#as they say he's been cooped up in his castle and she in the convent both bored af | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sesamestreep · 4 years ago

Text

if dreams were thunder, and lightning was desire

(read on AO3)

(read the whole series here)

SUMMARY: It's one thing to agree to get married for symbolic reasons in the name of political unity. It's another thing entirely to actually be married. [AKA - further adventures in that arranged marriage medieval fantasy AU of Rogue One]

A/N: Here I am, arriving three years late with proverbial Starbucks, to post my now once-yearly attempt at fic! I'm actually posting this as a birthday gift to my forever girl @firstelevens who is also responsible for helping me flesh out this idea in the first place.... [checks notes] uh, four years ago. Happy happy birthday and thank you for being the most supportive and wonderful friend in the multiverse, even though I’ve recently become terrible at replying to texts. Further notes are there if you want them if you follow the AO3 link above!

Cassian Andor wakes up to an empty bed, which is not, in and of itself, a startling thing. In fact, there was a time, only a few months ago, when it would have been a much greater surprise to find the other side of his bed occupied. Even now that he is married, waking to find his wife already up and gone is not an uncommon occurrence. The first few times he woke to find her gone, he had been confused, certainly, but he has adjusted to her habits and the sight of her side of the bed empty no longer inspires panic or concern as it had in the beginning.

However, this morning is different. Cassian’s wife is an early riser almost without exception, but she is not normally so far ahead of him that her side of the bed is as cold as it is now when Cassian runs his palm over the linens. Even more startling is the darkness that still lingers outside the window. It’s not yet dawn, then, and she is already awake and about the castle. That is highly unusual.

Perhaps, if Cassian had slept well, he might let these confusing details go. But he never sleeps well the night before he travels and tomorrow—or today, actually, given the hour—he leaves on a scouting mission to the southern provinces. He has slept fitfully most of the night and apparently only got enough actual sleep to let his wife slip out of their chambers unnoticed. He sighs and throws off the bedding, knowing he won’t get any more rest until he knows where Jyn has gone.

In little more than three months of marriage, Cassian cannot say he’s gotten to know his wife well. She is secretive and aloof, as a rule, and he has done all he can to give her the space she seems to yearn for, because he knows that, while she has accepted him as a husband, she did not choose him. Their union is a symbolic one, designed to mollify two disparate factions of the Rebellion as they struggle to rule together. He and Jyn are not royalty or even particularly important people, aside from that. No one is waiting on them for heirs or anything of that sort, and they can spend the rest of their lives as indifferent to each other as they please.

Still, Cassian cannot help that he has learned things about his wife, in spite of the careful distance that exists between them. He is a spy, after all. His job is to discover new information, even—or perhaps, especially—when the other party does not wish to give it to him. Jyn is adept at hiding things from others, but even she is not a complete mystery to him. No one is, for one thing, but she has the distinct disadvantage of sharing a bed with him.

What he knows does not amount to much, truly. Except that he had heard his wife complain more than once, in an undertone to her brother, of how restless and bored she feels cooped up in the stone walls of the castle. That, and the early hour where almost everyone else will still be in bed, suggests to Cassian that he would do well to get dressed and try to find his wife outside.

His instincts are correct in this case, as he finds her on the southern lawn outside the castle, standing alone and, he imagines, waiting for the sunrise that is beginning to tinge the sky with an orange glow just above the horizon. He takes the opportunity, before she hears him approach, to pause and take in the image of her, alone in the pretty half-light of the early morning.

She wears no overcoat, which irks him for reasons he does not fully understand. By midday, there is a good chance it will be a balmy spring day, but now, it is still chilly and damp without the sun to warm them. Jyn could catch a cold in this weather and Cassian has never known someone who can be so cautious and so careless at the same time.

On the other hand, she did go through the trouble of getting fully dressed before heading out, so perhaps Cassian should be thankful. He apparently also got more sleep than he realized, because he hadn’t heard any sound at all while she got her clothes on in the dark of their bedchamber. He half-expected her to still be in her dressing gown, given her lack of concern with convention.

He wishes he could say she looked tranquil as she surveys the forested land that borders the castle, but, for all he can only just make out her features in the minimal lighting, he can tell she is frowning. He thinks, absently, that she is beautiful nonetheless and then regrets it. He should not be distracted by her looks when he knows she is unhappy.

The distant call of a bird draws her attention in his direction and he sees the way her eyes widen in alarm when they land upon him before she thinks to hide her reaction. His opportunity to observe her unnoticed is gone, and he has no choice but to cross the distance between them, though he does try to appear unhurried.

“Good morning, Captain,” she greets him as he comes nearer and he almost stops short.

It always trips him up when she refers to him by his rank. It’s fine when others do so—that is protocol—but hearing it from his wife always strikes him as odd. He has told her as much, but there are moments when she defers to it still. He believes, though he has no proof of this, that she does it on purpose, that she only uses it when she is in a certain mood. Cassian has yet to ascertain what that mood is—if she is being sarcastic, if she is angry, if it might be her way of showing affection, even—but he knows there is some motive behind it that he does not understand. If he knew, he might be able to respond in some clever way, but as it is, he is at a loss for words.

“Good morning, my lady,” he says, and perhaps he is cleverer than he gives himself credit for, because Jyn’s frown deepens momentarily before she can stop herself. “You are up early today.”

“As are you,” she says, her tone suggesting that she heard the question hidden in his statement and she won’t be responding to it.

Cassian laughs, without meaning to. “I couldn’t find my wife this morning. It was an alarming way to wake up.”

He expects a terse response from her, saying that she is always awake before him. Instead, Jyn’s eyebrows raise in surprise and her frown eases, just a bit. “You were worried?” She asks, disbelieving.

“I—of course I was,” he replies. He is always worried, he doesn’t know how she hasn’t noticed yet.

“About me?”

“Yes,” he says, puzzled by her need for clarification. “We’re married. It is my duty to worry about you.”

Jyn tsks at that, whether in understanding or disappointment, he’s not sure. “And you are always dutiful,” she says, her tone unreadable still.

“I try to be,” Cassian says, feeling like he is stuck in a game of wits for which he is unprepared. He is capable and coherent around others, but his wife always has the upper hand on him. It never feels like he has the right answer for her. Even now, she nods before looking away, back at the horizon as it becomes rosier by the moment.

“Are you well?” He asks, when the silence starts to stretch out too long.

She blinks in confusion when she looks back at him, as if she had forgotten he was there. “I—yes, of course,” she says, and he realizes it was the question that confused her. “Do I not look well?”

Another question to which there is no right answer, he thinks. “It’s very early to be out of bed,” he says, instead of answering her question.

“I am always up early.”

“Not this early.”

“Have I done something wrong, Captain?”

“Jyn, I’m not chastising you,” he says, laughing. He’s not amused, not precisely, but if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll probably shout from frustration. This feels safer. “I’m asking if something is troubling you. I want to know that you are alright.”

His obvious frustration must outweigh her annoyance, because everything about her—her expression, her posture—immediately softens, the fight going out of her instantly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be defensive. I just couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you, not when you’re leaving this morning, but I see that I did anyway.”

“You didn’t. I...never sleep well before a journey.”

“Oh?”

He hesitates to say more, lest he seem like he sought her out just to drop his problems at her feet, but she is watching him with interest and, if he’s not mistaken, concern, so perhaps she would not mind. “All of the details, the logistics of the trip, I go over them, in my head, all night long. I’m practically frantic by morning, most of the time.”

“I—” Jyn cuts herself off, shaking her head, like she had something to say and thought the better of it. “I have a hard time imagining you in a frantic state,” she says, instead.

“Well, then,” he says, feeling some strange twinge of pride, “I suppose I am doing my job well.”

“As a spy, perhaps,” she replies, her tone unreadable.

“What other job do I have?” He asks, ignoring the fact that he’s not, officially speaking, a spy anymore. His actual title has something to do with “intelligence,” a distinction he’s meant to care about a lot more than he actually does. He’s not spying in the same way that he was during the war, but he’s not delusional enough to tell himself that those aren’t the skills the Republic has kept him around for.

Jyn gives him a long, searching look. “It hardly matters,” she says, finally, waving a hand and looking off at the horizon again. She’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “I’m a miserable excuse for a wife, though, not noticing that you couldn’t sleep.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Of course not,” she says, smiling, though the light of it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You are far too polite.”

“‘Polite’ is not the first word most people would use to describe me, my lady.”

“‘Careful,’ then,” she says, pointedly.

Cassian nods, feeling as if he has lost this round. “That is far more likely.” He pauses before he says anything more, weighing the risk of it, but ultimately decides it might be worth saying. “I did not want to trouble you. I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I often am, at odd hours,” she says, and there’s something light and teasing about it now. “And you could stand to trouble me more, Captain. I’ve never heard of such an undemanding husband before.”

Unable to parse what she means when she suggests he “trouble” her when he cannot sleep—and unwilling to use his imagination, knowing where it will lead him—he decides to address a less mystifying part of her comment. “I’ve told you that you needn’t call me that,” he says.

“‘Husband?’” She asks, innocently, though he sees a bit of performance in it.

“No. ‘Captain.’”

“Well, you still call me ‘my lady.’ Only one of those honorifics is still worth anything, and it surely isn’t mine.”

“I only call you ‘my lady’ when…”

“Yes?” Jyn’s features take on the expression of an animal that has backed its prey into a corner, leaving it no options of retreat.

Cassian thinks it unwise to point this out, though. He also thinks it unwise to finish what he was about to say, which is that he only calls her ‘my lady’ when he wants to call her ‘my dear’ or something equally sentimental that he’s sure she would not approve of. It feels disingenuous to him, as well. He simply finds his vocabulary for expressing the intimacy of living so closely with another person without encroaching upon the territory of affection rather wanting. He cares for her, of course—why else would he be out of bed and out of doors on a freezing morning if he didn’t?—but there is hardly a chance of love or even affection in a marriage as young and unfamiliar as theirs.

“When I do not know what else to call you,” he says, instead of the truth. It’s barely even a lie, but it nags at him like one regardless. He has been trying to lie less around his wife, but it’s a difficult habit to break.

“My name would work well enough,” Jyn replies, her tone caught somewhere between amused and suspicious.

“So would mine.”

She hesitates before responding, looking shy, although it is a rare thing from her. “I thought you might like it, being called by your rank.”

“Not from you,” he says, immediately. “I am called that by enough people. When I’m home, when I’m with you, I am just your husband.”

He doesn’t realize the way this sounds—sentimental, the very thing he was avoiding—until the words are out of his mouth and Jyn’s face goes blank with astonishment. She recovers quickly, though, looking down at her feet.

“As you wish, husband,” she says, quietly.

“Well, you know now why I could not sleep. What has kept you awake?”

“Bad dreams,” she says, matter-of-factly. “As always.”

“Always?” Cassian repeats, concerned. He didn’t know she had nightmares. She shifts in her sleep often, he has noticed, always twisting herself into shapes that cannot possibly be comfortable, but he’s never known her to cry or panic enough to wake herself, the way he associates with nightmares.

“Most nights,” she confirms, looking away to avoid his gaze.

She crosses her arms over her chest, although he cannot tell if it’s a defensive gesture or simply because she is cold. He decides to proceed as though it is the latter and begins to slip his arms out of his coat’s sleeves. The rustling of the fabric draws her gaze back to him and her eyes widen with alarm when she realizes what he means to do.

“Oh, no,” she says, waving a hand to ward him off. “Don’t bother. You will freeze without it.”

“Is that so?” Cassian asks, ignoring her protests and pulling his jacket off completely.

“I know how cold you get,” she says, archly. There are things she has learned from sharing a bed with him, too, it appears.

He doesn’t take the bait to argue with her and instead steps forward until he’s only a single pace away from her and sweeps the jacket over her shoulders. She stands stiffly as he does so, as if she cannot figure out her part in this scene. Or perhaps she worries the slightest gesture will upset the moment they are sharing, though this idea might be romantic nonsense on Cassian’s part.

He draws the coat tighter around her body by the lapels and he fidgets with the collar so it will stand up and block the cold wind, since she has no scarf. He wants nothing more in the world than to take her hair that has gotten trapped in the collar and draw it out for her, if only for the excuse it would give him to run his hands through it without the risk of giving himself away. All the while, Jyn watches him with her chin tipped up, her eyes narrowed in obvious but neutral interest. Perhaps he has already given himself away.

“Do not worry on my account,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. He has finished arranging the coat around her shoulders, but his hands still linger on the lapels, holding it together, not wanting to let go and give up his excuse to be close to her. “If I am any good at my job, I will convince you to come inside before I even feel the cold.”

“Your job?” Jyn asks, warily. “As a spy?”

“Yes, and as a husband.”

“It is your duty as my husband to ensure I do not freeze to death?”

“Amongst other things.” He means it plainly enough, but in this close proximity, he sees the way Jyn bites her lip and look away at the implication of his words and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He tries to steer the conversation elsewhere, no matter how artlessly. “I have nightmares too.”

Jyn’s head snaps up. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“About the war?”

Cassian swallows and words feel more difficult than he anticipated, so he simply nods. It’s probably important that his wife knows these things about him, especially if he wants her to tell him things too.

She watches him carefully, as if she’s waiting for a trap but Cassian just gazes steadily back at her, to see if she’ll trust him. After a moment, she sighs and says, more to his chest than to his face, “most of mine are from when I was young.”

“I have a few of those too.”

Jyn nods, closing her eyes. Cassian transfers the lapels of the coat into one hand, so that his other one is free to rub her shoulder. He wants her to say more, but he doesn’t want to pressure her. Without warning, she steps further into his embrace, close enough that she’s able to perch her chin on his shoulder. Though her face is turned away from him, the sweetness of the gesture nearly overwhelms him. He places his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, just so she doesn’t think to pull away.

“I think the trouble is not having much to occupy my time here,” she says, after a moment, and Cassian could collapse with relief at hearing her speak. “I’m not accustomed to idleness. And when I try to sleep, my mind is still awake and it gives me these vivid dreams.”

He can’t help himself any longer. He smooths a hand over the back of her head, brushing back some strands of hair that have come loose from where she’s tried to tie it at the nape of her neck. He thinks he feels her pull closer. “And what do you dream of?”

“My brother and I, when we were young, we were always out of doors. We’d have breakfast with my mother and then she’d send us away and we’d spend all day together, collecting rocks and shells from the beaches or scrambling over rocks. We never came home until dinner.”

“That doesn’t sound like a nightmare to me.”

“It was lovely,” she says, sounding pained, and he tightens his hold on her. “I had a very idyllic childhood, in most regards. Mostly because my parents didn’t tell me anything that was going on.”

Cassian laughs, lightly, at that. “That’s what parents are supposed to do.”

Jyn buries her face in his shoulder, hiding from his gaze. “A lot of good it did me,” she says, and even her tone sounds closed-off.

“What happens in your dreams?” He asks, quietly. He knows she probably wants to end this conversation and pretend it never happened, but he needs her to know that he’s here, that he’s willing to listen.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, as if to prepare herself. “It’s just me and Bodhi as children, running around wild like always. At first, it feels like a memory, but then it starts to feel…sinister. I don’t really know how to describe it, it’s just this inexplicable dread that washes over me. Sometimes, we can hear people coming, a great mass of them, and we get scared. Other times, there’s some terrible storm moving in, faster than we can run. But we try to get home, anyway. We’re always running to find my mother, to warn her. It always feels so important that we get to her. And the ground falls away beneath our feet. Sometimes, I lose Bodhi; he falls or gets hurt and he’s crying out for my help but I can’t stop, or sometimes, he just disappears and I can’t remember how to get home. And I’m completely alone.”

After a moment’s silence, Jyn pulls back in his embrace. He doesn’t let her go, but he does give her some space. “Foolish, isn’t it?” She asks, with a false smile. He can hear the unshed tears in her voice and knows she’s trying to make light of it so he doesn’t think her weak.

“No,” he says, firmly, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. “Not at all. But you and your brother survived the war, Jyn. And you’re together. It must be some comfort to you.”

“Yes, it is. Of course it is. But our parents didn’t survive. And that version of us, the children who used to play on the beach together, they didn’t survive the war, either. Our lives are so different now. I think that’s what the dream is about.”

“You wish to go home?”

“I wish to go back,” she says, bearing his personal question with grace. She thinks on it a moment, before sighing in frustration and shaking her head. “If only it was as simple as returning to Lah’mu. But I know that the place will not be the same now as it was then. And I am different too.”

“Perhaps that’s why something is always wrong in your dream,” Cassian muses. “You long to go back to that time in your life, but you know you don’t belong there anymore. Maybe that’s the source of the tension you feel in the dream.”

Jyn looks at him, appraisingly, and he worries that he overstepped somehow. However, when she finally speaks, she doesn’t seem offended. “What do you dream of, Captain?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You said you have nightmares too.”

“Oh, yes,” he replies, with considerable effort. He’d forgotten about that admission. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Of course,” Jyn says, and her expression shutters immediately. “You’re under no obligation to tell me.”

Cassian reaches for a stray piece of hair that’s brushing against her collarbone, twisting the errant strand around his finger loosely. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he says, quietly and more plaintively than he meant to. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried about offending her by accident. “I’m not equivocating. I really do not know how to describe them.”

“Do you even wish to?” She asks, with a sharpness he deserves but is still unprepared for.

“No,” he answers honestly, which makes her blink in surprise. “I do not wish to tell you anything that will make you think less of me.”

“You should not worry about that.”

“Is your opinion of me already so low?” He asks, with every intention of making light of it but the question comes out unfortunately earnest.

Jyn, for her part, looks bewildered. “No,” she says, immediately. “Quite the opposite. I have a hard time imagining anything you could say that would make me think less of you.”

He takes a deep breath, looking away from her face and focusing instead on the strand of hair he’s still toying with. “I always dream of people I’ve…lost. People I’ve hurt or abandoned,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “It’s much like what you’ve described, I think. They feel like memories but I know they’re not quite right. And I know there’s nothing I can do to change what happens. So I just have to live through it again. And again. Until I wake up.”

As he’s speaking, Jyn reaches for him, closing her hand around his wrist where it’s resting against her shoulder. When he feels the weight of her thumb pressing into the space between the bones of his forearm, he releases the lock of her hair, letting it unspool from around his finger. He’d pull his hand back completely, but her grip on him tightens like she’s read his mind. She brings his hand close enough that she can press her lips to the spot where his pulse is now racing wildly.

“You ought to have told me sooner,” she says, and she must be able to feel his heartbeat against her lips. The thought makes him warm with both embarrassment and anticipation.

He swallows with considerable effort. “To what end?”

“There are things,” she says, against the soft skin of his inner wrist, “that a wife can do. To help her husband sleep. To take his mind off his worries. I could do those things for you, if you wanted. You need only ask.”

She makes it sound so simple, as if they had the sort of marriage where they stated their desires plainly to each other, where they asked for what they wanted and then got it. But the asking is the most difficult part, in Cassian’s experience, or maybe the wanting is. They’ve been intimate together in the way Jyn is implying only once, on their wedding night, and, while enjoyable, it hardly left him with a strong sense of what his wife wants or expects from him.

Now, though, Jyn is offering that to him again. There was no mistaking it. His own need startles him, thrumming in his veins so loudly that he can hardly think. He has weeks of travel ahead of him, weeks of sleeping on the hard ground with only young, raucous soldiers for company. It will be cold and lonely and it will not even occur to him to complain, to dislike it, since it’s all he knows. Or, rather, it was all he knew before he was married. Before Jyn. He would be wise to avail himself of his wife’s offer while he can, enjoy the softness of her before he leaves and knows no softness of any kind for weeks.

He takes too long considering it, though, for Jyn’s face falls and she pulls back from him, only a little but it feels like a great distance, when they are this close. “Of course, you should feel no obligation to—”

“I don’t,” he replies, hastily. “I don’t feel any obligation.”

“I merely thought I should offer,” she says, and her eyes lower to avoid his gaze.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Cassian says, closing his eyes in embarrassment. “What I meant to say is…what I feel for you is not obligation.”

He can feel her looking at him now, the scrutiny in her gaze obvious even with his eyes still closed. “And what do you feel for me, Captain?” She asks, carefully.

An overwhelming and terrible want , he thinks. A desire so deep he has yet to discover the bottom of it. A dangerous kind of possessiveness, like they belong to one another, even though they’re not the sort of people who belong to anyone, or the sort to hold onto anything they’re given too tightly, because they know the pain of having it taken away.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he makes the mistake of opening his eyes and looking at her and the only logical conclusion to that action is to step forward and kiss her. His hand, the one she’s not still holding captive, curves around her cheek as his mouth covers hers. Her lips part for him without hesitation and their kiss deepens. It’s as good as their wedding night, but this time he’s sharp and clear headed, not hazy and tired from long hours of drinking and celebrating, and he intends to memorize every single detail. The way she wraps her arm around him and her fingers dig into his shoulder blade, desperate for purchase. The sound of surprise she made when their lips first met and how it mellows into a quiet hum of satisfaction, as if she’s been waiting for this.

When she pulls away from him after a few moments, it takes everything in his power not to whine in complaint. But they’re both breathing heavily and Jyn’s hair is even more disheveled than before, which might be his fault but could also be from the wind that’s doing its best to push them back to their warm bed. He’s beginning to think they should listen, and he’s about to say as much, when Jyn speaks first.

“You’re cold,” she says, and he’s about to take it the wrong way when she pulls his hand from her face and wraps it up in both of her own to warm it.

He laughs, more overwhelmed than anything else. “I don’t feel it,” he says, because he was too busy feeling everything else.

She levels an arch look at him, either because she’s not impressed with his effort to flatter her or because she’s actually worried he’s going to catch his death like this, kissing her on a hillside in the early morning. He’s going to die somehow, it might as well be like this, he thinks, but he doesn’t try to kiss her again. He has the sense that she has more to say.

“You can kiss me in our bedroom, you know,” she says, making it worth the wait.

His heartbeat races, caught somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. “I can?” He asks, stupidly.

Jyn searches his face, looking for something. Reassurance, perhaps, or sincerity. Whatever she’s looking for, she must find it, because she nods, slowly, and a smile overtakes her face. “You can kiss me anywhere you like,” she says, and it does his heart rate no favors.

Cassian steps back, grabbing her hand so he can pull her with him in the direction of the castle. She follows him and, as they walk, he pulls her into his side, burying his face in her neck and planting a kiss there. When she squirms slightly and elbows him in the ribs, he laughs against her skin.

“You said anywhere ,” he says, and she laughs too.

***

The next morning, the castle bustles with activity as Cassian leaves his briefing with Draven. Using the former seat of the emperor’s power as the headquarters of the government of the New Republic has always struck him as a smart choice on the part of the rebels, from a symbolic standpoint and in a practical sense of needing the actual work of governing the country to happen somewhere. By its very nature, a castle is almost comically oversized for one person’s needs, even a ruler’s, and so the former rebels had made a much better use of the space than the emperor ever had.

However, on this particular morning, with his mind already running through logistics of the mission ahead and planning what to say to the soldiers he’s bringing along, Cassian finds the crowded halls and corridors more grating than he normally does. It hadn’t seemed possible to feel this way during the war, when the emperor’s excesses had seemed so absurd and villainous, but Cassian is beginning to wonder if maybe the castle is too small for their purposes. The new government will loathe the idea of expanding, will object to spending money on something so frivolous, but it may be necessary, he thinks, as he bumps into yet another person in the crush of people moving about as he makes his way to the courtyard. The small party of soldiers accompanying him on this mission are gathering there now and they’re meant to depart in less than an hour. It will not set a good tone for the next few weeks if their captain keeps them waiting.

Much like in the old days—and it is staggering to think of the rebellion as something of the past, he realizes with a lurch—these missions are to gather information on activity across the Republic. However, unlike in the old days, he’s not trying to find the one piece of intelligence he’s certain will win the war for the rebels, which is a welcome change. He’s also, generally speaking, not in constant mortal danger anymore, though there are some areas of the country that the war ravaged worse than others, leaving desperation and crime in its wake. That’s why Draven still sends Cassian on these scouting missions, to see what corners of the nation still need aid or resources. Peacetime has been far from perfect for everyone, but even with the things he’s seen, Cassian can’t deny most people, himself included, are better off.

He’s so lost in his thoughts of the mission as he makes his way to the rendezvous point he arranged with the party that Bodhi must have had to call his name a half a dozen times before Cassian finally heard him. By the time he turns around, Bodhi is practically at his elbow, which is both impressive and guilt-inducing, from the way Cassian can see him leaning heavily on his cane. He does his best not to wince, because Bodhi doesn’t enjoy being fretted over, and slows down so his brother-in-law can more easily keep pace with him instead.

“Captain,” Bodhi exclaims, managing to only sound slightly out of breath, “I’m glad I caught you!”

“Coming to see me off, Captain Rook?” Cassian asks, pointedly.

Bodhi looks properly chastened. “Sorry, Cassian. I’m still not used to it.”

“Calling me by my first name or being a captain yourself?”

“Either,” he says, and Cassian understands. Bodhi was only promoted to Captain after his heroics in the Battle of Eadu and it was only a few months later that the treaty was signed. He’s only ever been a captain in peacetime. “I just don’t fully think of you as my sister’s husband yet.”

That does make Cassian wince and he isn’t quick enough to hide it from Bodhi, whose eyes immediately widen in alarm. “Not like that!” he practically shouts. “I mean, it’s nothing to do with you! I just can’t believe Jyn has a husband at all. In my head, she’s still six years old and telling me what to do all the time.”

“To be fair, she does still tell you what to do,” Cassian replies. “No change in your rank will ever change that.”

Bodhi laughs. “You’re certainly right about that.” After a brief pause, he adds, “Where is my sister, anyway? Isn’t she coming to see you off?”

“Oh, well, she’s—no.” He clears his throat. “We’ve already said our goodbyes.”

Bodhi nods absently, seemingly satisfied with this answer and mercifully doesn’t ask for any further details. Cassian is not sure his nonchalant facade would hold up under questioning and the exact nature of the goodbye he and his wife shared this morning would soon be extremely obvious to her brother. It’s better for everyone if they somehow avoid that outcome altogether.

His relief is short-lived, however, when Bodhi suddenly asks, “And did she…uh…did she get a chance to, well…?”

They arrive at the training yard before Bodhi arrives at his actual question. Cassian pauses in the archway that leads into the yard and turns to face him. “What is it?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, I was just wondering if my sister got a chance to speak with you?”

“Bodhi, your sister and I are married. We speak with one another quite often as a result. You will need to be more specific.”

Bodhi makes a face that suggests he would much rather do anything else. “I thought she might have mentioned the incident with Senator Jebel?” he says, voice stuck between a statement and a question.

Cassian blinks, searching his memory for anything relevant. “Incident?” He finally asks, when nothing comes to mind. He doesn’t like the sound of that.

“‘Incident’ might be too strong a word,” Bodhi admits apologetically.

“Here’s an idea: why don’t you tell me what happened and I’ll decide what the correct word for it is?”

“It’s just—if Jyn didn’t tell you about it, then it clearly didn’t bother her very much. I certainly don’t want to insert myself into the middle of your marriage!”

Cassian doesn’t point out that it’s a little late for that sentiment and instead asks, as calmly as he can manage, “What happened, Bodhi?”

“Well, it was just—” He pauses as a few people pass between them to exit into the yard, shifting his weight uncomfortably while trying to maintain his grip on his cane. When they’re gone, he continues, “Jyn and I were walking together the other day when we came across Lieutenant Tuesso walking with Senator Jebel. And, well, Kay was saying something to her about passing along some information for your upcoming scouting mission and—actually, Jyn told him to tell it to you himself because she’s not your secretary—”

Cassian smiles at that, able to picture it so clearly. Kay is perhaps his oldest friend and the person he trusts most in the field, but he and Jyn get along like oil and water. Still, if Kay had truly objected to Cassian’s marriage, he would have done everything in his power to stop it, but he’d only asked if Cassian was sure before giving his blessing. Well, it was more like his resignation, but coming from Kay, they’re basically the same thing. Cassian likes to imagine that Jyn’s fiery temper and sharp wit secretly amuse Kay but he’s simply too stubborn to admit it.

“But that’s not the point,” Bodhi says, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “The point is: Kay was talking about your trip and Senator Jebel asked why you were being sent off on a mission so close to your wedding, to which Jyn replied that it had been three months and that it wasn't terribly close. And then the Senator said she must have been very confident in…well, winning you over, if she was comfortable sending you off on your own so soon.”

“‘Winning me over’? What does that even mean?”

Bodhi looks uncomfortable. “You know, as a wife?” He says, sounding pained. When Cassian just stares at him blankly, he sighs and adds, begrudgingly, “Senator Jebel may have implied that a man of your rank might use a mission like this to…avail themselves of the sexual talents of women other than their wives, you know, during their travels. Unless, of course, the wife in question had already proved herself irreplaceable in that regard.”

Cassian knows that Bodhi has expressed himself clearly and put all of his words in the right order, and yet he still cannot comprehend a single thing he’s just heard. They stare at each other in silence—his baffled, Bodhi’s embarrassed—for a long time before anything clicks into place in Cassian’s mind.

“He said this to Jyn?” He asks, finally. It’s hard to speak around all of the dread pooling at the base of this throat.

Bodhi cringes. “Well, he really said it to me and Kay. He was talking over Jyn’s head, which sounds better but, as you can imagine, made it much worse.”

“And what did she have to say to all this?”

“I made sure to drag her away as quickly as possible and Kay distracted the Senator with just as much haste!”

“Bodhi,” Cassian says on an exhale. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling the early signs of a headache coming on. “What did Jyn say?”

His shoulders sag in defeat. “She only said that she had no concerns on that front,” Bodhi says, plainly unsure if he’s helping or hurting at this point. “And then I made our excuses and got her away from him as soon as I could, I promise!”

“I believe you,” Cassian replies, holding up a hand in acknowledgement. “And I appreciate your efforts to take care of your sister.”

“I thought perhaps her feelings had been hurt by Senator Jebel’s comments, but since she has not mentioned the incident to you, perhaps she dismissed them as quickly as they deserved.”

“Perhaps,” Cassian says, for Bodhi’s benefit, but his mind is on his wife’s behavior this morning; all of her talk of the ways a wife could comfort her husband, how solicitous of his troubles she’d been, how vulnerable she’d seemed herself, even the kisses they’d shared and the way she’d allowed him to take her to bed. How different it all looked in this new light. Of course she wouldn’t mention the conversation with the Senator to him—to do so would be, in Jyn’s mind, to admit to a weakness, that she cared at all what others thought of their marriage or, worse, that she cared what Cassian thought of her as a wife—but it wouldn’t stop her from taking it as advice.

So she’d seduced him, and quite adeptly at that. He hadn’t even realized it was happening. He might have known better, under other circumstances, but he’d naively thought that being married to someone meant that you didn’t have to concern yourself with seduction. If his wife wanted to sleep with him, it seemed to him that all she had to do was show interest in such a thing or, heaven forbid, simply say so, and she could have her way. To play such games about it seems counterproductive to him, but given how easily he was manipulated on this occasion, Cassian might not be the person to ask.

“I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,” Bodhi says, anxiously, at which point Cassian realizes he has been staring off into space for a long moment.

“Of course not,” he says immediately. “I appreciate your telling me.”

“You won’t tell Jyn I mentioned it, will you?”

“No. Like you said, if it had bothered her, she would have told me herself.” It isn’t true, not in the slightest, but Cassian can see that Bodhi needs to hear it. “Besides, now I can use my spare time on this trip to plan my revenge on Senator Jebel.”

“Revenge?” Bodhi asks, wide-eyed with concern. It’s sometimes hard to believe someone as tenderhearted as he is fought in the war, let alone survived it.

Cassian waves a hand dismissively. “I’m not thinking of challenging him to a duel, Bodhi. Relax. But there are a great many ways a man of my position can make his life…uncomfortable and I shall enjoy thinking of as many of them as possible.”

“I am once again reminded how glad I am to be on your good side, Cassian,” Bodhi says, faintly. “And that you’re looking out for my sister.”

Cassian has never felt less capable of doing any such thing, not when Jyn is still keeping secrets from him and treating him as an opponent, but he nods anyway. His wife would likely roll her eyes at the sentiment, but he cannot stand by knowing that someone made her feel small even for a moment. He gets a savage sort of thrill out of the idea that she shall have his protection, whether she wants it or not.

“I am glad to be of service,” he says, vaguely. “But I’m afraid I must give the soldiers their orders now if we’re to be off on time.”

“Of course. Safe travels.” Bodhi offers his hand for Cassian to shake and then claps him on the shoulder as he takes his leave.

Cassian is certain that he relays Draven’s orders to the soldiers assembled in the yard as soon as he’s done speaking with Bodhi but he can’t actually remember a single thing he said by the time he’s securing the saddle on his own horse. His only excuse is that his mind is obviously elsewhere. Even though he knows he should focus on the mission ahead, he can’t stop thinking about Jyn.

As though he’s conjured her, she suddenly appears in the courtyard, with Kay and Senator Mothma in tow. The latter two are deep in conversation about something, while his wife doesn’t seem to be participating at all if the mild, far-off look on her face is any indication. It’s not surprising to see them all together; he’s sure that the Senator is the one who approved their scouting mission for General Draven and that he asked Kay to appraise her of the mission’s status because he’d rather not do it himself. And Jyn and Senator Mothma are often in each other’s company. Jyn often jokes that the Senator has claimed her as an unofficial assistant but Cassian suspects it’s just because she doesn’t want to admit that they are friends.

Before he can think better of it, Cassian calls out to Jyn, despite the fact that she’s on the other side of the courtyard still. It doesn’t occur to him until afterwards that shouting to get someone’s attention in a crowded area is probably bad manners, especially if that person is a lady. She looks startled to hear her name and the soldiers scattered throughout the area look up in shock at hearing him raise his voice at all. When her eyes meet his across the yard, Jyn’s neutral, distant expression shutters, turning into something more wary and focused. Cassian tilts his chin very slightly to beckon her over, not risking a bigger gesture lest the assembled soldiers think they’re about to witness something salacious. He’s determined they won’t, and Jyn catches his meaning anyway, even from a distance, and begins to make her way over.

He means to use the long moment it will take her to reach him to plan what he will say, how he will broach this delicate subject with her without implicating her brother in divulging the information to him, but he’s too distracted by the sight of her. She’s dressed plainly enough, not being one for embellishment, but her dress is a deep burgundy that suits and fits her well and she’s gingerly holding the skirt to keep the hem from dragging along the dirty ground. He only has to think on her clothing for a moment before his mind supplies the image of her this morning, as he was preparing to leave, just in her nightshirt, only deigning to get out of their bed to give him one last kiss goodbye. It was the only time he can remember being tempted to stay in bed rather than get on with his work. By the time she arrives, his face is warm with the sort of embarrassment he thought he’d grow out of once he was married.

“Yes, my lord?” She asks, and he’d tell her again to do away with such pointless formality if he couldn’t see the bright glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She’s trying to be funny.

He still has no idea what to say to her. His mind remains a complete blank, while his pulse is running wild. There is no way to tell her she should have trusted him enough to tell him about the incident with Senator Jebel, or that he knows the intimate moment they shared this morning was more inspired by that than by any genuine passion on her part, without giving away that he’s been listening to gossip. To admit that would only succeed in raising her defenses and causing an argument.

She didn’t trust him. That’s the heart of the matter and what is bothering him the most. Or perhaps it is that, for once in his life, he acted without suspicion or subterfuge and now he looks like a fool. Without realizing it, he’d begun to trust her but apparently the feeling is not mutual. It is only once this thought articulates itself in his mind that he catches himself; he’s embarrassed. She’s injured nothing but his sense of pride—that he always knows when someone is lying to him, that he’s always the man in the room with the most information.

But what, really, is the cost? So what if she outsmarted him? It’s not life or death, this. He wishes she had felt safe enough to be honest with him, but he can hardly blame her that she didn’t. In the grand scheme of things, they hardly know each other and three months is not long enough to change a lifetime of mistrust in others, especially if one is accustomed to it as a means of survival. He still doesn’t know much about her past before they met, but if it was anything like his, he understands why opening up to him might prove difficult.

And maybe some of it was real—the dream she told him about, the reasons she has difficulty sleeping. Maybe she needed the ulterior motive of seducing him to make sure he doesn’t stray as an excuse to tell him the truth. And what does it tell her if he gets angry? How does it look if he holds it against her for being as secretive and wary as he always is himself? How can he ever expect her to trust him with anything if he lets his ego get in the way now? And perhaps more importantly, what does it really cost him to let her be right?

If she did what he thinks she did, it was an act of desperation, to ensure that she had some control over the life she was unceremoniously shoved into three months ago. She was afraid of the idea of him leaving on this trip and forgetting the vows he’d made as soon as she was out of sight. He can see now all the ways that her own ego is tied up in this—not wanting to be seen as an inadequate wife, wanting to prove Jebel wrong after he’d been so crass and unkind to her, and perhaps even worrying that Cassian felt the same way, that he had any complaints of their marriage—but he can also see further, to the core of the matter, where it’s just Jyn being afraid and alone. How can he punish her for that, when all he wants is for her to feel safe with him?

It costs him nothing to let her be right, then; to let her believe that he’s blissfully unaware of any hidden reason for her behavior or any conflict and just play the role of the devoted, smitten husband. It’s not as if he planned to be unfaithful to her while he was away, and giving her some assurance on that matter without revealing what he knows should be easy enough. Let her believe that her machinations paid off and she’s won her husband over with her feminine wiles. There’s no harm in that. When he thinks of it that way, it’s barely even a lie.

“Cassian,” she says now, eyes full of concern at his silently staring at her. “Is everything alright?”

He comes back to the present moment when her hand comes to rest on his arm. “Yes, everything is fine,” he says, weakly. “I apologize. There were probably less dramatic ways to get your attention.”

“No matter. I appreciate the efficiency of your method, I must say.”

“Still, I do not wish to embarrass you.” When he sees she means to shrug at that, he adds, “under any circumstances.”

She blinks at him, surprised, so some of his implied meaning must come through. “You do not embarrass me,” she replies, warily.

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Is that why you called me over?” She asks.

“No, I was—well, I realized I had forgotten to ask you if…well, if there was anything you needed.”

“Me?”

He nods, probably a touch too emphatically. He’s normally better at this, but Jyn has always caught him off guard. “Yes, I’m going to be traveling for the next few weeks and you can get almost anything from the markets in the southern provinces, so if there was anything you needed, I could bring it back for you.”

She stares at him as though he’s spoken in a language she’s never heard before. “I don’t believe I need anything at the present,” she says, finally, after considering her words for a long time.

“It doesn’t have to be something you need,” he says. “Something you want would suffice. Didn’t you lose your gloves recently?”

“No, I found them. I had left them in Senator Mothma’s chambers after she and I returned from a walk.”

“Still, I could get you nicer gloves.”

“It wouldn’t make much difference. I’d still forget them everywhere.”

“I could get you several pairs of gloves.”

“Cassian, what is this about?”

He covers her hand, still lingering on his arm, with his own, chafing her knuckles with his thumb. “Keeping your hands warm,” he says innocently.

She laughs incredulously. “You are not going away for the sole purpose of buying me presents. You will be busy with work. I imagine you will hardly have time to even think of me.”

“No, I’m afraid the real difficulty will be thinking of anything else,” Cassian says, his own pulse thundering behind his ears. It’s not the nerves of telling a lie and fearing getting caught, he realizes, but the panic of finally telling someone the long-guarded truth.

Jyn looks down at her feet, scuffing the toe of her shoe back and forth in the gravel. “You don’t need to say such things. I do not require flattery to sustain me.”

“Well, whether you’re flattered or not is incidental. What matters is that it’s true.”

“Is that why you said it?”

“Yes. I know the truth and I have a complicated relationship, sometimes by necessity, but I try to be honest with you, as much as I can be. And I can only hope that I get a little better at it with each try. It’s not much, I know, but—”

“It’s worth more than you think,” she says carefully.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He doesn’t say the rest of what he’s thinking— you can be honest with me too or I wish we could know each other better —because it feels like asking too much or risking betraying Bodhi’s confidence, so he leaves it at that.

Behind him, one of the lieutenants whistles for everyone’s attention. “Everyone is here and accounted for, Captain,” he adds, to Cassian. “We’re ready when you are.”

Cassian nods to him before looking back at Jyn just at the moment the wind picks up and loosens several strands of her hair from where it’s pulled back. He attempts to brush them back into place, while she watches him with amusement.

“It seems I must be going,” he says.

“So it does,” she replies. She appears to struggle with something, turning it over in her mind for a moment before she leans in and kisses him. His hand is still buried in her hair, trying to keep it from blowing about in the breeze again, and it helps him to keep her close. He’d normally be reticent to have such a display in front of his fellow soldiers—he doesn’t want to give them inspiration for gossip or a reason to tease him mercilessly if he has to spend the next several weeks in their company—but he’ll have to make an exception this time. It feels like a coded message from Jyn, that she trusts him, that he’s done well as her husband, at least in this moment. She’s not one to say so directly, and that’s fine. He’s willing to learn to speak her language, especially if it means kissing her like this more often.

However, common sense prevails eventually and he’s forced to pull back from her before they embarrass themselves in front of all the gathered soldiers. He runs his thumb over her cheek just once, feeling the chill of the morning there more than in his own body. “Goodbye, Jyn,” he says, quietly so only she can hear, and kisses her knuckles lightly for good measure.

“Take care of yourself,” she says, in a rush. Like she’s tried to keep it to herself but couldn’t manage it. “I expect you home in one piece or there will be hell to pay.”

“Of course, my dear,” he says as he steps up into the saddle.

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” the lieutenant beside Cassian chimes in, looking amused. “We will make sure nothing happens to your husband. You have my word.”

Cassian shakes his head at the young man, who looks even more shamelessly delighted, but Jyn is pleased by this, he can tell.

“Good,” she replies, nodding at him. “You don’t know me very well, sir, but I will tell you this: you would not like to be on my bad side.”

The lieutenant laughs. “No, ma’am, I would not. I’ll lead the party out, if you’d like, sir,” he adds to Cassian.

“Thank you,” Cassian replies. When the group has started to move out from the courtyard, he turns his attention back to Jyn and reaches his hand out to her.

She takes it, and plants a kiss on his knuckles. “My thoughts go with you,” she says.

“And mine stay here with you.”

The answering smile he receives stays with him as he follows the rest of the party out of the courtyard, as he lies on the cold ground of their camp that night, even as the mission turns long and tedious. It lasts until he can replace it in his memory with the smile he gets when he returns home again and sweeps her into his arms once more.

#rogue one #rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #bodhi rook #au #vaguely medieval fantasy au #my writing #my fic #one day i will title one of the fics in this series with actual graceland lyrics but today is not that day #i've been staring at this fic for three years basically just take it away from me please #anyway here's wonderwall #otp: built on hope #otp: your mother and i have been together ever since #HBD Zainab you elegant and industrious capybara

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terraclae · 7 years ago

Text

The Crypt

Arodan goes tomb dwelling for an afternoon.

Lore pings: @yuushanoah-fr @cityofinoue

This was the first time he swore he was hearing voices. Great, he lost his journal for once and he immediately started to lose himself. This was pure torture. Usually he entertained himself in the empty hours by writing conversations to Mimir, the book was quick to respond after all. It’s absence left a hole in him he wasn't equipped to cope with yet.

‘Are you lonely?’

‘I am not.’ He quietly responded. This was the library who asked him and he preferred not to repeat last time. ‘I'm just thinking too much, I'll get back to work soon.’

‘You have the eyes of someone lonely. You've lost something.’

‘Well, how would you know?’ Arodan asked as politely as he could remain. ‘What if I just had a bad night too?’

‘Well, I've seen many librarians that haven't slept well. They spent too much time here, I don't blame them.’ In the distance a pile of pillows shifted. ‘But your being radiates a different emotion.’

‘How do I feel?’

‘Lonely.’

‘That again.’ He bent over the book that lay on his desk in front of him again. Some of the pages were torn and needed to be stitched back into the cover. ‘I'm not lonely.’

‘What would you name it?’ This time a shelf, one a little closer to Arodan creaked and he had the distinct feeling Solaire had the faintest idea of having another taste of his energy again. ‘You know, I meant to ask you earlier, but have I been a good librarian?’

‘You repair the books, clean the shelves, sweep the floors and fluff the pillows. I'd say you're doing a pretty good job.’ Solaire’s voice echoed from a walkway right above him now and Arodan braced himself in the case he was about to be pounced. ‘I appreciate your presence.’

‘Why did you steal my energy the first time we met then?’

Solaire paused, and there was a rattling above him as if the shelves shook in one big shrug. ‘I always do that to the newbies. Your energy tasted rather peculiar and something slumbers in you.’ Arodan’s desk creaked as if someone had decided to sit down on it. ‘Now I know exactly who you are and that I can trust you to take care of these halls.’

‘Has it ever occurred to you that is perhaps a little creepy?’ Why was he arguing with Solaire on this anyway? He doubted a library had an understanding of normal social conventions. ‘Maybe you can just ask people who they are?’

‘Isn't this easier though?’ The desk creaked once more and Arodan gained the distinct feeling he was being watched closely. He expected a follow up question that in the end, never came.

‘... Where’s Mimir?’

He looked up and suddenly there was something solid in front of his desk, not someone, but something that had a body yes, just not a face that made sense. ‘I don't know. I think someone stole it.’ How he had managed to speak so clearly and flatly was a miracle considering what he was looking at. Solaire’s face looked exceptionally remarkable in the sense it looked as if someone who didn't actually know what the function was of a face and what it looked like molded it. Yet, for something so disturbing as soon as Arodan averted his eyes he couldn't remember a single detail of it. ‘There were only dark footprints on the floor and they lead into nowhere when I followed them.’

‘Ah. That's explains your loneliness.’

‘I'm not-’

‘Shh.’ Solaire hissed more than that she spoke. ‘Blackened, almost soot like footprints?’

‘... Yes?’ He lowered his voice and leant closer towards her. ‘Was it Sachairi who stole my journal? Because then why wouldn't he have taken the necklace?’

‘It wasn't Sachairi.’ She responded. She knew he was loose, but otherwise her knowledge on recent events remained fairly limited to what happened or was discussed by library patrons. ‘Do you want to hear a secret almost no one else has ever heard before?’

‘Is that a trick question?’ Arodan’s eyes darted briefly towards the door and Solaire seemed to catch on, the door locking on its own. ‘And why would you want to tell me?’

‘Because I know you won't tattle. I wouldn't be surprised if someone hadn't already threatened to hurt you if you ever spilled a secret so you understand how things work around here.’ Solaire tilted their head and the motion made a noise normal bones really shouldn't be able to make. ‘So?’

‘Okay, tell me. But I don't see how it has anything to do with Mim-My journal.’ Arodan waited for a response and watched Solaire sit down on his desk first, with her back turned to him.

‘Once, a long time ago, when this city’s gates were still open, the castle was more lively with the breaths and voices of people outside of this realm of snow and ice.’ Solaire started, something wispy to her voice. ‘There were far more audiences, people often met with the king, and we held many balls for royalties of other kingdoms. It was always spectacular to see what innovative types of dress people would show up in and how they partied from dusk till dawn. This castle used to be truly alive.’

‘So, what awful thing happened?’ Arodan asked, cocking his head in unamused fashion knowing what he could expect. ‘What changed?’

‘Many things, but this particular shard of being is vital as to who has your book.’ Solaire laughed at Arodan and continued her story. ‘A fire broke out, actually. Not a particularly big one, not foul play, a pure accident. A few guests perished in the fire and hmm… It was a real mood killer.’

‘Mood killer? Really?’ His voice cracked a little at that, because something that detached from reality couldn't just have been used to describe something like that. ‘Who were they?’

‘A duke, some servants, a messenger, and someone who to this day, no one knows of who they were because there was so little left. She however, is not unknown to me.’ Solaire continued and seemed very pleased with herself. ‘One day a little bird, a ghost drifted in here, and introduced herself as Merope. Queen Merope, Balam and Kassa later found out.’

‘Queen? Queen of what?’

‘Queen of the city of Lux Laterna.’

Arodan’s mouth hung open for a moment and before he could close it himself Solaire had already done so with a cold and clammy hand. ‘... What? How, why would she be here? Lux Laterna had a queen?’

‘Had, yes. Then never again. Her death must have left the king of Lux Laterna considerably bitter and it is just one of the reasons he wants this fortress.’ Solaire hopped off his desk and pointed at a shelf in the far back. ‘Merope was the first of the high court who wanted to reach out to Paramo for an alliance. She was what could have been. Here, everyone thinks she simply disappeared, and in the city of Lux Laterna everyone thinks we killed her.’

‘Is this all a big misunderstanding-’

‘No, it isn't. Didn't you hear what I said about the reasons of the upcoming battle?’ Solaire’s ears perked up curiously. They were unusually long for an average pearlcatcher. ‘That was her first time here, and she snuck in uninvited, not unwelcome. She barely got to introduce herself proper to king Balam and by him she'll be remembered as the odd guest that was prone to oversharing to everyone else, even if he knows who she really is. Her bones lie in the crypt below the castle forevermore, proclaiming her unknown, with her family only getting the wrong answers about what really happened.’

‘So… They want her bones? They want what's left of her, besides the fortress?’ Solaire nodded in response and Arodan sighed heavily. That must have been awful and though he wanted to believe the others when they warned him how dangerous the people of Lux Laterna were he couldn't help but feel bad for the grief and confusion they must have felt. ‘And are you implying she has my book? Why?’

‘Curiosity, I'm sure. She spends her days roaming these halls because she can't leave. Something keeps her in this place.’ Solaire’s hand this time rose to point towards the door and then trace to the right as if drawing an invisible route. ‘You might find your journal on the sole unmarked grave in the crypt. That is your best guess.’

‘Okay, okay, would you mind if I left right now?’ He was stuffing what belongings he had with him into his bag already to dash out of the door. ‘I really need my journal back.’

‘Does it have any important or particularly embarrassing secrets in it?’

Arodan was halfway towards the door, but whipped around to answer Solaire. ‘No. But it means a lot to me to have some way to make sense of things at the end of the day.’ He gestured choppily as he made his point. ‘And well… You're the only one who knows but that journal is truly alive. I have to help them.’

‘Now that's a good reason.’ The door unlocked on its own again and opened, and she hovered over to Arodan. ‘Go. And you do, put these on another grave for me, will you?’ She held out a thin bouquet of strange looking lilies towards Arodan that were colored a bright red. ‘I'd like you to lay these on the most elaborate grave you see, you can't miss it.’

‘Fine. If anyone asks, I'll be right back.’ Arodan grabbed the lilies and bolted off into the halls, keeping his steps muffled as he ran. He knew the way now, as if by heart after these days spent cooped up in the castle. The only thing that occurred to him as he ran down the stairs to the very lowest level of the castle is that the crypt had to be locked and he wasn't sure if it was a lock he could pick. Maybe he could ask Atlas to unlock the door for him. It occurred to him he perhaps should have thought this plan through on how it'd work out in practice.

The door however, at the very end of the lowest floor hallway was wide open.

Arodan's pace slowed to a cautious sneak and like this he entered the crypt, staying close to the walls. Of course someone of the castle just could have gone into the crypt to inspect the graves but he couldn't help but be mildly unsettled by the lingering dread that hung in the long winding halls of the crypt. The air was thick and oppressive, and particularly good at making one's hairs stand on end in caution. Besides that, it was dark in the crypt, only lit by sparse lighting lining the walls that made it difficult to get a hold on where one was going. Yet he trudged on, past many graves that didn't look dragon made until he reached far larger graves that looked like they held the remains of once massive dragons.

Along the row he reached a large hollow, the edge decorated with dried flowers and trinkets. Within was a large sprawling grave, an elaborate image carved in the stone over it, of a guardian with open arms standing over a loving crowd wreathed in light. The sides were decorated with many flowers that seemed wilted but couldn't be more than a week old, and candles and even more trinkets, toys, jewelry, so much a normal grave might disappear under the vast amount of gifts. This had to be the grave Solaire was speaking of. He walked forward and left the bouquet of wiry red lilies on the grave. His eyes drifted to the name plaque by the foot of the grave. ‘King… Waldemar the second of house Paramo, dearly beloved.’ He read it aloud to himself and tilted his head. Maybe this was Balam’s father then, hence why Solaire had requested of him to leave flowers. ‘Now to find Merope.’

‘She isn't here right now, son.’

Arodan slowly turned and expected to see Balam standing behind him. The voice had a telltale depth and reverb to it that it had to be him. Instead, he saw a figure standing behind him with wings like burnt paper and skin black and charred. They were a massive hulking appearance that rivaled Balam’s height. Arodan could guess by his convenient appearance who he must have been. ‘King Waldemar?’

‘Yes?’ The most striking thing about Waldemar’s strange smoking appearance were his almost pearlescent white eyes that scanned over his surroundings thoughtfully. ‘So, to whom do I owe the honor of receiving flowers?’

‘Arodan, sir.’ He bowed his head and looked up in awe. ‘I'm down here because I lost something, so I can’t stick around too long, but do you know where Merope’s grave might be?’

‘Down the hall.’ He pointed idly and cocked his head. ‘Why such a rush stranger? It's lonely down here and I'd like to know who walks the halls of this castle. Whatever you lost sure doesn't require such hurry.’

‘Yeah, well, it's kind of important to me so I'd prefer to get it back fast.’ He wiggled his fingers and at the tips light glowed, illuminating his path. ‘Not that I don't respect you or King Balam’s status, but I like to be able to move around without being monitored or bossed around.’

‘Oh, you've met my son?’ Waldemar’s eyes lit up and he grasped Arodan’s shoulders in me quick movement. The light at Arodan’s fingertips disappeared with a disheartening sizzle. For a ghost he was awfully heavy but he had an eerie aura around him nonetheless. ‘How is he doing, did he find a charge yet?’

‘You… You don't know this?’ He wiggled himself from Waldemar’s hold and surveyed the soot stains on his clothing. ‘I'm guessing he's as alright as he could be doing. There's a war coming, everyone's a little stressed.’ He shrugged. ‘As for the charge, no, he hasn't found one.’

‘Ah.’ Waldemar looked down and shifted. His appearance seemed to smoke for a moment. ‘You see, I can not leave these crypts actually. You'd assume as someone who lived here I can go wherever in the castle but instead I'm confined to these dusty crypts.’

‘That explains a lot.’ He surveyed Waldemar’s form. ‘Say… How did you pass away? Someone told me Merope passed away in the fire, did you get caught up in the same blaze?’

‘No, that was after my time son. I just was careless.’ He huffed and a puff of smoke escaped from his nose. ‘I gambled my own life out of anger in a fighting pit and paid the fiery price for it.’ He held up his hands, which were ashy and cold. ‘Well, at least my son got an example of what not to do, and I do not have to bother with ruling anymore.’

‘Wait, Balam was present? Fighting pit?’ His eyes darted briefly towards the door. ‘Why were you in a fighting pit?’

‘Entertainment. Why else would you be there?’ Waldemar answered. ‘Someone threatened to tarnish my honor so I had to protect it. The only way that I could do that was to pick up the sword and shield myself.’

‘You shouldn't have done that however, that was frankly, stupid and irresponsible.’ Arodan responded before he could stop himself. Immediately he shrank back under Waldemar’s scrutinizing gaze. ‘What sort of example is that supposed to set if you get set on fire in front of hundreds of people watching? You're a king, you should have kept your cool.’

‘Who are you to tell me how to rule my kingdom? Do you have any status to your name?’ Waldemar bristled and his wings flared out in an expression of dominance. ‘I knew what I was doing, being careless once is something that will be forgiven.’ He gestured at his grave. ‘The people love me, even in death. My son is still keeping alive my legacy. What do you have?’

‘Well, I'm alive for one.’ Arodan growled. Waldemar was getting a little too hostile for his liking. ‘Dying for a cause is fine and all that but dying because someone called your cape stupid isn't a noble cause. People need someone to lead them.’ His gaze narrowed and he tried to appear as intimidating as he could despite his height disadvantage. 'Don't think I haven't heard about your dispassion for being king.'

‘They have. They have what I left them.’

‘Balam is not some piece of you or yourself. How can you say that?’

‘That is how it is supposed to be. I protect the legacy of my father before me, as if I were him. He is expected to do the same.’ Waldemar stepped a little closer to Arodan and looked over him. He sounded like someone who was lying to himself, but far more to others as opposed to Balam. ‘Don't stick your nose in matters you will never understand.’

‘Oh, I understand what's going on here fine.’ Arodan's gaze narrowed and he moved backwards and started to walk further into the crypt. ‘I'm done talking to you. I'll leave you to your eternal peace, I have a book to find.’

‘No, we aren't done talking yet.’

Before Arodan knew it he was grasped and hoisted up by his tail, swung upside down. He barely got time to scream in the movement, the sound leaving his throat in the form of an airy squeak. ‘What are you doing?!’

‘You aren't leaving until you understand how things work around here, because clearly-’ He held Arodan higher off the ground now, almost at a dangerous height. ‘It seems you lack the proper respect for those above you, librarian.’

‘Oh, get your head out of your ass!’ Arodan yelled, holding his hands out before him, aimed at Waldemar’s chest. At his fingertips yet again blazed light that burned and raged, that he this time formed into a solid bolt that he fired right through Waldemar’s chest. It stunned the king enough for him to drop Arodan who managed to twist himself sideways just before hitting the floor. A rib painfully ached in his chest but he had no time to recover. He opted to scramble up and away, bolting further into the crypts frantically and disoriented. If he found a vantage point he had time to reorient, and he could possibly dispel Waldemar if the ghost was still following him. Think, think-

‘Come back here!’

Dangit. He veered to a left and dove into the first hollow he saw, hiding behind a grave. He heard Waldemar zip past, and he sounded like a crackling wildfire. This gave him sometime to figure out how to banish him momentarily and escape the crypt. He made a mental side note that he wasn't going to ever return here after this.

How does one banish a furious spectral energy?

‘You seem to be in trouble.’

Arodan whipped around and a deep unsettling block of anxiety gripped his heart. He was being watched but in the dark of the crypt he couldn't discern who and from where. ‘Yeah, well, that happens. Are you a friend or foe?’

No answer came for the moment, until a short staff rolled from the shadows towards Arodan and bumped against his foot. He picked it up as if it was about to explode in his hands and surveyed it, eyes scanning over the many texts crafted into it. In the distance he could hear Waldemar returning, the sound of an inferno roaring down the halls. Arodan sucked in a breath and got up. ‘That'll do.’ He held the staff in two hands and soon it shone with bright golden light that illuminated the room. Light solidified around the staff and formed a spear around the base. Arodan held it besides him now and climbed onto the unmarked grave before him, waiting in a defensive stance.

One.

It was as if he was standing in a furnace now. Around the corner appeared a livid Waldemar, his ethereal body cracking and blazing with columns of fire while his eyes had remained the same frigid white. ‘You have the audacity-’

Two.

‘Can it!’ Arodan aimed the spear at Waldemar in a manner unknown to the king. ‘Either we discuss this like sensible adults or I'll send you back to the spirit realm you belong to.’

Three.

‘Try me small fry, I'll rip you to-’

Four.

Without warning Arodan launched another bolt of light into Waldemar’s chest and immediately leapt forward, swinging the spear into a traditional hold. With startling accuracy he planted the spear into his chest, hanging off of it so he wouldn't be burnt by Waldemar swinging his searing claws at him. ‘Begone!’ The spear discharged in one eye burning flash and it dispelled the lingering ghost of Waldemar completely. Once the oppressive quietness of the crypt returned Arodan dropped the staff with a clatter and dropped to his knees, gasping for air.

‘That was quick. Effective even.'

'I didn't exactly mean to be down here this long.' Arodan steadied his breath and turned, peering into the darkness. The voice sounded familiar but the way it sounded as if ten voices more spoke at the same moment stopped his mind from remembering. 'What are you, another ghost? You know where Merope is?' He knew he was standing by her grave but there was no sign of his journal.

'She ain't here. Probably wandering.' The voices responded. Heavy footsteps sounded as something approached Arodan. That to him meant he wasn't dealing with a ghost, if he was right about ghosts not walking. 'Looking for this?' From the shadows a dark hand appeared holding Arodan's journal. ‘Someone left it here.’

'Give that back.' Arodan started to stumble towards the shadows, lighting a spark of magic on his fingers again to illuminate the room. Although he could see all the details of the room it was as if the corner of the room had been swallowed by a dark void, two bright golden eyes forming the only focus point. Immediately he yanked his knife from his bag, pointing it at the entity before him. 'What do you want?'

'Really? A knife?' The many other voices died out in favor of just one, a recognizable gruff voice that sounded mildly amused at being threatened. 'I can smash your head like a grape, are you feeling lucky punk?'

'Sachairi?' Arodan quietly asked, lowering the knife only to immediately raise it again. 'I asked you before, but are you a friend or an enemy?'

'Does it matter?' Sachairi responded, and despite his current appearance he somehow looked as if he coyly cocked his head. 'Give me the heart.'

'It's kind of vital because I'd like to know if you're not going to murder me as soon as I hand over the heart.' Yet he pulled the necklace from his shirt so it was in view. 'It's safe by the way. You're welcome.'

'Don't play with me you asshole, give me my necklace back.' Sachairi growled, and the void flourished in a manner of geometrical patterns that snaked their way towards Arodan.

'Then let's trade.' That stopped Sachairi from advancing. 'You give me my journal back, and i'll give you your necklace. That journal means a lot to me even if it's in a stupid way.'

Sachairi's gaze drifted momentarily drifted to the book in his hand, then back to Arodan. The patterns withdrew, and he held out the book towards him. 'Fine.' He held out another open hand to receive the necklace. 'Let's trade.'

He hesitated for a moment, then pocketed the knife again. Arodan pulled the necklace from his neck. ‘Come closer.’

‘No, you come closer.’

‘Are we going to argue over something as stupid as this?’ Arodan asked. The quick footsteps in the distance didn't register to him.

‘Just give me the damn necklace.’ Sachairi stepped closer and this time a foot actually appeared from the void. ‘There's only so long I can upkeep this.’

‘Arodan?’ Atlas appeared and peered into the hollow and immediately froze once he registered what he was seeing. ‘Dan. Move back immediately.’

‘Atlas, I'm kind of in the middle of-’ A spear made of light immediately was flung right past Arodan into the wall behind him. It didn't hit its intended target but took out part of Atlas’ ear and pierced the brim of his hat, nailing it to the wall. ‘Atlas!’ Sachairi stood with only one foot in the void, eyed wild like a cornered animal. When he focused on Arodan he could first notice now that he didn't quite look at him but a little off to the side because he was blind in one eye. A row of burns scars ran alongside the left side of his body and no doubt the eye had gotten damaged a similar way. Immediately Sachairi bolted back into the void and disappeared completely. Arodan immediately rushed towards Atlas’ side who had dropped to the floor clutching his ear. ‘Are you alright?!’

‘I've had worse.’ He pressed his hand to the damaged ear in an attempt to stop it from bleeding. ‘I can deal with a chipped tip but it does hurt.’

‘Oh gods.’ Arodan scrambled to check if Atlas had been scraped anywhere else and was glad he wasn't. He ended up placing his hand over Atlas’ that clutched the ear. ‘I'm so sorry, this is my fault.’ All of this happened because he wanted his stupid journal back, he thought.

‘I wouldn't call it your fault but yes, you probably shouldn't go talking to people like that. Solaire warned me you were down here.’ Atlas managed to joke, sitting a little more comfortably. ‘Are you okay though, he didn't do anything to you right?’

‘No, I’m fine, not counting emotional damage.’ Arodan responded. That loosened a laugh from Atlas at the very least. ‘I am never entering this place ever again. There's too many people trying to kill me down here. Your former king doesn't like me very much.’

‘Waldemar?' Atlas gave him an incredulous look, that softened immediately as soon as he guessed what might have happened. 'You know, I never liked that man. It's why I left in the first place.' He got up slowly and searched his pockets with his free hand for a handkerchief of sorts. 'Tell me everything on the way back to the infirmary, okay? I'm just glad you're okay.

'Well, you're not.' Arodan threw a brief glance at the necklace that still lay in his hand and lamented he hadn't gotten his journal back. He then immediately came to the more chilling realization Sachairi had it and that he had no way to track him. '... Why did Sachairi attack you?'

'He doesn't like me. You know, I made one visit back here, when he was still around as a guest and not a fugitive. He knows exactly what I can and will do to him if he hurts others.' He found a handkerchief that was large enough to wrap around his head. 'He was already going bad back then.' By his words that seemed to not be the entire truth but know was not the moment to ask.

'I… I see.' He lit the way into the hall and shot Atlas a look. 'Did he hurt you before?'

'No.' Atlas gave him a clipped answer and sighed. He seemed light and nervous on his feet and clasped his hands together with a finality to it, his face blooming into a smile. 'Say, you wouldn't perhaps want to carry me up to the infirmary right?'

'What, did he take out your legs too?' Atlas didn't want to continue the conversation, it seemed. Arodan was fine with that, just talking to someone was enough right now. 'I'm not carrying you but come here, you get to lean on my shoulder. Is that enough for you?'

'That's a compromise I can get behind.' Atlas immediately slung his arm around Arodan and slung his lanky weight on him. 'Let's go.'

'Yeah. Let's go.' Arodan threw one last glance into the hollow, noticing only the faint figure of a woman sitting on the tomb who examined him with her head resting on her hands. Typical.

#my lore #ch: Arodan #ch: Solaire #ch: Waldemar #only briefly though because I feel I probably shoulda dress what kind of person Balam's dad was #ch: Atlas #ch: Sachairi #this is me killing two birds with one stone and its pain and setting up conflict

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