#as when the blade behind the throne is interrogating someone. i have…..so many thoughts about it actually

[yaburnaee]

i’m also. SO annoyed that that bts fighting clip going around of a.ustin b.utler is so painfully az

[valeptraglia]

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Battle of Calormen

NOT C. S, LEWIS

Chapter 6: "The Emergency Council"

The air in the Thrones' Room could be cut with a knife.

King Peter wouldn't stop pacing around, his eyebrows brought together deep in thought, his hand scratching his stubble.

"Peter, stop it" scolded Susan, clearly annoyed with her brother's pacing.

A small group was gathered in the room. King Erasmus was sprawled on his throne with his hands supporting his head. Queen Calantha by his side, her eternal smiling face was now tinged with concern. Queen Susan and Queen Lucy both deep in thought were sitting on chairs, like thrones, on one side of the room. Standing by their side was Diácano, along with Amaruq and Accalia. King Edmund was standing on the steps of the thrones' platform facing a very trembling Bavra standing in the middle of the room.

"Then, again Bavra, from the gardens to the dungeons, when you were carrying the prisoner did you come across anyone?" asked calmly Edmund to the faun.

"N-no, your Majesty. Well, yes, we did come across a lot of people, I mean the castle was full of people running around!" the faun appealed when Peter snorted angrily. Lucy shot her brother a nasty look "but we ever stopped until we got to the dungeons!"

"And once in the dungeons…" with a movement of his hand Edmund urged the faun to continue. This was the third time they were rearming the story.

"Is this necessary? How many times are you going to make him tell us this Edmund?" asked Lucy aggravated.

"As many times as it's necessary" he answered her shortly, the nodded his head to the faun.

"And once in the dungeons I escorted him to the cell. We didn't see anyone, we didn't speak to anyone, the other cells were empty and no one was in the corridor. I closed the door with the key turn around and left for the entrance" Bavra couldn't stop his trembling hands.

"In the entrance, who was there?"

"Talbus. He was guarding the entrance. I told him to get a healer for the prisoner and I relieved him of his position. Then the healer entered accompanied by Captain Casio" he finished.

"So, you were alone until I came down this morning?" finally asked Edmund.

"Yes, your Majesty. But-" he shut his mouth when Erasmus raised his hand.

The room remained silent for the next minutes until Erasmus broke it.

"Bring the healer. Bring the healer and bring Casio too." He ordered the wolves.

"But Erasm-" started Calantha.

"No buts, we have to know what happened, I'll order them confidentiality" his face was severe, his jaw clenched and his gaze intense.

Quickly both wolves left the room in search of the healer and Captain Casio. The room was left in an uneasy silence. Queen Calantha had joined Lucy and Susan on a chair next to them, the three of them muttering with their heads close and the same worried expression. Edmund sat down on the steps watching Peter resume his pacing. Diácano guided Bavra to sit on a chair, the faun was as white as a ghost and his forehead very sweaty.

A few minutes later a very puzzled dryad and a centaur came into the room followed closely by the wolves. The door was shut behind them. They came to a stop in front of the Kings a Queens and bow.

"Needless to say this conversation is completely confidential. Severe punishments will be awarded if a word of what is said in this room is repeated outside these walls without my consent." Warned King Erasmus getting up from his throne.

"Yes, your Majesty" both the dryad and the centaur answered.

He stood up besides Edmund and motioned him to speak.

"I understand that both of you were in the cell of the prisoner last night, is that correct?" Edmund questioned them.

"Yes, your Highness" the centaur replied warily.

"Indeed your majesty, I was called to attend his wound" added the dryad.

"What kind of wound did he have?"

"Well, nothing, just a concussion and a dislocated shoulder, your majesty" replied without giving much importance.

"Was that it?"

"Yes, your Majesty" she assured him confused.

"Captain?" Edmund turned to the centaur.

"She cleaned his forehead to have a better look of the concussion and then she accommodated his shoulder, your Highness" he confirmed.

"Then you are telling me he didn´t complained about a wound on his stomach?"

"No, your Majesty" she nodded "I am sorry, your Majesty, but what is going on?" she asked with a frown.

"The prisoner is dead. We found him this morning. A cut on his stomach, apparently a poisoned blade. Can you explain this to me?" Edmund asked sitting down again on the steps, a hand on his chin supporting his head.

"That's not possible your Majesty. While I was checking on him he didn't say anything about his stomach or any of the sorts".

"Is this an interrogation then? We are considered suspects" stated matter of fact Captain Casio.

The dryad's eyes were wide open, a few pink petals were starting to fall from her hair as a shiver run through her.

"Your Majesties, nothing happened on that cell. She attended his wounds while I was on guard right beside her and we left. No one else was there and he certainly didn't complain about being stabbed" declared Casio "I am no traitor to the crown as this interrogation obviously implies" he added standing in all his height.

"Traitors?!" the dryad shrieked "What? No, your Majesties, I swear. He was fine when we left, he said nothing about his belly!" the floor around her was covered in withered petals.

King Erasmus raised his hand again to silence the room.

"Take them all out of this room while we discuss" he instructed Amaruq and Accalia.

The wolves lead the centaur, the faun and the dryad out to a joined room, when they emerged they closed the door and sit on both sides of it.

"What do you think?" asked Erasmus looking around the room.

"They are innocent! Of course!" immediately exclaimed Lucy.

"They are not all innocent Lucy, someone killed him" argued Peter.

"Maybe he was wound during the fight?" suggested Calantha.

"It would have been very dangerous to have a poisoned blade in a fight. Is that even possible?" asked Susan.

"I don't think so, but we should check on the bodies from yesterday to discard this" proposed Edmund

"Good. Do that Diácano" said Erasmus pointing at the centaur.

"Yes, your Majesty"

"Maybe he killed himself" Lucy piped in.

"Unlikely, your Highness. The weapon was not in the cell." Said Diácano with a pitiful look.

"So, the only one that had time alone with the prisoner was Bavra" pointed Erasmus "I think you know what this means" he added looking at Diácano, the centaur nodded "Until we have further information he will be relieved of his duties in the king's army" he looked around the room waiting for his companions to argue or approve his judgment, all they did was nod their heads. "Very well, then this is settled. No word of what happened today will leave this room, not until we have accurate information on the matter".

By dawn Bavra the faun was being suspended and relieved of his duties until further notice, they were all forbidden to discuss the matter outside of the council and the witnesses were escorted out of the Thrones' Room.

As the Kings and Queens of old walked the halls of the castle, the silence was heavy, neither of them believed that the faun had anything to do with what happened to the prisoner, not even King Erasmus actually, but this action could not go unpunished.

Only Susan and Peter presented for dinner that night. Lucy claimed she was too frustrated with the situation, and that she wasn't hungry while Edmund excused himself with the pretense of his sore arm. Although it was true, he too was left frustrated with the resolution of the council.

So he went to the infirmary to get someone to check out his bandages and by the time he was out he noticed how in every corridor a sentinel was posted. Security at Cair Paravel had been increased.

[inforapound]

Ease The Dawn Pt.2 Chapter 5

A/N - Thank you for reading and for all of your encouragement. 

Warnings - slight angst

Words - 2,800

The slaves were shuffled through the hall doors and forced to stand in a line for inspection. The worried eyes of the disheveled bunch scanned about the hall, nervously assessing their new home. Their eyes seemed to search for evidence, anything, that might provide insight into the next stage of their torment. Would it be better or worse from anywhere else but more importantly, most wondered, would they survive?

The threatening orders of a wiry man with a scruffy, yellowing beard jostled their attention back to Aethelswith. Waiting, she stood at the base of the stairs in front of the thrones. Despising the entire process, she held back a grimace as she walked toward them. The fear and uncertainty in their eyes made her feel ill, as did the smell of the grimy little man peddling their flesh. There was nothing about people being tethered like animals that would ever feel acceptable but she had been tasked with finding more slaves for the hall.

Behind her, leaning on the arm of his throne, Ivar had already found the petite woman with hair so fair it shone nearly white. Not quite as small as Aethelswith, she possessed all the characteristics of a Viking. Straight nose and deep blue eyes with her uncut, long hair braided down one side of her face. Her hands looked unworked and Ivar noticed that her plain beige dress remained untattered with no signs of the filth on her fair skin that covered the others in line.

The man clutched the girl's upper arm and pulled her forward for Aethelswith to appraise.

"This is the girl you spoke of? Who speaks my language?" Aethelswith asked, waiting for the translator to finish relaying her words.

"Yes," came the reply.

The slaver rasped on in Norse, looking like he was taking great care to speak as politely as someone like him could.

"This one worked as a slave to the wife of Jarl Henriksson," the translator continued. "His wife was Saxon, like you my queen."

Not correcting the translator, she was unsure if the error in her title had been his or the slaver's. She did not want to engage any more than necessary and would never deny being queen with Ivar perched above, surveying them all.

"What is your name?" Aethelswith asked the pretty girl with the slight smile.

Dipping her head, she bowed. "Freydis, my Lady."

—-

Believing that Ivar would be first to lose his resolve had been a mistake. Sitting alone in their chambre, Aethelswith was haunted by his ultimatum, not at all the iron force behind the standoff. He was distancing himself and it wounded her deeply, forcing her eyes open to the strength of their enmeshment. Ivar, had always being the one urgent to make love, and it had been a distraction from her own need for him.

For two weeks since his return from England, she had endured his punishment. Surviving only on the two chaste kisses he gave her each day; before leaving their chambre in the morning and when the candles were blown out at night and his lips never lingered. What a brilliant strategist her beloved was.

Sitting at her desk now, in their guarded room, she rested her elbows on their worktable, missing for his affection. To his men, the thralls or visitors in the hall, his behaviour would have seemed unchanged. Still attentive and protective, always holding her hand when sitting side by side on their thrones. Yet, she could feel the space in every exchange, his thumb no longer stroked circles on the back of her hand and he rarely made eye contact.

It had been some time since he had asked about her day or what she was learning in her lessons. He had stopped altogether asking her opinion on various matters regarding the city. Before this draw, Ivar was compulsive about knowing what was on her mind. Persistently asking what she was thinking. At times, his questions made her brain feel scrubbed as if she had just been interrogated. She always answered with patience as she understood it was beyond his control. He agonized when they were apart, and despite her assurance, she knew deep down, he feared she would one day leave.

Through this process of standing their ground, what ate her alive more than anything, was how bright his smile was when she entered a room only for realization to strike and the brightness to fade. As if his adoration was a flame being snuffed out by his ultimatum.  

When the sun would set and night would come, he would lie in bed and pretend not to miss her. If it had not been so sad, she would have laughed as Ivar was not a man who could feign indifference. His mood was as loud as thunder.

Keeping to his side of the bed, he would look up into the darkness and the silence would ring in her ears, only broken by his uttering a quiet goodnight. She felt alone, more so than when she had been, all those weeks, on her own.

Refusing to turn her back to him, she would sleep on her side, curled up like a child. As always, stretch her cold feet forward, slipping one under his lower back and resting the other on his stomach. Despite the impasse, she was grateful that he would still take her foot is his strong, warm hand, holding it, as he always had, while they drifted off to sleep.

But still.... it had been six weeks since they last made love and each night, she had to stop herself from crawling to his side. There was little point unless she was ready to acquiesce and she was not. Could not. What would their life look like if he would not value the few things she held dear.

Adjusting in her chair, she forced her jaw to unclench and picked up a smooth piece of charcoal. It was early afternoon and she had not yet seen her king,; some meeting regarding the wall had forced him up early and he had slipped out without waking her. She prayed this was not be a new habit.

Having no interest in eating in the hall alone, she requested a tray to be brought to their chambre. Not outright disliking her new thrall, she was yet to warm to her. Regardless, Freydis' sweet smile and tray of honeyed oats and mixed fruit, along with her customary cup of milk were welcome on that lonesome day. The fair-haired girl always arrived with a bright face and a fresh vase of white flowers. She was a nosey little thing, always asking questions and sharing her many observations on the weather and the comings and goings of people in the hall.

Rolling the charcoal in her hand, the pads of her fingers grew dark with soot. She had missed the feel of it against her skin having barely sketched since arriving. Instead, she preferred being out in the market or practicing Norse with Brana, often while picking berries or strolling down the shoreline. Armoured men with blades ready always tailing them not far behind. Brana, aside from Ivar, was her anchor and the truest friend she had ever had.

Always, at the start of each week, she visited Gussr and his wife Nanna. Gussr had aged terribly in the time since England, barely mobile and never properly healing from his injuries of that morning. Nanna possessed the same spirit has him; patient, warm and always delighted by her presence. Aethelswith would often bring them small gifts and sweets or sought-after supplies that they would have never spent what little money they had on. She loved them dearly and knew they felt the same. In the camp, Gussr had been her chaperone but became so much more, showing her compassion and support with the slightest of smiles and a paternal ease that allowed them to sit in comfortable silence for hours. Days. Weeks. Months. At the time, she knew that had Ivar decided to harm her, no one could have stopped him but the fact that Gussr would have wanted to brought her comfort. Now they shared a connection that could never be severed.

The remaining hours of the day Aethelswith spent at Ivar's side, in their chairs in the great hall, while he heard and settled town disputes. As of late, he was closing the doors turning away those who had arrived to complain.

Looking down at her blank parchment, she searched her mind for inspiration, but all was dark besides images of him; his lips on the skin of her throat or taking her nipple in his mouth, his hands running up her thighs and squeezing her behind, grinding her down on top of him. His beautiful face looking up at her, his gaze teaming with love. Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back allowing the warmth of her thoughts to roll up her spine. With a frustrated sigh, she rose from her chair and walked toward the door. Enough was enough, she was going to find her king.

—

The training grounds were nearly empty and the sun was now less intense but the feast was still many hours away. Standing just into the clearing, she watched Hvitserk spar with another man she did not know the name of. He was a regular in the hall but never talked with her or returned a passing smile. None of them did. They were either disgusted she was a Christian or feared the wrath of the king. Being no fool, she knew it was likely both.

Swaying and ducking, Hvitserk cut the air, tapping his opponent with the flat side of his blade. Spinning on a heel, rolling his torso, he dipped forward, avoiding contact with the other sword. Lean and strong, his movements were fluid, the most graceful fighter she had ever seen. She would offer him the compliment but felt her praise would be unwelcome or met with a cool remark. Why bother?

The sparing broke and Hvitserk turned in her direction, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Are you lost, princess?"

Fighting the urge to cringe, she smiled ignoring the condescension in his voice.

"I am looking for Ivar."

"I did not think you were here to see me."

Tilting her head to the side, she studied his green eyes. "Have I offended you?"

Startled by her question, Hvitserk's smirk faded. "No."

"A deaf man with no sight could detect your disdain," she looked at him evenly.

Sheathing his sword, he rested his hands on his hips, mouth open as if still deciding how to reply.

"It is your effect on my brother," he finally said. "This game you are playing, declaring yourself still married."

"That is between Ivar and me."

"Is it?" his eyebrows spiked. "Do you have any idea what he was like in England?" Running his hand over his pulled back hair, he glanced behind him before looking at her again. "He was crazed. He was a mad man. The death and torture he left in his wake." Shaking his head, he stared at her. "He slaughtered countless people. Slaughtered Aethelswith. Many were obviously telling the truth that they did not know the whereabouts of Burgred." He dropped the volume of his voice. "Look, seeing Christians cut down will never break my heart but this was....." he shook his head, "even his own men were doubting his sanity. Now that he feels rejected by you his cruelty grows with his need to prove himself. Save face as a king whose woman has yet to marry him. But...I see it in his eyes when he is with you. You make him feel like a God. A God!" Hvitserk repeated.

Squeezing her clenched hands, she could barely hear his words, imagining a blood-soaked Ivar terrorizing crowds of innocent people, rolling through villages on his chariot, with frenzied eyes and his mouth gaping wide, an ax high overhead, leaving behind only death. Closing her eyes, she shuddered, knowing what he said was the truth.

Stepping forward, Hvitserk bent down, grabbing his water skin off the ground. Looking at her, he took a long drink before corking it and tucking it under his arm.

"Ivar went to the barn with Loni to see how the new wheels were coming along for his chariot. Following, they were heading to the hall to check on the preparations. Finehair's fleet is already in the harbour and tonight Ivar will be receiving him for the first time as king."

Nodding, she kept her gaze down on the trampled grass.

Moving past her, he headed for the trail. "You be careful Aethelswith."

Spinning around, she spoke to his back. "Ivar would never hurt me."

"If you say so," he called back, not looking in her direction.

—-

Aethelswith entered the hall to find Ivar in his chair talking with Loni and another man she knew as Raud. They sat casually on the steps in front of him all nursing a horn of ale. Loni seemed to be recounting a story from battle as he whipped his arm through the air in an animated gesture as if delivering a fatal blow. Raud was smiling and nodding and Ivar drank from his cup, listing while staring at the floor.

As if sensing her arrival, he looked up to the large doors. Sweet recognition flickered in his eyes and he smiled before his face again turned sour and void of emotion. Regardless, she made her way toward him.

"Where are your guards!" he lashed out, his voice echoing through the hall.

Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, she stood in place as if she was a commoner there for a reprimand. Cocking his head to one side, he squinted, unsure of her lack of reaction.

"I decided to walk up to the training grounds and did not want the fuss of an entourage."

"The training grounds? Through the forest? Aethelswith!" he barked. "Are you daft or just outright disregarding me now?" Squeezing his horn, he leaned forward in his chair. "I have told you to have at least two guards with you at all times!"

Raud looked away and Loni gazed into his own cup pretending not to notice the tension and silence filling the hall. With a neutral face, she stared back at him, never wavering despite the feeling of her insides being torn out.

He raised his finger and pointed at her.

"Do not ignore me again."

Continuing to hold his glare, she controlled her emotions. She knew this man and how to navigate his storms.

"I went looking for you," she said in a steady tone. All eyes were on her and she would not appear broken.

"You did?" Surprise sounded in his voice as he could not recall her ever seeking him out, never wanting to disturb his work.

"Yes, I felt an odd pain in my chest," she replied softly.

"Are you unwell? he straightened in his chair, his eyes looking sincere.

"It was a pang in my heart."

Leaning forward, Ivar's brow creased.

"I realized I was missing you," she smiled. "You left early this morning and I have not felt your kiss today."

Freezing for an instant, his expression melted and his lips pulled back into a smile, his bright blue eyes sparkled as he reached toward her.

"Aethelswith, come to me," he nearly whimpered.

Climbing the steps toward his outstretched hand, she could not help but mirror his expression. Loni and Raud rushed to clear the stairs making their way elsewhere.

Pulling her into his lap, Ivar wrapped his arms around her, bringing his face close to hers. Grabbing the cup from his hand, she took a deep drink of his mead turning his smile into a grin. Closing the small space between, he kissed her gently, delicately and with love. Pulling back to speak, she stopped looking at his sold face, eyes still closed as if he was savoring the feel of her mouth. Opening his eyes, tension crept back into his expression.

"My sweet," he kissed her one more time, "please do not leave the hall on your own. Tell me if you want to come and watch the training and I will take you up on my chariot." Pausing, he looked up into her light blue eyes. "I love you, Aethelswith. I react because of how important you are. I would die before I would allow anything to ever happen to you."

Placing her small hand on his chiseled cheek, she kissed him again, mewing at how she had missed his warm lips and the taste of ale on his tongue. As their kiss deepened, the description of Ivar's savagery flickered in her mind; blood and sharp teeth, ripped apart bodies rotting. Ivar's tongue swirling against hers was too great a distraction, his hot breath and needy hands pulling her harder to him. She should have been horrified and repulsed but his sweet mouth breathing her in, after so long, felt like heaven.

.

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[sunshineandfangs]

A Crown For The Sword

Sequel to yesterday’s prompt. The tale of the Princess and Her Knight continues. Features more Klaroline and the promised happy ending!

Her Majesty was radiant and fierce from her seat upon her throne. In the years he had known her he had seen her soft, silken beauty and her iron will both. Witnessed the shrewd, cunning of her mind. She would be a magnificent Queen he had no doubt.

Thus, he could stand solidly before her, weather the accusations aimed at him. Perhaps it would be his death, but even execution would fall so sweetly from her lips. And if her Will was for him to die, then he would take each of her enemies with him.

As was his duty as her knight.

The resolution seared into his very soul, and his gaze flicked to the visage of the man beside Her Majesty. That wretched cur. It had been his mistake to regard Lockwood as little more than a foolish and arrogant little lordling. Titles that worm also deserved, but he had missed that he was a snake as well, one with venom in its bite.

How he would delight in his downfall.

“Sir Niklaus.” He shifted slightly, his gaze switching from their surroundings to Her Highness.

She was resplendent in blue and gold, her silhouette as graceful as the blooms surrounding her. But an air of unease hung about her and in her gloved palm she cupped a withered blossom. Her fingers traced the wilted edges of the purple crocus, a slight frown on her face.*

“Does something trouble you, Your Highness?”

She said nothing for several moments, her lashes fluttering as her eyes fell shut in a faint grimace. He stepped forward before he could consciously think to, concern a tight fist in his chest.

“I am alright,” she declared as he came to a stop by her side. “It is rather daft of me to be so superstitious.” The flower fell from her hand as she straightened up, offering him a small smile as she turned toward him.

His own voice was solemn as he replied, though he knew his eyes were soft. “Daft? Never, Your Highness. Your intuition is as keen as your mind.” He shifted slightly, reaching around to pluck a honeysuckle hanging behind her.** He moved slowly, knowing his gesture was not particularly appropriate, but she just watched him, a more genuine smile curling on her lips. He tucked the blossom behind her ear. “No matter where you lead I shall follow. I am yours, Your Highness.”

His hand fell away just as her’s rose to brush at the flower. The slightest trace of pink flushed across her cheeks before her expression shifted to something a bit more melancholy.

He parted his lips to say something to her, dismayed by any trace of her sorrow. But his words stuttered to a halt as her palm came up to cradle his face. The soft fabric of her glove tickled his skin as her thumb caressed his cheekbone. He could not help the way he leaned into her touch nor the way his own hand rose to cover her’s.

“My loyal knight,” she murmured, seeming to be talking more to herself than him. “Sometimes I wish you were a bit less devoted. For your sake.”

He had not understood her words then. Stunned into silence as she retreated into the caste, he at her heels.

It had become more clear to him later when the Lockwoods and their entourage arrived. Her recent betrothed. A handsome and wealthy man giggled the maid servants. A powerful boon to the kingdom whispered the Court.

He had doubted any man was worthy of Her Highness and the Lockwood heir did nothing to sway his impression. But he did his duty and stood guard at Her Highness’ back, prepared to arrange a tragic accident should she ever require it of him.

Thus, it was a twisting blade in his chest the first time she addressed him as “Sir Mikaelson” instead of “Sir Niklaus.” Cold, distance seeped into their every interaction and drove the blade deeper each time. He thought he had failed her somehow, and it was with hurt confusion that he wondered about her occasional gentle touch. Glimpses of the past that grew increasingly foreign to him.

And then he understood. The poor page boy deserved better than a public whipping and dismissal from the castle. He agreed that Her Highness was above anyone else in the land, but not even he would take such harsh measures against a callow youth. A slight stutter and a blush from a boy not yet ten and four could be expected even, when said boy first encounters a woman such as Her Highness.

Such thoughts made his wound ache anew. Her dismissal had hurt him.Yet his confirmed failure hurt him more. What a useless knight he was, that he burdened Her Highness as she acted to protect him.

“Your Highness?” He intoned as he knocked at her chamber door. Had it been so long ago that he would have stood with her beyond that door?

“Enter.” Her voice was flat, missing familiar inflections.

She did not look up as he strode in, focused instead on sealing several parchments with wax and her insignia. She placed a few of them away, some in compartments of her desk and others in storage chests. The rest she bundled into a pile on her desk and at last looked up at him.

“You are far above the duties of a page.” She hesitated for a split second, her fingers tracing the cooled wax of the seal, before adding, “Sir Niklaus.” He jolted, hearing his name from her lips for the first time in what seemed an eternity. “And yet those are the duties I task you with this day, for I trust no other the way I trust you.”

The words were a balm to his soul. At last he could once more do something useful for Her Highness.

And if he carried out his orders with perhaps inappropriate fervor no one need know.

Her voice cut through his thoughts.

“You stand accused of sedition and conspiracy. Endangerment of the lives of the citizens of the Realm. Aid to an assault on the royal family. Allegiance with those who murdered my father, His Majesty King William II. How do you answer these charges, ...Lord Lockwood?”

Her Majesty turned her head only enough to aim her severe expression at the stunned lord beside her. What had been poorly concealed smugness turned quickly to shock and then outrage.

“Caroline,” he spluttered ignoring the shift in the atmosphere of the room, as baleful eyes fell upon him. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Her Majesty was unfazed. “We detailed the relevant accusations quite explicitly. If you have nothing to say in your defense, then We shall move on to your sentencing.”

At last he seemed to grasp that this was no jest, his expression hardening even as an entreating note entered his voice.

“Caroline...Your Majesty...surely you do not trust the word of some lowly, nameless knight over I. Your Lord. Your Betrothed.”

Said nameless knight was reveling in the clot’s continuous missteps.

“We find it odd that you make such claims of Our most loyal knight. It was not he who brought forth evidence against you.”

Well, not directly, he thought with a well-hidden smirk.

“Come forth, Lord Augustine, what say you on this matter?”

From the crowd stepped a dark haired man. Niklaus was used to seeing him with an air of mischief and a taunting smirk not far from his face. A bit of a rogue that one. But now there was only solemnity, though a hint of disdain crossed his face when his eyes flitted over Lockwood.

“Your Majesty,” he said with a proper bow and address. “After an interrogation of the Lords Salvatore a most detailed plot came to light.” Lord Augustine then proceeded to outline the entire tale, and it was indeed conspiracy, even treason for some of the named parties. “Measures were taken to verify the veracity of this information. Confirming correspondence was found in the belongings of many of those outed by the Salvatores. Threatened servants came to light to whom I offered protection in return for their services on this matter.”

With each word, a dark pleasure curled in his chest as he watched Lockwood become increasingly pale and panicked.

The Queen nodded. “On account of this evidence We offer probationary pardon to the involved servants and an execution order for one Lord Tyler Lockwood.”

Desperate, Lockwood made to draw his sword on the Queen. Niklaus may have been several feet away from the dais, but he crossed the distance in a flash. One harsh jerk sent the still sheathed sword clattering to the floor below and a shove sent the doomed lord stumbling after it. Guards seemed to materialize out of nowhere, seizing the man’s arms and forcing him to his knees.

He could feel the deadly glare on his face as he glowered at the worm’s audacity. How dare he even attempt to harm Her Majesty let alone in his presence.

“We thank you, Sir Niklaus, and offer you one last order as Our loyal knight. Carry out Our execution order. Remove this threat to Our Kingdom.”

“At once, Your Majesty.” He stepped forward, bending slightly to heft Lockwood’s sword from the ground. Without fanfare he unsheathed it, drawing the sharpened steel across Lockwood’s throat. A quick sidestep allowed him to avoid the resulting blood and the guards dropped the man into the rapidly forming crimson puddle.

The Court was silent as they all bore witness to Lockwood’s final moments. When the man fell still the guards returned to drag the body away. No doubt someone would remove the head and confirm his death.

Niklaus turned toward Her Majesty, kneeling before her throne. Now that the room was settled once more, he was able to process the earlier mention of the word “last.”

“Sir Niklaus you have served Us with honor. You have done a great service for this Kingdom, its people, and Us. You have gone above and beyond your duty numerous times and you have earned Our favor long ago.”

The Queen waved a hand, circulating a familiar parchment along with a similar letter with an unfamiliar seal.

“Sir Niklaus. Son of Esther. Son of Ansel.” He felt his jaw fall open slightly, though he quickly snapped it shut with a click of his teeth.

What?

“…legitimized trueborn Prince of Varg.*** We name you King Consort. Rise, Lord Niklaus.”

He did so in a daze, uncertain if his ears were deceiving him. A subtle gesture had him turning to gaze at the court. A Court that was now kneeling before him.

“All hail, Queen Caroline!” They chanted in unison.

“All hail, King Niklaus!”

Points if you caught the GoT inspiration. 

*Purple Crocus represent youthful happiness; its wilting a bad omen. **Honesuckle represent devotion and bonds of love ***Varg means wolf

[chubbyooo]

Blurred Lines Chapter 31 - Armande

writing mood has taken me so here we go with another chapter. I’ve been super excited to write this one for a while (warning strong language)

Ash wakes up after their sudden slumber

Ash could hear a faint murmuring as she awoke, she kept her eyes closed making sure not to arouse suspicion. When unsure of her situation it was best to be cautious, what had just happened? they were talking to Amy then she... oh yeah she drugged their drinks. She was furious she’d let her guard down around her this never normally happened, the murmuring got louder as Ash got her bearings, the accent sounded clipped and noble with a similar twinge to the noble they met on Nar Shaddaa. Damn it Ash knew they wouldn’t give up that easily, why was she always right to be paranoid.

As Ash opened her eyes just a slit she could see he was talking into a holocommunicator he seemed gaunt and hunched with messy grey hair covering his head and chin. “yes your highness we have them captured and the information shall come shortly” The man on the holo seemed to be sitting in some sort of throne Ash could only guess this was the current ruler of what was it Dubrillion? He was bald with a stern frown, wearing some form of ridiculous robes, that’s all she could make out from her view.

As he responded Ash could hear his grating voice pierce the chamber like a knife “very good Armande once your done send them here” with that the imposing figure’s holo dissipated and ‘Armande’ began talking to the guards. Ash began to assess the room it looked unlike any interrogation chamber she’d ever been in, a bed a closet this almost looked like... oh they were still at the hotel. These guys were clearly amateurs Ash had counted 4 guards total none of which carried electro shock sticks, if she wasn’t stuck to this chair they would all already be on the floor. It felt like zip ties holding her to the chair but they were definitely breakable, just noticeable she needed to be subtle. She saw Gacen slumped next to her seemingly still asleep which was probably for the best he would make a scene when he woke she had to assess their chances of escape. She saw three possible exits, the obvious door but that seemed like more trouble than it’s worth with more guards probably outside, the window which Ash didn’t want to repeat because they got extremely lucky last time and third was a vent she could see leading into the room seemed covert and possible. But none of that mattered if she couldn’t get past these five, they still seemingly hadn’t noticed she was awake so she still had a chance. Armande seemed to be preparing some interrogation tools, all pretty basic stuff tweezers to pull out nails, small drills and a number of liquid syringes she’d have to watch out for those. She looked to Gacen who was still sound asleep she would have to take her chance soon. 

The guard to the right of her seemed unenthused and bored seems he’d be the easiest to take advantage of she just had to get out of the zip ties. She slowly turned her hands forward tensing them into fists, then a quick turn back and relaxing of her muscles and her thumbs were out. Ash shook them off honestly using zip ties was embarrassing it wasn’t that hard to get handcuffs, she kept her hands behind the chair as she looked to the guard next to her. He held a knife in his side pocket perfect, quickly she went to grab it then proceeding to stab it into his leg. He screamed out in pain alerting the rest of the room, three guards two left one right but she knew who she needed to go for. The guards on the right would go for their blasters aiming them at her the one on the right would try to grab her. She ducked immediately avoiding the volley of fire from the guards then slid under the left guard sweeping his legs as she went, she stood up quickly ready to assess her next move. Armande stood in the corner surprisingly unfazed by the commotion, the guard next to her would get up try to stop her and the other two would continue firing. Easy way to solve that she grabbed the guard lifting him up and throwing him in the firing line of the other two guards, she had to tense as she did it but nonetheless his body flew in the way of the blaster fire and knocked the guards to the ground. She proceeded to grab Armande putting the knife to his throat. He would try to wriggle free but Ash held him in a grip where that wasn’t possible too easy

Armande seemed to chuckle to himself “he he well my dear that was very impressive what amazing anticipation” he seemed strangely calm for someone who had lost which was never a good sign. 

Ash could smell a musk coming from the man which was fairly off-putting “you move you’re dead” Ash unfortunately didn’t mean it but only because they could get information from him, they could still maim him though.

“oh yes of course but I think you’ve put yourself in a bit of a bad situation” she completely had the upper hand this guy was full of it “because you seem the best at anticipating but you can’t let go of me to stop this” As he said that she realised he was going to stab something into her leg but she would have to let him go to stop him. Before she could decide she felt the sharp prick in her upper thigh, instinctively she sliced with the knife but as she started she began to feel very woozy and gave up as she stumbled away for Armande. The room began to spin she could see people shifting from their positions very weirdly, she turned back to Armande who seemed to be covering his throat hah she had got him. She turned to see the guards coming towards her let’s see there was 3 wait no 5 wait no 4 wait, she felt herself grabbed by the guards and she was suddenly back in her seat, what the fuck she should’ve anticipated that. Wait she got stabbed with something was she drugged? she didn’t feel drugged? just kinda woozy, Armande came over still holding his throat. “well that was a regrettable decision now wasn’t it Ash” Armande spoke rather raspy all of a sudden that cut must’ve got him. Ash spat in his face causing him to flinch back

Ash was confused she totally got him “how are you even alive I just sliced your throat like so bad” that wasn’t what she meant to say that was weird

Armande laughed as he wiped the spit from his face “My dear that was an hour ago the drugs have kicked in” she waass drugged she totally knew it. Ash snorted to herself giggling loudly “am I missing something my dear?”were was that coming from she never giggled

what an idiot “this is by far the worst truth serum I have ever had I’m gonna be too loco to answer you, stupid moron” it was true this truth serum sucked

Armande raised his eyebrow “well good news it’s not truth serum I knew your skills and knew my guys wouldn’t be able to stop you so I inhibited your ability” aw that was so not cool she was gonna beat this guy into the ground

“so what you’re saying is that you’re a big baby coward pants” Ash giggled to herself, woah hold on why was his face all swirly no wait the room was swirly no wait she was swirly maybe they all were swirly.

Armande let out a long sigh as Ash began to stare into space “wake the other one up he’s the one we’re after” this prick just because his eyes were like bigger than hers he thinks he’s hot shit

Ash turned to see Gacen being jostled awake “ugh wha where am I” he looked around the room and spotted Ash looking at him quizzically

Ash waved “ good morning sleepy head we’ve totally been captured by this lizard” Ash gestured to the lizard where Armande was sitting, Gacen frowned at her looking ever so confused

Gacen looked deep in thought for a second “well still not the weirdest place I’ve woken up in the last week” had Gacen always had that many horns? had Gacen even had horns to begin with? oh my god Gacen was being attacked by horns!!! wait no he’d always had horns “who’s this smelly prick” he gestured to the lizard man in front of them

“oh that’s Armande captain of the cowardice ship he turned into a lizard a fe...” she looked at him that’s not a lizard that’s a human “never mind he’s back”

Gacen turned to Armande “ok I know you guys are the bad guys but what the fuck is up with Ash” Armande let out a very long sigh

“we drugged her to stop her from attacking us” he grimaced as Gacen began laughing to himself 

“that actually makes a lot of sense” Gacen seemed like he didn’t have a plan

Ash leant over to Gacen and shouted “hey have you got a plan to get out of here I totally got the guards covered” Gacen turned to her giving her a long stern look

“I dunno Ash but maybe don’t shout it in front of the enemy” oh yeah Ash nodded in agreement winking

Armande interrupted them before they could say any more “ENOUGH look tell us what you know about Risha Drayen” Gacen nodded taking in a long sigh

“ok I’ll tell you just get in really close” no Gacen we were doing so well

“Gacen no don’t tell them” Ash pleaded he was gonna give it all up but Gacen put his hand up 

Armande sighed and leant in Gacen grinned as he said “nothing” Ash let out a series of giggles as Armande’s face dropped into a grimace.

Armande got up “ok hit him” he began striding around the bed as a resounding whack hit Gacen square in the jaw. Gacen just smiled it off but Ash could feel a boiling rage build up inside her she would totally crack their skulls if moving wasn’t so hard right now. 

A few loud punches later and Gacen’s face was full of bruises he spat blood onto the floor breathing heavily. Armande returned with some assorted tools “are we ready to talk now Captain” he held a blade of some kind

Gacen laughed “nah mate you can punch me as many times as you want that’s pretty much what I feel on a daily basis” Ash took a look at the tools on the desk seemed like your average setup bonesaw, drills more syringes wait she felt like she knew that already.

Ash chuckled to herself “yeah trust me it took me years to get him to open up you’d have better chances with the drugs” oops that may have been bad to say, Gacen turned to her slowly with wide eyes “Um never mind disregard that I’m drugged” Armande smiled picking up the syringe and jamming it into Gacen’s neck 

Gacen’s pupils dilated instantly “ahhhhh woah Ash you weren’t kidding this stuff is bananas B A N A N A S” Gacen cracked up at his own joke and began laughing to himself

Ash joined in as Armande tried to speak over them “Ok I’ll ask again what do you know about Risha Drayen” Gacen began grinning, Ash thought she spotted an Ortolan in the corner and needed to find it

“She’s pretty awesome in bed Mr flying spaghetti oh also also also she’s really pretty” where was this spaghetti she couldn’t see it. 

Armande gritted his teeth “fine let’s be more specific where is Risha Drayen” Ash snorted to herself

“your mothers butt!!!” Ash shouted out, Gacen quickly began dying of laughter as Ash followed suit 

After he stopped laughing Gacen leant close in “nah but for real I dunno that’s what we’re finding out dumbass, it’s been like a day give my lady a little more credit.” Armande looked like all his anger was about to come out as Gacen made a kissy face at him

“you are very lucky I’ve been ordered to keep you alive, but I still need to know what your relation was to Risha, we are unclear on your previous statement on Nar Shaddaa” Gacen leant back and took a long sigh, that did seem pretty unavoidable phrasing, stupid truthy druggy serum.

“ugh fine I was her husband and her business partner, you know where it says the voidhound was Skavak well that’s a load of bs to throw you cucks off I don’t know who changed it but hey it got me off the hook from you guys for years” Gacen looked at the floor pursing his lips “is that enough can we go now”

Armande began to chuckle to himself “oh no I’m afraid King Actavarus III asked for you personally so don’t think we’re letting your little conquest continue” Gacen’s anger was visible now which was pretty rare for him, he tensed up snarling at Armande

“oh that giant pompus cunt wants to see me well we’ll see about that” He began to try and wriggle out of zip-ties but after about 30 seconds gave up panting “damn it Ash how do you do this? you make it looks so easy” 

Ash had been completely somewhere else and when she snapped back she tried to stand up again. Summing up all her effort she stood up and looked ready to fight, as she did she saw a little canister enter the room from the vent and suddenly a searing white light filled the chamber causing her to reel back in pain. She could hear some muffled noises around her and when the white light cleared she could see all of the guards and Armande unconscious on the floor and a familiar zabrak form standing there.

Amy threw a gun in her direction “sorry I took so long they were really clingy with the money” Ash went to catch the gun but missed it fumbling as it fell onto the floor

Ash frowned at Amy as she began to untie Gacen “but you totally betrayed us why would you help us” Gacen was still swaying lightly clearly rattled from the beating, the drugs and the white light.

Amy finished untying Gacen who slumped to the floor “I was always gonna save you I just wanted a bit of money in the process” Ash frowned that seemed kinda unnecessary and still selfish if a bit less “is Gacen ok?”

Gacen grumbled on the floor “yeah he’s just been beaten up and drugged” Ash went to pick him up and even while still drugged it was an easy task

Amy sighed deeply “are you both drugged” Ash nodded wide eyed 

Gacen lifted his arm up “I knew you’d come and saaaave us Amy I always had faith” he slumped back over Ash’s shoulder as he finished speaking

Ash didn’t believe that for a second “you did not” Gacen struggled limply as Ash began moving him towards the door

“I did so she’s always been loyal, anyway you’re the one with a crush on her” Ash felt her skin flush going a deep shade of purple 

“i do not Gacen” Ash looked back to Amy who was checking a holopad “shut up she might’ve heard you” Gacen chuckled to himself as he gave in and let Ash carry him

Amy looked at them agitated “Guys we gotta get out of here it’s gonna be crawling with guards soon enough” Ash nodded as they left the hotel room, in the corridor things were conveniently quiet so they easily made their way to an elevator. 

As they arrived in the elevator Ash stumbled nearly dropping Gacen “ok buddy you hold yourself up my arm is tired” she awkwardly laid Gacen down on the floor

Gacen lay there not moving “fine I guess I’ll just walk myself I’m fine now see look at what I can do” Gacen continued to lie still while his eyes darted around

Amy frowned at him “what are you doing” she had been loading some form of gadget on her arm with canisters Ash wondered if she had a air gun

Gacen’s eyes widened “crazy backflips and frontflips can’t you see them” Gacen continued to lie flat

“no we can’t” Amy let out an exasperated sigh, Ash had gotten distracted by the view from the elevator she could see the whole planet it was so shiny “damn it looks like they already got guards out looking for you we’re gonna have to hide you guys”

Gacen giggled “we’re great at hiding no problems Amamamamy” Gacen sat up looking out the window “ooooo we can go to the pool” Ash liked the sound of that idea

Amy didn’t seem to however “ok no there is no quicker way to get found out than hanging out at the pool in normal clothes, go hang out at the Pazaak tables you’ll fit in there” Gacen beamed at the idea and began to get out a credit chip “BUT do not play” Amy said with an exasperated sigh.

The elevator arrived and they headed to the Pazaak tables it smelled weird here Ash thought it might be a mix of like alcohol and oil? maybe, woah why were they on the ceiling, wait no the floor was on the ceiling.

Amy grabbed both their wrists “ok stay here lay low I’ll be back once it’s safe” Gacen nodded not looking away from the Pazaak table

Ash was already bored “fiiiine mom I’ll stay at the gambling tables” she didn’t know how families worked, Amy gave her a disapproving frown and ran off

Ash turned to the game maybe it could be interesting, she could see all sorts of aliens quickly placing cards with little numbers on them but some were red and blue or green? Ash leant in to Gacen’s shoulder “Gacen I don’t understand what’s going on?” 

Gacen jumped seemingly surprised she was there “how long have you been there?” Ash shrugged she wasn’t actually very sure how long. Gacen nodded and began to explain “well Pazaak is a simple game really you need to get 21 and the dealer deals cards with numbers on them, then you choose to fold or stay in you can go ov...” Ash stopped listening she had seen a sign that said ‘observation deck’ and it sounded cool she’d always loved seeing planets close up all those people down there doing things while she could see them all well sort of they were there but so small in her vision but they were there. “and that is why minus cards rock and plus cards are stupid?” Ash suddenly snapped back to the conversation what was he talking about

“oh yeah sure totally pluses suck” that wasn’t convincing at all 

Gacen frowned “you weren’t even listening were you” Ash reluctantly nodded

Ash quickly forgot about the pazaak grabbed his arm “hey look there’s an observation deck wanna see the planet” she smiled at him as he considered the idea

“I feel like we’re supposed to be here but I don’t remember why” he paused “sure lets go” they rushed over to a lift and within a minute they entered a private viewing booth

Ash looked up seeing the planet in all it’s glory, the whispy clouds covering the sparkling blue oceans and lush green grasslands so pretty and very hypnotic. She felt herself getting very dizzy and suddenly realised she was lying on the floor, she looked up and saw Gacen also lying down, they both started laughing “I think the drugs are still in our systems” 

Gacen sat up leaning against a sofa “ok let’s test tell me something you wouldn’t tell me normally” Ash squinted for a second trying to think of something

her eyes widened as she thought of something “oh I’ve got it Ash isn’t my real name” she had never told anyone that not that it was very important

Gacen looked super taken aback “what do you mean?” Ash also sat up opposite him “are you a spy?”

“no dummy, my full name is Ash’shen’tor right and my equivalent of a first name is in the middle bit so Shen, Ash is my family name” Gacen looked off dizzily for a second

“what?” Gacen looked entirely confused, Ash began giggling to herself

“it’s like my family name like yours is Zandar but when I was abandoned people didn’t know that so they called me Ash” Gacen leaned back comprehending what he just heard

“huh, should I call you Shen then” Ash burst out laughing not sure why it was so funny

“no please I like Ash fine, anyway you tell me something you wouldn’t normally tell me it’s only fair” she never cared for chiss customs anyway

Gacen rubbed his chin for a second “ok sure” he paused “I have a sister that I am estranged from” Ash’s eyes widened she had a hunch it was something like that but was never sure

Gacen seemed pretty serious she shouldn’t press it “oh wow I can’t even imagine there being two of you” they both snorted with laughter

“hey how dare you two of me would be wonderful” he paused lowering his smile “she’s uh not that much like me anyway” Ash nodded 

“I think one of you is enough for me, even that is excessive” Ash joked as Gacen’s smile returned as he began to laugh quietly

Suddenly the elevator opened and Ash could see the form of Amy stride into the room “ok what the fuck did you think I meant when I said stay put” Ash and Gacen both laughed, Ash slipped back onto the floor

Gacen perked up wobbling as he stood up “hey that’s what you get for trying to make money out of me Ames” Amy gave him a reluctant nod and they headed out...

[bleedingout4you]

Through Time and Fading Memory - Part 2

Gif Credit

This is a the second chapter to a h/c fic for Allanon. You can also read it here on AO3.

Fandom: Shannara (TV show), Pairing: Allanon x Pyria, Rating: Mature

Chapter 1

Summary: Allanon faces off with his long time enemy, the Warlock Lord, knowing in his heart that he won’t survive this stand off. Memories of his past come unbidden into his mind. He can’t help but remember the many times that he’s stood against evil, but he also remembers the times he spent with the woman that he loved.

In This Chapter: Pyria and Eventine race to find Allanon and warn him that the Warlock Lord has returned, before he discovers Allanon’s location and destroys the last Druid......

Present Time

Steel sparked against steel as the Warlock Lord and Allanon battled for the four lands. Allanon could feel the power behind the other man’s sword and he knew that it wasn’t because the Warlock Lord was stronger, it was because he was weaker. He blocked the sword and was dealt with a blow across the face, dropping him to his knees.

“Get up.” The Warlock Lord hissed. The dark Druid always liked a good fight, and especially loved to see his victim struggling to survive. It was a sick delight that Allanon had become accustomed to experiencing when it came to the fallen Druid.

Allanon wasn’t about to give him exactly what he wanted. If he wanted a fight he would get it, but he would not be so easily defeated. He got to his feet and continued on. The Warlock Lord might be stronger, but his technique with a sword wasn’t as good as his. He tried to avoid prolonged contact, but soon their blades crossed and he was being forced down again. He refused to give up this easily and pushed back, struggling under the strength of the Warlock Lord.

He saw a glint in the other man’s eye and knew what was coming only a few moments before the dark magic connected with the center of his chest. He was flung backwards across the ground, trying to catch his breath from the impact. He could see Cogline move forward to engage the foe, and took this moment to attempt to recuperate.

He summoned what magic he could spare to heal himself just enough to fight again. He winced as another bright flash of red light lit up the space. Cogline was flung back from the fight and lay in a crumpled heap. The time for resting was over.

Allanon looked away from Cogline. He’d been injured by the Warlock Lord’s dark magic, but luckily he was still alive. He watched as the dark man stepped from the smoke. It looked like Cogline had managed to injure him, but not nearly enough. He braced himself to fight when he heard his name called.

“Father!” Mareth appeared at the foot of the stairs, her eyes widened in fear at the sight of the man across from him.

Allanon looked at his daughter. She was afraid, but like her mother she refused to let that fear control her. She didn’t turn and run, and he wished that she would. “Get out of here!” He shouted to her. He’d lost so much in his life, that he couldn't watch her be destroyed. He was destined to die here, but that did not mean she had to sacrifice herself here as well.

He heard the sound of metal scrapping against concrete and turned just in time to see the Warlock Lord send an old car directly at him. The box of old twisted steel struck him, slamming him back against the wall. The back of his head struck the wall and the world swirled into familiar blackness. This wasn’t the first time the Warlock Lord had tossed him against a wall……

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

Many Years Ago

Pyria sat next to Ashala on the top step of the throne room. “I don’t see a reason to be stressed about it, Eventine.” She smiled up at her brother who was wringing his hands. “It’s just another gathering.”

She laughed at the way Eventine got so flustered over celebration planning. He was strict and organized, perfect qualities for a leader, but not perfect for celebration planning. “We do this every time we get a new batch of the chosen, just do as we did last time.”

Eventine looked down from his throne at the two women. “I really should just put you in charge of all of these things.” He sighed. “You have a much better taste when it comes to having fun and decorating.”

“You’ll get no arguments from me.” Pyria shook her head with a laugh, looking up as two young children raced into the room. Crispin and Ander seemed to be playing some sort of game that involved Ander chasing the other boy with a stick.

“Ander!” Eventine frowned at his youngest. “What did we say about running inside the throne room?”

Ander and Crispin skidded to a halt and glanced at each other. “Sorry, father.” The little curly haired boy mumbled.

Ashala cleared her throat and looked pointedly at her own son. “Crispin.”

“Sorry, King Elessedil” The other boy stuttered over the words.

Eventine couldn’t hold back his own smile regardless of how stern he attempted to look. “I accept your apology. Now don’t do it again.”

Pyria looked up as the doors swung open again and General Edensong walked in. “Papa!” the boy playing with her nephew raced into the arms of his father. She felt a warm feeling of happiness spreading in her chest as the general lifted his son into his arms.

She glanced at Ashala as she too got up to greet her husband. The General had been out at the border checking in with the guards for a few weeks and now the family celebrated being together again. It was almost bitter sweet witnessing the reunion. The years had gone by and everyone around her changed, but she felt trapped in the same place.

When Allanon had disappeared Ashala had assured her that she’d find someone new, but she hadn’t met anyone that made her feel the same way. She didn’t think she was still hung up on the mysterious man that had disappeared with almost no goodbye, but she’d never been interested in finding someone else. She almost felt guilty watching Ashala with her family, feeling a sense of envy. It must be nice to have someone to share a bed with, and to raise a family with. She forced a smile so that Eventine didn’t notice. The last thing she needed was another conversation with her brother about her lack of a spouse.

“What is the word from the border, General?” Eventine asked him, clearly pleased to be off the subject of the celebration.

General Edensong pulled himself away from his family handing his son back to his wife. “It’s strange tidings, my King.” He approached the throne with a look of grave concern on his face.

Eventine frowned. “How so?”

“There are creatures of smoke and shadow moving about.” The General noted his king’s brow furrow. “I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I hadn’t seen one myself, they have been harassing the guards and random citizens.”

By harassing, Pyria assumed that he meant they’d left bodies in their wake. She’d spent enough time with her brother to read between the lines when they spoke in code to avoid any sense of panic leaking out to the people.

Eventine rubbed his beard slowly. “Why now? Do we know what they are, or why they are... harassing people?”

“I heard they are hosting interrogations. They are able to speak apparently.” The General seemed to be rather shaken, which was surprising and troubling. “They are asking for the whereabouts of the Druid.”

Pyria felt her breath turn to ice in her throat. Shadow creatures that were looking for Allanon and leaving bodies in their wake, this was worse than simply strange. She slowly glanced at her brother and she could tell he was just as concerned.

“We need to warn the Druid.” Eventine was on his feet. “He should know that some dark force is searching for him, and perhaps he can explain exactly what it is.”

“Easier said than done.” General Edensong pointed out. “No one has heard from the Druid in years.”

“I know where he is.” Pyria announced. The room grew silent as the two elves turned to her. “A year after the Druid left us, I was curious as to why he didn’t return.” She saw the look in her brother’s eyes. He knew that she’d fancied the man when she was younger. She rose to her feet deliberately looking away from her brother. “He taught me how to read some of the Druid text, and I believe I know where he is.”

She could pretend that his running off the way he did didn’t hurt her, but it wasn’t true. He knew that if he cast the spell that he’d have to go into a Druid Sleep to recover, but he hadn’t told her. She had considered him her friend and thought that he had at least owed her the truth when it came to that, but clearly he hadn’t felt the same way.

“Alright.” Eventine slowly sighed. “Let me know the location. I’ll ride out with the General personally and warn him.”

“It may not be that simple.” Pyria carefully crossed her arms watching her brother. He knew nothing about the ways of the Druids. Allanon would not be awake, and waking him up could be impossible. “We might need to protect him, not warn him.”

She could see the skepticism on his face. “Allanon had to go into a hibernative state to recover from the spell he used to protect Paranor.” She could see more confusion on her brother’s face, and knew explaining this to him would take too long. “Time is wasting. I know more about the situation than you do. I’ll ride with you.”

“Pyria….” Her brother attempted to protest, but she held her hand up to him.

“Don’t argue. I have decided.” She told him firmly. “You know that you need me on this quest, don’t be foolish.”

Eventine looked as if he wanted to protest, but it was clear that he was thinking it over. “You’re right, Pyria. We leave in within the hour.”

Pyria smiled pleasantly at her brother, glad that he’d come to his senses. She made her way to her room to get ready feeling a strange sense of nervousness tickling about in her chest. What would it be like to see Allanon again? She wondered if it would feel the same as before, but she doubted it. He would be asleep, and as much as she wanted to wake him she knew that she probably wouldn’t be able to.

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

 It was the same nightmare. He was standing in the middle of a hall overflowing with celebration and festivities. People from every race moved around him, bowing to him as they passed. He was in control of every last one of them. His slim fingers brushed over the steel crown that he wore. He was king of all the Four Lands and there was no one left to defy him. The great doors at the end of the hall blew open with enough force to break the wood into pieces. He felt the chill of fear plunge into his heart like a cold blade. He wanted to flee or defend himself, but he could never change the course of the dream. The shadow appeared. The Druid.

 He pulled his sword free of its sheath and heard the all too familiar answering sound of the druid blade unfolding. The metal clicking together was something that haunted him even when he was awake.

 He created a shield of magic to defend himself, but the Druid simply walked through the barrier as if it were made of dust. "Curse you!" He screamed as the blade arched up slicing down through his shoulder and into his chest.

 "I am the last of the Druids, and I will destroy you." The voice thundered in his ears as the blade turned to fire in his chest. He could feel his body being slowly torn apart.

Brona, the Warlock Lord, bolted awake. He pulled himself into a sitting position feeling the shortness of breath and cold sweat racing down his back that he’d become accustomed to. It was always the same dream that pulled him from his sleep, instilling a deep sense of fear. He didn’t like the feeling. It was a weakness, and it left a bitter taste at the back of his tongue.

He rubbed the palm of his hand across his forehead, brushing away the sweat that had collected there. He knew better than to consider this a dream. It was a vision. A vision of his destruction. This remaining Druid was the last thing on this earth that could destroy him. Others had tried before, they had destroyed his body, but he had survived. He’d spent years upon years recovering in a tiny shack at the edge of the Wilderun, and he refused to have it be for naught.

He pulled himself off the bed and made his way across the rickety little building. It was one room and he could smell the mold on the walls. He refused to live this way much longer, but he also refused to accept death. He pushed the door open and stepped into the sunlight. He could feel the heat of the sun on his bare skin and for a moment he just enjoyed the feeling. It had taken years for him to even get close enough to a point where he could walk, let alone feel the sun on his face. It was a feeling he didn’t take for granted.

He opened his eyes and scanned the horizon. When the visions had first started coming to him he’d been unable to speak, but once his tongue was loosed he’d sent his Skull Bearers out to find the Druid. They had been searching for some months now, but none had returned for a report. Wisdom bade him to remain hidden from the world, but impatience demanded action.

He made his way back into the shack and pulled on his old clothes. They were slightly tattered, but appearances didn’t mean a thing to him. They would serve to protect him on his journey. The Skull Bearers were decent helpers, but their ability to reason was limited. They were searching for the man in the flesh, but for some reason the Druid wasn’t at Paranor, so they spiraled outwards.

Moving away from Paranor was a mistake. Brona knew the Druid would be drawn there and at the very least there would be a hint that his Bearers hadn’t seen. He made his way out of the shack again and turned to the horse they’d brought him. It wasn’t much of a creature, but it was enough to take him to the keep.

The ride was long, but Brona had been lying in rest for many years. It was almost refreshing to travel such a distance. As he crossed over the desert that had once been something greater he could see Paranor rising in the distance. A lesser man might attempt to run from his fate, but not the Warlock Lord. He understood fate. You couldn’t run from it, but you could meet with it head on and change it.

He could feel shivers of fear racing up and down his spine threatening to invade his mind, but he swallowed it back. As he neared the keep he felt a tingle in the back of his mind suggesting that he’d wasted his time and that there was nothing to be found here. “Clever.” He whispered beneath his breath. It was why the Skull Bearers hadn’t found anything, this place was cloaked with a spell. He dismounted several yards away from the door to the keep and scanned the place with his well-trained eyes. Yes, he could detect a barrier shielding the old keep. He smirked as he stepped up to the barrier. He could see Paranor on the other side, but it was not the safehold that it used to be. No, this Paranor was covered in dust and death. The Druid Order had been torn apart and their blood had painted those walls. The Druids had gotten what they deserved, and he had seen to it. He closed his eyes still being able to hear the cries of the dying. This wasn't a safehold, it was a crypt.

He reached his hand up and tapped on the barrier with his finger. He hissed as the flesh sheared off almost to bone. He turned his hand over looking at the charred flesh. Many people would react in anger, but that wasn’t something that he was feeling. He was feeling a sense of delight. He looked up from his hand and spotted a book lying on the ground just inside the barrier. The elements had mostly destroyed it, but the cover made of durable leather remained jutting out of the sand.

The Druid had cast a spell to keep the forces of evil out of the keep. It was almost poetic, because now Paranor was the one place that the Druid could be safe from him and yet he wouldn’t be there. A spell this powerful would have dreadful repercussions. No doubt the Druid would be called into the Sleep, and he would not be in any condition to go far.

Brona turned and sprang back unto his horse, knowing exactly where to go. The time to strike was now, the Druid was vulnerable. He didn’t believe in luck, but he believed those who challenged fate were rewarded. He drove the horse at a furious pace toward the closest Druid cave. The horse was worn from the journey, but he didn’t care if it dropped dead once they arrived. Today, he would kill that last Druid.

He reigned the horse to a halt at the edge of the cave entrance. He could feel the sense of victory welling up inside of him. Unless he had terribly miscalculated, the Druid would be here, completely defenseless. He slipped off the horse and drew his sword. The dark magic in the blade raced into his hand and up his arm as he stepped into the darkness in front of him.

He could see the man lying on the stone table in front of him. He looked younger than he thought he’d be. He tried to recall his face in his memory, but he wasn’t sure if he could. Most of the Druids were faceless in his memory. There were those that he hated, and then there were simply the ones he’d murdered.

Walking up to the table, he kicked a dusty pile of clothes out of his way. He rested his hand on the edge of the table and leaned over the unconscious man. “How did you escape?” He mused to himself. “Bremen was more powerful than you, but I cut him to pieces. Where did he hide you?” He laughed to himself, his eyes flitted over the body of the Druid. He noted the lines running over his arms and his fingers. The spell had taken its toll on him and he’d probably be riddled with more scars, but the Druid wouldn’t have to be worried about scars if he was dead.

It was almost disappointing that the Druid was so defenseless. There would be no fight here, but he did hope that he would wake up when the sword pierced his heart. He wanted to see the life vanish from his eyes with the knowledge that Brona had succeeded in his quest to destroy the Druid order.  “Time to die, Druid.” He hissed, channeling his magic back into the sword. He raised the sword above his head prepared to bring the blade down through the other man’s heart.

The runes etched into the walls around them began to glow like embers settled in a fire pit. Brona, consumed with blood lust, didn’t notice the telltale warning signs, all he could see was the man lying in front of him. He plunged his sword down, tip first, toward the Druid’s heart.

He heard the sound of metal clicking together. Steel building upon itself. The noise that echoed in his nightmares. The Druid’s hand moved quickly, his blade slipping in front of the tip of Brona’s blade. The dark blade slipped off the Druid sword and missed the intended target, instead it sliced down through the top of the man’s shoulder.

The Druid released a muffled cry as he rolled off the table. Brona stumbled back a step at the unexpected movement. He’d wanted a fight, but there was something about the Druid foiling his quick kill that made him annoyed. He reached forward with his free hand and summoned dark magic. Death by a sword was a better way to go than being ripped apart by dark magic. The Druid had brought this fate on himself by resisting.

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

Allanon was walking down the shores of the sea. He looked across the waters and could see the strange outline of Paranor in the distance. It wasn’t the Paranor he’d left behind, this one was the resting place of the spirits of the Druid order. He could sometimes speak with the others in his dreams, but only when they chose to appear to him.

He turned away from the sea and suddenly found himself inside Paranor. He inhaled a quick breath in surprise, the smell of death filled his lungs. He froze, barely daring to breathe or move. Glancing around him, he could see blood over the walls, bodies lying broken and bleeding on the floor. There was no sound, not even the sound of wind. It was silent. He could feel his blood turning to ice as he slowly started walking down the hall.

A hand reached up and grabbed his ankle. He spun around, ripping his foot clear of the man on the floor. To his horror, he was looking down at a bleeding Bremen. His master’s eyes were clouded white in death, but still his mouth moved. He couldn’t hear the words, but they echoed in his mind.

 “He is coming."

Allanon stumbled back, feeling a sudden urge to flee the keep. "You....you're not supposed to be here." He stumbled over another body lying on the floor, but he couldn't take his eyes off the sight of his master. "You didn't die here, this is a mistake."

 "Wake up!”

Allanon’s eyes flew open and instinctively activated his sword, drawing it up to protect himself. A blade glanced off his shoulder, the pain shocking him into full alertness as it sliced through his skin. He gasped in surprise, rolling off the table just as a powerful blast of magic struck the very place he once was.

The sickening sound of stone breaking echoed inside the cave. He could hear the table cracking apart, and feel it in his soul. The man that had entered the cave was powerful enough to destroy a Druid table. Shards of broken rock flew around him. He reached up to shield his eyes as a piece cut into the skin just above his right eyebrow.

The shock wave, released as the magic within the table was destroyed, hit him next.  His body was lifted from the ground and slammed into the back of the cave wall as if he was nothing but a simple doll. He could hear the sound of his ribs give way as he hit, feeling a wave of blistering heat wash over his exposed side. He could tell that his entire right side from his ankle, up his leg, back, and arm were covered in severe burns. The shock of what was happening numbed his body to the pain briefly, and stole his breath. He tried to breathe in, but all he could do was pull in a weak shaky gasp of air.

The cloaked figure moved forward, his hand lighting up with another flame of red magic. Allanon’s ears were ringing from impacting with the wall, but through the fog he could hear the cold laughter. He also heard something else. It sounded like someone was calling his name. He heard it again and forced himself to his feet. He stared back at the shadow that approached him.

The man cloaked in shadows lifted his arm, preparing to throw another blast of magic. Allanon knew that the person he was dealing with was powerful, and he hoped that his own magic was powerful enough to at least hold him back. Lifting his arm, Allanon summoned all the strength inside of him, channeling it into a deflection spell. The blue light shimmered to life in his hand. The colors of blue and red lit up the cave in a blinding flash of light.

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

Pyria could feel the nervous energy eating away at her as they made for the Druid cave. She was nervous about seeing Allanon again, but she was even more concerned that they wouldn’t make it in time. If she could discern which cave he’d gone to, someone else could as well. She rested her hand on her sword hilt. She didn’t usually carry a sword, but she’d been trained in the art of battle for her own defense.

“Do you know what we are facing, Princess?” General Edensong asked her. Her brother had insisted that they bring a small army if needed. So the general had rounded up a troop of his most skilled fighters.

“I think it might be the Warlock Lord.” Pyria spoke hesitantly. “I don’t know much, but from looking over historic texts the creatures you described have only appeared when he is around.”

“That name seems familiar.” Eventine frowned. “Didn’t this man destroy the Druids?”

Pyria nodded, attempting to hide her fear. If he’d destroyed the entire Druid order, what was protecting Allanon from sharing the same fate?

“We need to be careful.” General Edensong grew tenser than before. “We can’t risk engaging with someone that has magic that powerful.”

She knew that he was right. Their fighters were skilled, but in the face of magic they were nearly powerless. They reached the rim of the knoll and looked down at the sloping hillside that led into the dessert region. “There.” She pointed to a ridge below them that wound just up the next hill and disappeared into a dark cavern.

Eventine urged his horse forward, but the general reached out his hand and caught his king’s shoulder. “Wait. Look.”

Pyria followed the point of his finger and saw a dark hooded figure riding up to the cave. “We’re too late. He’s here!” She kicked her heels against her horse’s side, but two of the guards seized her reins. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t let you go to him.” The general told her, a voice that was far too calm. “It could mean your death.”

She looked to her brother in surprise. They couldn’t have ridden this far to stand by and do nothing.

“I’m sorry, Pyria.” Eventine sighed bitterly. “I won’t risk losing you.” He looked back toward the figure that had dismounted his horse and was entering the cave. “Allanon is my friend, but we can’t run in blind. Dying won’t help him.”

“Doing nothing won’t help him either.” Pyria didn’t mean for her voice to be so cutting, but she couldn’t help it. She would not leave Allanon to die. “I’m sorry too, brother.” She slammed her elbow into the first guards face and kicked the other guard’s horse in the side causing it to buck. She urged her own horse forward once they were forced to release her reins.

She could hear her brother calling out for her, but she didn’t listen to him. The only thing that mattered right now was helping a defenseless man. She would not stand idly by and let the last Druid be killed in is sleep, solely on the grounds that she might be hurt in the process. She reined the horse to halt next to the horse the rider rode in on.

Pyria looked over the other horse, noting the blood dripping from its nostrils and sweat soaked body. She dismounted quickly. “Anyone who treats an animal this way doesn’t deserve to draw breath.” She whispered to herself.

She turned to enter the cave when a powerful blast rocked the ground, a gale force wind exploding from the cave entrance. Stumbling back, she fell on her backside, her eyes opening wide in surprise. Had she been too late?

“Allanon!” Pyria called out at the top of her lungs, scrambling to her feet. He couldn’t be dead. She refused to believe it. She made her way into the cave and saw the cloaked man in front of her. She could barely make out Allanon, hunched over towards the back of the cave. She fumbled with the sword in her belt, barely managing to free it from its sheath. “Allanon!” She shouted to him again, and then the whole world exploded into a blinding light and the explosion that followed was deafening.

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

Eventine attempted to go after his sister, but General Edensong held fast to his reins. “Your Highness, you can’t.” His voice was stern. “We can’t afford to lose you.” He gestured to his guards. “They will bring her back. You need to think of your children and kingdom.”

He hated to admit that the general had a point, but he couldn’t stand the idea of his sister running into harm’s way. He watched the guards riding down the hill when the first explosion rocked the countryside. The horses by the entrance bolted and the guards were tossed from their mounts. It took Eventine everything he had to keep from getting tossed from his own horse.

“I’ve had enough of waiting.” Eventine fought his horse, trying to force it go forward, but it refused his commands. He looked up and saw his sister vanish into the cave. “Pyria!” He dismounted from his horse and took off on foot.

“Your Highness, no!” General Edensong gave chase behind him, but didn’t make an attempt to stop him, instead he fell in step beside him. “This is foolish!”

“This is about my sister!” He shouted, as they raced toward the entrance of the cave. The next blast knocked them both onto the ground in front of them. Eventine’s ears were ringing from the sound of the explosion just ahead of him. He shook his head trying to clear his hearing. If he was affected by the blast this much, he could only image what happened to his sister.

“Are you alright.” He felt the general’s hand on his shoulder and brushed him off. This wasn’t about him. He got back to his feet and stumbled up to the entrance of the cave. He was surprised it was still standing. He drew his sword and cautiously stepped inside.

The cave had suffered damages, the back of it had caved in and the stone table that stood in the center of the room was cracked in half. The strangest part was that there was no one inside the cave. He looked around in confusion, but it was as if no one had ever entered the cave. It was truly, completely empty.

“Your Grace.” General Edensong’s voice echoed in the stillness. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know.” Eventine felt a sense of dread flood his soul. “They’re just……… gone.” He turned to his general with a blank expression. People didn’t just disappear into thin air.

[namjoonchronicles]

betrayal | nj

➤summary: You have led a pretty self-centred life all your adulthood, until Namjoon pinpoints what really matters--not just passion, but persistence. Your questionable morality and his blind faith isn't always the best combination, and yet, the past always catches up.

“Because you’ll watch me drown.” His answers brought a smile to your lips. Satisfying, simple minded and heavenly pleasing. He maybe in chains, but the only things he needs restraints on, are his mouth. Sitting on a metal stool, knees spread apart, his leather jeans are so tight, they look like a second skin. Sinful lips, sitting on that sinful face, his wrist bounded by metal cuffs, he was put to place, so wildly enraged on his throne. “Because you will be there smiling while I’m gasping for air. You’ll sit there on your pretty little ass, licking your lips, and intoxicate your head with the sound of me squirming, groaning… hissing in pain. I remember how you liked it…” He continued and wet his lips, his damp hair covering his eyes as he peered at you through his lashed, a bit slouched on the chair, like a bad boy he is. You placed a gun on the table with its nozzle pointed at him, grinning as you circled around the table. He wasn’t wrong there. Swinging your legs over his lap, you straddled him and yank his hair so he had his head tilted back, he grunted and then broke into laughter. “Why do you always make me feel like an evil bitch? I’m actually very nice.” You whispered to his neck, your breath fanning against his sweaty skin. It was hard not to enjoy the feeling of him being rather helpless in this position, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he struggles to breath, and his veins began to show themselves, popping and demanding to be seen. There’s something about being above Namjoon like this makes you feel so powerful. “The problem with people like you is that you don’t think about how your work affects others, and I don’t like having to come down here and get my hands dirty.” You yanked his hair back harder, until the wall echoed his grunts. You stood up and let your man take over. They spill ice cold water over his head, while you watch from the steel table. Crossing your ankles at the torture scene. The tiny scarce of ice, sliding next to your pretty heels so you kicked it away, while you hear Namjoon gasping. His body heat escaping, making tiny smoke enveloping his body. 

Namjoon is a private investigator, and you’re a lawyer. You both often clash in your line of work. For some God damn reason, you two always end up being on the opposite side of the court. This time, Namjoon have found out a secret worth a multi-million dollar blackmail and your client wants it gone. That tape shouldn’t have made it out of the safe, and yet Namjoon had his hands on them. And he is ready to use them to boom his client’s benefits. Water droplets flying everywhere as Namjoon shook his head violently. He sprayed the water out of his mouth. Unswayed by the weak torture, Namjoon came back to his senses to give out a hearty laugh. “Tell me where it is, damn it. I could do this all day, Namjoon.” From your voicr alone, Namjoon knows you were growing impatient. You just wanted to know where that damned tape is. Namjoon replied a sly grin, “…I can do you all day.” You grinded your jaws together as you narrowed your eyes at him. “Grill him. Hang him, I don’t care. Do whatever you want…Break him.” You ordered Hoseok as you marched out of the dungeon, climbing up a metal staircase. “If you kill me, you will never know where it is, baby!” Namjoon hoarse voice, piercing through the metal walls, as he is levitated by a cable, inch by inch, upside down on the ceiling. He is stripped off of his cloth by now, and your thugs began to strike his torso with metal baseball bat. They really grilled him. They immerse him in freezing water basin as long as he can withstand not breathing, before pulling him up again, to beat him, in a vicious circle of torment. His every groan went straight to your ear as you watch him through a tiny camera in your office, until you decide it was time to interrogate again. Your heels clicked on the dirty cemented floor, Namjoon’s face is still perfectly unbruised but his body was beaten black and blue. His eyes are wide as he shook his head to stay conscious. “Painful isn’t it?” Your voice drilled into his buzzing ear like a melody. Your men lowered him and placed him down on the cold floor, dripping wet, as he coughs violently, suffocated by the stuffed cloth in his mouth that you kindly took out. “Not as painful as being betrayed by someone you love.” Poison in his words, because you know exactly what he meant. With a wave of your hand, the thugs left the room and shut the door behind them to give you and Namjoon, some privacy. “Betrayed? Honey…I’m only doing what I’m paid to do. This is my job…” You exasperatedly explain with a little tinge of amusement in your voice. Being in pain certainly bring out the sentiments in Namjoon, it seems. “…You think you can torch information out of me through tortures? Baby, I’m a trained marine, I thought you know that.” Namjoon had the energy to scoff even after you’ve denied food for him for almost 48 hours now. “Did you forget?” He lulled his head, laying on the side, with his wrists still bounded. “Pain is my breakfast, lunch and dinner.” He chortled. Much to your dismay. How can he be so violently stubborn? All he had to do is reveal where it is, and we all come out alive. He rolled to his back, chest heaving up and down, his torso glistened under a sinful mixture of sweat and water. Your eyes can’t help but soften at the sight of him. The last thing you wanted to do is to hurt him this way. But he left you with no other choice. “I don’t want to kill you.” You flicker your eyes away. He stared down his defined pectoral muscles and grinned, letting out a short chuckle before tipping his eyes up at you, the way you remembered he liked to do. That look on his face had you gulping, nervously. “…You can’t kill someone who’s already dead.” Namjoon laced his words with venoms, struck your deepest wound with numerous blade by the way he stared with that smile that used to look so sweet, now it cuts you in every way possible. He was monstrously selfish with his actions. “Hand it over... personal matters aside. Hand the files over. And I’ll let you live.” He scoffed at you. “Of fucking course you would. Of fucking course you would fight on the side of money...” he shook his head as if he was a fool to actually thought you would change your virtue, “You’re always so money minded. Everything is money, money, money. Don’t you get bored? Is that why you were sleeping around with Seokjin?” Your breathing hitched and of course Namjoon caught it. He know he had strike gold and he dig in further. “Also, there was that guy named Wonshik too, wasn’t it? You dumped him after he got involve in that nasty money laundring scandal... guess it didn’t last long with anyone, did it?” He muffled a laughter and you winced at the thought of how Wonshik would twist your wrist when you didn’t get the deals he asked. And Seokjin had many other girls around him while he was with you so you two weren’t exactly together-together. It was a matter of faith. So you darted back at Namjoon, “You don’t know everything that’s going on in my life...” “I’m a private investigator. It’s a given.” Namjoon shot, finally feeling the bruises against his wrist, pulsating through his shin. “Making enough money to start sticking in your nose in my business for free, now ha?” You crossed your leg and pulled his waist up so you can cut the cables that has been bounding him. He had his ankles chained too so, he can’t run. His wrist aches but watching you fixing his position made him soften a bit. You had his hands bounded above his head now. “I like your hands so I don’t want them to get hurt.” You said, coming up with a sleazy excuse to touch him. Namjoon’s eyes bore in to your neck and chin as you raise his hand up and tighten the hold between the bound. “Since when do you give a shit.” He shot. “Since now.” You barked. “Then you should know that your client is a prick who cheats on his wife and deserve to be blackmailed for the shitty things he’s done to his homemaker. Not that you know anything about loyalty...” another slash through your soul from Namjoon. You placed each hand next to his ears and looked at him with unreadable set of eyes. He gazed up to you just as needy. “Why did you leave me?” He asked. You shifted to your bottom and hugged your knees, leaning your head against the metal table, staring down at him, then at the drywall. “We were going nowhere Namjoon. I heard rumours of you going around with random girls. During the training and shit. And there was nothing serious between us—“ “—nothing serious?? Don’t make me laugh.” He snorted, “I give away my virginity to you, don’t give me that bullshit.” You rested your chin on your knees, looking soft as ever. “I miss you sometimes. I miss your touch. I miss the way you tell me how your day went. I miss your hugs. Damn, I miss your hugs. They feel like home to me. A home I never had.” You reminisced, “But we were also young.” “You don’t remember do you? You came to my house, drunk.” Namjoon giggled. The pain is crippling his bone but he continued talking. “...you were God damn sexy. Your lipstick is smeared. Totally wasted. Your hair is just... everywhere but perfect in my eyes that night. It took everything in me not to pounce on you. Especially when you call my name that way...” He bit his lower lip and you hid your face in your folded arm. “I came to your house, drunk?” You couldn’t believe it. “Twice.” He said. “And then National Day happened.” He added. “Do you remember that?” How could you forget. You showed up unannounced on Namjoon’s doorstep, after he got out of a shower, shoved him to the nearest wall and tell him that you hated him for exposing an evidence that made you lose a case. “Fucking bastard,” you hissed in his face. Namjoon scoffed to the floor, hand rested on his hip as he processes the profanity you delivered to him with a slight amusement. The action made you boil so you leaned forward and push his chest, hard. Namjoon stumble back a few step. Namjoon didn’t want to hurt you so he muttered, “Stop.” But you marched to him, fueled with hate and shove him again. “I said. Don’t.” Namjoon warned, walking forward, towering over you until your back hit the wall behind you. He slammed his palm next to your shoulder and a picture frame hanging on the wall, fell to the ground from the impact, shattered. Namjoon’s eyes bore into you, as you wait for your impending death from the way he stared. Heat resonates from his body, but not enough to make you shrivel. If anything, you challenged him. He gulped at his own desires and how the anger that bubbles over, turned into an unexplainable lust. Your drunken kisses previously may have held him hostage for many lonely weeks that come, but tonight he’s sure he’s not letting you leave that door without a mark. So he plummeted into a heated kiss, capturing your lips with his very own, keen to feed his carnal desires and treat you the way he had been imagining, many times before. The most surprising thing was, you were responding... positively. He repelled for a quick second to breath, “Fuck. I thought you hate me.” You pulled his collar and bring him closer, “Learn to eat what’s served.” You growled back and Namjoon groaned as he pressed his hip on you, sandwiched between the wall and Namjoon’s delicious body. “Bed?” He asked between hungry kisses. He saw you nod desperately and stepped back to crouched down so he could have you over his shoulder and into the bedroom as agreed, and throw you on the bed. You woke up deathly sore, with hickey marks more than you could count. Along your inner thighs, your collarbones, and bite mark on your shoulders, Namjoon didn’t hold back, Namjoon didn’t control himself, at all. Taking the chance of him being in the shower, you put on your clothes in a hurry, scattered around the room and left nothing behind for him. Namjoon knew that you left. And in his mind, he knows that he is foolish for being in love with one girl and one girl alone. It hurts him to a certain degree. He felt so used. But he liked it? Namjoon saw your eyes flicker as you shut down that memory with a blink of an eye. He was hopeful, foolishly hopeful for things between you two to change, tell you that he wants you and only you, make you feel loved the way that you should be loved, take away whatever pain you’re going through because he knows the you that he is watching right now is not the old you. The old you was vibrant, puts everyone first before yourself, easy to love and speaks her mind. Not this guarded, money minded monster who throws away genuine love for the fun of it. Namjoon was the only person who could bring out that old part of you, but unfortunately, you grew tired of being kind and nice that you cover yourself up with false strength and fortress. “Is there something on my jaw?” He suddenly asked. And you looked, drawing your face closer to his to take a better look. “No, why?” You asked, squinting your eyes when he said to look harder. So you straddled him to have more balance and Namjoon took you between his arm. Eventhough bounded at the wrist, he can circle your neck and glide his hand down your spine. “Namjoon stop it. I’m not playing.” You scolded him and he shot, “Kiss me.” You squirmed but he was stronger than you so you didn’t even budge. Your shirt revealed a bit of your bare skin that it came in contact with Namjoon’s very own. “I’m giving you what you want,” he snickered. You blinked slowly at him. He could be lying but, he could be telling the truth too. You hesitantly lowered your face to his but stop midway, so Namjoon raised his head from the floor to capture your lips with his once more, furrowing his brows at the familiar addicting taste of you that he had been so deprived of. He was sucking the oxygen from you and you struggled to keep the kiss going when he glide his tongue over your lower lips. You patted his chest so he’ll stop because you were out of breath but Namjoon—a trained marine army, can hold his breath longer than any average human. Suddenly you felt something in your mouth passed over by Namjoon’s tongue through the liplock. You had to force yourself away because it seemed like he could go on for another minute or two. You panted for air and put your fingers in your mouth to take out a chip. Namjoon’s chest was heaving from the adrenaline rush, and his face turned soft from the uprisen serotonin level in his blood from the kissing, he exasperatedly say, and grinning, “I trust you to do what you think is right.” You stared at the chip and realized, “You could have chewed it down and swallow it. Why didn’t you?” Namjoon smiled and shake his head. His dimples showing. “To see what you’ll do.” He easily answered. And you took a second to think. “What’s inside?” You asked. “A D-class pornography starring and directed by your client.” Namjoon passed. “Could potentially ruin his reputation to ashes. Child of God as he calls himself, thrown into the pits of hell.” Namjoon added. You weighed over the pros and cons and you tutted your tongue. “And if I return this chip to its owner...what will you do?” You smirked at Namjoon, who was laying on his back on the floor, shirtless. Shackles around his ankles, ropes around his wrist. “I will continue to pester your life with my annoying ass.” He shot. “And if I destroy them?” He rolled his hip upwards, earning a gasp from you. “I will continue to pester you on your bedsheets with my talented tongue...” he bit his lip right after. “I didn’t cheat on you... Seokjin played around with girls a lot. And Wonshik threatened me with my college fees. It was nothing serious with Seokjin. And Wonshik made me feel like trash...” you confessed. Lighting up a lighter, you used a clip to hold the chip and have it burn while the camera captured them. Namjoon’s eyes twinkled, wryly. Your clients will throw a fit but at least the source of blackmail items is diminished. And no extra copies is being made. Your client is safe. But. That is if. Namjoon is telling the truth. Question is, is he?

[lady-of-starlight]

Let The Star Lead The Way - Chapter 14 - Interrogation

It has been days since the girl went missing. Thranduil paces around his throne room, indecisive about what to do with his “companions”  when Feren, one of his lieutenants, runs towards them and up the stairs, stopping in front of him.

“Have the trackers found anything?” Thranduil asks, his posture stiff.

“No, my lord. They have searched everywhere around the borders but can’t find a trail.” Feren sounds apologetic, wary of his King’s temper that seems to have grown even worse in such a short time.

Thranduil’s fingers press around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles turning white at the effort. “Am I to understand that no one saw or found anything? You truly expect me to believe that?”

A loud snort comes from behind his back, and he turns to face Edraith and Tharon, both standing with their hands tied behind their backs. The source of noise, however, had been Edraith.

“Seems not everyone lives up to the reputation of the Mirkwood elves, if they can’t even find one lost girl from their own forest.”

“Are you accusing my trackers of being sloppy?” Thranduil’s voice takes a dangerous tone. 

Edraith smirks and is about to answer, when Tharon brings his boot over Edraith’s toes, stomping down hard. Edraith yelps and turns to him, as Tharon gives him a warning look, the signal clear: Don’t you dare.

Then, Tharon speaks to the King. “With all respect, your Highness, but she has spent most of her life sneaking outside the borders of Lothlórien for her little adventures – and has never once been caught.”

Thranduil paces in front of the two elves, his sword out on display and sweeping dangerously close to them every time he turns slowly on his heels.

“She is not familiar with these lands... Where would you expect her to go? Aside from running aimlessly to any possible direction.”

 “As we already discussed about this - days ago, just to remind you - we have no information to provide. If she truly meant to leave, she never told us anything.” Edraith shrugs, twisting his arms in discomfort since the ropes around his wrists are wrapped too tight.

“I find it hard to believe. Very much so, actually.” Thranduil directs his piercing look at Edraith in particular, who stares right back without averting his gaze. “You three seemed very close, it strikes odd that you wouldn’t share your worries with each other.” “Is there something we should have known about then?” Edraith’s voice silences him at once. “Something that might’ve happened to her, of which she was too afraid to speak with us?”

Thranduil feels a burst of cold wrapping around his heart like a fist, causing it to skip a beat while Tharon looks at his friend in utter shock. “What are you suggesting there?”

“Nothing in particular. Just wondering.” His eyes narrow as he looks at the King, who in turn refuses to meet his gaze any longer.

As he does not answer, Edraith pushes forward, barely hiding the contempt in his voice: “So, did something happen? Or is it now a guarded secret of the realm, only to be spoken with the high-ranking officials?”

In a flash, Thranduil’s sword is directed at him, the tip touching Edraith’s chest who freezes on the spot, not daring to move. The sharp point presses against his clothing, only barely leaving the fabric intact as the King leans closer, hissing his next words as a warning:

“I am the one to ask questions here, Edraith Amathion. You are forgetting your place. See yourself to regain it, and quickly, or I shall help you to step down - with my sword.”

Judging by the look in his eyes, Edraith seems to believe he wouldn’t shy away from using that blade on him, and snaps his mouth shut at once.

“You will remain imprisoned until the girl - or the necklace - is found.” He lowers his sword, sliding it into its scabbard as he leaves, shouting his final words from the bridge: “Enjoy your time in the dungeons.”

✽ ✽ ✽

You wrap a blanket around your shoulders, looking out the window at the attic where you’ve found shelter. First rays of sunshine announce the arrival of a new day in Dale, with the merchants hurrying up the alley far below you, making their way to the marketplace in order to secure good spots for their sales.

You had made sure to stay hidden upon your arrival, entering the city in the middle of the night. Once there, you had begun to search for a place to stay in. All inns and abandoned shacks had been out of question, those would be the first places for the trackers to check out. And there would be trackers, of that you are certain. As this is the only city nearby, it would be only logical to expect them to come search from here. So you have taken precautions, finding a place from higher ground so that you can observe your surroundings while staying out of sight. You had found this attic while running across the rooftops - the family living downstairs didn’t use it regularly, judging by the amount of dust that covered everything, so you had decided to stay for now.

You had slept poorly the night before, with flashes of old nightmares tormenting you once more. Weirdly enough, the odd dreams had subsided during your stay in Mirkwood, but now they were back. Although, rather than coming up with new images, your dreams were replays from the sceneries you had already seen. Most disturbing one being the vision of burning Mirkwood - the reason you are now sitting here. It had been the starting point of this journey. Looking down at your hands, you wonder if you should’ve stayed in Lothlórien. Had you known what this journey would bring to you...

Droplets of tears fall on your hands: You are crying again. Clenching your fingers into fists, you wipe the tears away, drawing a shaky breath. It’s the thought of him that makes this so hard.

The look of Thranduil’s face upon your last parting... It had been the look of complete and utter betrayal, loss of trust. And hope. You can still see it behind your eyes, as if it has been burned into your memory, returning to torment you every now and then. Sighing, you close your eyes, trying to force the image to disappear.

Suddenly, there a rustling noise that makes you jump in alert. A lid to a hidden staircase rises and a child peaks into the attic, freezing when she sees you. You stare at each other silently in shock for a moment, before she turns and shouts downstairs: “Mom! You didn’t tell me we have an elf living up on our attic!” “We have a what?!”  Someone shouts back, and you can hear footsteps coming from somewhere below you.

Debating your chances for a moment, you resist the urge to sweep up your things and run to the window. Now that you’ve been found, it’s useless to flee. Word would spread that an elf had appeared on someone’s attic, and that kind of attention would be the last thing you need.

You can only try to minimize the damage for now. “Do not be afraid.” You give a hint of a smile to the little girl, who is still staring at you, her mouth wide open. “I was only seeking for a place to rest, and your window was broken...”

As if realizing her open mouth just then, she closes it, blushing. With her eyes fixated on your pointed ears, she says with a silent voice: “It’s been broken for ages. We haven’t had the time to repair it, and mom was fearing that birds would fly in here and make nests... I come to check every now and then.”

“Well, I’m not exactly a bird.” Your smile widens, and the girl laughs at your words.

Then, she looks at you again, wondering something. “Can you fly?”

Now, it’s your time to laugh. “What makes you think that?” “Well, we’re quite high up, and if you came through the window...” “Oh, no. I did not fly up here. Just ran across the rooftops.” You shrug your shoulders as if it’s nothing, but she looks impressed.

“Mary, get down here, young lady. What have you come up with this time?” A new voice startles you both, and a woman’s head rises next to the girl’s, peeking into the room. Seeing you, she gasps.

You smile apologetically at her. “I am sorry, I did not mean to disturb you. I was only searching for a place to stay in, and thought your attic looked abandoned.”

The woman stares at you for a second. “Oh.” Then, she gathers herself quickly. “I would imagine there to be better places to stay in though... There is an inn down the road, they might have a room for you... And if you are short of coin, they might let you work--”

“Is there any chance for me to stay here?” You interrupt her, your voice sounding desperate. “I would prefer to stay away from public for a while, to have some peace. No, no, I’m not a criminal, if that is what you think”, you add quickly when you see the look on her face, “I’m just.... trying to leave someone behind, to start over. That is all.”

She wonders your words for a moment. “We see elves here occasionally, as we trade with your kind... Are you from Mirkwood? King Thranduil’s court?”

You wince at the mention of his name, but try to mask it with a brush of your hair. “No, I... I come from another elven realm. I’m only travelling around, trying to find a good place to settle in.” Which isn’t too far from the truth.

Mary jumps back into the conversation: “Why Dale? There are other cities down in the south too?”

“It’s... Well, as you might expect, people do sometimes have weird expectations about my kind. There aren’t so many of us left in here... Most humans these days have never seen an elf, and might treat us weirdly.” You had once overheard some of the Lothlórien guards talk about the human cities they had visited, and those had been their exact words about the experience. Shrugging again, you continue: “I thought that since you here in Dale trade with elves regularly, you might be more open with my kind.”

Mary’s face lights up. “Can she stay with us, mom? Please, it has been so boring since Charlotte left, I have had no one to talk to--”

“Hush, young lady, now do me a favor and get back downstairs and help your brother with the breakfast.” The woman ushers her daughter away and returns in a blink.

“I have to say, you were lucky to choose our attic. Some of our neighbors might not have been quite as welcoming to unexpected visitors...”

Meeting your gaze, she offers her hand towards you. “Well, now that you’re here, you might just as well come and join us. The food is ready.”

- End of chapter 14 -

Notes:

Amathion = Son of Shield

Merry Christmas/Yule, folks! Here’s the latest chapter, thank you for being patient :)

Tagged persons: @shady-teenagers @danidac7 @bellastellaluna @blackcat995 @the-ship-amitiel @evyiione @tenduelimagines @raindancer2004 @bunnysneverdie @yhunakaye

If you wish to be tagged on the future chapters, please leave a comment on the most recent chapter so I’ll notice it :)

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

My Eyes - Part 17

Pairing: Bucky; Steve x Fem/Reader

Word Count: 4,354

Story Description: Steve is a good man, America’s golden boy, a hero. He’s Captain America for christ’s sake! So it’s normal to want what he has… right? Bucky knows he doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t even deserve the second chance at life he’s been given. But Bucky can never let him know. Steve can never find out that his friend is in love with his best girl.

Story takes place post “CA: CW” and all tension has been resolved.

Previously On…

Y/N’s eyes blinked open to stare at a stark white ceiling. Her ears took note of the heart monitor near her.

“Mom? Mom, can you hear me?” Jimmy’s voice was still muffled, like she was trying to hear him while underwater.

The she realized someone was holding her hand tightly.

Y/N turned her head to see Jimmy leaning forward, watching her carefully.

“Hi, sweetheart.” She sighed, trying to sit up.

Jimmy shot forward to help her.

“Is the baby…is-?” She couldn’t bear to say the words aloud.

Jimmy’s eyes softened at her implied question. “The doctors said the baby is fine. You’ve been asleep for about a day. They want to keep you here a little longer to do some tests, make sure Hydra didn’t give you anything else.”

Y/N tried to remember how she got here. Her head felt like it was trying to split in half. The last thing she recalled was the sedative Hydra gave her. She’d been screaming and kicking with all her might. She even tried to knock out some of the operatives with her powers. She managed to do it with two or three. But there were too many and she was under too much stress.

“Where’s Bucky?” She looked around. The heart monitor sped up as she started believing that something happened to him.

“He’s fine. Actually, he’s back at the house with Tony. They’re installing a high end security system.” Jimmy watched his mother relax at his reassurance. Then he took in a deep breath. “You don’t remember anything?”

Y/N shrugged and shook her head. But then she looked her son over and noticed the healing cuts and bruises on his face. “You were there?” She whispered.

Jimmy nodded. “You thought I was dad…” He lowered his head at the memory.

“James, what the hell were you thinking going with? You could’ve been killed!” She sat up straighter. Being exhausted and in recovery didn’t stop her from snapping into mom mode.

“I’m fine, mom. I promise.” Jimmy expected this reaction.

“They’ve been training you, haven’t they?” Y/N’s voice lowered.

He didn’t say anything, nor did he meet her gaze.

Y/N opened her mouth to further interrogate him, but a team of doctors interrupted them. She gave her son a look that said ‘we’re not finished talking about this.’

As the doctors explained her situation, Y/N couldn’t help but become anxious. Why wasn’t Bucky here? It felt odd not to wake up without him at her side?

---

Bucky returned to the compound late that night. He went right to the medical ward. There was a doctor lingering outside of Y/N’s room, her eyes looking over her charts. Bucky looked past them to see that Y/N was sleeping peacefully.

“How is she doing?” Bucky asked quietly. He walked close enough to see Y/N through the glass window, but he made no motion to go inside.

The doctor looked at her patient through the glass as well.

“It seems Hydra really told you the truth. They didn’t do anything to her. Their intent was to keep Y/N safe until she gave birth. The only thing in her bloodstream was the remnants of that heavy-duty sedative. It was mostly to keep her from harming herself and the baby.”

“So they’ll be okay?” Bucky asked softly, unable to take his eyes off Y/N.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes, they’ll be perfectly okay.” Then she eyed him carefully. “Maybe you should go sit with her for a bit. She kept asking for you. I think Jimmy even went back home to get you.”

Bucky just nodded.

The doctor put the chart back into its slot and started walking down the hallway. Bucky waited until she turned the corner before walking away. With each step her got further and further away from Y/N.

---

Natasha and Sam guided Y/N back into the house. Jimmy quickly behind them carrying her things. Everyone was coddling the hell out of her. She could barely be left alone after the incident.

Nat led her to the couch.

“How about we watch a movie and make the boys cook for us?”

Y/N stared blankly at nothing. Nat watched her for a moment before Y/N’s bottom lip started trembling and tears filled her eyes.

“Where’s Bucky?” Then the floodgates broke and she was crying. The words trembled from her mouth and she threw her face into her hands.

“I-I don’t know, sweetheart.” Nat admitted. And she was telling the truth.

No one had seen Bucky for days. But they all knew why he had disappeared: Bucky thought he was a danger to his family. Hydra convinced him he was toxic. Bucky realized he was a fool for ever believing he could have a normal and happy life. The child he created had somehow turned into their key for making a super-soldier army.

“I need him.” Y/N cried into Natasha’s shoulder. “I can’t do this without him. I don’t want to do this alone again.”

Sam and Jimmy came into the living room after hearing the sounds of her crying.

Jimmy face looked inconsolable. He could save and protect his mother from Hydra. But he couldn’t protect her from Bucky.

“Come on, kid. Let’s get dinner started.” Sam pulled Jimmy back into the kitchen again. He knew having her son watch her break down would only make things worse.

“What the hell is he doing?” Jimmy asked lowly as Sam started grabbing food out of the bags of groceries they brought in.

Sam sighed. “It’s complicated, Jimmy.”

“How is it complicated?” He spat.

“When I first met Bucky, he’d lost everything…his identity, his memories, his family. All he had was Steve. And if it weren’t for your dad, who knows what would have happened to him.” Sam shook his head as he remembered the state they had found him in. “Bucky struggled with believing he deserved any ounce of happiness life could give him. It took years of therapy, reflection, hard work, and friendship.”

“Yeah… and my mom.” Jimmy added with attitude.

“That’s what you don’t get, Jimmy.” Sam scolded. “Bucky has never thought he worthy of having you and your mom. The moment he allowed himself a life of domesticity and happiness, Hydra had to come and remind him that they could take it all away from him.”

Jimmy’s face fell a little, seeing the situation from a new perspective. “But they didn’t… and I’m not some helpless kid anymore.”

“Nobody thinks you are, Jim.” Sam exhaled. “But that doesn’t stop all of us from worrying about you.” He went back to chopping up vegetables. “Bucky is just working out some things. Give him time.”

“How much time?”

“That I can’t answer.”

When dinner was ready, Nat managed to get Y/N into the kitchen. The crying had stopped, but Jimmy felt sick when he saw his mother with bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks. She didn’t say a word throughout the meal. Jimmy, Nat, and Sam managed to fill the silence with mundane conversation.

Jimmy volunteered to do the dishes and Y/N disappeared to her bedroom, not even having the energy to find solace in her garden or greenhouse.

“Nat, maybe you should stay over.” Jimmy suggested. He had never seen his mom like this. Not even after her abusive boyfriend left. He couldn’t fathom the thought of her sleeping alone in her bed tonight.

It was Y/N’s first night back home after the capture and she would just be overwhelmed with reminders that Bucky had abandoned them.

Nat agreed and the three of them continued cleaning up.

---

Jimmy came home from school and immediately shoved his backpack to the floor. He went to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of Gatorade.

“Mom?” He called out.

There was no response.

Jimmy didn’t have to call out again. He knew where she was hiding.

When he was little, one of his favorite things was sitting in his mother’s greenhouse and watching her work her magic. She’d give him little tasks like watering the garden or pulling weeds. Y/N taught him everything she knew about flowers and planting.

Jimmy watched her move about through the window.

He never used to think much about his mom’s appearance. It wasn’t until he was older and saw the other parents at school. His mom seemed to glow with beauty in comparison.

Jimmy also wasn’t ignorant to the dads taking a closer glance at her. Even some of his classmates checked her out. That bothered Jimmy more than anything. But he was pretty sure his mom was oblivious to it all.

Y/N looked exhausted and depressed. Even her flowers couldn’t cheer her up.

“Mom, the doctors said you shouldn’t be on your feet a lot.” Jimmy scolded.

Her head snapped up in a fear for a moment. “Jesus, you sounded just like Steve.” She covered her face and took in a deep breath to calm herself.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He apologized.

“It’s fine, sweetheart. How was your day?” She sighed and took a seat at a table while she cut off the thrones of some pink roses.

“It was good.” Jimmy gave her a shy smile and joined her at the table. He took out a butterfly knife from his pocket and flipped it around fancily until the blade locked in place. He started grabbing the roses and slicing off the thrones too.

Y/N watched him. “For the love of god, Jimmy, do you take that to school with you?” She shrieked in horror.

Jimmy looked up guiltily.

“When did I fail you as a parent?” Y/N mumbled mostly to herself.

“Mom, you never failed me.” His words were solemn. Then Jimmy looked down at the knife. “Bucky gave it to me for my birthday one year. He said he got it right before he enlisted.”

Y/N’s entire body tensed at the mentioning of his name.

“Have you talked to him?” Jimmy asked carefully.

It had been a week since Y/N got discharged from the doctors and returned home from the compound.

She cut off a few thorns before answering. “He texted me last night.”

Jimmy glared at the remoteness of it. “What’d he say?” “He asked how I was doing and said that he loved me.”

Jimmy nodded.

“I didn’t reply.” Y/N added shortly. “Jimmy, you shouldn’t have to worry about any of this stuff. You’re just a kid. You should be going to parties and flirting with girls.”

Jimmy chuckled at that. “Mom, I was raised by the Avengers and I’m an enhanced super-soldier. Everything else seems kind of silly in comparison.” Then he cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down at the table. “And I suck at talking to girls.”

Y/N chuckled.

Jimmy lit up at being able to cheer her up slightly.

“Your dad was the same way.” She breathed sadly.

“But he got you.” Jimmy pointed out.

“I didn’t make it easy for the poor man. Steve might not have had the charm, but he definitely had the persistence.” Then she realized Jimmy had stopped cutting the thorns. He was watching her in slight awe. “What?”

“You never talk about him like that.” Jimmy stated quietly. “You’ve never even told me how you met… or really anything about your relationship.”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy.”

But he shook his head. “I never ask because I know it makes you sad. Bucky says he thinks about Steve every day. I can’t imagine it’s much different for you.”

“It’s not.” She agreed. “Talking about your dad used to feel like I couldn’t move on. Like it made me believe that he would come back someday. I never thought I’d find another man that I could love as much as Steve.”

Jimmy leaned forward and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.

Did he really want to ask? But he had to know.

“Do you love Bucky as much as you loved dad?” He asked cautiously.

Y/N genuinely thought about it before answering.

“I used to think it was all about volume: how much or how little you could love someone. But if I’ve learned one thing from Bucky, it’s that there are different ways to love someone. Falling in love is different every time. And it’s silly to compare the past to the present. So yes, I loved your dad more than anything in the world. But I love Bucky just as much. It’s just different.”

Jimmy gave her a shy grin at the answer.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, Jimmy?”

“If I order us Chinese food, will you tell me about how you met dad?”

Y/N smiled at the innocence behind her son’s proposal and gave him a small nod.

----

“That creepy man is back.” Y/N’s coworker, Janice, whispered to her.

Janice was a middle-aged woman whose husband was ridiculously wealthy. She only worked at the library part-time because she didn’t know how else to entertain herself. She was judgmental and had adopted the ignorance of small towns that Y/N despised. Though she was always pleasant to Y/N, maybe only because they were coworkers.

Y/N looked up, only half interested. Her thick glasses were sliding down her nose and she pressed them closer to her face as she followed Janice’s gaze.

“Just because he’s wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses doesn’t mean he’s creepy, Janice.” Y/N sighed.

“If he’s not creepy, why don’t you go over and help him then? He looks confused.” Janice dared.

Y/N sighed. She didn’t know why she bothered doing as Janice dared. She was probably just using it as excuse to get away from the woman.

“Excuse me? Can I help you with something?” Y/N asked quickly.

The man whipped around at her greeting. He did a double take, completely caught off guard by her beauty. Then he accidentally stared for a moment. It made Y/N uncomfortable, mostly because he was wearing sunglasses and she couldn’t read his scrutiny. As if he could read her mind, the man ripped off his Aviators, exposing his baby blue eyes.

Y/N narrowed her gaze. Why did he look familiar?

“Do you need help with something?” She repeated gently. Something about his eyes made her tone nicer this time.

“Oh, I…ugh…I’ve hit my limit for checkouts and I can’t seem to choose between these two books.” The man muttered awkwardly. His cheeks blushed. He held them up: Feminism and Pop Culture by Andi Zeisler and Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser.

Y/N’s smile warmed at his choices. It was rare to see handsome men in a library these days. It was even more rare for them to be picking up feminist literature.

“Both are great. I would recommend reading Fast Food Nation first because it’s rather depressing.” Y/N chuckled darkly. Then she leaned forward. “But you can take both, so don’t worry about that.”

“I thought the limit was 25. I already have 24 back at home.” The man explained.

She laughed lightly at his innocence. “It is. But I’m the library manager. I think we’ll survive. Come on, I’ll check you out.”

Y/N moved behind the counter and scanned both of the books. “26 books are quite a lot of reading…” She commented curiously.

“I have a little catching up to do.” The man answered as he handed his library card over to her.

Y/N looked down at the name next to his picture: Steve Rogers. Her eyes shot up to him. That’s why he looked so familiar.

“You can check out as many books as you want. If someone gives you a problem, let me know, okay?” Her voice was nice, but firm.

“Ugh… thanks.” Steve answered gawkily.

Y/N slid the books back to him. “Have a good day, Mr. Rogers.”

But he quickly shook his head “Please, it’s just Steve.”

She nodded.

“Can I get your name?”

It was her turn to blush now. “Oh, I’m Y/N.”

Steve held out his hand firmly. She looked at it for a moment, thinking about the last time a reader had come in here and introduced themselves so politely. Her hand went his and shook it.

“He didn’t ask you out that day!?” Jimmy gaped at his mom.

“Of course not. He was so shy. Honestly, it was for the better. I wasn’t in the best place when it came to my love life: a lot of bad dates, a lot of bad guys. I was in my man-hating phase. That’s for sure. If he asked me out, I probably would’ve said no.”

Jimmy laughed at that. “So then when did he ask you out?”

Steve came into the library at least once a week. Y/N knew it wasn’t just to see her because he would make comments about the books he was returning and in great detail. He started coming to Y/N for recommendations, never talking to any other librarians. It didn’t stop at books either. Steve was probably the only human who still checked out movies and CDs from the library.

It was innocent and sweet. They became friends before anything else.

But it was exactly what Y/N needed. Though she was kind and carefree, she was going through a time of never fully trusting men and their intentions.

Meanwhile Steve didn’t really know how to court in this time. But he also seemed to sense that Y/N was weary of him. It didn’t keep him away though. He enjoyed seeing her too much to refuse friendship.

Their pleasant companionship continued for months.

One night Y/N had the misfortune of closing the library alone. It started down pouring in the middle of the day and hadn’t stopped since. Y/N cursed herself when she realized she forgot her umbrella and she’d also had no choice but to park her car a few blocks away.

Y/N took one last glance around the library before turning off the lights. She opened the door and quickly fished out the keys to lock everything up. She stared out at the rain under the safety of the library’s awning.

Just as she was about to make a run for her car, she recognized someone across the street. Steve was talking to a redheaded woman under a street light. They both had umbrellas. As if he could sense someone watching him, Steve glanced over in her direction and did a double take when he realized it was Y/N.

Steve said something to the woman he was with before jogging across the street to Y/N.

“Hey.” He greeted sweetly.

“Hi, Steve.” Y/N’s shoulders were slightly upraised from being cold and dreading going into the rain.

“Forget your umbrella?” He gave a little sideway smirk.

“Yeah, like an idiot.” Y/N laughed at herself.

“Can I walk you to your car?” Steve offered. She’d learned very quickly that he maintained the manners of a gentleman from the 1940s.

“That would actually be amazing.” She nodded.

Steve opened his umbrella once again and huddled close to her, making sure she was completely covered. She couldn’t help but lean into his body warmth.

On the walk to her car, he asked about her day and she did the same.

“Was that your girlfriend back there? The redhead?” Y/N asked casually, trying to ignore that slight disappointment she’d felt when she saw Steve with such a beautiful woman.

Steve’s eyes widened. “Romanoff? No, she’s just a friend.”

Then Y/N squinted in confusion. “Romanoff…as in the Black Widow?” There was amazement in her voice.

Steve smiled at the adorableness of her reaction. “Yeah, that one.”

Then they were at her car. He was disappointed that their time together had been so short. But he thought of the advice Natasha had just been giving him.

“Hey, where are you heading off to?” He asked casually.

“Ugh…home.” Y/N didn’t catch the intention of his question yet.

“Would…would you want to grab dinner with me?” He’d never sounded more confident talking to her before.

Y/N looked around. “Now?”

Her puzzlement made him laugh. “Yeah, why not?”

“Like a date?” For some reason she felt the need to ask.

Steve grinned, somehow his streak of confidence held steady. “Yes, like a date, Y/N.”

A smile spread across Y/N’s lips and Steve swore it warmed his entire body on that cold and rainy night.

“Dinner sounds great.” Y/N affirmed.

The spontaneity of it all made it less stressful for her. The pressure of a first date was absent.

Steve ended up taking her to a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant in town. The rain must have scared away the other customers since they had the whole place to themselves. But it was also late. The owner didn’t seem to mind and kept giving them free appetizers.

They ended up sitting there for over three hours.

Y/N had never been so calm on a first date before. But she also couldn’t remember the last time she smiled and laughed so much. Steve made her feel safe and respected. That night… everything just clicked. Y/N looked at Steve and had the sudden realization as if her heart said, ‘Oh it was you I was waiting for.’  

Y/N’s eyes weren’t present as she finished her story. A single tear slid down her cheek as she was reminded of the feeling Steve had invoked that night.

Jimmy gave her an understanding look.

“Sorry,” Y/N sniffed and laughed embarrassingly. “I wish I could blame my hormones…”

Jimmy reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “It’s okay, mom.”

She smiled at him sadly as she propped her head on her free hand. “You’re so much like him, Jimmy. He would’ve been really proud of you, do you know that? Steve was just so… pure. Men like him are hard to find, especially these days.”

Then her eyes went distance.

Jimmy knew she was thinking about Bucky after that statement.

“I’ll clean up. You should head to bed, Jimmy.” She stood up and started putting the leftover pizza on a plate and tearing down the cardboard box.

But Jimmy interrupted her task when he wrapped her in a giant hug. “I love you, mom.”

“I love you too, sweetie.”

He kissed the top of her head and went to his bedroom.

---

Jimmy waited until he could hear his mother’s even breathing, signaling that she was indeed asleep. He managed to sneak out the door. The fancy new alarm system Tony installed was well aware who belonged in and out, and who didn’t.

Jimmy grabbed his bike from the garage and raced through the night to the compound.

He knew exactly where he would find him.

After all of these years of living with Bucky, Jimmy knew that Bucky faced his demons with anger. He went right to the training facility.

He heard Bucky before he even walked through the door.

Jimmy stood in the shadows, watching. He glanced down at his watch to see that it was almost 3 o’clock in the morning.

Bucky was practicing his knife throwing. But his skin was covered in sweet, meaning this was just his cool down. Every single blade hit the bull’s-eye. As soon as he was done with a set, Jimmy walked into the gym.

“Looks like you’re getting rusty.” Jimmy stated with dark sarcasm.

Bucky whipped around. “It’s a school night, Jimmy. What’re you doing here so late?”

Jimmy ignored the question for a moment and eyed the table with the knives spread out. He picked one up and flipped it in his hands a few times. “Oh, so now you’re back to being the father figure?” He tossed the knife harshly and it landed on the paper target’s head. “I wasn’t sure if you were still interested, seeing as you haven’t been around for awhile.”

Bucky sighed with guilt. “Jimmy-”

“I don’t want to hear more of your bullshit.” Jimmy cut him off.  

“Hey!” Bucky yelled in warning, using his paternal tenor.

Jimmy threw another knife in anger. It landed right at the heart. “Go ahead. Yell at me.”

Bucky remained silent and ground his teeth together.

Jimmy’s anger turned to sadness. “I looked up to you. All I ever wanted was to make you proud, be just like you and dad.” He shook his head in disappointment. “But I would never do what you’re doing to mom right now. I wouldn’t run away from the people I love, like a coward.”

Bucky’s eyes watered. “Jimmy, it’s more complicated than-”

“Everyone keeps telling me that! But it’s not, Bucky! It’s not! It’s simple. You love my mom. I know you do because I see it every damn day.” He rubbed the back of his neck . “I get it. You think you’re bad for us. But you’re wrong.”

Bucky was speechless.

“I can’t listen to her cry herself to sleep another night.” Jimmy tried glaring at him, but his eyes were just that heartbreaking blue. “If you were just going to disappear too, then you should have never become part of our lives in the first place.” He threw one last knife, landing on the groan. “Get your shit together.”

Jimmy walked out of the gym and slammed the door behind him.

Bucky looked up. “You see that? Your son is a pain in the ass, exactly like you. He just does it in modern vernacular.” He called up to the heavens, like Steve was looking down at him.

Suddenly he felt light headed and sat on the ground with his head in his hands. “I wish you were here, Stevie. I wish you could tell me that everything would be okay. You would know exactly what I needed to hear.” Tears fell down his face. “I’m so terrified of losing them, Steve. I convinced myself this was best. Jimmy deserved to get you as dad. You should’ve married Y/N. They would’ve been safer.”

It was ridiculous talking to a dead person. Bucky knew that.

But just as he wiped away his tears, one of the knives fell from the target behind him, hitting the floor loudly. It caused Bucky to jump to his feet.

He chuckled gloomily. “I like to think that was you repeating your son’s words…‘Get your shit together.’”

----------

Part 18

I think I deserve some sort of applause for updating so quickly. What can I say? I was inspired and couldn’t stop writing. I always love hearing from you <3

[joannalannister]

hi, fisrt i would like to say that i love your blog, its very informative and your metas are excellent. i was recently reading some of cersei's chapters and she constantly references wanting to be jaime and hating being a woman, or how much better she would be at being tywin's son than her brothers, and it got me wondering, do you think its possible that cersei is trans? or is it just that she sees herself as "tywin with teats" and resents the gendered limitations of being a woman?

I personally don’t interpret Cersei as transgender, but I know that other people do and I think that’s also a valid interpretation. 

When I say “valid interpretation” I mean “this interpretation does not explicitly contradict the text as it is written.” For example, saying Jon Snow has blue eyes directly contradicts what GRRM wrote and such a statement isn’t valid. 

The way I was trained in literary analysis / criticism was to treat the text as my Bible, and to give paramount importance to whatever is actually written in the text. (tbh this might be why it’s so difficult for me and feels so disrespectful when I condemn certain aspects of ASOIAF … almost as if it’s sacrilegious.) “Text-as-Bible” is why I’m usually throwing large chunks of text at people whenever I’m interrogating a text, and from that I identify themes and narrative structure and all that jazz.

However, people often look at the same chunk of text and interpret it in many different ways. Interpretations of stories are ultimately very personal, and a single story can have many valid interpretations. For example, some readers interpret the character Jay Gatsby as a white-passing black man, while other readers don’t; I think both interpretations are cool, and both add to the cornucopia of meta-textual commentary surrounding The Great Gatsby. 

Bringing it back to ASOIAF, when I read Cersei’s chapters, I never interpreted Cersei’s dissatisfaction and anger and unhappiness as being directed at her own body / at herself. In my opinion, she seemed rather disparaging of the male body, hurling criticisms likes stones from a trebuchet about how ~men think with their cocks~ and therefore aren’t as dangerous as she. 

“Perhaps I’m dangerous too. You, on the other hand, are as big a fool as every other man. That worm between your legs does half your thinking.”

She thinks men are fools. This didn’t come across to me as someone who wanted to be a man. It came across as a woman who wanted to be taken as seriously as men, and to be seen as just as dangerous, imo. (Even fandom dismisses Cersei as unintelligent, which I don’t think is the case.)

Cersei seems to take pleasure in her sex:

Cersei found herself remembering all the times that Jaime had knelt where she was kneeling now, planting kisses on the inside of her thighs, making her wet. His kisses were always warm. The razor was ice-cold. When the deed was done she was as naked and vulnerable as a woman could be. 

To me, it seems that Cersei equates womanhood with vulnerability, and it’s vulnerability that Lannisters hate and try to guard themselves against. (see also: Tyrion’s ”wear it like armor,” Jaime’s caustic comments as cutting as his sword, Tywin’s entire existence, and the ancestral Lannister stronghold as a giant invincible rock - there’s a big anti-vulnerability theme here.) So I don’t think it’s being a woman that Cersei hates, it’s her position in society as a woman, assumed to be weak, vulnerable, undervalued, unintelligent, non-threatening etc. 

Also, I think Cersei takes great pleasure in having Jaime’s babies, in being a mother to them, and nursing them at her breast:

It is beautiful, she thought, as beautiful as Joffrey, when they laid him in my arms. No man had ever made her feel as good as she had felt when he took her nipple in his mouth to nurse.

That didn’t suggest to me that Cersei was angry/resentful/uncomfortable in her body.  

Even as a child, when Cersei dressed as a boy, it was because of how she was treated so differently, not because she expressed a desire to be a boy:

Though he was ten years her junior, he wanted her; Cersei could see it in the way he looked at her. Men had been looking at her that way since her breasts began to bud. Because I was so beautiful, they said, but Jaime was beautiful as well, and they never looked at him that way. When she was small she would sometimes don her brother’s clothing as a lark. She was always startled by how differently men treated her when they thought that she was Jaime. Even Lord Tywin himself …

She resents the way that grown men sexualized her pre-teen* body (and everything that went with that), but it doesn’t seem to me like she was upset with her body in and of itself? And she was “always startled” that everyone treated her differently even tho she and Jaime were the same, identical, “alike as two peas in a pod … well, except between the legs.”

 (This clothes switching probably would have been before she was even a teenager, because Jaime was then sent to Crakehall to be fostered.)

So to me, Cersei’s issues are external, derived from how society views her and treats her and dismisses her, rather than internal issues of self identity. Like, for me, Cersei has a very firm, very strong idea of self - she knows who she is, or at least she knows who she thinks she is. (Cersei would do very well in GRRM’s short story, “The Glass Flower”. tbh, now that I think about it, the narrator of the Glass Flower might be a precursor to Cersei; I have to give this more thought hmm.) 

But yeah, I think Cersei’s problems are with society, and how a misogynistic society treats her unfairly as a woman.

Like, think about the FeastDance, how AFFC and ADWD were originally supposed to be one volume, and how GRRM bookends Cersei’s narrative:

Cersei I, AFFC (first Cersei chapter):

She dreamt she sat the Iron Throne, high above them all.

The courtiers were brightly colored mice below. Great lords and proud ladies knelt before her. Bold young knights laid their swords at her feet and pleaded for her favors, and the queen smiled down at them. Until the dwarf appeared as if from nowhere, pointing at her and howling with laughter. The lords and ladies began to chuckle too, hiding their smiles behind their hands. Only then did the queen realize she was naked.

Horrified, she tried to cover herself with her hands. The barbs and blades of the Iron Throne bit into her flesh as she crouched to hide her shame. Blood ran red down her legs, as steel teeth gnawed at her buttocks. When she tried to stand, her foot slipped through a gap in the twisted metal. The more she struggled the more the throne engulfed her, tearing chunks of flesh from her breasts and belly, slicing at her arms and legs until they were slick and red, glistening.

vs 

Cersei II, ADWD (last Cersei chapter)

When the deed was done she was as naked and vulnerable as a woman could be. 

a smear of grease and blood down her thigh.

Halfway down Visenya’s Hill the queen fell for the first time, when her foot slipped in something that might have been nightsoil. When Septa Unella pulled her up, her knee was scraped and bloody. A ragged laugh rippled through the crowd

Her heel came down on something sharp, a stone or piece of broken crockery. Cersei cried out in pain.

They were at the foot of Aegon’s High Hill, the castle above them. [high above them all, where Cersei is at the end of ADWD]

Cersei’s AFFC dream comes true at the end of ADWD. 

In the dream, it’s not that she dreams of being a man, it’s that she dreams of power, of strength (Tywin’s kind of strength), of respect. We talk about a lot of irreconcilable desires w/r/t the FeastDance, but I’ve never seen anybody talk about Cersei’s irreconcilable desires, namely to hold Tywin’s kind of power and to be a woman. 

Look at the AFFC dream again. Look at it. Look at the blood running down her legs (strongly associated with womanhood in Westeros - see Sansa’s pov). Look at how the throne attacks Cersei’s breasts, butt, and her stomach/womb. “the more she struggled the more the throne engulfed her” - the more a woman fights gender norms in Westeros, the more she is beaten down, berated, shamed, engulfed by societal expectations. Her foot slips on the throne – maybe this sounds fake deep but it’s a metaphor for the uneasy path Cersei must walk, trying to balance her womanhood with her desire to rule, something that Westeros will not permit her to do. 

So that’s why I personally interpreted Cersei’s story as a woman who resents the gendered limitations of Westeros. 

Also, on a different note, Cersei is such a violent, abusive murderer. There are many harmful, negative stereotypes about transgender people being violent or abusive or w/e, and these stereotypes are totally wrong, and I have no desire to perpetuate these negative stereotypes in any way, so that’s another reason why I personally don’t feel comfortable labeling Cersei as trans. 

However, as I said in the beginning, I think opposing interpretations are also valid! It might be better to get the perspective of someone who is transgender to answer this question. I would love to hear other interpretations! 

Whatever you interpret her as, Cersei is at the crux of a very interesting discussion of sex and gender and gender identity in ASOIAF.

There are some posts on @asoiafuniversity about Cersei being trans that might be of interest to you:

Discussion of Cersei, Brienne, and genderqueerness

Further discussion

“Musings on Cersei”

Discussions outside of tumblr:

(Reddit) “Is Cersei trans?”

(Westeros.org) “Absence of transgender characters?”

(Westeros.org) “Sympathy for the devil? Cersei and gender”

[ausaplenty]

Desert sword

Kiara Scuro. Shock. Nero. Ren. Quinton Scuro.

Kiara hesitated, her hand hovering over the hilt of Reed’s blade as she furtively glanced around. There was no sound above the usual cacophony of noises her tribe made as they went about their daily routine, much less any hint that her parents or brother were near enough to scold her.

In a moment of brash courage, the 7-year-old grabbed the weapon and stilled, waiting for somebody to catch her.

Instead, shadows paraded around the tent’s walls, telling her that she was safe for the moment. Her hands were barely able to close around the hilt and the blade was half her size. Kiara slid it from its scabbard, awed by the craftsmanship. Her arms shook slightly as she strained to hold the weapon aloft.

“I am Queen Kiara, protector of my people,” she declared fiercely. “And you will pay for your wickedness!”

Her war cry, mimicked from the many times she’d heard it raised among her tribesman, lacked the deep timbre but made up for it in ferocity as she charged across the tent. She climbed upon the mountain of cushions she’d arranged, looking proud as she surveyed her domain from her childish vantage point.

Reed had no desire to use the scimitar, choosing to let it grow dull in its sheath as he sharpened his wit. A weapon of its beauty deserved to be used.

“For my tribe!” The desert princess shouted as she swung the blade, her youth and inexperience making the movement clumsy and slow.

“Kiara, what are you doing?” Her father called.

She glanced at the walls of the tent, seeing his silhouette grow larger as he approached the entrance. Hastily, she buried the blade beneath the cushions and clambered to perch on top of them as Quinton pushed aside the curtain.

“What mischief are you about, starshine?” He asked, grabbing her underneath her armpits and dangling her in above the ground. “Playing games with the trickster god?”

“Put me down, Papa!” Kiara’s demands lacked conviction as she giggled and squirmed in his grasp.

“Confess, child,” he growled lightly, pulling her against his chest so that he could tickle her belly. “Or I shall let your mother interrogate you.”

“I was just playing, I promise,” Kiara protested, curling up to shield herself.

“Then why, imp, is your brother’s scabbard empty?” Her father asked, pointedly looking at Reed’s pile of possessions where the evidence sat. “And where is the sword?”

Her eyes darted guiltily at the cushions and Quinton sighed in mock exasperation as he set her down. “Did Reed give you permission to use his blade?”

“He would have said no if I asked,” the little blonde girl rationalized, pouting slightly.

“So you decided to steal it instead?” He retrieved the sword and returned it to the sheath.

“I was going to put it back!” Kiara objected. “I just … wanted to play and Reed never uses it.”

“That does not change the fact that you took his possessions without his approval. In some tribes, they would call you a thief and punish you for it.”

“I know, but I want to learn! Nero gets to learn and Ren is already so good with her daggers,” the child explained, her lip trembling slightly.

“It is dangerous for you to have a weapon … at least one that is so large and unfit for your frame. With a sword so large, you would hurt yourself before you hurt someone else,” her father told her, sitting down and pulling her into his lap. “If you want to learn, I would be willing to teach you.”

Kiara perked up “Really?”

“A desert princess should not rely on others to come to her defense, starshine, and must always be prepared to protect her people.” He kissed the top of her head. “When we reach the city, you and I will hunt down a smith to make you a blade of your own.”

“Thank you!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing tightly. His chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I will be the best swordfighter our tribe has ever seen, I promise!”

“With your fiery spirit, I have no doubt.”

~*~

Kiara tugged at her mare’s reigns, bringing the horse to a stop atop a sand dune as she stared down at the remnants of her tribe.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Nero asked, his horse dancing nervously. “Most of our people have already joined Morpheus’ caravan and would gladly follow you.”

“He is using my family’s seal, Nero. Shock stole my birthright from me, not even giving me a chance to defend it, and flies our insignia as he raids and thieves from our nomadic neighbors,” Kiara replied through gritted teeth. “It is not simply about reuniting my people, it is about restoring justice to my parents and my brother.”

“He will cheat,” her companion informed her resignedly.

“I stopped expecting honor from him when he sold me to Vance Elliot,” she said, slightly comforted by the weight of a scimitar at her side. She spurred her horse forward, galloping down the slope and through the paths between the tents. Most of her people darted out of her way, murmuring when they recognized the rider.

“What is she doing back?”

“She abandoned us – Baasira said she stole our treasures.”

Kiara ignored them, dismounting amidst the shouts and jeers. She unsheathed her sword, pushing aside the cloth curtain. Her blade lashed out, stopping centimeters from Shock’s throat as he hurried to investigate the commotion.

“Traitor,” the usurper said through clenched teeth.

“If only that was worst of your crimes,” Kiara snapped, her steely eyes cold as she met his gaze. “You stole my throne.”

“I saved my people from the filth you left them to wallow in,” the openly powered man replied.

She could see the tiny bolts dancing around his palms and she pressed the blade harder against his neck. “I should cut your larynx from your body, to see if that would still your lying tongue.”

He glared at her, the sparks fading.

“You abandoned your people. They needed a king, not some weak woman who was fooled by a whore.”

“Abandoned? That’s a clever way to hide your deceit,” Kiara hissed as Nero ducked into the tent. “You broke your oath, Shock. Remember? The last time I bested you in combat, you swore loyalty. Instead, you told our secrets to our enemy so that you could sell me into slavery.”

“If you ended up a slave, then it was because the gods willed it,” Baasira snapped.

“The only god you two serve is the god of wealth,” Nero retorted, rolling his eyes. “Did you not think we would learn of the nomads who pillage and steal from caravans under the Scuro crest?”

“As if the traitor queen’s little lap dog would know what he was talking about,” Shock sneered.

“You want to claim the gods’ favor, usurper?” the blonde woman growled. “Fine. Then we settle this the way we did last time you tried to take my birthright from me. Trial by combat. Right now.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I parade you before our people, telling them how cowardly you are – that you weren’t even certain of the gods’ good graces,” Kiara informed him.

“Fine.”

Kiara removed her sword from his throat and bowed mockingly, keeping her eyes on him. “After you.”

The quartet exited, Kiara and Nero watching the tricksters warily.

Surrounded by the tribe, Shock’s demeanor changed. “Seize her!”

“Showing your true spots already, Shock?” Ren asked as she weaved through the crowd, with Morpheus and several other members of the tribe who had left under the new leadership. “Queen Kiara thought you might. That’s why she asked us to be certain our people heard your agreement.”

“Experience has taught me to trust that a snake will shed his skin,” the blonde woman said.

Shock grabbed a scimitar from a bystander and strode behind her.

Kiara tightened her garb, making sure her robes and scarves wouldn’t hamper her skills. Her shadows curled at her feet, begging to be used. She could feel Shock’s eyes on her, assessing her for weaknesses. If there was one thing her enslavement had taught her, it was that relying on her powers was a dangerous habit..

Shock shed his robe, flexing his muscles to provide a show for the women. Kiara rolled her eyes. Showing off aside, removing the layer of protection was idiotic.

“Who challenges our king?” One of her tribesmen asked, starting the formal process for a trial by combat.

“Kiara, heir of Quinton and Tabitha, and rightful leader,” the blonde announced coldly. A few of her tribe shouted in support, their swords raised in the air.

“Are you prepared to abide by the gods’ will in the outcome of the fight?”

“No,” Shock said.

The blonde couldn’t hide the flicker of surprise.

“To truly know the gods’ favor, death should be the only outcome,” her rival demanded, looking at Kiara to see if she would back down now that the consequences were higher. “Do you accept your fate?”

“I am prepared.”

“Then begin.” The tribesman said as the audience circled the pair.

Shock lunged, his blade arcing down toward her shoulder. Deftly, Kiara spun out of his way and slid her blade across the back of his thigh. He staggered slightly, his teeth gritted in pain.

“You should have stayed away,” he growled. “Remained the blond devil’s whore.”

“Funny, You’re the only one I recall being paid,” Kiara snapped. She blocked his swing, kicking him back. He teetered, barely maintaining his balance. The shadow walker took her opportunity, unleashing a flurry of blows that forced Shock to remain on the defensive.

The metal blades clashing against each other rang nearly as loudly as the crowd’s shifting cheers.

Kiara thrust, her blade sliding in an opening that left his abdomen vulnerable. The blood drenched his muscles in seconds and she pulled back, but not quickly enough.

Shock grabbed her arm, her body spasming as lightning flowed through her. She fought against the pain, but instinct took over. A black whip lashed out, cutting her rival’s face, and he screamed as blood got into his eyes.

With a heave, Kiara knocked him to the ground. She dug her boot into his abdomen, not caring if the sand leaked into the open wound. She pressed the tip of her blade against his throat.

“She used dark magic!” Baasiraa shrieked, her shrill voice piercing the chants. “She made a deal with a demon after she abandoned us and seeks to sow chaos in her wake. I see it, clear as the sky!”

“It would be hard to make such a deal when she’s been powered for years, Baasira,” Ren scoffed, glaring at the seer. “Or didn’t your ‘gifts’ tell you that?”

“Tell them, Shock,” Kiara demanded, eliciting a small trickle of blood from his throat. “Tell them what you did and I will spare your life.”

He grabbed her leg and a dark tendril wrapped around his wrist, cutting into his skin. She applied more pressure to his stomach wound. “Try it, and you lose the hand. Admit what you did, Shock.”

“I – I told Vance Elliot how to ambush her, the night of Ren’s wedding. I w-wanted the throne,” he stammered as the blonde pressed the blade further into his neck. “Baasira hid the treasures and – and said that she stole them.”

“That’s a lie!” the seer protested as Nero shoved her forward.

“I doubt that he has a reason to frame you, at the moment,” the shapeshifter drawled.

“Surrender the throne, and I’ll let you live, maggot,” Kiara demanded. “Say it.”

“I surrender!”

The blonde stepped off of him. “Is there anyone else who wants to challenge my right to lead?” she called, her eyes daring somebody to do so.

Her words were met with silence, until a victorious cheer rang out and was joined by a cacophony of others.

Her lips twitched slightly. She’d deal with the consequences of revealing her powers later. For now, it was good to be home.