#at the same time........................ i will fight a room of armed drüskelle for that matthias url

[heliads]

Crows

Everyone has a symbol on their palm that somehow relates to your soulmate. You have a crow, which led to you joining the Dregs in Ketterdam. Every Dreg has a soulmate symbol that in no way relates to you- except Kaz Brekker, as no one has seen his palm at all.

masterlist

You stare at the crow inked into your palm. It stares back at you.

You hesitate for a second longer, then snap your hand shut, letting the unblinking eyes of the black bird disappear back behind your fingers. This is the price of a soulmate, of wandering too far from your home and never finding the one person you were meant to belong to. This is the price of being a canal rat, a Grisha, of being anybody still foolish enough to believe in a soulmate in the midst of all this darkness.

Soulmates may technically be real, but people only believe in them as much as they do Inej’s Saints, or anybody else’s long-held dreams. Between the wars and Shadow Folds springing up across the world, it’s getting pretty hard for anyone to find their soulmate at all. It’s supposed to be simple- one mark on each person’s palm to designate their soulmate, a mark that will disappear at the first touch of their hand on yours. Sometimes, you wonder what mark would be on your soulmate’s skin: a flame or sparking coal, maybe, for your branch of the Small Science, or a skull, for all the death that seems to shadow your path.

The crow has been on your palm for as long as you can remember, as long as anyone has ever had a soulmate. It was there when you were born, but judging by your trend in luck, it’ll probably be there until the day you die. Soulmates aren’t for girls like you, girls who flee their homes to trade a life amongst the Grisha for a death in the gray-streaked streets of Ketterdam.

You were born an Inferni, that much is true. You witnessed the Ravkan civil war, and you were there to flee it for safer tides. You weren’t sure what cruel twist of fate landed you in Ketterdam, one of the worst places for a Grisha, but you were at least able to keep your identity a secret. You’d seen what happened to the luckless Grisha trapped inside neverending indentures, and you know what tortures would await you if word of your firestarting habit got out. So, you never spoke a word, and pretended you were just another otkazat’sya traveler in need of safe harbors.

You hadn’t been wandering the canals long before your path turned into the Barrel. It wasn’t an intentional choice, just an eventual fate that you would end up in the worst part of the twisting sidestreets. There was no escaping the Barrel, not unless you were a wealthy mercher or some other lucky sap who the Saints blessed with the ability to avoid getting dragged down into the muck like everyone else. You learned the names and locations of all the gangs like everyone else: Black Tips, Dime Lions, and most notably, the Dregs.

Your breath had caught in your chest when you heard of them. They frequented the Crow Club, some were called the crows themselves, their leader had a crow on his cane. Everything seemed to point in a glaringly obvious arrow towards your soulmate mark: a crow for a crow. Where else could you have ended up?

You knew better now. You had met Kaz Brekker, the boy with the crow cane, and you knew that any chance of finding a soulmate among his crew was near impossible. You had been walking home after dark one night when you found yourself set upon by a duo of thugs. Not Dregs, possibly Dime Lions with a bone to pick, angry that the Dregs had such control over the pigeons of Fifth Harbor. They had been expecting an easy mark, somebody they could thunk over the head with a pair of brass knuckles and walk away without a scratch. They weren’t expecting you to beat them into the dust in a matter of seconds.

No matter your status or location, you were still a Grisha, and you’d been trained by Botkin long enough to be able to defend yourself. When the goons were finally laid at your feet, unconscious, you had allowed yourself a moment to smile. It was easy to feel low, a gutter rat in the canals of Ketterdam, but being able to use your fists again almost reminded you of the training halls at the Little Palace.

Enjoying this one brief memory, though, was a slip that you shouldn’t have made. When you looked up, you weren’t alone- a boy stood before you, gloved hands clasped over a crow’s head cane. You didn’t particularly know who he was, or make the connection between him and the Dregs, and moved to get out of the alleyway before he decided to make the same mistake as the thugs. He had slid his cane in front of you, fast as lightning, stopping you in your place. “I think we should speak about your future in Ketterdam.”

You were annoyed at this sudden interruption. “I think you should leave me alone.” You had retorted, using your hand to move his cane back in front of him. You had also been irritated, both by the fight and this boy’s brashness, and slipped your hand into his pocket for just a second to retrieve a newly shined pocketwatch. No one could have possibly seen it, this tiny movement, and the boy certainly didn’t, as he let you pass without another word.

You were still grumbling when you got back to the ramshackle building you called an apartment complex, and your landlady had raised an eyebrow when she saw you. “What, have you finally realized that it was a fool’s errand to come here?” She asked, and you shook your head. “No, just bothered by some guy with a crow’s head cane. Weird prop to carry around.” The woman had blanched, face suddenly seeming to age a decade in a second.

She had bustled over to you, voice low as if terrified that the boy might be able to hear her. “That’s Kaz Brekker, you fool. He runs the Dregs. Saints, he might even run this city.” She had hurried away from you then, forcing herself back to her work. Even then, you had known she was wrong. There was nothing the Saints could know about Kaz Brekker, nothing they could even hope to involve themselves in.

You had shaken the experience away, climbing up the stairs to your apartment. When you pushed open the door, however, you saw that you were not alone. The boy from earlier was back, this time leaning against the far wall. He gestured for you to close the door, which you did, albeit hesitantly. You had no idea how he got in- you had changed the locks when you first arrived at the apartment all those weeks ago, barred the windows, made it impossible for anyone except you to make their way inside. Yet here he stood, with knowledge of both where you lived and how to get there before you. It was impossible. Well, impossible for anyone except Kaz. The Barrel was his home, after all, and you doubt Dirtyhands had ever bothered to knock.

His fingers tapped the crow’s head of his cane. “I don’t think we quite finished our conversation. You could do more than just wash dishes, you know. The Dregs could always use a new member. That, and I’d like you to return what you stole from me. I’m impressed, actually. No one is that good at pickpocketing except me, and no one would try something that daring except for, well, me. I think you’d fit in nicely with my gang.”

You had folded your arms across your chest. “And I’m meant to believe that my pickpocketing was impressive enough to warrant a visit from Dirtyhands himself?” Kaz had shrugged, the movement stiff in the darkness. “You can believe whatever you want. I just want to see if you’ll take a good offer when you see one.” After a while, you had accepted, and Kaz had left, but not before whispering something in your ear. “If you steal from me again, I will cut off both of your hands. I don’t tolerate theft, not from me.”

You had heard enough threats to know that he meant good on this one. As it turned out, however, Kaz would not have to fear theft from you again. You found a home amongst the Dregs, a home you weren’t likely to give up due to the thrill of pickpocketing Kaz Brekker. You had a room at the Slat, a place at the table, a voice in the masses. It was something you weren’t willing to trade away.

Even amongst the many crows of Kaz Brekker’s gang, however, you still couldn’t let the issue of your soulmate go. You can remember one night, late into the night’s bells when you, Inej, Jesper, Matthias, and Nina had all made the journey up to Kaz’s office, slumped against chairs and floorboards and chatting the night away. Kaz was sitting at his desk, apparently doing paperwork, but you did notice that he kept coincidentally chiming into conversations even when he said he wasn’t paying attention.

At some point, Nina steered the conversation to soulmates. She held up her now blank palm, proclaiming that at some point it had held a wolf’s head. She had been terrified, she said, terrified that she would have a drüskelle or some other weirdo for a soulmate. Matthias had acted affronted at that, but if he was feeling particularly charitable he might relent and tell the gathered Crows about how he’d had a heart on his hand, and how frustrated he’d been when it had disappeared the second he’d locked Nina away on that slaver’s ship.

Nina had turned to Kaz then, intent on poking the bear and having some sort of fun that night. “So, Brekker, what’s your soulmate mark? Or do you not do that sort of zealot human thing we call soulmates?” Kaz had raised his eyebrows, looking distinctly bored. Of everyone in the room, you’re pretty sure that only you and Inej would be able to tell that he was holding back a smile.

“I’m not entirely a monster, Zenik. I do have a soulmate.” Nina had leaned forward, intent on clarification. “Then what’s the mark? We can’t just take a gander at your palm, remember? They’re hidden by your gloves.” Kaz had let his papers fall back to the desk with a thunk, turning to her with an expression laced with both exasperation and studied disinterest. “It’s a fire. A small flame. Happy?”

Nina had looked fascinated. “Beatific. I wonder what that means. An Inferni, maybe?” She wiggled her eyebrows at Kaz. “Maybe it’s supposed to show that they’re devilishly attractive. Really hot, get it?” Kaz had made a sound that was either a dry cough or his best attempt at a laugh. “Hilarious, Nina. I see why you’re a Heartrender- you could make a person want to die based on your jokes alone.”

Nina had acted affronted, making sure everybody knew that her jokes were hilarious, thank you very much, but you couldn’t help but think about the repercussions of this. What if Nina’s first guess was right, and Kaz’s soulmate was an Inferni, like you? If your tattoo was of a crow, and Kaz’s was of flames, then surely it was too much to just be a coincidence. You’d never know, anyway, because soulmate marks only disappeared on flesh to flesh contact. Kaz always wore gloves, so you’d never find out the truth. Besides, you remind yourself, the chances of this were superbly unlikely. A crow could mean anything, so could a flame. You need to stop getting your hopes up.

Despite the possibilities and impossibilities, you’ve still been running with the canal rats long enough to know that you can’t dwell forever on what might have been. You’re a Dreg now and you need to focus on that instead. When Kaz announces an upcoming settlement with the Razorgulls, yet another one of the gangs that roam the streets of Ketterdam, you’re eager for a chance at something entertaining after a long while of nothing. Kaz will meet with the leader to negotiate their way through a claim on the various pigeons coming and going from the harbors, and that will be that.

However, this is the Barrel. Negotiations are rarely easy. This is why, when Jesper arrives as Kaz’s second, he’s shunted aside to a separate room to stay out the duration of the meeting. Kaz and the leader of the Razorgulls are on the opposite side of the street in an empty courtyard, far away from any help should they need it. Kaz was prepared for this, as always, and set up a plan. Inej will shadow Jesper, making sure that he’ll have a way out if he needs it, and you’ll be shadowing Kaz himself. You’re not sure why Kaz chose you instead of his faithful Wraith, only that he rarely makes decisions based on nothing and you would do best to follow his judgement. The times he’s let you down are few and far between.

You and Inej split up, staying amongst the rooftops to avoid detection. She follows Jesper and the Razorgulls’ second into a crowded tavern, and you head towards the abandoned courtyard. Ahead of you, Kaz’s cane taps against the crooked cobblestones as he wends through desiccated hedges and marble statues severely lashed by time. The Razorgulls’ leader is waiting for him there, but you can’t follow now. Instead, you stick to the edges, climbing stairs and making your way into the empty buildings that watch over the courtyard like silent sentries.

You’re not sure what trouble you’ll be walking into, only that it will exist in some crooked form. There’s no logical reason the Razorgulls would want the seconds in another building unless they were planning something, and no reason Kaz would agree to this at all if he wasn’t sure you could have his back when he needed it. As you creep along the buildings, keeping a careful eye on the proceedings through the few broken windows, you notice that the two gang leaders have begun to speak. You can’t quite hear what they’re saying, only a few whispers here and there.

You’re just rounding a corner, ready to make your way into a neighbouring building, when the lights flash off, landing you in darkness. Instantly, you panic. Lighting is scarce here, only the moonbeams and a couple of oil lamps, but there’s no reason they should have shut down this quickly. You hear footsteps on the stairs, along with two pairs of voices: Razorgulls, discussing how important it is to stick to the shadows so Brekker can’t see them.

Your heartbeat thuds in the dark as you realize they haven’t spotted you yet. In fact, they have no idea you’re there at all. When Kaz was giving directions for the negotiations, he specifically told you to make sure that you weren’t seen, even if rival gang members showed up. If you want to go along with his plan and make sure he lives to see the end of this shoddy deal, you’ll have to stay in hiding.

This, however, is easier said than done. If the lights were on, you would be able to see the wooden beams of the floor and tell which ones would creak and which wouldn’t, which large shapes of furniture to avoid and which holes in the floorboards you should step over. A chill washes over you as you realize what you’ll have to do. You move your fingers together, quick as scraping flint against steel, and a small flame materializes at the pad of your index finger. It’s small, barely visible to anyone except you, but it’s enough to help you get out of the room before the Razorgulls notice you.

Even as the thrill of using your Grisha power after so long sends a charge of energy through your veins, you can’t help but feel uneasy. The only reason you’ve been able to survive in the Barrel and avoid unwholesome indentures is because you never used your power, not once. Even if it was necessary, this still feels bad.

You’ve found a new hiding place in the corner of the room and move to extinguish your flame now that it’s no longer useful. However, it’s been too long since you last used your powers as an Inferni, and your concentration wavers. The flame grows brighter and you start to panic, eventually clamping down your mind and forcing the fire to disappear.

The disappearance comes too late. The Razorgulls have seen some light in the shadow that wasn’t supposed to be there and are now edging your way, careful not to let you out of their sight. You have no choice but to take them down, standing over their unconscious bodies and feeling a wave of nerves crest over you. Kaz specifically said not to mess with the gangs, but you had no choice. You can only hope that this won’t ruin his plan too much.

Quietly, you step through the room and unlock a window, letting the panes move open in the wind. Now, you can hear the voices echoing up from the courtyard, and your heart sinks as you realize that things aren’t going well. The leader of the Razorgulls has revealed his ace in the hole, that he’s got guns trained on Kaz right now. Kaz just laughs, the sound as cold as rocks scraping against a ship’s hull, ready to damn a hundred men to the depths of the ocean.

“Do you, though? Who are the men you sent up- Dirk Struik and Niels ter Avest? Your coffers may be deep, but mine are more extensive. Gentlemen, take down this man, if you please.” Your stomach twists as you realize Kaz was counting on the men you just knocked out. Without them, he’s alone with a man pointing a gun at his skull. There’s no way around this- you’re going to have to break your most cherished rule again.

You thrust your palms out in front of you, letting tendrils of flame arc out of your hands and cascade onto the leader of the Razorgulls. He twists in agony, burns appearing on his skin. He only suffers for a moment or two, however, until he becomes unconscious due to the pain. Kaz’s head jerks up, staring at you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Kaz Brekker truly surprised, but he most certainly was not expecting this.

You don’t think there’s anything you can do except try to explain yourself. You jump down from the open window, letting your heels land lightly on the stones of the courtyard. Kaz seems frozen in place for a second, then moves forward until you’re standing only a few feet apart. Your breath comes wild in your chest. Kaz speaks after the longest of moments. “Where were the guards?”

You hold up your hands uselessly. “They saw me. I had to take them out.” Kaz’s eyes dart to your palms, faster than a sharpshooter pulling the trigger. He takes in the smoke still curling around your fingers, then the crow mark in the middle of your hand. When he speaks again, his voice has lost its icy edge. He just sounds like a boy again, young and confused.

“You never told me you were an Inferni.” You sigh. “It was a secret I needed to keep. You know what happens in the Barrel, the indentures and the tortures. If I used my powers, I would have died a long time ago.” Kaz jerks his head in a harsh nod. “I don’t blame you for surviving. We have all committed worse crimes to live” Your voice gains a confidence it didn’t have before. “Then what do you blame me for? You’re upset, anyone could tell that. If it’s not with me keeping my Grisha abilities a secret, then what is it?”

Kaz hesitates, as if pulling himself back from a yawning chasm. “Me.” You stare at him, at the indecision wracking his brow, then at the way he’s pulling at the glove at his palm. His hands almost seem to shake, like he’s still not sure that he’s doing the right thing. He pulls the glove off, inch by inch, seeming to dread every second that his hands aren’t covered by the black leather. At last, you see it- the mark on his palm, the flame sparking into being right there on his hand.

He reaches out tentatively. “I need to know.” He manages, and at last you understand. You move your own hand slowly, stopping when it’s only a few inches away from his. Kaz squares his shoulders, as if preparing to jump from another broken building, then closes the distance and lets his hand rest lightly on yours. As you watch, your soulmate tattoos shimmer for a second and then vanish, erasing from your skin as if they’d never been there at all.

Kaz lets his gaze linger on the empty skin of your palm, and then he seems to come back into himself, snatching his hand away like he’s flinching from a blow. You can see it in his eyes that he regrets this, that he can’t keep his hand there, but you understand. You can understand quite a lot from him.

Kaz’s voice is like the grating of metal. “I’m not somebody you want as a soulmate. It won’t be easy. It won’t be good.” You laugh quietly in the night. “If I wanted something easy, I would have never come to Ketterdam.” Kaz nods at this, something almost like relief in his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.” You manage. Something almost like a smile flits across Kaz’s face. “Good. We have much to discuss.”

[thebadgerclan]

Across The Sea

Pairing: Matthias Helvar x reader

Summary: Matthias is going away...

A/N: Send me stuff for my 2k celebration!

Strymakt Fjerdan- Fjerdan might

You couldn’t help the sadness and anxiety that had settled over you today.  Matthias was leaving on a mission with Commander Brum and the drüskelle to the Wandering Isle; to round up Grisha witches and offer safe passage back home to Djel’s followers.  Of course you knew your husband’s calling and vocation was noble, but you couldn’t fight the somewhat selfish urge to want him at home with you.  At home, Matthias was safe, he was, for the most part, out of harm’s way.  Across the True Sea, countless things could hurt him, and it would take weeks for you to be any the wiser.

“Are you ready?” Matthias asked you, straightening the collar of his jacket.  You’d be lying if you said your husband didn’t look handsome in his black and silver drüskelle uniform, the Grimjer wolf on his left arm.  You smoothed your skirts as you stood from your dressing table, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.  “Yes,” you said, and Matthias heard the sorrow in your voice.  He didn’t try to soothe you, knowing nothing he could say would, but he offered his arm, which you took.

The pair of you walked to the harbor rather than ride so you could spend more time together.  The day was nice, the winter sun shining in the cloudless sky.  Your breath hung in clouds above your head before rising to the heavens.  Just before leaving the house, Matthias scurried back inside, retrieving something from the living room.  “I made you this,” he said, handing you a knitted shawl.  The stitches were uneven and sloppy in places, but it was clear that Matthias had put real effort into it, and you smiled as he draped it over your shoulders.

“I know it is not the best, but I-”  “I love it,” you interrupted.  “Thank you Matthias, I love it.”  “I am so glad,” he said, taking your arm once more.  “I wanted you to have a piece of me while I am away.”  “It's perfect, thank you.”  Slowly, you made your way to Djerholm harbor, where the rest of Matthias’ unit, along with their wives, were milling about.  Your husband left you for a moment to speak to Commander Brum before rejoining you, putting an arm around your shoulders.

“What troubles you, my love?” he asked, though Matthias knew for certain what was.  “I wish we didn’t have to say goodbye,” you whispered, and societal standards be damned, Matthias pulled you into his arms, holding you tight against his chest.  “Y/N, I know, I feel the same, my love.  But I will be home before you know it.”  “I worry,” you said, blinking back tears.  “That you won’t come home to me.  That I’ll be left alone in this world. “Nonsense, my love,” Matthias countered.  “I will come home to you, sure as the sun rises in the morning.  Put your worries aside, my darling.”  “I wish I could.”  Commander Brum called for his men to board, and Matthias pulled you into a deep kiss.  “I love you,” he said, keeping you as close as he could for as long as he could.  “I love you eternally, my Y/N.”  He kissed you again and pressed something into your hand.

Then he was gone, striding to the ship with his head held high.  He and his fellow drüskelle boarded the ship, followed at last by Commander Brum.  “Strymakt Fjerdan!” he cried, and his men echoed him.  You, along with the other wives, stood along the dock, watching as the ship sailed out to sea.  Some of the wives left when the ship departed, others stayed for a while longer.

But you alone stayed until the ship met the horizon, until it was a speck in the distance, before winking out of existence.  Only then did you open your hand to see what Matthias had left you.  It was his medallion of Djel’s sigil, the one he’d been gifted upon his initiation into the ranks of the drüskelle.  You hung the sigil around your neck, pulling the shawl tighter around your shoulders.  “May Djel watch over you until I can once more.”

[writtenfangirl]

On the Ferolind

This one is a little bit more connected to the Six of Crows universe than my previous stories just cause I'm currently doing a reread.

I did something different and brought Matthias along for a ride! I clearly love me some enemies to lover trope

No trigger warnings that I know of

Part 2 if you guys are up for it!

The sea felt more like home than Ravka ever did. It called to her, a mesmerizing siren song that she could never resist. When she was at sea, there was a calmness that settled in her, a jolt of peace that not even a good hand at the card tables could bring.

Her hands moved, feeling the shifting waves as though she was swimming in the sea itself rather than sitting on the boat Dirtyhands had obtained for their job to infiltrate the Ice Court and rescue Bol Yul-Bayur.

She had been brought here by Nina after Nina was turned down by nearly every Squaller she’d approached and, at the time, Y/N had wondered why. Brekker was paying her good money to be here, more money than she’d ever thought she’d have for herself. Enough money to bring her home back to Ravka. It was a tempting offer, even if the job risked certain death. Money, after all, was the only thing that talked around Ketterdam.

Then Y/N boarded the Ferolind and she knew why all those Squallers said no.

Nina has brought a Drüskelle on the ship.

She’d attacked first and asked questions later. Water had slapped against the ship, rising high enough that if Brekker hadn’t bribed the Stadwatch, they surely would have been caught. The water had seized hold of the drüskelle and had nearly dragged him under had Nina not stopped her.

Now, he sat near the mast of the ship, his legs bound in iron. He had been queasy since they left the harbor and it hadn’t escaped Y/N attention that every time he’d vomit overboard, he’d send her a glower so strong, it was like she was personally responsible for making him feel sick.

He was glowering at her again, his blue eyes like chips of hard glaciers. Y/N had never been to Fjerda before but she imagined that the water that surrounded the nation was the same color as his eyes. Clear and electrifying.

“Keep glaring at me, Helvar, and I’ll make this ship run so fast and high, you’ll vomit your whole stomach out,” Y/N snapped in Kerch.

“Witch,” Matthias hissed venomously in Fjerdan.

“Murderer,” Y/N replied back in Fjerdan with as much venom as Matthias.

“Abomination.”

“A man of little honor as you calling me an abomination?”

“You—“

Nina, seeming to sense a fight, emerged from below deck just in time. Y/N’s fingers had already begun to twitch and a cold, gray mist had started to surround her, a tell-tale sign of her growing anger.

“Stop it, you two,” Nina said in Kerch. “I am not going to spend seven days on this ship hearing you bicker.” She sounded like a mother chiding her two children for arguing over superfluous things.

Y/N scowled at her. She still hadn’t forgiven Nina for misleading her about the job. Y/N had agreed to a job that involved breaking into the Ice Court, a job that could very much kill her. She hadn’t agreed to working with a Drüskelle. Nina knew more than anyone the inherent distrust the Y/N had for Fjerdans. Y/N had grown up at the Little Palace, just like Nina did. She ate the same meals, attended the same language classes and they even slept in adjacent rooms. They’d both heard stories about the ruthless Fjerdans—men of ice and snow who thought Grishas to be abominations—and their witch hunter armies. Her father had been killed by one of them.

When Y/N was told that Nina had been captured by a group of Drüskelle, she had vowed to avenge her the same way she vowed to avenger her father. Now one of them stands before her and it was Nina keeping him alive.

Y/N let out a huff of indignation and turned away from her friend. She raised her arms, the tide moving around their ship, pushing it faster as the wind swept through their sails.

“You can ignore me all you want, Y/N,” Nina said in Ravkan. “But that’s seven days without speaking to anyone else on this ship.”

“The Suli girl seems nice. I can talk to her.” Y/N said curtly.

“Inej is passed out belowdeck from her injuries. Try again.”

“The Zemini boy.”

“Jesper’s a ball of nervous energy you would never be able to keep up with.”

“Little merchling.”

“Wylan seems more inclined to draw than talk.”

“Dirtyhands.”

At that Nina let out a laugh. “If you can get Kaz Brekker to talk to you, I’ll crown you a saint myself for the miracle you’ll perform.”

Y/N frowned but didn’t say anything.

“I know you, Y/N. You can’t sit here for seven days without saying a single thing. You’ll give up eventually.”

“Maybe,” Y/N shrugged. “But that sounds like a challenge and I’ve always been competitive.”

She turned away from Nina again, clearly through with the conversation. She heard her friend sigh and said, “Stop provoking, Y/N, Helvar.”

Matthias couldn’t even release a retort before Nina jogged belowdeck to tend to Inej’s injuries.

It was silent again, save for Jesper’s incessant chatter and Wylan’s exhausted replies but they were sounds that were easily drowned out by the thoughts in her head.

Y/N didn’t know any of these people, at least, not personally. She wasn’t indentured to the Dregs like Nina was or like the other Grishas that fled to Kerch after the Ravkan civil war. She hadn’t come to Kerch to flee, she had come here on a mission: Find Grishas willing to come back to the Second Army.

When she’d stumbled upon Nina in Ketterdam, the elation she felt was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. After all, everyone assumed she’d died. Carted off to whatever hell awaited Grishas in Fjerda. Then Nina had explained to her that she had to stay in Kerch, to pay off a debt she owed not only to Kaz Brekker but to someone else. Nina hadn’t elaborated and had asked Y/N to trust her and Y/N blindly, foolishly did.

She’d stayed in Ketterdam for the better part of six months and occasionally wrote letters to Zoya and Genya and David and only giving them vague details of where she was, if only to remind them that she was still alive. She hadn’t deigned to mention Nina. If they’d known Nina was alive and well and thriving in Ketterdam, Zoya would have marched towards Kerch herself and brought them back home.

She didn’t owe these people anything. She didn’t owe anyone in Ketterdam anything. Her only allegiance was to her country and staying in Ketterdam for six months had nearly ruined any sort of good image Y/N had of herself. Her only consolation was gathering intelligence on all the indentured Grishas in Ketterdam and feeding the information to the Triumvirate, if only so they could provide safe passage for them should the time came that Y/N would free them.

In Kerch, it was common to see tattoos on people’s bodies. They were displayed proudly in places that could easily be seen by just about anyone. Tattoos were symbols of power in Kerch and it showed where to whom your loyalties lied. The smooth, unmarked skin on her arms signified her status. Grisha but unyielding and free. She’d managed to survive six months in Ketterdam all on her own with nothing but her wits about her. She was careful with the jobs she took and was intelligent enough to ensure that any contract she had to sign for a job was in her favor. Despite offers from nearly all the gangs in town, including one from Kaz Brekker himself, she’d managed to turn them down and find work for herself, earning enough money for a roof over her head, three square meals a day and even the occasional credit line at the Crows Club.

Y/N maybe a Grisha but she would bow to no one, especially not anyone in Ketterdam.

“You speak Fjerdan,” Matthias said in Kerch. His Kerch was an ugly sounding thing. He spoke in the accent of rapists and murderers in Hellsgate, where he likely learned the language. The sound was almost guttural, a growl of vowels and a snarl of consonants. Kerch was one of the languages that Y/N adored aside from her native Ravkan and she hated that somehow, Matthias managed to make it sound so monstrous.

“Nina and I had expensive educations,” Y/N replied in Fjerdan.

He scowled at her. “In the Little Palace.”

“Yes. In the Little Palace.” She had snapped at him, eyes blazing in fury. “If we had learned it in Fjerda, Nina and I would be dead by now. Isn’t that what you Drüskelle do? Kill innocent Grishas.”

“There are no innocent Grishas. You’ve killed hundreds of us.”

“And you’ve killed thousands of us! Because you think we’re abominations. You hold phony trials and yet you’ve never found a single Grisha innocent. You’re all dishonorable shams. Nina should never have rescued you from Hellsgate.”

The glare he sent her was fiercer than anything Y/N had ever seen before. She suspected that if looks could kill, she’d likely already be thrown overboard.

Y/N raised her arms and created a series of gestures that sped the movement of their boat. Water sloshed around the side of ship, slapping it from right to left frantically. The crew of the ship immediately grabbed hold on to the nearest solid surface and Wylan even threw his body over the makeshift table to stop the sheafs of papers that held their plans from flying around. Matthias’s once fearsome glare melted as his skin turned into a sickly palour before he gripped the sides of the boat and vomited the contents of his stomach.

Y/N released a satisfied smirk. She may not be able to kill Matthias but she can at least make him suffer, even if all she could do was make him vomit.

He sent her a nasty glare and she only sent him a flirty wink in return.

“Y/N!” Kaz barked from the wheel where Specht, the captain of the Ferolind, steered the ship to course, trying to stop the rocking of the boat. “Stop playing games!”

Y/N stuck her tongue out contemptuously. Kaz Brekker may be Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel, leader of the Dregs, the one of the most feared men in Ketterdam but to Y/N, Kaz was just another person. Smart and devious yes but no one she couldn’t handle. She was a Grisha, a creature of myth and legend gifted with the extraordinary ability to control water. She had something Kaz didn’t.

Kaz scowled at her, clearly peeved at her insolence and she simply scowled back.

She flexed her hands again, creating a series of patterns in the air that caused the water beneath the boat to slow into a steady wave.

Nina emerged from belowdeck once again, a frantic look in her eyes, her usually perfectly coifed hair flying off in different directions. “What in the name of the Saints was that?! I had to strap Inej down with my own arms to keep her from falling off the bed.”

“Ask Y/N,” Jesper cried out as he straightened himself. “She nearly capsized the boat!”

“Really?” Nina cried out in a disappointed tone. “Y/N!”

“Don’t Y/N me,” Y/N said, repeating Nina’s tone at the sound of her name. “You keep me in a boat with Helvar and I will do whatever I can to push him overboard.”

“I am not paying you to kill Helvar, Y/L/N,” Kaz snapped as he walked towards Y/N, clearly pissed at her. His expression was downright murderous and Y/N suspected that he was close enough to strangling Y/N with his own bare hands.

“There’s the Dirtyhands that the Barrel knows and loves,” She said vindictively. “Keep your money, Brekker. I have no use for it.”

“If you hate it here so much, why accept the job,” Kaz asked, voice dangerously low.

“Because she asked.” Y/N pointed a finger towards Nina. “Nina’s my sister and as pissed as I am with her for misleading me, I am not going to let her go into enemy territory by herself with only the rest of you for company.” She turned away, not even caring that her hair hit Kaz in the face as she pushed Nina aside and stomped belowdeck.

For the next two days, no one spoke to her.

Inej, the Suli girl that had been injured in the skirmish before they’d boarded the Ferolind, had healed nicely but even she wasn’t talking to Y/N. Y/N only occasionally came up from her quarters belowdeck when she felt the wind still and knew that the Ferolind needed that extra push and when night came and everyone had gone to bed, she would exit her cabin and stay above deck, if only to watch the stars.

Tonight would be the third night she’d gone up while everyone had gone to bed. Her stomach had begun to complain after she’d missed both lunch and dinner for the day but she couldn’t even bring herself to search for a meal belowdeck. She only had a few hours of quiet while on the ship and she wasn’t going to waste it by trying to scrounge up a meal.

At night, the ocean was a different creature. It was stillness and peace unlike anything that she could describe. The stars would reflect against the dark waters and the Ferolind would glide on the ocean’s surface, a blanket of glittering lights that left no mark of where they had been, save for a few ripples of water.

Tonight, as Y/N emerged from belowdeck, she found that she was not alone.

Matthias Helvar leaned against the bow of the ship, sitting at the spot that she normally liked to occupy as she watched the stars. The wind whipped at his clothes, carrying with it the scent of the salty breeze. The moon’s rays reflected against his face turning his blue eyes into a lurid silver. His hair was still trimmed short from his time at the prison but with the way he sat, he looked as though he was crowned by the stars themselves.

Grudgingly, Y/N had to admit that he looked like a Saint.

His head snapped towards her at the sound of her footsteps, and, for the very first time, their eyes met without so much as a hint of malice.

She almost wanted to scowl at him and she knew he likely felt the same way but something about the tranquility of the evening demanded their peace and so Y/N’s face didn’t so much as shift an inch.

“That’s my spot,” Y/N said in Fjerdan, pointing at where Matthias sat.

“What?”

“Where you’re sitting. I sit there every night to watch the stars.”

For a moment, Matthias didn’t speak. He only stared at her and Y/N suspected he was likely considering what action to do next. To Y/N surprise, he shifted to the left, giving her more than enough space to sit down next to him if she wanted to.

She walked, almost quickly, and sat down next to Matthias. She hadn’t given herself a chance to change her mind.

There was nothing between them except the glorious sound of the water slapping against the boat. Y/N’s eyes were trained at the sky but her focus was on Matthias. At the heat his body exuded and the small amount of comfort that it brought her. She would have leaned against him if she didn’t have a sense of dignity. Embarrassment clawed at her, suffocating the small amount of comfort that Matthias brought.

He is Drüskelle. It would do her well to remember that. In any other given situation, he would have wrapped his large hands around her throat and squeezed.

Instead, Y/N took the blanket she had brought with her and wrapped it around her cold form.

“That is smart,” Matthias pointed out. His voice seemed so small, drowned out by the whipping wind.

“It gets cold up here at night,” Was Y/N’a only reply. “It gets even colder the closer we are to Fjerda.”

Matthias’ expression seemed to sadden at the mention of Fjerda but Y/N couldn’t be too sure. With the Drüskelle, everything could be a ruse.

“I haven’t seen my country in a year,” Matthias frowned. “I fear that, perhaps, I may not recognize it.”

Y/N hugged her knees, warming them up against the frigid cold. “I haven’t seen Ravka in two.”

“Oh?”

“I—“ she cleared her throat for a moment. Would it be treasonous of her to divulge her country’s secrets to one of its sworn enemies? “I’m like Nina. I go to other places, looking for Grisha who might want a chance to a better life.”

“To join your army.” His voice had developed an edge, one that Y/N couldn’t ignore.

“Better than being dead,” she shrugged. “Grishas in foreign lands don’t worry about Fjerdans executing them or Shu Hans experimenting on them. They have to worry about being found by their own otkazat'sya neighbors and being burned alive at the stake. Ravka offers them safety, a home. The chance to be part of something greater than yourself.”

“But being Grisha—“

“I know you’re going to call us an abomination but are we really? We cannot help what or how we are born anymore than you can help having your blond hair and your blue eyes. Would you trade your features, your face, to look like someone else?”

“I suppose not.”

“And I am no inclined to trade being Grisha for anything. Our life is one of hardship. Even in our own country, there is no rest, especially after the war. And now Nina tells me that there is a drug that could change our abilities and kill us. I—“ She sighed as she ran a hand over her tired face.

“You want to kill him, don’t you? The scientist developing the drug. Bo Yul-Bayur.”

“It might be hard for you to believe me but Ravka is my one and only love. If jurda parem got out into the world, my country’s already fragile stability will collapse into nothing. More and more grishas will die, experimented on by the Shu Hans or weaponized by the Fjerdans—“

“My country would never do that.” Matthias scoffed, clearly offended by the implication of her words.

“What? Weaponize grishas?”

“We are honorable. We would never use grishas as weapons.”

This time, it was Y/N’s turn to scoff. “You might be honorable, Helvar, but I’ve met enough Fjerdans in my life to know that honor is a rare breed amongst you. Do you know of Jarl Brum?”

He gave her a stiff nod at the mention of the name. “He was my mentor.”

“Your little mentor enjoys torturing grishas, did you know that?”

“No. He wouldn’t—“

“You don’t know your own people as well as you think you do, Helvar,” Y/N said almost condescendingly. The wind had picked up, the scent of the sea even stronger now than it was before. The moon’s round face looked down on them, illuminating the small space where they sat down. Y/N could feel Matthias begin to shiver against the cold wind.

“How would you know about what Jarl Brum does?”

This time, when Y/N spoke, she looked at Matthias. Her eyes were honest pools of E/C, relaying every emotion she knew she would feel, would likely feel all her life. “He’s the one who killed my father. He told me himself. My father was a high ranking Grisha in the second army. He was a close friend of the Darkling before he passed. The Darkling sent him out on a mission and him and his team was captured and executed. During one of my missions, I met Jarl Brum. Had I been less trained, less focused, he would have killed me the same way he killed my father. He told me…” Y/N trailed off, her eyes seemingly faraway as memory after memory flashed through her head. A sigh left her lips as she continued. “He told me he made my father scream. He told me about how he liked to hear Grishas scream. It sounds so human like, he said. I barely escaped with my life.”

Matthias looked at her, almost stunned at her revelation. “I didn’t—“

“Know? It’s okay. Not even Nina knows. It happened before I arrived at Ketterdam.” Her circling Fjerdan slipped into the soft tones of Ravkan. “A life for a life. He took my father’s. I’ll take his.”

Y/N wasn’t sure if Matthias understood her Ravkan but judging by his expression, he understood the look on her face at the very least. The look of a haunted girl, dogged by her past, tormented by memories of her father.

“That’s why you’re coming, isn’t it?” Matthias asked Fjerdan. “To find Jarl Brum and kill him.”

She gave him a slow nod. “I will find Bo Yul-Bayur and kill him. Then, I’ll find Brum and kill him too.”

“You’ve killed before?” Matthias seemed almost hesitant to ask.

Y/N raised an eyebrow and smirked at him. “Will I scare you if I say I have?”

“How? Your abilities are not like Nina’s.”

“Nina might be a heartrender and yes, it’s easier for her to kill and being a tidemaker meant I didn’t always have the advantage of using my abilities. But I was trained to be a soldier, a fighter. After what happened to Nina, Zoya, our mentor, made sure that I can still fight even with my hands tied behind my back.”

“And you’re a good fighter?”

“Probably better than you.”

This time, Matthias’s once stoic face cracked a smile. “I doubt that.”

At the sight of Matthias’s smile, Y/N’s own fell. She hated to admit it, but it was nice to talk to him without wanting to rip his throat out with her bare hands. She was never the type to be quiet and staying on a ship for 3 days without speaking to anyone would have driven her out of her mind if she didn’t take the evenings off to relax on the bow of the ship.

She almost hated herself for allowing Matthias to get this close. She’d spilled nearly all her guts out to this Drüskelle, her sworn enemy and she didn’t even feel sorry for it. Any amount of self-respect that she had for herself had dwindled into embers.

She cleared her throat as she stood up uneasily.

“Where are you going?” Matthias asked her, his voice almost kind.

“To bed,” she answered curtly.

She hesitated before she walked away. Her hands held tightly on the blanket she was holding, fingering its seams as she wondered at what she was about to do. She dangled the piece of cloth before Matthias, a small, embarrassing blush crawling at her neck at the action. “For when you get cold.”

Matthias stared at the blanket blankly as it dangled in front of him. For a brief moment, Y/N considered taking it back and leaving Matthias by himself in the cold and she would have done it had Matthias not reached out and gingerly taken the blanket. “Thank you.”

She gave him one nod before she quickly walked away without so much as another word.

A time may come where Y/N would feel something for Matthias other than outrageous contempt and perhaps, Matthias might even feel a sort of kinship with Y/N one day. But that day was not today and having her hatred for the Matthias dwindle from a raging forest fire to a tiny flame was enough for now.

[musicallisto]

Hi, congrats on 800 followers! Can I please get a Six of Crows ship? I’m have short brown hair (I dyed red last week) and green eyes. I don't mind if im shipped with a girl or a boy. I like reading (no romantic novels), music and photography. I'm Aquarius. I’m very curious. I'm a little shy and even cold at first. I’m not good with feelings, I mostly keep them to myself if I can, but I care deeply for my loved ones and would do anything to help them, even if I'm not very good at giving advice. ☆

hi! here’s your vanilla milkshake, I hope you like it! I ship you with jesper fahey!

You don’t imagine the extent of my joy to be able to add a gif of an actual real person for Jesper... however shall I survive until Aprid 23rd?

For the longest time, you thought the world started and ended at your corner of Fjerda, in your frozen estate by the True Sea.

You were descented from minor Fjerdan nobility, and your father, jaded by Court Life and its political intrigues - and, unofficially, penniless after giving his all for the sempiternal wars on Ravka -, had decided to leave the capital and retire to his family’s estate by the sea a few years after you were born.

All you had ever known were the large, marbled corridors you’d spend entire afternoons wandering, daydreaming about adventures in the confines of the country - or living the lavish life of a true Fjerdan princess, in an outrageously enormous bed of satin sheets...

The house was spacious and beautiful, with a marvelous view over the sea, gently carrying its boats to and fro before you - and you’d stay there on the balcony in your flowy white dress, admiring the ocean until you couldn’t fight the chills of the night creeping up your spine anymore; but as tranquil and languid as your existence was, it was also terribly lonely.

All you longed for was a sibling, a friend, a partner in crime, someone you could explore the world and go on quests with...

... until a lighting bolt tore the silence, one night.

You couldn’t sleep, so you had gone on a walk by the shore as you often did - your father was never worried about it, since you knew the rocks and their cracks like the back of your hand, and would know the way back home even with your eyes closed.

But you were so absorbed by the distant twinkling of stars that you didn’t notice the shadows creeping up behind you until it was too late.

Screams in a language you can’t understand; an arm around your neck in a chokehold, another slipping under your knees; you thrash around, slice all you can, bite and claw at all you can grasp...

Your abductors know better than to let Fjerdan nobility get away from their grasp. They don’t know exactly who you are - but they’ve guessed from the distinguished aspect of your house that there’s a fine sum to gain from whoever will be willing to pay for you - your father for a ransom, or anyone else, in Kerch, who’ll make good use of your services.

Those brothels in Ketterdam pay good money for young girls, they hear - even more so for a Fjerdan pearl.

When they throw you on an overloaded carriage like a potato sack, you’re still yelling at the top of your lungs, pleading for your father, for one of your maids, for anyone to help you.

But no one hears.

You shed all the tears you have in the first night, tossed around in a dark chariot, off to somewhere unknown. Your father hasn’t prepared you for this - nothing, not even your books nor your fantastical imaginary adventures...

But you don’t intend on being sold off that easily. So you devise a plan to get away.

The first opportunity to break free presents itself when your kidnappers force you to board a ship; but they manage to catch you before you’ve run very far.

But second time’s the charm; with nothing better to do during the voyage than to bide your time and gnaw at your bonds, you’re able to slip from your captor’s watch, and blindly run through the harbor - just to get as far as possible from the stench of this floating carcass.

The first thing that strikes you is the odor. You’ve known the sea forever - it’s clear and bright as ice, and smells of fresh mornings and cold salt; never of this green rot that festers everywhere in these streets... and all those chimneys, all those people, who stare you down as you run down these grimy streets, barefoot in your off-white dress...

You understand that you’re farther from home than you’ve ever been, and it’s not a thrilling adventure, it’s terrifying and overwhelming, and you want nothing more than to burst into tears.

But you don’t, because a pair of strangers flag you down in a language you don’t understand.

A tall and lanky dark-skinned boy, wearing vibrant fabric and a self-assured grin; and possibly the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen in your life, all bright eyes and genuine frown.

Paralyzed, you open your mouth, once, twice, incapable of making the slightest sound; until the girl notices your visible discomfort, and, eyeing your pale eyes, asks in the slightest of Ravkan accents;

“Are you Fjerdan?”

You nod with all your soul. You’re ready to cling onto them both for dear life.

“What happened to you?”

Your voice fails you - you can’t explain it - you haven’t even comprehended it all. You were curled up in front of the fireplace just the night before...

“Do you have anywhere to go?”

You shake your head with despair, trying to blink back the tears.

“Come with us. We know someone who’ll help you.”

You don’t mull it over very long. Maybe it’s your sheltered uprbinging that has made you naive; maybe it’s the curiously comforting warmth you see in the Ravkan girl’s eyes; but you simply have no better option, and you can’t understand a word of Kerch, or wherever it is that this barbarian folk speak.

Although your two saviors start arguing, probably about whether or not they can reasonably take you in, your tear-stained cheeks and desperate vulnerability are enough to convince them - so you follow them.

Into the lair of the Dregs, of whom you’ve never heard - and of Kaz Brekker, who you know very well.

After all, he’s the infamous gangster who invaded your homeland, broke into the Ice Court, and stole the Shu boy - or so you saw your father read in the papers. To know that you are under the same roof as that lowlife would be enough to give your father a heart attack...

You’re half convinced that he’ll throw you back to the streets, but Nina and, surprisingly, Jesper as well, plead in your favor with a greatly convincing fervor. You learn that it’s probably because Kaz has much greater worries on his mind - the criminal group is planning on retrieving one of their own from the clutches of a treacherous business partner, or so you’ve gathered.

Either way, you’re more than happy that the terrifying and redoubtable Kaz Brekker is leaving you alone, and that you can enjoy Jesper’s company.

You two become unexpectedly good friends overtime. He comes to visit you at the Crow Club, where you’re staying, almost every day. Yet communication is not your strong suit, especially in a language you don’t understand at all, and you don’t fancy yourself a particularly enthralling girl to be around.

Not when one has lived the life of a criminal, a sharpshooter, a wanderer, a playboy... well, all those things that Jesper prises himself on being, and all those words he’s taught you in Kerch.

(That and the curse words, of course, that you’re a bit intimidated to use at first, until they slip out of your mouth one evening when you drop your plate at dinner with the Dregs, and the entire canteen falls dead silent.)

“Did she just say ‘fuck’?”

“I think she just said fuck.”

“See, Matthias, she wasn’t immediately struck by lighting by Djel’s hand. You won’t die if you say it.”

Speaking of Matthias, he’s also a good friend of yours - it’s comforting and refreshing to have a familiar face around, one of Fjerdan roots and mores.

Although the rest of the group says you’re not that Fjerdan.

“You’re one of the feisty ones, at least.”

“I’m not ‘feisty’. Shut up, Jesper.”

“Ah, I see you’ve been working on the vocabulary I taught you!”

Matthias and you both have a lot of soul-searching and unlearning to do about the outside world - you were raised in particularly bigoted environments, you somewhat less than him. The hatred for the Grisha he’s been taught by the Drüskelle is fear in your case; you’ve been brought up on bedtime stories of bloodthirsty Grisha who devour unruly kids, and war and devastation caused by their unstability and blasphemous magic.

It’s even more of a shock to you when you learn Jesper is a Grisha.

Unbeknownst to you, you’ve started to fall a little for him - how could you not? He’s funny, charming, sarcastic and witty; always has the best stories to tell, and despite it all, sincerely cares for you amidst the chaos of their heist and revenge plans.

But to learn he was the kind of monster - no, the kind of creature - no, the kind of person, you force yourself to correct mentally - that you had been taught to fear for your entire life...

“I’m so sorry. You should never have been there.”

He’s pacing back and forth in your room after a shootout has gone awry and you were caught in the crossifre; it’s the first time he’s ever had to use his Durast powers to get you of the mess - and normally he wouldn’t have, because it’s a secret he wishes he could carry to the grave, but the fear of losing you was too strong...

“Thank god that I was there, though. What would you do without me?”

He’s fidgety and restless, nervously playing with his pistols, and his nervous laugh is all but genuine; and you’re huddled up on your bed, staring him down with wide eyes.

“Jesper, you...”

“Yeah, maybe not the best moment.”

“Jesper...”

“It’s like they have a knack for knowing exactly where we’re gonna be and when...”

“Jesper!”

He abruptly turns to look at you, and his eyes widen. He’s starting to understand, almost, but refuses to believe it. Your voice is a murmur, and you can hardly hold his gaze.

“Jesper, are you... going to hurt me?”

His words die in his throat. He remembers where you’re from... the garbage that they must have filled your ears and head with from the day you were born... how feverish Matthias was with Nina... he looks at his hands, and his Materialki magic rumbles like a dark curse.

“Y/N, you’re scared of me?”

The sheer hurt in his voice breaks your heart. Even though you’re trembling, you let him step closer to you, slowly. It’s Jesper in front of you, not some ungodly monster from legends... Jesper, your Jesper...

“I’m... I’m sorry...”

He cups your face in his hands, warm and just a bit moist, and stares into your eyes with a vulnerability you have never seen in him.

“I’d never do anything to hurt you, Y/N, I swear on my life. All I want is you to be safe...”

Safe from me, if that’s what you wish, he thinks for a split second, but you don’t give him time to doubt; you’ve captured his lips in a frenzied kiss, and hold on for dear life onto his lean shoulders.

Fjerda and its blind hatred is very far from you, now. You're locked in Jesper's embrace, and you won't have to hear their lies anymore.

You know you have nothing to fear from him; not now, and not ever.

800 follower sleepover CLOSED!

[songzichens]

@lhrrywins said: i have no idea tbh i saved it like last month but do u want it :-)

.....................................is this a genuine offer

[thebadgerclan]

Perfect Fjerdan Wife

Pairing: Matthias Helvar x reader

Summary: You will make a perfect Fjerdan wife...

Did anyone ask for this?  No.  But can I stop thinking about Matthias proposing to his girl and Fjerdan courting rituals?  Also no.  So here, have this 😂

Y/F/N is your father’s name

I used some Swedish words in place of Fjerdan, translations are as follows:

(Min) älskling-(my) darling, sötnos-sweetheart, (Min)  kärlek- (my) love

“He’s here!”  Your mother’s voice drew you from your daydreaming, the focus of which was the man currently at your front door.  You stood from your seat at your dressing table and descended the stairs of the small home you shared with your parents.  Your father was at the door, which was open to reveal Matthias standing just inside the threshold.  A bouquet of winter roses was in his hand, and when he saw you, his features broke into a dopey smile.  “Jormanen end denam danne näskelle,” your father said, stepping aside to let Matthias in.  Be welcome and wait out the storm.

“Grannam end kerjenning grante just onter kelho,” Matthias replied.  I thank you and bring only gratitude to your home.  He approached you, still smiling, and offered you the flowers.  “Thank you,” you said, taking them from his hand.  “They are beautiful.”  “Not nearly as beautiful as you älskling .”  You blushed deeply, and Matthias smiled wider.  “The food smells delicious,” he said, and your mother appeared at your side, taking the flowers from you and setting them in a vase.  “You are too kind, Matthias.  Come, dinner will be ready any moment.”

After dinner, you and your mother returned to the kitchen to wash dishes, while Matthias and your father remained in the dining room.  “He is a good man,” your mother said, handing you a plate to dry.  “He will make a good husband.”  You couldn’t fight the smile that broke on your face.  “I love him, Mama,” you said, the first time you’d spoken the words aloud, though you’d felt them for weeks.  “I know you do, sötnos, I see it in the way you look at each other.”

In the other room, Matthias was nervous.  “Sir,” he began, addressing your father.  “Y/N is a wonderful young woman.”  Your father nodded, not speaking.  He knew where Matthias was going with this, and while all he wanted was happiness for his daughter, you were still his little girl.  “I wish to marry her, and I desire your blessing.”  Your father sat up straight, setting his glass of kvas down.  “You are an honorable man,” he said.  “Devoted to Djel and Fjerda.  But will you show the same devotion to my daughter?”  

“The same and more, sir,” Matthias said, gnawing on his lip.  “I love her, and I will give her nothing but joy and happiness for the rest of our lives.”  Your father was silent for a moment, and Matthias feared the worst.  But then he spoke, “You have my blessing.  Treat her well, or I shall show you pain like nothing you could have imagined.”  “Of course, sir, you have my word.”  Not even a moment later, you re-entered the dining room, your mother in tow.  

“Y/N, would you care for a walk with me?”  Instinctually, you glanced at your father, who simply nodded.  “We do not require a chaperone, kärlek, unless you desire one?”  Matthias was ever the gentleman, but you’d had the three required meals with your family, tonight marked seven, and you’d been on several chaperoned outings.  Matthias never wanted you or your family to feel as if he were after more than an honest marriage with you, so he never pushed to be alone with you.

He offered his arm, which you took, glancing once more to your parents.  “Be safe,” your mother offered, and you nodded, exiting your home on Matthias’ arm.  The two of you strolled around your neighborhood, the few people on the streets pausing to let you pass.  A drüskelle with his intended is given the utmost respect, a holy soldier and his Fjerdan girl.  Matthias and you spoke of the weather, the flowers in your garden, Trassel’s latest mischiefs.  

When you reached a cliff overlooking the harbor, Matthias paused, standing before you.  “Y/N,” he began, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve.  “”My beloved, my darling.  I love you more than there are words to say, there is no written language that could convey how my heart beats for you.  The sun rises and sets for you, you have been created by Djel himself, there is no woman more beautiful, more perfect, no woman I would rather have the honor to call mine.”

Matthias dropped to one knee, and you gasped.  “Y/N L/N, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”  He produced a ring; a simple silver band, from his pocket, and you nodded.  “Matthias, yes!  Yes, I will marry you!”  He’d hardly gotten to his feet when you flung yourself into his arms, crying with joy.”  His arms wound around your waist, holding you close to him. ��Such displays of affection were improper, but neither you nor Matthias cared at the moment.  

“I love you,” you whispered.  “I love you so much, Matthias.”  “As I love you, min kärlek.”  The pair of you walked back to your home, your mother pulling you into her arms when you arrived.  “Oh Y/N!” she cried.  “You shall make a perfect Fjerdan wife!”  “She will,” Matthias agreed, shaking your father’s hand.  “I number the days until I call you my bride, Y/N.  Thank you for your blessing, sir,” he said to your father, who smiled.  “Please, call me Y/F/N.”  Matthias embraced you briefly, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead.  “I love you, Y/N,” he said.  “I shall call on you tomorrow.  Ajor, min älskling.”