny lay stretched out across the mattress, still in their traveling dresses, giggling conspiratorially together. Smiling, she left them to it.

There were four bedchambers altogether, from what Eliza could see. Glancing in one, she saw Philip speaking excitedly to his father, telling him about a fishing trip he had gone on with his grandfather. In another, James and Alex were curled up on the bed, fast asleep. That didn’t take long, she thought fondly.

Though she did not inspect the rooms closely, Eliza could still see that they were in much the same state as the ground floor – all in need of a good dusting at the very least. As she came to the final bedchamber, what must be hers and Alexander’s, Eliza stepped inside expecting it to be in much the same condition.

The chamber was the largest of the four. Their bed, the frame being an enormous thing that had been one of their first important purchases after Alexander had established his law practice, was in place and as welcome a sight as ever. The room also had a decent-sized fireplace, near which a large upholstered chair had been placed. Eliza smiled as she gazed upon it, imagining herself seated there by a crackling fire, working on her mending or some piece of embroidery. Just from a quick look, everything appeared perfect.

Wait. She stopped. Perfect? She surveyed the room again, looking at things in further detail.

This chamber, unlike the rest of the house, was spotless, she realized. The furniture gleamed. The rugs under her feet looked to have been just recently beaten. Eliza took off her gloves and ran a hand over the counterpane on the bed. The linens were freshly laundered too.

The chamber had been cleaned from top to bottom. There was not a speck of dust, not a single stray hair to be found.

“Is everything to your satisfaction, my love?”

Eliza spun around to find Alexander standing in the doorway, a soft smile on his lips. Instinctively, her lips turned upward to return the gesture. “Nearly so,” she told him as he walked into the room, crossing the distance between them to take her into his arms once again.

“Oh?” he cocked his head. “And just what has been found wanting? Where have I failed to follow my darling’s instructions?” he asked her with a teasing grin.

Eliza couldn’t keep herself from laughing at her husband’s antics and she cuddled closer, resting her head on his chest. She had missed him so, missed everything about him. His arms came up behind her, holding her against him and she sighed contentedly. “Other than being in sore need of a good cleaning, there nothing wrong,” she said. Then she paused, considered again the state of their bedchamber and its marked difference to the rest of the house. “It’s instead something that puzzles me.”

“Oh?”

She pulled back from him a little so she could meet his gaze. Raising an eyebrow, she nodded toward the chamber around them. “Why is our chamber so clean in comparison to everywhere else?” Eliza grinned at him. “Have you been up to something naughty in here? Something I should know about?”

She had only been teasing him, of course, and Alexander’s smile didn’t falter. Still, there was something in his eyes, his manner, which reminded her suddenly of a deer, frozen in fear when it spotted a hunter about to take his shot. The moment of silence was oddly tense, though for what reason she truly could not fathom. So, Eliza chose to break it by asking in her sternest tone, the one that set their children to standing at attention like soldiers, “Alexander Hamilton, have you been eating food in here?”

He didn’t respond at first, just stared at her before blinking rapidly as her words finally sank in. “Eating?” He almost stuttered as he said the word.

Eliza stepped back, and his arms fell limply to his sides. Placing her hands on her hips, she demanded with mock-severity, “What have I said about bringing food into the bed?”

He blinked again, and slowly seemed to be returning to himself. “That it will get crumbs everywhere, and invite vermin to invade the house,” he recited.

She nodded. “Exactly.” Waving her hand to indicate the spotless chamber, she asked, “Is that why this room has been cleaned to the point where I can almost see my reflection in the wood? Were you trying to remove the evidence of your crime?”

The last of the tension held on for another moment, until Eliza could not take it and Alexander’s almost-punch-drunk expression anymore. She burst out laughing.

His vacant stare began to morph into an incredulous gape, which only caused Eliza to laugh harder. Leaning against the bedpost, she said between bouts of laughter, “Oh, Alexander… you should… see your face!”

A faint, sheepish smile began to creep across Alexander’s lips and he too began to chuckle. “It seems you’ve caught me, dearest,” he said, his voice sounding strangely relieved, of all things. “I can hide nothing from you.”

It took some time for Eliza to regain control of her mirth. As she regained her feet, she took his arm in her arm and squeezed it lovingly. Nudging his shoulder with affection, she said as she began to lead him out of the room. “Don’t worry, darling. I’m home now. I’ll break you of this unsavory habit soon enough.”

-----

Oh God, Eliza… she doesn’t know. Not yet. *whimper*

Damn it, Ham.

[1] Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, 27 July 1791.

[2] Alexander Hamilton to Elizabeth Hamilton, 4 September 1791.

[3] Clement Biddle to Alexander Hamilton, 28 June 1791.

[therealcalicali]

Lillesøster - Krigen: Chapt 16

Chapter 16 Warnings:  Angst, Deception, Violence and Intrigue

Word Count: 8,102

Setting: Viking Era

Genre: Romance/Drama/Epic  

Pairing: Ragnarssons x Reader, Alfred x Reader, Aethelred x Reader (No details because it would spoil the story)

Read Season 1: Here

Catch Up: Chap 1 Chap 2 Chap 3 Chap 4

Chap 5 Chap 6 Chap 7 Chap 8 Chap 9

Chap 10 Chap 11 Chap 12 Chap 13

Chap 14 Chap 15  Chapter 17

Chapter 18 Chapter 19

You and Alfred had barely passed the threshold of the Great Hall when a large hand grasped at your wrist. When you turned, it was none other than your father. With a crooked smirk, he eyed you with peculiar interest.

“Birdie, come and greet your father.”

Instantly, you let go of your husband’s arm and embraced Ragnar.

And in that moment, he was your entire world. Because not only had he proven himself a loving parent over time, he had led your War. Something he was not obligated to do, despite you being blood relations. Because truth be told, Ragnar set aside his own kingdom concerns for your sake.

Indeed, he left Kattegat under the rule of a proxy just to Command your armies. Something he had never done under any circumstances. Thus, there was no amount of coin that could compensate for such devotion.

“You do not know how happy I am.” You whispered as the embrace continued. “I prayed for everyone morning and night. But mostly, you.”

“That is a fortunate thing. Because your prayers will counteract Aslaug’s own.” Ragnar replied with a hint of amusement.

He then kissed the top of your head.

After letting go, he quickly added that your stepmother hated him. So much in fact, that she had barely looked at him since their arrival. Obviously, the comment did not sit well with you. Because despite knowing that their marriage was on shaky ground, you still felt hopeful. For that reason, you snatched the horn of mead from his hand.

Stunned by your actions, Alfred raised a brow. However, he remained silent and kept to your side.

“Father, please attempt to be amiable. No matter the problem, it is not insurmountable.” You implored. “Besides, you have only just returned. So let there be peace between you.”

“The only peace there will be, are pieces of Ragnar scattered throughout this castle.” Rollo interrupted with a chuckle. He then shoved his brother aside. “Trust me, Y/N. If a mere look could kill, your father would be dead already.”

Your Uncle then put a massive arm about you and pulled you close.

Defeated by their inane laughter, you could only look between them. Apparently, neither man seemed keen on taking your words seriously. But then again, they were having their fill of King Garrat’s imported spirits. Thus, you could not expect much.

“Your belly has expanded a great deal.” Ragnar noted before setting his palm to the rounded bulge. “It’s as if you have a fleet of ships in there.”

“Father, please! I tire of people speaking as if I am made of stone.” You replied, your brow sewn together in annoyance. “Everyone makes me feel as if I am the size of a cow.”

With a repentant expression, Ragnar rubbed your belly and declared he was only jesting. Furthermore, he insisted that he was not referring to your body as a whole. But rather, how much the baby had grown. Amused by this, you acknowledge the fact. Because despite your sentiments, there was no denying that your belly was massive.

“What of the Healers?” Ragnar asked with a glint of concern in his eyes. “Have they said that you are both doing well?”

With a nod, you assured your father that everything was going as expected.

In fact, your numerous symptoms had greatly reduced. So much in fact, that you had taken to practicing Archery with King Garrat. Naturally, this drew satisfied chuckles from Ragnar and Rollo. But Alfred was not so keen.

In fact, he looked at you with some disapproval.

Though the Prince was accustomed to your willful proclivities, he assumed being with child would improve things. But apparently, he was greatly mistaken. In spite of his displeasure however, Alfred chose to keep his opinion to himself.

Because one thing he had learned, was to choose his battles well.

“Take more, Y/N.” Floki declared as he pushed a platter of roasted pheasant toward you. “It is said that hearty foods are good for women in your condition.”

But despite enjoying your Uncle’s company, you nearly cringed.

Typically, you enjoyed such delicacies. However, the smell of the meat instantly turned your stomach. Thus, you passed it to a nearby servant and asked that she take it away.

“Do not tell me you are going to vomit.”

“I will if you keep passing dishes over.”

With a chuckle Floki patted your hand and apologized. Though he meant well, he had no idea how bad you had it. Adding that his late wife had gone through the same. Naturally, you were intrigued by this. Because despite him being unattached, you had been told that the Shipbuilder was once married.

“Helga was quite like you in temperament. And when she was expecting our first child, she became even worse. Any time I returned from a hunt; she would glare at me. Always insisting I dress my kills them far from the longhouse or else.”

“And would you?”

“Of course. I mean, it was best to do it at a nearby friends home than to risk being attacked.”

“Of come off it, Uncle.” You said with a laugh. “I am certain that she did not mean a word of those threats. Truth be told, being with child can make one quite moody.”

A bittersweet smile crossed Floki’s face. 

Indeed, there was much you did not know. Mostly, that his enigmatic personality was actually a shield from reality. Because the Shipbuilder had yet to finish mourning his wife and daughter.

“Tell me more of her.”

“Come now, Y/N. There is no need to bore you with tales of the past. Besides, those things happened before you were born. All of it, lost to the Northern winds.”

Despite his protesting, you insisted. Declaring that you wished to hear of his life just as you had done with Rollo. A name you knew would trigger Floki to do as asked. Because one thing he disliked, was being upstaged by your belligerent Uncle.

Thus, the Shipbuilder began regaling you with the ghosts of things long forgotten.

“Well, someone say something. How shall we tell her?” Gunni asked, tipping his horn of mead.

Bjorn, Sigurd and Ubbe then exchanged glances, none exactly sure of how to respond. But there was one thing they all knew for certain. 

That you had to be told the truth. And that it was best done sooner, than later.

“A wise man once said, “The straightforward approach is always best.” Gunni said thoughtfully. “Thus, there is no reason to attempt to shield Y/N from the news. Because knowing her temperament, beating about the bush will only incur her wrath.”

Alfred paused at the suggestion whilst the others continued to discuss things further.

Being your husband, everyone had agreed that he would have the final say. However, in spite of this, the Prince was still apprehensive about saying anything at all. For he knew one thing was certain. You would surely lose your temper, no matter how the subject was approached.

“Alfred, you have said nothing.” Bjorn said. “If you cannot handle things, I can tell her myself. After all, she is my sister.”

“I am capable of speaking to my own wife.” Alfred countered, his tone one of contemplative concern. “But you must remember, she is with child. For that reason, I am in no rush to upset her.”

“No one begrudges you of that concern. However, you do not know Y/N as we do. She is more resilient than you may believe.” Sigurd interjected as Hvitserk nodded in agreement.

Like your husband, your brothers were also anxious about your condition. But what had to be done, could not be avoided. Thus, Sigurd added that you were not the type to overlook dishonesty. Even it was meant to spare your feelings.

So as the men ended the discussion, it was decided that Bjorn would be the one to approach you.

“I would like to be present as well. Y/N may need me.” Alfred said, as the others went their way.

With a shrug, your eldest brother declared that he was welcome to do as he pleased. However, he suggested that your husband prepare himself for the worst. Because one thing the Ragnarssons had learned over time, was that your anger rivaled only that of Ragnar’s.

Whilst Aethelred was sat, busily replying to a long-held correspondence from Wessex, Cassandra entered.

The Lady had been patiently awaiting her husband’s presence in the Great Hall. But after some time of sitting alone and listening to others converse, she had her fill. Thus, she thought it best to go in search of her absentee spouse.

But when he heard the door to the small study close, Aethelred seemed unaffected by her presence.

“What is it?” He asked, barely looking up from the papers before him. “I am in the midst of a pressing matter.”

“Is that how you greet me now?” Cassandra asked as her pleasant smile turned to an expression of vexation. Crossing her hands over her chest, the young woman then glared at the elder Saxon Prince. “Since the arrival of your convoy, you have yet to send for me. But even as I welcome you, there is no semblance of enthusiasm. In fact, you behave as if we have not been apart for weeks on end.”

“For the love of God. Did you come in here simply to chew at my ear? If so, I suggest you save your breath. Because as you can see, I’m focused on important matters.”

“Important, he says.” Cassandra scoffed, her eyes setting upon his in anger. Perhaps Aethelred did not feel the weight of so many women being with child, but she did.  “And what is more important than us starting a family?”

As his fist hit the desk with a great thud, Aethelred finally looked at his wife.

Truly, the words cut him to the core. So much in fact, he could barely contain the anger that now frothed deep within him. For one thing Cassandra did not understand was that he was not made of stone. Yes, the Prince did in fact want a family all his own.

However, he also had other troubles festering in his homeland. The kind that threatened to change the very course of his life. Thus, arguing with the wife he had yet to fall for, did little to bring him comfort.

“You are exactly like my mother. Always speaking without forethought or wisdom.” Aethelred seethed through tense jaw. “You behave as if I enjoy my current lot in life. Do you suppose I was gladdened at being betrothed at the last minute? Our vows, nothing more than an afterthought? Do you think such facts enable me to sleep at night?”

“I…………………….” Cassandra stammered. As she searched for the right words, her courage began to fail her. “That is not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean? Because ever since you appeared in my life, you are always at my heels. If it not complaints, its advising me to do one thing or another. And frankly, I have grown tired. I will not placate someone that behaves like the woman who ruined my life!”

With great reluctance, the Lady held her skirts as her mind raced.

Though they had not been married long, Cassandra was actually fond of her husband. For that reason, she did not retreat from the Study. Instead, she apologized once more before confessing that she was only frustrated at not being with child.

Unfortunately, her words did little to improving things. Because the declaration instantly caused Aethelred’s gaze to go cold.

“So, you wish to become a mother.” He said with a peculiar nod. “That is good to know. Because I too have always dreamt of becoming a father. However, none of those thoughts ever included you. So if you are done ruining what little peace I still possess, we shall speak another time.”

Had it not been for her upbringing, Cassandra’s knees would have lost their strength.

Indeed, nothing in her entire life had hurt more. Not that she did not understood Aethelred’s feelings. After all, he had been madly in love prior to their betrothal. But the Lady had always believed that they were establishing something of their own. And in time, the Prince would come to treat her as a true wife.

Thus, she never expected Aethelred to speak with such indifference.

“I…………………..I shall return to the Great Hall.” Cassandra stammered, her heart beating so fast, she swore he could hear it. “And before I forget, your father asked of you twice. He said there is much for the two of you to discuss.”

“Halt!” A broad-shouldered guard bellowed. He then approached the party before him as another raised a torch aloft. “It is half past midnight already. Therefore, no one shall pass unless there is urgent business at hand.”

With some frustration, Sir Mansfeld’s men grumbled.

After a long journey from the encampments, they now dreamed of only their beds. That and perhaps some much needed food. Thus, they looked to their Master, hoping the evenings’ work would not be prolonged.

As expected, the arrogant Knight curtly declared that he wished to speak to Sir Ronan. Adding that the meeting could not wait for the morning.

Because despite what he had once believed, Sir Mansfeld’s chance meeting with Ivar had proven beneficial. For your brother had done him a considerable favor. Something he hoped would regain Dorian’s favor.

It was a desperate gamble, of course. But one worth making since your cousin no longer favored House Kensington. In fact, he had taken to calling them a “Den of traitors”. Thus, Ivar handing over a useful prisoner, was quite welcomed.

Nevertheless, your brother had not helped Sir Mansfeld out of benevolence. Because he too benefited from the transaction.

“I understand the urgency, Milord.” One of the elder Guardsmen declared. “But unless you give good reason, I cannot wake our Master.”

“If I am not allowed to see Sir Ronan, I shall dismount and cut you all down.” Sir Mansfeld proclaimed, tired of being kept waiting. “Because as I have said already, my purpose is for his eyes and ears only. So, what shall it be?”

“Alfie, you are being quite strange this evening.” You remarked as the Prince moved about the Library. “Did you lure me from the feast for a specific reason? Or are we simply here to admire King Garrat’s trinkets?”

Though he tried, the Prince could not bring himself to force a smile. So instead, he picked up a crystal figurine, examining it before looking at you.

“What is it?” You asked with a raised brow. “If you are hiding a present, please do not keep me waiting. Because you know I detest surprises.”

But before your husband could mumble a response, Bjorn entered. 

Obviously, you were a bit confused as to why your brother was there. Especially since the revelry in the Great Hall had not become quite raucous. Thus, you asked if he too was on in Alfred’s little game.

Confused by the query, Bjorn glanced at Alfred, the two exchanging glances. But this only caused you to grow frustrated by the strange behavior. So instead of asking more questions, you walked to your husband and snatched the figurine from his hand.

“I insist that you tell me what is going on. Or else, I will not speak to you the rest of the night.” You said with a furrowed brow. “I detest feeling as if you are both plotting something.”

“Y/N, calm yourself. There is nothing afoot.” Bjorn said as he looked at you with sincerity. “However, we do have something to inform you of. So if you will please take a seat--------”

“I will do no such thing. Whatever I must hear, can be done whilst I’m upon my feet.”

It was then you noticed Alfred’s gaze change to one of great concern.

For that reason, you demanded that your husband and brother speak. Because not only was your patience wearing thin, but you had no intentions of sitting. Obviously, both men were quite apprehensive. But invariably, they understood that little could be done once your mind was made.

Thus, Bjorn approached, not simply to keep his words from prying ears. But he wished to catch you, should your strength falter.

“Sister, I will not belabor the message.” He said. “Despite winning nearly every battle and routing Dorian’s forces, not everything is perfect. Because during a scouting mission, Lancille and his men were ambushed.”

Instantly, you felt nauseous. As you grasped onto Bjorn’s arm, Alfred dragged a chair over and asked that you sit. This time, you obliged.

“Wha……………………………what do you mean?” You stammered as your brother’s words raced through your mind. “Where is he?”

“Love, please.” Alfred pleaded. “If you do not take care, you will upset yourself and the baby.”

Though you wanted to snap at him, the Prince was correct. The last thing you wanted was to put your unborn child in danger. Thus, you took a moment to compose yourself. After letting out a deep breath, you looked to Bjorn again.

“Please do not spare my feelings. Because the good Lord knowns that Lancille has endured much for my sake.” You said with gravity. “So, is he is alive? Or have you brought his body for me to mourn?”

“From what we know, he is indeed alive.” Bjorn replied. “Ivar said that by time his party happened upon the scene, most of Lancille’s men were dead. However, a mortally wounded Archer told them that the Knight had been taken prisoner.”

“And that is good news, actually. It proves they mean to use him as a bargaining tool.” Alfred added in an attempt to ease your mind.

“Why did Ivar not report this to me himself?” You asked. “Is he not my Hand?”

With some hesitation, Bjorn confessed that the youngest Ragnarsson had not come with them. Instead, he chose to pass through the Trudig encampments to take care of some business. 

With jaw tensed, your gaze fell upon the smoldering embers of the fireplace.

Indeed, War was an ugly affair. A reality the late Sir Alcanore, had emphasized on numerous occasions. In fact, your Uncle and Sir Everette both advised you to forget all you had read in books. Because there had never been victory without great loss.

And from the looks of things, your blood sacrifices were only just beginning.

“Prince Ivar!” Sir Everette declared angrily as your brother entered his dwelling. “With all due respect, I demand to know what you mean by all this rubbish! First, you unceremoniously remove me from my appointed station. Then, you have the gall to post your men about my tent. So since I am at a loss, please explain what I have done to deserve such treatment!”

“First, I suggest watching that tone, old man. Or my warriors will do far worse than simply posting themselves.”

Sir Everette could not keep from shaking his head in disappointment.

Though he had never fully trusted most of the Norsemen around you, he had come to respect many over time. But Ivar was never one of them. Because from the Knight Paladin’s could see, your brother was simply power hungry.

And that made him as dangerous as your Aunt, Jayne-Marie.

“If you truly want me to explain things……..” Ivar continued with a chuckle. “Ask nicely, and I might oblige.”

“Aye, you may be Princess Y/N’s relation, but I neither regard nor fear you. In fact, you are beneath my Queen in every way. So keep your stupid thoughts if you like. I shall not beg.”

Baffled by the response, Ivar’s eyes cut in Sir Everette’s direction. As he finally managed to sit upon the nearby table, he pondered throwing his axe at the trusted Knight. 

However, he was able to squelch those thoughts, choosing instead to extend the game.

“You are going far away.” Ivar declared, an amused smirk crossing his face. “And since you obviously dislike me, that should make you a happy man.”

“I shall go nowhere, lest Princess Y/N sends word. In case you have forgotten, I do not take my orders from you, Heathen.”

“But of course you do. Or have YOU forgotten that I am the Queen’s Hand? That means, I am her voice in abstentia.”

Sir Everette could say nothing more. Thus, he stared into the void that were your brother’s eyes. And even in that moment, he knew that he likely would not be seen again. Because there was nothing good to be found in Ivar’s gaze.

“I see your tongue has finally stilled, Sir Everette. Anyway, it was a pleasure having you serve under Ragnar’s command. And I am sure that my sister appreciated the years of service. However, from this day, you are officially dismissed.”

Ivar then motioned for his men to take the Knight away. As they did so, the proud man did not beg or ask for reconsideration. However, he curses your brother as he was forcibly dragged into the blackness of the evening.

“Over my dead body! Do you hear me?” Ragnar snapped as his pleasant smile turned to a scowl. “You will do no such thing!”

“You are being irrational.” Ubbe countered, his own resentment now rising. All had been well only moments before. But with him broaching the subject of naming his newborn daughter, things had gone awry. “In case you are unaware, I need no permission to bestow the name. In fact, the only reason I even brought it to your attention was due to mother’s insistence.”

Sat at the head table, Prince Aethelwulf, Judith, Lagertha and a few others tried to focus on the exotic belly dancers. However, it was a somewhat difficult since there was an argument brewing nearby.

“If you and that pig you call a wife even attempt it, I will strangle you both!” Ragnar declared. “It will never happen!”

As you were listening to Sigurd and Hvitserk debate the merits of foreign weaponry, Pippa tapped your shoulder. She then motioned to where your father and brother were, obviously in disagreement.

“Perhaps you should attempt to soothe things, Princess. It would be terrible if things got out of hand and you were shamed in front of our hosts.”

You sighed, wishing Lancille was at your side.

Because typically, such whispers came from him. But despite your concerns for his safety, Bjorn had reassured you. In fact, your eldest brother had men scouting for information already. And even Alfred dispatched some of his own to assist with the endeavor.

Thus, you resigned yourself to see to your father and Ubbe.

As soon as you attempted to stand, Bolverk was at your side. The massive Heathen had been miraculously observant ever since becoming your temporary Personal Guard. So much, you had slowly convinced him to give you glimpse into his life. Because one thing was for certain, he was an enigma. Even to his fellow Norsemen.

“Sister, where are you going?” Hvitserk asked with a crooked smile. “Is our conversation that much of a bore?”

“Not at all. I shall return momentarily.”

You were then escorted through the Great Hall by the ever vigilant Bolverk. The only thing you had to ask, every so often, was that he was not rough in clearing a path. Because despite his cautious ways with your person, the Berserker was pushy with everyone else.

“Father, I do not know what you two are discussing.” You said as you reached Ragnar’s side. Setting a hand to his arm, you looked between him and Ubbe. “But whatever it is, let us leave it for another time. Because people are starting to take notice.”

“Your brother is an idiot! He can never leave good enough alone.”

“Me? I only asked for permission to name my daughter Gyda.” Ubbe seethed. He then decided to ignore Ragnar, giving you his undivided attention. “And you know how he reacts, Y/N? He berates me.”

“I’ll do far worse if you go through with it.”

Fed up with the insults, Ubbe proclaimed that Ragnar had never been a decent parental figure. He then added that he was the worst father anyone could possibly have. Because not only did he make everyone feel unwanted, he had chained himself to the past.

“But take heart, I will find another name for my daughter. One that belongs to her alone. That way, she will never contend with the shadows you choose to live with.”

Ragnar’s arm jerked as he contemplated striking Ubbe. But fortunately, your presence kept him from doing so.

“Father, Ubbe, please stop cutting one another down.” You implored, looking at each of them. “Can we not behave as a family, even once?”

“Do not waste your breath, sister. Ragnar does not care for anyone but himself. My mother learned this truth long ago. And honestly, I no longer care about winning his regard either.”

Ubbe then pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before walking away. Obviously, you were highly disheartened by the situation. Because despite all his progress, Ragnar was making you question his affections. Not for you, but for Aslaug and your brothers.

“Father, do you truly love me?”

“Do not start, Birdie. You ask something you already know the answer to.”

“Then promise that you will hold a family discussion.” You said as your father’s intense eyes fell upon you own. “That way, we can sort things when all minds are sober.”

Despite wanting to refuse the request, Ragnar could deny you nothing. A weakness he had come to dislike about himself. Nevertheless, he quickly nodded before asking that you sit with him a while.

You found yourself tossing and turning after retiring to your chambers.

Though truly exhausted, it was your many thoughts that did not permit slumber. But ultimately, you drifted off with a book in hand. And you remained in a blissful dream state until a thunderous knock came upon the door.

“Princess Y/N.” A guards voice called out. “Forgive me for rousing your sleep. But Prince Aethelred insists on having words.”

You lay motionless a while as you attempted to shake of the grogginess. Obviously, you were perplexed as to why the Prince had decided to wake you. Especially since he had opportunity to speak to you in the Great Hall. Nevertheless, you curiosity got the best of you; thus you informed the Guard that you would see Aethelred. Adding that he should await you in the nearby Sewing Room.

After getting out of bed, you searched for a modest heavy robe. After all, there was no need for any tongues to start wagging with all that was going on. Once you found the garment that covered you best, you departed your chamber.

When you opened the door to the Sewing Room, Aethelred was standing nearest a window. However, he turned upon hearing the squeaking of the redwood.

“Y/N, thank you for giving me audience.”

The Prince then walked over, stopping at an appropriate distance. Though he wished to embrace you, his thoughts went to propriety. Not for his own sake, but rather your own.

“Aethelred. I did not have the opportunity to speak to you this evening. But I am glad to see that you are well.”

“Gratitude. I am……………also glad that you are in good health.”

His gaze then went to your heavily rounded belly. For Aethelred, it was difficult to not feel a bevy of conflicting thoughts. Because on one hand, he wanted your child to be delivered healthy. But on the other, he had also wished that it would have been lost already.

“So you are quite close to your time.”

“That I am.” You replied as you set your palms to the swell. “The Maesters say it will be within the next weeks. But I am certain that you did not wake me to speak of babies.”

With some reluctance, Aethelred broached the subject of Wessex and Mercia. Not in terms of casual matters, but rather about succession and Ecbert’s failing health. The latter being something you were quite unaware of.

“What do you mean?” You asked, brow raised distrustfully. Though you still held feelings for the Prince, his actions had led to your Uncle’s death. For that reason, trust was difficult to muster these days. “There is nothing wrong with him. In fact, he wrote not long ago to ask of my condition. And nowhere did he mention feeling unwell.”

“Of course he didn’t, Y/N. Do you expect a proud man like that to announce such a thing?” Aethelred countered. He then paced some more before setting his hands to the table. “Ecbert is redrafting his Declaration of Will. And from what I have been told, there is a major change that many think irrational.”

You eyed him, wondering why he had brought the situation to your attention. Because despite being Alfred’s wife, you had no desire to interfere in their royal affairs. In fact, you figured the only time you would need to address Wessex and Mercia, was after the birth of your child.

Because your heirs would require titles from both you, and Alfred. Thus, you informed Aethelred that you did not understand why you should be concerned about his family’s succession.

“Still, I appreciate you telling me of Ecbert’s health.” You added. “For I have grown fond of him and will pray in earnest. But as for whom will rule your kingdom, it not my place. And to be quite honest, I do not care.”

“But it DOES concern you! Because you are married to very man that has usurped my bloodline. A bastard conceived upon some dirty floor, now positions himself to seize the throne. That is why I have brought it to your attention!”

You swallowed hard, realizing that all the rumors had been true. The Saxon King did favor your husband in every way. All this despite Alfred being the product of betrayal. And not betrayal of just anyone, but his very own son.

Indeed, it was allot to consider at such a late hour.

“Aethelred, what do you expect of me? In case you have forgotten, I have my own kingdom to-----”

“Advise him to recuse himself, when the time comes!” The Prince interrupted. “Because though I have tolerated much, I have my limits. My entire life has been lived under the weight of Alfred’s massive shadow. But not this time. If he thinks he will ascend the throne of my ancestors, he is sadly mistaken.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You asked as you stared Aethelred straight in the eye. Though you truly had no desire to be involved, you were carrying Alfred’s child. So if he were put in harm’s way, so would his heirs. “Are you laying out a threat to your brother through me?”

Without giving a direct response to your query, the Prince proclaimed that he would hold his position. And if that meant he and Alfred would eventually come to conflict, he would see things through.

“I will not bend to him, Y/N. Be sure to tell him that.”

“No! Tell him yourself, if you are so keen.” You fumed. All night, your thoughts had been taken by worries of Lancille. That, and the many other War related issues. Thus, you were utterly fed up with being pulled in every direction. “And the next time you wish to deliver a message, find a Royal Page or Attendant. I am a Monarch in my own right! Not some slave to you, Alfred or anyone else! Good evening!”

You were so incensed, that upon reaching your chambers, you threw a vase against the wall.

Poor King Garrat, the piece had been gifted to his Great Grandmother from an affluent Sheik. But you had shattered the delicate heirloom out of pure rage. After making your mind to tell your host of your actions in the morning, you returned to bed. And fortunately, sleep came quickly, despite your moodiness.

A short time later, you felt the bed sink and an arm go about your person.

“No need wake, Y/N.” Alfred whispered as he noticed you shifting under his embrace. “I found myself unable to sleep without you.”

As Sir Mansfeld sat lazily peeling an apple with his favored dagger, his father stormed under the canopy.

“There you are!” The elder Knight roared, his tone startling the nearby servant girls. “Had you not been my son, I would skin you alive and be done with it!”

With a bewildered expression, the young man asked why he was in such a mood. Especially since he had acquired a token that would restore favor to their Great House.

“Do you know what you have done?” Sir Grimley asked, his expression one of gravity. “Not only did you go behind my back, but you overstepped the Chain of Command. That is not how any Knight of valor behaves.”

“Father, please. Let us forego talk of valor and all the rest of that stupidity. Because from what I can see, none of it has restored our fortune and standing.”

With a shake of the head, his father declared him a fool. And not just any type of fool, but one that was doomed to hang by his own rope. After barking for a servant to give him wine, Sir Grimley reminded his son that he was neither a Paladin nor Commander.

In fact, he was serving underneath Sir Ronan; a man three years his junior.

“Go ahead. Remind me of my failings. But I will have you know that Lancille’s capture will fetch the accolades I deserve. You have no inclination of my numerous ambitions. Perhaps if you took the time to ask, I would tell you.”

“Rubbish!” Sir Grimley replied before spitting on the ground. “I have no need to drive myself mad with your fantasies. You always speak a multitude of words that lead nowhere!”

Though offended, Sir Mansfeld kept his composure. For one thing he wanted more than anything, was to impress his father. Thus, he walked to the nearby tree where Lancille was positioned. There, your poor Guard sat, bound at the hands and feet with a sack over his head.

As the young Knight gloated over his cousin, Sir Ronan and Boris appeared. Both men greeted Sir Grimley out of respect before going silent again.

“Are you not going to at least congratulate me on acquiring our prisoner?” Sir Mansfeld asked as pointed at Lancille. “I have killed two birds with one stone. First, resolving your longstanding grudge against your brother’s family. All while possessing a prisoner for our King.”

“You truly are stupid.” Sir Grimley declared as he poured the remnants of his wine onto the grass. “My late brother and I had disagreements that were our own. So you have done nothing by seizing your cousin. King Dorian will not show favor nor give you reward. He will simply murder him like he did Sir Alcanore. So the only thing you have done, is put us in peril. Because when that transpires, everyone will turn against our House.”

With that, the elder Knight tossed his chalice to the ground and stormed off to the War Room. 

As for Sir Ronan, he bent down to examine Lancille. Though they had never crossed paths before the War, he had heard great things of your Personal Guard. Not only about him being an accomplished young warrior, but of his valor and loyalty.

Traits that Sir Ronan now realized was lacking in some under his command.

Whilst composing a letter to the family, Ecbert ran a hand over his face.

Though he knew his decision would cause untold conflict in the future, the wise King was resolute. In fact, he had never been more certain of a decision in his life. Indeed, Aethelred was his only legitimate grandchild, the blood of many great Saxons coursing through his veins. However, that did not mean the boy was meant to rule.

Especially during such perilous times when expansion was vital for survival.

“Do you suppose Alfred will accept?” Pope Leo IV asked as he looked up from the finalized Proclamation of Will. “Though he will be honored, we both know him to be exceptionally principled. Thus, I expect that he will be conflicted.”

“I have predicted that as well. For that reason, I shall appeal to his sense of duty and family. Something Aethelred knowns nothing about.” Ecbert replied thoughtfully. “And with Y/N soon to deliver, he will surely have his thoughts upon the future.”

“Praise God for that.” The Pope replied. “The Holy Catholic Church wants nothing more than to see our host nations rise. So what is good for Wessex and Mercia, is good Christians everywhere.”

“Aye, your Holiness. That is something we can both drink to.”

It took some doing, but you managed to get Ragnar and Ubbe to end their war of silence. And after pushing them further, you got them to agree upon a date for your niece’s Naming Ceremony. Thus, the rites were performed only a few days later. Making her officially known to the world as, Thyri Ubbedottir.

As you sat underneath a canopy nursing a cup of honeyed milk, Bjorn kept to your side. Naturally, the Heathen ceremony was somewhat peculiar in the eyes of your Christian hosts. However, King Garrat and Queen Giselle proved themselves quite tolerant. 

Because not only did they permit the ceremony to be performed within their castle walls, they attended with their courtiers.

“I cannot wait for this baby to arrive.” You declared as you ran a hand over your belly. “He refuses to sit still and has been kicking me nonstop. And I have fed him properly all day.”

“If he’s anything like Hvitserk, you are in trouble.” Bjorn replied as he chewed some meat.

Though you felt physically well, your mind was not at rest. Because despite reassurances, Lancille was ever present in your thoughts. However, you had to force yourself to enjoy the family event. Because one thing was clear. Time was not promised to anyone.

Thus, you did your best to live in the moment.

“Cousin, you look like an ant that has swallowed a grape.” Armin declared. After sitting beside you, he palmed your belly. “Are you certain there is not more than one baby in there?”

“Oh, this is delightful. I missed you all this while, only to have you return speaking like my mother-in-law.”

With a chuckle, Bjorn informed you that your cousin had a point. For you did appear somewhat larger than what he was accustomed to. In fact, he too felt that you were likely carrying more than one.

“I’m glad you are both eager to see me mothering more than one child. At least I know who their caregivers will be.”

Bjorn eyed you with amusement as Armin laughed. 

Neither man eager to look after a baby for extended periods of time. Not long after, Alfred approached, finally tearing himself away from Ragnar and his father. With a pleasant smile, the Prince greeted you before snapping in Rimidle’s direction.

“Mother said you should partake of these.” He added as the young woman handed you a platter of fruits selected by Judith herself. “She said they’re known to ease nausea.”

“Alfie, sit.” You commanded, tired of him avoiding you.

For whatever reason, the Prince was obviously nervous about your condition. Thus, he had resigned himself to numerous duties and anything else to keep him distracted. But not at this event. You were determined to make Alfred keep you company. Even if it was by force.

“I will see you later, sister.” Bjorn said as he and Armin rose to their feet.

Your brother and cousin then departed, leaving you with your husband.

“Alfie, why do you avoid touching my belly?” You asked before leaning against his shoulder. As you did so, Rimilde could not keep from rolling her eyes. Something quite unbecoming of a servant. “You only did so on your first night back.”

“I suppose you are owed an explanation.” The Prince replied, his cheeks turning a rosy hue. “For you see, I am only keeping to the promise I made.”

Alfred spoke the truthfully. Because prior to your vows, you made it abundantly clear that was no romantic love between you. Yet, the passage of time had changed several things in your life. And that included your feelings towards him.

“I know I’m not the easiest person to live with. However, you are the father of my child.” You replied as you snuggled against him. “I need to know you feel something about my condition. Even if it is the smallest gesture.”

Alfred’s eyes fell upon your own, the blue of them taking in your every feature. Even without saying a word, you could see how much the Prince adored you. Something that brought great comfort. Because truth be told, you found yourself becoming paranoid with each passing day.

After putting an arm around you, Alfred kept staring as a gentle breeze washed over the two of you. Indeed, it was as if everyone gathered in the Courtyard were miles away. Because you felt secure in the arms of your husband. Knowing he would never abandon nor betray you.

“Your Highness, will you not have your meal now?” Rimilde interrupted.

Irritated by the unnecessary query, Alfred’s brow furrowed.  

“As I have said before, when I am prepared to eat, I shall give the command. Now depart with the others until you are called for.”

With a curtsy, the pretty servant girl apologized She then departed, making her way towards the kitchen. But as she did so, Princess Luciya watched her a while. Your sister-in-law then looked at Aslaug and Judith, announcing that she disliked Rimilde.

“That girl does not know her place.” Luciya said. “Not only did I catch her sneaking about Prince Alfred’s passageway, she eyes Princess Y/N inappropriately. Were it my place to dismiss Saxon Attendants, she would be gone already.”

Naturally, the words struck Judith more than Aslaug. Because despite her initial wish for Alfred to take a Mistress, such behavior could not be tolerated. Even if the Prince had taken Rimilde for a lover, she would still have to show you respect.

For that reason, your mother-in-law began to ponder a solution.

“I am glad you brought her conduct to my attention, Luciya.” Judith said. I shall rectify things straightaway.”

Sat upon his elaborate golden throne, Dorian smiled as Queen Valentina took her place.

Within her arms was their son, Arwyn-Maximiliano Marfont II. The nine-month-old had been Christened for the second time earlier that day. Because the War had caused him to miss the first ceremony. Being who he was, your cousin requested that an Archbishop perform the honors again.

So after gifting a great amount of coin to the Holy Roman Church, his wish was granted.

“You are in a good mood today.” Valentina noted as she cradled Arwyn. “Why is that?”

“My darling wife. You speak as if I am usually some type of ghoul.”

Despite laughing at his assertion, the young woman was concerned. Because Dorian only behaved gleefully when some plot was afoot. For that reason, she suspected that his mood had something to do with you.

And she was indeed correct. Because not even a second later, a Royal Page announced the arrival of the King’s personal Guard. As the massive warrior entered with his retinue, he pushed a little boy forward. 

Since he appeared to be no more than eight years of age, it was unsurprising when the child hesitated.

“Greet your King, boy.” Renfry the Black commanded. “Or would you like me to box your ears?”

Irritated by the threat, Queen Valentina looked at Dorian. Naturally, your cousin aimed to please his wife. For that reason, he raised a hand.

“There is no need to abuse the child.” He declared as he rose from his throne. With a smile, he then looked at the boy. “Tell me, little one. Do you know who I am?”

With a nod, the boy courteously declared that he was the King of Arundel. A response that garnered giggles and chuckles from all those in the Great Hall. Pleased that the child had at least been reared well, Dorian asked if he knew why he was there.

“I do not know, your Majesty.”

“Well, what if I told you that your mother and I are good friends. And that she has been wanting to reunite with you for good?”

The boy’s eyes doubled in size. For despite being raised by warm-hearted Caregivers, he knew of his mother. The one that lived in foreign lands and worked to provide him a better life.

“Will I see her today, my King?”

“Not today, Zoran. However, you shall reside within these castle walls until that day comes.” Dorian replied, putting a hand to the boy’s shoulder. “And that day will be soon. Of that, I can assure you.”

You paced the floor of King Garrat’s private Library, awaiting Ivar’s arrival.

Though he had passed through the Trudig encampments for longer than expected, your brother had finally arrived at the castle. Thus, you asked to have word as soon as he was done having his bath and food. But despite your attempts to remain calm, you felt on the verge of a tirade.

“Sister, please think of the baby.” Hvitserk advised from where he was sat by the fireplace. “Compose yourself, because we will resolve everything.”

You nodded despite still feeling as if you would explode. Because only moments prior, an Aruyan Messenger delivered news that Sir Everette had disappeared. Thus, two of the people that you cared for most, were now unaccounted for.

And if that was not bad enough, the Messenger also stated that Ivar had relieved the Knight of his duties. Something that was done without your permission or directive.

“Y/N.” Ivar proclaimed with a great smile upon his face. As he moved upon his crutch, it took all your resolve not to slap him. “I have missed you.”

“Oh?” You snapped, unable to feign any civility. “Have you?”

With raised brow, Ivar looked to Hvitserk before giving you his attention again. He then asked if you had not received enough rest. Because according to him, you were behaving like an unhinged person.

“I am indeed deranged!” You replied matter-of-factly. “And perhaps, it is how I should be at all times. Because apparently, that is the only way to get anyone’s attention.”

“If you have something to say, just say it. Because I don’t know what you’re rambling about.”

“Ivar, she was told that you dismissed Sir Everette from his duties. No matter your title, it’s not your place to restructure her Armies. That’s Ragnar’s decision to make.”

“Hvitty, shut your mouth! This is between Y/N and I. Why are you even here?”

You promptly informed him that you asked Hvitserk to be present. Because truth be told, you needed someone to keep you from going berserk. Angered that you wished to speak to him with someone else nearby, Ivar repositioned his crutch.

“We shall speak when you are in control of your emotions, Y/N.” He declared with a shrug. “Nothing good will come of us arguing.”

You wanted to pull your hair out. Why Ivar had to behave as he did, you did not know. However, you had to get out of his presence, or risk saying something improper. So instead of pressing the matter, departed the Library in haste.

“You really confuse me.” Hvitserk said as he confronted the raven-haired Ragnarsson. “You are bestowed trust, only to use it as an opportunity to assert dominance. These armies, ships and allies are Y/N’s. Not yours!”

“Are you done running your mouth now?”

With a stern expression, Hvitserk agreed to leave the matter for the time being. However, he promised that he would get involved in helping you find your men. Adding that you deserved more respect than was being shown.

“One last thing, Ivar. If anything happens to Sir Everette, it will surely cause our sister pain. And if that occurs, I will see you pay for it.”

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[the-order-of-fools]

Stage Enemies interacting with the Knightfucker (AKA reader)

.

King Knight, of course, has his goldarmors. They were meant to serve King Pridemoor, but since a fool is now running the kingdom, they have to adapt. They're all tired and just doing their jobs in order to support themselves and their families, but the shit they have to put up with is incredible. The whiny little manchild king changes his mind over and over again when it comes to banquets, festivities and everything alike, and then has the royal audacity to criticize them instead. Due to the circumstances, some of them have resorted to becoming bootlickers, it's the only way they can survive. Though, bootlickers or not, they all agree on one thing: You're far better than their king.They were shocked when you complimented them for the first time. They thought King Knight could only get with someone as annoying and unpleasant as him, but luckily for them you're the loveliest person to have around. And you care about their feelings, damn. Finally, someone who has the sobriety of a responsible adult. Finally, someone who actually respects them and praises their efforts. They're pooling all their efforts into convincing King Knight to marry you. They don't want you to leave, please, stay with them. 

Polar Knight isn't known for being the warmest out of the Order. He lets the ice creatures do their thing, he welcomes the Spinwolves with gentle pats and watches them roam and play around the desolate, frozen lands that surround the Stranded Ship, when they're not busy fighting off nosy intruders. He doesn't do much else. He's caring towards them, but they always find themselves craving more - the harsh climate and lonely scenery must weigh on them as well. All of this, until you found your way into that forsaken place and, most importantly, into the heart of its lord. Now, the wolves keep running towards you for their daily dose of pats and belly rubs and someone to play with them in the snow. You're the perfect source of warmth for such a cold place like the Stranded Ship - and now that you're here, it seems like Polar has become a little bit warmer as well. A win-win for everyone.

Tinker Knight has three types of companions: Cogslotters, electrodents and you. His workers appreciate him quite a bit. He's truly a hardworker who puts a lot of effort and creativity into his gadgets, not to mention his giant robot. He's just and fair with them, praising those whose work he admires most. All of those who have worked for him have mostly pleasant occasions to recount. Even if he may be the shortest thing alive, he is still their number one dad. Your appearance startled them a little. Work is work, but you? How could they not raise a brow and whisper among themselves when they figured out that you and Tinker were more than friends. Debates took place, investigations were ran to see if you were truly who you pretended to be. As all the results came clear, they more or less stared at you aghast, suddenly realizing that their boss fucks. The electrodents cannot think or feel, they only move around, oblivious to the fact that their creator is fucking in the same room as them.

The Gulper Mages weren't so keen on accepting a stranger on the Iron Whale the first time they saw you. They're greedy things just like their captain, they don't want anyone to come and try steal their gold. The fish? They don't care, they simply swim around peacefully as long as they don't perceive any foul presence - and they seem to have a sixth sense for that. Still, the normally attentive Serprizes seemed not to be bothered by you, which caused great confusion among the Mages who largely relied on them to spot enemies. With time, even the most distrustful among Treasure Knight's ranks learned that you weren't someone to worry about - you were never interested in the Iron Whale's gold, but its captain. Soon, they came to know you better and realized how much of a pleasant presence you could be. Grapps came out of their dens just to look at you with their big round eyes and earn a good pat, Serprizes and Martars swam around you peacefully as you stretched out your hands to caress them as they crossed your path. Even Treasure Knight seemed more... peaceful around you, if not happy. The only thing that could make him happy was gold, and once the Mages saw that in him, they understood you valued just as much, they couldn't help but accept you with all the rightful honors - and no one had anything to object for.

The Flying machine is organized in the exact purpose of making the life of all intruders completely miserable. It's rather unsurprising that Hoverhafts are ready to slice and dice whoever comes through, minus the ladies and gentlemen Propeller Knight brings onto the ship. They're quite content with him as their captain. They all came here for adventure and they're sure as hell enjoying life to its fullest. With a such a suave and charismatic captain, their lives have reached higher than the sky. Thanks to this, they have managed to meet quite the interesting creatures in during their travels. Floatsomes are rather docile in nature unless an intruder is nearby. They can spend as much time as they want petting the harmless jelly blobs. Plantos are rather strange but adorable creatures that seem to be around the airship wherever they go. Their captain seems very fond of them, so very fond that he makes a point of showing you the dancing Plantos every night. It's quite a sight really, seeing them twirling in the skies above the lights of the Flying machine. The care their captain takes to invite you out every night makes them ponder: are you truly the one? You have been with him much longer than any other partner, is it truly more than a little romantic adventure of his? They're not here to judge, they only await their captain's commands.

Plague Knight doesn't seem to be very keen on taking care of his subordinates - some of the Plague Minions even seem to be scared by him, as he supposedly used to experiment on those who weren't efficient enough for his standards. However, they are slowly warming up to him again now that he has found someone to soothe his frustrations and convince him to turn a blind eye to their minor mistakes. You have become their angel and their best friend, and they couldn't be happier to welcome you in the Explodatorium and escort you to Plague Knight's lab every time you visit. At first, they weren't sure how to welcome a stranger - Plague Knight seldom lets people in, so it was only natural for the guardians to mistake you for an enemy. A Macawbe almost hit you in the head with a poisonous potion once, which taught you to always look up when you enter Plague Knight's not-so-humble abode. Ratsploders now run to you and then around you, waiting for you to lean down and pet them, Fairies (which normally are the most aggressive and unapproachable creatures in the kingdom) fly to you and swarm around you peacefully. If even Fairies accept you as part of the family, you have nothing to be scared of anymore.

The Leech Yard has, what the kids call, "spoopy vibes". Its inhabitants are usually undead monsters. That isn't to say that there aren't adorable little critters who you would absolutely die for. Tadvolts will zap you if you touch them, but gosh, look at them, they even have little crown-like crests. How can you not pet them? You're not quite sure what Invisishades are (as you have cleverly called them much to Specty's chagrin), but gosh, you love these things. You're at least partially sure that they're not actually the ghosts of late mortals (still, Specter Knight refuses to answer you thoroughly), so you try and fail to pet them every second of your trip. Man, you sure hope you aren't petting the ghost of a human or animal or else that would be weird, unless they're furies that is. Boneclangs act more like... servants. They're weird, and they stare at you through their eyeless sockets most if not all the time. Specter can turn their heads with a flick of his finger, but you like to keep them that way. You like to think they are appreciating you in their own weird, spooky way. Zambies are even weirder. They shuffle around awkwardly around the swamp. You have tried talking to one once but then he decided that your face would look better pressed against a gravestone. Thankfully, you happen to have the speend and energy of a living person. Sucks to be dead, Zambies. Of course, you have had more than one interaction with Super Skeletons. You're not quite sure why they call themselves that, but they might as well call themselves super if they're giants. You suppose they're Specter's right hand men, but they're also lovable doofuses that are dimmer than a candle in the rain. Still, you're quite fond of these giant babies.

The miners in the Lost City usually don't expect visits (unless it's another one of those annoying heroes), as Mole Knight is known for his dedication to his work and consequent lack of interpersonal relations. That seems to be a recurring topic among the members of the Order of No Quarter, although it's not commonly tackled. Mole Knight seems not to mind, he gets the most happiness out of an ancient artifact or peculiar stones anyway - until he met you, of course. Now, the most valuable of gems seem mere pebbles in comparison to you, and he is always happy to show you around the mines (that's how you discovered the wonders of Big Bohto rides) and share his knowledge with you. Molers pop out of the ground from time to time to greet you, others -the shyest- hide in the ground whenever you approach them to give free pats. There are even Molers that hide their face behind their claws whenever you kneel in front of them to pet them and compliment them for their hard work, and you can bet your knightfucker ass they're absolutely adorable. If Mole Knight had a face, he'd aww too. Blorbs are the most peculiar among all, and they all seem to have quite the jolly personality. Some of them jump right into your arms (unless they're Blazorbs, of course - they wouldn't want to set Mole Knight's beloved "friend" on fire, now would they?). Good thing that they're gummy and you can squeeze them as much as you want, they're the perfect anti-stress balls.

Terrorpin may seem intimidating at first glance... afterall, it's a spiky turtle mixed with a rhinoceros, it looks ready to impale everything that treads on its path. For that reason, you give it the best pats. You're already hanging around Black Knight, you're used to small intimidating things. Still, Terrorpin is huge, but like anything related to Black Knight, you find it absolutely adorable. You would die for it. It's huge and dumb and it likes salads and god you keep its shell shinier than Treasure Knight's gold. Black Knight may (not so gently) order you to stop spoiling it, but fuck him, this is wholesome turtle time and you refuse to stop  kissing and snuggling the giant spiky turtle. Don’t lie Black Knight, you want the kisses and the snuggles too. -Mod Tinker and ~Mod Propeller

[isabella-aldwyn]

Isabella Aldwyn

Skeleton: The Hoyden  Name: Isabella Rose Aldwyn  Age: 24 Family Title: Viscounty Cheltenham  About: See Below FC: Caitlin Stasey

O1 ━◞ ISABELLA

Being the eldest of the female Aldwyns was always a curse for Bella, specifically because of her personality. Headstrong, independent and stubborn, if you told her to go left, she would go right without a moment’s hesitation. And when she did so, she’d speak with such a sweet and charming tongue abreast mirthful giggles that you’d always sigh in defeat because you simply can’t turn down that look of sheer joy. Known among the household to be as unruly as a wild stallion yet to be broken in, many of the house staff and family members who must manage her affairs are often chasing after her, her body racing as quickly as her mind (and attention span). Upon hearing such comments, Bella wholeheartedly agrees that she proudly has the spirit of a stallion, wild-hearted, adventurous and happy to indulge in what freedom she can taste. She believes very strongly in making her own decisions and following her own path, an opposite sentiment to what she’s been taught all her life and she struggles constantly with the tension of what she selfishly wants and what’s expected of her.

Bella wears her heart on her sleeve, unashamedly expressing her highest highs and lowest lows.  Neither does she shy away from confrontation. Especially when displeased or when facing conflict, she will say it as it is, no matter how hard she tries to keep her mouth shut. Her loose tongue has gotten her into deep trouble more than she’d like to admit.

While impulsive, Bella also lacks any sense of self-preservation. At her best, it means she will go above and beyond (perhaps even at her own expense) to those she loves and are loyal to. At her worst, Bella wouldn’t realize she’s in danger if she was looking at a wolf six feet away. (To be quite honest, she’d possibly try and attempt to tame it.)  As such, her schemes and fun often get away from her and put her in arguably dire circumstances.

The world outside her tiny universe in the Aldwyn estate always drew bella to it like a moth to a flame. It took time and numerous failed attempts to learn how to sneak out of the house; from taking advantage of the servant exits, to bribing the footmen, to convincing her maid Nancy to accompany her. When she managed to escape from her governess, Bella would explore Cheltenham (or London depending on the season) and became acquainted with as many of the townspeople and the common folk as she could. At times, her brother, Harry, would sneak out from his studies to accompany her. Other times, she would visit her cousin, Simeon, and wrangle his arm to convince him to take her around.

O2 ━◞ FAMILY

Teresa di Santa Maria del Ponte, the fiery ninth daughter of a Marquis in one of the Papal states in Rome, had not intended to marry an English man. But when Philip Aldwyn visited Italia for business and he met the saucy girl, it is as they say -- it was history. Teresa, who hailed from a large family, only wished to instill the same warmth in her own family. Teresa was fortunate enough to survive childbirth of nine children -- two sons, Edmund and Henry (”Harry”) and then seven daughters. (See more about Bella’s siblings here.)

As Teresa hoped, the Aldwyn siblings were as close as can be. Even as a wee child, Bella liked to follow her brothers, especially Edmund and all his schoolboy friends. But it was Harry who she was closest to. Proximate in age, they grew up as best friends. Harry would let her get away with the most, defend her against Edmund and their parents, and even assist her little acts of rebellion. Of all their family members, Bella believes that Harry is the only one to truly understand her desire to make her own choices and have her own thoughts.

In the same vein, Bella dotes on her younger sisters, often pushing her sisters towards following their passions and to ignore the pending doom of being married off. Her mother and governess, all too aware of bella’s tendency to spoil and lead her sisters astray, are particularly firm in their discipline with the younger Aldwyns.

The Aldwyns had intended to debut Isabella when she turned 20, but after having her heart broken by her first love, she begged her parents to delay her entrance. This was followed by both her Father’s passing, and then Edmund’s passing only years after, which delayed her debut further. Now considered rather late for her first Season, Bella is debuting with her two younger sisters simultaneously. She is more than aware that her Mama is anxious for her eldest daughter to make the first match and set the precedent for her six (6) other daughters. In light of the recent deaths, and the taking up of the mantle by Harry, who had never prepared for the role as Viscount, a secure marriage would assure their old name continued to thrive, despite the recent tragedies. 

However, Bella still struggles with Edmund’s sudden and mysterious death. Paired with the loss of her closest brother who must throw himself headfirst in being the Lord Cheltenham, Bella has been left stranded and alone in direction. What Bella is unawares of a dark shifting behind the scenes that may had led to Edmund’s death. 

The Aldwyn name is one of old money and old title, passed down from generations. Despite only being a viscounty, their family is known for their wealth and fortune. Bella had never given thought to how the Aldwyns made their means. What she does not know is the unseemly business that her Father, Edmund, and cousin ran -- that the Aldwyn fortune is dirty and has been for generations, their family having multiple hands in the shadowy sides of England and beyond. From the talk of the town, she had heard rumours milling about pertaining to the secrecy behind their mass fortune and snippets of her father’s reputation -- ones that slandered him, claiming that anyone who spoke dirty of their family would be ridden of. Such rumours were always quashed as fast as they appeared. Neverthless, Bella finds it hard to believe her sweet father and her doting brother who were widely respected in the Ton would be anything but honourable. 

O3 ━◞ LIKES, QUIRKS, AND TIDBITS

Growing up in Cheltenham, a region famed for its horse breeding and informal horse racing (soon to be formal in 1815 actually!), meant Bella was no stranger to horse riding. She had been riding with her Brothers since she was old enough to walk and handle a horse. Her favourite past-time is exploring the town and surrounding landscapes with Harry and her horse, Athena. Since childhood, bella always sought to be outdoors, preferring to run around on the grounds or to swim in nearby waterholes. Unfortunately, the older she became, the less she was permitted to do so.

Archery being one of the more active upper class activities that she is ‘permitted’ to engage in passionately, Bella is an excellent archer, and enjoys showing off her bowmanship at any garden or picnic event. Though she would not claim to be as polished in her pall-mall skills, she is irrationally competitive with the game. If she were to identify a reason, she would blame how often she and her siblings played in their childhood.

Having seen the way her parents looked at each other, Bella believes in marrying for love. That being said, the Season is not the most fitting of circumstances, and Bella finds herself more irritated than not after being constantly compared and sold around like cattle. The thought has crossed her mind to not marry as the biggest act of rebellion but finds herself waning in resolve at the thought of how it would affect her siblings. And she also has not put the possibility to rest that she possibly could be as fortunate as her parents and not only fall in love, but have the cards fall into perfect position. 

Tidbit 1: Her birthday is February 18.

Tidbit 2:  If she is to be courted, the way to her heart is dancing. Bella has every quadrille, every waltz memorized, enough so she can dance the steps in her sleep.

Tidbit 3:  Though she lacks the attention span to make the most of her studies, bella does happen to have excellent visual memory, allowing her to play the lyre or the pianoforte from memory in short bouts. (Excellent party trick!) She does rather enjoy music, especially that of the lyre where she is not forced to sit. 

Tidbit 4: She has a scar around her neck from an unfortunate horse-riding incident from when she was 12. Consequently, she is never without a large necklace. It is what she is most self-conscious of.

O4 ━◞ SECRETS

One of her dearest friends who she had met from town is one of the girls at her cousin’s whorehouse. There have been rumours that she frequents the place, more than any proper lady should, but not enough to have ever made trouble.

Something happened that scared her and that she’s buried deep in her memory; something that her Father covered up for her before he died. Will expand on this as roleplay goes. Dun dun dun. 

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Shelter (Part Five)

And here it is, the grand finale! Originally, this was actually a little longer but I finally decided that the last part I had in mind didn’t really add enough to the story to warrant including it. I think this ending is better. I also think the story is long enough as it is. I’m pretty happy at how quickly I was able to get this done, considering that I’ve been wrapped up in other (non-writing) things recently. I’m going to put it down to feeling inspired by seeing my delicious rat bastard in the G1. 

Pairing: Jay White x OFC

Word count: 3,841

Content advisory: Smut! Nothing too much beside that other than some significant angst

Alone in my damp little rooms, I did my best to hide the sounds of the sobs that overwhelmed me. I didn't want to give anyone, him most of all, the satisfaction of knowing that I'd been broken. 

It was true that my life had some worth: my father would not let me die a prisoner of another noble if only because it would make him look weak. But if what I'd heard from my sister's servants was true, then she had lied to me and brought me here as a pawn, a cover for her plot. She was the person I had loved most in my life and she had lied to me and put me in danger. Given that I had run away in the dead of night, I doubted my husband would want anything further to do with me. So if I were ransomed, I would live the rest of my life under the strict control of my family. My future lay either as a despised nuisance banished to a few rooms of the family home or as an embarrassment packed off to a convent. I had never known what it was like to feel truly alone until that night.

I felt rage building in me towards all of them- my parents, Elizabeth, her husband, their servants who refused to exonerate me, and most of all towards Jay White. Whatever intrigue had happened with him and my family, I had been blissfully unaware until I had crossed paths with him. I understood that he had only revealed the rot that was in my life but I could not stop from seeing him as the source of my problems. He must have done something to force my family to embark on such a reckless plan. Elizabeth only used me because she was desperate, I told myself. He was the monster. 

I tried not to think about the fact that he had been right about a plot against him, or about me being used as a distraction because my sister knew he had once had feelings for me. Most of all, I tried not to think about what had happened the night before, about the hours I had laid awake remembering his touches, the beauty of his body, and the passion he'd awakened in me. He'd done it to make it hurt that much more when he made me beg for the lives of the others. It had meant nothing to him and I fought to have it mean nothing to me.

Strangely, in the days that followed the departure of my companions, I was afforded a great deal more freedom. One of the guards accompanied me on walks around the grounds, allowing me to breathe fresh air for the first time in what felt like years. Millicent was practically my personal maid and I was allowed to explore certain areas of the castle. I particularly enjoyed being able to read through some of the beautiful books that Jay had commissioned from a nearby monastery, mostly works of philosophy. I took some pleasure in teaching Millicent to read so that she might enjoy the texts herself. After a couple of weeks, I was moved from the sad little corner of the palace in which I’d spent my time there to a proper set of rooms with a real fireplace, a real bed and a sitting room where I could take my meals. The door was still locked when I was not accompanied by a guard but I couldn’t deny that I was a great deal more comfortable. I hesitated to admit even to myself that the rooms were cleaner and in better condition than much of the home I shared with my husband. It was clear that Jay was better off, something that I hadn’t expected. I wondered if this was something that Elizabeth and the rest of my family realized since the old Earl had not been especially wealthy for one of his status.

I tried to avoid Jay as much as possible, seeking to avoid the feelings he stirred in me. I assured myself that the amelioration in my treatment was due only to the fact that I had become a commodity of some value. Like cattle or sheep, I was something he could sell to the right buyers and the right buyers were the people who I had always believed loved and treasured me. At first, I was successful, however the more I took advantage of my newly granted freedoms, the more I seemed to find my way to him. 

On one afternoon, while I was out walking under guard, enjoying the colours of the autumn landscape, we encountered him on the way back from inspecting his troops on the marches. A haughty demeanor flowed from him as he looked down on us from atop his horse that made me feel a burning in my chest and I refused to look at him. 

“How nice that you’re enjoying the air,” he declared, more to my guard than to me. “But be careful of this one. She’s not to be trusted.”

At that, my eyes snapped to his. I wanted to tear the arrogant bastard from his horse. Instead, I spit back at him, “A rich statement coming from you.”

He gave a cruel laugh and continued back towards the castle. My guard and I continued to walk in silence and the entire time, I felt the fire in me build at his casual remark. I struggled not to think of him but my mind continually returned to the look on his face, the obvious way in which he sought to provoke me. Even after I returned to my chambers I was seething and wanted nothing more than to confront him. When Millicent shyly entered, as she always did when she brought me dinner, I frightened her by rushing towards her just out of the frustration I felt at being cooped up. 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry,” she squeaked, curling her body away from me. She carried no trays as she usually did and she seemed extremely afraid of what I might do.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. My mind is preoccupied and it was a nervous reaction, nothing more. You’ve done nothing to vex me or warrant abuse.”

“Thank you ma’am,” she stammered. “I’ve just been sent to tell you that the Master has requested you to have dinner with him, in his chambers.”

“Not in the dining hall?”

“Oh no, ma’am. That’s only used for great events. He always takes his meals alone, unless it’s a night when…”

“When he’s drinking with his friends and entertaining whores,” I huffed. The periodic decadent nights were something I’d certainly noticed, starting with my arrival. The presence of such women, the knowledge that Jay delighted in their company, made me angry beyond my capacity to express. I tried to convince myself that it was my revulsion that a noble of my stature could sink so low. However, I knew in my heart that it was jealousy, unbridled jealousy, that these women got to have him in a way I couldn’t. 

Millicent curled back into herself, blushing. “I’ve just been told to bring you to him, ma’am.”

My heart hurt seeing her like this and I reached forward, holding her cheek in my hand. “You are blameless, my sweet girl. You have made my time here more than just bearable. If I seem harsh, it is nothing to do with you. I only wish that, wherever I might go, that I could take you with me.”

She started to cry and I held her to me until she had recovered herself. I then allowed her to guide me to Jay’s apartments, where I was apparently to dine with him. 

His rooms were, of course, luxuriously appointed, but even more so than I might have imagined. Once again, I was struck by the display of wealth that, while not ostentatious, was more than I would have thought possible in his circumstances. 

The man himself sat at a round table with plates of cured meats and cheeses, along with decanters of wine. As soon as I entered, I felt his lupine eyes lock on me, and my breathing quickened. I took my seat opposite him, still shivering from the chill his stare induced in me, keeping my head turned towards the door even after we were left alone. 

He remained silent until I finally looked at him, shamed at how I cowered under his gaze.  

“Since when are you so quiet?” he gloated, taking a gulp of wine and pushing a full glass to me. 

“Since I understood that my life means nothing,” I snapped, grabbing the glass and emptying it in one gulp. “Since I became aware that I was a commodity like gold or cattle to be used as a commodity in your political games.”

“I suppose I should remind you that it was your choice that I should treat you as such.”

“It was not my choice,” I retorted, grabbing the wine and refilling my glass only to drain it once again. “I merely pointed out that you could use me according to how you already perceived me. You’ve made it clear that I am nothing to my family but a pawn they wish to retain. I have spent my whole life loving people who only wanted to use me in some political gain. I already know that my husband rhinos nothing of me and his family will have no interest in retrieving some fool who abandoned them for no reason. And as for you…” my eyes narrowed as I focused on him, “I am a trinket you can sell, nothing more.”

Once again, I grabbed the wine and poured myself a full glass that was quickly pushed down my throat. Jay and I glared at each other in a standoff until the butler arrived with our main course, a roast with vegetables and potatoes that made me weak with hunger. 

The manservant carved away a portion for both of us and while I fought to maintain eye contact with my gaoler, the moment the servants had retreated, I greedily tore into the meal, the best I had tasted in months. I was embarrassed to see that Jay observed me through his dark eyelashes, drinking his wine and taking judicious bites of his food while I behaved like a wild animal. He laughed at me a little, which was more than I could bear. I stood up, wiping my face with the serviette provided and took an uncertain step towards the door. 

“I want to return to my chambers now,” I stated, embarrassed at the hesitance in my own voice. 

Jay swallowed the contents of his glass and poured himself another, never moving his eyes from mine. “No you don’t.”

He advanced on me like a predator grasping hold of my wrists as I sought to shelter my face from him. I did not fear he would strike me but I knew that my eyes would tell him something very different than what I just said.  

“You don’t want to go anywhere. You want me to drag you into my bed and take you the way your husband should have on your wedding night. You want me to ruin you.”

Twisting my arms behind my back he once again captured my mouth with his and once again I felt a fire consuming me from within. Feeling me respond, he released my arms and I wound them around his neck without a thought, trailing my fingers through his dark hair. One of his hands slid up over the back of my head and he pulled me away from him, grabbing a fistful of my hair. 

“I only wish I could trust you,” he growled. 

“What does that matter? You keep me locked in my room all the time except when you want to use me for entertainment. I told you that I had nothing to do with the plotting against you but you won’t believe me. Once I threatened you and tried to escape because I understood nothing of your political intrigues. Since that time have I ever denied you anything you asked? Did I not beg you on my knees to spare my servants? And as far as...” My throat contracted, unwilling to speak more. 

“As far as what?” he whispered, drawing his lips up the length of my neck, smiling against the skin as I let my head fall back. “As far as this? Is this so repulsive to you?”

I twisted to face him, my breath trembling as I spoke. “You know it isn’t. You know I go to pieces every time you touch me. And so I ask you again, why is it that you think me unworthy of your trust?”

In one rush of movement, Jay gathered me up in his arms and carried me into his bedroom, tossing me down on his beautiful bed, plush with blankets and silk. I was a little frightened, unsure what I had actually asked for, but I felt my body aching to experience the pleasure he’d brought me that one night that seemed so long ago. I was almost as frightened when I saw his face, eyes consumed with lust, his expression ferocious. He pulled and tore at my clothing and I helped, struggling free even though I cringed at the idea of being fully naked before a man. 

Likewise, I tore away at his clothing until he wriggled free of all of it, my eyes hungrily taking in his body, so much like a beautiful sculpture and yet so much more beautiful because it was real. My breath caught as I ran my hand down his chest, feeling each carved muscle, down to the depression on the inside of his hips, stroking the base of his erect member. His whole body shivered and I withdrew the hand, wondering if I’d done something wrong. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” was all I could bring myself to say, my voice like the squeaking of a mouse. 

He gave a small but not unkind smile, shifting onto his side and running his fingers over my stomach to my exposed sex, sliding his fingers around the flesh that had become soaked. 

“You liked this when I did it before,” he rasped. “Have never done it yourself?”

I shook my head, unable to speak as he swirled his fingers along the bone and up to the sensitive little nub that had nearly driven me crazy before. He raised himself a little, alternating between stimulating that spot with his thumb and pressing his fingers into the opening, a little further inside with every touch, until he was brushing against some hidden spot inside me. 

My head fell back and my eyes closed, I was so lost in his touch. My reverie was broken by a sharp bite to my nipple and I came back to my senses to see him glaring at me with a frightening intensity. 

“Keep your eyes open. Look at me.”

He gave a sharp thrust of his fingers and my eyes fluttered shut once again, although I forced them back open a second later. “I don’t know if I can,” I pleaded. 

“You can and you will.”

Just as I had before, I felt something building in me, in my sex, in my stomach, and gradually filling my entire body. I dreaded the moment he was going to stop but he continued, increasing in speed and force until I could feel some invisible thing break inside me, flooding me with the most incredible pleasure I had ever experienced. Fighting to maintain the eye contact he demanded, I was moaning, crying out involuntarily, my breath ragged. I marveled at the look of excitement and pleasure on his face, wanting to kiss him but unsure if I was allowed. 

He slowed the pace of his movements and slid down so that his face rested between my legs. He gave me a little wink and pressed his lips to that aching bundle, licking at the juices pooled there and softly sucking. I felt wave after wave rolling over me, not as intense as the first but sweet nonetheless, until the space became so sensitive that I twisted and mewled in pain. He held me down and continued his ministrations, rougher than ever until I was almost in tears. Once he was satisfied, he licked his fingers clean once again and leaned over me, grabbing hold of my jaw and thrusting his mouth against mine. 

I resisted just a little, shocked at the taste, but relented when he squeezed my throat. As the kiss continued to build in passion, I felt him pressing against me, the tip pushing against the opening that felt swollen with what I’d already experienced.  

Pulling back, he grasped both my arms in one hand, easily pinning them above my head and he leaned down to whisper, “It hurts the first time for a woman. Is that what you want? Do you want me to hurt you?”

“”I want you,” I whimpered. “I don’t even know what it means but I know I want you.”

He guided my legs up so they were around his waist, showering kisses over my neck and chest. I felt his prick brushing against the folds of flesh, the head gently pressing inside. As he’d done with his fingers, he teased a little bit at a time and I wondered if that was how it was done, even though it didn’t feel quite right. Then he grasped my hips, fingers digging into the flesh so hard I could immediately feel the bruises forming. He forced my legs up a little higher and with one strong movement pushed himself all the way inside me.  

As he had warned, it did hurt, enough that I gave a little scream at his first thrust and continued whinnying as he pushed forward. Before long, however, he slowed his pace, his lips capturing mine and then sliding all the way down to my breasts. 

“Just try to relax,” he murmured into my skin. “Relax and it will feel better.”

Breathing in deep, I was able to let myself go just a little more and it did feel better. It continued to feel better and better as he stroked that magical spot inside me with unerring precision and I once again felt the tension building inside me, my core tightening around him as he pushed harder. 

His thumb traced gently along my jaw and as I looked at him I saw his expression untainted by suspicion or anger. 

“Again?” he breathed. 

“Yes. Please.”

And within seconds I was once again in ecstasy, that early pain forgotten, washed away in a tide of mewls and gasps. 

“God,” I panted, “does it feel that good for you?”

“It will. Don’t worry, you’ll know when it does.”

Feeling the increased urgency of his movements inside me, I held onto him as tightly as I could, determined that he should get as much pleasure as I had. Watching his face as he reached his climax, I felt giddy with the idea that I had done that. 

I pulled him close to me as we both caught our breath. The return to Earth, to the castle and the realities of our world was heavy, the looming darkness a crushing force. 

“How much have they offered you for me?” I rasped, once I was sufficiently recovered. 

He raised himself so that he could look me in the eyes. “A great deal. Your father has at least. Your husband has had nothing to say.”

“What if I refuse to go back,?” I asked flatly, shocked at how my mind seemed clearer than it had ever been. “What if I told you that I’d throw myself out of a window here rather than spend my life as an outcast or a nun?”

He eyed me, some of the suspicion returning. “You’d rather spend eternity in hell than your life in the care of your family?”

“Or I’d rather risk hell than leave here. Collect my father’s money and send me off if that’s what you want. It’ll end the same way.”

Once again, his eyes flared. “So I’m supposed to feel afraid of the guilt if I drove you to suicide?”

“I’m saying that while I have no reason to believe that I can trust you with my welfare, I’m willing to do so.”

“You’d be willing to be kept here as my mistress, knowing that I could grow bored and dispose of you at my will?”

“I would rather live here as your wife, since even the Pope would see fit to annul my marriage,” I said, mustering all the pride I could. “But in lieu of that, I would rather live here as one of your numerous conquests than to be returned to any part of my old life.”

His eyes softened a little, and suddenly I could see the young man I had known in my youth again. 

“I think you wanted to marry me once” I ventured. “Perhaps my family rejected the offer because it was not politically advantageous.”

He made no motion to confirm or deny my statement but the way his eyes turned bitter and prideful told me that I had come close to the truth. 

“My family doesn’t have that power now. I am asking that you consider any monetary offer you receive for me against this: I only want to be with you and I would rather die than be sent off to some miserable, lonely fate without you. You’ve already claimed what my husband should have. Anything else is entirely in your hands. And I trust you with that power.”

I felt his body tremble just a little before he spoke. “I want you to know that when I dispatched your companions, I ordered the men to convey Hannah to the safety of a town. Only the men were left on the road.”

“A fair solution,” I mused. 

“I won’t ever make you live in any kind of infamy,” he sighed, dropping his head to my chest. “The fact is that part of me doesn’t want to trust you because I don’t believe I could withstand being rejected again.”

“And you have to choose whether to let that part dictate your future or to believe me.” I took his face in my hands and forced him to look me in the eyes. 

“There is going to be a fight,” he murmured. “Your family is going to come for me.” 

“And they will lose because they underestimate you.”

His lips were on mine once again and I grew dizzy with the intensity of the kiss, my body constricting around him involuntarily. 

“Mine?” he hissed, burying his mouth against my neck and biting at the flesh. 

“Yours,” I sighed, feeling a sense of relief I had never known before. “Yours.”

[rosiethorns88]

Queen of Nothing Thoughts / Reflection on the Series

Many people are asking me, so I’m pooling them here. I’m not a writer or a reviewer, just a reader. :)

SPOILERS AHEAD:

First, an expectation summary:

- Overall, the book hit all of my high notes and succeeded in its story telling to me, personally. Holly has a pattern with climax building reflected in all three of her books that I really enjoy as a reader. There are shocking moments about two-thirds of the way in each book that feel like climaxes, but after the sudden burst and fall out, it slowly builds up again to another and greater peak. I find the early upsets and expanded conclusions of the final acts to be really satisfying to unfold, page by page. Cardan and Jude are two fascinating characters and the friction their personalities cause with one another make for some satisfying sparks. The whole cast of characters are colorful and the world building is rich, and I enjoyed the escapism the entire series brought to me with each visit.

- I was completely satisfied with the pacing, because it worked for the story at hand. Madoc was making his move and allies from all over Faerie were seeing Cardan’s control over his court wane in his wake. Both Jude and Cardan had to move and move fast to get themselves in a position of defense. In fact, the one act that I feared may have dragged on the longest, Jude’s ‘entrapment’ at the camp, actually moved forward quite quickly and kept my interest once Grimsen and the Ghost entered the mix. To spend time tying up every frayed thread with other non-player characters before the end would have lessened the urgency of story’s impending conflicts. Let’s get Jude and Cardan settled and to their honeymoon first before we chat about Nicasia’s love woes over tea.

- The Jurdan reunion was great, I love how it reflects the previous books with them having to first play act with each other again. Though I was hoping for it to last a bit longer with Cardan stringing Jude along in her disguise. I was really excited for Jude to play switch-a-roo as Taryn, but didn’t expect it to end so suddenly. It would have been a great call back to the circumstance of Cardan’s being tricked at the end of The Wicked King.

- The fact the Cardan was so involved with Jude’s runarounds: the rescue attempt from the palace, the actual rescue from the camp, his tag-alongs with her questing. It made all of their interactions very satisfying as it was expanding beyond the verbal throw-downs they only had before. I’ve seen many people complain there were not enough Jurdan scenes, but y’all. We barely had a breath of their interactions from the 1st and 2nd books compared to QoN. I was thoroughly pleased.

- The fact that Cardan indulges in Jude’s political nature and wears it proudly like a brooch when he’s addressing his court. He’s basically like, “I’m here to be my witty and sarcastic self; she’s here to be her just and vicious self. We complete each other.”

- CARDAN REUNITES WITH HIS DOOR! This was my favorite reunion scene as it was one of the many world building elements I enjoyed from the first book. Cardan’s playful and endearing greeting to his door at Hallow Hall was such a thought provoking element - I could only imagine as he grew up at the hall, he had little things or persons to befriend. And with the revelation of Cardan sneaking out human servants in the night, it makes sense he could get away with it with this unique friendship. I’m so glad this was a payoff.

- Madoc - I love Madoc. SO MUCH. He’s such a rich character, it’s so hard to call him morally grey when his character is so colorfully rich. Every chapter I either put an extra tick on his ‘I hate you so much’ or ‘I love you so much’ tally. He’s so true to his nature as a red cap, yet still so loving and caring for his family. He truly shows his hurt and conflict in his anger towards Jude after he finds she has betrayed or outwitted him. I reflect back to The Cruel Prince, when Jude was reminiscing how she and Madoc would play a board game of strategy (like chess) and have to interrupt it. All day, Jude would think about her possible moves and his possible moves, so when they returned to the game, the entire strategy had changed. This is how they interacted all through out the novel. Every thought and move was predicted, then challenged, then overturned before they could even meet face to face again. It’s amazing how there are no villains or heroes in this story; Jude and Madoc’s conflict were just an ever spinning tornado of their own morals and loyalties and ideals.

- Ghost & Taryn redeemed! I must admit, I was completely shaken by the Ghost’s betrayal in TWK, and did not expect him to be a redeemable character, though I did expect him to be involved somehow. I’m a little less satisfied with how quickly Taryn changed her spots back, especially with the build up from The Lost Sisters novella, and wish that Locke wasn’t killed off-screen. I can believe what she said happened, and that she was unhappy with the situation, but for it all to be delivered in one sitting as a monologue, it didn’t sink in for me for a while. I didn’t expect to have a redeeming arc for either of them, nor expect hints at their possible relationship, but it all fell into place nicely. At the end, I felt that the Ghost deserved to have his freedom, and that Taryn was appropriate to hold him to it.

- The Bomb and The Roach! I was happy for them to find their happily ever after, but Noooooo I didn’t want the Roach to be fridged! The Roach x The Bomb x Jude x Cardan interactions produce the best lines in the entire series and I was super sad to see the Roach exit so early. But from the little we received, it was a delight.

- Nicasia, Valerian (his curse), Locke - to me these three didn’t have the conclusions I was hoping for, but there may be open lore left to explore for Holly. I do understand why others insist that the last book be split into two and expanded upon, but the book was sharply focused on Jude and Cardan’s predicaments. Nicasia, Valerian and Locke all had unfinished stories and conflicts with both of them, but they were past issues that weren’t actively affecting the plot, and so I wasn’t troubled by their absence. But I’m hoping short stories or expanded lore in other Holly-verse novels may touch upon them.

- Vivi / Heather - This side plot got a little more attention than I expected, even though I didn’t appreciate the decisions both Vivi and Heather made (just as Jude didn’t).  I was actually expecting Heather to take the route that she did, but just a little bit further than where she ended up. I love that she went completely Hermione on the group, but really wasn’t helpful in the end (which is ok). However, I think the true recourse for Heather’s involvement was intended solely for Vivi. By Heather experiencing Faerie a second time with the expectations of the terrors it offered, she was able to see other facets of the world Vivi has ties too, which is why she gave Vivi the second chance to reintroduce it to her in a better light.

- Oak / Oriana -  I find Oriana such a delight as a character, but I don’t know why I always forget she exists until she appears on page. Which is appropriate, as she makes herself seen and be heard when she wants to. I love how helicopter parent she is with Jude even though she’s made it clear that she barely tolerates their familial ties. Still, her ability to parry Jude’s rebellious and un-lady-like behavior with her witty retorts gave us some of my favorite scenes from the previous books, and I enjoyed their brief reunion under the same circumstances at the camp. Oak, on the other hand I felt was underused as a character, and instead, justifiably used as a political object. Oak and Oriana’s relationship made for an interesting divisiveness between Team Madoc and Team Jude, that I think was an important factor, but ultimately Oak didn’t have much to do in decision makings in the QoN like he did in TCP. However, I feel this is because his character arc begins at the end of this novel with the new character ex-Queen Suren. And whether or not that story makes it onto a page, I can accept that his story was left open-ended to begin here.

Regarding Jude:

I think it’s important to highlight Jude’s development with her feelings toward Cardan - specifically with her reaction toward her exile. I wouldn’t say she’s an unreliable narrator, more so, she’s an unreliable romantic. Jude is the ‘DON’T Notice Me Senpai’ main character who throws red flags up for every action Cardan does.

A very popular theory about Cardan’s exile was that Jude would be able to pardon herself since she is part of the crown as queen. When that turned out to be true, I saw a lot of disappointment from readers with the obviousness of it - but that’s because it was obvious to ourselves, and it always has been. Cardan’s wordplay is a defining trait for his character and there have been several scenes where we the reader are completely in the know when he’s doing it and are charmed by it right along with Jude. During the exiling, Jude is not in the know and is blinded at first by her stupor as a newly wed and then later with her doubt in Cardan’s feelings for her as she flat out admits to herself that the crown pardon could be a loop hole.

This is what makes the rose garden scene such a great turning point - because they both realized they fooled each other without knowing it and are both distressed by each other’s reaction. Their trust in each other was becoming more brittle as it grew, until they realized they both could no longer play their old schemes against each other without risking that trust breaking.

All throughout, Jude has been judging and second guessing everything he does while she scrambles across this political chess board. Deny his feelings, manipulating her own feelings, pushing and pulling and advancing further to the top before her desire for power and her desire for Cardan meet at the peak. And here, between the possibility of losing the power she gained or condemning the feelings she found, is when she finally has to make that choice for herself, when she had viable reasons to go either way. With the way she struggled for both, she earned that right to choose.

Favorite moments / quotes:

- Cardan flinching at Jude’s indirect confession while she was disguised as Taryn - and Jude wholly unaware of the implications.

- Cardan relishing in his cleverness about the exile, while Jude is like WTF and they’re completely clueless about each other’s reaction until in the later rose garden scene. - Cardan’s ‘Jude, DON’T!’ - seriously, listen to the audiobook, you can hear the fear in his voice as his murder wife runs off to battle. And because we the readers can hear that fear, while Jude doesn’t, makes it more heart breaking.

- Madoc alluding to Jude (as Taryn) about Cardan’s berserk mode when he tried to prevent Jude’s capture at the palace. And of course, Jude denying it (psh)

- Cardan doing the grunt work in Jude’s camp rescue, and getting socked in the stomach for it - hah! And of course, The Roach preening he warned him.

- Cardan subconsciously protecting Jude from the arrow trap

- Jude scaring off a faerie guard with mortal menstruation.

- “Do not touch her. She is my wife.”

- How LONG have I waited for Cardan to finally witness how much Jude mutilates her body from her fights, and then for him care for her himself in his bed was just an extra mountain of whipped cream with sprinkles on top. (remember, she hid from him her hand stabbing, her self-poisoning, her leg injury from Locke’s attack, the details of Valerian’s attempt to murder her TWICE, the details of her torturous time in the undersea, etc. Let him know your WOES, woman! Y’all need to cash in some empathy points!)

- Jude having no choice but to wear Cardan’s clothes

- SLAP

- “Maybe he’d like to hear me scream.” exchange. And the hair touch!

- MY DOOR!

- The Ghost spider scrambling up the wall towards Cardan, and Taryn whiplashing him. Poor baby!

- Cardan intrigued by Slushies and Gummy Worms

- Cardan privately reprimanding Randalin about Jude and him scurrying out of the room in a panic. WHAT WAS SAID? CARDAN WAS SMILING.

- Freakin Cardan confessing and cutting her off at the door.

- Jude taking the time to panic, to mourn and to plan after the transformation. I felt giving too much haste toward a ‘Disney-true-love-spell-breaking ending’ would have ruined the direness of Cardan’s sacrifice.

- That fingers-digging-into-her-back hug.

- Tight pants, t-shirt and a Lopsided paper crown.

[lustandlordsrp]

The Hoyden | Isabella

Twenty-Four | The Honble. Isabella Aldwyn Viscounty Cheltenham

Formally or Informally Announced: Miss Aldwyn

Addressed on Formal or Informal Social Correspondence: The Honble. Isabella Aldwyn

Formal Correspondence Salutation:  "Madam,”

Informal Correspondence Salutation: “Dear Miss Aldwyn,”

Addressed in Speech: Miss Aldwyn

Referred to in Speech:  Miss Aldwyn

Social Correspondence Signature: Isabella Aldwyn

Biography

O1 ━◞ ISABELLA

Being the eldest of the female Aldwyns was always a curse for Bella, specifically because of her personality. Headstrong, independent and stubborn, if you told her to go left, she would go right without a moment’s hesitation. And when she did so, she’d speak with such a sweet and charming tongue abreast mirthful giggles that you’d always sigh in defeat because you simply can’t turn down that look of sheer joy. Known among the household to be as unruly as a wild stallion yet to be broken in, many of the house staff and family members who must manage her affairs are often chasing after her, her body racing as quickly as her mind (and attention span). Upon hearing such comments, Bella wholeheartedly agrees that she proudly has the spirit of a stallion, wild-hearted, adventurous and happy to indulge in what freedom she can taste. She believes very strongly in making her own decisions and following her own path, an opposite sentiment to what she’s been taught all her life and she struggles constantly with the tension of what she selfishly wants and what’s expected of her.

Bella wears her heart on her sleeve, unashamedly expressing her highest highs and lowest lows.  Neither does she shy away from confrontation. Especially when displeased or when facing conflict, she will say it as it is, no matter how hard she tries to keep her mouth shut. Her loose tongue has gotten her into deep trouble more than she’d like to admit.

While impulsive, Bella also lacks any sense of self-preservation. At her best, it means she will go above and beyond (perhaps even at her own expense) to those she loves and are loyal to. At her worst, Bella wouldn’t realize she’s in danger if she was looking at a wolf six feet away. (To be quite honest, she’d possibly try and attempt to tame it.)  As such, her schemes and fun often get away from her and put her in arguably dire circumstances.

The world outside her tiny universe in the Aldwyn estate always drew bella to it like a moth to a flame. It took time and numerous failed attempts to learn how to sneak out of the house; from taking advantage of the servant exits, to bribing the footmen, to convincing her maid Nancy to accompany her. When she managed to escape from her governess, Bella would explore Cheltenham (or London depending on the season) and became acquainted with as many of the townspeople and the common folk as she could. At times, her brother, Harry, would sneak out from his studies to accompany her. Other times, she would visit her cousin, Simeon, and wrangle his arm to convince him to take her around.

O2 ━◞ FAMILY

Teresa di Santa Maria del Ponte, the fiery ninth daughter of a Marquis in one of the Papal states in Rome, had not intended to marry an English man. But when Philip Aldwyn visited Italia for business and he met the saucy girl, it is as they say – it was history. Teresa, who hailed from a large family, only wished to instill the same warmth in her own family. Teresa was fortunate enough to survive childbirth of nine children – two sons, Edmund and Henry (”Harry”) and then seven daughters. (See more about Bella’s siblings here.)

As Teresa hoped, the Aldwyn siblings were as close as can be. Even as a wee child, Bella liked to follow her brothers, especially Edmund and all his schoolboy friends. But it was Harry who she was closest to. Proximate in age, they grew up as best friends. Harry would let her get away with the most, defend her against Edmund and their parents, and even assist her little acts of rebellion. Of all their family members, Bella believes that Harry is the only one to truly understand her desire to make her own choices and have her own thoughts.

In the same vein, Bella dotes on her younger sisters, often pushing her sisters towards following their passions and to ignore the pending doom of being married off. Her mother and governess, all too aware of bella’s tendency to spoil and lead her sisters astray, are particularly firm in their discipline with the younger Aldwyns.

The Aldwyns had intended to debut Isabella when she turned 20, but after having her heart broken by her first love, she begged her parents to delay her entrance. This was followed by both her Father’s passing, and then Edmund’s passing only years after, which delayed her debut further. Now considered rather late for her first Season, Bella is debuting with her two younger sisters simultaneously. She is more than aware that her Mama is anxious for her eldest daughter to make the first match and set the precedent for her six (6) other daughters. In light of the recent deaths, and the taking up of the mantle by Harry, who had never prepared for the role as Viscount, a secure marriage would assure their old name continued to thrive, despite the recent tragedies. 

However, Bella still struggles with Edmund’s sudden and mysterious death. Paired with the loss of her closest brother who must throw himself headfirst in being the Lord Cheltenham, Bella has been left stranded and alone in direction. What Bella is unawares of a dark shifting behind the scenes that may had led to Edmund’s death. 

The Aldwyn name is one of old money and old title, passed down from generations. Despite only being a viscounty, their family is known for their wealth and fortune. Bella had never given thought to how the Aldwyns made their means. What she does not know is the unseemly business that her Father, Edmund, and cousin ran – that the Aldwyn fortune is dirty and has been for generations, their family having multiple hands in the shadowy sides of England and beyond. From the talk of the town, she had heard rumours milling about pertaining to the secrecy behind their mass fortune and snippets of her father’s reputation – ones that slandered him, claiming that anyone who spoke dirty of their family would be ridden of. Such rumours were always quashed as fast as they appeared. Neverthless, Bella finds it hard to believe her sweet father and her doting brother who were widely respected in the Ton would be anything but honourable. 

O3 ━◞ LIKES, QUIRKS, AND TIDBITS

Growing up in Cheltenham, a region famed for its horse breeding and informal horse racing (soon to be formal in 1815 actually!), meant Bella was no stranger to horse riding. She had been riding with her Brothers since she was old enough to walk and handle a horse. Her favourite past-time is exploring the town and surrounding landscapes with Harry and her horse, Athena. Since childhood, bella always sought to be outdoors, preferring to run around on the grounds or to swim in nearby waterholes. Unfortunately, the older she became, the less she was permitted to do so.

Archery being one of the more active upper class activities that she is ‘permitted’ to engage in passionately, Bella is an excellent archer, and enjoys showing off her bowmanship at any garden or picnic event. Though she would not claim to be as polished in her pall-mall skills, she is irrationally competitive with the game. If she were to identify a reason, she would blame how often she and her siblings played in their childhood.

Having seen the way her parents looked at each other, Bella believes in marrying for love. That being said, the Season is not the most fitting of circumstances, and Bella finds herself more irritated than not after being constantly compared and sold around like cattle. The thought has crossed her mind to not marry as the biggest act of rebellion but finds herself waning in resolve at the thought of how it would affect her siblings. And she also has not put the possibility to rest that she possibly could be as fortunate as her parents and not only fall in love, but have the cards fall into perfect position. 

Tidbit 1: Her birthday is February 18.

Tidbit 2:  If she is to be courted, the way to her heart is dancing. Bella has every quadrille, every waltz memorized, enough so she can dance the steps in her sleep.

Tidbit 3:  Though she lacks the attention span to make the most of her studies, bella does happen to have excellent visual memory, allowing her to play the lyre or the pianoforte from memory in short bouts. (Excellent party trick!) She does rather enjoy music, especially that of the lyre where she is not forced to sit. 

Tidbit 4: She has a scar around her neck from an unfortunate horse-riding incident from when she was 12. Consequently, she is never without a large necklace. It is what she is most self-conscious of.

O4 ━◞ SECRETS

One of her dearest friends who she had met from town is one of the girls at her cousin’s whorehouse. There have been rumours that she frequents the place, more than any proper lady should, but not enough to have ever made trouble.

Something happened that scared her and that she’s buried deep in her memory; something that her Father covered up for her before he died. Will expand on this as roleplay goes. Dun dun dun. 

[faewhump]

Unseelie Pet: 17. Chapter

Alex is struggling with his confusing feelings towards Malachi, when suddenly he’s presented with an almost suspiciously perfect opportunity. 

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Content warnings: dehumanisation, drugging (faerie food), mentions of torture, mentions of noncon, dubcon touching (not sexual), dubcon kiss, captor bonding

Tagging: @galaxywhump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @slaintetowhump @whumpsideblog @thewhiteraven73 @frnkieroismydaddy @u-n-o-f-f-i-c-i-a-l

At first Alex had been horribly embarrassed about his lapse – he’d sworn himself to not let Malachi kiss him ever again, but then had initiated a kiss himself. And it hadn’t stayed at one kiss, he had basically made out with the Fae while sitting comfortably in his lap. He would have loved to put the responsibility for his actions solely on the faerie food but had to admit that even in his clearest moments the memories were strangely pleasant.

He had expected Malachi to gloat, after all he had told him a while ago already that this was only a matter of time. Instead he didn’t even mention it once, and he didn’t try to pressure Alex into anything else either. It seemed almost like he was waiting for him to take the next step again. Alex didn’t understand why the Fae didn’t just take what he wanted, but at the same time he was very glad that he didn’t.

Although, the thought of being intimate with Malachi didn’t horrify him nearly as much anymore as it had originally… In general the Fae had turned out to be a lot different from what he’d expected. He had expected to be locked away in a dungeon to be starved and tortured as he had been before. But instead Malachi had given him a luxurious room, beautiful clothes and more than enough delicious food.

He visited him basically every day, took him outside on walks whenever the weather allowed, let him choose books at leisure, played chess with him and talked to him like a person. He also bathed, fed and petted him, and just showered him with more affection than he had ever received in his entire life. Another thing Malachi loved doing was dressing him up in lavish outfits, making him sit in front of the vanity mirror for ages until he was happy with the make-up and jewellery.

No, it truly wasn’t what Alex had expected. He had expected to be treated like nothing but a piece of meat to be tortured and abused, but instead Malachi treated him more like a mix between pet, dress-up doll and companion. For better or worse Alex couldn’t shake the impression that maybe, Malachi actually did care about him. He hadn’t picked him at random, but because he’d wanted him specifically. He’d wanted him for years and because of his personality, not just his looks.

He said he loves me, Alex thought, stealing a glance up at Malachi as he followed him along the forest path. And faeries can’t lie, so it must be the truth.

The Fae looked as gorgeous as always, causing Alex’s stomach to flutter. Sometimes he really damned the circumstances under which they’d met, if only it weren’t for those… It wasn’t just Malachi’s looks that he liked, as he’d learned from their conversations about books and philosophy, he was also highly intelligent and eloquent. And while some of his perspectives and opinions were simply strange to Alex, they never failed to make him think and enjoy the discussion.

They came to a halt inside a cavern formed by large flowering bushes. There were white and soft pink blossoms all around them, and Alex couldn’t help staring in wonder.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Malachi said. “I had these Rosa corymbifera planted a few years ago, haven’t they just turned out lovely?”

Alex nodded; this probably was the most beautiful place Malachi had shown him so far. A light breeze moved the branches above, causing white flower petals to rain down on them. Malachi stepped closer to Alex and gently removed a petal from his hair, the end of the leash wrapped casually around his other hand. Alex looked up at the Fae, suddenly noticing how close they were.

His floral perfume mixed marvellously with the sweet scent of the rose blossoms, and Alex couldn’t help leaning in further. Unable to resist any longer, he stretched up and kissed him. Malachi’s lips parted willingly, and he answered the kiss with the same unhurried softness as he had before. He slowly wrapped his arms around Alex, holding him gently as Alex’s hands rested against his chest.

“Good boy,” Malachi murmured when Alex broke the kiss. “You’re so lovely, my beautiful darling.”

Alex blushed and looked down; he didn’t know how to deal with this situation. It was wrong, he shouldn’t kiss the man that held him captive, shouldn’t like the way he complimented and praised him. And yet there was a warmth inside him, filling him, making him wonder how this feeling could not be right. As if he sensed his uncertainty, Malachi loosened his hold and stepped back.

“Let’s go and have some tea, hmm?” he said and led Alex back the way they’d come. “I asked my cook to prepare strawberry tart for us today. It’s your favourite, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Alex confirmed quietly, not quite trusting his voice yet. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my sweet.”

Alex followed Malachi along the winding path, his thoughts still dwelling on the sweetness of the kiss earlier, when a metallic flash suddenly caught his attention. A couple of yards ahead, hidden amongst the fallen leaves at the side of the path, there lay an iron nail. In this moment Alex realised that this was the very opportunity he’d been waiting for all this time.

It was a well-known fact that if there was something able to break a faerie magic, it was iron. Some other poor human must have taken iron with them as a means of protection and had lost this nail. Alex hadn’t seen it on their way to the rose cavern, and Malachi seemed oblivious to it even now. Within the split of a second Alex made a decision.

Pretending to stumble over a stone he fell and grabbed the nail tightly. Malachi was at his side immediately, soothing him and making sure he was unhurt before he helped him up. Alex accepted his fussing without complaint, assured him that he was fine and able to continue walking without aid. Seeing how concerned the Fae was over just a small fall almost made him feel bad for the iron nail he hid within his clenched fist.

Once they were back in his room Alex obediently knelt upon his favourite sitting pillow and quickly slid the nail underneath it when Malachi looked away. As promised the Fae fed him a delicious piece of strawberry tart and even allowed him to take sips from his teacup while they talked. The hidden nail was a constant buzz in Alex’s mind, and he tried his best to act all unconcerned and cute to avoid rousing suspicion.

“When will you come visit me tomorrow?” Alex asked, pretending to ask for Malachi’s schedule out of clinginess instead of planning his escape.

“Around three in the afternoon, probably.”

“Why so late?” Alex whined. “Can’t you come earlier?”

Malachi stroked his head apologetically. “Sadly there is a very important Court meeting tomorrow morning, and you know how long those usually take.”

Alex continued to sulk, and it was almost humbling to see how well his strategy of playing nice paid off – Malachi didn’t become suspicious but only enjoyed Alex’s supposed clinginess. First the iron nail and now the important Court meeting tomorrow, it was almost too perfect. Maybe destiny was finally repaying him for all the bad luck he’d had before. If everything went as planned, he would be safely at home in less than twenty-four hours, and yet there was something at the back of his mind that continued to bug him.

After breakfast on the next day Alex retrieved the iron nail from its hiding spot under the sitting pillow. This was the moment he’d been waiting for so long; his chances couldn’t be better than now with Malachi and most of the other faeries busy at their meeting and the tool he’d found – and yet he hesitated. How would Malachi react when he came to visit him in the afternoon, only to find the room empty? Would he be angry? Worried? Or sad?

Guilt rose in Alex, despite all the Fae had done to him, he didn’t want him to be upset. But he had to leave, right? This was the chance, he had to take it, he wanted to be free and away from Malachi… didn’t he? Tentatively he looked down at the iron nail in his hand, suddenly not feeling all that sure anymore. What Malachi had said at the beginning was true, in the human world he was relatively poor and had to work hard to make a living, while here he was surrounded by luxury and taken care of.

He shook his head; he couldn’t think like that. The important difference was that in the human world he was free, while here he wasn’t. No matter how kindly Malachi treated him compared to others, he still held him captive against his will, forced him to obey and hurt him whenever he resisted. Let alone the effect the constant faerie food and manipulation had on his mind – Alex saw it clearly, if he didn’t escape now, he probably never would. This was his last chance.

Steeling himself Alex raised the nail to his neck and pressed it against the golden collar. Immediately the spell Malachi had laid upon it disappeared, and the collar sprung open. He carefully placed it down on the pillow, then stood up. Next he used the iron to nullify the spell that kept the door closed, before making short work of picking the lock with the nail. Looking around the room one last time he regretted that he didn’t have any paper or ink to write a farewell note to Malachi, then he slowly opened the door.

After making sure the corridor was clear he smoothly slid out of the room and followed the route he had laid out. As expected the palace was mostly empty, and the only servants around didn’t seem to pay him any mind. His throat felt weirdly unprotected without the collar around it. There was no way the guards would open the main gate for him, and so he didn’t make his way to the entrance hall but instead to the first-floor window he’d climbed in the night he’d snuck into the Court.

Dropping down to the ground he found it hard to believe that he’d actually made it this far, now the only thing between him and freedom was the forest. He quickly collected himself, then briskly walked into the direction he knew his village to be in. His heart raced, this had been almost impossibly easy, and he kept on throwing looks over his shoulder, half expecting to see Malachi behind him. But there was nothing chasing him, so far his escape hadn’t been noticed.

Suddenly, a figure stepped out from behind a tree ahead, blocking his path.

“Well, well, well,” Darerca said, grinning. “Took you long enough.”

[everlarkficexchange]

Unmasked ~ Twenty-Nine

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations; minor character death. 

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange​ for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. 

Dear readers, I have neglected our game to assist you in figuring out my identity. We continue with this chapter, for those who still wish to play. The same guidance applies. At the end you will find a clue that will lead you to a word. Collect the words and save them for future use. We draw close to the end; only a handful of chapters remain and then all will be revealed.

Please enjoy the twenty-ninth chapter of this adventure.  Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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

~~ Chapter 29 ~~

I am a swirling confusion and a fog of need. My mind feels separate from my body as I make my way carefully inside and upstairs to our rooms. Peeta is not there yet. I return downstairs, bathe, and then prepare for bed, all in such a daze. As I dismiss Mary for the evening, I settle on the floor before our fire, brushing my damp hair. 

The window is open, admitting a fragrant spring breeze, fresh with rain and new blooms. And still my thoughts do not clear.

Not until Peeta enters the room with a sigh, leaning back against the door and watching me. His blue eyes are deep, dark gems in the firelight.

“Should morning not come and we were stuck in this room for eternity… I think I might be happy,” he states and I smile but turn to the fire.

“Until I go into childbirth.”

He laughs lightly and makes quick work of disrobing. “Even then, I think I could find it in my heart to feel complete joy with the company.”

“Mother was not overly demanding, was she?”

“No she needed to discuss some of our lessening stores of medicines, and then I was needed to help with a burn in the kitchens, and Doctor Aurelius sends word that he is ill and unable to accompany me tomorrow should anyone have need and – heavens I worry that his health is fading and I will be called upon to fulfill his duties sooner than I am ready.” 

“Was the infantry such a poor training for a doctor then?”

“There is a vast difference in the primary requirement. A bullet hole is easy to diagnose, if not so easy to mend. Disease is… far more meddlesome to diagnose and more elusive to heal. ” He finally settles on the sofa, removes his leg, and spreads a medical text on his lap, brow creasing in study. It is quiet and I continue to brush my hair, unwilling to interrupt him.

“After Mr. Hawthorne’s visit, I think I will need to make a trip to Capitol,” he says some time later. 

I hum in answer, brow furrowed as I mull over Madge and Johanna’s predicament. I’ve still no way to know what to do or if I should do anything at all. I wish to discuss what I saw and heard in the stables with Peeta, but do not know if doing so amounts to a betrayal of their confidence in me – or at least Madge’s – because I was not supposed to see nor hear their tryst tonight. 

“Katniss?”

“Yes?” I ask rather testily, looking over at him. He gives me a wry smile.

“I knew you were not listening.”

“Of course I was. You said you would go to Capitol after the Hawthornes’ visit.”

“Yes, and I also said I would be making the trip to reenlist. In the infantry.”

“Fine then. I was not listening.” I glare at him and toss aside my brush. He shifts aside his books and comes to sit behind me, taking up the brush and the task. I relax into his touch. Into the comfort of being taken care of by someone who loves me. “Will you be gone long?”

“Hopefully not. I only wish to speak with a few professors. Perhaps sit an exam or two, to show them my progress. I would not want to miss the birth of our child, so it will need to be soon,” he murmurs and begins to braid my hair, the tips of his fingers tickling my scalp. My own fingers seem to adopt the motions, caressing lightly over the worn flesh where his left leg ends.

“Make it as swift as possible, then.” I feel as though water had replaced all the bones in my body. I become a lump of comfort, wrapped in his attentions. 

“Will you miss me?” he whispers and I smile, my eyes drifting shut as his fingers now brush the nape of my neck and lower.

“Abominably. Who will massage my ankles when I become foul tempered?” He pinches my bottom and I squeak but lean back into his embrace for a short kiss to my lips. 

“I will make it swift then,” he promises and gently moves me away from him so that he can tie my braid with a bit of ribbon. The task done, he rests his hands on my shoulders and presses sweet kisses to the side of my neck. “Will you not tell me what troubles you?”

My body tenses as I think on my choices.

“Is it this additional guest Mr. Hawthorne brings with him?”

“Tis unforgivably rude,” I mutter and glare at the fire as though it had invited itself into my home rather than being stuck there.

“He did give us nearly a week of notice and we have the room, with a few adjustments.”

“But a business advisor? Peeta, I am not sure I can bear the examination of my home in this manner.”

“We will face it as it comes, together,” he says and lifts our joined hands to kiss my fingers. “Shall I rub your ankles now or once we are in bed?”

“Should you study more first?” I ask with a look at his texts.

“I probably should, but I am so tired tonight.”

“Oh,” I say and bite my lip. I should not burden him with more of my troubles but…

“Is there something else we need discuss?” Peeta murmurs to me that he is never too tired to listen to me air my troubles.

Finally, I turn to him. “It is about Madge. And Johanna. They are…rather close…one might even say that they have become…” I cannot finish the thought but Peeta seems to understand, his face relaxing and his eyes lifting to the ceiling. He curses under his breath.

“I was afraid she might. I will talk to her, if you wish. Remind her of the differences in their stations.”

“Oh no, don’t do that,” I say and he stares at me. Blinks for a moment. My hand clenches into a fist and I stare at the carpet. I manage to tell him what I saw and some of my thoughts since then. “Do you think so low of me then that you believe I would judge my friend for her unconventional attachments?”

“To another woman? Or to a servant? Either would be cause for censure among many people,” he says and I lift my eyes to his. A sudden softening happens in the blue depths and I know. He understands. “But not to you. Nor to me.”

“Had circumstances been different, had you not been playing with Robert that day…” I say and swallow, “you would have been a baker.”

“You and I would never have met under those circumstances, Katniss. I would have been working in the kitchens somewhere, never to be seen and certainly not to be noticed by the gentile Miss Everdeen, to say nothing of loved by her.”

“I was never so wealthy as that. You think I would not have snuck into those kitchens for late night repasts? Come now, you know me better than that.” He smiles at this and twines our fingers together. “Or mayhaps I would have visited the house where you worked and been so enraptured by your creations that I would have insisted on an audience with the baker, that I might show my appreciation.”

“A highly improper flirtation or perhaps a tawdry affaire in the kitchens, then. For it could have gone no further.”

“Yes. Instead of hay in my hair it would have been flour spread over my thighs and breasts.” For a moment, his eyes darken as his gaze sweeps over me, clearly imagining such a sight. I laugh lightly at him.

I am not certain where we begin kissing, only aware of the feelings it evokes inside me. His arms hold me warm and secure, my fingers thread through his curls to keep him close. We part reluctantly and with soft gasps.

“However briefly our paths may have crossed, I am certain I would have been in your thrall,” I whisper. Then the desire lifts from his eyes and he shakes his head.

“It would never have been. I would have been terrified of you. Even as we are, I scarcely dared to hope such a one as you could love me until it had already happened, and truthfully, were I the baker instead of the bastard brother, I would have been too concerned that I would lose my post to be bold enough for an affaire.”

“Even for me?” I ask and feign a pout. Peeta laughs in my face and kisses me once more.

“Especially for you. That would have required a monumental amount of courage, my love.”

“You possess courage enough.”

“Perhaps I do, but the baker might not have.”

“Then, I suppose I would have had to be the one who was bold,” I say and lean in to kiss him. It is only a brief caress before my shoulders once more slump with the weight of dilemma. “What are we to do?”

“What do you wish to do? It is one thing to imagine a scenario where you, the landowning farmer’s daughter, would have fallen in love with the humble baker, but… odds are it is only that. A pleasant imagining. A comforting lie to think that no matter the circumstances, we would have found one another.”

“Do you not believe we would have? Do you not believe that love can overcome all obstacles? That this would have happened anyways?”

He shakes his head. “As much as I wish I could believe it, I cannot even find my own mother, Katniss.”

Guilt is swift and I think on his words a long time before resolve settles into my bones.

“Then that is my answer,” I say with conviction. “I wish to do whatever we need do to make it so that the widowed countess and the stable lad who is truly a woman in disguise being together is not a pleasant imagining, but a reality.”

“Have you spoken to Madge about this?” he asks and for a moment, I cannot meet his eyes.

“No…I confess that I am afraid to do so.”

“She is your friend. As long as you make it clear you wish to help and continue being her dear friend…”

“It is more than that,” I say and huff then shake my head. It sounds so terrible and yet it must be said. “She and I shared a bed many a time…for years. Even up until my wedding to you. It is a common enough practice amongst sisters and girl friends, meant to be a safeguard for our virtues, but if she feels physical attraction for other girls… Nothing… happened between us and yet when I saw her with Johanna, it… caused things…feelings…”

I am burning with shame as I look up at Peeta’s grinning face. “You were aroused.”

“I was not!”

“Why the indignation?” he asks. “Careful of your answer, for it will reveal much.”

“I am a married woman!” I protest and thump his chest. “A faithfully married woman!”

“Ah,” he says, positioning me to straddle his lap, cumbersome belly and all. “So then it is not disgust that upsets you, but the implication that your arousal at watching two people engaged in an amorous embrace might make you unfaithful to your poor husband?”

“That was…part of it…” I trail off as he kisses along my throat. “And you are not poor.”

“No, I am not. I am excessively wealthy in life.” His hands wander beneath my shift and find me already damp with arousal. I squirm in his hold, cheeks flushed. “And the other part that upset you… Oh Katniss, my love… there is nothing strange about what you felt. You witnessed an arousing sight and so you were aroused. It does not mean you harbor a secret attraction to either Madge or Johanna. And even if Madge felt desire or love for you in the course of your friendship with her…she now has Johanna. You will not hurt her in loving me.”

I stiffen at his words, at how precisely they capture how I feel. Yet, the stiffness passes almost as quickly as I am filled with relief. Relief that he understands. Relief that he is not disgusted with any of us. Only then am I truly able to enjoy the feel of his kisses.

It is some time later, when I am draped across the bed, having finally recovered my breath but not my ability to move my legs, Peeta’s head resting alongside my belly his hand absently caressing over my thigh, my fingers combing through his wild hair that I know he’s right. I must speak to Madge. Soon. No matter how much I dread the conversation.

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

There is, of course, the great paradox that as soon as you know you must speak to your dear friend…you are unable to. 

All is in chaos from the moment of waking. Last minute preparations for the arrival of our guests begin as soon as the breakfast plates are cleared. I am about to climb a chair to help repair some of the draperies in the hall when Peeta finds me and makes a sound of protest, gesturing towards my stomach and pulling me gently away from the chair.

“Do you wish to induce early labor or cause harm to the babe?”

“I am perfectly capable of completing a simple task without injuring myself.”

“I found you on your back in the mud when we first met. Be careful what you claim to be perfectly capable of,” Peeta says, his cheeks turning red and his voice raspy. His anger stirs my own and I scowl at him.

“Are you suggesting that I cannot–”

“I am suggesting you use better judgement,” he says and takes my hands in his. I attempt to extricate them, furious at being ordered about, but give up when I feel his fingers tremble around my own. “Katniss, please. What if you had fallen?”

There is no anger in his voice now, only worry, and palor beneath his skin. I suddenly feel rather guilty for my actions and my words.

“You would attend me,” I whisper and rest one hand on his cheek.

“I am grateful for your faith in me, my love. I would prefer you not test it so. Not today.” He seems so worried that I cannot deny him and ask Horatio to see to the task before turning back to Peeta.

“Better?”

“Yes,” he breathes and I drop my gaze to the floor. It is then that I notice his boots, and the gloves he dropped on the floor before touching me.

“You are dressed for riding.”

“Martin Farrow sent word that his wife has gone into childbirth. A fortnight too soon.” His concern suddenly makes sense as I snap my head back to look at him.

“And Dr. Aurelius is indisposed.”

“I must beg your forgiveness for abandoning you to the preparations, my love. And also for taking your mother with me, Katniss. I am so sorry. I know we have guests–”

“I will be fine. Mr. Hawthorne and his companions are nothing I cannot handle. As long as I climb no more chairs.”

“Yes, please do not,” Peeta laughs and embraces me, kissing my hair and whispering that he loves me. It is then that I realise he is afraid. Of what, I am unsure. I dare not ask him to tarry and explain. We will have tonight to discuss it.

Tarry we must, though. As I walk to the door with him to see him off, a shout goes up.

“Ho there! Mr. and Mrs. Mellark. A word if you please!” The man shouts from a fair distance as he walks up our lane.

“It cannot be the Hawthorne party at this early hour,” I grouse and quickly wipe my hands on my apron to meet the new arrival. 

“No and they would not be walking on foot,” Peeta adds.

The figure approaching on foot is familiar, and as I place who it is, I sigh. “Damn.”

“What is it?”

“Father Crane approaches,” I tell Peeta and he too curses. I hurry to the door and call for the person I need. “Sae… take Maysilee and Miranda upstairs. Tell my mother that she and Mr. Mellark will be delayed a moment in leaving.”

I then exit the door to greet Father Crane. I have a suspicion his visit is to do with Miranda and what happened in the gardens yesterday. No doubt he is here to defend his boar of a son, the youngest of five, all of whom run rough shod over the entire area. The oldest of which made attempts at courting me when we were much younger. I shudder at the memory of the vulgar poem that came right before the fire, and the speed with which David Crane ceased his suit afterwards.

But it is not youthful poetry that concerns me, it is a broken toy and a curse muttered in anger. As much as I applaud Miranda for defending herself, such an act will no doubt have consequences. Consequences that march now down the lane towards us. Would that we were free to speak our minds fully, I might throw a shoe at the preacher and curse him as well. 

But…all is not dire. I stand beside my husband as he waits with me.

“Should you not depart?”

“Not yet, I think,” Peeta says and grasps my hand to link our arms together. And even though I do not look forward to this audience, I am glad for Peeta’s presence beside me. He is quite deft at calming any situation that has the potential to boil over.

I cannot fly off in a temper with Father Crane, as much as I would like to. As long as he resides on Everdeen as the cleric, I must pretend to niceties and obedience. This is no highwayman waving a pistol and thus requires more subtlety to handle. Abominable to have to lie, to deceive, but likely necessary. Therefore, I roll my shoulders back and paste a smile on my face.

“Good morning, Father! To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Peeta calls out as he approaches at last.

“No pleasure, Mr. Mellark. I am here on the Lord’s business,” he huffs as he approaches the steps. His face is red and he pauses on the steps to wipe sweat from his brow, carefully folding his handkerchief and placing it in his pocket before he climbs the steps towards us. Together, Peeta and I drop into a genuflection.

“Welcome, then. Would you care for tea? Or perhaps lemonade,” I offer.

“Tea will be fine,” he says and we turn to lead him into the house. “What is the fuss about?” he asks, indicating the servants still hard at work in the hall.

“We are expecting guests today. Mr. Gale Hawthorne, his brother, and one more travels in their party,” Peeta offers.

“Ah, the new owners.”

“Not as yet,” I say, unable to keep the bite from my words, the reminder that my father is still alive.

“Hmmm. I should like to meet him while he is here.”

“I am certain you shall. They will be here for at least one Sunday and will no doubt attend church with us,” Peeta says. Father Crane makes a noncommittal noise and I manage a grateful smile for my husband. He somehow manages to be polite and ensure that Father Crane will get what he wants without my having to invite the odious man to dinner or some such thing. He would not dare rudely invite himself now.

I show him to the parlor and Peeta manages pleasantries until Nell, one of the kitchen maids, brings tea with a quick curtsy. I pour and pretend not to notice Father Crane watching her movements a little more than is seemly.

As soon as the maid is gone, Father Crane clears his throat.

“I’ve no wish to waste time, so I’ll get right to it. The girl, the one you brought here in winter, she cursed my boy.”

“Cursed him how?” Peeta asks, feigning ignorance or perhaps forcing Father Crane to speak the words aloud, in all their ridiculousness. I calmly add sugar and cream to the tea as needed, although I’d much rather dump it in the man’s lap.

“Does it matter? I’ve a responsibility to the souls of my congregation and the child is practicing witchcraft. I demand that you turn her over to me that I might convince her to reverse this dreadful deed and rescue her before she is completely lost to the devil.”

I have no intention of handing my daughter into his care. Not in a million years nor if the Rapture came this afternoon.

“Has anything befallen your son?” I ask.

Father Crane examines me at length, his eyes cold and his jaw working. He answers begrudgingly. “No, thanks to providence.”

“Then what exactly is your concern?” Peeta asks rather gently. Crane sputters.

“That is beside the point Mr. Mellark. These things may not have immediate results.”

“Oh,” I say rather innocently. “I would not know. I’ve no experience with witchcraft.” He stares at me and blinks before adopting a concerned expression, reaching across to pat my hands. 

“Of course not, my dear.”

“Because I do not believe such witches exist.”

Father Crane sneers at me and sips his tea.

“Your innocence in such matters is a credit to you, Mrs. Mellark. But I doubt that you want a child of the devil about when your own precious lamb arrives.”

He pointedly looks at my swollen belly. I cannot help myself. I place a hand protectively over the growing babe. Father Crane makes a noise of triumph in his throat and turns to Peeta again. He delineates all possibilities and Peeta listens, nodding as appropriate. When Father Crane has exhausted all his considerable advice, Peeta sets aside his empty cup and stands.

“Father Crane, I do thank you for sharing your wisdom on such matters and we will carefully consider your council.”

I stand and Father Crane thankfully has enough manners about him to stand as well, to gather his things as he insists that he only wishes the best for the souls under his keeping. We give him a promise to speak with Miranda about such behaviors and see him to the door.

My mother arrives then, a basket of supplies over her arm, my father helping her into a cloak. “Are we ready now, Peeta?”

“Yes,” he says, tugging his gloves on.

With a swift kiss to my lips, despite the presence of both my parents and several servants in the area, Peeta and my mother then depart. I fold my hands together and sigh, leaning against the house in a spot I know will afford me a view to watch him ride away.

He has already spent months with such a schedule as this. There are of course the regular visits amongst the servants and out to the tenants, and not just of Everdeen. Peeta has ridden as far beyond the borders of our land as he can manage in a day to see to patients. And yet this, him leaving with my mother beside him to deliver a baby, without the guidance of Dr. Aurelius… I am filled at once with a strange sort of melancholy, pride, and love.

But I’ve no time to savor it, I’ve details to attend, and a friend to lend my support. I turn back to the house to immerse myself in tasks only to find myself facing a panting and flushed Sae.

“Mrs. Mellark…I could not find Miranda. I’ve looked everywhere.”

A strange fear bubbles up inside me and I cast about for ideas on where she might be hiding.

“She must be about somewhere, check the stables,” I insist. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Sae departs. It is then that a flash of red and a blue dress emerge from behind a clock positioned near to the parlor. She flees upstairs even as I call out to her.

“Miranda!”

Her footsteps pound on the stairs and I hurry after her, muttering under my breath at how much slower I now am. How much more careful I must be with the babe altering my balance.

The door to her and Maysilee’s room slams. It takes a moment or two for me to catch up with her. I knock and then warn her.

“Miranda, I am coming in.”

The door opens easily beneath my hand and I gasp as a blanket is dropped over me. “Miranda!” I struggle free and scowl at her as she hides beneath the bed. I toss the thing aside and take a deep breath. More footsteps in the hall and Sae in the doorway.

“I heard you shouting.”

“I have found her,” I say and then send Sae away to see to Maysilee. Once more alone, I sigh and move towards the bed.

“Miranda, my love… what do you hope to gain with such a trap?”

“Are you going to send me back now?”

My heart breaks the instant she speaks. My knees buckle with the pain and I sit clumsily in the bedside chair. To have her first words to me be such a thing. 

“Heavens no! Miranda why would you think I would?”

“That man…the preacher. I don’t like him. But he said you wouldn’t want me once you have your own baby.”

“Oh Miranda, my dove. No. No, he was wrong, and I don’t much like him either. He thinks me rather wicked.”

“But you didn’t…you let him say it and didn’t correct him.”

“I know. I know, but I wanted to. Oh how I wanted to.” She sniffles and shifts beneath the bed. “But sometimes, we must pretend to believe things we do not, or behave in a certain way so that others do not hurt us. Like wearing a mask. Like you used to do at the orphanage sometimes.”

One small hand becomes visible to me as she moves again. The cat wanders out and leaps into my lap. Miranda does not call him back.

“What did you name your kitten, Miranda my dove?”

“Odysseus,” she whispers. “Like that poem you read to me.”

I hum and pet the cat. Of course. It has become one of her favourites for me to read to her. Slowly, she pulls her body from beneath the bed and stands before me. Dust has caught in her hair and her ribbons are undone. Her blue eyes downcast and sorrow on her face. I reach out and take her hand in mine, and she allows it.

“Now that you are speaking to us, I feel that I must ask…Do you want to return to the orphanage?”

“No!” she shouts and then shrinks back, softens her tone. “No. I… I thought we were to be a family.”

“We are a family,” I say and pat my knee, lifting the cat enough that Miranda may slide into my lap. I deposit her pet into her arms and brush back her hair. “I am not upset with what you said to that boy yesterday, but there are others who will be.”

“But I’m not really a witch. I can’t curse anyone!” she protests.

“No, but there are some who will believe you can. And the first time something dreadful happens to Jacob Crane…they will look to you to blame.”

“They’ll blame me even if I hadn’t cursed him,” she complains. “They did that at the orphanage, too.”

“They might. But I won’t.” Her eyes widen as she stares at me. “I will smile at every misguided soul who enters the parlour looking to have you punished when you’ve done nothing wrong. I will lie to them in whatever underhanded manner I need to protect you, and then send them on their way.”

“You will?”

“Yes, if that is what it takes to protect you, Miranda. I will be a merciless liar.”

She giggles at that and the sound warms me.

“Is that what you were doing today?” I nod and her giggles calm. “And Papa too?” For a moment, I am confused.

“Papa?” Miranda nods and curls into me as best she can.

“I know he said he is my brother but…he seems more like a Papa to me. Like your Papa is to you.”

I embrace her and kiss her wild tangle of red hair.

“Yes. Yes, Miranda, your Papa-brother will lie for you as well.”

“Mama?” she says and once more, my heart shatters inside me. With joy this time as tears line my eyes.

“Yes, my dove?”

“I am sorry for throwing the blanket on you.”

I hug her close and fight back my tears. “Oh my darling. I am not angry over that.”

A cough at the door catches our attention and I lift my head to see Madge smiling at us. “I hate to interrupt, but I believe lessons are about to resume in the school room.”

“Oh,” Miranda says. “Do I have to?”

I ignore Madge’s astonishment at the revelation of Miranda’s voice and turn to my daughter.

“Yes, you must. Learning is the most important task you now have before you. Madge, she will be right down.”

“Of course,” Madge says and then leaves in almost a daze.

“Now before you go, my dove, you must repeat after me. This is the most important lesson you will learn today.”

She blinks up at me and nods, determination to please shining in her eyes.

“My name is Miranda Mellark.” I wait and she takes a deep breath before speaking.

“My name is Miranda Mellark.” Such a beautiful sentence spoken in her calm voice.

“I am eight years old.”

“I am eight years old.”

“My home is Everdeen.” She dutifully returns each phrase I give her.

“My Papa is also my brother. We are twice bound together as family.”

“Somewhere I have a mother who wanted me to have a better life than what she could give me.”

“You’re my mother now, are you not?” Miranda interrupts the proceedings and I nod.

“If you insist… My second mother is Katniss Mellark.”

“My mother is Katniss Mellark,” Miranda says with a saucy smile that makes me laugh and kiss the tip of her nose.

“My parents are both marked by fire in their skin as I am in my hair.” She dutifully repeats the phrase, her fingers lightly touching my scarred shoulder.

“They love me from the roots of my flaming red hair,” I ruffle the already wild locks, “down to the tips of my witchy, twitchy toes–” I tickle her and she laughs, squirming in my hold until the cat makes an escape. “–and everywhere between.”

Miranda giggles at this and then turns sombre for the last line I feed her.

“So long as I remember who I am, and how I am loved, I will never need to wear a mask.”

Miranda curls close to me and we sit like that for a moment before a question can no longer be contained.

“Did you only bring me here because Papa and I are brother and sister?”

“No,” I tell her. “That may have been the reason we started with, but reasons can grow and branch into something new and change.”

“Like the flowers in the garden,” Miranda says. “Or the trees.”

“Yes,” I say. We sit there for too long, talking quietly. About why we brought her here, how we came to love her, and how that at least will not change when her new sibling arrives. We are neglecting her studies and my duties and yet I cannot bring myself to care.

Finally, when her questions have been exhausted for now, I send her on her way.

“One more thing, Miranda,” I say and she pauses in the doorway.

“Yes, Mother?” I may never tire of hearing her use that word.

“When he returns home tonight, Peeta will want to hear you speak.” She smiles and nods, then races down the hall with the exuberance of a child who is loved and cared for.

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

The work continues. The day brings the warmth of spring sun and the drifting fragrance of early blooms in the garden, the mud coated laughter of men and women dancing on the breeze, heartened after the beginning of the planting. The end of the harsh winter brings promise, and yet, once I have dealt with Father Crane and Miranda, and half a dozen other issues, I cannot help but examine Madge’s downturned face for signs at every turn. It becomes apparent that we will have no time today for that talk, and I am desperate with worry for her now.

Is the pallor of her skin that of a sleepless night? Sleepless because she spent it in the arms of a lover in the stables? Or because she did not, and instead spent it thrashing in bed, doubting her choices and fearing her future.

I am tormented the entire day, catching the falseness in her laughter as she converses with several of the tenants. Bright spots of blush on her cheeks whenever Johanna is within sight, and once more I reel with questions.

Is it the blush of memory? The flush of a body sastfied and a passion sated? Or the blush of denial?

In the end, I’ve no chance to find out. The cry rises up, the sighting of an approaching cart. The luggage of the gentleman who even now make their way towards Everdeen. A pair of servants with the luggage is swift to distribute and settle in, to prepare for the arrival of their employers. All too soon, a carriage and a trio of horses in trail arrives.

I recognise the gentle brown with the white socks that Rory Hawthorne rides and Prim is quite occupied adjusting her dress and appearance.

“Will you cease? You look radiant,” I tell her and she blushes.

It is an annoyance to be greeting them at all, and I find myself wishing that Peeta were here. There has been no word from him or Mother as yet, and so I can only assume that the child has not yet arrived.

It tastes foul in my mouth, greeting the man with the potential to usurp my family, toss us all out on our rears with next to nothing. Miranda slips her hand in mine and I glance down at her. She is once more wearing the blue turban, but she stands tall and proud beside me to greet our guests.

No. Not with nothing, I realise. Mr. Hawthorne cannot touch our money. Cannot touch the love between Peeta and I, nor the child growing inside me, nor the one clinging to my hand. And even without Peeta beside me to say it again, I know he is right.

“It will be alright, Katniss.” He had said last night in our room.

I smile at Miranda now and give her an encouraging nod.

The carriage halts and Rory Hawthorne is the first to emerge, a bright smile on his face as he does. His eyes find Primrose first and, seemingly assured of her presence, he descends the step to greet me and the man standing beside me.

“Mrs. Mellark. A pleasure to see you once again,” he says warmly, with a gallant bow in my direction. “And this…”

“My father, Mr. Kent Everdeen,” I say and Papa grunts slightly as Rory’s eyes widen and his cheeks pinken.

“Sir, it is an honor. I was quite glad when Miss Everdeen wrote to me of your recovery,” he says and then stammers for a moment, realising his error in mentioning that he is a young man who openly corresponded with an unmarried girl, without her father’s permission.

“My girls made it quite easy, all of them capable of managing affairs so well that I am not certain I was needed or missed.”

“Papa, of course you were missed and are needed,” Primrose scolds and steps forward so that Rory may greet her now. He does so swiftly, almost awkwardly, and then turns to the two young men who have stepped from the carriage behind him.

The first is tall and lean, well turned out, his complexion dark and his hair darker. Even his grey eyes appear to swirl with an impenetrable darkness. The similarities make it clear that this is Rory’s brother. Mr. Gale Hawthorne. After so many months of hating him from a distance, I had rather fancied him a mustache twirling villain with pocked skin, perhaps greasy hair, or a bad form caused by gluttony and excess. Unfortunately, he is undeniably handsome in a way that would make all the ladies of an assembly scheme for his name on their dance card. He moves with a lithe sort of grace that reminds me of a panther. He gazes over the facade of the house as one examines a meal. His chin turned up in arrogance and certainty.

Already I hate him.

The second man is far more amiable in appearance with bright green eyes and bright red hair beneath a jauntily cocked hat, freckles on his nose, bright pale skin. He is all brightness where his companion is dour darkness and brooding.

“Allow me, please,” Rory says and waves towards the two men in turn. “My brother, Mr. Gale Hawthorne. His business associate Mr. Darius Fremont.” They bow in unison and Rory turns to our party. “Now let me hope I do not err with so many names.”

He runs down the names from my father all the way to Maysilee without a single error. He has been paying attention to Prim’s letters and I can feel her excitement radiating off of her. I send her a small smile. Thus far, her suitor has acquitted himself admirably.

“I hope we will not inconvenience you, Mrs. Mellark,” Mr. Hawthorne states with a pointed look at my pregnant form.

“Indeed not,” I assure him and bite the inside of my cheek when a swift kick from the child nearly me makes me cry out in pain.

“Now I do not see Mrs. Everdeen, nor one who might be Mr. Peeta Mellark…” Rory states uncertainly.

“They were called to attend to a woman in childbirth,” Primrose explains and invites the gentlemen into the house. “They will hopefully join us for dinner, so long as the babe cooperates.”

“Your husband is a midwife?” Mr. Hawthorne asks me. The air shifts in a subtle manner at the veiled insult within the folds of his tone, as if being a midwife were somehow shameful.

“My husband is studying to become a doctor,” I explain. “And as such, he is respectful of the knowledge and experience that a midwife and healer, such as my mother, can impart to him.”

Prim laughs nervously and Madge asks Rory how their journey was as we enter the house and servants are called upon to guide guests to their rooms. I abscond to the study and immerse myself in work. I will need to be charming and pleasant for dinner tonight and so I will need time to myself.

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

I am given very little respite as, before long, my father interrupts me. “Katniss, I hate to interrupt, but Mr. Hawthorne wishes to see the estate.”

“It is late. Can it not wait until tomorrow?” I ask then snap my mouth shut as the impertinent prat himself enters the room.

“In all likelihood it could wait,” he says. “But I am never one to wait for tomorrow when a task could be completed today. Such a habit smacks of laziness.”

I believe he just called me lazy. Wonderful start.

“Very well then. I shall order the cart prepared. Shall you ride along or exercise your mount, Mr. Hawthorne?”

“A good ride is just the thing,” he states and I curtsy before hurrying from the room to see to the arrangements.

It only takes a moment to wait for the cart to be prepared, yet it feels an eternity. Noise from the stables draws my attentions and I enter to find Mr. Hawthorne examining Sagittaria, Johanna holding her by the bridle.

“And you exercise her daily?”

“I wouldn’t usually have to,” Johanna explains. “Except this fine beauty belongs to Mrs. Mellark.” I clear my throat to draw their attention.

“Mrs. Mellark, you have a fine horse here,” he clicks his tongue at her and Sagittaria snorts at him in protest. “Quite free spirited. Have you any trouble handling her?”

“None,” I say.

“And she only one of several fine mounts in your stables.”

“None of which are to be part of the estate,” I remind him and he eyes me for a moment before Mr. Hawthorne finally unhands my horse. Johanna has turned away to hide what I suspect to be laughter.

“Your conveyance awaits, Mrs. Mellark,” Rory declares as he pauses in the doorway to bow at me. “If you can tear yourself away from the horseflesh, Gale.”

I sweep past Rory and only vaguely hear him mutter that Gale is forever distracted by horses and spent nearly their entire childhood in the stables or in the saddle.

Father hands me up onto the box and then Primrose. He hands me a list for the cargo loaded into the rear of the cart. “He might as well see exactly what is involved in maintaining the place,” Father says and I nod. 

“At least this will make it not be a waste of a trip.”

“Good girl. Chin up, Firecracker.” I smile at him as Madge emerges from the stables atop Diablo, Gale Hawthorne beside her on an unfortunately equally impressive black stallion, already engaging her in what appears to be a lively discussion of horses. Rory and Mr. Fremont follow on their own horses. 

We are a strange party. I wish that I could claim that I held on to my ire for longer, but I unfortunately do not. It is difficult to be cross with such beauty and natural delights to behold. As always, Everdeen, my home, awash in her spring glory, easily brings a smile to my face and a lightness to my heart.

“It is a fine view, is it not?” Prim asks and I turn to catch her smiling at Rory before dropping her gaze bashfully.

“It is indeed, Miss Everdeen. A most refreshing view.” His horse skips a few lengths away and I nudge my sister with my elbow.

“Have a care, Prim. The poor man will likely be befuddled with love before the day is out.”

“Oh I do hope so,” she breathes and links our arms. “You do not despise him still?”

“No, I think not. He appears to be kind and sensible…and smitten with you,” I tease and she curls into me. “And there is something to be said for his constancy in writing to you for such a long time now.”

Mr. Hawthorne asks a great many questions as we follow the roads. Tenants greet us as we deliver the items in the cart and collect items in trade. Time is spent sharing news and well wishes. Mr. Hawthorne watches it all with a critical eye.

“You seem eager to acquire Everdeen,” Madge remarks at one point as I carefully guide the horses and cart through a rather large section of muck in the roads.

“I had thought to auction it off in pieces, but my most recent business venture was such a success that I am considering retaining the estate and doing the same with it.”

“And that would be?”

“Improving it, turning it into an exemplary farm.”

“You find it deficient thus far?” I ask and he brings his horse to ride beside me.

“I find it mediocre, Mrs. Mellark, as many an estate that handed down through generations of a single family tend to be. The expectancy of inheritance dulls any feelings of ambition, the desire to make improvements and so many estates are left to languish or fall into lethargy, disrepair when they could be thriving.”

“Where exactly was your last venture?” I ask instead of contemplating his other words. Unless I am mistaken, though, the question brings a blush to his cheeks.

“Mining. Copper in North Panem and diamonds abroad.”

“Diamonds? Truly?” asks Prim. She turns to Rory with a smile. “Did you try your hand at diamond mining, Mr. Hawthorne? You made no mention of such in your letters.”

“Rory turned out to have a nose for it. At least for the diamonds. He would not admit such a thing to you, as he is far too humble,” Gale states and I refrain from stating that humility is clearly not a family trait.

“So then your experience is not at all in farming.”

“No, yet it does not seem so complicated. A bit of seed, a touch of harvest. Nothing to it. Not nearly so complex as mining.”

“Oh it is far more complicated than that,” Madge says with a beatific smile. Mr. Hawthorne frowns at her.

“Have you farming experience? Were you not a countess?”

“I was but I am no longer.”

“Surely a countess can afford to pay others to do her farming for her,” Mr. Hawthornes says and Madge’s cheeks flush brightly.

I steer the conversation back to how exactly Hawthorne intends to improve my home and how successful mining could possibly translate to successful farming.

“The trick was the workers,” Mr. Fremont explains. “They were underfed, underpaid, needing medical care in some cases. Gale provided those things and the investment turned into a success shortly after.”

“Tis only human decency. How can one expect a man to do anything well if he is starving or otherwise maltreated? Generations of inheriting what amounts to the livelihood of people, of expecting an unholy amount of sacrifice from so few.” Politics quickly enter the discussion and I am uncertain exactly how we ventured down this path. “There is a sense of entitlement that poisons the gentry and the nobility. It is what caused the war in France, part of what caused England to lose her colonies, and if we are not careful, Panem will follow next into turmoil and strife.”

“You are interested in preventing conflict then, Mr. Hawthorne?” I ask. “Would a mine that produces metal ares not profit from such a thing?”

“Of course it would, Mrs. Mellark, but the profits would be short lived. Panem only engages in brief skirmishes when pressed to do so by her allies. We haven’t the might to support an extended engagement such as several of our neighbors. Such a conflict would cause the owners of mines to further burden their workers with longer hours and higher expectations to produce. Conditions would turn from dire to bestial.”

Rory attempts to calm his brother’s rant, but it has little effect. “We are guests, Gale. No one wishes to discuss politics when there are such lovely sights.”

Darius has far better luck. “It helps that there are those willing to correct the transgressions of the past.”

“It may only slow the march towards internal strife but cannot stop it,” Gale states and then, thankfully, he does cease his talking, and yet he remains in a quiet sort of rage. For my part, I feel a strange sense of triumph. 

Mr. Hawthorne fancies himself a hero of the people, rescuing the common man from the indifference or even cruelty of the upper classes. He thinks to rescue the tenants of Everdeen from such a fate. What then would he think if he saw that those who live on Everdeen land are never mistreated nor left in the cold shadow of indifference. What would he think if he knew that the landed gentry who own Everdeen sweat and work right alongside her tenants, go without during lean years as do her poor.

It is with great joy that I conduct them about the estate and converse with several tenants. Handing out the goods my father sent forth, hearing complaints and rectifying any immediate problems that I can.

Eventually, we reach a row of houses that causes my heart to speed a little.

“The Farrow family lives here,” Prim remarks and I only nod. Peeta should be here. I spot Cicero first, tied in the shade of a lean-to next to Mother’s horse, Thistle.

“Great jehoshaphat. How does a tenant farmer have such a beast? May we stop?” Gale asks, not waiting for an answer before urging his mount forward at a faster pace.

“Mr. Hawthorne…” I begin and then a great screaming of woman in labor rises up from the walls.

“Oh! The babe has not yet arrived,” Madge announces unnecessarily. “We should continue on and leave them to it in peace.”

“Try telling that to Mr.Hawthorne,” I say and urge the horses to move faster.

As quickly as it rose up, the cries die down. As we approach, the door opens and Peeta emerges. His coat has been removed and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He moves with purpose to a water pump in the yard, filling a bucket with a handful of forceful pumps. Setting it aside, he then pumps more water onto his hands and quickly cleans them. Gale slows his mount near the gate and calls out to my husband just as Peeta splashes a fair quantity of water over his face and hair.

“You there. You reside here?” Peeta sputters and wipes his face clear then looks up at Mr. Hawthorne on horseback.

“Not directly. This is the residence of Martin and Kate Farrow,” Peeta says as I finally catch up to Gale and bring the cart to a halt. Peeta turns his eyes to mine with a strained smile. I can see he is weary, worried. The birthing must not be going well.

“And the new babe, husband? How fares the child?” I ask and Gale turns his mount a bit too sharply, forcing Peeta to step back. He maneuvers around the pawing stallion and passes through the gate towards me.

“Hopefully better now that we’ve turned them the right way. It could still be several hours though. I may miss dinner as yet.” 

Peeta grasps hold of the side of the cart, using only his arms and his good leg to pull himself closer to my height. He must be terribly worried and distracted to have snubbed Mr. Hawthorne so easily. Peeta’s gaze sweeps over me and I smile as I whisper to him.

“And you, my love? How do you fare?”

“Infinitely better now that I’ve seen you.” He places and hand over mine on the seat and gives my fingers an affectionate squeeze that I return. “Your mother insisted I take some fresh air before we continue. I should go and relieve her so that she may do the same.”

Mr. Hawthorne then clears his throat in a rather annoying manner.

“Might I trouble you for an introduction, Mrs. Mellark?” I scowl slightly at this. As a man of near equal rank to Peeta, he could introduce himself. But he is our guest and I am endeavouring to not anger him so I change my expression to a smile. Peeta blushes, properly chastised for his lapse in manners and once more lowers himself to the ground.

“Forgive me. My husband, Mr. Peeta Mellark. Or if you prefer to use his military title, although very few do, Captain Mellark, and quite soon it shall be Dr. Mellark. Husband, this is our prestigious guest, the illustrious Mr. Gale Hawthorne and his companion Mr. Darius Fremont. Oh and Mr. Hawthorne has a fondness for horses. He was ogling Cicero as we rode up. Perhaps you might show him off later.”

“Or now if your patients can spare you,” Mr. Hawthorne suggests.

Another scream rises up then and Peeta glances back at the hut. “I would be delighted to, but I’m afraid they cannot. I’ve tarried too long as it is.”

“Pity,” Mr. Hawthorne says and shifts in his saddle, tipping his head back to look at the sky.

“Perhaps later, Mr. Hawthorne.”

“We shall leave you to your task, then husband,” I say softly. Something strange flickers in his eyes as I lean towards him, presenting my hand to him, strangely needing one last touch before I depart, or perhaps it is that I sense Peeta needs it and would never ask me for such a thing, encumbered as I am with so many guests. 

He grasps my hand to gift me with a kiss on my fingers, despite the presence of our guests, and I know we will have much to talk about tonight. 

“I will see you back at home,” he tells me.

Such a simple phrase and yet as the spring breezes dry his hair, I cannot help but think of how far we have travelled together since our first meeting a year ago. I can only nod as he releases my hand, calls out a farewell to the rest of the party before he picks up the bucket of water and hurries back inside. 

As we set off again, Mr. Hawthorne continues to turn about and stare from whence we came until I become annoyed with it.

“I assure, Mr. Hawthorne, you will be granted an opportunity to examine Cicero. He is a remarkable horse and I am certain my husband will oblige.”

“Yes, Gale, she is certain her husband will oblige,” Mr. Fremont says. There is something strange in his tone and Gale clears his throat before turning his mount at last to point in the direction in which we travel.

I continue to act as a guide, pointing out various features of the land, explaining the crops we grow and so much more. At one point, a break in the trees along the roadside reveals one of my favorite sights of my home. And today… today it is beyond perfection.

“Oh,” Madge breathes. “I had forgotten how lovely this meadow is in the spring.”

I had not. It is a rolling sea of green grass, dotted throughout with vibrant yellow and orange blooms, and yet I see it now through different eyes a warm joy filling my breast as I run a hand over the swell of growing child. How I wish I could raise our children here for always. Since I am uncertain that I shall be able to, I intend to pluck joy from every moment that I can. I beg a favor of Rory and he is swift to dismount.

“Only one,” I beg and he moves carefully to not trample any before plucking one lush orange bloom and handing it to me.

“Will this suffice, Mrs. Mellark?”

“Perfectly,” I tell him and then continue the tour.

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

The word you seek this time is but one letter and found countless times throughout this chapter, indeed through every chapter, a crucial piece of every first person narrative.

To be continued…