#ben barnes fans

[merlinpinkpant]

😸

[fail-sco0b]

ngl I love the fan casting of these two as remus and sirus

[terrifiesthem]

This is what happens when you leave it to someone else If you want it done right, you should just do it yourself You oversaturate your world with nothing but machines You might make everyone happy, but you're dead inside just like me // [x] (ft @prettytm)

[libraryledge]

Safe Haven (A Regulus Black Story)

A/N: This is my first time writing for Regulus Black. Thanks to a kind request in my inbox, I took on the challenge! This story is about the reader encountering a mysterious and distressed Regulus in the library and how the pair connects over books.

The library has always been my safe haven. A place of quiet and tranquility to collect my thoughts, to study, and most importantly to read. Books have always been my favorite companions. They offer me a chance to explore, learn, challenge my opinions, and above all travel to new places and meet new people.

Most of my classmates at Hogwarts preferred to spend time at the Quidditch pitch or by the lake. While I loved these places as well, I felt most at home with my nose in a book. It's not as if I was an extremely reserved person. In fact, once you got me going, it was hard to get me to stop talking, especially if the topic was a good book. However, most students preferred not to think about reading outside of class time.

Therefore, one could imagine my surprise when a scrawny boy with curly hair and deep green eyes was seated at my usual spot at the library table. He was intensely scrutinizing a book as if attempting to decipher an ancient riddle that was written amongst its pages. curiosity got the better of me so I walked over towards him. He was so engrossed in the text that he did not hear me approach the table.

“ What are you reading?” I asked, making him jump.

He gave me an annoyed look, and I could tell he was trying to cover up the fact that I scared him.

“What's it to you?” he replied with a look of displeasure.

I frowned, but I didn't let his cold demeanor bother me. I startled him after all, and he probably wanted some peace and quiet as he read. However, I was still dying to know. Hardly anyone came up to the library to read for fun.

“Well, I myself am a huge bookworm, and just by looking at the way you're scrunching your nose as you turn each page, I can tell it's something incredible,” I replied.

The boy scowled down at the book, avoiding eye contact with me as he replied, “ I am not scrunching my nose!”

I chuckled at his serious demeanor and said, “ Boy! You are grumpy. It's okay. You don't have to tell me.”

I was used to people not wanting to engage in conversations with me over my chatty nature, but something about this boy was intriguing. I studied his stern face for a second until it hit me.

“Black!” I exclaimed as he finally looked up at me with a perplexed look.

“What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and confusion.

“Regulus Black! You're in my potions class! Turn around for a second," I said eagerly.

“Why?” he asked, his signature sour look plastered upon his face.

“Please just do it,” I said.

With a huff, he gave in and turned around ever so slightly. I studied the back of his head, specifically the thick dark colored curls.

“I'd recognize that hair anywhere!” I proclaimed, much to his confusion.

“I sit behind you in class,” I explained.

He scoffed and replied, “I know that,” sounding almost insulted that I implied that he didn't remember me.

“I'm glad to know that you do. You always have your nose in a book so I wasn't sure,” I replied.

A shadow of a smile crossed his lips as he retorted, “You're one to talk.”

“Hey!” I protested, but was equally amused as he was right. I approached him to talk about his latest read after all.

“So… what are you reading right now?" I inquired, trying my luck again as I took a seat next to him. Much to my surprise, he didn't protest.

“A Standard Book of Spells,” he revealed, almost reluctantly.

“Seriously?” I asked, not fully grasping how that could cause him to consume the pages so eagerly.

“What? Not interesting enough for you?” he asked, giving me a side-eyed glance.

“No, that's not what I meant. It's just that your eyes practically danced across the page as you read. I assumed that it was a wild fantasy or a thrilling romance tale,” I responded.

“Do I really strike you as the romance novel type?” he asked, following his brows in an attempt to mask amusement.

“I don't know. This is the first time I've heard you utter more than a sentence that involves you telling Barty Crouch to shut up.”

Regulus snorted “He deserves it. Besides, I don't mess with fictional stories. Reality is complicated enough as it is.”

He said this with the hearty sigh that led me to wonder what hardships he faced in his life. I didn't know much about the scrawny fellow, other than the fact that he came from the Black family, which was one of the most prestigious pureblood wizarding houses.

I knew he had an older brother named Sirius, who if he didn't share a physical resemblance to Regulus, I'd never have guessed was related to him.

Sirius was constantly goofing off with his Gryffindor pals James, Remus, and Peter, while Regulus kept to himself. This tended to make people hesitant to approach the brooding figure. Despite not knowing much about him, I always figured that the pressure of being part of such a prestigious family must be difficult. I didn't blame Regulus for wanting to avoid confrontation.

Studying him, I asked, “ So why the spell book?”

He took a deep breath and then exhaled, “I'm trying out some new charms. An experiment.”

“Really? Isn't that dangerous?” I asked him. “My friend Pandora is always tinkering with spells, and I'm terrified that she'll get herself killed.”

Regulus contemplated this for a moment. “Well… we've got to learn somehow. How else would someone know the truth if they don't bend the rules a bit? A person's got to leave their mark on the world somehow or it’ll leave a mark on them.” He tugged on the sleeve of his robe anxiously as if it held a secret he was trying to conceal.

“Okay. That's pretty insightful,” I replied, impressed as Regulus squirmed in his seat over my compliment. “Anything in particular you're trying to learn?” I peered at his book.

“Well, I overheard Severus Snape working on some incantations the other night and wanted to try them for myself, but the information in the books is quite limited,” he said.

“Snape?” I asked in surprise. He was an odd fellow who was somewhat of an outcast. Lily Evans seemed to be the only one he spent time with on occasion. However, rumor had it that they'd had a row, and since then, Snape had been acting more dark and mysterious than usual. In fact, word around the castle was that he was involved in the dark arts.

Regulus nodded. “He's a strange bloke, but he's wickedly clever. I'd love to be able to learn his way with magic.”

I frowned and said, “You need to be careful with that. Snape's been known to mess around with the dark arts. That's a dangerous route to follow.”

Regulus looked paler than usual as I said that. After a moment of uncomfortable silence he said, “Toujour pur.”

I arched and eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Always pure” he replied. 

I shook my head. “No, no, no. I know what it means. I do know a bit of French. I mean what do you mean by that?”

It's the Black family motto. We are driven by so-called purity. Pure ambition. Pure education. Pure sacrifice. Pureblood,” he said with a sigh. “I've always felt the need to strive for success and prove to my family that I fit their ways, and I'm not just some pathetic loser. Maybe learning those incantations could be my way.”

“You don't need to perform risky incantations to prove yourself to others, and if anyone expects that from you, then maybe it's time to distance yourself from them,” I replied seriously.

He sighed once more, and we sat in silence for a moment until he said, “My brother, Sirius moved out over the summer. He spent the school holidays living with his friend James Potter because he couldn't stand being around our parents.”

I mulled over his confession and replied, ”I'm so sorry to hear that. I had no idea.”

“How could you? It's not like I go around chatting things up with every witch or wizard I meet,” he replied sarcastically. I had to smile as I pictured the usually sullen Regulus gossiping with our peers.

“Sometimes I resent my brother for leaving me alone with our perfectionist parents. Other times, I envy him because he managed to escape their harsh expectations,” he admitted reluctantly.

I nodded sympathetically. I figured that Sirius and Regulus weren’t as thick as thieves considering how one spent his days prancing around Hogwarts while the other preferred the confines of the library. I just never knew the reason for their strained relationship.

“It does make sense. You crave the freedom that Sirius has, but you also feel the need to live up to your family's name,” I replied understandingly. “I know you said that you've grown apart, but I bet you and your brother are not as different as you might believe.”

He raised an eyebrow at me and I could sense the scoff that he was about to emit.

“I’m serious,” I replied, and he gave me a smirk.

“I didn’t know you were my brother,” he said with an amused look.

“Ha, ha,” I said, rolling my eyes at his attempt at being comedic. “Glad to see you can have a sense of humor.

He shrugged, “There’s a lot people don’t know about me.”

I nodded empathetically. “What I meant was that you both clearly have a shared trauma. It’s just the way that you cope that is different. Sirius seems to find creative ways to distract himself from your parents' pressure, and you seem to gravitate towards meeting their expectations.”

Regulus met my eye with an incredulous and reluctant look. “So, you’re a shrink too?" Apparently, I’d hit the nail on the head with my observation.

“What can I say?” It’s the Hufflepuff in me. All my loyalty and kindness must be put to use somehow,” I joked.

He nodded pensively. After a beat of silence, he said, “Thank you”, as he studied the book in front of him. I knew he was only using it to hide behind because his eyes were no longer dancing across the page.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, matching his now gentle tone.

Regulus eventually looked up at me, “I know I may come off as a prick to most people, but I’ve had a lot of responsibility thrust upon me recently. There’s also so much darkness surrounding me. I want to leave it all behind, but I feel like I don’t have a choice,” he said with a sigh.

I sensed that he was alluding to a specific situation, but I didn’t push for him to elaborate.

“I may not know everything you’re going through since you’re a man of few words,” I teased as I elbowed Regulus playfully, which prompted a smile from him. “But, it’s evident that you’re not all darkness,” I replied.

He scoffed, “I appreciate you trying to inflate my ego, but trust me, I’ve really screwed up a lot in my life.”

“Who says I haven’t? I could be a real whack job under this kind exterior. You don’t know where my loyalties lie,” I joked.

Suddenly, the color drained from his already pale face, and for a second, I thought he was going to be sick.

“What if you trusted someone that you shouldn’t have, and now there’s no way out, and I’m…uh…I mean you’re stuck,” he asked with a twinge of desperation mixed with painful regret in his gaze. In our short conversation together, I’d come to realize how much he spoke with his eyes. They communicated what his words could not.

Curiosity was killing me over what circumstances could have left such a grave mark upon Regulus, but I continued to push aside that inkling feeling.

“There’s always a way out. It may not seem that way in the moment, but there’s always an antidote to break a curse, metaphorically speaking of course,” I replied.

Regulus looked at me, and for the first time during our conversation, he held eye contact with me for more than a few seconds.

He swore under his breath. “I wish we’d had this conversation sooner. You could have talked me out of doing something stupid,” he said and then paused. “You’re really smart,” he said, finally breaking eye contact.

I waved off his compliment. “I’m definitely no Ravenclaw. Besides, I’m sure anyone could have told you what I just did.”

"But most won’t,” Regulus said matter of factly. "I appreciate the insight. You probably get it from all those books you’re always reading in class or in the library.”

I raised my eyebrows, surprised by his comment.

“What? I may be stupid, but I’m not oblivious. I’m more observant than most people give me credit for,” he replied with a smirk.

l felt my cheeks grow warm over the implication that Regulus found my habits interesting enough to take notice of.

“Anyway, I’ve talked more about myself than I’ve liked to, so I believe it’s only fair that I flip the table and ask you: what are you reading?” he interrogated with a playful twinkle in his eye.

“Oh!” I said with a chuckle. “The Tales of Beedle the Bard.”

“Fairy tales?" Regulus asked with a grin.

“Hey now! I didn’t judge your reading material, so don't judge mine,” I shot back.

“Me being judgmental? Never!” he teased, and I had to laugh.

“But in all seriousness, I’m surprised that someone as well read as yourself hasn’t read that one yet. Isn’t it like the first book wizarding families read to their children?”

I grew quiet for a second, unsure of how to respond.

At last I said, “The key word there is wizarding families,” I said and paused before continuing. “I’m muggle born.”

Regulus’ eyes widened at my confession. “What? You’re so knowledgeable about magic and the wizarding world in general that I assumed…” he began, his voice trailing off.

“There’s an old muggle saying about assumptions. If you assume, you make an ass out of you and me,” I replied, watching as his eyes shifted from surprise to almost bashful as he registered my words.

“You got me there. I'm sorry. Old habits die hard,” he replied awkwardly. “My parents have been trying to instill their pureblood propaganda into my head.” He tugged at his left sleeve nervously. “I do hope you'll forgive me for my ignorance.”

I gave him a small smile to show him that I wasn't upset.

“Apology accepted. Trust me, being called smart by a sweet guy like you isn't the worst thing I could be called as a muggle-born,” I replied.

Regulus’ pale face flushed pink, but whether it was over my compliment or the insult I was alluding to wasn't clear.

“Gosh! You've enlightened me in more ways than one today,” he replied, still slightly flustered.

I shrugged. “It's a special skill I possess,” I replied with a wink. “Anyway, I think I've kept you long enough. I should probably head up to the dormitory.

“You're leaving already?” Regulus asked in surprise.

“Wow! For someone who didn't want me around earlier, you're a little eager for me to stay,” I teased.

Regulus smiled down at his book, and I had to admit that he looked much more handsome with that expression instead of the usual scowl he wore.

“I mean we spent the entire time talking about my problems. Don't I at least get to know more about you?”

Before I could respond, a clock was heard striking outside in the Great Hall. “Like I was saying, I have to go. Cinderella needs to get home before the magic runs out,” I said in jest.

He gave me an inquisitive look, clearly not understanding my reference.

“Oh, right. I forgot. You don't read fairy tales, much less muggle stories,” I told him as he rolled his eyes good naturedly.

”Smooth,” he replied sarcastically as he gave me a small smirk.

“I'd be happy to share some with you if you'd like. Perhaps, we can meet here again tomorrow evening. Unless, you have a hex that you're researching so you can use it on people who annoy you,” I teased as I eyed A Standard Book of Spells upon the table.

He gave me an uncharacteristically sheepish look, which made me think that my flippant comment wasn't far from the truth. “Luckily, you haven't made it into that category,” he said with a mischievous look in his eyes.

“Yet,” I replied with the same playful tone.

He snorted and asked, “So tomorrow then?”

“It's a date,” I replied, picking up my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard and giving him a final wave as I headed towards the library's exit. As I walked out, the last thing I saw was the small smile that crossed Regulus’ lips as he closed his spell book.

I didn't care what anyone thought. The library would always be my favorite place. People are often dismissive of those of us who love to read, but we tend to be the ones with the most interesting stories to tell. Surrounded by the shelves of fact and fiction, we find camaraderie and become open books. I couldn't wait to return tomorrow because no matter what secrets we possessed, the library was our safe haven.

A/N: I am super proud of this piece, so thank you again to the person who requested a Regulus Black story. Please feel free to request a topic you'd like me to write about next from my Masterlist (or another character or topic that interests you).

[d-criss-news]

Jenny Tuell: I can't believe he also stopped to say goodbye to me #darrencriss #lizzymcalpine #benbarnes #older #glee #gleek #blaineanderson #broadway #shadowandbone

[moonlightgrisha]

How to lose a secret

Ch. 5 Life as you know is coming to and end, as your secret is dangerously close to be revealed for good. [Masterlist] Previous - Next

As soon as you get off your horse, you know something is wrong.

Guards are waiting for you at the stable, which is definitely odd.

"How can I help you?" you ask politely, forcing yourself to smile.

"You must follow us", they answer. "The King and Queen require your presence at once".

Something is definitely wrong. "Just... let me stop by my rooms. I can't meet the King and Queen in this state".

You're dusty and sweaty for the ride, but the truth is that you are trying to buy some time. While you get cleaned, and the guards are waiting outside your door, you think and think, but your mind seems to have stopped working. You are still overwhelmed with what happened on the hill, but you didn't expect guards to come after you so soon. Also, they are First Army soldiers. Is the Darkling already here? Has he sold you out, yet?

You need to calm down.

So, you dress for battle. You put on your best garment. You braid your hair tightly.

Then you present yourself to the guards, and they lead you to the royal quarters, not so far away from your own. They shove you in, unannounced, and you almost stumble on your way in.

You disguise your loss of balance with a pretty curtsy, just as you should, but when you rise, your see the Darkling looking back at you.

"What is he doing here?" You cannot help yourself. He's right there, next to the King and Queen, in front of you. What you really mean is, "you traitor", but he doesn't even flinch. He just stares at you, emotionless, and that makes you so angry. It almost hurts, a little. But maybe that hard face means that he has nothing to do with all of this.

"You forget your manners", the Queen says. Of course.

"Forgive me, your Majesty". You look down and say nothing more, but you clench your fists, hard.

"The General has been summoned to help with this matter". As King Piotr speaks, you immediately realize that the matter is you.

The Queen continues. "We heard rumors."

You feel your heart missing a beat. "What rumors, your Majesty?"

"About you, cousin. Stories were collected from that village in the moorland, where your mother insists on living".

"You... investigated on me?"

"Just a precaution. You lived quite a retired life, cousin. I needed to know something more about you, before making any matches"

You know what's coming, but you can't stop it, and you wait there, listening. Your eyes shift to the side and you catch a glimpse of the Darkling. He's there, listening, pretending he's not that interested, once more. But he drinks on every word.

"Some people swear you spent almost every night in the woods".

You wonder how you'll get away with it, this time. You feel trapped.

"You don't deny it?". The Queen insists, since you say nothing.

"I'm quite the sleepwalker, moya tsaritsa", you answer. Half a truth, as always, the wisest choice, but maybe not now.

"This is not simple sleepwalking". The King sounds enraged, and you wince. "There are tales of strange things happening in those woods. Flashes. White lights. Some people told they saw your skin glistening."

All those years, you never realized you were spied on, or at least that somebody had seen you. You had been a naive little girl, playing with your secret. Tears are burning in your throat, but you swallow them. You are not giving any of them this satisfaction.

"Were you tested, as a child?" the King asks.

"Like everybody", you whisper, and the royal couple should know well enough what that means. Royal children were rarely tested. It was all a farce. Any Grisha in the royal family would have been quite difficult to handle, if not an embarassment, so their power were suppressed, or kept hidden. And there you were.

You don't know if the Darkling is aware of that, but he places a claw-shaped ring on his right thumb, then takes a steps towards you.

"You arm, please".

You suddenly realize that he's been keeping your secret. He told nothing to the tsar and he's not telling it now. He could easily reveal the truth, it would be a matter of seconds anyway.

But he's not betraying you.

The fact that he places his hand on your sleeve confirms it. He knows what happens, when he touches your skin.

You look at each other in the eye, while he pierces your forearm with his ring, and you don't stop looking, not even when a glistening, ethereal white light emerges from the wound. It's a melancholy light, the one that slips on your bedpost when you lie awake while the whole world drifts away in slumber. There is a long pause before the King asks: "Is that it? Is she the Sun Summoner?"

"No". The Darkling replies. He's still looking at you. He seems he'll never stop looking. "It's not the Sun".

You finally speak. "It's the Moon".

He breaks the spell, lifting the ring from your arm, but he doesn't really let go. Not yet. His hand lingers on you skin for a moment, while he gives you the faintest smile.

You should be desperate, but somehow you feel relieved. There's a freedom that comes with truth, even with the hardest one. Even if it means sacrificing everything that you were before.

The King has no time for sentimentality. "So? Can we use her?"

"Excuse me!?" You cannot believe your ears. The Darkling is still holding you and you abruptly lower your arm, breaking any connection with him that was left. "Use me for what?!"

The King ignores you. "Will she tear down the Fold, or not?"

You are in disbelief. There are a million answers you can think of, and not even a polite one. The Darkling too is about to speak, with a grave look on his face and probably a rehearsed reply. But the Queen precedes both of you.

"Patience, my dear husband" She manages to gracefully smile, somehow. "She is family. This must be handled with... discretion".

"Yes. It is necessary". The King looks at you like a strange creature. "The fact that you hid this power from us, under our own roof, it's more than a lack of respect. This is high treason. It is unacceptable".

You are quite sure they won't execute you, if you are so useful as you seem to be, but still a mixture of fear and rage takes over your mind. It is too late, now, for pleasantries, and you just snap.

"This... power, it is mine to give" you roar. "It is not a weapon, nor a tool, and it is not yours! And if you want it, you could have asked nicely, moy tsar".

"How DARE you-"

Just then the Darkling intervenes.

"She will move to the Little Palace at once. It's the safest place for her, and discretion is guaranteed".

You turn to him, eyes wide. "I'm just over here, thank you for asking".

"Oh, no one is asking you, cousin". The Queen articulates her words like you were a small child. "You kept a dangerous secret, and we are not going to investigate it further, as it turns out to be quite precious to our country. And you want what's best for the country, don't you, dove?"

"Naturally", you reply, grudgingly.

"You will be doing as you're told", the King concludes. "We will ask for weekly reports on this matter". That word, again. That's what you are.

The General bows his head. "That will be done, moy tsar".

The King gives you a last glance, then says: "You are dismissed".

You follow the General outside. There's no one else with you, and you expect him to turn and talk, maybe to gloat for entrapping you at last. Instead he walks in silence.

You break the silence first. "Did you tell them?" You want to hear from him.

"I told them nothing", he replies. "It appears it was just good timing. Or bad timing, as you wish".

"You must be pleased", you mutter.

"And why should I be?" He finally stops and turns to you. "Your own family didn't hesitate to sell you to me. Because that's what we are, to them: weapons. Precious commodities, as long as they have a use for us. I'll never be pleased to witness such trade".

That was unexpected. His words are overwhelming, and tears come back in your throat. By the time you have swallowed them down, he has started walking again.

"I'm not a fighter", you say, following him.

He glances over his shoulder. "Are you sure?"

"I'm no soldier and I'll never be".

"You don't need to be a soldier".

He keeps leading the way, but you hate to stay behind. So you speed up, until the two of you walk side by side.

As he turns your head to you, you whisper: "Better get used to it."

You keep your eyes in front of you, and don't see his bright smile.

[stromuprisahat]

What is your current opinion of Ben Barnes?

The wording considered, I assume he did something wrong.

I don't follow celebities and drama around them. For me, they're something like semi-fictional people. Sure, I know they're running around somewhere, but I don't know them personally, so every opinion I might form is based on a third-fourth-hand information and interpretations offered by others.

I'm also old enough to realize these people are... well, just people, not some perfect idols to be found lacking and overthrown. They're likely to fuck up, and be stupid just like everyone else. They're only more visible.

So, to answer your question, my opinion on Ben Barnes, as a person is that I don't really have one. My opinion on him, as an actor is that I've seen some of his work, liked most of it and from the little I've read/seen, where he talks about it, he puts both heart and a lot of thought into his performance. Judging from reactions of people, he works with, he seems like a pleasant person to work with. That's about as much as I require from an actor.

[plzandspanku]

I would apologize for how mean this is but I'm not actually sorry

all of your marauders era fan cast are ugly or too old and I don't have enough time to sift through d-list actors and models to pick some so I'm gonna need you guys to start throwing out better recommendations 

[mootheloon]

Finished the 2nd book in the ACOTAR series and ever since the introduction of Rhysand I’ve always pictured him in my head as Ben Barnes for some reason so here’s my Rhysand fan art. ❤️

[milaeryn]

Season 1 darklina

[merlinpinkpant]

新一波的点图👌

[stuckysnugglebutt]

Ok, so I just did a brief A03 search, and I didn't get any hits, so I am presuming this doesn't exist yet.

I'm gonna need someone to write a Captain America and BBC Ghost mash-up. It could be set during CATFA, and the Howling Commandos could be quartered at Button House during R&R in England or between missions for the SSR when they are reporting/coordinating with Col Phillips, et al.

This obviously needs to be a Stucky fic. They could meet the Captain while he is alive and stationed at Button House. This would open up some interesting convos/interaction among the Captain, Stucky, and Havers.

The potential for a time jump to the present day is there as well. Cap (with or without Bucky post WS) could revisit Button House on a mission or to stay at the B&B (or both). Then, he encounters the Captain as a ghost in the present day, which has the potential for a lot of great scenes.

Anywho... there you are writers....a great scenario/writing prompt for you. Go forth and write b/c I need this badly in my life!

[nico-di-genova]

Happy birthday to the two best dilfs I guess?

[jumbled-messy-confused]

Unfamiliar Grounds

jumbled_messy_confused

Summary:

Kirigan’s walls may be down for now, but Ivan and Fedyor know they must guard more than just his recovery—they must guard his trust.

Notes:

This story is an AU. It takes place long before Alina turns up. Kirigan is not the villain he will be later in the series. Please note that English is not my first language, but I did my best to find most mistakes. (Feel free to point them out to me!). I took certain creative liberties, particularly with the characterization of the main characters but I hope, you will just roll with it. And now have fun! And thank you for reading.

Work Text:

The early morning light cast long shadows through the forest as the company rode on, tired but quietly relieved. The skirmish had been brief and unexpected, but by some twist of fate, they’d suffered no fatalities—just bruises, scrapes, and the bitter taste of yet another delay on the road back to the Little Palace. Though everyone was weary and eager to be home, they travelled with the calm confidence of survivors, their minds already drifting to the promise of rest and familiar comforts.

Kirigan rode at the head of the group, his figure as straight and composed as ever. But nevertheless, something seemed off.  

Ivan’s brow furrowed as he observed the General more closely. He had been summoned more and more often by him in recent months, each mission bringing him closer to the man who, until then, had been more myth than reality.  But despite these latest, quite frequent missions, Ivan still didn’t know him well enough to understand every nuance in Kirigan’s demeanor. Yet now, for the first time, he felt a gnawing certainty that something was not as it should be.

Ivan’s eyes stayed fixed on him, searching, studying every slight shift of Kirigan’s posture, every minute tightening of his hands on the reins. Beside him, Fedyor was watching as well, his gaze troubled, his senses attuned to the subtle signs of strain his leader couldn’t quite conceal.

It was when Kirigan’s hand slipped from the reins to clutch briefly at his side that Ivan felt his stomach twist. Never before had the General let pain show, and Ivan was suddenly sure that right now, things were more serious than Kirigan let on.

A quick glance at Fedyor confirmed his suspicions. They had both seen it; the way Kirigan’s breaths came a fraction shorter, the tension that radiated through his usually controlled frame.

Enough was enough.

“Stop,” Ivan’s voice rang out, sharp and unmistakable, pulling the group to an abrupt halt. The Grisha responded instantly, horses stamped and snorted, shifting restlessly as the troupe exchanged puzzled glances.

Kirigan’s head snapped to face him, his jaw clenched, irritation flashing briefly in his dark eyes. “What are you doing? We’re wasting time,” he ground out.  His words were tight with fatigue and something more—a hidden tension, one that everyone who looked closer could feel.

“General,” Ivan responded undeterred, his tone unyielding. “With all due respect, we’re not going another step until you’re seen to.”

Some Grisha at the back of the group, unable to catch the exchange, furrowed their brows in confusion. But most understood immediately; he must have noticed something critical.

They trusted Ivan’s observations without question, and their eyes darted between him and Kirigan, watching the General with a deepening worry, their expressions reflecting their desire to ensure his well-being.

Kirigan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his silence enough to convey his displeasure, when Fedyor moved in, calmer but just as resolute. “We’re not moving ahead until you let us help.”

For a heartbeat, Kirigan remained motionless, defiant even. But as his eyes swept over his soldiers, the alarm reflected in some of the faces reached through his defences. He caught sight of a young Grisha, one he’d protected during the skirmish, now watching him with such raw concern that it almost touched him; a feeling he was not accustomed to.

He recognized, too, the look in Ivan’s and Fedyor’s eyes—the unwavering determination that would not yield, the loyalty that insisted he allow them to care for him.

Slowly, he nodded once in acknowledgment and reluctantly, he slid down from his horse. His legs trembled slightly as they met the ground; he masked it, straightening his shoulders, but there was a fragility in the gesture that sent a quiet ripple of alarm through those watching. The last Grisha around him quickly dismounted as well, realization dawning on their faces. Even those who had remained in their saddles until now hurriedly slid to the ground, concern etched in their expressions as they saw that their General was not just weary; he was struggling.

“Let’s get you settled and check this out,” Ivan insisted, already scanning for a place to lay Kirigan down.

With haste, some Grisha began spreading their cloaks and blankets on the ground, creating a makeshift resting place.

As they lowered Kirigan onto it, his body instinctively tensed as if trying to escape a wave of pain that seemed to surge within him.

“Relax,” Ivan instructed gently, kneeling beside him. Kirigan’s usual composure was beginning to crack, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath.

As Ivan peeled back Kirigan’s Kefta, a collective gasp escaped from the surrounding Grisha. A huge, dark stain spread across his tunic, the ominous wet hue saturating the black fabric underneath.

Fedyor sucked in a sharp breath, his voice rising with shock and frustration. “Saints, you’ve been bleeding like this for—how long?”

Kirigan gave a faint, deflective huff, as though he’d been caught in some minor offense. “It’s nothing. Everyone’s tired; they don’t need me slowing them down.”

But Ivan was having none of this. “Stop that,” he ordered gruffly. “We’re taking care of this now.”

Carefully he pulled the tunic up, revealing a long, jagged wound that stretched across Kirigan’s chest and abdomen, still seeping blood. The flesh was swollen and bruised, and there were clear signs of at least two broken ribs beneath, maybe even internal injuries; each breath was a shallow, painful effort.

The Grisha who had gathered around murmured in shock, a few of the younger ones paling visibly at the sight.

“General…” one Squaller whispered strained. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Kirigan merely shook his head, his gaze set forward, a hint of defiance in his eyes. “It wasn’t necessary,” he replied. “I could hold on until we returned.”

“Of course you could!” Ivan’s tone was sharp with exasperation. He knew that if anyone could endure such wounds, it was Kirigan—his resilience unmatched by any other. Yet, that wasn’t the point. “But you simply shouldn’t. Look at yourself—you can barely stand…” He broke off incredulously, but Fedyor also had his part to say.

“Why would you hide this? You would never demand this silence from any of us. Why do you force it on yourself?”

Kirigan’s gaze flicked away, his jaw tight, his eyes hardened, unreadable. Compared to the weight of everything he’d faced, this pain was a small thing—no reason to burden them with it. He could have endured it, as he had endured countless wounds before, and to reveal it now felt like crossing a line he’d drawn long ago. They looked to him for steadiness, for strength that would not bend. Admitting to being injured, to any weakness, meant inviting them closer, meant leaning on a support he had taught himself never to need again.

And yet, here he was, lying on the ground and allowing them to tend to him because for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he experienced a flicker of trust, a sense that he didn’t have to bear this burden alone.

So he didn’t argue as Ivan began directing the troupe to bring what supplies they had, anything they could use to treat their injured General.

They sprang into action, a flurry of activity as they gathered clean cloths and materials. An Inferni quickly ignited a small fire nearby, its flames licking at the cool air, while water was heated for the task ahead, and Yuri, a Squaller who had some knowledge of field medicine, knelt beside Kirigan, his hands steady as he reached for the medical kit.

A Durast stepped forward too, a small pouch clutched in her hands. “I got this from the healers.” She opened it to reveal packets of potent remedies—herbs and fine powders. “Pain relief and more. It’ll help.”

“Good thinking.” Ivan’s gratitude was evident. “Get him some of that.”

Immediately, the Durast began preparing a tea, her movements precise when she measured the constituents, though her hands trembled ever so slightly.

“Hold still, General,” Yuri pleaded calmly. He crouched beside Kirigan, each touch careful, his fingers gentle yet firm, starting to clean the wound with warm water.

Kirigan didn’t respond, his face expressionless, though the tautness around his eyes betrayed the pain he held at bay.

Fedyor, kneeling on his other side, fixated his leader’s face with a rare intensity.

“You’re always thinking you have to endure everything alone, aren’t you?” He couldn’t quite hide his frustration. “You know, we’re all capable of waiting an extra hour if it means making sure you don’t end up worse off.”

His voice softened, though his gaze remained unwavering. “We’ve seen you lead, inspire, and protect us all, General. And maybe… it wouldn’t hurt for you to let others take care of you, too, once in a while.” His tone held the hint of a plea, but there was no expectation—just a quiet offering.

For a moment, Kirigan’s stoic mask slipped. There was a flicker of something close to reluctant acceptance appearing in his eyes. His jaw clenched as he allowed them to continue, perhaps surrendering to the moment, or maybe, for once, to the unfamiliar feeling of not having to hold himself so tightly.

Blood clung thickly to Kirigan’s skin, congealed in patches where it had begun to dry, while fresh rivulets seeped slowly from the jagged edges. Yuri’s hands moved with precision, his touch steady and unhurried despite the urgency of the task.

The other Grisha held their breath as they watched the crimson smears gradually give way to clean, raw flesh beneath.

Finally, Yuri reached for a soft cloth, folding it meticulously. Carefully, he pressed the thick layers against the gash, ensuring it adhered to the contours of Kirigan’s body. Once satisfied with the placement, he wrapped some bandages around it, securing the dressing in place, before he rightened himself up.

“That should hold till we get back to the Little Palace.” He glanced at Ivan, wiping his brow. “But we have to bind his ribs—tight enough so he can breathe easier without aggravating the fractures.”

Seeing the necessity, the others immediately began cutting long strips of fabric. As they worked, the Durast approached, her eyes lingering on Kirigan’s face with quiet concern. She held a small cup of tea, the scent of herbs and remedies wafting up. She offered it to him, her tone tentative yet firm. “Please, General. Drink this.”

Kirigan caught the scent of the mixture and immediately recognized its strength. “No,” he protested instantly, trying to push himself up, a rare show of reluctance. “It’s too potent; I’ll black out… “

Ivan placed a firm hand on his shoulder, gently but with authority. “We don’t care, General. You’re hurting, and you’ve lost blood. This isn’t just about you anymore. We’ll take the time, even if it costs us the journey home.”

Kirigan’s eyes narrowed slightly, a stubborn glint flashing as he eyed the cup. “I’m perfectly able to move on without this,” he muttered, irritation clear. “There’s no need for— “

“There’s no need for you to endure any more of this,” Fedyor interjected, soft but resolute. “None of us want to watch you suffer another minute. We’ll get home when we get home.”

With a resigned look, Kirigan allowed himself to lean back against the makeshift bedding. Slowly, he took the cup, a tired sigh escaping as he drank. The brew was bitter, the taste strong enough to make him grimace, but he drained it, his eyes fluttering as the warm, soothing effect of the ingredients began to seep in.

Ivan watched him with a faint shake of his head, his usual stoicism edged with concern. “Next time, General,” he repeated, “you say something. Just because you can endure it, doesn’t mean you should.”

Fedyor nodded in agreement, his gaze unwavering. “We’d rather lose a little time than risk your health.”

There was a beat of silence, then Kirigan inclined his head, the faintest trace of acceptance and contrition in his expression. “Noted,” he murmured.

After they took the empty cup from Kirigan, Ivan and Fedyor positioned themselves on either side of him, lifting him gently from where he lay. He grimaced, a faint crease forming between his brows, but made no sound as they helped him up, each movement deliberate, cautious.

Once he was upright, it became clear he had neither the strength nor stability to hold himself steady. His breath came in shallow, strained bursts, every subtle shift making his pain flare.

Seeing this, Ivan slipped an arm firmly around Kirigan’s back, supporting his weight and taking on as much of the burden as he could. Fedyor, on his other side, did the same, gripping his shoulder to keep him secure.

Kirigan’s frame remained tense, muscles taut as if he could will himself to stay upright, but Ivan and Fedyor felt the unmistakable tremor that ran through him. His head lowered momentarily, though he forced it upright again as he struggled to maintain some semblance of composure.

Yuri then began to bind his ribs tightly, the process meticulous, each wrap drawn carefully around his fractured bones to keep them secure.

With each pull of the bandage, Kirigan’s face tightened, his breaths becoming more and more strained as his battered resilience began to crack, revealing the depth of his torment.

Ivan watched closely, his worry growing as he felt Kirigan start to sway, his body sagging into their grip as if he might lose consciousness.

“Just breathe, General,” he encouraged, his words low, only for Kirigan to hear. A hint of alarm crept into his voice. “We’re almost done. You need to keep breathing.”

When they finished, Kirigan looked markedly more vulnerable, his skin pale and slick with sweat, his breaths shallow and ragged.

Ivan and Fedyor exchanged a brief, worried glance before easing him down, lowering him as cautiously as possible back onto the blankets. His body went limp, the tension finally releasing as he settled against the blankets. His eyes fluttered closed as he allowed himself a rare moment of rest.

The young Inferni stepped forward, a warm, wet cloth in hand. Her movements were hesitant, her hands trembling slightly as she knelt beside him. She gently dabbed the sweat from his brow, her touch feather-light, as though afraid even the slightest pressure might cause him pain.

While she cared for him, Kirigan lay there, eyes half-closed and head tilted slightly to the side.

He remained still, barely moving, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest. But as the initial agony from Yuri’s manipulations began to subside, it became clear that the bindings were helping. His breathing, though still labored, grew steadier, deeper, and the tight wraps around his ribs provided much-needed support. The fact that he was no longer bleeding into his tunic also contributed to his stabilization.

So, gradually, he seemed to regain a thread of his usual composure, enough that they knew he was ready to be dressed.

Ivan gave a subtle nod to Fedyor, signalling that it was time to get him back into his clothes and restore some semblance of his usual dignity.

Yuri placed himself behind him, sliding his arms beneath Kirigan’s shoulders to gently lift him upright again, giving the others room.

The two Heartrenders carefully adjusted his tunic and Kefta, ensuring his comfort and avoiding any strain on his injuries. 

As they finished, Ivan’s gaze lingered on Kirigan’s face, studying the pale cast of his skin and the lines of pain etched faintly around his mouth and eyes. There still was a vulnerability about him, one that none of them had ever seen before. The General who led them with unyielding strength was, in this moment, simply a man—worn, fragile, and undeniably mortal.

“You should rest, General,” Ivan suggested quietly, his concern evident. “It would do you good.”

Kirigan immediately shook his head, his voice firm despite his exhaustion. “No, we’re going home. Now.”

Ivan sighed, understanding the determination in Kirigan’s eyes. “We can do that. But unless you want to end up face-first in the mud, General, you’ll have to ride with me.” He raised an eyebrow, a hint of dry humour in his expression, but he quickly shifted back to seriousness. “Honestly, there is no other way. Those herbs will hit you soon enough.”

Kirigan simply nodded, acknowledging Ivan’s point.

His agreement brought a wave of relief over the group. Fedyor’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, his eyes softening as he watched Kirigan.

The Grisha sprang into action. They quickly packed up their belongings, extinguished the small fire, and gathered their supplies, each one eager to get their leader home safely.

Once everything was ready, they turned their attention back to Kirigan.

When they lifted him to his feet, their hands remained steady and supportive, each motion gentle, aware of how much effort it must cost him to remain upright.

Kirigan swayed slightly, his face drawn with pain, but he kept his shoulders squared, still refusing to truly let show how much he was suffering.

Some Grisha then moved quickly to fold the cloaks, roll up the blankets, and dismantle the makeshift bedding with practiced ease, while others helped the General back onto his horse.

He leaned heavily onto the pommel of the saddle, silent, his determination overriding his discomfort. Ivan swung up behind him, slipping an arm around Kirigan’s waist to secure him with caution.

“Hold on, General,” he murmured, his voice a mix of concern and reassurance. “We’ll get you home.”

Kirigan gave a faint nod, too exhausted to put up any more resistance, simply accepting the care. He sank back slightly into the strong arms bracing him securely, the warmth of Ivan’s grip both firm and comforting.

Finally, the group resumed their journey at a slower, more measured pace.

For the first stretch, Kirigan tried to keep his head up, his gaze forward, fighting the overwhelming fatigue that clouded his mind. But as the minutes passed, the potent herbs began to take full effect, overpowering him. Despite his best efforts to remain alert, he felt himself slipping.

With a final sigh, Kirigan surrendered to the drug-induced darkness, his body sinking heavily into Ivan’s arms. His head fell back against Ivan’s shoulder, leaving him defenceless in a way none of them had ever seen.

“Easy there,” Ivan murmured, instinctively adjusting to hold him more securely. The concern of the group sharpened as they noticed, but there was no panic; they had prepared for this.

They moved as swiftly as they could under the circumstances, urgency propelling them forward. It would take another two hours to reach the Little Palace, and every minute felt like an eternity.

The whole time, Fedyor kept a watchful eye on both Kirigan and Ivan.

To his dismay, as the journey progressed, he sensed Kirigan’s pulse quickening, the medications wearing off. It was clear that the pain was intensifying again; Kirigan’s face tightened with each jolt of the horse, and his breaths became more labored. Fedyor had hoped they would reach the Little Palace before this happened, but the agony from Kirigan’s broken bones was too intense.

Then, Ivan intervened.

Fedyor could feel the small flickers of power emanating from his husband. Ivan was carefully manipulating Kirigan’s heart, drawing him back into a deeper state of unconsciousness. Each time Kirigan began to surface, Ivan would gently interfere, ensuring the General remained unaware of the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.

He knew the General wouldn’t approve, but none of them cared today; they were united in their determination to get him home safely, no matter what it took. Ivan’s need to protect the man who always put others first was a quiet rebellion he allowed himself.

The road stretched long as they pressed forward, each Grisha’s gaze straying every so often to their leader, their worry a silent thread weaving them all together.

Finally, as they approached the Little Palace, two Healers were already assembled. Word of Kirigan's condition had reached them earlier, thanks to one Grisha who had hurried ahead.

Their faces tightened as they saw Ivan riding in, his arms cradling Kirigan’s limp form.

As he pulled his horse to a stop, the two of them rushed forward and reached up to take on the weight of the wounded General.

Ivan released his hold on Kirigan’s heartbeat for just a moment, helping the Healers guide him carefully down from the saddle. Instantly, Kirigan's eyes fluttered, and a hoarse, involuntary sound escaped his lips; a faint, ragged groan, raw and filled with distress. It was a sound he would never have allowed himself had he been fully aware. But here, between the grip of consciousness and the dark of oblivion, his usual defences had fallen away, leaving only the unshielded pain of his injuries.

Ivan clenched his jaw, watching with a blend of worry and helplessness as Kirigan lay there, the true extent of his suffering laid bare for all to see.

One of the Healers immediately pressed a hand to Kirigan’s forehead, murmuring softly as her power flowed through him, coaxing him back into a deeper state of unconsciousness. She knew it was the only way to shield him from the pain that would otherwise tear him awake.

The healers then hurried him inside, weaving quickly through the bright corridors, sunlight spilling in patches across the stone as they made their way to the infirmary. Ivan, Fedyor, and the rest of the group followed closely, all unwilling to let their General out of their sight.

Along the way, other Grisha paused as they took in the pale, lifeless figure of their leader. Some watched with wide, stricken eyes; others whispered anxiously among themselves, clearly shaken by the sight of the unresponsive General.

They finally reached the Infirmary, where the Healers immediately set to work.

The troupe watched in silence as Kirigan was laid carefully on a bed in the centre of the room.

The senior Healer placed her palm gently on his chest, sending a wave of energy that anchored him into a profound oblivion. Kirigan’s body tensed involuntarily, his muscles convulsing slightly under the intensity of the Healer’s power before he fell completely limp. The brief surge faded, and his awareness slipped further away under her deliberate touch.

Another Healer began to move with smooth, practiced motions, summoning her power to knit the ugly wound and address the injuries hidden beneath.

Meanwhile, the senior Healer hovered her hands above Kirigan’s ribcage, guiding a steady flow of energy into each fracture and bruise.

As the healing process continued, Kirigan’s muscles, still partially tensed from the remnants of pain, began to yield. The harsh lines etched into his face softened gradually, revealing a flicker of peace that was almost foreign. His breathing slowed, settling into a more regular, deeper rhythm.

Eventually, the lead Healer reassured all the Grisha, “His broken bones have been set, and severel internal contusions and bruises have been treated. He should be pain-free now.”

Then she turned to Ivan and Fedyor. “He heals faster than any Grisha I’ve ever seen. But even someone of his power needs time to recover from these injuries.” She glanced back at Kirigan, her eyes filled with concern. “He’s lost more blood than we’d like. I recommend keeping him under for a few hours—force him to rest. We all know what he’ll do otherwise.”

Ivan nodded decisively, understanding the unspoken truth behind her words. Kirigan’s relentless drive meant that if he were conscious, he would insist on resuming his responsibilities immediately.

They had to ensure he stayed down long enough to recover properly, even if it meant going against what they knew he would want.

The second Healer had already moved to clean the remaining blood and sweat from Kirigans skin and now gently dressed him in the soft linen shirt and loose trousers designated for those in recovery. Then, a warm, heavy blanket was tucked carefully around his shoulders and along his sides, as though to preserve the restorative energy that still lingered in the air.

Before they stepped back, the lead Healer pressed her hand onto Kirigan’s torso again, one last surge of her power weaving through him, sealing his consciousness in the darkness for a few more hours at least. She met Ivan’s gaze and nodded; he understood the message—the General would remain safely unaware.

At last, Kirigan lay still, his breathing slow and even. The golden light filtering into the room cast a gentle glow across his pale face, highlighting the shadows beneath his eyes.

He looked almost fragile, a faint trace of vulnerability in the way his head rested against the pillow, a stark contrast to the imposing figure he typically embodied.

The Grisha lingered at his bedside, caught between relief and unease. The General—unbreakable, untouchable Kirigan—lay before them like any other wounded soldier, stripped of his customary armour of strength.

Though exhaustion tugged at their limbs, no one wanted to leave him alone in this vulnerable moment. Their glances drifted toward Ivan, seeking reassurance.

His silent nod was all they needed to stand down. It showed that Ivan would remain, and that was enough.

Over recent missions, he had proven himself enough times for them to look to him now without question. If anyone was to watch over the General, it would be Ivan, and they accepted this as naturally as they would a command

So, in the end, one by one, the tired men began to leave, some murmuring a quiet farewell, others offering a brief look of respect before they departed.

As the last of their troupe had stepped out, Ivan settled into a chair by the bed, his hand resting on the edge of the blanket, keeping vigil. Fedyor sank down beside him, a gentle but constant presence, his gaze steady as he watched over both his husband and their General.

Finally, Ivan glanced at Fedyor and tiredly murmured, “He won’t thank us for this.” His tone was dry, touched with a hint of exasperated affection.

Fedyor smiled, his eyes softening. “No,” he agreed, his voice a whisper, “but it was the right thing to do.”  They knew that once Kirigan awoke, the man who loathed any display of weakness would be quick to erect his walls again.

They shared a quiet moment, watching as Kirigan’s breathing remained steady, his face completely at peace. It was rare, even precious, to see him like this—unguarded, free from the heavy weight he carried for all of them.

In the stillness of the room, a silent agreement formed between them. They would take it upon themselves to care for Kirigan, to ensure he received the attention he so rarely allowed himself.

It was clear that he had fought alone for much too long; perhaps others hadn’t dared to offer care, or Kirigan, likely, had rejected any such attempts. But today, something had shifted—he had allowed them, if only briefly, to ease his burden. And they would be damned if this was the last time.

They would make sure that the man who fought so fiercely for his soldiers would, at last, have someone to fight for him.

They settled back in the knowledge that the hours ahead would pass quietly, but that was exactly what they wanted: time for their General to rest, fully and truly, under their care.

And when Kirigan awoke, they would be there—ready to meet his inevitable stubbornness with patient, steadfast loyalty, the same loyalty that had brought him back to safety.

[moonlightgrisha]

Show me

Ch. 6 He knows who you are, now, and he wishes to know you better. [Masterlist] Previous - Next

Your new room is beautiful, even more than your apartment in the Grand Palace. The view is beautiful too, on the courtyard and the surrounding wall, and the windows are not even sealed closed, meaning he doesn't think you could, or want to escape.

You sit there, looking at the refined tapestry on the wall, uncertain whether or not you should feel a prisoner.

You met Genya, a few hours ago. You had just shown to your new quarters, and the General was gone. He had been silent, and polite, and mysterious enough to drive you crazy.

But you knew Genya. You already met her while she was attending the Queen. You always liked her, and the two of you also gossiped a little, during those endless receptions.

She found you wandering around the room like a caged creature. She had brought some lunch with her, and she smiled. "I thought you could use a friend", she said.

"I didn't realize we were friends", you replied, with a hint of hope.

"Well, how convenient I'm determined to be one". She sat down at a small table in front of the window and gestured to the chair in front of her.

"Did he send you?" you asked, sitting down.

"Of course he did", Genya replied. "It was the most sensible thing to do. But it doesn't mean I'm not genuinely interested in how you are feeling now. Or curious to know what happened".

"I guess I do have a story to tell", you said.

You told her everything, and you felt relieved.

Genya listened, and fell silent for a long time once you had ended you tale.

"You are safe, here", she eventually said. "You can be what you are".

"You mean a weapon?" you replied. "A valuable tool, for them to use? Because that's not what I am".

You immediately realized you had struck a nerve. Genya lowered her eyes, and seemed to drift away, but just for a moment.

"We all have to endure, if we wish to be eventually free", she concluded. She sounded so wise, and she was right.

"Am I his prisoner?" you asked, right before Genya left. You both knew who you were referring to, and there was no need to explain.

"He will say you are his guest", she whispered. "But actually, you are what you make yourself".

She paused, and before walking out the door, she said: "He wishes you joined him for dinner, tonight. That's why he sent me in the first place".

Your heart missed a beat. "You can tell him I will be pleased to accept his invitation".

It felt the right thing to say, but now, as you wait for someone to come and take you to him, you are not so sure anymore.

You hear a knock at the door. You rush to open it. Ivan, the Heartrender, the General's right hand man, is there.

You follow him through the unfamiliar corridors of the Little Palace, suddenly feeling a little homesick. There's life behind all those closed doors you are passing by, people just like you, blessed or cursed with strange powers, and you wonder if you'll ever be part of their world, or if you'll just stay forever in between, being neither Grisha, neither otkasat'sya.

Ivan opens the doors of the General's quarters, then disappears.

The Darkling welcomes you in.

He wears is black kefta, but the collar is unbuttoned. He is dashing like a prince, and you proceed to ignore him and his piercing dark eyes, while you make a few steps inside the room.

It is comfortably warm, the walls are filled with bookshelves and maps, and candles have been lit in every corner. There is a small table set for two, and he gallantly moves the chair for you to sit on.

He knows how to behave around royalty, and you remember you are a princess. When he sits in front of you, you look haughtily down at him and say nothing.

"I trust you found your quarters comfortable", he says.

"Yes, they are suitable", you answer. You also manage to add: "Thank you", but it doesn't come easily.

Dinner is exquisite, and you haven't eaten much the whole day, but you struggle to enjoy it as you would in any other occasion.

You notice there is only water on the table. "No wine?"

"I like a clear head", he replies. "Although, occasionally, I might indulge a little fog".

"But not tonight".

"Not tonight".

You stare at each other and you feel the urge to say something, anything to break the silence.

"Of course. You must need a clear mind, to interrogate me".

He chuckles. "Interrogate you?"

"Isn't this the purpose of it all?" you make a gesture to the table. "I deceived you, and I would, still, if you hadn't exposed my secret so... easily. Actually, what was that? I didn't even know I could summon in the daytime".

"I amplify other Grisha's powers".

"Simply by touching them?"

"Simple as that".

You raise your eyebrows, considering it. "How unconvenient. People must have tried to use you too".

You expect him to reply, instead he says nothing. When you look at him, he's staring at you, but he seems to have drifted somewhere else, deep in his memories.

"That's what you'll do to me", you add, trying to ignore the fact that your words might have resonated in him more than you wished for. "You'll use me to gain power, victories or whatever it is that you crave".

"You paint me quite the tyrant", he replies, sharply. "And to think you don't even know me".

"And you don't know me".

"Yet, you assume you know my... cravings".

You might have blushed.

"Fine. That was quite unfair. Those weren't your words, after all. They were the King's".

He stands up, like the only mention of the King has made him restless. Maybe he has ran out of his patience. You are almost going to dismiss yourself, when he stops by the window and speaks again.

"I was wondering if you could show me".

"Show you what?!"

He turns to you. "Your light".

You are almost speechless. "You have seen my light".

"Not really", he answers. "That was me, calling it for you. But tonight is a fine night". He looks out the window again, his shape barely lit. "A perfect, bright full moon".

When he turns, he's looking hopeful. You feel a knot in your throat.

But deep inside, you are inexplicably excited.

You raise your hand, just a few inches above your leg, as you are still sitting down. You can feel the full moon like a limb of your body, and it's easy to let it come to you.

A ticklish, sparkling light emerges from your palm. It moves towards your wrist, flickering, then it slips down on your knuckles.

The Darkling stands frozen at the window frame, like he's suddenly unable to talk, or move, or be anything else than hypnotized by your evanescent, soft moonlight.

Then he approaches you, but slowly, like he's afraid you'll take it away if he comes too close. For a moment, you enjoy the thought of having that kind of power over him.

But reality surpasses your fantasy, as he kneels down in front of you.

You are face to face now, and you get lost in his eyes, darker than the night itself, filled with unsaid promises, and mysteries you can't help but wonder. He doesn't stop looking at you, while he lifts his hand, placing it a few inches above yours.

Darkness comes floating out of his fingers, like black waterpaint, so softly you wouldn't even think of its deadly power. It surrounds your sparkles of moonlight, but instead of suffocating them, it makes them glow even brighter.

It's like a small galaxy has found its place beneath his hand and yours.

It seems he could stay like that forever. And, damn it, you could too.

Instead, you ask, with the faintest whisper: "Am I your prisoner?"

He answers quietly. "You are my guest".

Something breaks inside you. You close your fist, and just like that your moonlight is gone.

His shadows dissipate like smoke from a candle, as you stand up from your chair. "It was a most... instructive evening. I am quite tired, now, and I wish to rest".

He stands up too, and walks you to the door like nothing has happened. You successfully keep the same blank face, ignoring the weird heartache that's tearing you apart.

"Goodnight".

And so you are back to reality. Back to the beautiful room that might be a prison, if you decide it is one. The window next to your bed gives you the best view on the night sky, and you wonder if that's why you were given that room in the first place.

The moon reminds and remembers. It is never gone, it only hides. Whatever happened tonight, it won't be gone tomorrow. You extend your arms above you and let the light come back to you, just because it feels good, and ask yourself if he ever does the same with his shadows.

Hi everybody. I hope you are enjoying this story so far. Please remember English is not my first language, and that I'm writing purely for fun. If you appreciate my work, please like, repost or leave a comment. You'll make my day! See you next.

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[amandstrr]

I will paint you Dorian…. or Sirius?